Ik weet niet wat er tegenwoordig allemaal gedraaid wordt op de Nederlandse radio. Of je ook dag na dag, uur na uur, het ene na het andere kerstnummer om de oren krijgt gesmeten. En of het niveau daarvan dan net zo hoog is als van de nummers hier.
Vorige week zondag in de kerk zongen we bijvoorbeeld weer eens “the little drummer boy”, Peters favoriete kerstnummer (NOT!). De tekst is eindeloos diepgaand (NOT!) en het refrein -dat na elke halve regel klinkt- is kinderlijk eenvoudig, maar zo veelzeggend geniaal (NOT!).
Maar deze ochtend -en het was niet de eerste keer- leerde ik weer zo’n diepzinnige les van die kleine drummer, dat ik het wel moest opschrijven.

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It is Saturday evening. This afternoon, after the sun broke through the clouds the temperature climbed to a comfortable 25C. But just two hours ago, we literality heard the weather change. The wind came in and blew the warm air and left behind a cold, freezing breath of air. In just a few hours the meter will not get above the -4C.

Inside my heart, it is not much warmer.

On the kitchen table lays the cover of a so called praise&worship Christmas CD. We just played it. But I didn’t hear it. My ears might have catched some of the tunes, but they didn’t reach my heart. Two kids are upstairs, sleeping in their bed. Here in the living room are the other two. One sleeping in his play pan, the other on the couch. Once in a while she will cough, kind of wake up, ask for a sip of water and fall back in a deep, but restless sleep. Her temperature is getting close to 39C.
I’m starting to dread the night. Is the baby going to sleep this time? Did he eat enough today? Sleep enough, but not too much? Did we give him love, hugs, attention? Will #2 be feeling enough to sleep or will we have to clean up puke somewhere in the next few hours. In the darkness of the night. In the cold of the winter.

Last Wednesday I’ve been prayed over by people near and dear to me. They prayed God’s blessing over our family, the weeks of craziness ahead. They thanked God for giving us to them, for our time here, how God choose to use us in their lives. Those words they spoke, they did sink to my heart.
But within a day the words of truth and love were washed away by doubt and lies. I didn’t know anything. I wasn’t good for whatever. I am broken. A failing mom, who doesn’t give enough to her baby to let him sleep through the night. A flawful mother who can’t protect her daughter from sickness. Oh yes, I did sit next to her a few times during that day and prayed over her. For healing. For rest. For her soul, in this vulnerable time. But I can’t take her pain away.
I fail as a wife. I come short as a person in whole. I am not even a whole person! Slowly I am fading away. I seem to lose control. I seem to lose it all. My emotions. My body. My thoughts. Myself.

Just this afternoon I wrote the words of John 1:14 on the chalkboard as part of our Christmas decorations. My own hands drew the lines of the letters on the board:

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.

But I didn’t read the words. I didn’t let them sink. While I wrote, I yelled at my kids to FINALLY.CLEAN.UP.THEIR.MESS… Really? That important?

…His glory… full of grace and truth…

I lost myself in too little sleep. I am not sure I can still think straight. Or speak one full sentence without mixing up the two languages we live by. I don’t think I know what I feel. Let alone express it in a proper way. I don’t know what I need. What my kids need. I am not able anymore to have a full, deep, complete adult-level conversation.
I lost myself in tiredness, in care. In running around. In busyness.
I lost myself in thinking too much, too important of myself. Of saving myself, my family, my sons and daughters. To be all to my husband. To be the perfect mom. To be that great person who will be remembered. Even after she moved to the other side of the ocean.

I lost my focus.

I lost my goal.

I lost sight.

I am missing out.

On His glory!

And that’s how I woke up the Sunday morning. Between piles of laundry. Stinky-throw-up-laundry. I take two of the kids to church. Our last full Sunday here and we won’t be going together. It is freezing cold. When we are ready to leave it turns out that the car battery is dead. With the last bit of courage left in my soul we make it to church. When I enter, I hear the tunes of that song …pa-rum pum pum pum…

I am a poor boy too, pa-rum pum pum pum
I play my drum for you, pa-rum pum pum pum

When I look up at the musicians I see two drummer boys. Not totally boy-age anymore. But oh men, they drum! Their faces sparkling with joy and excitement. What a worship! What a great sight! A wonder and awe radiates from their eyes.

My heart starts to beat a bit faster. A smile forms on my face. And within me.
I realize I found a little part of myself back.

That part that LOVES drums. (I remind myself to take drum lessons one day.)

And there is something else I find…

Our finest gifts we bring pa-rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King pa-rum pum pum pum
So to honor Him pa-rum pum pum pum

Deep inside me, there is something that remembers what it is to be fully alive.
To honor him.

A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices
Let all within us praise His holy name

I sit down, my hands warmed by the tea I’m holding. My heart warmed by the music, the worship filling the room and my friends all around. My soul lifted with hope by the One who knows. Praise His holy name!

Nobody told me to be the perfect wife, mom, sister, friend. But with all I have to honor and praise Him. To be in awe by his holiness. His glory! Full of grace. Full of truth.

The one who made the world. The one who spoke a word -I imagine it has sounded like a sweet poem- and there were the stars. The planets. The galaxies. (I took B and Z the other week to the highest tower of the UT to look through a telescope and we got to see Uranus, the owl nebula -2,030 light years away- and even Andromeda Galaxy.)
God, who is so almighty, so incomprehensible big and worthy, all powerful. He became human. A little baby. So frail. Not even able to lift his own head. Helpless. Fully depended on the care of his parents.

TO GIVE ME HOPE!

How can it be?
I’m in awe. What wonder!

The music goes on.

(Yes, also the awful parts:
The Ox and Lamb kept time pa-rum pum pum pum)

I cannot help myself, but join the worship of those two drummer men in the front.

Though I am still exhausted. And the week ahead will only bring more hardship: Our paperwork turns out to be incomplete and we are official illegal immigrants. One by one we all get sick. The laundry piles up. A few feet high. We will miss the Christmas service as a whole family. And we will be way behind on the moving planning. The car battery isn’t miraculously fixed. We still have an international move to go, but no house to life in on the other side. Oh yes, life is still one crazy mess.
But I haven’t felt as much alive as this in a very long time.

I have no gift to bring.
That’s fit to give our King.

So I’ll bring what I have. I’ll play my drum for him. pa-rum pum pum pum.

My little part.
My finest gift I bring.
To honor him.

I’ll play my best for him!

Then He smiles at me pa-rum pum pum pum
Me and my drum