tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35559334388502571892024-02-20T03:01:38.918-05:00 The Ragamuffin's ChristmasWelcome to the official site of author Craig Daliessio and "The Ragamuffin's Christmas"
Here you'll find a community of Christmas lovers and wonderful stories about the Advent Season.Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-24165001831058752282016-12-24T13:48:00.001-05:002016-12-24T13:48:43.835-05:00Oh Come, let us Adore Him...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is about 1pm on Christmas Eve, 2016. My daughter and I are home in Wilmington, Delaware for the weekend. She is back at the place we are staying, getting dressed for the evening while I went shopping for a few last minute items. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's the first Christmas I've had her with me in three years. Since we moved to Virginia in 2014, she uses the Christmas break to go back to Nashville to see her mom, but this year she had some school items to take care of and so she stayed here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've used this trip home to take her -for probably the final time- to the places I used to go when I was a little boy and where I used to take her when she was little and we would travel here each Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She is not a little girl anymore, and I know this. But I want her to be, at least at Christmas. I want to wake up tomorrow at dawn and see her open her presents excitedly. The truth is that she'll sleep until about ten and I'll be far more excited than she will be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I never really grew up where Christmas is concerned. I love this time of year. I find myself getting into the spirit a few days sooner each year. Breaking out the Christmas music and decorating the tree a bit earlier each year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have been very observant this year. I've noticed a difference this Holiday. I've heard far more "Merry Christmas!" greetings this year. I've seen a little more of Jesus in the decorations and in the displays. This makes me happy. Happy because, if for no other reason, the ability to say "Merry Christmas" without fear of offending someone (real or imagined) was stifling over the last eight years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But beyond that. Beyond the political backdrop and the question of First Amendment rights...there is the unrelenting truth of Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">God, became a baby, and came to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Paul told us in Philippians chapter 2, that Jesus became a "man of no reputation." He was God in the flesh and had every right to claim the power and benefits of being God. Instead -out of a heart of love- He chose to forego his right to that dominion and subjected Himself to His father's will and became human.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">God. Became human.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He was a baby. Had I wandered through bethlehem that night, and somehow walked into that dark, dirty cave, I could have held him in my arms. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I could have held God in my arms</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe he'd smile. Maybe he'd spit-up a little like babies do and I'd laugh it off like I did when my own daughter did that. Maybe I could coax a little laugh out of him and a spit bubble or two. Or maybe He'd simply sleep in my arms, his head pressed against my chest and his soft breathing keeping time with my heart.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He was God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He was God in a baby's body and He came here to die for me. He didn't come to teach great social lessons or undo the religious trends of the day. He came to die. He came to fulfill the prophecies and complete the Law and make a way for all of us "whosoevers" so that we could find ourselves at the Cross one day and accept the gift that His life bought and paid for. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The Cross is intimidating sometimes. To go there and see Jesus, writhing in death because of our sin is hard. It's a face-first, head-on-collision with a death so savage and angry that it is hard to view.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But the manger...the manger is different. The manger is silent and humble and innocent. The Baby in that dirty sheep trough is not being butchered by Roman soldiers like the man on the cross. He's poor and lowly and he's only had an audience of commoners. The shepherds nearby where the only people other than Mary and Joseph who even noticed His birth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The baby in the manger is safe for the hurting heart of man. He offers love. He softens hard hearts. He declares: "On earth, Peace! Good will toward men." He tells us "My Father has made a way back for you. A way back to Him. A way that forgives all the sin, all the failure, the secrets, the dark days. He has decided to pay the tab on your behalf if you'll accept it, and the whole plan starts tonight. That's why I'm here!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus brings us the promise of peace. And He delivers on that promise as soon as we open our hearts and accept the offer. In that moment where we confess "I am lost. I have failed. I want to turn toward You and do it Your way. I accept this gift." In that moment, the promise is kept. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is not intimidating or frightening. Babies never are those things.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you are wandering this world tonight, lost and trying to figure out how to get home, or If you have led everyone to believe that you have it all together but inside you know you don't. If you have tripped and fallen and you're embarrassed by the dirt on your clothes and the mess you've made...this baby came for you.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Hear him in the midst of all this chaos and turmoil. Hear Him gently calling over the screeching cackle of the commercials and sales pitches. He loves you. He beckons you, come as you are. To a cave in Bethlehem, where the journey to the Cross begins for Him and for you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Tonight, the night of gift giving, is the best night of all to accept the greatest gift ever given.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Come as you are.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Merry Christmas </span></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-55205544638359894482016-12-21T05:23:00.000-05:002016-12-21T05:23:19.959-05:00Advent Day 24: Epiphany. Why are you here?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 110%; margin-bottom: 3.45pt; margin-left: 11.8pt; margin-right: 21.75pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 110%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jesus said:</span></i><span style="line-height: 110%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Today is
salvation day in this home!</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Here he
is, Zacchaeus, son of Abraham! For the Son of Man came to find and restore the
lost."<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 110%; margin-bottom: 3.45pt; margin-left: 11.8pt; margin-right: 21.75pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 5.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Georgia; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; mso-hansi-font-family: Georgia; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It is almost </span><span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">December 24th. Christmas Eve. If you have read all the
way through this book since December first, then you know the mystery by now. Somehow,
through some the plan of God alone, we have been witness -you and I- to 23
differing characters in a head-on collision with the infant baby son of God.
Some of them were easy to watch, because they were people who had walked with
this infant-King all their lives and were here to simply celebrate and worship
and give Him their love and thanks. Others were painful, like the wandering
lost outside the cave who could not find their way to this child and who
desperately needed to be led here before it is too late. Some were stubbornly
holding on to their own beliefs that they had their lives figured out and they
didn’t need to kneel in the muddy straw and let this baby touch them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For some it was too late, like those denied access
outside the cave because they had failed to recognize this child in their time
on earth and now they sought a second audience that they would never receive,
but would pursue throughout eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For some, like me and my
friend Kelly, and others, this night represented something new and different.
We are those who have known this baby but who had fallen victim to the failed
teaching of strict legalists and we had grown fearful of this child’s Father.
God knew this and allowed<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Himself to come to us in the
form of His beautiful little son, Jesus, a baby we could touch and hold and
coddle and comfort. A baby who would do in our hearts what all babies do…make
us smile and tear down our walls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 5.9pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For me and my friend Kelly he represented a bridge between
the image we had of God our Father and the real Father that God is. Jesus
called to me from my fear and self-loathing and self-punishment, and He said,
“I love you so much, that I decided to come as a baby. Nobody is afraid of a
baby. Come and touch me…come and hold me and let me touch you. I have missed
you and I want you to come home. Let’s start the journey here in this cave…come
and hold me, I love you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 11.15pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">His call went out as he walked this earth; “Come and
be my friend, all you who are so very tired from working so hard and carrying
such heavy burdens, because I will give you rest. The work I do is easy and the
burden I bear is light. Put down the heavy suitcase that you keep shifting from
one hand to the other...it's too heavy. Put it down and hold me instead...I'm
just a baby...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 10.65pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For others, like Andre Deputy, Jesus meant the final
step of restoration and redemption, as he found the very people whose lives he
had ended had come to worship this child with him. Andre and the Smiths, a
murderer, his victims and Jesus all in the same frame of time. That can only
happen through a God who chooses to forgive what others cannot even choose to
stop whispering about. Only a baby could reduce a murderer to tears of
repentance, change his life forever, impact an entire prison, and then reunite
him with his victims in worship…only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this
</i>baby could do that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Only this child could so impact a Roman soldier that
he would leave his post, drop his armor, and risk his own life just to say
thank you and to worship the God who He watched give over his son to death on
that terrible Friday afternoon. Only this baby could move that gruff and gritty
man to tears of joy and redemption and only the innocence of that baby could
remove bloodstains of guilt that no soap on earth could wash.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus is the only person who could have filled the
tremendous empty hole in the soul of my friend Kelly, and who could have
offered her forgiveness and peace for one horrifying decision that was forced
on her. Only Jesus could begin the journey of redemption and restoration and
forgiveness. Only this child could convince her that His Father was not angry
with her…but that He loved her so much that he took on a form she could never
fear and could not resist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Only Jesus can remove all the manmade falsehoods
regarding God and anger, and judgment, and punishment. Only Jesus can teach us
what God’s grace is really like, how far it would reach to rescue us, and how
much God longs to touch us. Only Jesus can be touched by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anyone </i>without fear or regret. Babies have no memories. Babies
don’t care anything at all about our failures or shortcomings. Babies just want
to give and receive love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 8.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is the final night of advent. Tomorrow we begin the
celebration of Epiphany …Christ’s arrival. But tonight…tonight is the last
night of His coming. And He has come here to this cave, this hovel of rock and
straw and mud, for you. He chose this method, this place, these surroundings,
and this moment…because of you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 11.0pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Everything in the plan of redemption points to this
moment in time, and to this place where nobody would ever think to look for a
savior. That was His plan. He didn’t want you intimidated or frightened. He
didn’t want you to come into a throne room, or a courtroom for your first
encounter -or first encounter in a long time- with God in human form. He wanted
to make this as easy as it could be. So easy you might not even realize at
first that this was God himself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He wanted you at ease, comfortable, free from all the
things you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thought you knew </i>about
Him, and free to just feel free to touch Him. Because babies are at their best
when we touch and hold them…because then they can touch our souls in return.
You already know He would die for you…everyone knows that, and if you are here
at this manger tonight you have at least some working knowledge of why He came.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But perhaps the only thing more amazing than Him dying
for you, is that He would come for you in the first place. He traded a kingdom
for this place. He left Heaven for this cave, this manger, this poverty. Why?
Because this place…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this is where you were</i>.
You, and I, and all of us have long ago lost our way to Him. Some of us have
never experienced Him before and we don’t know how to get here…or what to do
with Him once we realize can hold Him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Others of us -like me- grew up with His story on our
lips. But somewhere over the years, we fell down, got dirty, worked up a whole
history of our very own, became ashamed of what we’d done and who we became,
and we forgot that this baby ever loved us. Somehow we thought that this tiny
baby, this precious son of God, ever cared about the stupid things we do to
ourselves as we stumble through this life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Somehow we decided that an infant can be harsh, that
He can judge, that He can refuse our overtures of love, that he can <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reject us</i>. It’s preposterous but we fall
for it all the time. “Jesus could never forgive this…” we tell ourselves.
“Jesus would never take me back after I did…” The truth is that perhaps the
only thing that would make this child cry, is us staying away from Him because
we think things like that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 4.85pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">David was an adulterer and a
murderer…and God said he was “the apple of my eye” and referred to Him as “a
man after my own heart.” I don’t know what sin you might be lugging into this
cave tonight but this tiny baby has already loved a murdering adulterer so much
that he used cute little terms of affection. I am sure I speak for Jesus when I
tell you… “Come on, He doesn’t care what you’ve done.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Does He just ignore sin? Does sin not even matter? No
of course not. Sin can’t remain in the presence of a Holy God. But sin doesn’t
make God angry at us. Sin makes Him angry at sin. The way a mother hates polio
after it has stricken her child. God understands that the real punishment for
our sin is the distance it creates between Him and us. He has no desire to add
anything to that. Like the father of the prodigal son, He stands ready each
day, looking for the slightest sign of your silhouette on the horizon, ready to
run and bring you home. Just like that father did, there are no words of anger,
no mocking ridicule, no rubbing your nose in the theological garbage you have
stepped in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 5.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No, there are only tears of joy from a Father who has missed
you so very much and who long ago forgot what it was you even did to drift
away. He only noticed that you weren’t there, not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why </i>you weren’t there. What you did was laid on Jesus’ back at
Calvary. Even what you did after you became His child. All He knows is that
you’ve been gone a long time and He wants you home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So now you are here, on Christmas Eve, face-to-face
with the infant “Man of No Reputation,” and Jesus is reaching a tiny hand out
to you and he is wanting to be held…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in
your arms</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like Andre Deputy, maybe you have a gift fashioned
from the remnants of your failed life. Like my friend Kelly, maybe you need to
bring something intended for someone else and let this child comfort raw and
aching wounds. Like the Roman soldier, maybe you need to finally be washed clean.
Like me…maybe you need to see how the Father really feels about you, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">by feeling how the Son feels in your arms</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Whatever it is you need from this moment…you are here.
This is your head-on-collision with God in the flesh. You are caught off-guard
for a reason…because reasoning and intellect have no bearing to a baby just
hours old. You don’t need to outwit Him, out-think Him, or out-maneuver Him.
You just need to reach down into the little feed trough, touch the baby
Jesus…and be touched. Ask Him to reveal Himself to you right now<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i>You need a Savior, we all do. Jesus
was born in this cave and in the Christmas Season it’s easiest to think of Him
as a baby. But He also came to be the brutalized figure hanging on the cross.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This little baby that we celebrate at Christmas grew
into the man we see writhing on the cross on Good Friday. He did this for you.
For your sin. For mine. Now is your moment. Now is your chance to accept the
gift he offers you and give Him a gift this Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="line-height: 108%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Ask Him into your heart…</span></i><span style="line-height: 108%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">…and join the shipwrecked at the stable, and those who
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Life comes down to one thing…how will you
answer He who knows how to ask the great questions?” -Brennan Manning</span></blockquote>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Hear what God says: When the time came for
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helped you. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-indent: -0.5pt;">--The Apostle Paul (II Cor 6:2)</span></blockquote>
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</style>Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-80722543372628150022016-12-19T06:23:00.000-05:002016-12-19T06:23:53.277-05:00Advent Day 23: Home<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 108%; margin: 0in 10.9pt 30.8pt 6.95pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -0.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“…Everyone had to travel to his own
ancestral hometown to be accounted for. So Joseph went from the Galilean town
of Nazareth up to Bethlehem in Judah, David's town, for the census.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As a descendant of David, he had to
go there…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 10.75pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 11.05pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">T</span></b>he night sky was almost
purple and the stars were about as visible as I remember ever seeing them here.
Back in Tennessee, when I lived in the country I would go out on clear winter
nights and I could easily see the Milky Way. But here, 12 miles south of
Philadelphia, you don’t normally see this many stars at night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was looking skyward for a long time and thinking
about how, when I was a boy, I would always look for the Christmas star as the
holiday drew nearer. I never understood that the star was an anomaly and that
God had done that on purpose to guide folks to His son. I thought it came with
the tinsel and the tree ornaments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Tonight as I gazed skyward, from the small deck next
to the apartment, I was caught up in those memories. Home was a long way away
on this night. Even though I was home at the time. Since my divorce in 1999, I
alternate Christmas holidays with my daughter’s mom and so I only see Morgan
every other Christmas. And this was not my year with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Christmas rarely has felt normal for me since the
divorce. I am very much a traditionalist at Christmas and being an intact
family really mattered to me. It still does and I hold out hope that one day I
will be part of a family again. I still have a lot of Christmas left in my
soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This night though, I was lost in thought about this
season. All that it used to mean and which of those things still remain now
that adulthood has taken over and life has taken her best shot. What is it
about Christmas that I miss the most? What were the things that made it such a
favorite holiday?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 0.0001pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The easy answer, I supposes,
would be the Christmas presents. That’s the part that every child loves, (and
most adults if we’re honest). But there was always so much more to this season
than just unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning. As I sat there in the little
plastic chair on my rooftop deck, wrapped in a blanket against the December
chill, it was that which I longed for. Those memories and that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feeling</i>…that thing in your heart that
started feeling really great around Thanksgiving and built to a crescendo until
December 25 and came in for a soft landing at New<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0in 18.7pt 10.7pt 0.1in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Some of the answers were easy. Christmas was the one
time when there was any sort of prolonged peace in my house. Everyone got along
for the entire month of December. It was about the only time we did anything as
a family. We put up the tree, decorated the house. One tradition we had when I
was very young was going to Philadelphia by train the day after Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 11.25pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Every “Black Friday” my mother, my brother, my Aunt and
Cousin and my grandmother would board the train in Ridley Park. We rode the 15
miles or so to Suburban Station on the North side of City Hall on Broad Street.
Then we’d walk down to the Wannamaker’s Store on Broad and see the wonderful
light display with a spine tingling narration by the great John Facenda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s old and outdated not but it still operates during
the season and families still bring their kids there to feel the same magic we
felt and our parents and grandparents before them felt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When we were kids, there was a wonderful monorail
that circled the toy department of Wannamaker’s. The toy department was that
big. Your parents would put you on the monorail and you would be up there at
ceiling height, circling aisle after aisle of toys while they went and did some
secret shopping. Then they’d get you and take you to get your picture taken
with Santa and you’d walk around the toy department for hours wanting
everything you saw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We’d walk down the block to Gimbels and see their
walk-through Christmas land display and by 6 p.m. we were exhausted and our
heads were spinning from trying to process so much Christmas magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sometime in early November the “Sears’ Christmas Wish
Book” would arrive by mail and my brother and sister and I would take turns
going through it and writing our initials next to what we hoped Santa would
bring us. For me it was GI Joes, slot cars, and sports equipment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Christmas Eve would find us usually at my grandmother
house in Philadelphia. My grandfather would usually be dressed in a sweater and
looking his best and smelling like Aqua Velva. My grandmother would be teary
eyed when we walked in the door. She was a Christmas lover too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 9.4pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In later years we moved the Christmas Eve party to our house
in Wilmington. Open house, come as you are, and stay as long as you want.
People would come and go throughout the evening. I would usually sneak off for
a few hours to visit with some other families who also had Christmas Eve
parties. Christmas Eve wasn’t Christmas Eve unless I saw the Winward’s for a
while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There was almost a hint of sadness to the night. Deep
inside I knew that in a day, or two or a week, the world would go right back to
what it was for the other eleven months of the year. We wouldn’t be getting
along nearly as well, we’d hardly do much of anything together, and life would
just roll on. But for this one night, there was a palpable magic in the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 5.15pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As I got older, got married, divorced and settled into
adulthood, I found myself missing those Christmas Eve gatherings more and more.
When I was introduced to most of my father’s family about four years ago, I was
invited to the Christmas Eve (Festa Dei Sette Pesci) Feast of Seven Fishes.
Nobody eats for the holidays like an Italian and my family does it best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The first one I ever attended was the best. I was
sitting with cousins I had only recently met and with my Uncle Fran and it felt
like I was part of something I’d been yearning for my whole life. It was as if
a hole had begun to fill in my soul somewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That is the yearning I felt this night. I was missing
all that had gone before and all that might still be. There is something about
my hometown at Christmas. Philadelphia really gets it right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 0.0001pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There is a wonderful tradition of
music. WMMR is the leading AOR station in the city and at Christmas they really
caught the spirit. I remember wonderful songs like Bowie and Bing singing
“Little Drummer Boy and “Peace on<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Earth”. Or The Waitresses “Christmas
Wrapping.” “Run Run Rudolph” by Chuck Berry. But I always knew it was
officially Christmas when two songs played. When I first heard Bruce
Springsteen’s raspy intro, “It’s all cold down along the beach…and the winds
whippin’ down the boardwalk…” Nobody does “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” like
The Boss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And the most poignant and emotional moment for me
would always come when Pierre Robert, MMR’s midday jock, would play the only
known version of Allan Mann’s amazing “Christmas on The Block.” The first time
he played that song and told the story of the blind couple portrayed in the
lyrics, I wept openly. It moves me like nothing else. Because it so perfectly
captures the truth that Christmas is what you see in your heart about the
holiday…not what the world shows us in decorations or newspaper advertisements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Memories were flooding my heart now. The houses along
Boathouse Row, Christmas caroling on my street, climbing up on the rooftop with
sleigh bells so Morgan would think Santa had arrived, the lights at Longwood
Gardens, the massive pipe organ at Wannamaker’s, cookie trays from Termini
Brothers bakery. There were things about this holiday that marked my soul and I
was missing them badly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Little things that you don’t think about until you miss
them and need them. The way a Salvation Army band sounds on a street corner. Or
the way the bell sounds when you have dropped a few dollars in change into the
kettle. The way little kids sing their songs at their Christmas programs…off
key and staccato but precious and beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 8.15pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For me, towering above all the Christmas memories was
always one. It’s that moment during <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A
Charlie Brown Christmas </i>when Charlie Brown senses he has lost his cast and
they aren’t listening to him as director of the Christmas Pageant and he is
feeling his mounting disillusion with Christmas (ever the amazing introspective
nine year old) and he cries out in frustration “Isn’t there anyone…who knows
the real meaning of Christmas?”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: center; text-indent: 5.05pt;">The answer comes from his best friend Linus. “Sure Charlie
Brown,” Linus says, “I can tell you the true meaning of Christmas.” And then he
walks to center stage asks for a spotlight, and quotes line by line the
Nativity story from the book of Matthew. Every year that plays out on national
TV and every year…even at 49…I will get tears in my eyes and I will
know…Christmas has arrived on schedule. And just in time.</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin: 0in 8.15pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large; text-align: center; text-indent: 5.05pt;">"Where we love, is home. Home; that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." -Oliver Wendell Holmes</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 148%; margin: 0in 12.1pt 157.75pt 0.1in; text-align: center; text-indent: 5.05pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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</style>Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-20765578656135493522016-12-19T06:12:00.000-05:002016-12-19T06:12:19.257-05:00Advent Day 22: The Fisherman<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes, Master, you know I love you."</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Blackadder ITC";">T</span>he smell of snow is in the air today. For the first
time since I was a baby, the Delaware Valley has a serious chance for a white
Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I glance at yesterday’s open door
and see the pile of armor and weapons left outside the cave. Yesterday’s advent
was special. Today I open the little door and there is a scene that I was not
expecting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A man lies on the ground in front
of the cave. He is unconscious and bleeding from his head. Mary and Joseph are
trying to stop the bleeding and wake him up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hand Mary a scrap of cloth and
ask what happened. “He was in such a hurry to come in and see Him, that he
didn't bow low enough and he hit his head on the ledge. He is a very impulsive
man and this isn't unusual for him." Joseph snickers and grins, "Mary
is being kind right now..." Joseph laughs, "This man is pretty
reckless and uncouth. I am surprised he has lived this long."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man stirs and sits up slowly.
He seems familiar but I haven't placed him yet. Joseph looks at me and before
he opens his mouth, I tell him, No...let me try to figure it out first."
Joseph laughs at this and says, "It will come to you quickly!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man is embarrassed by his
accident and fumbling for words. I'm sorry. I was in a hurry...and he is here
and I need to see Him. I didn't duck and...He is here! I need to see Him
now!" The man's words are scatter-shot and almost nonsensical. Probably
because he is in such a hurry and filled with such passion for this child. That
passion marks his every move it seems.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He bows and enters the cave,
almost ignoring Joseph and Mary. He crawls through the muddy straw on the floor
with no regard for the stains it leaves in his clothing. His love for the child
is genuine, that was for sure, he was crying before he even got near the
manger. He doesn't ask anyone, he instantly reaches into the crib and lifts
Jesus in his arms. Jesus isn't startled, but appears mildly annoyed with this
impulsive man. Still...there is love abounding in the baby's eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man cradles the boy and smiles.
“There you are...there you are my Lord!" he says, in a voice much louder
than he realizes. This is not a man prone to whispering and it is a skill he
hasn't quite mastered. The man begins telling the baby about things that are
happening in his life. Churches he has helped to start, people he has
introduced to the Savior, hardships he has endured. After a lengthy recitation
of his deeds, the man grows quiet. Quiet and thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is a long silence after such a
tremendous outpouring and it reminds me that within all of us there are caverns
and sections of our heart which hold deep truth and amazing perspective. If I
would judge this man on the first five minutes that I have seen here, I would
have been sadly mistaken and missed the best part of his soul. The man is
smiling now...and silent. His eyes fill with tears and he seems very happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"What times we had..,
especially in those early days" he says to the baby, "That day I met
you, and I was mending nets and my clothes smelled like bait! You were still so
respectful of me and so kind..." With that I realize who he is. He is
Peter. Peter the impulsive disciple. Peter continues, "That wedding
feast...that was fun. That was before the spotlight was on you and we had a
good time as friends enjoying each other’s company. The blind man...when you
spit on the ground and put mud on his eyes..!" Peter bellows at this one,
“Those Pharisees were so baffled! Mud! That was great!" I thought Peter's
loud boisterous laughter would startle the baby, but he smiled and let out a
little coo. I guess he was laughing along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Peter grew sullen again...and
sad. He looked Jesus in the eyes for a long and quiet few moments. “I still get
embarrassed about jumping out of that boat, and for wanting to build the
tabernacles for Elijah and Moses and You. Sometimes I should keep my mouth
shut." Before those words have echoed off the cave walls, Peter clutches
Jesus to his neck and whispers, "I am so sorry about that night...with
those soldiers and that servant girl. I was scared, I was confused. They were
hurting you and I couldn't make them stop and I got angry."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Peter is trying to avoid tears as
he continues, "Before I knew it, I was denying You. It was like the words
just shot out of me..." I am transfixed at this scene and don't realize<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Joseph coming over to me.
