The house was quiet.
Evidence three guys stayed up much too late playing with their new toys.
The day was going to be busy.
We were going to be traveling a couple of hours to spend the day with those that know us the best and love us the most.
I was thankful for the quiet.
Quiet that would give me a little time to imagine the sky that was filled with His Glory on that first Christmas day.
In the quiet, I could imagine how the angels must have sounded as they sang praises to the Newborn King.
In the quiet of Christmas morning I wanted to picture the tiny little hands and feet of God Himself.
In the quiet I wanted to remember The Baby asleep in His bed.
But all I could remember in the quiet of this Christmas morning was when my baby laid in a bed.
A hospital bed.
I remembered the Christmas morning when we walked into an ICU room that was filled with strangers and machines and wires and despair.
I remembered standing by Ethan's bed and closing my wet eyes and wondering how a person could feel such intense horrifying pain and feel completely numb all at the same time.
I remembered and, for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
I scolded myself.
"Cheri, Christmas isn't about you. Christmas isn't about Ethan, or about him being hurt. Christmas is about Jesus."
I tried to turn my mind back to The Baby, but I couldn't.
Every time I would try to take my mind and my heart back to the stable and the manger and The Baby, it would go right back to the hospital and to my baby in the hospital bed.
The tears came. And so did the condemnation.
I didn't want this morning, or this Christmas, to be about me.
And then I heard the words . . .
"For there is born to you, this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."
A Savior. For me.
He was born for me.
And he was born for Ethan.
A Savior that was born for living rooms, and hospital rooms.
A Savior that was born for moments when the laughter can't be stopped, and for moments when the crying can't be consoled.
A Savior that was born for the days when the wind is calm and the sun is shining, and for days when the storms come and take everything out in their paths.
A Savior that was born when we proudly hold up our little trophies, and for the moments when our heads are bowed down with shame.
Yes. A Savior has been born.
I was wrong Christmas morning, as I sat curled up on the sofa, scolding myself.
Christmas is about me.
Jesus made it about me.
He made it about Ethan.
He made it about you.
When He left heaven and came to live with us, to be tempted like us and to be rejected by His own creation, He made Christmas about us.
When Jesus left heaven and the singing of angels and the beauty of a sinless place, to come to this broken and hurtful earth, He made Christmas about us.
The chorus is true . . .
"That's why we praise Him,
That's why we sing,
That's why we offer Him our everything.
That's why we bow down and worship the King,
'Cause He gave His everything,
'Cause He gave His everything."
And because He made Christmas about us.
"We love Him because he first loved us."
1 John 4:19