Feliz!
(F)or the joy of the Lord is your
strength.
-- Nehemiah 8:10c
When Christians
have a big problem that goes on and on, we're not supposed to strike back,
cuss, kick the dog or stick pins in voodoo dolls. Hit men are out. Nunchucks,
verboten.
All we can do is pray.
To the outsider,
it must seem as if the Christian lifestyle sucks. It's too hard! It's no fun!
The bad guys are winning!
Ah, but then you
have moments like mine, right before Christmas - moments that thrill you with
the indisputable truth that there's an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving
God. And He's on your side, and He's got your back.
That's the joy of
Christmas. That's the good news we celebrate all year long.
Just as He did
that night in Bethlehem, the living God comes to us and abides with us. He comforts
us and saves us, day by day. And He does it in exquisitely personal detail.
Just ask for His
help . . . and prepare to be amazed.
Now, I've been
grappling for years with a complicated problem. I've nagged about it to God
frequently, with repeated pleas and "suggestions" for what He should do to fix
things, chop chop.
When He sees my
prayer emails coming onto His supernatural screen - "You've got mail! It's that
pest from Omaha again" -- I'm sure He sighs, and deletes it: prayer spam.
I mean, He's the
living God, Author of the universe, the One Who perfectly engineers every
circumstance. You think He's stumped on how to help me? You think He FORGOT?
I knew He has His
reasons for letting things drag on. It has to be this way. But it's been hard,
waiting.
Then, a couple of
days before Christmas, I got a phone call with some stunning good news. There's
been a breakthrough in this longtime problem! Typical of God, it's a change I
never would have imagined, and it would do everybody involved a lot of good.
Elated, I jumped
into my car to do errands, thinking back over all the hurts, and musing that
they finally, finally might end. Immediately, bitter doubts flooded my mind
again. Naw. Can't be. It'll fall through. I'll be in this torture chamber the
rest of my life.
Just then, a
pristine white car changed lanes right in front of me. My eyes locked onto its
license plate:
FELIZ II
My hands clutched
the wheel. Because we're going to the Alamo Bowl in San Antonio, our Christmas
card this year featured our dog Sunny in a sombrero, with a play on words:
"Feliz Navidog."
Feliz:
celebrate!
Then there was
that Roman numeral for two. It's a long story, but "Two" or "Two Two" are my
nicknames, for "Sue" or "SuSu."
Celebrate,
SuSu!
Suddenly, I
realized that on the radio at that moment was a jazzy Christmas carol, "Feliz
Navidad," the song I put on our electronic Christmas card to go with the funny
dog picture.
I gasped. God! How
do You DO that?
Tears flowed. I
sang along at the top of my lungs.
The white car sped
away. At the next intersection was a big, white truck. My eyes were powerfully
locked as by an outside force onto its sign:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE
RESTORATION
Damage
restoration? As in, the damage to ME?!? Meanng, it was going to get fixed?
Feliz,
SuSu!
Celebrate!
All
that has been taken from you will be restored!
Oh, for heaven's
sake. Get a grip. You're reading too much into this.
I continued to my
destination 100 blocks away, got out of my car, and started for the building. But
parked right in front was a gold PT Cruiser . . . from the same company:
PAUL DAVIS DAMAGE
RESTORATION
In case I missed it
the first time. . . .
Celebrate,
SuSu! I know it's been hard and unfair. But I'm going to make it up to you!
I
came and saved you at Bethlehem, and at Calgary, and now I'm going to do it
again.
So
let's see some Christmas cheer, Kid!
FELIZ!!!"
Laughing, sobbing,
I realized that I'd forgotten to use the strongest defense in the universe
against my troubles: the joy that comes from the hope that comes from faith.
I broke out into
the widest grin I have ever grinned. That's what He wanted to see all along.
That's all He wants for Christmas . . . to see his beloved people happy.
Feliz to the
world! The Lord has come!
And oh, the
wonders of His love. †