"Go to him," Joseph says, "What!" I ask, quite baffled, “I
thought I couldn't interfere..." "This one is different, I
think," Joseph answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am mystified...approaching a
disciple...a church father. I pause a long time and finally I hear Peter say,
"Come here son, I want to see you". I am stunned. I love this man. I
find so much of myself in him. He is reckless, impulsive, outgoing, boisterous,
bold, brash, and intelligent. He is fearless and fearful at once. He has let
his heart overrule his senses and the result has shot out of his mouth on many
occasions. Yet he loved Jesus so fiercely that when the time came and he was to
be crucified, he asked that they do it in a different fashion because he didn’t
feel worthy to die in the same manner as his Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He could have been my father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I approach the patriarch of my
faith with trepidation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peter</i>. I kneel next to him and he pauses a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Finally he speaks,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"See how loving He is?" </i>Peter speaks to me<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, "That has never changed. I jumped out
of a boat and then nearly drowned. I interrupted a miracle on the mountain top
with my own desire to do something great for Him that wasn't necessary. I
chopped off a young kid’s ear in a flight of rage. I betrayed Him in front of
God and men on the night He needed my friendship the most." </i>Peter
pauses here and chokes back tears. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"...and
all He ever did was love me anyway and practically beg me to take care of his
children for Him. ‘Feed my lambs' He said to me on the beach that day.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">None of my failures or frailties mattered to Him. Just my love and my
willingness.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That's what He wants from you too, son. You and I have the same
personality. You love Him fiercely...you love everyone fiercely if you love
them at all. That can get you into trouble sometimes but it can also be the
most wonderful love there is. You can't give away love if you are holding some
of it back. That includes your love for Him. You can't measure it out and you
can't do it in any other way except that way He created you to. Love Him your
way. Let Him love you! Be who He created you to be with no apologies! You are
not obligated to perfection any more than anyone else is and nobody has the
right to throw that yoke of bondage on you. My friends were a ragtag bunch, but
they never threw my denial of Him in my face. They understood that he is
shaping me every day of my life and today's story is not who I am...it's just
who I am today.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Remember that."</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">With that, Peter handed Jesus to
me and crawled out of the cave without looking back. Mary came over and took
Jesus from my arms and placed Him in the manger. Joseph smiled and said, “Peter
looked very happy as he left..."</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-58311250854499968352016-12-17T09:07:00.002-05:002016-12-17T09:07:58.797-05:00Advent Day 21: Angry Young Man<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 38.65pt; margin-left: 6.95pt; margin-right: 10.9pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.5pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“For God is not willing that any should
perish, but that all should come to Jesus”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Blackadder ITC";">T</span></b>he
little leather door on the advent calendar was a bit sticky as I tried to peel
it open.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
I
don’t know if it was always like this or if maybe the humid heat from the
radiators in the house made it swell a bit. But for whatever reason it was
sticky and difficult.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I pried on it with my jagged fingernail, (I have been a chewer since I
was four years old) and finally it swung out. It was getting late and I was
tired, and for whatever reason I didn’t pay much attention to the picture
behind the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Just
a moon and a star, or a couple of stars. I thought “Hmmm…Silent Night, Holy
Night<u style="text-underline: blue;"><span style="color: blue;">, </span></u>and
to be honest, I wrestled with a twinge of disappointment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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become a real adventure for me and opening the doors was as much an anticipated
move as the story they told. But this door held no noticeable surprise and it
wasn’t long before I felt my eyes growing heavy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was awakened
with a start by a dark-complected young man who was poking me gently on my
forearm. I rubbed my eyes and it took me a second to get my bearings. By now,
being in this cave was no longer a surprise. The intrigue always came when I
met the latest guest. And I was being introduced to a new one this very moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“My name is Frank”, he said, “Can you help me…I am lost” I instantly
recognized an accent. “Frank?” I asked, wiping sleep from my eyes, “Where are
you from, Frank?” The young man looked the tiniest bit startled, but then
quickly controlled his surprise, as if he was accustomed to hiding his
emotions. “I…I am from a place you’ve never heard of. A tiny town in the Anbar
province of Iraq.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 5.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
Frank
was fidgety and repeated his initial question, this time more earnestly,
“Please sir, I am lost. Can you help me?” Something in his urgency tore through
a veil in my heart and I felt like he was my own son and he was trying to find
his way back home. “Certainly I can, Farouk…” I said. I don’t know why I called
him that. Maybe it was some prompting of the Spirit of God, maybe just a bit of
intuition. For whatever reason, it took him totally by surprise. He looked at
me a long time and the slightest look of fear came across his dark features.
“How did you know…?” he stammered. I smiled and answered,” One of my best
friends is Persian. His name is Mohammad but he goes by Mark in order to fit in
better. I know a couple of “Franks” and they are all named “Farouk” so I took a
guess.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 7.4pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank was relieved,
then he was almost childlike when he asked me; “You have Arab friends and
Persian friends?” “Sure!” I responded “In fact Mark is so dear to me that my
daughter calls him “Uncle Mark,” even though we are not related, he is one of
my dearest friends on Earth.” Frank looked startled but a smile began to slowly
awaken. Quickly his looked turned to puzzlement, “But…you are Christian, are
you not?” “Of course, I am<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">” </i>I
replied, “but I have many friends who are not.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank seemed to
linger on this point for a split second, and then he snapped to attention as if
hearing an internal command. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i>I am
lost,” he said, this time more slowly and with an almost desperate plea to his
words. “I don’t know how I got here…I was on my way…” Frank trailed off and
grew thoughtful. A frown displaced his calm and for a minute he seemed
irritated. He looked around the cave, toward Mary and Joseph and the sleeping
child in the dirty manger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I noticed a tiny bead of sweat on his brow even though it was a
bitterly cold night and even in the shelter of the cave it was cold. His hands
trembled a bit and he reached out to me again, quite suddenly. “Come!” he said,
“Come outside with me please!” I was shocked, “But Frank, it’s freezing out
there, we should stay here...” “No!” he said…this time very insistent, and with
urgency that could not be mistaken. “I need to talk with you…but outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.6pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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My heart was
pierced. There was full fledged anguish in his voice and his hand shook just a
tiny bit more. “Okay, let me grab my jacket…” I threw on my coat and crawled
out the tiny door after Frank. The night air stole my breath and my hands
instantly ached. “Frank, please, let’s go inside...” Frank turned toward me and
waved his hand at eye level. “Please,” he said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“</i>Please stay here with me. I need to talk to you. I need to find my
way. I’m lost, and I…I am afraid.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I don’t know
where the tears came from but they came. Frank was only barely misty-eyed but
my heart had somehow caught his urgent cry full-force and it shattered my
fraudulent machismo with a single blow. I reached out and put a hand on his
shoulder and gripped it tightly. “Okay Frank, I’m here and here I’ll stay. Now
what’s wrong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 12.4pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Again Frank
restated the thing he’d been saying since he arrived, “I’m lost…can you please
help me?” “Of course,” I said, “Sure, I…I’d be glad to help you Frank, Just
tell me where it is you are trying to get to?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
This question
raked Frank’s heart like coals. He stumbled, he glared, and then after a long
time his lip quivered almost imperceptibly. He began his slowed, pained answer.
“I was heading into town…into Jerusalem<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">,</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
I
was going to town to see a movie. I grabbed my coat and my backpack…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I froze. I gasped and I
swallowed hard only to discover a sand-dry mouth. I did not even try to form
the words I was thinking. I was virtually detached form my body. No sound would
escape.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 10.1pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.3pt;">
Before
I could regain my composure and ask the obvious “What?” Farouk swung a backpack
off his shoulder and set it down in front of me. My thoughts were cloudy. I
felt like the scene in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saving Private
Ryan </i>when Captain Miller gets knocked silly from the explosions on the
beach and his hearing gets fuzzy and his movements slow down and become
staggered and difficult… “Funny,” I thought, “I never even noticed he was
carrying a backpack. And now I am going to be killed by it…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Maybe Frank
knew my thoughts. Or maybe he was just worried that he’d scared me more than my
face showed. Whatever the reason, he spoke slowly and said “First I couldn’t
find my way to the theater and then…I wandered around looking for my cousin and
I couldn’t find him so I started for home. I let out a slow, silent breath. I didn’t
speak but did manage a smile. Frank continued;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
“I
was so weary from wandering around that I sat down about a mile from here and I
guess I fell asleep, and that’s when it happened.” “What happened Frank?” I
asked in a hoarse whisper, my throat barely relaxed from the fear that gripped
it only moments before “What…tell me”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank drew a breath and the moonlight caught his face. It occurred to
me how young he really was. I was guessing he was maybe 18 or 19…caught between
a man and a boy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
He could be my son. Frank looked at me solemnly and
said “The dream came again.” His face was that of mild fear and incredible
questioning. I knew instantly that this dream had troubled him. “What dream,
Frank?” I whispered, my anxiety now at least a bit assuaged. “The dream of the
man on the horse. He has come to me in my dreams for eight nights now. Tonight
it was different, but he came as he had done seven nights before. The dream
lead me here, but I don’t know where this is…” Frank’s voice trailed off in
urgency “I must find him!” he said impatiently,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.6pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
“Please…please
help me!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 12.3pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“Okay, Frank, I
will do what I can. Why don’t you tell me about this dream, maybe that’s why
you are here in this place?” Frank seemed to relax a bit at my offer and he
began to convey his story to me… “Eight nights ago I was in my home in Anbar. I
have been restless. Restless because I have been angry and upset. My brother
Tewfik was killed in the war. He was playing in the fields with some other boys
and he exploded a bomb that was left by the fighters…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 10.65pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank began to
sob. It was barely perceptible under the heavy coat he was wearing but I could
tell. His voice broke as he continued, “Tewfik was only 6. He was just a baby.
We never found enough of him to even properly say goodbye. It was horrible. The
other boys were badly injured, some of them so badly that maybe death would
have been better…” My family could not bear with the pain of living in our home
anymore after losing Tewfik, so we crossed through Syria and came here. We live
outside of town with my cousins. Sometimes I miss our home, and sometimes,
often, I am very angry at what happened to my brother. But it makes me think
about what happens after…after we die.” He continued...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
“Since
I was a little boy I wondered about what happens after this life. I have seen
many people die but nobody told me what became of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Allah
is hard to please…I need to be sure. I fear the scales won’t favor me. I wish I
could be sure…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank seemed to
drift from this point for a moment. Then he looked up at me and continued;
“Eight days ago I went back into Syria to look for work.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“The first day I was in Syria I had the first dream. I was in the great
desert and off in the distance I saw a man on a beautiful horse riding at me. I
thought he was going to run me over he was riding so fast and he was looking in
the distance beyond me. The first dream…he stopped about a stones throw from me
and said nothing. He just stared at me. I felt like I knew him but I wasn’t
sure. Then he stood in his saddle and said “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Come
find me!</i>” His voice sounded like thunder…so much so that I fell down. When
I looked up he was gone.” Frank paused and drew a breath. I was awestruck. I
was hanging on Frank’s words so heavily that I didn’t realize he wasn’t going
to continue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“Wow!” I said, “Frank
what happened…this was the first night, yes? What came next?” Frank smiled a
tiny smile, perhaps happy that an older man was listening to him. “The next
night I had the exact same dream again, and again, the night after that. Each
night he came closer than the last. Each night his voice was louder when he
said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Come find me!” </i>and each night I
woke up in a sweat and angry that I didn’t know who he was or where I was to
find him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 12.45pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank took a sip
from a water bottle he had with him. He looked into the night sky and drew a
long breath. I somehow knew he was going to continue without my prompting so I
didn’t disturb him with so much as a sound. He cleared his throat and resumed
his story; “Two nights ago he came charging at me again in my sleep. Only this
time he was dressed differently he had a crown and he wore a sash on across his
chest that said words I could not understand. He rode right up to me and
stopped. I was so afraid! His horse was brilliant white and he reared up on his
hind legs and the man opened his mouth and when I thought I would hear his
booming voice once more, he simply smiled…and he said it again; “Come find me”
…only this time he whispered it softly, and he had tears in his eyes. He
reached down and handed me a book and touched my face. I blinked and he was
gone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
My heart leapt
inside my chest. It was better than any suspense story I had ever read. I
didn’t want to speak at all but I had questions. “Frank…this was two nights
ago, you said. So he appeared again?” I asked. Frank looked at me with a look
that ranged from happy to confused to bewildered. “Yes” he said softly. “Yes he
came to me tonight. I was walking to Jerusalem and I saw a star in the sky. A
star I had never seen before. It was beautiful and it seemed so low in the horizon
that it seemed as if it was near the ground. I guess I wandered off the road
because of the distraction and I sat down to check my map and call my cousin.
But my cell phone had no signal out here and I had no flashlight to read the
map by.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank looked
off in the distance for just a minute, as if he was reliving the next events
again. “Then I guess I fell asleep. I don’t think I was asleep long, but I had
the dream again. The man was a long way off again and he looked different. He
was riding fast, but not as fast as before and the horse was different too. He
was brown, not white like the other seven nights. As he got closer I saw that
this wasn’t the same man at all. I fell to my face and was afraid to look up
because of the rider!” Frank’s voice grew to an excited tone. He was trembling.
“Who was it, Frank? The rider…he was different this time, who was he?” I asked<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank swallowed
hard and his eyes grew large, “Abraham!” he whispered. It was father Abraham
and he was holding a baby. He spoke to me by name. Abraham called my name!”
Frank was so excited now that it was as if the rider was here with us. He
continued; “He said to me “Farouk…look up my son! So I looked up at him and he
was smiling. He held the baby out so I could see him, then he said to me “Come
find Him. Find the child…” and just like that he was gone. I woke up and I was
outside this cave…and I came in and found you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 11.6pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .2in;">
I
waited a long time before speaking. I was trying to digest this all at once and
it was a lot. I felt in my heart I knew the characters in the dream but I was
wondering how to talk to Farouk about them. What if he asked me questions I
didn’t have answers for? Would I end up making his situation worse? I was
silent for a long few minutes. Finally I asked him; “Frank you said the man in
the first dreams gave you a book…what book?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank
seemed startled…like he’d forgotten that part. He reached for his backpack and
drew out a black book…a<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.6pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Bible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 11.1pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“This is the book
the man on the horse gave me…he gave it to me the night he drew close to me and
touched my face.” Frank handed me the book. “Have you read any of it?” I asked.
Frank looked down in sadness. When he raised his eyes again to me he had tears
in them. “No…I cannot read. No one I know can read except the Imams and my cousin.
I have no way of knowing what this book says and yet the man on the horse gave
it to me to read…” “Wait! I said, interrupting Frank mid-sentence, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This </i>is the book the man in your dream
gave you? This very book?” Frank looked a bit embarrassed when he said “Yes…the
night I dreamed that he handed this book to me, I awoke and it was in my hand.
I was sleeping in an abandoned hut on a farm in Syria. There was no one for
miles around…yet when I woke up this book was in my hands. I had to believe it
was a Holy book somehow. If only I could read it…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank suddenly
grew very animated and put his hand on my shoulder, “Please sir! You can read
it to me. I know enough to recognize English writing…it’s English. Please
sir…does this book tell of the baby, or the man in my dreams? Can this book
help me find him?” Frank was desperate. I made no effort to hide my tears. I
was 49 years old and had never even considered that a man on this planet could
hold a bible in his hand and not know who or what it was about…the thought
simply never occurred to me. Frank could not comprehend my tears but he was
patient while I cried them. “Yes Farouk…I will read to you from this book.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
I don’t know how long I read. Hours, maybe. Time seemed to stand still
but I hardly noticed either way. I read to Farouk about Abraham and Ishmael and
explained the link between his people and that story. I read of Nebuchadnezzar
his great forefather. I read of Abraham’s lineage, through Isaac, Jacob, to
David…and through to Jesus. Frank bristled at this a bit. “Jesus was a prophet,
we know this. But you are saying he was more? This is not true!” I explained to
Frank that if Jesus was a prophet, as he said, then he was also truly the Son
of God. Frank looked at me in disbelief “But that is not true!” “It is true
Frank” I replied, “Jesus claimed to be the Son of God. If your Koran says he
was a prophet and also says that a Prophet cannot lie, then Jesus must be who
he says he is!” Frank looked at me with his eyes wide open. He was a very
intelligent and logical young man and this line of reasoning made sense to him.
We spent the next hour or so walking through verses about Jesus as Savior,
Jesus as Lord of all. I read to Frank from John’s Gospel and from Romans. Frank
gobbled it up like a starving child. Then he grew thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 12.45pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
After a long
silent pause, Frank looked at me and said softly; “So what do I have to do now?
How do I meet this man? And who is the baby?” I smiled…and once again I
understood the reason for this particular visitor. Each night, as each
different person managed to find themselves kneeling before the tiny king of
kings in his dirty crib, there was always an epiphany moment when I saw why God
had brought them here. Frank was no different. “The man and the baby are the
same,” I said to Frank. He is Jesus…the Savior of the world. Come, let me show
you”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 2.9pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank and I re-entered
the cave. Frank looked at Joseph and Mary asleep in the corner. “They are
Jews?” he whispered to me. His jaw clenched tightly for a second. “Yes Frank,
they are his parents.” She is his mother and the man is her husband…the baby’s
stepfather” Frank turned and looked at the baby sleeping in the dirty manger. I
could almost see his heart beating. “Go to him, Farouk. He has been asking for
you in your dreams for eight days. It’s time you met him…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Frank crawled
to the side of the feed trough. The baby was awake and alert and smiling. Frank
looked over his shoulder at me and I nodded to him, “It’s okay.” Frank reached
in and picked up Jesus. He held him gently against his face. “I remember when
Tewfik was just this old” he whispered. Frank was a typical 19 year old in that
he did not like to cry publicly, but I saw him blinking back tears as the baby
reminded him of his lost brother. But where I thought I would see rage and
anger, I saw instead, Jesus doing what He had done so many times this night. He
seemed to absorb the hurt and anger and the more he did the more he smiled. The
baby was happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .2in;">
Frank
held him for a long time and whispered something in Arabic that I could not
understand. Then he gently lay Jesus back in his makeshift bed and bent over to
kiss him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 10.6pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
The
baby reached up and touched his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Frank
crawled over to me and looked me in the eyes for a long time, saying nothing.
His eyes were red and he was doing his very best to fight the tears he felt
inside. I asked him about the words in Arabic and he said, “I told the baby,
“At last we meet. I am here. I found you. Please stay in my heart forever” Do
you think he understood me?” I stammered my answer; “Of course he did. And He
has made his home in your heart now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 18.7pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
“I
will be killed for this if they find out” he said to me. “Becoming a Christian
is a death sentence for me.” I was stunned. I hadn’t considered this. “Then
why? Why did you?” I asked him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 4.8pt; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 11.35pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
Frank
was thoughtful for a long time, and then he looked at me. “Because he tried so
hard to reach me. Because he came to this place to meet me. Because he gave me
the book and he gave me a person to read it to me. How could I say no?” Frank
smiled for a long moment, then he gave me a hug that felt as if he didn’t want
to let go. He walked over to the sleeping Mary and Joseph and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wished them peace</i>…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;">
And crawled
out of the door and into the night…and into the uncertainty of his future.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.8pt; margin-left: 6.95pt; margin-right: 10.9pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.5pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“There is no distance that Jesus will not
bridge to find a seeking soul”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-65640023536680200272016-12-16T05:55:00.000-05:002016-12-16T05:55:07.825-05:00Advent Day 20: Mommy...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“If you are tired from carrying heavy burdens, come to me <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;"> and I will give you rest.”</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> <i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">I<b> </b></span><span style="line-height: 150%;">have been sitting with Joseph and Mary for about a quarter
hour. We have been discussing the events of the evening. It’s a very strange
conversation to have, knowing that I know more about their son then they do at
this point. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I try to be
guarded about what I say. To be quite honest this whole series of events is
confounding, and I have not even begun to try to explain what is happening to
me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph and Mary
are weary…I can see that in their eyes. I slip quietly over to a corner of the
cave where there is a covering of shadow. I want them to have some time alone
and I need some myself. Time to think and wonder about this evening’s events.
But I find that there will not be much time for that. Another guest has
arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> A very beautiful
woman, about the same age as me, has entered the cave very meekly. Her eyes are
sullen and cast downward as she crawls in through the damp straw and mud. She
barely looks up enough to even see where she is going. She pauses just inside
the cave and haltingly asks; “I…came here to see Him…to see the baby. Is it…is
it okay? Is he here?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I know I
recognize her voice but I cannot place her face. I realize that whoever she is,
I have not seen her for a long time and we have both changed. She is carrying a
blue diaper bag, the kind new moms carry. Mary has never seen something like
this but I have. I can only wonder why she would bring it with her to this cave
and that’s when it dawns on me who this woman is. Her name is Kelly. I went to
high school with her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly was a
beautiful girl in high school, and she remains a beautiful woman now. She was
always a little sad beneath her bubbly exterior and there had been rumors in
the small Christian high school I attended, that Kelly had been the victim of a
sexual predator for years. When we were in our senior year, Kelly found herself
pregnant and her embarrassed parents withdrew her from the school and it was
said she moved to South Carolina to have her baby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly’s parents
were deacons in the church I grew up in and they were very devout and pious
folks. Her dad had been a hard drinking and hard living businessman who had
come to Jesus through a series of accidents and misfortune that left him
feeling very lucky to be alive and needing a second chance. The sad part was
that he felt the need to earn it, instead of understanding that we all need a
second chance and have nothing to offer God in exchange for it so we’d better
just take it as we are.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Her dad and mom
were “pillars in the church”. Kelly and her sister never wore pants, and all
their skirts went below the knee. Her brother always said “yes sir” and “no
sir” and his hair was short and he was going to be a preacher…even though he
had a marvelous gift for painting and was only really happy when he was
creating art.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There had long been a rumor about a young
deacon in the church and his near-infatuation with Kelly. But those things
never happened in Independent Fundamentalist churches because the strict
legalism was supposed to be the only sure-fire means of battling such
horrifying temptations. Nonetheless, the rumors persisted and, looking at Kelly
now, I remembered how she shrank from this man like darkness from light
whenever he came near. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> He had been a
youth worker and so he was around us all the time…and he had a strange
proclivity for over-attentiveness toward Kelly. He gave me the creeps. Maybe it
was because I had a crush on her briefly in tenth grade and that made me
protective, or maybe it was just the fact that a sexual predator was not talked
about in the 70s, but for whatever reason I made myself stop thinking about the
strange gut feeling I always got when this man came around Kelly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Then came that
morning in February of 1981, our senior year, and Kelly’s empty desk in
homeroom…and the whispered rumors began. Her best friend came to school with
red-rimmed eyes the next day and all she would tell us was that Kelly and her
family had moved away. A month after that, word had gotten back to us that
Kelly had moved to South Carolina to have a baby. Seven months later the youth worker resigned
and joined the Army and nobody connected the two seemingly coincidental events.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Now here she was,
45 years old and still stunning. Maybe
more so than she was in high school. Same dark hair, same dark eyes. She even
smelled beautiful, like she always had when we were kids. But Kelly was not the
same Kelly that I remembered just before she left. She had always possessed a
sad quality behind the beautiful outward veneer, but this Kelly had no veneer. This Kelly was
as deeply wounded as any person I had ever seen in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> She wouldn’t look
at Joseph or at me and she barely could hold Mary’s eye for more than a second
or two. She kept darting her eyes left or right, or mostly just looking at the
ground. Her jawline was flexing the way a person’s does when they are clenching
their teeth. She looked fierce and angry, unless you looked really close…then
all you saw was the sadness of a truly broken heart. A heart that had -as a
means of defending itself against an unwanted intruder- stopped working at all. Kelly felt almost
nothing in the deepest part of her soul. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I caught her eye
for just a moment and I saw the terribly sad look of hollowness and pain. A
pain that she’d buried long ago and that she had long forgotten the source of.
Or at least she had tried to forget. She didn’t recognize me when she glanced
my way. Mary smiled meekly at her and bade her come in. “You are welcome here
ma’am,” Mary called sweetly. Kelly looked almost shocked at Mary. As if a term
of respect were foreign to her. I found myself looking down at the ground so as
to avoid making her feel uncomfortable and too, to avoid her recognizing me,
still wondering if that were possible. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Most of the
evenings visitors had not even known I was there, but Kelly and I had locked
eyes once already and I knew she saw me here. She paused in front of Mary and
asked if she could see Jesus. Mary paused and I could detect a gasp in her
voice… “How do you know His name?” Mary asked.
Kelly was as puzzled as Mary, “I…don’t know. I don’t really know how I
got here or why. I promised myself I would never mention His name or come
near…” Kelly’s voice trailed off as tears burned hot in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I remembered now.
I remembered Kelly’s best friend coming to school a month after Kelly had left
and I remember never before or since, seeing the kind of burning anger I saw
flash in her eyes that day. Her name was Rhonda. Rhonda came to school on a
Monday morning and had little to say. She sat at our lunch table in stone
silence. One of the girls asked her about Kelly and had she heard from her.
