All is worship and all is holy

When I got the group text that morning from the husband, I wondered.

I opened and played.

And there was the eldest and she was vacuuming and the white noise filled the audio.

But then I heard it. Under the muffle of the vacuum's voice I recognized the melody before I remembered the words.

Her clear little voice rose strong out of that labor and she was singing of the Christ child.

All is worship and all is holy

As she pushed that vacuum back and forth, she was oblivious to the daddy proud standing at the top of the stairs who was capturing it sacred.

She sang crystal loud. Proclaiming joy and Jesus for the angels.

I smiled and my heart smiled and I choked back gentle mama tears for the girl singing her little lungs out to Jesus. Does she have any idea how much joy that brings her Father? Could she know that her little voice rings louder than a choir as it rises to the heavens? Does she realize that she's worshipping true and precious?

And I wonder tonight if Mary knew that bearing the Christ child was worship true and precious. If she really understood the magnitude of her choice, of her sacrifice, of her 'yes.' Could she have known that when she took shelter in that meager barn, the angels gathered close, watching, waiting.

All is worship and all is holy.

And as her time drew near, all of heaven drew in a deep breath of expectation. Waiting. Holding. The entire universe paused, breath caught all up, waiting for that first wee cry, that first wee breath. All creation waiting for the Christ child to be born.

And then the exhale. The fulfillment. Our Redeemer.

And I'm guessing there was a wild babble of angelic voices and the angel choir may have been caught off guard a little with all this excitement. And then maybe a tiny, weary voice rose to the heavens out of all that labor and she was singing to the Christ child, the words of a lullaby drifting among the stars, and the angels caught it and joined their voices to hers in strength and worship and volume and breadth until the whole universe exploded bright and bold and joyous with their song proclaiming Jesus. Worship. True and Precious.

Our waiting is fulfilled. The season of Advent is over and the event of Christmas has arrived.

Our Savior is here, birthed into our waiting, birthed into our distractions, birthed into our worries and burdens and toils, birthed into our broken and weary, birthed into our broken. So that He may redeem us, perhaps not out of all our mud and mire, but through it, so our worship may ring bright and true and precious because Jesus loves our messy, our befuddled, our cracked and fractured places.

All is worship and all is holy.

Today may our words and our actions be worship. May we capture it sacred and true and may our worship rise to the heavens proclaiming the Savior's birth. Because He's here. Right. Here. And I don't want to miss Him.

Grace always Rises,
Jamie