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Luke 1:38 “‘I am the Lord’s servant,’ Mary answered. ‘May your word to me be fulfilled.’ Then the angel left her.”

Think

There’s a unique kind of stillness that settles over these last days before Christmas. Lights glow a little warmer. Nights feel a little quieter. Even the air seems to hold its breath. It’s a stillness filled with anticipation—not the frantic kind attached to tasks or timelines, but the holy kind that invites you to pay attention. Something is drawing near. Something worth slowing down for.

Advent isn’t a countdown to December 25. It’s a preparation of the heart. It’s the quiet work of making room for a Savior who comes gently, humbly, and often unexpectedly. These final days are part of the gift—they create space for wonder to rise again.

That’s the space Mary stood in when she spoke the words in Luke 1:38. She didn’t have a full plan. She didn’t know how Joseph would react or how her community would respond. She couldn’t predict what the next day would hold, let alone the next nine months. But she knew the One who had spoken. And her response was one of the purest pictures of faith in all of Scripture: “May your word to me be fulfilled.”

Mary wasn’t confident in her capacity. She was confident in God’s character. Her “yes” wasn’t based on understanding—it was based on trust.

These days before Christmas, invite the same posture. This is the moment to step back and ask, “Where does God want to meet me? What is he inviting me to open my hands to? What do I need to surrender so I can see him more clearly?”

The world around us is quick to fill every moment. When life gets busy, one of the first things we lose is awareness—awareness of God’s presence, God’s whispers, God’s movement. But Advent slows the pace. It creates a rhythm where you don’t have to rush past what’s sacred. Mary teaches us how to live inside that rhythm. She listens. She asks honest questions. She doesn’t pretend to be fearless, but she also doesn’t let fear lead. Her faith isn’t loud—but it’s deep.

God often works like that. Quietly. Personally. Closer than we realize. The birth of Jesus happened almost unnoticed by the world, but heaven was paying attention. The angels saw it. The shepherds heard it. Those who were watching were the ones who witnessed glory.

These final days before Christmas remind us that God still moves in ways the hurried heart will miss. He still arrives in ordinary places—in kitchens, cars, late‑night thoughts, early‑morning prayers. He still nudges, still comforts, still whispers, still leads. The question is whether we’re moving at a speed that allows us to hear him.

Maybe this year hasn’t felt particularly holy. Maybe December has been heavier than you expected. Maybe your heart feels tired, hopeful, or uncertain. Even so, this moment is an invitation. God draws near – not to those who feel impressive, but to those who are open. Mary didn’t have spiritual credentials—she had willingness. And willingness is enough for God to work with.

As Christmas approaches, consider this: the miracle didn’t happen because Mary understood everything. It happened because she made room. She said, “Yes.” She allowed God’s words to reshape her plans and reorder her expectations. She welcomed the presence of God into her everyday life, believing he would be faithful to whatever he started.

That’s Advent in its purest form. Not perfect preparation, but peaceful surrender. Not polished performance, but simple openness. Not striving to get everything right, but learning to say, “God, whatever you want, I want too.”

You’re almost there. Christmas is almost here. But these final days matter. Let them soften the hurry inside you. Let them pull you closer to Jesus. Let them reset your perspective and expand your expectancy.

Because long before the world celebrates a holiday, heaven celebrates a Person. The Savior who draws near. The God who keeps his promises. The Light who steps into every kind of darkness. And he comes gently, just as he did in Bethlehem—not demanding space, but inviting it.

Right now, the Spirit of God is preparing things you can’t yet see. He’s aligning details, working in hearts, shaping circumstances, stirring hope. Your role isn’t to understand every part of the story. It’s to stay open. Attentive. Willing. Present enough to hear when he speaks and brave enough to respond like Mary: “May your word to me be fulfilled.” The waiting is almost over. The Light is almost here. Let your heart lean in.

Apply

Find ten quiet minutes today. Sit with open hands in your lap as a physical symbol of surrender. Pray slowly: “Jesus, I’m listening. Make space in me for what you want to do.” Let openness—not urgency—shape your day.

Pray

Jesus, as Christmas approaches, help me slow my pace and open my heart. I don’t want to miss the ways you’re drawing near. Give me a spirit like Mary’s—humble, willing, expectant. Teach me to trust your word even when I don’t see the whole path. Whatever you want to do in me, I say, “Yes.” In Jesus’ name. Amen.