When Worship is right here..

We sit at the back of the tiny church, the one I grew up in, where I received my first bible, and learned I could sing. The walls are dark oak, the carpet a terrifying shade of turquoise, and there's that ever present smell of old books and mildew. I don't go here anymore,  but on Christmas Eve it feels like home.

The Pastor gets up, a new one this year. He sees the old, and wants to forge new traditions, make his mark. The service has changed, the songs updated, the format different. It ends though with the familiarity of candlelight and singing, and a final reminder that there's a new tradition in town. "Tomorrow at 3pm we'll hold a Christmas day service. With Christmas as one of the highest holy days of Christendom, many of us here think it just makes sense to be here to worship."

And he's right, in a way.

But...

as my family and I laugh at my husband's ridiculous drawing talents in pictionary (he's no Van Gogh)...

as my Nonna opens a gift picked out, searched out (on the interwebs), just for her and gasps in glee...

as we play Bananagrams and collectively sigh that my brother always wins...

as we make angels in crisp, white, fluffy Christmas snow...

I can't help but think this is worship too. In the laughing, playing, the making merry, and the loving well.

Sometimes worship is where you least think it to be. Like in a stable full of animals surrounded by shepherds, immigrants, and a pregnant teen. Or in a modest two story house filled with laughter, the occasional fight, board games, and hot chocolate.

I think it's anywhere He is.

And where He goes--it'll surprise you.