The Olive Narrative

I have been thinking about Christmas—not the dates on the calendar, not the gatherings or the plans—but the way it arrives.

Christmas can be busy. Not only in colour or movement, but in expectation. There is often a restless urgency about it: things to prepare, people to consider, moments to make meaningful. For many women, this season adds another layer to the burdens we already carry.

And yet, when I return to the story of Christ’s coming, I am always struck by its quiet majesty.

It demanded nothing of the world.

It invited presence.

This is a truth worth remembering.

Christmas Was Never Rushed

The Scriptures unfold the birth of Christ with deliberate slowness. Mary receives a message that will forever alter her life, and she meditates upon it. Elizabeth recognizes the holy and speaks her blessing. Anna waits faithfully, year after year, without spectacle or applause. The shepherds listen before they move.

No one hurries to prove anything.

God’s work that first Christmas was not loud. It was patient. It was obedient. It was deeply human. There is comfort in this. Urgency is not proof of faithfulness. And stillness, when surrendered to God, is not wasted.

The Sacred Work of Being Present

Women often carry what is unseen: the emotional weight of care, the spiritual tension of concern, the careful tending of relationships. At Christmas, all of this is intensified. We long for peace to bloom around us, and sometimes we attempt to manufacture it ourselves.

But peace cannot be produced.

It is received.

This season, I remind myself: I am not required to do more to honor Christ. I am called to remain. To be present in the ordinary spaces of the day. To breathe between tasks. To loosen my grip on perfection.

Jesus entered the world in borrowed space, amidst uncertainty, without ceremony.

And yet—peace came.

Women as Carriers of Quiet Light

Scripture shows us that women often appear at the margins, faithfully participating in God’s work without recognition, without reward. Their obedience is steady. Their faith is lived, not announced. Their trust is tested in silence.

This is far from insignificant.

God delights in work that grows unseen—in faithfulness practiced quietly, in love given without display. It reminds me that I do not need to be louder to be faithful, stronger to be useful, or flawless to be held by God. I need only to be willing.

An Olive Tree Christmas

The olive tree grows slowly. It endures harsh seasons. It produces oil used for light, for healing, for nourishment.

There is something fitting in this image. Women, too, are shaped over time. Rooted through seasons that stretch us. Bearing fruit when the time is right. Offering nourishment quietly, unseen, but no less essential.

This Christmas, I am learning to value that kind of growth—the slow, faithful, deeply rooted kind.

A Gentle Blessing for This Season

As the year draws to a close, my prayer is simple:

That Christmas would be soft.

That rest would be permitted.

That joy would arrive gently, without demand.

That peace would take up residence—in hearts, in homes, in the hidden places.

And that we would remember, once more, that Christ came not to demand our striving, but to invite our reception.

This is the quiet invitation of Christmas.

Afehyiapa oo! 💚🎉