He has come.

Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheer.
But to be perfectly honest, I haven't been very Christmas-cheery lately. I've been having a bit of trouble getting into the Christmas spirit.
I've tried to grow jolly. I've listened to music and gone to parties. I've eaten fudge and watched more Hallmark movies than should be legally permitted, but I still can't seem to make myself sing, "Christmas!"
A few nights ago, I watched "The Nativity Story" with my friends and was reminded of something I can hardly believe I forgot. My heart awakens at the thought of it, like an ember that glows as a result of a breeze. That night, my soul remembered:
Immanuel
How could I have forgotten?
Immanuel. The most beautiful word ever spoken, ever heard, ever written.
Immanuel. At the thought of it, my heart swells in my chest. At the sound of it, throats so dry from crying out are quenched. Eyes so wet from desperate tears are dried. Arms so weak from reaching and begging are lowered in relief.
Immanuel. He has come.
The image of the invisible God walked among us. God walked among us.  Sometimes I forget, but I don't think I will ever grow used to the idea of God among us.
The Word became flesh, and his flesh was just as frail as ours: susceptible to bruise and break and bleed.
The Creator dwelt as creation. The tongue that flung stars into galaxies could suddenly only coo and cry. The hands that inscribed stone with commands for thousands of generations could suddenly fit around a teenage girl's finger.
Immanuel. God with us. Not here for a visit; not just checking in. God dwelt with us.
I watched "The Hobbit" today, and strangely enough, it reminded me of Christmas. There was one scene, an inconsequential moment really, that grabbed my attention.
Bilbo Baggins dangled precariously from a cliff, sure to soon plunge to his untimely death. The dwarves clamored to rescue him, grasping at his hands, trying to get a grip to save their companion. Their efforts seemed in vain, until Thorin leapt from his position of safety on the ledge to the treacherous crags where Bilbo hung. The dwarf king jumped down from the cliff to reach the Hobbit. It was such a small moment in the movie that I'm not sure anyone else noticed. But in that moment, my insides stilled. I thought to myself, "That's my kind of king," and my heart remembered again: Immanuel.
How can I keep forgetting?!
I become so consumed with my own inconveniences and discomforts. I become so concerned with the cheer and home and happiness of Christmas, that I forget the only thing that really matters.
God with us. Immanuel.
Remarkable. I don't believe I can ever think of it without the still, calm wind rushing through me, stilling my soul, calming my heart, refocusing my mind.
This changes everything.
Hallelujah. He has come.