The drama of the birth of Christ feels anything but peaceful to me. Angelic visitations and announcements. Scandalous conception. Escaping death threats by a tyrannical king. A government census imposed, causing long travel for a nine-month pregnant woman. There was no hotel room available and no medical care for birthing a baby, rather surrounded by barn animals and found a bed in a feeding trough. Noblemen journeying a great distance to pay homage, under a ruse from the king to find the baby and kill him. Ragged shepherds shouting in the streets about this birth.

As a child, I waited with anticipation for what would be under the tree each Christmas morning. Before I could read a calendar, clues and hints told me good gifts were coming. I was giddy with hope, daydreaming of curly ribbons and glittery paper hiding treasures of joy. The first clue came in October as stores start to put out their Christmas decorations. Mid-November brought sparkling lights glimmering like pixie dust along the darkened streets. Thanksgiving conversations led to Christmas itineraries.

We are living in an age of high awareness. It’s easy to search for tips, articles, podcasts, and so on regarding how to live and more productive or intentional life. I know as I seek out these resources regularly. This inevitably engages me in these conversations frequently with all types of people, not the least of which is my sister Darlene. She and I were engaged in some conversation about habits and changes and all the things via Marco Polo, an app we’ve found helpful with a two-hour time difference now. We got talking about if there is really a difference between being mindful and being intentional. It sparked my interest, and I followed the trail right to the dictionary.

Have you ever been in a disagreement with someone, and partway through, you realized that you were in the wrong? You probably guessed it… I have. It’s not easy to admit, especially in the throes of the bullet points building in my head. As time goes on and I put into practice the things we have gleaned from the first two sections of Romans 12 (find these here: Part 1 or Part 2), I find my heart repentant of my pride and self responding sooner than they used to. I find a deeper awareness of my offense at the moment. As I meditate through Romans 12, I come to this last section with a simple petition “Father, reveal your next right step for me today.”

I wish I could say I was humble in my error. When he pointed out why we could not set the desk fully in place due to the overlap, I snapped back for him to get it out of the way. I was curt and sharp, and my words were out of a prideful sting in my shortcoming. Within seconds of my sharpness, I yearned to turn the clock back to stuff my revealed heart back in my mouth. In turn, it led to discord between him and me throughout the next few minutes of the project.