Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn;

O Holy Night

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. That has long been my favorite lyric in any Christmas song. Who isn’t acquainted with the feeling of weariness, deep, soul weighing tiredness? Who does not feel in desperate need of a thrill of hope?

I read a passage today that struck a chord:

BESEIGED is how most people feel most of the time: by events, by people, by all the necessities of providing, parenting or participating and even by the creative possibilities they have set in motion themselves, and most especially, a success they have achieved by long years endeavor.

David Whyte, Consolations

We are walking wounded, walking warriors, engaged in the battle of our realities. Our workaday worlds feel like invaders, attacking our peace, our joy, our sense of centeredness. Alone, we are powerless. We need backup.

God to the rescue. Not with armor or invading armies, but in the form of an infant. Trust embodied. Helpless, small, unremarkable. Yet equipped with the spark of our deliverance. The truth that our worth, our belovedness, does not depend on our ability to produce or perform, but instead on our intrinsic value. Our redemption, our uniqueness, our legacy of hope. This deliverance from a works based evaluation is cause for great joy.

We can be rumpled ragamuffins and still have value. Our tiredness is not something to deny or to press through, but instead a marker, reminding us to sit still and rest, trusting that the world will keep spinning. Let the joy of your own insignificance, paired with your utter belovedness bring you joy today.