Even though I love Christmas carols, I've never been a fan of "Silent Night." I cherish what happened on that night thousands of years ago when our Savior came to earth through a birth that changed the world.
But the song has never done much for me.
Until I heard that version above last year.
Now I can't even stand still when I hear MercyMe's version of "Silent Night." And that's saying something for someone who hates to dance.
Thing is that night probably wasn't really that silent.
A woman gave birth.
A baby cried.
The Savior was born.
And nothing was ever the same.
I'm reading an advent devotion that I found online. I like how it tells the Christmas story from the beginning. The very beginning.
After reading Genesis 1:24-31, I enjoyed this part of the devotion: The Christmas story, it begins in the beginning. And in the beginning there was no life. No breath. No warmth. No wind or light or laughter or stars or waves, just cold, empty nothingness. Like life before Christ.
... And then just like a branch came forth out of a deadened stump, out of the darkness came forth His voice, an echo in the emptiness. Out of the black nothingness -- glorious something!
Thanks, Ann Voskamp, for your words. They got me thinking while I was laying in bed the other night while the three other people in my family slept. The house was quiet. My room was dark, except for my book light.
Before the kids wake up and after they go to sleep, mornings and nights are calm in my house. It's dark and usually cold because we all hate to be hot when we sleep. Then we awake and they awake and our days begin. Life becomes noisy, colorful, bustling and joyful. All so it can repeat again after our world calms and we rest.
My house isn't supposed to be cold and dark and quiet. It's supposed to be full of life. Our lives.
I'm so thankful life is lived here. And, more importantly, I'm thankful for the life we have because Jesus was born on what probably wasn't so much of a silent night.
It's worth dancing about, even it's all a little messy.