Funny how the Season that is most consciously tailored to draw our thoughts to the Savior of the world is possibly the least likely to allow us any time to spend with Him. This is no ones fault but our own, and I'm not pointing fingers - except at myself. I don't know if I get caught up in the busyness of the holidays and somehow think that Silent Nights and warm fuzzies are going to float me, like they are some limited-time-only substitute for digging into God's Word and hanging out with Jesus and talking with Him. But I do it almost every year. I run around, talking about Him, singing about Him, writing cute little phrases about Him in newsletters and cards - all the while ignoring Him. Sad.
I've been raised by Godly parents. I grew up in the Evangelical church. I've known the Christmas story for as long as I can remember, and have been an angel in too many Christmas programs to count. I've heard a hundred bazillion times about the irony of the King of Kings making his debut as a baby in a manger. And it never actually clicked in my brain until just a few days ago. I was making my regular Rapid-Hillville commute, just listening to Jars of Clay sing "Love came down at Christmas...", passing my favorite spot on Hwy 16, where you can see out over the Needles and Harney and so much of God's glory in the form of trees and stone and the thought occurred to me, (as if I'm the first person to get this, right?) "Wait a second...so the God that spoke this phenomenal landscape into existence is the same God that initiated His plan to save the human race in a barn in a crowded city in the middle of the night? How much sense does THAT make?" *ding! ding! ding!* Genius, Marci. Pure genius. And it only took you 25 year.
It is Christmas Eve. It is after midnight. It is snowing (a direct answer to fervent prayer.) And I have a two day old baby* to feed. Merry Christmas.
*Not my own baby. I thought I should clarify this for any newcomers, or people who were suddenly thinking, "Wow! It HAS been a while since I talked to Marc..."
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