Great Expectations
He which
testifieth these things saith,
Surely I
come quickly.
Amen.
Even so,
Come, Lord
Jesus.
--
Revelation 22:20
You can
spend a lot of time getting ready for Christmas, but when it comes - really
comes - it's always far better than you can ever expect.
I'm not
talking about the Santa Claus, candy cane, holly-jolly Christmas. I'm talking
about the REAL Christmas - the moment when you know that Jesus Christ really is
here, and all of the stuff in the Bible is true. Really true!
Like the
manger scene, the knowledge of Christmas comes with sudden, silent majesty, in
unexpected ways in out-of-the-way places. It never comes a minute too soon, nor
a moment too late. It comes when you've been battered and broken, and are desperate
for comfort and mercy. It comes, but rarely in the form you expect.
When
Christmas comes, it's always perfectly timed, perfectly clear . . . and
perfectly breathtaking.
Here's one
example: a few years ago, a beautiful, sweet 19-year-old girl named Cara, the
much-beloved daughter of our dear neighbors, Steve and Lynette Nabity, died
after a valiant, lifelong battle with a difficult congenital heart condition.
Strong Christians, the parents prayed for reassurance that she was in heaven. A
sign, Lord! Something to go on!
Another
mother in Lynette's support group for mothers who've lost children had a dream.
It was remarkably real. She was holding her child, and cuddling. She woke up
with that priceless peace that any mother in that situation would desire.
But for
Lynette, and her equally grief-stricken husband, nothing.
The months
passed, and then the first Christmas without Cara loomed. Maybe you've been in
that situation, or are going through it yourself right now. Everything was raw:
the empty chair . . . the clueless, festive shoppers . . . the happy, peppy,
positive Christmas music on the radio.
They hardly
put up any decorations; they made plans to go on a trip, change the scenery, dig
a hole deep into the ground and hide . . . anything to just get through it and
make some semblance of a Christmas for the two younger children.
But their
hearts were leaden. They just felt dead. Beyond sad: ripped apart.
Then, a few
days before Christmas, Lynette had lunch with Cara's cardiology nurse. It was their
first chance to get together and talk through it all. She was a heroic, caring person,
and she had been very close to Cara.
Well, this
nurse told Lynette she had come across a poem that another parent had given her
that was comforting, and she'd send it to her. Next day, she faxed it.
Lynette
read it, and gasped. "Oh, my God," she remembers thinking. "This is so cool!
This is my sign! You know, she's fine. She's doing great!"
Steve came
home from work, and she immediately said, "Oh, my gosh, you won't BELIEVE the poem
I got today."
He stood
stock still, gaped at her, and said, "Oh, my gosh, you won't believe the poem I got today!"
An employee
of a restaurant he frequented had given it to him at lunchtime.
It was the
same poem. And here it is:
They looked
at each other, and laughed, and teared up, and embraced.
They'd
forgotten all about their pleas for reassurance.
He hadn't.
They'd
become sad and hopeless because they'd focused on their loss.
He showed
them their gain - sure knowledge that Cara was right where they hoped she was.
That's the centerpiece of our faith. But in the crush of life, sometimes we forget.
Just in
case they missed it, He told them twice in the same day, first separately, then
together, with the miraculous timing and gentle but down-to-your-toes power
that's His calling card.
That's what
it's like, when He comes.
That's
Christmas.
Oh,
friends, don't miss it. Prepare Him room. Let Him come.
Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I
pray.
Bless all the dear children in Thy
tender care,
And take us to heaven to live with
Thee there.
Merry
Christmas, everybody. Especially you, Cara. Be seein' you, Sweetheart.
Joy to the
world! The Savior's born! †