Then the snickering started…then the whispered jokes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I was sitting at
the other end of the table with two guys from the hockey team and I caught the
most important, and heartbreaking
portion of the conversation. Rhonda told the one girl who was the leader of the
attackers that yes, she had in fact
talked to Kelly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Rhonda said yes, Kelly was pregnant…four and half months by
this point. The girls kept up their
relentless attacks and finally Rhonda jumped to her feet and threw a milk
carton at the ringleader. “My friend wishes she could die!” Rhonda hissed, “Do
you know what really happened? Do you know who did this?” Rhonda was almost screaming
now, and tears were breaking her voice into short chunks. She paused and
thought better of mentioning the man by name because at that point he was still
on staff at the school. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Then Rhonda said
something that tore through my 17 year old heart like a scimitar and left a raw
bleeding edge to this very day. She was controlling sobs long enough to spit
out; “My best friend thinks God did this to her. She thinks God allowed this
because she thinks she is evil. Kelly wishes she could die and she thinks God
hates her and she won’t even mention His name again! She thinks her mom and dad
hate her; she is convinced you all hate her, and she believes God is disgusted
by her, and you are all acting like He is. You all make me sick!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> With that Rhonda
ran out of the cafeteria and the next day she transferred to the public high
school near my neighborhood and wouldn’t talk to any of the girls from our
school anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I saw her at a
hockey game later that winter and she said a brief hello to me. Before she left
I remember grabbing her hand lightly and asking her how Kelly was doing. Rhonda
broke into tears at this and she hugged me hard and said Kelly had lost her
baby that week. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I was 17, so I
didn’t understand what that did to a girl and I thought maybe it was a good
thing. And like an impulsive 17 year old
boy I said so, “Well maybe that’s for the best, right Rhonda? I mean now she
can get on with her life.” Rhonda must have been more mature for her age than
any other girl I knew because she didn’t explode at me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Maybe she
remembered the crush I had on Kelly in tenth
grade or the fact that Kelly and I remained friends even though she
didn’t return my affections and she knew I would never say something hurtful.
Before she left the hockey rink, I whispered to her “Tell Kelly I miss
her…okay?” Rhonda was crying and I was looking for the nearest door so she
wouldn’t see me cry in case the tears I was squashing down inside my soul
managed to break free.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Now here Kelly
was, thirty-some years later. I knew it was her but I was not sure she
recognized me. She was whispering to Mary and she was moving so slowly towards
the manger…as if she felt some sort of repellant force and was working against
her. She seemed to keep her eyes down in some effort to avoid seeing Jesus…or
at least to avoid seeing Him all at once. It was if she needed to acclimate
herself to his presence and just tiny glimpses were all she could handle. She
was about three feet from the manger when she paused and looked at Mary. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Did it hurt?”
Kelly asked. “Giving birth…did it hurt?”
Mary smiled and said “Yes! Oh my yes! And it seemed like it would go on
forever but once he was born, the pain seemed to vanish and I was so happy…”
Mary was interrupted by the sobs emanating from Kelly’s broken heart. She was
already on her knees, out of necessity from the low height of the cave ceiling.
But now she had fallen forward almost on her face and the quiet sobs had begun.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I wanted to rush
to Kelly’s side. She had been my friend all those years ago and she was so
broken and so hurting tonight. But I hesitated, knowing that what she really
needed…<i>all</i> she really needed... was
only three feet from her, cooing quietly in a wooden feed trough. Mary
comforted her wonderfully and in a few moments Kelly was regaining her
composure enough to speak again. “I was carrying a son once” Kelly said, “But
I…” there was a long, long pause here, as if Kelly was choosing words that Mary
would understand given the differences of time and culture. “…I lost him” Kelly
whispered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Mary looked
baffled, “He was stillborn?” She asked. At this Kelly was wracked by a new wave
of sobs. She could not raise her head to look at Mary. Mary tried to comfort
her. “But that happens a lot, Miss,” Mary whispered. “There was surely nothing
you could do. You mustn’t blame yourself.” This elicited a new wave of pain and
sorrow from Kelly. The sobs were almost shrieks now and under it all I heard
her saying a name occasionally. “<i>Thomas,</i>”
she would whisper between sobs. “<i>Thomas.</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> After a few
moments Kelly was laying on the muddy straw right next to the manger. She rose
to her knees and with her face in her hands in a position of uneasy worship for
the baby in the manger. Mary stroked her hair for a minute and then I saw a
look come over her face as if she had heard a voice. Mary glanced slightly
upward and then looked at me puzzled. She came over to where I was sitting near
Joseph.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “You know this
woman?” she asked me. “Yes…” I answered, “But how did you…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Before I could finish asking her how she knew that I knew who
Kelly was, Mary said, “I have heard the voice of my Lord several times
tonight…and just now was such a time. Go to her…she is your friend and she
needs you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I didn’t even try
to contest. I crawled through the damp straw to where Kelly was kneeling with
her face buried in her hands and the sobs still pouring out of her soul. I sat
there next to her not knowing what to do or say. For whatever reason I glanced
at the baby in the feed trough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Jesus was crying</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> He was not crying
for food or for attention or to have a diaper changed. He was not crying like a
baby. He was lying still in his little makeshift cradle and silent tears were
building in his eyes and running down his cheeks. He made no sound at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I felt my hand
reach for Kelly’s long dark hair. I touched her so lightly that I didn’t think
she would feel it…I’m not sure I wanted her to. She stiffened to my touch and I
heard her gasp lightly. I took a breath and worked up the nerve to say a name I
hadn’t said out loud in thirty years, the name I always called her…
“Kell…” Kelly sat up like a shot. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> That was what I
called her all through high school. She looked at me in instant disbelief for
just a brief second. “Kell…it’s me…its Craig” Kelly’s face grew red and she
look scared for just a second. “It’s okay, I’ve been here all night” I said to
her. Kelly threw her arms around my neck and I could tell she was holding back
the darkest and most painful tears. We said nothing for a long, long time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I felt Kelly
stiffen and she pulled away from me. Her face turned slightly angry, and under
the anger, humiliation. “You were here all night? You heard my conversation
with Mary?” she hissed. “Yes” I answered… “I heard enough. Kell, it doesn’t
matter to me. I’ve always hoped you were okay and I always wanted you to be
happy. What brings you here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> This was
apparently the question she was answering that night. She ventured a glance
toward Jesus… “I came to see Him,” she whispered to me. “I haven’t seen Him
since I was 17, since…” Kelly broke into
loud painful sobs. She buried her face in my shoulder and I hugged her as
tightly as I could. “I know Kell, Rhonda
told me. I know what happened…and who…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly drew back
and a look of horror filled her eyes. “It’s okay Kell, you were the victim. You were just a kid.
It’s left such a big hole…” Kelly was sobbing again but I sensed a wall had
begun to crumble. My instinct told me that I was the first person from high
school…from when this all happened to her…that she had seen or heard from since
then. Excepting her best friend Rhonda, she had lost contact with all of us.
That only built on the shame she was already carrying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I know you lost
the baby Kell…” Kelly’s jaw dropped and
her eyes grew very wide and tears flowed like a river. I knew not to say a
word, and inside my heart I heard a small quiet voice, telling me to just
listen. Kelly cried a long time and then
she looked at me with more sadness than I have ever seen in one other human.
She drew a big breath and after a long pause she said “I didn’t lose him
Craig…I…I ended it.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> This was as close
as Kelly could come to saying the word “<i>abortion.</i>”
But the sting and the horror was still just as plain as if she had blurted it
out. Kelly was wearing a scarlet letter in her soul and I could see it. She had
long ago moved from not being able to forgive herself to plainly despising
herself for this one decision she had made.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Where my tears came from was easy for me to
understand, my friend was in incredible pain and not only could I see it, I felt it, to a small degree. But Kelly could
not fathom my loving response. She thought somehow that I was going to react
harshly and in judgment and condemnation. She pulled away from me and grew very
cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Kell...” I
whispered, “It’s okay, people make
mistakes, people in pain make even bigger mistakes. I’m still your
friend.” Kelly was quiet and a slight
smile tried to play on her lips. “Same old Craig,” she laughed softly, “seeing
the best in everyone no matter what they do to you.” I chuckled at that,
because we’d had that discussion a long time ago. The tension had eased and
Kelly was a little more comfortable. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Kelly, why did
you come here tonight? You sure didn’t come to see me. I didn’t know I’d be
here so how would you? Why have you <i>really</i>
come?” I knew the answer in my heart but I was curious what she would tell me.
Kelly grew very quiet and she drew a long breath. “I came to see Him…” she
whispered, “I came to see the baby”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I smiled at this,
I knew that was why she made this journey, but I wanted to know what she
expected from this visit. “Rhonda told me a long time ago that you want nothing
to do with God or church or religion ever again. What brings you here
now?” I said to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Rhonda is
right…I hate God,” she hissed angrily. She made no attempt at recouping those
words and she threw out more invective. “My father all but disowned me and I
never heard from any of my friends from church ever again. I decided that if
they all judged me then God surely had. And I was so angry at Him for letting
that man…” Kelly drew a gasping breath and fought tears bravely. “Why didn’t He
stop that from happening? Why! Why did nobody listen and nobody believe me?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I had no answers
for Kelly’s probing questions. Questions that had been asked since time began.
When God could have stepped in, why didn’t he?
Kelly continued, “I have grown so weary of hating God, and hating all
that belongs to Him. I know I can’t look Him in the eye. I know I can’t ever
think of Him as a father. But I thought maybe if I made peace with Jesus, maybe
I could make peace with my son…” Kelly broke into tears again. She wept for a few
minutes and gathered her composure yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I never held
him. Never smelled what he smelled like.
I never felt him breathe on my skin.” Kelly fingered the wedding ring on her
left hand. “My own husband doesn’t know…my kids don’t know. I have three
children with my husband. He is a wonderful man and he loves me. But I can’t
trust this with him. I am afraid he’ll leave me if he finds out.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I don’t know
what I expected here tonight. I sure didn’t expect to see you here, and I don’t
know what I want God to do here. Why am I here, Craig? Why do you think? What
is happening to me?” Kelly was crying softly and I looked down into the manger
again. The baby son of God…hours old, was still weeping. He had made no sound
since Kelly had arrived and yet he was apparently aware of her pain. Tears
rolled down his cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Kell, you are
here for Him. You need to hold the baby that you terminated. You need to hold
this little baby here tonight and let Him grant you forgiveness for the baby
you can no longer hold. You need to reach in and pick him up Kell. You need to <i>touch </i>Him, and let Him touch you.” “I can’t!” Kelly
protested. “I could never…” I held
Kelly’s hand and told her to look at Jesus. She had been here for 20 minutes
now and had yet to actually look at his face. Kelly glanced haltingly into the
manger and saw the tears in the eyes of a baby Savior. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I thought she
would choke. She made no sound except a gasp. “Oh God! O my God what did I ever
do? What did I do?” I expected her to collapse into a heap but what happened
next will remain with me for all my days. As Kelly was at her lowest point of
self hatred and pain and anger, I saw Jesus -merely hours old- reach his tiny
hand towards her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> It was the slightest move, barely perceptible,
but Kelly saw it and her mother instinct leapt to the fore. She glanced toward
Mary, and Mary nodded with a slight smile. Then Kelly reached into the manger
and lifted the baby to her chest. Jesus had been crying only moments before but
as soon as Kelly touched him, he began to smile, as if the very touch of this
weary and broken soul had given him joy. It was as if he was absorbing her pain
and that made Him happy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly burst into
soft sobs as she began confessing her pain and shame and guilt. She began
asking this tiny baby to forgive her…to forgive her for what she did to Thomas.
At this I realized that Kelly had gone so far as to pick out a name for her
baby before her embarrassed and humiliated parents had taken her to a clinic
and forced her to get an abortion. Kelly hated them for that and for reminding
her during the entire ordeal how “bad” she was and how this was a sin and how
God punished girls who find themselves in this position.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly had
promised herself to never even breathe God’s name again in her life, but
something in her getting married and then having children would not let that
spot for Him in her heart grow completely cold. Kelly longed for the God of her
childhood, but she was afraid of Him and felt he was disappointed in her. For
years she wrestled with coming back to Him but felt certain that he wanted
nothing to do with her. Then one day she got the idea… “Maybe the baby would
accept me. Maybe the baby would let me love Him again. Maybe He’d talk to his
father for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly had made
her journey to this hovel this year because she was tired of running from God.
She was tired of being so wounded and weary and so hurting. She knew all the
verses that said God heals, God forgives, God restores. But she didn’t believe
Him. He was probably a father like her own father, she had reasoned. If her dad
was embarrassed and humiliated, God probably was too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> But maybe Jesus
would be more forgiving. Maybe He would understand. So she came here hoping
just to see Him. Now she was <i>holding</i>
Him. “My Thomas probably smelled like you do right now, he probably felt like
you do. I am so sorry…so sorry. Please forgive me please. Please forgive me”
Kelly whispered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> She was kissing
the baby softly on his neck and cheeks and his hands. Anywhere she saw a patch
of baby soft skin she kissed it. I knew in my soul that she was kissing her
little son Thomas. I knew that Jesus had become that baby to her. And she
needed this desperately. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus was smiling now…<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Kell…” I
whispered, “Look at his face!” Kelly
looked at Jesus and saw a smile as big and as warm and welcoming as any human
had ever had. The baby son of God was smiling at this outpouring of affection
from a woman who had been afraid of Him for over 30 years. She feared the
father but could not possibly fear the child. The baby had no pretense and held
no judgment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I could only
think of one thing to say to my wounded friend, “Kell…I know you think the
Father still is angry…” Kelly’s shoulders heaved in pain and sorrow and she
said nothing. “Kell if He loves His son more than we love our own children, and
yet He was willing to let him suffer for you, then maybe God isn’t angry with
you at all. Maybe He just misses you. Maybe Him letting you touch His son…hold
his Son, and love on Him…maybe that is God reaching His hand to you.” Kelly
smiled softly at this and returned her affections to Jesus. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly whispered
into the ear of the son of God, “I love you…thank you…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She placed Jesus back into his manger crib. Turning toward me,
she reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a tiny receiving blanket with a
monogram “T” on the corner. It was baby blue. She carefully tucked him into his
little straw bed as if he were her own child. Maybe in some ways he was in that
moment. The one act of motherhood was healing 30 years of unforgiveness and
pain and shame. She pulled a brand new pacifier from the bag and Jesus took it
to his mouth instantly with a tiny smile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Kelly had come
here to make peace with her baby son. A baby she had given over to the hand of
death in one horrifying moment. She made peace with her baby by accepting peace
from this baby. On this night they were one and the same.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Kelly stared at Jesus a long time, and a smile began to play
on her face. It was a smile I had not seen in over 30 years. And a smile she
had not seen since then either.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> She turned,
picked up the diaper bag, hugged me for a long tender moment, and she was gone. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “We take it out on ourselves, and then I think
we often </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">feel that God's against us.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> We often feel that he's given up on us. So,
you know, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">we become angry.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> It becomes a kind of cycle. I think there are
many folks </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">who just walk away from God, and from faith, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">because they feel like failures, and they
really don't</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">think they can meet God's standards.”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">--Haddon Robinson, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">discussing his sermon “God of the Second
Chance”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-45279628285724906102016-12-15T06:46:00.003-05:002016-12-15T06:48:19.400-05:00Advent Day 19: The Prodigal Son visits the baby Jesus <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> <i> “When he was still a long way off, his
father saw him.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>His heart pounding, he ran out,
embraced him, and kissed him.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I still don’t understand -not nearly-
what is happening with this advent calendar, or what God is doing, or how it is
that I am finding myself in a dirty cave, in the presence of God in the flesh,
on the night of the nativity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> But I am. It seems like each day opening
the calendar door has been a new and breathtaking face to face meeting with the
God I’d always hoped would be there, but somehow never was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> For the last 20 days or so, I’d been
conversing with Mary and Joseph and they would ask me questions about “where
I’m from”. Not wanting to try to explain what I can’t comprehend myself, I
simply told them I was from a place very far away, (which is true…in a cosmic
sense) and that my country was very different from Nazareth and Bethlehem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I suppose I had this on my mind when I
decided to sit down and open the door on the advent calendar tonight. I had
been playing checkers with Morgan earlier that day and there was a checkerboard
and checkers in a box on the table near the chair I sit in when I read. I sank
down into my chair and drew a breath. It had been a long day…not particularly
emotional but long. I sat the box containing the checkerboard and checkers on
my lap and then I opened the little leather door on the calendar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Not much was happening. Mary and Joseph
had just eaten something for dinner and she was cleaning their meager dishes
and Joseph was holding Jesus while making cooing sounds and smiling
involuntarily at his little boy. He reminded me of me, when Morgan was born.
Jesus made little or no reaction…an occasional spit bubble and a faint wisp of
a smile…but mostly he slept. He had eaten not 15 minutes before my arrival and
Joseph began burping him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I was sitting cross legged on the dirty
straw and smiling a very goofy smile. The kind you suddenly become aware of
after a few vacant moments. I was smiling because the thought occurred to me
that here was a man younger than me, holding God, and trying to get him to
burp. I was certain it couldn’t get any more wonderful than this, when Jesus
emitted the loudest burp I’d ever heard. Joseph looked at me a smiled broadly.
It was perfect…across time and history men will still be men. Here we were,
unable to even explain each others presence in this moment and yet hearing his
newborn son burp bonded us at some eternal, male-oriented level. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph placed Jesus in the feed trough
and he fell fast asleep. He came over to where I was sitting and asked me about
the box I was holding. I opened the box and showed him the checkers game I had
brought with me. Inside of ten minutes I had taught him the game and we
entertained ourselves for about an hour. Mary had finished what she was doing
and joined Joseph on the floor of the cave next to me. Joseph was fascinated by
the plastic checkers. “What sort of tree were these made from?” he asked me. I
smiled to myself. How would I answer that? How could I explain what plastic
even was to this man? So I told him it is from a special plant that grows in my
part of the world. He seemed reasonably pleased with that answer and we played
for a few more minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> At some point I noticed Joseph had an
odd, quizzical look on his face. He stopped playing and looked toward the
opening to the cave. He had his head tilted back as if he had smelled
something. No sooner had I recognized this then he sniffed dramatically and
said “Do you smell that?” “Smell what?”
I asked him “Pig! I smell pigs,” he said with his nose turned up. “Pig manure to
be exact,” he added with disgust. Now, I realized that a pig was anathema to an
observant Jew, but I didn’t realize until that moment just how much disdain
they held pigs in until I saw Joseph’s revulsion at simply the scent of a pig.
He literally looked as if he would curl up and die. I still didn’t smell
anything that stood out as a worse odor than the smell of dirty sheep that this
cave had held since the first day I arrived here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> It was a full two or three minutes after
Joseph smelled him coming, that the stranger showed up at the mouth of the
cave. He was a young man…barely more than a teenage kid it seemed. But when he
poked his head in the cave, he instantly seemed to age before my eyes. There
was a no light in his eyes, no youthful exuberance. There was only shame and
embarrassment and a hesitancy to enter…or even to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph was cautious at first, he was
about to turn this young man away because the odor betrayed the fact that he
had been in contact with pigs and Joseph was an observant Jew. Having him enter
the cave would defile the only shelter they had, and with nowhere else to go,
Joseph didn’t want to risk it. Until this moment I had not interfered in the
interaction of any visitor, but something about this kid seemed very familiar
and I just knew he was supposed to be here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph was about to stand, and I got the
sense he was going to turn the kid away. I put my hand on Joseph’s arm and
whispered, “Joseph…you might have to trust me on this one. I think this young
man belongs here. Let him come in.” Joseph
looked at me startled, but suddenly, as if something tugged at his soul, he
relented. “If I have to go through this cave and clean it because of this, you
are helping me,” he whispered. He had a half smile on his face and I realized
he had the same feeling about this young man…he needed to be here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Mary bid the young man enter the cave.
Now, I grew up in a city, but I’ve been to farms and I’ve been around farm
animals. I have never -not in my life- smelled anything that rivaled the stench
of pig manure that emanated from his ragged clothing. The only thing that was
close was the rancid, nauseous aroma of a chicken coop. I’d thought a chicken
coop was the single worst thing I’d ever come across until I got a whiff of
this kids clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He was sheepish and humble…a broken man
at all of maybe 22 or 23 years old. He was stooped over, and not because of the
low height of the ceiling. It was because he carried a burden of guilt and
shame and brokenness that weighed him down and slumped his shoulders. He would
rarely make eye contact with the three of us and when he did, his eyes quickly
darted left and right and never held our eyes for more than a few seconds. This
was a kid who had truly seen way too much in a brief period of time…and
regretted almost all of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He didn’t say much. Joseph asked his
name and he spit it out in a shamed whisper, like he really didn’t want us to
know who he was. He was a filthy mess. He had mud…and God knows what else…caked
to his worn-out shoes and up his legs. He wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough for
the winter night and he hadn’t had a bath in a long time. His hands were dirty,
his face was dirty, his hair was wild and unkempt. His lips were chapped and
peeling and his stomach growled so loudly I thought maybe a small mountain lion
was outside the cave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He tried to be polite but it was
apparent he would rather not interact with us…or with anyone else. He was
perhaps the most shame-filled man I’d ever seen. And the most broken. He stood
silently for several awkward moments after Joseph asked him a few questions. He
answered dutifully and I suppose it was Aramaic he spoke when Joseph asked him
his name because I didn’t recognize it at all. His eyes were puffy and there
was a wide, white ring around each eye amid the dirt on his face. This man had
been crying a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> After a few moments, it was Mary who
offered him an audience with the baby. “I suppose you’ve come to see our son.,”
she spoke softly. Mary responded to the kid as only a mom would do. I watched
her observe him carefully. She was no doubt noticing the brokenness and hurt in
this boy. Where Joseph and I saw him as a young man who had apparently taken
some wrong paths, Mary saw him as a child. There was tenderness in the few
words she offered him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The young man stiffened as Mary spoke.
“Yes ma’am. I don’t know why. I saw a star a week ago and I left the pigs…” He
stumbled at the words that fell out of his mouth and tried to put them back in
like marbles spilled on the floor. “…I left my job and followed.” The kid was
trembling with nerves and, I thought, he was shivering against the cold. It was
warm in the cave but he’d been on the road for a week and it was apparent he
had no real clothing to protect him from the elements. It was winter, after
all. “I walked a long way…I don’t know how far really. I was in another country
when the star appeared. I don’t know why, but I just felt I had to be here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “Where are you from?” Joseph asked,
“Perhaps I know your family.” The young man bristled at this. I don’t know if
Joseph saw it but I did. That, was the
one question the kid did not want to answer. “Oh no sir…” The young man
sputtered, “…I doubt you know them. I mean, maybe…but I don’t.” Again, for the
second time, I interfered. Joseph was standing next to me and I leaned over and
whispered “Let it go, he is embarrassed.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph never turned his head toward me
but I saw his jaw flex and he nodded slowly so only I could see it. He was in
agreement and he spoke again. “You’ve come to see our child. Come with me son. I’ll introduce you.” I
don’t know if Joseph heard from God internally or if he was simply picking up
on the same sense I had, but he instantly became tender and gentle toward this
young man. As if he suddenly sensed the immense hurt and burden of shame this
kid was carrying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph put his arm around the pig manure
and sweat-infused, ragged cloak the kid was wearing. I thought he would
collapse into Joseph’s arms right there. I think it was a combination of the
complete absence of one more moment’s strength, the incredible shame he was
carrying, and the amount of time it had been since anyone, anywhere had touched
him in kindness. He had grown very old
in a very short time, it seemed. He was a beaten and broken man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph walked him over to the trough and
knelt down next to him. “Do you want to hold him?” Joseph asked tenderly. The
young man thought for a minute and answered “Yes sir, but I don’t think I
should. To be honest, I’m so tired…so weary. I don’t have the strength to lift
him. I think I’ll just touch his hand, if that’s okay.” I saw Joseph clench his jaw again and quickly
wipe a tear from his eye. His voice broke a bit and he said “Of course son, do
as you wish. I’m going to tend to his mother and leave you here. His name is
Jesus. I think you should talk to him.
There is something about this baby…”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph didn’t go any further with this
thought. The young man was slumped down almost in a heap. He had reached in to
the trough and touched Jesus’ tiny hand and he was silently sobbing. He was so
thin and so gaunt and his clothing was so ill fitting on his feeble body that
he looked like a pile of filthy rags on the floor. He wept in silence for a
long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He spoke in a faint, tired whisper…like
it was all the energy he had to force a word out. “I remember when I was not
much older than you are. I remember being a baby, being a little boy.” The young man paused a
long time. I saw him shivering and trembling and I wondered if it was the chill
of the cave of if it was something else…maybe the weakness that his broken body
labored under. Maybe the memories and the shame he carried into this place.
Maybe something else altogether.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “Jesus…” he continued, “I am so ashamed.
I have done so many terrible things. I have…” His voice trailed off. He put his
hand over his mouth and a pained wail rose from the heap of clothing and dirty
skin. He looked like he was going to throw up. He lay in a tangle of rags and
pig manure and cried out years of hurt. He spoke some more, telling his story
to Jesus between sobs. Apparently, he had wandered. He had left his family home
and made his way to a foreign country and that’s where his plan fell apart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He had gone to seek his fortune and to
make a name for himself. His dad was a prominent man back home and the boy felt
the need to escape the large shadow he cast over his sons. The kid had gone
away to become a man. Somewhere along the way the plan backfired. The weeping
young man spoke of losing all his money. He spent furiously in the first few
months on the road. His business plan failed and he lost everything. It took a
while, his father had given him much to
get his start. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Maybe the thing that hurt him most was
the life he’d led in that distant land. There were women, not ladies but women. There were friends who
he’d not known very long but who laughed at his jokes and fed his desires until
the money ran out. They catered to his every whim and supplied him with devices
he’d never known under his father’s roof. But when he’d spent all he had, and
after a few of his new “friends” had picked his pocket, he was abandoned and alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The economy in that country collapsed
about two years ago and he was broke and hungry. He eventually found work on a
pig farm, feeding pigs. The owner of the farm was a cold, cruel man who
instantly sensed the kid’s plight. “You can sleep with the pigs and you can eat
from their trough…after they have finished!” the man bellowed… “I catch you
eating anything before they’ve had their fill and you’re out in the cold!” The
kid understood and did as the man said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> There is a reason people use the term
“eat like a pig” when referring to someone who overindulges. Pigs seldom leave
scraps. The kid hadn’t had anything more than a few scant morsels in months.
