After the Infant is born, the story is not over. Some might say it has just begun. Yet the post Christmas slump is as heavy as the wet laundry that was forgotten in the basement while people were upstairs refilling their glasses and chucking another log on the fire. When the door whooshes shut after the last guest, ordinary life resumes and things like taking out compost and recycling refuse to be ignored any longer. 

Joseph and Mary escaped to Egypt not out of convenience, but because of immediate danger. An angel warned him in a dream that Herod would kill the Child if he could. So the small family hastened away in the shroud of night. My family traveled to the Poconos last week, but we timed our journey to transpire during the daylight. We googled the address, and packed ahead of time. I even filled the gas tank the afternoon before. 

One of the glaring features of the escape to Egypt is the silence. For a Child whose birth had drawn a cluster of shepherds, wise men and angels with all the accompanying fanfare, this retreat to another country is left to our imagination. How long were they there? Where did they live? Did their relatives have any idea where they landed? How did they find out when Herod's death meant it was safe to return? Did the Baby cry? Did He smile much? 

In church this week the minister compared the flight to Egypt with that stage in life when we need to regroup. Learn more. Improve our skills and education. Yet for a period that would by definition be dense with details, we know nothing. Considering how often we tend to glance to either side of us to reassure ourselves that we are at least in the right lane, uncertainty reigns. But then again so does an understated brand of freedom. 

Perhaps the absence of absolutes means there are many ways to grow. A myriad of viable ways to implement this vague pursuit of self improvement. 

Then when we eventually find ourselves prepared to come out of Egypt, we find sanctuary in a life that no longer tolerates hate.