I kneel beside the manger not because I am reverent, but because I cannot stand. I bow low beside the Christ not because I am faithful, but because I cannot lift my head. I have come to see His birth not because I am exceptionally spiritual, but because I am barely surviving.
And I know that this waiting is good. I know that this waiting is the refining work of budding holiness. I know that without the yearning and without the thirst, I might never experience the light of longing fulfilled.
But here I am, kneeling and bowing and barely surviving with two clenched hands on the side of the manger, while the last, wet drips of hope fall from my eyes. And all of the knowing in the world cannot fill the bottomless hole of deep pain. I come with no gifts of gold or offerings of myrrh. My hands are the empty vessels of my spirit. My wounds are all I have to show for my coming. The Child lies so close that I can smell his skin and sense his warmth, but I cannot lift my head or raise my body. I cannot see the Love of God come down...
The rest can be found over at SheLoves Magazine. Continue reading by clicking here: http://shelovesmagazine.com/2012/a-desperate-kneeling/