First Gift of Christmas

There’s something about Advent that makes me aware of how often I misplace myself.

Not in a dramatic way. More like how my keys seem to wander into strange corners, or the way my thoughts drift into the long grass when I meant to stay on the path. I move through days with good intentions, but somewhere between the errands and the expectations, parts of me scatter. I lose track of what matters. I lose track of me.

Advent has always felt like God’s gentle searchlight in that regard. Not a spotlight that exposes, but a lantern swung low, moving quietly through the fields of my life. A reminder that He is the One who comes looking.

Advent sparkles under the everyday, like dew catching dawn — tiny glints of presence gathering on ordinary surfaces, reminding me that even when I wander, I’m not lost to Him.

The truth is, December can send us into so many directions at once. Plans, preparations, hopes, disappointments, memories that tug. I often feel like I’m living in several timelines simultaneously: the present, the past, the hoped-for future. No wonder the soul gets a little frayed around the edges.

But Advent keeps drawing me back with a steady invitation: Let yourself be found.

Not fixed. Not perfected. Just found.

Found in the middle of the undone tasks.
Found in the edge-of-tears moments.
Found in the laughter you didn’t expect to rise in your chest.
Found when you realise you’ve been holding your breath again.
Found when you finally exhale.

In the old story, God doesn’t wait for perfect timing or neat circumstances or a quiet moment. He arrived in the middle of the census chaos, in a town bursting with travellers, in the cramped corners where no one had planned for a birth. Emmanuel doesn’t appear in a tidy place. He appears in a place where people are weary, distracted, stretched thin.

Which feels… familiar.

Maybe that’s what I need most right now: the reminder that His coming doesn’t depend on my readiness. He finds me in the exact place where I’ve wandered, tangled emotions and all.

So today, in this quiet slice of Advent, I’m practising being found. Letting myself stop long enough for His presence to catch up to me, like a hand on the shoulder I hadn’t realised I needed.

And in that moment, I remember: being found is one of the deepest forms of love. And it’s the first gift of Christmas.