His bones showed. His stomach growled constantly. His hair was brittle and
thinning like anyone going through starvation. He trembled constantly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> He lay on the cave of the floor and
sobbed. In between fits of broken weeping, he would recount his debauchery to
the baby in the cradle who smiled peacefully at the crushed adult next to him.
I sat in the dark corner and watched. I’ve been here. I’ve been through this. I
wept bitterly watching this young man at his final breaking point. I know that
desperate shame of realizing that all you dreamed of and hoped for is gone and
all you really did was waste years of your life. I know the way it feels when
memories flash in your mind…memories of things you’ve done that you wish you
could forget…that you wish you’d never even thought of, much less done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I don’t know how much time passed, maybe two hours or more. But at some point
the weeping turned more impassioned and more desperate. Then the young man
spoke between sobs in a plaintive, painful wail; “I want to go home. I want to go home! I want to see my dad!
Please…I just want to go home!” His sobs were deeper and more like
death-throes. “I can never be his son again.
I know that. But my dad has never turned away a stranger and he takes
great care of his workers. Maybe I could go work for him. At least I’d eat, and
have a bed.” His tears burst forth anew and again he begged; “I want to go
home”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> There was silence for a few moments. I
was sobbing at the pitiful sight before me. I wanted to rush to him and comfort
him and stop the brokenness but I was unable to move. I could only watch and
weep with him. I was staring at the young man and I again noticed Jesus. He was
smiling faintly. Almost imperceptibly. The young man still had his hand inside
the manger all this time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Presently I saw Jesus’ tiny fingers curl
around the young man’s thumb. I don’t know if the broken, weeping man even felt
it, but I saw it. In that same instant there was a great bustling sound outside
the cave. I heard horses and several voices in the night and I was startled. “He
is here. This is the place!” there was a great “thud!’ (I would find out later
that the rider had jumped off his horse in such a hurry he actually fell from
the saddle).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> A man came bursting into the cave
without hesitation or asking permission. “He is here?” the man said loudly.
There was a desperate plaintiveness to his voice; like this was the last chance
he’d had to find something…or someone he desperately wanted to find. He ran, as
best he could, given the low height of the cave, straight to Mary and Joseph.
“He is here? My son. He is here?” Joseph
began to speak “Sir, I don’t know…” when suddenly the ragged man by the manger
spoke up. His voice was different, like that
of a boy, there was innocence in his
tone. “Poppa!” it was all he could muster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> The man was in the corner before I
blinked. He scooped up the heap of rags that contained his son and began to
sob. “My son…my son! Oh my son! Oh…my son!” He repeated only these words for a
long, long time. He was incapable of anything else. He held the young man
closely to his chest and they both wept with abandon. His father’s tears
spilled down on the broken young man and over time washed away the dirt from
his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> After a long time -maybe an hour- of
weeping and sobbing, the boy lifted his weary head and began his apology…
“Father…” he uttered, “I am so sorry…” The man pulled his son so closely into
the folds of his robes that the young man couldn’t finish the sentence. The
father wept and kissed his son’s head furiously, over and over, ignoring the
dirt and the sores and the thinning hair and the smell. He kissed him and held
him in arms that had ached for this moment for years now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “I thought you were lost forever,” the
old man interrupted. “Oh God how I have searched for you!” The man pulled a
beautiful robe from the saddle bag he had carried into the cave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“Here, you are freezing, this is
yours. Put it on.” The young man was wide eyed… “But I…” “Here…” the old man
continued, “This is yours as well. I assume it still fits. Or it will again
once we get some food in your belly!” With that the old man placed a gorgeous
signet ring on his sons’ finger. It was large and bore the family crest. “We
are going home now son…we are going home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> I could not see them very well…my own
tears were far too present. But I saw the image of the old man as he picked up
the baby from the manger and held him closely. I saw his shoulders shaking and
heard his voice breaking as he said; “Thank you. My son was lost, you found him for me. He found his way here.
To you, and then back to me. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Then the man and his son turned and
headed out into the night and on to their home. In the corner was a pile of
rags that had once served as clothing for a broken prodigal. No longer needed…because
he discovered he was still a son. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> …as is this
marvelous baby.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“For the Son of God has come to seek, and to save, those who
are lost...” -Jesus</span></i></blockquote>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-72534667228879920412016-12-14T05:32:00.001-05:002016-12-14T05:32:45.388-05:00Advent Day 18: Forgiven. A murderer meets his victims at the manger.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I answered him, "Sir, you
know." Then he told me, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"These are the people who are coming out of the terrible
suffering. They have washed their robes
and made them white in the blood of the lamb.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Sometime before 5 a.m. the church bells
woke me and I realized I was trapped in that terrible overlapping land where it
is too early to get up but too late to go back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> It’s the purgatory of slumber I suppose,
like being in the middle of a great dream and realizing… “This is a dream.”
That’s where I was this morning when the bells clanged their mournful song. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There wasn’t any sense in trying to
sleep for 30 more minutes, so I decide to just get up and maybe spend some time
in contemplation and thought. I need to figure out where Christmas went. I plop
down in my big chair and pick up the beautiful handmade calendar and open the
leather trimmed door for day 12. I have
no idea at all who the figure is I see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Mary and Joseph are standing to the side
of the manger and there is gentle love in their eyes. A black man with an
athletic build is kneeling by the crib with his back toward me. He is holding
the baby in his large powerful arms, dwarfing the tiny figure. The man is very
happy and seems to be soaking in the love from the child's radiant face. The
baby is smiling noticeably at the man and the man is weeping openly. I hear him
speaking softly to the baby. “Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus. Thank you for
forgiveness, thank you for redeeming me. Oh! Thank you Lord..."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The man rocks the child for a long time.
For one brief second, he raises his head and I recognize the handsome face of a
man from back home. His name is Andre Deputy. I never knew Andre, but a friend
of mine, Bill Killen, was his liaison and worked on his behalf to try to get
him a pardon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Because Andre Deputy is a
murderer...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> On February 1, 1979, in a drunken
stupor, he and another man murdered an elderly couple in a botched robbery.
They were trying to get more money for booze, and things went crazy and a man
and his wife were murdered violently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Sometime during his years in prison,
Andre found himself shipwrecked at this stable and fell down before this same
infant-Savior. He offered the baby the ultimate gift...his soul. He did the
most loving thing anyone can do for Jesus...he let Jesus love him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The remainder of Andre's life was spent
serving his fellow prisoners. He got his GED, completed a correspondence Bible
course and taught Bible studies to inmates. He was instrumental in leading
dozens of other inmates to this Savior he now kneels before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> At his commutation hearing, a
quadriplegic inmate who had been paralyzed in a gang fight in prison had
himself wheeled into the board room. With tears in his eyes he recounted how
Andre' would wake up early and come into this man’s room after head count and
help him get cleaned up and dressed. Then he would wheel him into the chow line
and make sure he got his food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> After breakfast Andre' would return the
man to his cell and they would have a bible study and prayer together. Andre
did his laundry for him, he wrote letters for him. He even brushed the man’s
teeth. The man was sobbing inconsolably
as he told the pardon board, “Andre is my friend, if you take him from me I
don't know how I'll make it." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> My friend Bill told me this story
through tears of his own. Andre's encounter with this infant King was real and
life changing, as all real redemption is. Andre Deputy was a legend for Jesus
in the Smyrna Correctional Facility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I watch in earnest now that I know who
this man is. I see him holding Jesus closely and I see how clear and bright his
eyes are. No alcoholic fog, no guilt, and shame. There is only the love of the
infant radiating back to him as he pours out his affection on his baby-King.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There is a stirring near the entrance
and Mary and Joseph look toward the doorway. They smile broadly and silently
motion the visitors to join them. They walk to Mary and Joseph and they whisper
greetings. The couple seems happy and content as the woman places a finger on
her lips. " Shhhh," she whispers to Mary. Mary's tears tell the story
and Joseph is blinking back some of his own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> At the manger, Andre Deputy is lost in
worship and gently holding Jesus to his chest. His eyes are closed and he is
unaware that the old couple has knelt down beside him. The man and woman place
a hand on each of Andre's strong shoulders and he smiles without opening his eyes.
"I think he is asleep Mary," Andre whispers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The old woman squeezes his shoulder and
her voice breaks..."Andre..." Andre opens his eyes with a start. His
face wears a sudden shocked and pained look. The old couple is Bayard and
Alberta Smith...the elderly couple he killed while robbing them 30 years
ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Andre is frightened and gently places
Jesus in his cradle. He wants to speak but is afraid. The old man realizes he
will have to break the ice. “Andre.
Son...it's okay. We have come here every year since, hoping to find you. We
heard about your accepting Jesus, the angels rejoiced, son. We rejoiced too. We
finally found you here. We came to worship Him with you." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Andre Deputy breaks down. His sobs are
louder than anything I have heard thus far, but for all the tears there is a
palpable joy in his crying. The Smiths are embracing him to the point of
holding him up. Andre looks at the infant baby in the manger and sees the smile
on the boy's lips. He reaches into a mesh bag he has brought with him to the
cave. It is the kind of bag inmates use to transport their purchases from the
commissary to their cells. He pulls out a small piece of fabric. It is ragged
on the edges, like it has been torn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> As Andre shakes the piece of fabric open
and gently lays it over the tiny child, I can make out the letters,
"D.D.O.C."... Delaware Department of Corrections. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Deputy leans over to kiss the
infant and whispers, “Here little baby, I am free now. I have a beautiful white
robe thanks to you. Maybe this can keep you warm.” Jesus has exchanged a robe for the ragged
piece of a prison garment and it leaves Andre Deputy free and forgiven. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The Smiths and their murderer are joined
together in worship, forgiveness, and reconciliation, around the only One who
could possibly redeem a situation like this. They are bound together in
tenderness and redeemed at the stable by the conquering love of Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">[Andre Deputy was executed by
lethal injection, 6-24-94]</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>“Like a stone on the surface of a
still river, the ripples go on and on forever.<br />And redemption rips through the
surface of time,<br />In the cry of a tiny babe.” –Bruce Cockburn</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-72856950334820137502016-12-13T05:38:00.001-05:002016-12-13T05:38:57.430-05:00Advent Day 17: Popcorn<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Realizing that we are
surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses...”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Somehow in all
this mystical revelation and wonder, I managed to fall asleep in the cave. It’s
been an exhausting experience to say the least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I guess I felt comfortable around Mary and Joseph after a
few of these visitors came and went and I drifted off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I woke up about 3 hours later to Joseph and Mary’s quizzical
smile and the wonderful smell of fresh popcorn in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Yeah…popcorn. I
sat up and rubbed my eyes and in my lap lay a huge box of popcorn, still hot.
It was one of those red-white-and-blue striped boxes that you get at the
ballpark or the drive-in…when they still had those.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I smiled and
then I laughed. I knew exactly who I was going to see when I looked at the
manger about 30 feet across from me in this dark cave. This cave, that no
longer smelled like dirty sheep and damp straw, but like popcorn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “What is this?”
Joseph asked me, looking at the overflowing box. “I’ve never smelled anything
like this or seen this before.” “It’s called ‘popcorn,’ Joseph. We eat it were
I come from.” “Really…you eat this?” he
responded. “Sure, it’s wonderful. Have
some. Here Mary, try some of this.” I almost felt bad giving it to them because
I knew they’d not have it ever again and I wondered if I wouldn’t be spoiling
them forever. But it was so good, and I knew they’d want to know about it and
to be honest…I knew they were hungry and I wasn’t going to eat it in front of
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph and Mary
sat down on either side of me and we shared this enormous box of popcorn. What
seemed funny was that we were all going at it as fast as we could. I have to
say it was the best popcorn I ever had. Yet we never seemed to make a dent in
the box. It was full to overflowing no matter how much we ate. Mary asked me
about it and how it got there. I smiled,
then I laughed. Then I took the opportunity to tell them all about the
woman kneeling at the manger, holding Jesus in her arms and looking back over
her shoulder towards the entry of the cave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “She brought it
with her…her name is Jackie.” I broke out into a wide grin when I said her
name. Jackie had that effect on folks. “She is my friend. She moved on to
Heaven a few years ago…on my birthday in fact. That’s why I never forget the
date.” Mary looked at Jackie and back at me. “She’s so pretty, her smile especially,” the tiny mother of
Jesus said. “Yes she is.” I answered,
“I’ll tell you something, if you think her smile is beautiful now, just wait a
moment longer. There’ll be another visitor here shortly. Then you’ll see a pair
of smiles, that’s for certain!” Joseph
looked at me with a questioning grin of his own. “How do you know this? And
what does it have to do with this pop-corn, as you call it?” He queried. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I’ll tell you
about the popcorn first. You two will love this story.” Joseph and Mary faced me on either side,
passing the bottomless popcorn box back and forth between them, spilling it
like children and wondering at this new flavor. “Jackie had gotten very sick
several years ago. She had some sort of ‘wasting disease’ that the physicians
couldn’t heal.” I knew that trying to explain cancer to them was pointless.
While I’m certain the disease existed in their time, I don’t think they
understood it as we do and it would have been impossible to try helping them,
and it didn’t matter to the story. I continued, “Jackie had been sick with it
for a long while. Finally when it was apparent that it was time for her to move
on to heaven, she was in a hospital. That’s where our physicians work to heal
their patients. It’s something like the Pool of Siloam, except no angel stirs
the waters.” Joseph and Mary seemed to comprehend that crude explanation so I
continued. “Just before the Lord came for her to take her home, she told her
husband to eat some popcorn and remember her by it. It was a strange and funny
request and maybe it was just from the pain she was in. But I think it was just
Jackie’s unique sense of humor and she somehow knew that instead of making her
husband sad, it would make him -and everyone who loved her- smile a little. I think it was her last
going-away gift to those who loved her.” Mary had tears in her eyes and looked
at the popcorn in her hand. “She sounds amazing. What a wonderful thing for her
to do,” Mary whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Joseph was silent
for a few long seconds, and then he asked me “You said there would be even more
smiles and you spoke of someone else coming here. Who?” I was about to answer
Josephs question when a man entered the cave on his knees. He was silver-haired
and sported his usual mustache. Joseph whispered to me, “Is this him?” “Yes,” I
said, holding back a tear, “This is the
guest I was expecting. This is Jackie’s husband Dean.” I have to pause and
regain my composure for a moment. Dean is a dear, dear man and I look up to him
as a sort of father-figure / older brother. He loves baseball, as I do. He
loves woodworking and construction. But more than anything on earth -more than
any definition you could attach to Dean Nichols- he loves his wife. Long before
Jackie got sick, when I first met them, Dean adored her and it was more evident
on his face than any man I have ever known except maybe Terry Chapman. He was
the husband I hope I get to be someday. He wore his adoration for his beloved
Jackie like a badge of honor and he was proud to display it. Jackie was
precious to Dean during her time on Earth and here in the manger, in the
presence of the infant giver-of-life, she is as precious as she ever was. More
so, in fact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Joseph…” I
whisper, “Look at his shirt” Joseph and Mary look at Dean as he approaches
Jackie. “What?” Joseph asks. I open my mouth to speak but before I can say a
word, Mary smacks Joseph playfully on his arm. “Joseph…honestly!” she cries in
feigned disbelief. “They match!” Mary chuckles and gives Joseph a hug and a
kiss on his cheek. Mary’s words pierce to my heart. There was a world of
profound wisdom in her observance. “They do Mary, they really do,” I offer softly, more to
myself than to my two hosts. “They match…” My voice trails off and I choose to
just sit and watch Dean and his beloved Jackie. This baby gives eternal life to
them both and so the distance between them is really no distance at all. United
here at the manger of Bethlehem, they are not apart at all. No death, no sting,
no yearning. Only the promise that the separation is smaller than we realize
and never permanent. Knowing that his precious wife is truly alive keeps Dean’s
love for her more than merely alive…it grows. I know this wonderful man well
enough to know that he loves her more today than he did the day before. And
that wonderful love will grow until they reunite one day in Heaven. And it will
go on forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Dean is tender
and loving with Jackie. He holds her in awe. I lean over to Joseph and whisper,
“Joseph, if you want to see how a man loves his wife well, watch my friend
Dean. Look at his face Joseph. Look at his smile. Find that sort of feeling
with Mary and you’ll find happiness forever, my friend.” Joseph looks intently
at the pair worshipping before us. “Tell us about the shirts…about why they
match,” Mary whispers. This makes me giggle a bit. “As far as I know, it
started when they would go square-dancing together…” The words hadn’t stopped echoing in the cave
yet, when I laughed. How would I describe square dancing to these two? “It’s a type of dancing we do back home…well
some of us do. I’m not very good at it and I’m too big to hide my weaknesses as
a dancer. But Dean and Jackie did it very well. They wore matching shirts as
part of the dance costumes, and it became a habit with them. Jackie was a
wonderful creator of clothing. She was very talented. They always
matched.” I thought for a minute… “The
really matched in their hearts too. They were a real true couple”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There is nothing
left to explain to Mary and Joseph about my friends who have come to worship
Jesus. So we just watch. I know Dean and I know how he misses his precious
wife. I know she is ever present in his life, and not just in memory. She lives
because this baby lives. She is simply a breath away, in a place where we
simply can’t see her, but we know she is
there. She is here tonight with her beloved Dean, because this baby consumed
death and brought life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Dean eventually
leaves his bride and Jackie walks out not long after. I am left staring at the
manger where they held our Savior and where life overcame the pain of death
until death itself was overcome. I think about Jackie and her smile and her
graciousness and her humor and her loving heart. Her talents to create some
pretty impressive shirts that her wonderful husband proudly wore. I think about
her input in our small-group where to this day we think of her whenever we
gather. We remember her, long for her, and anticipate the day when we’ll all be
together again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> …and
usually we have some popcorn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Laugh
with me! Death is dead! There is only
life!</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> There is only laughter!”</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> –Eugene O’Neil “Lazarus Laughed”</span></i></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-88734441261890076872016-12-12T08:43:00.002-05:002016-12-12T08:43:52.076-05:00Advent Day 16: Teresa<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Love the Lord your God with all your heart,
with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength… Love your
neighbor as you love yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am sitting
in the corner near a small fire that Joseph has built. Mary is asleep on the
other side of the cave and Joseph is next to her, placing his coat over her
against the cold. I am barely aware of much else…this has been such a different
experience already.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I try to
take in all that I have seen and felt. I realize I have gotten lost in thought
when I see in the shadows a dark-complected woman crawling through the cave
door. She hesitates at the threshold, but not because she is unsure of her
destination or her welcome. No, she seems to know exactly where she is and that
she is free to be here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There is
something else present in her long pause at the entrance. Something that speaks
of devotion, of hallowedness and respect. For whatever reason, this woman knows
the value of this place and she is considering every step inside this dank,
musty hovel as holy ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She looks at
Joseph a long time with a smile. She sees the sleeping young Mary and tears
well instantly in her deep dark eyes. She pauses here with a warm loving smile
on her lips. Then she slowly turns her gaze toward the manger and the sleeping
baby. Crawling without hesitation through the muddy straw, she comes to the
side of the feed trough where Jesus lay sleeping. There is a definite sense of
worship in her every move. She knows who this child really is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Without even
a hint of doubt as to the permissibility, the woman reaches into the manger and
lifts Jesus gently to her chest. Her tears tell of devotion, her lip is
quivering and her hands tremble. I can tell that she is doing all she can to
control her emotions just enough to maintain composure. It is a battle she is
slowly losing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I wonder if
the baby senses this because in an instant he looks at the woman and smiles and
coos, as if to let her know he is comfortable with her and it is okay for her
to be holding him. She smiles and does not even bother hiding her emotions or
her tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Speaking to
him in a language I don’t recognize immediately, (but would later realize was
Albanian) she dotes on the newborn son of God as if he were her own. She speaks
to him of love and affection and the many children she has touched in her
lifetime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“There were
so many, so many my Lord. Always we made room but always there were more. Some
of them were so sick…so very sick.” Her voice trails off and her shoulders
heave beneath the blue and white robes she is wearing. When she can speak
again, she whispers to Jesus… “Every child -every time I touched one of them- I
was touching you, in my heart. All the love I have held for you in my lifetime
I tried to pour out on them instead. I hope and I pray I made you happy and
served you well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus smiles
a soft smile and his eyes open for just a brief moment. Little spit bubbles
form in the corner of his mouth and this makes the woman laugh softly. She
begins singing to him in Albanian, a song of worship and loving affection. She
is rocking gently back and forth and singing this song to her Savior, and I am
watching, mystified.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Her eyes
close and she begins speaking names in the song…names I do not know, in a
language I do not grasp. But the names seem to be painful to remember because
she is weeping as she sings and there is a hint of hurt in her voice. Then she
speaks to Jesus, “so many, so very many. So many were sick and no one would
touch them and love them. So many were alone as they died and we tried dearest
Jesus how we tried- to make them feel your love in their final hours. So many
children like you who were orphans almost at birth. So many who would grow up without
parents, or not grow up at all. In every case we tried to love them as if we
were loving you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I watch this
exchange for almost an hour. Nobody is stirring in the cave. Mary has been
asleep for longer than any other time since Jesus’ birth earlier in the
evening. The woman has kept Him quite occupied and quite happy during her
extended visit. Mary would be appreciative, were she awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The woman is
quiet now, rocking slowly on her knees with Jesus in her arms. She has
practically bathed his tiny face with her tears and she has wiped them with her
headscarf. Jesus never noticed…or at least didn’t mind. He has been asleep for
the entire visit except for a few brief moments when He would stir.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I wonder who
she is and who she was on earth. She is very pretty with her dark eastern
European features and deep-set dark eyes. Her voice is dusky and her smile is
brilliant white. She seems well educated and well versed. I have heard her
conversing in Latin tonight as well as Greek and English and her native Albanian.
Whoever she is, she is a wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She
frequently speaks of the children and adults she has helped at some point in
her life. I wish I knew more because it sounds exciting and moving. It sounds
like a life well spent in service of others. I watch her closely…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The woman
has grown sullen now, something has pressed her thoughts in a direction she had
not planned on going. Jesus has stirred ever so slightly and she is kissing his
forehead. Her tears flow more freely now… “So many little ones like you who
never see life. So many senseless deaths…and why? For convenience? For personal
gain?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">To end a
life before it ever really begins…how selfish and tragic.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She grows
even more sorrowful now…clutching Jesus to her chest she weeps…” My Lord,” she
whispers “how they will mistreat you. How they will ridicule and mock and carve
you. What a painful death you will die for me, and for us all” With this the
woman is undone and her crying turns to a soft gentle wail. Another quarter
hour goes by as she holds Jesus and ponders His fate through tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She senses
Mary is awakening and, not wanting to reveal much about Jesus’ fate to His
mother, the woman regains her composure and places him gently back in the
manger. She attempts to place a rosary around his tiny wrist but thinks
differently of it. It makes no sense and she realizes it, but the habit makes
her smile a bit. She whispers in his ear as she bends down to place him in his
bed… “I have not always had the greatest faith, but I always believed in you.
All I ever did, was for you and for the love of you, my Lord.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She turns to
find Mary standing behind her at a distance enough to give her room. Mary
extends her hands to the woman and the woman sheepishly returns the affection.
