It's too late to still be sitting in front of my computer. I'm dawdling if I'm honest; slowly pecking away at housework that ought to have been done this afternoon while I took a much-needed nap (...because I was up way too late yesterday too).
I've been falling asleep over the line of tomorrow for a week. Lots on my mind, and a sick babe in the house, and the long list of chores and tasks, but mostly it's the aloneness that keeps me up.
I'm hardly ever alone anymore.
I miss being alone.
I'm staring at my Christmas tree tonight and my thoughts have drifted again to Mary. As a protestant Christian, I don't spend much of my church time thinking of Jesus' mom, but ever since carrying my own baby boy, she has come alive to me. It is her story that is front of mind this season.
Mary travelled to Bethlehem in the company of her fiance-husband and delivered her child in the company of strangers. When the magi arrived, that new home threatened and she fled with her family to Egypt for several years before resettling in Israel. The story reads like a whirlwind and I bet it felt exactly that way. Did she stay up late to have a moment alone with the night? Did she slip out of bed when Joseph's breathing calmed in order to have a minute to herself? When did she decide to fold laundry? How did she find rest? Did her arms feel empty or relieved when someone else offered to hold her child for a while?
My floor is unswept. I have two laundry baskets and a milk crate heaping with folded laundry I have yet to put away. Stuff is everywhere, nothing is packed, I still need one gift and we leave tomorrow for a week with family. It's a whirlwind.
I can't see them past the city lights and the cloud cover tonight, but I know the stars are brightly shining. I'm just going to sit here a few more minutes and soak up this quiet holy, night.