Nancy Moser is the award-winning author of over twenty inspirational novels. Her genres include contemporary stories including John 3:16 and Time Lottery, and historical novels of real women-of-history including Just Jane (Jane Austen) and Washington's Lady (Martha Washington). Her newest historical novels are Masquerade and An Unlikely Suitor. Nancy and her husband Mark live in the Midwest. She’s earned a degree in architecture, traveled extensively in Europe, and has performed in numerous theaters, symphonies, and choirs. She gives Sister Circle Seminars around the country, helping women identify their gifts as they celebrate their sisterhood. She is a fan of anything antique—humans included. Find out more at www.nancymoser.com and www.sistercircles.com. and her historical blog: http://footnotesfromhistory.blogspot.com/

“Is anybody listening?”

There is, of course, no answer.

Actually, in the deep recesses of the house, I hear a faint voice. I can’t quite make out what it’s saying. I ask the question again, a little louder: “Is anybody listening?”

The voice resounds a second time with an unqualified “No!”

Cute.

Although this not-listening phenomenon is a year-round occurrence, at Christmas time, its implications are more pronounced. Or more frenzied.

I’ve got a lot to do. Too much to do. There are simply not enough days between Labor Day (isn’t that when we start to see Christmas stuff appearing in the stores?) and December 25.

Each year I vow to take it down a notch—and I’m not even a Christmas fanatic. We have only one tree, and one stocking each. The lights strung on the exterior of the house do not pose a risk to the city’s power supply (though our electric bill does catch our checkbook’s attention). Actually, some rooms in our house hold no evidence of the season. Imagine that.

The trouble is, I seem to trudge through the season alone—and nobody’s listening.

It’s not the decorations that get to me. Or the parties, scheduling conflicts, or cookies that beg to be baked—and eaten.

It’s the noise.

I’m not talking about cranking up Nat King Cole or even Mannheim Steamroller’s Christmas albums to an annoying level (Nat can never annoy). Nor with grown kids do I have to worry about the kids getting rowdy, their voices rising to an uncontrollable level as they pester us about opening presents early (it’s my husband who whines the loudest now that the kids don’t do it for him). It’s not that.

The snow falls quietly, the fireplace crackles gently, and the visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads are calm and respectful.

It’s not an outer noise that bothers me. It’s my inner noise.

I find my mind too busy with I-should-dos and had-better-hurrys that I forget to listen to the season. The reason for the season.

God must get frustrated, looking down on all this celebration that has turned increasingly off track. “Excuse me,” He might say. “I said, excuse me!” But we can’t hear Him over the din of our cluttered minds and hearts.

Finally He pushes himself into the middle of our lives and yells, “Is anybody listening?”

Do we answer? Do we respond with a cocky “No!”?

Or do we stop what we’re doing, get down on our knees, and say, “Yes, Lord. Forgive me. I’m here, and I am listening.”

Only then, when He’s finally gotten our full attention, can He tell us His wonderful news: “Behold, my son is born! Listen to Him!”

Only then, with our hearts and minds poised with reverent anticipation, can it happen . . . Shh . . . listen . . . There! Do you hear it? Do you hear Him coming?