Before she knows it, Mary has embraced the woman in a hug. The woman is
fighting tears as best she can. Mary has no idea because she is enveloped in
the older woman’s robe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary speaks
after a long pause; her eyes are moist as she looks at the woman. “I am far
from home, far from my own mother. You remind me so much of her, there is
comfort in your countenance.” The woman shakes visibly at these words. She
cannot contain her emotions very well and Mary is puzzled that she would elicit
such a response from an older woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary tells
her, “Thank you for taking care of Him tonight. I was so weary and this is the
most sleep I have gotten in days. I needed it. I really do miss my mother
tonight. I am just a young girl and this has been frightening to me. You have
helped me by being here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The woman
lowers her head in respect; she will not face Mary eye to eye. Mary places her
tiny hand along the woman’s cheek. The woman looks up slowly. Mary smiles and
mouths the words “thank you” silently. There is an eternal feeling in her
“thank you’ that the woman picks up on immediately and she touches Mary’s hand
with her own. It is a moment she treasures, standing there with the mother of
her Lord on the very night of His birth. A dream come true for this woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A lifetime
of living for others, of service to the son of this precious little teen-aged
girl, has found its focus here tonight. God has, through whatever mystical
means He has been employing here throughout this season of Advent, allowed this
amazing servant of His to be here in the early hours of Jesus’ life. He has
allowed her to touch Him as she had touched perhaps hundreds of thousands of
children during her time on earth. He has allowed her to love Him as a child
for a brief time, perhaps as a reward for the lifetime she spent in loving
devotion to Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But I only
realize all of this after the final exchange between Mary and the woman. An
exchange that begins as she finally turns toward the cave door and Mary calls
to her, “What is your name? I never asked, how are you known?” The woman
pauses, and smiles, and then her answer comes and catches me off guard. “My
name is Agnes…” she pauses here and then with a smile she says; “But I am
called “Teresa. Teresa of Calcutta.” And with
that, Mother Teresa turns, and leaves the tiny cave as she entered…on her
knees.</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Anyone who
desires to be served…must first serve.”-Jesus</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-56570630808956274632016-12-11T05:57:00.000-05:002016-12-11T06:04:39.113-05:00Advent Day 15: The Roman<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“The captain of the guard and those with him, when they saw the
earthquake and everything else that was happening, were scared to death. They
said, "This has to be the Son of God!"<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I will admit I am tired. I awoke
at 3:40 this morning, tried to go back to sleep and finally surrendered to the
morning at 4:30. I don't mind getting up early, but this whole week has worn me
out emotionally and I need to recharge somehow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I open the leather door on the
calendar and there is a man standing there in full battle armament. I have no
idea who this is. He is wearing a metal chest piece, a shield, spiked shoes,
and a helmet and is carrying a spear and has a sword slung at his side. He is a
fearsome man to behold. He is pacing frantically outside the doorway to the
cave and he appears frustrated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When he walks off about 20 feet,
I crawl inside and find Joseph sitting cross legged in the straw. Mary is
holding Jesus, rocking Him to sleep after nursing him. “Who is this man?"
I ask Joseph. "A Roman soldier." Joseph answers. "He really
wants to come in but he has seen inside this cave and he knows he has to take
all that armor off just to get through the doorway. He is on duty -technically
at least, and he isn't allowed to do that until his watch is over."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Joseph and I watch the large,
menacing figure stalking back and forth outside the cave for a good 15 minutes.
At some point Mary has placed Jesus in His manger and has joined us in watching
this scene. She leans her tiny head on Joseph’s chest and he strokes her dark
hair. "Do you think he'll come in?" she whispers. "I hope
so," Joseph replies,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"He is so distraught. If he
wants to see him, he should just come in and do it." Mary frowns a little,
"Has he said anything to you?" "Earlier, when he first got here,
he asked me if I could bring Him out to see him." Joseph says, "I
told him that was impossible. If he wants to come see Him he is very welcome
but he has to come inside the cave."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After a long while, the man
outside heaves a heavy sigh. He walks to the cave doorway and squats down. He
is a large man, about my size (6' 4") and he seems amused to see the three
of us watching his antics from inside the cave. “Is it still okay?" he
booms. "Ssshhhhh!" The three of us answer him simultaneously, and
then look at each other with a grin. Joseph answers him, "Certainly, come
inside."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The man stands up and looks
around nervously. Then he begins to remove his armor. He unbuckles his sheathed
sword and props it against the wall of the cave. He removes his chest plate and
his coat of mail beneath. He takes off his helmet and his leather and spike
wrist wraps that go all the way to his elbows. He removes the heavy, spiked
boots on his feet and replaces them with a pair of leather sandals from his
backpack and comes into the tent on his hands and knees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He looks extremely uncomfortable
as he crawls over to the three of us. He looks at me especially with a sort of
amusement. Seeing another man his size, crammed into such a small space must
seem cartoonish to him. Mary touches his hand lightly and he quickly withdraws
his arm. Mary is slightly startled but with all the wonder she has seen on this
night, little surprises her anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“He is right over here, sir"
Mary leads the man to where the sleeping Jesus lay in his feed trough crib. The
man is suddenly reduced to childlike wonder. He smiles and looks at the little
boy with a gentle face. He has transformed from a rough and tumble Roman
soldier to a gentle man. His eyes sparkle and his body language speaks of great
affection. Mary whispers to him, "Would you like to hold Him?" The
man looks at Mary startled, with a quizzical look on his face. “Oh no Mary, I
mean I would love, to but I couldn't. It wouldn't be right." Mary smiles
gently and asks, "Why not?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The man looks at the ground and
sadness crosses his face. "Because I am a man of war...a Roman soldier. I
have done horrible things in my past and I have blood on my hands." At
this the large man holds up his hands in the oillamp light and shows Mary the
crimson stains that he has never been able to wash clean. “It's permanent"
he says, "I have tried every soap known to man, but these stains won't
wash off."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary touches his hands gently;
her eyes run over the red skin that extends from his fingers to his elbows.
"And now?" Mary asks, the Roman replies; "I gained enough rank
to transfer to a guard position. I don't see battle and bloodshed anymore, but
I am still a Roman soldier and I still have this blood on my hands that won't
wash off. I don't think its right to touch a baby with these hands of mine not
this baby especially."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary smiles and a tear falls
softly on her robe. “Sir," she whispers, "I am only just now starting
to understand much about my son. I know he is here for a purpose. I am not
exactly sure what it is, but something in my spirit tells me he would not mind
your stained hands." The man chokes back tears and there is a look in his
eyes of pity for Mary, like he might know something she doesn't and it isn't
good. "You are more right than you know Mary...do you really think it
would be okay?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary nods and smiles, "Yes
of course." She reaches into the crib and lifts Jesus tenderly and places
Him in the man’s huge arms. The man trembles. Tears fall on the shreds of cloth
that serve as a receiving blanket. The man whispers to Jesus, "I know who
you are. I know why you are here. I saw you that day and I am so sorry, so
sorry for what we did to you..." the man breaks down into stifled sobs.
Even here...in this moment, he is still thinking like a soldier and blocking
emotion. "I saw you then...I wanted to come and see you here...now"
the man continues, "Before that moment. Before that awful, terrible
moment. And I wanted to thank you, because you changed me. I had to keep it a
secret, but you changed me."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The baby stirs and moves slightly
and yawns and continues His slumber. Mary smiles and touches the man's
shoulder, "He likes you," she says. Those simple words break the last
vestige of toughness in this man's heart. He breaks into silent sobs, holding
his tongue as best he can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He pulls Jesus close to his chest
and tells Him, “I love you." He turns and hands Jesus to Mary. She takes
her little son into her arms and suddenly she lets out a small frail gasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“Sir!" she whispers,
"Your arms. Your hands!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The enormous Roman soldier moves
his hands into the light of the oil lamp and he is in shocked amazement. The
crimson is gone. His skin is as white as the newborn baby's he just held. He
turns his hands over in the light and cannot find a trace of red bloodstain
anywhere. The man smiles a disbelieving smile and impulsively throws his arms
around Mary and Jesus in a gentle bear hug. "Surely this is the Son of
God!" the man says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then it hits me, I know who he
is! He is the Roman soldier who stood by and watched as Jesus died on the
cross. When the earth quaked and the veil tore and the graves blew open, it was
this man who recognized Jesus for who He really was. He has come to see Him as
a child this time, to complete his encounter. The red stains are gone and the
change is complete. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He is suddenly softer and
gentler. He looks at his hands over and over with a smile that defies
description. He embraces Mary and Joseph, nods at me with a grin, and crawls
out the doorway and walks off into the distance, looking at his snow-white
hands. He leaves behind his armor at the doorway of the cave, he is a man of
peace, at peace with the tiny Prince of Peace, and he leaves the armor as a
testimony. A reminder that a man came to this stable without spiritual sight,
and has surely seen the Son of God.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 149%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 33.15pt; margin-right: 20.55pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: -23.05pt;">
<i>“Now all around the world, in every
little town Everyday is heard a precious little sound</i><br />
<i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">And every mother kind and every father proud </i><i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">Looks down in awe to find </i><i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">another chance
allowed. </i><i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">Nothing but a child could wash these tears
away</i><i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">Or guide a weary world into the light of day</i><i style="text-indent: -8.65pt;">And nothing but a child could help erase
these miles </i><i style="text-indent: -8.65pt;">So once again we all can be children for</i><i style="text-indent: -8.65pt;">awhile</i><span style="text-indent: -8.65pt;">” -Steve Earle</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 148%; margin-bottom: 5.05pt; margin-left: .3in; margin-right: 31.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: -8.65pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-38135242195426326052016-12-10T05:10:00.001-05:002016-12-10T05:10:45.750-05:00Advent Day 14: Christmas On The Block <div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Jesus said, "Go
ahead—see again!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Your faith has saved
and healed you…”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stirred suddenly at the sound of the bells from the church
and I realize that I have been smiling broadly. Yesterday’s scene really
brought me happiness I loved Brennan Manning as if he were my own father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Seeing him interacting with Jesus was something I’ll cherish
through eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Taking the calendar in my hands I hesitate before opening
the next scene. I examine the calendar again, half way through now and I am
truly understanding the mystery and wonder that my friend Wick was hoping I
would find…and I think he knew all along I would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I open the little door and I recognize the faces. Instantly
a song runs through my mind. It's one of my favorite Christmas songs, by a
Philadelphia artist named Allan Mann.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The song is called Christmas on the Block.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
There's a streetlight that sits above the night<br />And it shines its gray light on the midnight air<br />And the houses twinkle on the block<br />But there's one house that shines a special way out there<br />And its Christmas in the city<br />And the trees are lighted pretty<br />But the prettiest Christmas tree of all<br />Can you see all the colors that we cannot?<br />And theirs is the most beautiful Christmas on the block<br />Though they cannot see the light of day<br />And the night is forever, the fact still remains<br />In this world of confusion there is peace<br />There is hope and despair, sometimes the beauty is a beast<br />And they cannot see the lightning<br />And they cannot see the thunder<br />But they know what no one understands<br />That beauty is a blessing; love is all we've got<br />And theirs is the most beautiful Christmas on the block<br />In the darkest corner of the night<br />Only dreams illuminate their eyes<br />And they see all the colors<br />That we cannot<br />And theirs is the most beautiful Christmas on the block<br />And they cannot see the lightning<br />And they cannot see the thunder<br />But they know what no one understands That beauty is a
blessing<br />Love is all we've got<br />And theirs is the most beautiful<br />Christmas on the block </blockquote>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Two figures enter the cave with the unmistakable hesitancy
of blindness. The couple bows and slowly makes their way to the manger. Mary is
moved to tears with compassion for the blind couple who have come to worship
their Savior. Each year, it is their arrival that moves Mary and Joseph the
most. They have such love for the child and yet they have never gazed on His face
with earthly eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They have been blind from birth and they have never seen any
baby, much less the infant Son of God. They find their way to the side of the
crib, and they reach in to pick Him up. Mary smiles through tears of joy and
Joseph looks on with admiration. They have said nothing to each other until
now. “Hello Mary...hello Joseph," the couple whisper. Mary chokes back
tears. Their voices sound like the familiar sounds of old friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe it is because this couple, who needs so much from this
Savior, has never asked for anything. They have not only accepted their
blindness, but used it to bless others who have perfect physical sight. They
don't complain, they don't whine. They decorate a tree on their front porch and
invite people from the entire city to come and decorate it with them. In doing
so they share Jesus with the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They know how to hold Christmas in their hearts and it just
naturally overflows onto the streets of Upper Darby, the neighborhood in
Philadelphia where they live in a modest row home, and on to the rest of my
hometown. They never considered when they began their tradition, that a young
and talented songwriter would write a Christmas song about them and it would
wind up on MTV in the early budding days of the network. They just wanted to
show the world that they got it. That they knew that Christmas was more than
things you can see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary hugs the woman a long time. They are practically
friends and Mary seems somehow comfortable with her in a way the other visitors
don't leave her feeling. Perhaps it is the blindness, or the simplicity. Likely
it is the fact that this wonderful blind couple comes here each year and never
asks for anything from the baby. They just spend time loving Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The woman holds Jesus affectionately and traces His face
delicately with her fingertips. “He is so beautiful!" is her hushed
whisper. Her husband fumbles for her hand and says "Show me..." The
woman takes his hand in hers and together they gently touch Jesus cheeks, His
lips, they stroke His hair. He is enamored with this couple. They ask for
nothing. They are as vulnerable in their blindness as He is in His infancy. He
somehow knows this and it makes him smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary whispers in the darkness to the couple, "If you
asked Him, I believe he would, even at this age." The woman smiles in the
direction of her voice, "Oh no Mary. God must have wanted us this way for
a reason. We don't need to be healed to love Him “I know that," Mary
smiles, "But I bet He would anyway." The couple worships Jesus for a long,
long time. They touch His face and commit His features to memory. He falls
asleep in her arms and she places Him in his manger crib.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The couple turns and crawls towards the doorway. They stop
and Mary and Joseph hug them for unashamedly for several minutes. You are our
most welcome guests," Mary says, "Thank you for loving my son."
The man wipes tears away and smiles. "Mary, Joseph...thank you for letting
us see Him. When we close our eyes in worship, we see Him just as clearly as
everyone else does." Mary weeps openly at these words. Joseph hugs the man
for a long time. “We have to go," the wife whispers to Mary, "There
are a few more lights to put on that tree on our porch and people will be
stopping by until late into the night."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The blind couple fumble in their perpetual darkness toward
the cave entrance and out into the night, heading home to the Upper Darby
section of Philadelphia, to finish their tree that tells the real story of
Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They are worshiping a baby they have never seen, except in
their hearts where it matters most.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 135%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2.9pt; margin-right: 51.5pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: -2.9pt;">
<i>“I can see, and that is why I can
be happy, in what you call the dark, but which to me is golden.</i> <i style="text-indent: -0.5pt;">I can see a God-made world, not a manmade world.” </i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">-Helen Keller</span></i></blockquote>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-47255183190330940622016-12-09T06:28:00.000-05:002016-12-09T06:28:18.817-05:00Advent Day 13: The Notorious Sinner<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“This is a statement you can trust, and you should make note of it:
Jesus Christ came here to save sinners, and I am the most notorious sinner of
all. But that’s exactly why he showed me grace, so that in me, the Notorious
Sinner, Jesus might display his love.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Sometimes I am quite certain that God has
a sense of humor that is infinitely funnier than ours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And other times I think His
actions are intentionally poignant and purposeful. Like tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I started going to church when I
was 8 years old and have been there ever since. I graduated from the world’s
foremost evangelical university with a bachelor’s degree in religion. I’m in
Seminary right now. In those 42 years of Faith, there have been questions that
have occasionally been asked and asked and asked again. Each time, no answer is
found but that only fuels the fire curiosity even more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">One of those questions –innocuous
as it seems- is “What kind of body do we have in Heaven? If we die as an elderly
person, are we elderly? Are we children again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I don’t know why this mattered
but it has been asked forever. Maybe it’s because we wonder if we’ll recognize
those we love when we get where they are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Tonight, I got my answer, at
least in part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">About 1 a.m, as I peeled back
another leather door on the mystical Advent Calendar Wick Radcliffe had given
me, another visitor has arrived. I recognize him ...by his snow-white eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is a new arrival this
Christmas. He left the bonds of Earth only this past April, and the world is
sadder for his leaving. But we are infinitely better for his having been here
in the first place. He touched countless lives with words of Grace and Love. He
is the original Ragamuffin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Brennan Manning has come to see
His friend, the Baby Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Of all the visitors on this long,
wondrous night, it is this man I most wish I could interact with. I wish I
could speak to him. I wish I could throw my arms around his neck and tell him
how I love him and how his battles and his honesty saved my life. Somehow, I
think he knows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Brennan is not bent, broken and
crippled. His eyes are clear. The effects of the alcoholism he hid from
millions is buried in the grave. The Brennan who lives in Christ is all that
remains. His smile is bright, his hands free from the tremors. His hair is the
dark brown it was when he was a young priest with the Little Brothers of Jesus
in France. But his eyebrows...his eyebrows are the same snowy white they were
for half his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I chuckle at this. I think it’s
just God winking at me. “This is so you understand once and for all that you
will recognize each other.” I imagine Him saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Brennan crawls to the side of the
manger. Where others hesitate or halter, Brennan wastes not a moment. He scoops
Jesus into his arms and kisses his sweet, precious face over and over. Jesus
smiles and drools on Brennan, but the beloved old Ragamuffin never notices. He
is living what he believed for all those years. For the first time in his life,
he is experiencing Jesus without a twinge of guilt or the ghost of a drinking
binge pricking at his soul. He is free of the bonds of humanity. “Those who
would worship God must worship Him in spirit and in truth...” the Bible says.
And tonight, Brennan is a free spirit. Free from the limits of flesh. Free from
the lies we all tell to cover what we do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Watching this man who I love so
dearly, I am reminded of a story he told in one of his books. Brennan was
waiting for a flight in the busiest airport in America: Chicago’s O’Hare
Airport. It was late, it was cold, it was snowing a blizzard outside. It was a
mere two days until Christmas and O’Hare was a madhouse of people trying to get
home and growing more aggravated each minute at the weather and the delays.
Right in the middle of the hustle and bustle, Brennan noticed a black woman
holding her infant son and making funny faces at him. She was blowing on his
face and making little “motorboat” noises and running her fingers on her lips
and making her son laugh and laugh...and in return he made her laugh as well.
Brennan walked over to the woman and asked her how she could be so silly and
carefree in the middle of a blizzard in Chicago, two days before Christmas. Her
response is really what Christmas is about. She looked up at Brennan and said:
“It’s Christmas, and dat baby Jesus he sho’ makes me laugh”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I think of that story as I watch
Brennan, because he is essentially doing the same thing with Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Brennan Manning is laughing. He
is making funny noises and making Jesus smile. And the smile of his baby-savior
makes Brennan laugh. Brennan is finally resting in the truth of something he so
frequently said: “The Father of Jesus is very fond of me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Merry Christmas, Ragamuffin. And
welcome home.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
“Though we’re strangers, still I
love you. I love you more than your mask. And I know you’ll have to trust this
to be true.<br /><blockquote>
...and I know that’s much to ask”<br /> --Rich Mullins<br /> “Peace”</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-13739158221669087332016-12-08T08:28:00.001-05:002016-12-08T08:28:34.461-05:00Advent Day 12: Sometimes By Step<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<i> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“He
heals the heartbroken and bandages their wounds. He counts the stars and
assigns each a name.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The end of
the day came far later than I’d hoped. I’ve not been sleeping well since this
advent journey began. The emotion of the visitors and the sights and sounds and
stories, coupled with my own troubled emotions because of the coming Christmas
Holiday, has robbed me of sleep…and at times, of peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I peel open
the leather door on John Xiao’s unique advent calendar, and I am baffled. I
guess it’s because I thought this visitor was finished already, but staring at
the scene for a minute, and searching my soul, I realize this visitor needed a
return. The visitor is me, and I still have a heart full of unfinished
business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Joseph and
Mary are busy in the corner of the cave, rummaging through a bag of worn and
threadbare clothes, trying to find something suitable for this infant son of
God. The mere thought of that is at once laughable and tragic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Laughable,
that anything on this planet would be worthy of Jesus. Tragic that He would
have allowed this situation, that he entered this poverty willingly. He chose this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They seem
occupied and absorbed so I make my way to the tiny wooden trough and kneel next
to the newborn savior of my soul. He is awake and quietly looking at me with
piercing eyes that have instantly cut through 49 years of bluff and bluster and
shame and weariness and have found the core of my being. Then He smiled at me… I reach down and take him in my arms,
this little poor, illegitimate, scandalous baby-king, overlooked by the world
on the night he was born, something we have in common and something that makes
him so easy to approach. I am whirling and twisting inside. A thousand
questions rage against the walls of my heart and threaten to burst from my lips
all at once, like an auctioneer. I try to calm myself and sort through the
storm inside. Slowly I begin to formulate the questions I want to ask him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am holding
God in the flesh and I may never again get this chance. I have his attention in
a way I don’t know I ever have before. Although I know full well he is
enraptured by me -by us all- every second of every day. Here in this cave, in
my arms, in the quiet of a brilliant midwinter’s night, He seems closer than He
ever has.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The torrent
of questions, and statements, begin to line up in order, waiting to be asked
and expressed. Some are obvious and have already been answered sufficiently,
but I find myself selfishly wanting to ask anyway. The “why” questions…why did
my sister have to die so young? Why did Holly divorce me? Why does a man with
the heart of a wonderful daddy, get to see his daughter so infrequently?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I consider
asking all these questions but I realize that these aren’t the really weighty
matters I am here for. I have wrestled these to the ground already and I have
gotten sufficient answers. To ask again would be to abuse the special privilege
afforded me here tonight and I refuse to do that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No, I have
deeper questions I want to ask…and deeper hurts I want him to touch. I have
unfinished business with this child and I need to move beyond the shame and
fear and ask him the thing I’ve wanted to ask all my life. So I move in closer
and pick him up and hold him in my arms. Even as I do, the thought broadsides
me…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I am
holding God. God…in the flesh and in my arms. Tiny, gentle, humble and
unassuming. I have his attention in a way I have never felt I had before.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The words
are difficult in coming. I know what I want to say but I don’t like the way the
words sound when I formulate them in my mind. It still hurts. It is still
confusing. But I need an answer to the greatest question I have ever wanted to
ask. So I muster the courage that I don’t really need and I haltingly begin
speaking to this baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Jesus…” I
begin, “Mullins said something in a song once that has always summed up my
life.” I am whispering and in my soul I hear the strains of Rich’s voice as he
sings “Hold me Jesus”. “Sometimes my life just don’t make sense at all…” I
pause here. I remember the very first time I ever heard that song and how
deeply it cut my soul in its plaintive beauty. I continue…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Actually,
it feels like my life has never quite made sense. I’ve been watching you here
tonight. Watching these visitors and hearing the angels and seeing the reaction
of Mary and Joseph.” My vision grows hazy as tears well in my eyes. “All these
people, the heavens, creation itself is happily announcing your arrival and
celebrating your birth.” I speak with a smile. “It’s wonderful really…seeing
this happen. Seeing prophecy fulfilled and a promise kept.” It takes me a
minute to continue, and when I do, my voice is a deep croak, there is weariness
in it and a hint of surrender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“But what
about me? Was anyone happy when I was born? My mom was 19 years old and
unmarried. My dad was in Vietnam fighting just to survive. I wasn’t planned and
I wasn’t wanted and I wasn’t hoped for. My birth came about in about as ignoble
a means as can be” At this I instantly chuckle. I’m holding the son of God. God
in the flesh! He’s illegitimate and poor and mired in a filthy cave and not
nearly enough people have noticed tonight. And here I am asking about the
scandal of my birth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am still
beating around the bush. There are words that want to burst out of me like
machine gunfire but I am afraid to ask. Maybe I’m afraid of the answer…or
afraid there will be no answer given. I wrestle and I fret and finally I just
decide to ask this infant child in my arms. What is he going to do, mock me?
Not tonight he won’t. So, the words creep forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Jesus…” I
stumble, “Why am I here? What purpose do<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have on
this earth? Was there anyone at all who was elated when I was born? Did I ever
make anyone’s life better because of my being born? Was there even one person
who was waiting longingly that night in September 1963, when I came into this
world?” I was choking back tears and hesitating. “Or was it just a case of an
unwanted, unplanned kid who was born the way millions of unwanted, unplanned
kids are? Is this all there is for me? Was there nobody who wanted to bless me?
To pray for me. Nobody who held me up and said ‘I have such big dreams and
plans for your life?’” “Even my name was a botched mismatch” I whispered. “Who
am I really?” “Whose child is this?” The words were flowing and so were the
tears. I felt like I was going to break down into sobs. There was an inner wall
inside my soul that began making creaking sounds and was about to crumble. I
realized this and placed Jesus gently back into his manger. Then the dam burst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I fell face
down in the muddy straw at the foot of the crib and sobbed my questions again.
“Who was waiting for me?” Who do I really deeply matter to?” Was my life
special to anyone at all?” I lay there a long time weeping and wondering. Faces
flashing in my mind. People I longed to talk to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">People I
desperately wanted to know…to know, that I mattered to. That my life touched
theirs somehow. My ex-wife, my daughter, my sister, my friends …my dad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I don’t know
how long I lay there. I know I wept until my sides hurt. I wept enough that I
didn’t hear the entrance of the figure next to me. I didn’t know anyone was
there at all until a voice broke my sorrow. “Son,” he said. It was a voice I
didn’t recognize. “Son. Craig, get up. Look at me.” The man touched my shoulder
and I got up on my knees. I attempted to wipe away the tears that kept flowing.
Years and years of carting this around were gushing out of me tonight. This
baby made it just safe enough for me to open this secret trap door and address
this face to face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man wore
a robe. It was a dark brown and he carried a staff. His thick beard ran down
passed his throat and spilled onto his chest. It was mostly grey and untamed.
He had a kindness in his eyes that drew my away from the hurt I was touching at
that moment. He looked at me a long time and held my gaze in silence until it
became awkward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I
finally had cleared away the whirlwind in my soul, I asked him “Who are you?”
