Emmanuel isn’t just for Christmas

Emmanuel means “God with us.”

But somewhere along the way, we tucked that truth into December—

wrapped it in tinsel and lights,

sang it in choirs,

set it like a nativity on our mantels—

only to box it up again with the ornaments when the season faded.

But I can’t survive on a seasonal Savior.

I need Emmanuel in March,

when the fog rolls in and I can’t see what’s ahead. I need God with us in July,

when the heat of waiting feels like it might scorch the hope right out of me.

I need Him in the mundane Mondays,

when no angels sing and no shepherds watch.

I need Him when the nights stretch long and silent and I wonder if He still speaks.

I need Him in the heartbreaks that never make Christmas cards, in the unanswered prayers that don’t fit in a stocking.

Emmanuel.

Not just God once with us—

not just then, not just there, not just Bethlehem.

God still with us.

Here.

Now.

In this moment.

In my mess.

When I can’t feel Him,

when I don’t hear Him,

when the silence feels cruel and the ache is deep—

He is still Emmanuel.

He didn’t just visit us.

He moved in.

He stayed.

He stays.

When the cradle turned to a cross,

He didn’t walk away.

When the stone rolled back,

He didn’t ascend to forget us.

He rose to dwell with us.

In us.

Through us.

Forever.

God with us.

God in us.

God for us.

Not just on the holy night.

But in the hard mornings.

The uncertain middles.

The unending battles.

The silent years.

So I won’t wait for carols to proclaim what my soul is desperate to remember every single day:

He is Emmanuel.

And He always will be.

So stay near, Lord.

Not because You left,

but because I forget.

Remind me again.

And again.

And again.

You are God.

With me.

Right here.

Right now.

Still.

Emmanuel.