Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
   we are all the work of your hand.
Do not be angry beyond measure, Lord;
do not remember our sins forever.
Oh, look on us, we pray,
   for we are all your people.

Isaiah 64:8-9

Childbirth is a messy process. There are bodily fluids. A lot of them. Hands get dirty. Brows get sweaty. There is vomit, and excrement, and *ahem* just a lot going on. Silent Night… is not the memory that comes to mind for me. But, that memory is a story. A gem, crystallized into form by telling and retelling, polished shiny by memory.

Creation, as well, turns out to be quite messy. God shaped Adam from clay. God built a family, then watched it melt back into a puddle. God then built a community, just to witness it cave in upon itself. In the story of Advent, the Holy Spirit once again created new life. Formed by Her hands into the a child, birthed through a miraculous process. This time, God built a kingdom. A birthright citizenship, available to all who accept their divine spark. This creation was not without mess. It was not without imperfection, without pain, without heartache. Despite the perfection of the Creator, the creations are still a work in progress.

As we look on the birth of God, we also look upon our birth, as chosen sons and daughters. We see the pain and the labor of the Old Testament that brought us to this point, and we see the selfless and unending faithfulness that goes into childrearing. Parenthood is a long game. One made primarily of patience, love, and faith, with liberal amounts of discipline, wisdom, and laughter sprinkled into the mix. As God parents us, we have the divine promise that our Heavenly Father will not forget us. The motherly hand of the Holy Spirit is guiding us, but we are free to make our own decisions. We are free to sin and turn away and break the heart of our parents. And we are free to return. To sit in the comforting lap of the Everlasting, resting in the fact that we are fully known, fully loved, and never forgotten. Whether in your life you feel you are wandering away from your spiritual home, sitting cozy in the heart of its shelter, or limping back as a Prodigal, this is your story, your family, your home. Forever, and without fear. We can rest in the fact of our Belovedness, despite our actions, our behavior, or faith or lack thereof. Because the Covenant we are stamped by is not marked by our faithfulness, but by the Promise of our Creator. And that promise does not waver, fade or break.

The story of Advent is the story of our advent as well. It is our spiritual heritage as believers, citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. It is our history, our story. Our bloodline of redemption runs straight from this manger, this stable, this Christ Child, that cross. Hold the gem of this birth story tight. It is yours and mine, a gift to the world, for those willing to take hold.