The man smiled and drew a long breath. “You are my child” he spoke. I was
baffled by this. “But, you are not my father. How am I your child?” The man
chuckled and said softly, “You know much…but you don’t always understand.” He
hesitated and looked very thoughtful. “Come with me,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We crawled
to the opening of the cave and went outside. I hadn’t stood up in days and it
felt great. The air was fresh and the stars were brilliant. I took a few deep
breaths and rubbed my eyes. The man touched my shoulder and said “Follow me,
son” Then he turned and started up a great hill near the cave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We walked in
silence for what felt like an hour or more. It was a very high
hillside…actually more of a gentle mountain. The road was rocky and difficult
to negotiate. The man walked with a determination and a strength that belied
his seemingly advanced age. He never spoke during the entire journey. In fact
he never looked back at me except once, when a large group of shooting stars
rocketed past and he turned his head with a grin as if to say, “Did you see
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We turned a
corner and crested the last rim of this mountain. The view was amazing. It
reminded me of going to the Blue Ridge Mountains when I was in college in
Lynchburg, Va. The sky was more clear and bright than any night sky I’d ever
known. The old man sat down on a rock and waved his hand to bid do the same. I
sat next to him and stared out into the starry night sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man let
the silence fall on us like a blanket before finally speaking. “Son, you have
many questions inside. Questions you’ve longed to ask. Questions that you can’t
seem to find answers for.” The man smiled as I shifted and shrugged my
shoulders. I didn’t answer him. The hurt was still fresh from the tears I’d shed
in the cave and I wasn’t really wanting to return to that moment just yet, if
ever again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man
stood to his feet and bid me do the same. I rose slowly. It has been an
emotional few days here and I was weary. He walked over and stood next to me
and we stared out across the valley below us and upward into the starry field
over our heads. I had never in my life seen so many stars. Prior to this
moment, I never could have imagined what “billions” looked like but tonight I
was sure that’s what I was seeing. Billions of shimmering dots. So many, and
yet against a sky so expansive, there was still room for more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stared for
a long time at one particular star. It seemed to be slowly moving.
Imperceptibly in fact. I rubbed my eyes because I thought they were playing
tricks. The other stars seemed to begin to dim and this one star appeared
brighter and brighter. The star was coming closer and growing larger by the
second. It seemed like a planet now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like I could
reach out and touch it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man
drew close to me and he began talking in a hushed tone, almost a whisper.
“Son…” he spoke, “You carry shame that you do not own. You carry fear that you
do not need. You seek yourself but you never recognize yourself in your
reflections.” The man grew serious and let
silence fall for a minute. “Son…” he said. “The questions you ask are questions
everyone wants the answers to. The problem is that in your life, the people who
normally answer them for you are missing.” I knew what he meant without asking.
It was as if his words were being implanted in my heart as he spoke. I had
never had anyone to define me. Nobody to tell me about my history or my future
and nobody who had ever cared enough to have laid out a plan for me and for my
life. Nobody who celebrated my arrival and who really deeply knew me, the way a
family does…the way a dad does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I got the
sense that this man had heard every thought as it raced through my mind. He
spoke again and he addressed everything I had just said in my heart. “You’re
wrong, there was someone. There is a plan…” I was startled and turned to look
at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He smiled
knowingly and drew near my right ear. He leaned in close and whispered; “He
numbers the star, and calls each one by its own name…” I back away and smiled.
I love that verse. Its’ Psalm 147:4 I always wondered about all that it might
mean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man
whispered again. “Did you ever wonder why it says He calls each one by its own
name?” He said. “Yes, I have. I understand numbering them. I guess He just
knows exactly how many stars He spoke into existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But I always
wondered about knowing their names. Stars?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Names? Why
did David write that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man
looked thoughtful and a smile crept across his face, curling his mouth at the
corners. He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them he had tears just
beginning to form. The he drew in once again and whispered a name in my ear.
It’s a name I can’t reveal here in this journal. In fact I can’t tell anyone
what it is. It’s not my given name “Craig.” It is the name John tells us about
in Revelation 2:17. The name written on a white stone. The name that God -our
father- knows us by. We each have one and it is a secret we will know one day
when He calls us by that name for the first time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man
whispered the name into my ear and said, “This is how I know you my son…” He
was speaking on behalf of God at that moment, I was sure of that much. God
himself was calling me “son” and doing it in a fashion I would never forget.
Then the old man put his hand over my eyes for a second. When he pulled his
hand away, the star that had been coming closer was so close that it appeared
only a few feet away, and it seemed as if I could touch it. The man spoke
again, but not in a whisper this time. “Son, look at this star” I stared a long
time at the star. The rest of the night sky had grown hazy and the only star I
could clearly make out was this one. The man paused a moment and spoke again.
“Son, one night a long time ago. A night very much like this one, Father God
took me up on a mountaintop like the one we are now on and showed me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">the stars.
He told me to count every one of them, if I could. The he promised me one child
for every star I could see.” I turned my head in shock. Then I fell to my knees
instantly. The word hung on my lips a long time before I could speak it.
“Abraham?” I asked incredulously. “Yes my son…” the man replied. “Please, stand
on your feet.” I stood as he requested and stared in wide eyed wonder. The man
sensed my shock and realizing I wasn’t going to have anything to say for a
while, he continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“That night
when God showed me those stars he made me a promise. He promised that I would
finally have children. Until this time I had none. But God promised and he
marked out the promise by telling me there was one star in the heavens for
every child He would give me.” I was not grasping where he was going with this
but then again, I wasn’t sure I was grasping anything. I was, after all,
talking to Abraham.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He waited
for my spinning mind to catch up and then he continued. “Son…Father God created
this world about 3,000 years before he made me this promise. So if he knew he
was going to make this oath with me, he had to have taken it into consideration
while he was creating. That is why it says he numbers the stars. He knew from
the beginning how many stars it would take because he knew how many children he
would give me through His promise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He knew this
as he put those stars in place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Abraham
waited a long time before continuing. He waited as if waiting to see the light
go on in my soul that signified I grasped what he was saying. When he was
comfortable that I understood his words, he continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Son, each
star of promise represents one child of promise. So each one is a marker, a
placeholder so to speak. Each star represents one child who would accept this
Savior and become a fulfillment of the promise God made me. Each star has a
name son, because each one represents a promised child.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He stopped
here and watched my face as the dots began to connect in my mind. A smile began
to mix with tears and then he continued... “This star,” he said, pointing to
the brilliant star before us, “This is your star. This one is your place
marker. It’s the star God himself set in the heavens to remind me of the
promise he’d made. This star’s name is…” And he spoke my secret name again. My
mouth hung open wide. I was in awe. I wept and laughed. Abraham let me absorb
as much as I could and then he turned me toward him and placed his hands
squarely on my shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Son. I
waited for you. Son God waited anxiously for you. The angels rejoiced and God
danced over you without you even realizing it. He had a party, he jumped and
laughed. He was happy! He had a plan for you since the moment he set your star
with your name in the heavens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He could not
wait for your arrival. In fact, I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when one
of his promised children is born.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Suddenly it
hit me and I dropped to my knees. Tears fell on the rough rocky ground and I
saw the truth of what Abraham had said. No matter what I thought…the truth was
that God had longed for me. He waited for my birth with great anticipation. He
could not wait to see me and touch me. I began to understand that ultimately it
was His plan and His blessing that I needed, and it was there for me to accept.
I whispered a simple prayer and when I opened my eyes I was back in the cave
and Jesus was smiling at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Abraham was
gone and Mary and Joseph were fast asleep. It was just me and Jesus<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">…and those
stars</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-indent: -0.5pt;">“Sometimes I think of Abraham…</span><span style="font-size: large; text-indent: -0.5pt;">how one star he saw had been lit for me” </span><span style="font-size: large; text-indent: -0.5pt;">-Rich Mullins</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 108%; margin-bottom: 10.5pt; margin-left: 104.3pt; margin-right: 10.9pt; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: -.5pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-88534781224854975302016-12-07T08:49:00.000-05:002016-12-07T08:49:28.582-05:00Advent Day Eleven: No Grace<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“It is absolutely clear that God
has called you to a free life.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is a cold, rainy, late fall day in Philadelphia. It is typical for
early December; damp and gray. I still haven’t gotten into the spirit of the
season and it is worrying me, but Christmas rushes toward us regardless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Another day dawns and another opportunity to see what further
mysteries the little advent calendar holds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I open the little leather door. For the first time in eight days, I
don't like the image I see. It is an older man, I don't know him, yet he seems
familiar. I decide to stand to the side and observe. He arrives at the cave
with trepidation. My heart tells me he has made this journey many times in the
past and it has always left him discomfited. This place ruins his theology
every time he comes here. Yet he comes back each year because he so desperately
wants what this baby offers. He just can't get used to the surroundings and the
poverty and the dirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The overflowing love of an infant Savior makes him uneasy. He has
never been comfortable merely accepting this child as he is. This man has
always thought God was too easy on us all and that we need to strain more to
accept this gift. (The true nature of a gift being lost on his tired soul long
ago.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So again he comes, trying to find a way to reconcile this place and
this child with his legalistic theology. He huffs and puffs around the entrance
to the cave until finally he bows and scurries in, like a chipmunk running for
the hollow of a fallen oak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He crawls in on hands and knees, making a mental note of how well
dressed he is compared to Mary and Joseph and the other visitors. Then he sees
how filthy everything is, and that much of that filth is getting his brand new
charcoal suit dirty. He is flustered now because he didn't plan on getting
dirty...and this a new suit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He looks around, grasps Josephs hand heartily, and nods toward Mary as
if she is merely a domestic servant. Mary smiles gently and thinks to herself
how every time he comes here he behaves the same way towards her. I think to
myself how the man treats Mary as if she were a Catholic. Even at his age, and
wisdom, he doesn’t grasp that she is not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man glances around at the unbelievably dismal surroundings and he
gives a shudder. "This is wrong," he thinks to himself. "This
scene is wrong somehow. This poverty, this humbleness. He is a King for God's
sake!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He glances at his watch, "Good I am early...the wise men haven't
even arrived yet” he thinks this every year, and prides himself on getting here
ahead of the much ballyhooed Orient Kings. This man is approaching 80 years old
and still doesn't realize that they won't be coming tonight. Joseph tried
explaining that to him once when he asked, but the old man argued with him so
vehemently that he gave up trying. Joseph and Mary tolerate this man for one
reason only, and I am about to find out why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man looks at the four figures around the manger in annoyance.
They have been there since he arrived and he is late. He has a candlelight
service to attend and now he is going to have to change suits before he can go.
Besides, these men are shepherds and they are really smelly. Three of them are
standing, albeit hunched over and one man is on his knees rocking slowly back
and forth. The three are speaking to him, trying to get him to finish up and
get going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“L'enchante...L'enchante, we must be leaving!” But the fourth shepherd
is lost in adoration and the only response they get is his melodic, whispered
worship tune..."Jesu...Jesu..." His tears flow freely and his smile
is as nothing anyone has ever seen. The old man clears his throat loudly and
taps on his watch when one of the shepherds looks back. They have no idea what
the gesture means, having never seen a watch, but they assume he is in a hurry.
The shepherd blushes and finally the fourth man rises to his hunched over
position with his three compatriots. They walk past the old man apologetically
and he offers a bleak, pained smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now he is alone with the child. He crouches down so as not to kneel,
not wanting to further soil his new charcoal suit. He arrives at the manger and
for a moment, he seems to soften. A few tears come to his eyes but he resists
them. He looks at the tiny figure stirring in the crib and his heart aches to
hold him. His hand reaches for a tiny finger but withdraws instantly.
"No!" he thinks..."This is the Savior. He cannot be
touched!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">His hands tremble and his heart is on fire in his chest. Being this
close to that which he adores and still not reaching out to him and holding
him, his god-nature cries out: "Pick Him up!" but his legalistic
flesh refuses. "Never!" he says to himself, "This is sacred and
holy. I cannot touch him nor can He touch me. I would die."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The conflict is visible and the baby begins to cry, perhaps because of
the turmoil in the man’s heart and on his face. The baby is reaching a tiny hand
toward this man and the man’s heart is wrenched. Mary can stand no more of this
and she rushes to her son. She turns a fiery glance at the old man and spits
out; "Every time you come here, my son longs for you to pick him up and
hold him. And you always refuse. Why? Why do you not understand that a baby
must be held to give its love and to receive yours? Why do you not understand
this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary blushes as she realizes she is raising her voice at this man. But
her mother’s heart is wounded because of this man's rejection of her son's
loving overtures, yet she shows compassion to him. "Sir" she whispers
as her tiny hand touches his, "I can see that you have love for him...but
he is a baby and he cannot take that love you bring unless you touch him. And
he cannot love you in return unless you let him touch you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man trembles and almost breaks. Everything in his old soul
longs to hold this child. He knows he has the very son of God -his own savior-
right here and he could touch Him, but he refuses. He has all that he has ever
longed for at his disposal, but his pride, and the depth of his legalism
prevent him and he stumbles out of the cave yet again. He remains untouched and
unchanged, refusing the humbling love of being accepted as he already is, not as
he thinks he needs to be.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Jesus loves us just as we are...not as we ought to be. Because
we will never be as we ought to be.” --Brennan Manning </blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-30528629910223404602016-12-06T05:02:00.001-05:002016-12-06T05:02:55.365-05:00Advent Day Ten: The Father Visits His Son<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>“This is my Son…I love Him above all else.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>He makes me very happy!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I wouldn't call it terror that greeted me when I opened the
little leather door this morning. More like awe. The sort of thing that sucks
the air from your lungs and makes you gasp to gain it back. Like seeing the
ocean for the first time, or the Grand Canyon, or the surface of the moon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Seated just inside the doorway to the cave is an enormous
man, larger by far than I am. I can't tell for certain, but I would guess this
man is at least seven feet tall and I am quite sure he is officially what the
medical community would classify a giant. He is perhaps one of the most
handsome men I have ever seen. He is fierce, yet not frightening. He doesn't
say anything to me at first; he seems to be checking me out with a gaze that
feels like it reveals my very soul to him. My eyes hurt, and at first I think
it's just from the lack of sleep and the dingy lighting in this hovel but then
I realize that it is, in fact, bright in here for the first time. Bright enough
that I squint. I look at the oil lamps and they seem to be brilliant in a way I
have never seen since this long night began. I can't even look at them without
shielding my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The large man's face does not move for a long time and then
I notice the faintest trace of a smile beginning to crease his lips. He answers
the question I have in my heart before I even ask it. At first I thought I
actually spoke, so loud was my inner voice. But I realize I did not. Yet he
looks at me, and when my heart wonders silently “Why are you here?” He smiles
and says "I am here with Him..." he said, nodding toward the manger,
"I never leave his side unless it’s to do his bidding."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Glancing in the direction of the manger takes me a minute,
because this gigantic man holds my attention so fully. Slowly I turn my gaze to
the corner of the cave where Jesus lay sleeping and I see an older man. I can't
quite make him out clearly in the brilliance of the suddenly powerful oil
lamps, but I can tell he is an older man. He too is large, not as big as this
giant before me, but a large man nonetheless. He is holding Jesus and I can
hear him speaking. This is odd to me because, I am fairly certain his lips
aren't moving, but with the dreadful glare I can't be sure. I listen and his
voice is powerful and soothing at once. At first, I can't understand the words
he speaks, it's a language I am not familiar with, but in an instant I begin to
understand him. He is not speaking English but whatever it is; somehow, I know
what he is saying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is holding Jesus and his gaze is more tender and loving
than any visitor has displayed tonight. More loving than even Mary. "I
love you" he whispers... "you are such a wonderful boy." The old
man has tears in his eyes that fall on the child and dance like diamonds in the
incredible light. I can only steal small glances because the brilliance hurts
my eyes so. I think it is because I have been in this dark cave for so long
tonight that light seems extra bothersome. The man is rocking the boy gently
and the boy is gazing back with a look that I won't even try to describe,
except it is a love I have never witnessed. Not at any age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man sings a lyrical song to the child and the boy
smiles. The man speaks again, "I love you...you are beloved...you are my
beloved little boy". I shudder and without even realizing it I fall on my
face. "It can't be!" I scream in the silence of my soul..."It's
not possible!" I cannot bring myself to look up again but I can still hear
the words the old man is speaking to the child. "My son...my beloved son.
You make me happy. What you will do in this world will change everything. Our
enemy will be defeated forever and these children I love will be able to come
home at last. Thank you my son, for being willing." The old man's voice
breaks and he weeps his diamond-tears on the torn linen strips that encase his
little boy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man is long to release His precious little child. I
am scared beyond measure and I feel a warm hand on my shoulder…it is the huge
and handsome stranger seated in the doorway. “Look up at me Craig” he says in a
voice that is at once thunderous and gentle. I struggle to raise my glance to
his incredibly handsome face. He is smiling. I sit up and he begins to speak to
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I have been with Him since before all of this was here”, he
says, sweeping his hands wide to seemingly encompass the whole world it. He
created me before he created this place. “So, He is your father as well?” I
asked him. “No!” the handsome man responded firmly. “No, I am not made in His
image the way you are. I am different.” I could not see a noticeable difference
and so as the question formed in my heart “How are you different” he was
already answering. “He spoke me into existence like he did everything else He
created. He said “let there be, and I was.” He made all of what you see in that
way. This earth. The trees, the sky, the stars. The things that bring you joy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He spoke all of that into being and it responded instantly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was wondering why he told me this, because everyone knows
this and I couldn’t understand the significance. I suppose this too was evident
with this massive man because he looked at me very warmly and with a somewhat
sly smile that told me he knew even this thought of mine and was about to upset
my apple-cart. “I know,” he said “you’ve heard that since you were a child”.
“Yes” I admitted…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“That’s sort of old news.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The mountain man smiled and then he got very quiet, even for
him. “You know there was one thing that during those six days of creation, He
touched. One thing that He didn’t just speak into existence but He shaped and
formed and caressed.” I was puzzled. I quickly tried to run back through the
six days of creation in my mind and see if I could find it. I was trying to
think quietly so maybe he couldn’t read my heart and just tell me, but I wasn’t
that crafty and he put his massive hand on my shoulder and held my gaze with
the sheer forcefulness of his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Craig…” he whispered, “the only thing He created with his
hands was you.” The enormous man paused for a long second or two, waiting for
me to catch up to his words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Suddenly it hit me. At once I understood what he was telling
me, and what he was saying, and what it meant. I got it. God spoke everything
into existence on those six amazing days…everything except man. He formed Adam
from the ground, and then he breathed His very life into Him with a kiss. I
suddenly saw it, and that’s when the massive and tender warrior spoke again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I wish you could have seen it. I wish I could describe it
to you and do it justice. How He surveyed the work He had done before he made
you. How He made sure every detail of this world was absolutely perfect before
He did what He did that day. How that pause seemed so long. How much love He
put into what He did next…” the giant was wistful now. He seemed to be reveling
in the memories of that moment as he painted the picture for me. He was deeply
moved as he continued… “He took His hands and he found the richest soil in the
garden. He began shaping a big pile and He worked it down with such detail,
with such precision, until it was absolutely perfect.” The man paused again and
took a deep breath. He began again to tell me the story…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I have stood by His side since the dawn of time and I have
never seen the look on His face that He had that day, except maybe when He
would communicate with this child, His son.” If I had any doubts as to the
identity of the old man kneeling at the manger, they were gone now. I wanted to
turn my head and see him but I dare not, and this man’s story had me
enraptured. The giant continued; “He looked at this perfectly shaped pile of
dirt with a look that I can only assume is…love.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was curious about the way he spoke that word, and again,
before I could ask him, he answered me. “I don’t know love the way you know it.
I am not made in his image as you are. He is love, you are made like Him. I can
recognize it, I can see it, I can deeply appreciate it, but I don’t feel it
like you do, or like He does.” I was baffled by this and I felt pity for the
way he relayed this to me. “But don’t you love him?” I asked the giant man.
“Yes, I think that’s what this is. I am loyal to Him. I fight for Him. I
worship Him and adore him…but I don’t feel I am part of Him, not the way you
are. You are all very different. That day as He shaped Adam, as His hands
formed every detail, there was something in His gaze that I had never seen, not
before the world or during its creation. He was eager. He was anticipating
something. He was longing. I didn’t understand it until I watched what He did
next.” The man paused and smiled to himself and I was sure he was seeing the
moment once again in his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“He stepped back from the pile of dirt He had been shaping
and caressing and his eyes ran over it from top to bottom. Then He leaned in
and kissed it tenderly on the lips, and He breathed into it, and a part of His
very spirit moved into the form and it came to life. He named Him Adam and he
loved him. Craig…He loved him. Do you understand me? He adored this man. He
looked at him with a pride and satisfaction that nothing else He had made ever
gave him. Not the five days of creation that went before, not even me. Nothing
made Him as deeply happy as what His hands had made and what His breath brought
to life that day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man paused a long time and I was stunned. I sat there
looking at him but seeing the picture he was painting with his words. I was
dumbfounded. I had never -not once- considered
the creation of man in the way this giant man was telling me. And it made all
the difference. When he was sure I had digested all that he had told me until
then, the man spoke again, this time in a faint whisper. “David once wrote that
you were all fearfully and wonderfully made, and he was right. Each one of you
who is born into this world carries the careful caress of the Father himself.
Each of you has been shaped and formed and each detail has been memorized by
Him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He paused a long time and looked sad and there was pity in
his voice when he said; “What I don’t understand is how hard it is for you to
grasp His love for you. I see it so plainly and yet you all seem to miss it and
run from it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Something terrible happened to make you forget that he made
you by hand. Something over these years has caused you all to be unable to
recognize the feeling of His touch on your skin or His breath in your lungs. I
don’t understand it. He doesn’t even love me this way, and I have never left
His side since time began. Why do you not grasp the way he sees you?” The man
seemed to be asking this as a rhetorical now, not actually expecting an answer
from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“I wish you could have seen how he would look at Adam back
then. How He gazed at him with such affection. How He leaned in close to hear
the faintest whisper from Adams lips that might be a call for help or a word of
affection. He was wild about Adam.” There was another pause and then he continued,
“You know that He carefully creates each of you in much the same way? He
doesn’t make you out of dirt now but as each child is created -in those first
few split seconds- He sees their whole life all at once. He blesses them and He
breathes that same Life into every single one. If you all only knew how deeply
He loves you, why your life would be more than you could ever imagine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man said these words wistfully almost knowing it would
never be this way for us. I was going to ask him more questions when there was
a sound from the manger. The old man has spoken something and the giant in
front of me understood it at once. “Yes, my Lord” he answers. I immediately am
face down on the cave floor once again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man holds the boy to His robes for a long second. Finally,
he places the child back in his makeshift crib and kisses the baby. In his kiss,
I can hear the slightest rushing of a breeze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man walks past me in my prostrate position and I feel
his hand brush my head as he goes by. The lights in the cave calm to their
previous dim. I am certain he is gone and I turn to look and the giant man is
still at the doorway, getting ready to leave as well. "Wait!" I call
out to him, "Wait...I need to ask you..." "Yes...” the man responds to the question I haven't asked
yet. “Yes, that was." "But...how...why?" The angel laughs and
the bellow hurts my ears a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Amazingly Joseph and Mary and Jesus never rustle from their
sleep even as the man booms in laughter. "This is His Son..." He says
with a smile, "You didn't think He would miss this, did you? He is a
daddy, after all, you know."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I burst into deep sobs. This scene has rent my heart in two.
47 years and I never once thought about God as a daddy on that night, as an
expectant father eagerly celebrating the arrival of his precious child. The
large man reaches a hand out and touches my head. "It's okay, it's a lot
to grasp. But He is The Father, and this is His Son. He wanted to be here to
see him, like any daddy would on the night his son was born." I look up at
this mammoth man and before I can utter the words in my heart he answers me
again, "Yes...I am Michael. I go with Him wherever He goes."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Leaning down to whisper in my ear he says only one word..."remember."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And with that, he is gone.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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"I felt something impossible for me to explain in words.<br />Then, when they took her away, it hit me.<br />I got scared all over again and began to feel giddy.<br />Then it came to me... I was a father."<br /> --Nat King Cole</blockquote>
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Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-32526654979733028992016-12-05T06:16:00.000-05:002016-12-05T06:16:15.858-05:00Advent Day Nine: The Shepherds...<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “That night there were shepherds staying in
the fields nearby, guarding their flocks of sheep”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have had to take a long time to digest what I have
witnessed thus far. I know this child has the power to heal, to bring hope, and
to restore happiness. But I’ve seen him do so much more already. These mystical
visits have been emotional to say the least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have been looking a long time at the calendar in my hands.
The bells of Saints Peter and Paul Church have tolled again and a new day
dawns. I’ve been sitting here a long time, pondering the meaning of what I’ve
seen. I gently open the next little door and a smile makes its way across my
face. This scene is one of my personal favorites, and I've been waiting for
this one!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The shepherds have arrived!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They were tending their sheep out in the wilderness outside
of Bethlehem. In fact, they had their flocks penned up in caves much like this
one here. They were asleep in the doorway of their pens, as shepherds do, and
they were startled awake by a brilliant light and the sound of a chorus of
angels. They heard one voice above the din and it told them that their Savior
had been born tonight in Bethlehem. They saw that wonderful star in the heavens
and they followed it to this place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A bewildered look is evident as they approach the cave
entrance. After following the fanfare and angelic direction, they were surprised
to see that they have arrived at a sheep pen just like they left behind. This
is not exactly the way they thought a king should enter the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There are four of them...which some might find odd. I always
thought there were three. The Bible only tells us that "at that same time,
shepherds, living in the fields, watching out for their flocks at
night..." I think over time, the tradition became three shepherds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">There are four of them here and I noticed that three of them
have brought gifts. The other man brought nothing and he also is the quiet one
of the bunch. They bow and enter the cave and bring their gifts to Mary and
Joseph. I was standing nearby and decide to listen in on the conversation. The
first man brought bread, the next brought eggs and cheese, and the third
brought wine. The fourth man had no gift and seemed disinterested in the small
group that had gathered around Joseph and Mary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The conversation was polite. "I like how you've fixed
this place, Mary”, the one shepherd says, "I never considered actually
living in a sheep pen." Another shepherd remarks about how Mary has
managed to get the place clean enough for a baby delivery in such a short time.
The other man remarks about her health, is she okay and do they need anything?
The conversation is pleasant...like what you'd hear at a housewarming or a
cookout. “Do you need a job Joseph? Because I know a guy who knows a
guy..." "How long will you remain in Bethlehem?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Time ticks by and not much is actually said. The shepherds
fall silent after running out of pleasantries and suddenly one of them, the fat
guy who brought the bread, notices another of them is missing. "Where is
L'enchante?" He asks. I don't know," replies the eggs and cheese guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“L'enchante!" they call out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But there is no answer. Then in the silence they hear a
whispered song coming from a dark corner, away from the oil lamps light. They
bring a lamp with them and they see worn boots sticking out from under the
makeshift curtain that separated Jesus' little alcove from the rest of the cave.
They pull back the curtain and the missing shepherd is there. It is L'enchante,
"the enchanted one."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is holding the baby Jesus to his chest as tears fall from
closed eyes. He has a smile on his face that defies description, he is
"enchanted” indeed. He rocks back and forth slowly on his knees, in the
soft cold mud of the cave floor. He is singing a song softly, as a whisper,
under his breath. It is a song of love for his infant-Savior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Jesu...Jesu...Jesu...Jesus...Jesus" he is lost in
worship and adoration and caught away in love with this wondrous baby-king.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He has forgotten about all of us and this cave and the
presents he never thought about bringing. He has only this moment with this
child and he is making the most of a chance to love the Son of God, and to let
the baby love him back. The baby is smiling as I have never seen a baby smile.
There is a connection between them. A flowing back and forth between the Giver
of love and a man who really understands how to receive it. He does nothing. He
lets Jesus pour his love into his heart and does nothing but reflect it back in
worship. This makes Jesus very happy and His tiny face shows it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We all remain silent as we watch L'enchante loving his
Savior, and being loved by Him. L'enchante got it. He came with nothing. He
didn't get sidetracked by small talk and nonsense. He felt no sadness or
embarrassment for his present state as a smelly shepherd. He didn’t make
confession first for any sins he carries inside. He went straight to the baby
in the manger and fell on his knees and let the baby do what babies do...love
us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am dumbfounded. I want that heart for myself. I want to be
swept away by the baby in the manger who so deeply desires that I hold Him and
love Him and let Him love me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In that moment, I understand why Jesus came as an infant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am 49 years old. I have seen love disappoint and let me
down, as we all have. People who were supposed to love forever, without
condition, have failed to do so. Each time we try to find it, we run the risk
of getting hurt and wounded once again. Love that flows from people to people
will always be flawed because we are flawed. It is hard to love each other,
plain and simple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We wonder if the other person is sincere, or if they will
endure once they know our faults, or what if they go away once I drop my guard
and let them love me? But a baby never poses those risks. Infants are totally
free with their love. Babies don't know about our past and they don't care.
They don't see us as ugly or sinful, or liberal or conservative. They don't
mind our bad hair days or our frumpy clothes. They don't mind the smell of
dirty sheep on our robes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They don't care that I have been homeless and my career and
my dreams all went down in flames. They have love to give and they can only give
it by being held. They can only receive our love by the same method. Babies
must be touched...and then they touch us. Babies scare no one. Babies do not
intimidate. Babies have no history, and we have no history with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">L'enchante understood this and he received the greatest gift
on this special night. He instinctively knew that this child only wanted one
thing: to love this shepherd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The shepherd cast aside his pretense and his fear and got
lost in the wonder -as his name implies- he was "enchanted" with this
baby. He came with nothing, he left with the greatest gift of all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">He is lost in his bliss, at the stable of his affection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps this one scene would serve best as a model for me at
Christmas. I have come to understand that I need bring nothing to this place.
This baby desires no gifts or acts of service. He only desires my heart. He
longs for me to sit quietly and rock him in my arms and let Him pour his
wondrous love on my aching and wounded soul. He loves it when I have my
epiphany moment when I am holding him and it hits me: “This is God! He came
here like this for me! He did this so I could get this close to Him”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">L’Enchante understood that truth very early on in his
experience with this baby and he sets the standard for us as we approach this
infant-king. L’Enchante is a true ragamuffin who knows that, more than anyone
else, this baby came for ragamuffins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">[The story of L’Enchante has been told for centuries each
Christmas in a vanishing culture of a tiny village in the forests of France.
This is my adaptation of this old traditional tale.]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">-Craig</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"A glimpse of God will save you.<br />To gaze at Him will sanctify you.”<br />-Manley Beasley </blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-74799579264573951152016-12-04T06:24:00.000-05:002016-12-04T06:24:16.481-05:00Advent day Eight: The Innkeeper's Visit<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“He came into the very
world he created, but the world didn't recognize him.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">These are the some of the hardest days of the year for a
kid. Christmas is coming...you don't feel like going to school and when you get
there, everything is pointing towards Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Your friends talk about their wish lists and you count the
days until Christmas break. Who can learn in that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So this morning I open the little door on the advent
calendar and it's a man. An older man who's face I do not recognize. I don't
know who he is or why he is standing outside the cave where Jesus is lying in
that manger. He seems to really want to go inside but he is hesitant. He has
been here before and was unable to get past this point. There is something
about coming face to face with the baby-Savior that freezes him in fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Finally Joseph comes out and offers his hand. The old man
looks bewildered at Josephs offering of friendship and he pauses a long moment
before reaching out. The man's eyes stay sullen and focused on their hands, he
won't look Joseph in the eye. Joseph reaches in and whispers something in the man's
ear. I can't hear the words but I see a look of relief, mixed with sadness on
the man's face. Joseph motions toward the low entrance to the cave and the man
bows down in order to enter, almost having to crawl. I walk over to the doorway
and peer in, unnoticed but curious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man sees Mary in the corner, sleeping on some straw with
her coat laid over top. He breaks down into tears. "I'm sorry Mary...I'm
so sorry. I had no idea, I didn't know." Mary rubs the sleep from her
weary eyes and smiles a wistful smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"It's okay...really. It's okay. We are okay here and we
appreciate your generosity..." "No" the old man says with a wave
of his hand, "It wasn't generous, it was convenient and nothing more. I
had my own quarters at the inn, and my children are grown and gone and so I
have extra rooms, and I could have invited you there but I didn't. I didn't
realize..."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary has walked slowly to the man by this point and she
takes his old gnarled hand in hers, "Sir, you gave us this place, and we
needed a place right away. It turned out okay...we are fine. He is
fine..." With this the old man breaks down in sobs. He'd been worried. He
was sleepless after seeing the star and those shepherds showing up. He knew
he'd made a mistake, and he only now understood the gravity of his error.
"If I could do it again," the old man whispers between tears, "I
would give you my own home. I would have invited you in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Then it hits me. I know who this man is! It's him, it's the
innkeeper! The first man to say no to Jesus! "What is he doing here?"
I wonder to myself. (As if I have any more right to be here than he does.) The
old man is struggling to keep his composure. The weight of his decision earlier
in the evening has hit him full force. He struggles to find words in the face
of Mary's tenderness and Joseph's welcoming forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Finally he clears his throat and says, "You said He is
fine...could I see Him?" Mary smiles lovingly and touches the old man’s
hand. "Of course" she smiles, He is right over here..." Mary
leads the innkeeper toward a small cut-out in the cave, where the manger has
been placed. The innkeeper lowers his head as Mary pulls back a small coat,
hung over the doorway to give the sleeping infant some darkness and privacy.
The man is slow to raise his glance from the floor. Mary senses his trepidation
but maybe she senses some kindness too. She touches his elbow and whispers
"It's okay, really.” Her voice is soft and gentle and almost lyrical. It
breaks the last vestige of hardness and shame and embarrassment that the old
man held and he begins to cry openly and freely. He drops to his knees by the
side of the manger and looks at the sleeping Savior of the world. His sobs are
muffled but audible none the less. Maybe he had a dream or maybe seeing the
star and the humble visitors coming and going throughout the evening made him
realize who this was who was actually sleeping in his sheep pen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Whatever it is, he realizes it now. This child is special.
This child is from above, and he had the chance to offer him his best and he
turned him away. Maybe he knew instinctively he would forever be known as the
innkeeper who said "No room." Whatever is ripping through his
tortured brain, he is sorrowful over it. He wipes the tears from his eyes and
looks up at Mary and Joseph. "I have four children, all grown now. I have
17 grandchildren, so...I know how to do it, and I was wondering..."
"Of course,"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary interrupts, "Of course you can."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The old man smiles broadly through his tears, and reaches
into the manger and lifts the infant-King into his tired arms. The baby stirs
and opens his dark eyes. The man breaks into soft tears as he draws the little
bundle into his chest. The old man's beard is long and a few stray strands
touch the baby's arms and he looks quizzically at the unknown object. The man
whispers softly as the baby nestles into his robe..."I am sorry. I am so
sorry. I didn't know... I just didn't know who you were or why you came. I had
such a chance to give you something and I didn't do it. I wish I could have
that moment over again. I would give you my best, little baby...my best".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The man's tears fall unapologetically onto the manger where
the infant king was lying just moments before. A long minute passes and then
the baby reaches up one tiny arm and touches the man randomly on his lips. The
baby holds a stare for a long while and the man softly kisses the tiny hand
that has explored the place where the whisper was coming from. In that moment,
the man is undone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The mistake of not giving Jesus a place weighs enormous on
him now. He says it one more time in a voice hoarse with sadness, "I am
sorry Jesus, sorry I didn't make a place for you". The baby yawns the
tiniest yawn and falls back to sleep. The man smiles a slight smile as the love
of this child penetrates his chest and into his soul, and suddenly the old man
turns to look me in the eye with a desperate and piercing gaze. "Tell
everyone about me. No one should ever say no," he says. Placing Jesus
gently back in his manger, the old man stands up and walks off into the night.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-32907989455918533072016-12-03T08:39:00.001-05:002016-12-03T08:39:52.311-05:00Advent Day Seven...Born in a Cave<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>“While they were there, the time
came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She
wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for
them in the inn…”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I open today's little leather
door on the advent calendar and I see...a cave. A cave?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Having grown up with the usual,
stable-oriented nativity scene, I never once thought to question its accuracy.
It's a 3D version of bumper sticker theology, I suppose, accepting that
tradition as fact. But I never had reason to doubt it and to be honest, it doesn't
change much about the scandal of this event in history. But for today, it will
be explored.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus was not born in a stable as
we have been taught. It wasn't somehow warm and welcoming and full of nice
clean straw and a smattering of animals gazing lovingly at the infant Son of
God. They didn't just come off the set of "Charlotte's Web" and the
big sheep wasn't speaking with the voice of Dave Madden. Farm animals are
basically spooky and reticent. They don't come and eat out of your hand like a
puppy. And they aren't remotely clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But the real fact here is that
Jesus wasn't born in a stable at all. It was a cave. If you go to Bethlehem
they have a cathedral built on the site, but the archaeologists will tell you
that it wasn't anything as ornate or beautiful. It was a cave. A hole in a hill
with one very low doorway. In those times, shepherds would round up all their
sheep at night and run them into a cave. Then they would lie down in the low
entryway so no predators could enter without first awakening them. It is the
image Jesus presents when he talks about “My sheep hear my voice..." He
describes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Himself as the Good Shepherd who
lies down in the gate and if the thieves try to break in and lure away the
sheep, they must do so by coming in some other way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Such was the case here. The cave
was probably big enough for maybe 30 sheep so it was somewhat roomy for only
two people. But it was low, because sheep are small. Mary and Joseph probably
could not stand up inside the cave. The doorway was only big enough for a
couple of sheep to enter at a time...or one adult who was willing to bow down
and probably crawl in on all fours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It was dark and damp, as caves
are. And it certainly hadn't been properly prepared for childbirth. It probably
smelled like sheep. Sheep smell terribly because they are a notoriously dirty
animal. Their long coats collect everything from everywhere they have been.
They need to be sheared twice a year not only for the value of the wool, but
because the filth that clings to sheep wool -particularly around certain parts
of the sheep- is disgusting. They have bugs. They have lice and ticks. They are
sloppy eaters and the little trough that Mary used for a crib was probably a
disgusting mess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Before my daughter was born, her
mom went on a cleaning frenzy in our apartment. The place smelled like Clorox
and Lysol for about 4 straight months. It's common with pregnant moms-to-be,
they call it “nesting” Imagine poor Mary, she is just a teenager of probably no
more than<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">16. She is technically unmarried
because the Jewish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">custom took a year from betrothal
to actual consummation and she had gotten pregnant during that period. They
were poor. It took a dream from God Himself to convince her husband that this
whole Messiah story was true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now she was about to give birth,
a scared kid in a strange town under scandalous circumstances, and she finds
out only hours before delivery that the place is a disgusting mess. What could
she do? We forget sometimes that all the players in this grand plan of redemption
were real humans and they felt all the things we feel. Sometimes, because we
read about them in Scripture for all of our lives, we remove their humanity.
But they were real people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I remember how scared I was when
I found out we were going to be parents. I wanted to be a dad. I looked forward
to children, yet when the little test strip turned blue, I was petrified. So
was my wife. Why would I think Mary and Joseph were any less?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Most moms have a special bond
with their unborn child. Sometimes I have been guilty of removing that emotion
from Mary. I see her sometimes as a player in this play and not as a young girl
who carried a baby for nine months and felt all the same attachments that all
other moms feel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">By this moment in time Mary was
in love with her little baby and she was fully engulfed in the nesting thing
and I imagine that when she crawled into that cave on her hands and knees and
saw a dark, dank, smelly hole in the wall with dirty, soiled straw everywhere
and a trough with some stagnant sheep-drooled water laying in it, she must have
broken down in tears. “Oh Joseph...we can't have Him here!" she might have
said. A poor, meager carpenter, Joseph must have tried to force a smile and
convince his young bride that everything would be alright. He probably tried to
fix it like a man would and his best efforts only put an exclamation point on
how bad this place really was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Maybe Joseph finally took Mary
into his arms and kissed her head and said "I know it's bad...but it's all
there is Mary. We have a promise from God and our child will be okay."
Maybe as he held her, he hid his own embarrassed tears. I know how he felt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The really amazing thing here is
that this was the place God chose for His son to enter the world stage. This
stinking, nasty hole in the side of a hill. This cold, dreary, dark, smelly
cave. Probably as far removed from a hospital maternity room as ever could be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is where God's great plan of
redemption would begin. Why? Why was Jesus born this poor? Why was He so
rejected by men that He even had to be born in a cave like this? Why? And why a
baby in the first place? Because one glimpse at these humble beginnings and no
one can feel threatened by this Savior. He wasn't rich, He wasn't powerful (in
the worlds eyes) He wasn't intimidating or daunting. He didn't demand the
accolades due Him (Phil 2:5-8). He was a "Man of No Reputation.” He
"became nothing" (again, Phil 2:5-8). He wasn't a name-it claim-it
carnie huckster selling some promise of riches and wealth as we determine it.
He was lowly, broken, and humble. He was frightened. He intimidated nobody. He
wanted what all babies want in those first few hours and days, He wanted to
receive love, and more than that, He wanted to penetrate our hearts with love
as only holding a newborn can do. That is why He came as He did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">To gain access you have to be
willing to bow down. Maybe even get on your hands and knees if you are tall
like me. There is only one way into this cave and only one way to see this
King. There is only one entrance and it requires you to leave everything behind
and bow. You won't be impressed by the surroundings. He did that on purpose.
When you get here you will feel like a welcome guest because few people will
make this journey and come to this humble place. But those that do...those that
allow themselves to be humbled at this place will walk away changed to their
very core. By a baby in a feed trough, in a cave in Bethlehem.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
No room for the Baby in Bethlehem's inn, Only a cattle shed! No room on this earth for the dear Son of God, Nowhere to lay His head…</blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Unknown (A child's Christmas Hymn)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-57634554663963725622016-12-03T08:34:00.001-05:002016-12-03T08:34:55.878-05:00Advent Day Six...loved one from the past<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>“He will wipe every tear from
their eyes. There won't be any more death. There won't be any grief, crying, or
pain.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Seeing my grandparents here just
a few short days ago, was moving. It touched a core of longing and sentiment in
my heart I had long ago buried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps it is missing them as I
do, coupled with the built-in feeling of home and family that Christmas evokes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But this time of year, it is not
unusual at all to find myself caught up in memories of family and friends who
have moved to their eternal destination.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Today it seems like most of those
folks I love and miss have come to visit this baby-King. When I open the
leather door on the fifth of December, I see a host of those folks. The first
is a couple, much like my grandparents, who are kneeling in worship and I
instantly know who this is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's my friend Terry who only
recently moved on to Heaven. His beloved Mary is with him and he is wide eyed
at the little baby. This is his first pilgrimage to the manger from his home in
Heaven. He walks in with determined steps, the bent shuffle that Parkinson’s
had left him is gone. Seeing the redemption story now -now that it is completed
in his life- is overwhelming for him and he is instantly on his knees in
worship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Terry served this baby as a
pastor for all his adult life. And he lived as one of the greatest examples of
what this baby can do in a life that anyone has ever known. It is good to see
him able to worship this baby again in a healthy body. His back is strong and
his speech is clear. Mary kneels with him and together they adore this little
child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Their first Christmas together in
many years. Mary went to heaven several years ahead of Terry and he longed for
her during their separation. She is smiling and vocal, not silenced by the
Parkinson’s that had affected them both.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They take a long and enjoyable
time with this baby, giving him the love they held in their hearts for so
long…and the love they will rain on Him for eternity. There is no hurry to
leave and there is feeling of time passing. They spent their lives in service
to this child, and they had seen all that His touch could do in their lives and
in the lives of thousands of people whom they ministered to. Now it was just
Terry and Mary again, worshipping the Christ child as they did when they first
began their life together.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They were like parents to me, and
I wish I could stop time and spend it in this moment, watching my two dear
friends in their completed faith, but time will not permit. After a while,
Terry and Mary leave the cave and I see some other folks entering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">All night tonight there will be
other visitors. People from my past. People who have gone on before and who
return and who are still very much alive in my heart and in this world because
of the life and eventual death of this tiny baby. They live on in another
realm, in the presence of God. But this baby has taught me that the distance
between them and us is not far at all, it is merely a heartbeat away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They come from all over heaven,
to see the work of redemption. For us it begins here with this baby, but for
them they are seeing it's amazing, loving completion and their perspective is
unique in ways I don't have words to describe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They were lost and wandering
once, at this same stable and it was here they met this child-King. Now they
return to see Him again. Only their worship and praise is different because
they are complete. The work is done in their earthly lives. But still they come
to the stable...no longer wandering, but just as moved and just as in awe, and
just as full of worship as they were on that first trip here. Here in this dark
cave, and this straw-filled feed trough...and this little pauper-prince.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Do you who live in Heaven, hear
the prayers of those of us who live on earth? </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Who are afraid of being left by
those we love…and who get hardened by the hurt."</span></blockquote>
-Rich Mullins "Hard to Get"<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-56784908303628179302016-12-01T09:41:00.001-05:002016-12-01T09:41:55.120-05:00Advent Day Five: Face to Face<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">“Now we see but a poor
reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Before I get
the day going, I decide to open the little door on the advent calendar and see
what is behind it. Every day has brought another unexpected scene this season. Things
that were not behind the little paper doors of the little advent calendars I had
growing up. But scenes that are inseparable from Christmas anyway, even if they
seem disparate. Peeling back the leather I see...myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have been
to this cave as an observer, today it is my turn to kneel at this dirty manger
and see my infant king.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can't get
over the roughness of this cave. When I was a boy, the nativity scenes always
seemed fairly hospitable and almost welcoming. "I know it's a barn and
everything...but this isn't so bad” I would think to myself. Jesus wore a smile
and there was a crowd of well-dressed and important looking people around him.
Mary looked healthy and much older than she probably was in reality, and she
looked as if, rather than just giving birth to a baby in a barn, she was ready
to run to the all night grocery and bring back hors d’oeuvres.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The truth
is, this place depresses me. It's cramped and the ceiling is low. I am 6'
4" and I have to practically crawl in here. Mary and Joseph aren't nearly
my size so they can walk hunched over, but even then it is uncomfortable. They
won't be leaving for days, because neither she nor Jesus should be moving
around right away. So they will have to endure this mess for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is deep
and roomy enough for a few adults but it is so low. I am claustrophobic to
begin with so maybe that's just my personal take on the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Mary and
Joseph are sleeping and I crawl over to the manger in the alcove. He is there,
looking up at me with loving eyes. I want to pick him up and yet I am afraid.
But having observed the previous visitors here, I know He wants me to hold Him.
He wants this because that is how babies transmit their love to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When we
touch them, we let them touch us and Jesus wants to touch my soul tonight. So I
pick him up. He is wrapped in the ragged pieces of cloth and I feel embarrassed
for him and for Mary and Joseph. I bring him to my chest...right next to my
heart. I search for words. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look to the
right, it is Joseph.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Talk
to Him” he says. "No" I whisper, There is so much I want to say but I
am afraid" “Afraid of what, son?" Joseph answers, "He is a
baby". I know Joseph is right about this but yet I am paralyzed in awe. I
held my own child the night she was born and for the first three hours all I
could manage was “I love you” repeated over and again. This is Jesus…the Son of
God. What words can I say? “What language should I borrow to thank thee…dearest
friend” was how the hymnist once put it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Jesus is
above my meager words, and yet my heart aches to talk to Him. The need to open
my soul to this baby Savior is greater than my fear and shame and so finally I
draw a deep breath...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Jesus"
I whisper, "I hardly have words for this moment. I feel so unworthy to be
here with you. And yet somehow we have so much in common. Holding you like
this...right now. I know what fate awaits you. I know the cruel violence you
will have to endure to redeem me. I don't like thinking about that with you in
my arms. I understand a few things better tonight, now that I've touched You. I
grew up under the same shadow of illegitimacy as you will. I have been homeless
as you one day will choose to be. I have been separated from my father too. I
have so many hurts inside that I need you to touch. It has been a tough few
years and I am weary. I miss the innocence of youth and I miss the promise of a
life yet to be lived. I wish I could return to my childhood, and have a second
chance at some things".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The baby
smiles at me and coos softly. I think He understands. I think too, that is why
he came as a baby. This infant-Savior doesn't care what my past may have held.
He doesn't care about my failures or my shortcomings. Those things mean nothing
to Him at all. He is only a few hours old and so that's all the history He
knows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That is the
wonder of His coming to us as a touchable, loving infant baby. His love is
penetrating when we take him to our hearts and let it do what it does. I hold
Him for a long, long time. My sadness and regrets turn to hope and worship and
joy. Babies can do that. Babies bring the new start we all desperately seek
from time to time in our lives. I am lost in the wonder of holding a child and
I am enchanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"Jesus"
I continue, “love is such a confusing thing sometimes. Help me to love you
first and most. Help me to become the man you have in mind for me to become.
Help me to bear your name well on this earth. Help me to seek out and find
those tragic souls who wander this world desperately trying to find this cave
and this manger...and You. You have touched me little one...please use me to
touch others in the same way. I remember…I remember that cold night in November
of 1990 when I was so lost and so hopeless and so ready to…"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My thoughts
grind to a halt as I recall the night I first encountered this child, the
desperation of my life, the loss of hope. I recall the way I heard him calling
to me when I thought he would have rejected me and hated me instead. I recall
the loving touch I felt when I was weeping and pouring out my heart to Him that
night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am holding
Him now as a baby and I am thinking about all that would one day befall this
tiny child. The beatings, the torture, the cross…for me. My heart rips open and
I want to scream “No!” and to somehow stop the inevitable outcome of Jesus’
life. But I know that I cannot. He came to do that, and all my life I had
overlooked the fact that the brutalized figure nailed to the cross was once a
beautiful little dark-eyed baby boy that I could hold. I am undone in love and
worship and sorrow all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I close my
eyes and offer silent prayers. Prayers for people I love and want the best for.
Prayers for people who I will one day meet who don't know this baby. Prayers
for dear loved ones who carry heavy burdens because they are more afraid of God
than I was and they have not been here to see this baby in a long time. Prayers
of thanks to God for coming to me in this form...touchable and seeking to give
me His love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am moved
and transfixed. With eyes closed, I am memorizing the way this little baby
feels as I hold Him, so that whenever this life gets me bogged down with
failure or concern, I can recall this moment in detail, and feel this new
beginning again. Holding this baby, I am not a failure, not illegitimate, not a
man who struggles with receiving love and giving it away. I am not unforgivable
or stained beyond cleaning, or useless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Here with
this baby in my arms, I am a child myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And the
Father of this little baby is very fond of me indeed. Only a child could calm
the turbulence in my heart. Only a baby could soften the blows that life had so
frequently struck against my dreams. Only a baby could convince me that there
is a Love in this world that is greater than even the worst of my failures.
Only this baby in this manger…in my arms.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p> What language shall I borrow, to thank thee, dearest Friend? -Martin Luther</o:p></blockquote>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-50917208978654325312016-11-30T05:39:00.001-05:002016-11-30T05:40:39.368-05:00Advent Day 4...A Visit With My Grandparents<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
See! I make all things new...</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; line-height: 107%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">It's</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; line-height: 107%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">colder this morning than
it was yesterday...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There has been a lot to consider: Jesus on day one,
and Santa on day two, interesting intentional irony. Yesterday was an emotional
meeting with Jesus’ earthly father Joseph. That touched me deeply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Opening the little door for day 4, I see one lone
figure kneeling beside the manger and holding the infant Jesus. She is rocking
him slowly as he sleeps and she is singing him a lovely song in a beautiful
voice that sounds very familiar. It is lilting and sweet and it seems to call
to me from years gone by. I think I know this woman, in fact I am sure I know
her, but it seems too good to be true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She leans in close to Jesus and gently strokes his
forehead, the way grandmothers do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She makes no effort to hide or even
control her tears. She is safe with this child and she knows it. She has been
with him in heaven now for almost 17 years but she makes this pilgrimage each
Christmas. Somehow, this time, God saw fit to let me witness it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She is young and beautiful, like the pictures that I
recall from my childhood. She sings a song I recall from those many years ago.
I know this song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She possesses a most beautiful
singing voice and it reminds me that she passed this sweet sound on to my
daughter. I can almost hear Morgan while this woman sings. This morning she is
singing a lullaby to her Savior and it is the most amazing and beautiful sound
I have ever heard. It brings her peace to offer a song to Him...this baby. It
brings her redemption, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 12.45pt 0.0001pt 0.1in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 25.9pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I realize that I
know this woman, and I watch through many tears. As long as I knew her -for the
first 30 years of my life- she loved this child. But one mistake in her past
haunted her, and she wrestled with His love for her until, quite literally, her
final breath. I was there when she went to meet Him, and I remember. In the
days before she went home to Him, she sought reassurance, even after walking in
her Faith for over 40 years by that point. He gave her what she sought, and her
words as she departed were amazing. She was reaching out her hand toward a
Savior only she could see, and repeating "Oh Lord my God...Oh<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0in 18.7pt 10.6pt 0.1in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Lord my God" over and over. And then, she was with Him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 11.55pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now here she is again...young, pain free, beautiful,
and without shame or guilt or doubt about her eternal safety. She leans in on
the infant and I hear her singing to him. It's a song she used to sing to me
when I was a little boy growing up in her house. It's the song she wanted to
sing to the children she left behind in one moment she regretted for 60 years.
She could never find forgiveness from those children, but this child offers it
freely and she is giving Him the best gift she has to offer…her love, in the
form of a song.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I can't remember the name but it
sounds like "Jesus loves me,” or
“Jesus Loves the Little Children,”
and there are strains of “Haven of Rest"
in there too, which was her favorite hymn and she used to sing it all the time.
I sang it back to her at her funeral. I would give anything to enter this scene
and hug my grandmother one more time but I can't. Even if I could, I don't
think I would. This is her moment with Jesus and I can't disturb it. I am
privileged to observe it and I will leave it at that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Her hands caress the face of the boy in the trough
and I see they are no longer bent and gnarled by arthritis, but straight and
gentle and soft. Her shoulders aren't stooped from the shame she carried about
that one decision she made 70 years ago that she never could forgive herself
for. She has peace now. Peace with her Savior and her memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This is the grandmother I knew and the one I didn't
know. This is Dorothea Wray Shanko, my daughter’s namesake and the earliest
example of a Christian I would ever see. Perfect and completed in Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There is a man next to her, and I recognize him
instantly and he has the same thick shock of black hair he always did. That was
a family trait that I carry too, except mine is brown. I’ve always looked like
him, but the way he appears this morning...the resemblance is uncanny. This is
the man I saw in his Navy pictures when he was a Seabee in WWII. He is the
handsome man I saw on the deck of the "Donna-Kay",
the gorgeous 32' Cabin Cruiser he once owned. He is tall and strong and clear
eyed. He isn't haunted by his tortured life or his pained memories of his
immigrant childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 11.2pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 23.05pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He isn't chained to a bottle
anymore. He is free from the demons that stalked him and stole his life. He is
my grandfather, Albert Shanko. Everyone called him Jake. He is kneeling by the
manger, like he did once in the kitchen of the house on 4th Avenue when I was
asleep in my stroller and he didn't want to wake me up and so he got on all
fours and crawled out unseen. An amazingly soft and gentle gesture for so gruff
a man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 9.65pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He isn't ravaged by alcohol now. He is whole and
perfected. He is strong and his shoulders are straight and his smile is wide
and unmistakable. He reaches into the manger and touches the little baby
softly. In that touch he finds the forgiveness he needed all his life. He
offers the gentleness to this baby Savior that he never had for his own
children while he walked this earth. He gives Jesus the love his heart always
held but never felt safe to show.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 9.65pt 4.8pt 0.1in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He never had the chance to ask forgiveness when he was
alive but he has found it anyway since then. Here in this cave, shipwrecked at
the stable, he is the man he always hoped he could be, but never was. He is the
grandfather I would have loved to have. He came to this baby only a few scant
weeks before he died, so in many ways he is still getting acquainted with him.
The manger brings him healing and hope.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The two figures look at each other and it is
different than any look I ever saw while they were here on earth. It is a love
I have never witnessed. Not a marital affection anymore, but a completion. They
are both loving this baby and that is their bond now. No more co-dependence, no
more needy, impassioned strife. They are both who they were always meant to be
and so much more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0in 22.55pt 6.4pt 0.5pt; text-align: right; text-indent: -0.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This is the only way they could have found redemption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 18.7pt 4.8pt -0.75pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">They are unified by a baby in a
manger. I see them in a way I never saw when they were here. It would have been
a wonderful model to witness. I am happy to see it now. This is what a baby
does. He changes the beaten and downtrodden and wounded into worshipers. He
sobers the intoxicated with the intoxicating power of his love. He surprises
you at the reactions He draws out of your soul. But only when you find yourself
shipwrecked in his presence and you know you are a ragamuffin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="line-height: 135%; margin: 0in 92.3pt 0.1pt 60.7pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 5.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">“We worship You…God of the second chance. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Who took these, our failures, that stole the
life we dreamed, and have given us life instead".</span></blockquote>
<br />Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-55751947746349383222016-11-29T09:00:00.001-05:002016-11-29T09:00:44.249-05:00Advent Day Three: Step Dad<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Step Dad</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“The birth of Jesus took place like this. His mother, Mary, was
engaged to be married to Joseph. Before they came to the marriage bed, Joseph
discovered she was pregnant. (It was by the Holy Spirit, but he didn't know
that.) Joseph, chagrined but noble, determined to take care of things quietly
so Mary would not be disgraced.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
I have peeled back the leather door on this third morning of Advent.
The man I see is dear to me for special reasons. He is the stepfather of the
son of God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Joseph is kneeling beside the manger where his tiny boy lay sleeping.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
He stares for a long while at the little baby sleeping in the straw.
He turns his head and glances at his tiny teenage bride exhausted and sleeping
on a pile of dirty hay. He feels his rugged face turn crimson.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
This has been a hard year for Joseph. This girl was his promised bride
and a year ago they were betrothed. This year the marriage would be completed
and consummated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
But somehow, during that time, Mary wound up pregnant. She told Joseph
about it before she told anyone else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Joseph considered ending the betrothal right then and there, but he is
a kind man, and deep in his heart he loved her. Still, this sort of thing will
ruin her reputation and that of the baby. And it would doom him as well. He has
a struggling carpentry shop and he doesn't need to be the butt of innuendo and
private jokes about his wife and son.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Still, the way Mary told him the story, about the vision, and God
speaking to her. He was almost convinced to believe her anyway and then God
spoke to him in a dream of his own. He confirmed what Mary had said and so
Joseph took her into his home and decided to let people think what they wanted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Now here they were in Bethlehem because Caesar wanted to tax all the
Jews and he ordered them to go to their hometown. It was Mary's hometown
too...both of them were in David's lineage after all. They started off with
other members of their family but because Mary was so far along in her
pregnancy now, they couldn't keep up with the caravan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
By the time they made Bethlehem, all the available rooms were gone.
They knocked on every door and even asked some relatives who lived in Bethlehem
for a place to sleep. Maybe it was because of Mary's condition...or maybe it
was the rumors that were flying around about the baby...whatever the reason,
nobody had a place for them. All they could find was this cave. An empty hole
in the side of a hill where a couple of dozen sheep had been staying. They had
to crawl into it and they could barely stand up. It was dark and dank and cold,
and it smelled terribly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
They didn't have time to clean it before Mary went into labor. Joseph
had never seen childbirth before and he was scared. They didn't know a midwife
and so he and Mary just had to figure it out as they went. Mary's tiny body was
wracked with pain and at one point Joseph thought he'd lost her. Eventually it
was done and their son was born. In all the commotion neither of them heard the
angels outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
They only found out about them because a few hours later, some local
shepherds stopped by to worship this child and they spoke of a star in the
night, and a host of angels telling them about Jesus. There were four
shepherds. Their stories were incredible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Joseph was considering all of this as he knelt by his tiny son's
cradle. He reached his hand in and touched the sleeping boy. Joseph whispered
as to not wake his tiny wife.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
"Jesus...I am humbled. I hardly know what to say to you. I
believe now...I wrestled with it before but now...I believe. Truly you are from
God and this was all part of some plan of His. I don't understand. The
shepherds speak in terms of "Messiah" and "Savior" and
"Emmanuel".<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
That means "God with us", my son. Is this true?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Are you really God in the flesh? Are you the Promised One?"
Joseph pauses and collects his thoughts, "I am honored to take this role
in your life. I always wanted a son. I will do my best to be the best dad I can
be. I will seek the will of your Father as I raise you, and try my best to be a
blessing to you. I feel so unworthy. I am sorry that this is all we had for
your birthplace -we are very poor- I have nothing to offer you."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Joseph chokes back a few tears at this point. He is still a man after
all. He is a husband and he loves his wife and he has grown to love this boy.
Like any man, he wanted better for his family but timing and poverty were
against him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
The baby stirs and cries softly. Joseph reaches down and picks him up
and pulls him to the folds of his robe. He kisses the baby Jesus on his tiny
lips and he feels the softness. He whispers” I love you my son...my Lord”. The
baby seems to smile the slightest smile and then falls asleep in Joseph’s arms
with his head pressed against his heart.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Joseph closes his eyes in a prayer and rocks his boy slowly. He is
thinking. Thinking about the twists and turns his life has taken in the last
year or so. Thinking about the tiny woman sleeping in the straw. Thinking about
this child and all those dreams and visions and this place...this cave. The
enormity of fatherhood rolls over him like a wave on the shore. I see the look
on Joseph’s face. I remember that feeling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
Being a stepfather is difficult enough, but to be stepfather to a
child whom the angels have proclaimed the Son of God? To have no defense
against the whispers…at least no defense anyone would ever believe. This is a
lot for any man to bear and this man is just like any of us. But somehow
holding this child tonight gives him the courage and the determination to do
his very best. Like anyone who loves children, this man finds a love growing in
him for this baby and his resolve to be a great dad for him is firm. He will do
the job God has called him to do, and he will let history determine his
success. He is Joseph -Jesus’ earthly dad- and the whole circumstance has left
him shipwrecked at the stable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
“Almost anyone can be a father…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
…but only a special man can be a dad.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-12907813282744812832016-11-28T06:40:00.002-05:002016-11-28T06:50:43.993-05:00Advent Day Two: Saint Nick<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Saint Nick<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “…<i>That at the name of Jesus, every
knee will bow…”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I suppose it’s ironic…or poetic,
that the next visitor to this cave is Santa Claus. Ironic because in the
Christian circle I formerly tread, Santa was anathema to us. He was here to rob
us of the true meaning of Christmas. He was a tool of the devil. It’s poetic
for the same reason…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When I was growing up, there was
a mindset amongst some believers that Santa was evil. They went looking for
"sin" anyplace they could and they squeezed it out of some pretty
bizarre places. Playing rock records backwards, (don't we all?) telling stories
about women who wear pants being cursed. You know, good solid theology. It
wasn’t one church by itself, it was a popular trend in fundamentalist
Christianity in that day. They were good people at heart; they just had a
really distorted view of God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, one particular target was
Santa. He was secretly trying to displace Jesus. He was the spawn of Satan. If
you rearrange his name you can actually spell Satan! (gasp) He was the leading
cause of over-commercialization of Christmas...good solid factual objections.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Personally, I loved the old guy.
I still do. I loved reading Clement C. Moore's "The Night Before
Christmas" when I was a kid. I watched "Santa Claus is Coming to
Town" in clay-mation and never in all that time did I once think of him as
displacing Jesus. I never thought of him as dimming my view of that little
manger, or the star in the heavens, or the real reason we celebrated. In fact,
it was made clear to me that he did what he did every Christmas Eve because he
loved Jesus and did all this in His name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Otherwise he could have picked
any night of the year to fly around the world and slide down several billion
chimneys delivering toys. In fact, if he wasn't trying to do it all on Jesus'
birthday, he could have sent the packages by Fed Ex and turned the reindeer out
to stand stud at a breeding farm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">No, Santa was all about Jesus and
I knew it. We all did. Nowadays, with Christmas under attack the way it is,
Santa might really be our best ally. I mean we are still allowed to talk about
him freely so why not go ahead and use him as a springboard to talk about
Jesus? When some kid asks, "Why does he do it all on one night?" we
can go into Santa's reasons for that particular night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You see...I think Santa is a
Jesus worshiper. I see the whole story as a way of explaining that ultimate
Gift. In my mind he doesn't take away from Jesus, he adds to His fame. This
legendary man does what he does because that's how he keeps Christmas in his
heart. If anybody tried to hijack it and twist it away from Jesus, it was us.
The Santa legend wasn't designed to refute Jesus; it was about making Jesus
famous. Maybe we ought to take it back. Maybe we should, as I suggested
earlier, use Santa as a witnessing tool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Remember, God used a talking
donkey once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was proved right as I watched
him walking up to a little cave in Bethlehem, removing his red wool hat,
pocketing his pipe, checking his red suit for appearance. He is a large man, so
he has to bow his head so he can get through the doorway, and taking his place
on his knees next to the manger where the poor, homeless, infant savior lies
only hours old. He leans in on the little sleeping figure and his eyes well up
in amazement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He is silent for a long time and
when he speaks he whispers a hoarse whisper..." You should see the
happiness I brought in your honor tonight, my Lord. I did the best I could, but
I am not you. I hope you are pleased." Then Santa's shoulders quake a
little as the tears flow a more freely. "I didn't bring you anything. I
went through my sack, and there was nothing I had that felt appropriate,
nothing worthy. So I only have my love, and the contents of my heart. It is you
who brings me the joy I give others. It is you who is the Source of my
wonderful laugh. I am a giver of gifts on earth, but I do not compare to the
gift you bring, sweet child. My only gift to you is my worship and my
love...and to let you love me as you desire."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The old man remains quietly on
his knees a long, long time, enraptured and lost in the miracle of the infant
Savior in the feed trough. Even in the hustle and bustle of the commercialized,
de-Christianized world, Santa finds a place amongst the shipwrecked at the
stable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I find myself chuckling silently
as I watch this. Christians especially, get so worked up about the
secularization of Christmas. I detest the whole “Happy holidays” thing too, but
have we really removed Christ from this day? Does that mean that for all these
years, our Christmas spirit was actually dependent on Wal-Mart greeters saying “Merry
Christmas” when we walked in the doors, or is that just a handy excuse for the
fact that I have lost touch with the Advent?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Do I care that my daughter
doesn’t have a “Christmas Party” at school anymore? Because she has yet to
forget it is Christmas. These thoughts race through my head as I watch this
legendary man lost in worship and holding the key figure of all of history in
his red-suited arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Each Christmas season, the
greatest Christmas special ever made plays in prime time. “A Charlie Brown Christmas”
has run each year since 1964. Each year the beautiful bubbly flow of Vince
Guaraldi’s “Linus and Lucy” will resound once again as the “Peanuts” gang
dances around Schroeder’s piano. Charlie Brown will be unable to reign in his
charges, he’ll pick that pathetic little tree and at the height of his despair,
he will let out a call “Isn’t there anyone…who knows the real meaning of
Christmas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And then the moment that reduces
me to tears every year like clockwork. Linus will take center stage and say
“Lights please” and then he will recite the nativity from Luke chapter 2
verbatim. On national TV… during prime time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I can’t wait to find out some day
how many people wound up finding their way to the stable and to a face to face
relationship with Jesus because of that little two-minute interlude. This
nation may not be the bastion of Christianity it once was, but we still know
why we really celebrate Christmas. Linus never lets us forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That was why I never got worked
up about Santa Claus with my daughter. Because Jesus Christ is powerful enough
to withstand being deposed by a fat man in a red suit. It isn’t even close. Ask
a child the true meaning of Christmas and the vast majority will tell you about
Jesus. Maybe their theology is off, but they know who the central figure in
history is. Everyone does. Santa, elves, reindeer…it makes no difference. The
answer to the question; “Why does Santa do all this,” has not changed. He does
it to honor the ultimate Gift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now some traditions I miss and
they should never be messed with. Kenny G should not supplant Frank Sinatra
singing Christmas carols. George C. Scott was never the Ebenezer Scrooge that
Alastair Sim was. Bruce Springsteen sings the greatest version of Santa Clause
is Coming to Town. Ever. But the one truth about Christmas is <i>Jesus.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">While they don’t always admit it,
everyone knows it. And at Christmas, even Santa bows at the manger and is
changed by the touch of a tiny baby. And tonight, for whatever reason God saw
fit to allow me to bear witness. I have seen the heart of this giant and
legendary figure as the real reason for his existence has come to light. He is
touched by this baby, as he was when he Nicholas of Myra a saint of the early
church whose acts of kindness inspired this legend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">…to honor his Lord</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 1.5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Behind Every vanilla 'Happy Holidays' under every sprig of mistletoe and in every cup of Christmas Cheer, there is the truth of this baby in Bethlehem. Try as the world might, there is no denying this."</blockquote>
Brennan Manning<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> </i></blockquote>
</div>
<br />Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3555933438850257189.post-52582072366853460312016-11-28T06:40:00.001-05:002016-11-28T06:46:43.593-05:00Advent Day Two: Saint Nick<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> Saint Nick<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"> “…<i>That at the name of Jesus, every
knee will bow…”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I suppose it’s ironic…or poetic,
that the next visitor to this cave is Santa Claus. Ironic because in the
Christian circle I formerly tread, Santa was anathema to us. He was here to rob
us of the true meaning of Christmas. He was a tool of the devil. It’s poetic
for the same reason…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When I was growing up, there was
a mindset amongst some believers that Santa was evil. They went looking for
"sin" anyplace they could and they squeezed it out of some pretty
bizarre places. Playing rock records backwards, (don't we all?) telling stories
about women who wear pants being cursed. You know, good solid theology. It
wasn’t one church by itself, it was a popular trend in fundamentalist
Christianity in that day. They were good people at heart; they just had a
really distorted view of God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, one particular target was
Santa. He was secretly trying to displace Jesus. He was the spawn of Satan. If
you rearrange his name you can actually spell Satan! (gasp) He was the leading
cause of over-commercialization of Christmas...good solid factual objections.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Personally, I loved the old guy.
I still do. I loved reading Clement C. Moore's "The Night Before
Christmas" when I was a kid. I watched "Santa Claus is Coming to
Town" in clay-mation and never in all that time did I once think of him as
displacing Jesus. I never thought of him as dimming my view of that little
manger, or the star in the heavens, or the real reason we celebrated. In fact,
it was made clear to me that he did what he did every Christmas Eve because he
loved Jesus and did all this in His name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Otherwise he could have picked
any night of the year to fly around the world and slide down several billion
chimneys delivering toys. In fact, if he wasn't trying to do it all on Jesus'
birthday, he could have sent the packages by Fed Ex and turned the reindeer out
to stand stud at a breeding farm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">No, Santa was all about Jesus and
I knew it. We all did. Nowadays, with Christmas under attack the way it is,
Santa might really be our best ally. I mean we are still allowed to talk about
him freely so why not go ahead and use him as a springboard to talk about
Jesus? When some kid asks, "Why does he do it all on one night?" we
can go into Santa's reasons for that particular night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You see...I think Santa is a
Jesus worshiper. I see the whole story as a way of explaining that ultimate
Gift. In my mind he doesn't take away from Jesus, he adds to His fame. This
legendary man does what he does because that's how he keeps Christmas in his
heart. If anybody tried to hijack it and twist it away from Jesus, it was us.
The Santa legend wasn't designed to refute Jesus; it was about making Jesus
famous. Maybe we ought to take it back. Maybe we should, as I suggested
earlier, use Santa as a witnessing tool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Remember, God used a talking
donkey once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was proved right as I watched
him walking up to a little cave in Bethlehem, removing his red wool hat,
pocketing his pipe, checking his red suit for appearance. He is a large man, so
he has to bow his head so he can get through the doorway, and taking his place
on his knees next to the manger where the poor, homeless, infant savior lies
only hours old. He leans in on the little sleeping figure and his eyes well up
in amazement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He is silent for a long time and
when he speaks he whispers a hoarse whisper..." You should see the
happiness I brought in your honor tonight, my Lord. I did the best I could, but
I am not you. I hope you are pleased." Then Santa's shoulders quake a
little as the tears flow a more freely. "I didn't bring you anything. I
went through my sack, and there was nothing I had that felt appropriate,
nothing worthy. So I only have my love, and the contents of my heart. It is you
who brings me the joy I give others. It is you who is the Source of my
wonderful laugh. I am a giver of gifts on earth, but I do not compare to the
gift you bring, sweet child. My only gift to you is my worship and my
love...and to let you love me as you desire."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The old man remains quietly on
his knees a long, long time, enraptured and lost in the miracle of the infant
Savior in the feed trough. Even in the hustle and bustle of the commercialized,
de-Christianized world, Santa finds a place amongst the shipwrecked at the
stable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I find myself chuckling silently
as I watch this. Christians especially, get so worked up about the
secularization of Christmas. I detest the whole “Happy holidays” thing too, but
have we really removed Christ from this day? Does that mean that for all these
years, our Christmas spirit was actually dependent on Wal-Mart greeters saying “Merry
Christmas” when we walked in the doors, or is that just a handy excuse for the
fact that I have lost touch with the Advent?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Do I care that my daughter
doesn’t have a “Christmas Party” at school anymore? Because she has yet to
forget it is Christmas. These thoughts race through my head as I watch this
legendary man lost in worship and holding the key figure of all of history in
his red-suited arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Each Christmas season, the
greatest Christmas special ever made plays in prime time. “A Charlie Brown Christmas”
has run each year since 1964. Each year the beautiful bubbly flow of Vince
Guaraldi’s “Linus and Lucy” will resound once again as the “Peanuts” gang
dances around Schroeder’s piano. Charlie Brown will be unable to reign in his
charges, he’ll pick that pathetic little tree and at the height of his despair,
he will let out a call “Isn’t there anyone…who knows the real meaning of
Christmas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And then the moment that reduces
me to tears every year like clockwork. Linus will take center stage and say
“Lights please” and then he will recite the nativity from Luke chapter 2
verbatim. On national TV… during prime time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I can’t wait to find out some day
how many people wound up finding their way to the stable and to a face to face
relationship with Jesus because of that little two-minute interlude. This
nation may not be the bastion of Christianity it once was, but we still know
why we really celebrate Christmas. Linus never lets us forget.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That was why I never got worked
up about Santa Claus with my daughter. Because Jesus Christ is powerful enough
to withstand being deposed by a fat man in a red suit. It isn’t even close. Ask
a child the true meaning of Christmas and the vast majority will tell you about
Jesus. Maybe their theology is off, but they know who the central figure in
history is. Everyone does. Santa, elves, reindeer…it makes no difference. The
answer to the question; “Why does Santa do all this,” has not changed. He does
it to honor the ultimate Gift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now some traditions I miss and
they should never be messed with. Kenny G should not supplant Frank Sinatra
singing Christmas carols. George C. Scott was never the Ebenezer Scrooge that
Alastair Sim was. Bruce Springsteen sings the greatest version of Santa Clause
is Coming to Town. Ever. But the one truth about Christmas is <i>Jesus.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">While they don’t always admit it,
everyone knows it. And at Christmas, even Santa bows at the manger and is
changed by the touch of a tiny baby. And tonight, for whatever reason God saw
fit to allow me to bear witness. I have seen the heart of this giant and
legendary figure as the real reason for his existence has come to light. He is
touched by this baby, as he was when he Nicholas of Myra a saint of the early
church whose acts of kindness inspired this legend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">…to honor his Lord</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br /> “…behind every vanilla “Happy Holidays”,
under <br /> every sprig of mistletoe and in every
cup of<br /> Christmas cheer…there is the truth of
this baby in <br /> Bethlehem. There is no
denying this…”</blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 1.5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 1.5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 1.5in; margin-top: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Brennan
Manning<o:p></o:p></div>
Craig Daliessiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04622536691388864746noreply@blogger.com0