I’ve had a blog written to share for a couple of weeks. Ironically, it is about all the hindrances that have come against the publication of my new book—which still has not been released. But, that’s okay—because Christmas should come first.
The Christmas Story, as told in Luke, Chapter 2, is matchless.
And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. So all went to be taxed, everyone to his own city. Joseph went up from Galilee to Bethlehem with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was great with child.
So it was that while they were there the days were completed for her to be delivered and she bought forth her firstborn Son and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn.
Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid.
Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you, you shall find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
And no book, no blog, no surfeit of words that I can write could compete with that beautiful story. God came down to earth so we can go to heaven.
At first glance, the movement was a lizard skittering across the top of the fence plank—only this is Scotland and there are no lizards. The tripping motion across the fence turned out to be gale-force wind pushing one of the limbs down the board.
At first glance, or after a quick glance, I often spot things that aren’t there. When I visited son Luke and wife Delight in Florida one Christmas, I marveled at the Christmas lights in the shape of Texas on the end of a house in their neighborhood. I thought to myself, “Even folks who don’t live in Texas are proud of Texas.” By daylight, I discovered that the lights were bunched around a small window and were not intentionally fashioned to honor my home state.
Tall strangers hanging out around street signs or beside street lights; off-leash dogs circling trash bins; western covered wagons trains that turn out to be old camper van shells—even eyes, faces, and strange shapes amid the laundry in the basket.
At first glance.
One thing I got exactly right at first glance. The timeless, eternal story of Jesus Christ, Lord, Savior, and King above all kings.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son what whoever believes in Him should not perish but should have eternal life. John 3:16.
Every glance at the CHRISTmas story reveals God’s love for us and it never changes.
Over the past six years, I’ve had major back surgery, a knee replacement, and a hip replacement. The replaced hip became infected, so it had to be taken out and replaced again…followed by three months of hospitalization while it healed. I spent four of those six years on crutches waiting for surgeries. All those things hurt.
My thumb hurts. I don’t need a doctor’s appointment. I don’t need a surgery. It’s a small cut on the outside of my right thumb going down into the nail. But it hurts. It hurts to open Alan’s pill bottles—and between the blood cancer and the Parkinson’s disease he takes a lot of pills five times a day. It hurts to fasten my jeans, to wash my hair, to type (hitting the space bar), to cook, and to clean. And when I accidentally hit it on something—ouch!
How often, I wonder, do we unknowingly judge others because we feel they have never suffered the same things or suffered as much as we have? How often do we think or say, “that person is so filled with self-pity—and they haven’t even experienced all the bad things I have.” Yes, that might be true. But give them a break. Their thumb hurts.
All on the same day, my husband in Texas got sent home in an ambulance to die; our lovely sheepdog died; my mother died and I couldn’t plan on going to her memorial service because I had to stay home and take care of my dying husband, and my truck caught on fire in downtown San Antonio. It hurt. But I try not to judge anyone else who hasn’t been through all those same things—especially all in one day—because now…my thumb hurts. It’s not as major or intense as the other painful things that I’ve experienced—but the pain is just as real.
If you meet someone who lacks Christmas cheer this holiday season; someone who is a bit dour and apathetical—forgive them. Overlook the fault. Their thumb might hurt.
All I ever wanted to do in life since about the age nine was to write books. Ironically—and with much humor—the two things that constantly got me into trouble at school are the two things that have sustained me throughout my entire life: doodling and daydreaming. Doodling because some of my life has been spent painting signs to purchase time to write, and daydreaming because it feeds my writing.
The fuel for my writing comes straight from the heart of God. When the prophet Jeremiah was ordered to quit telling others about God, Jeremiah said, “But His word was in my heart like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I was weary of holding it back, and I could not.” Jeremiah 20:9.
And so it is with my writing. I live to write. I write to live.
Other writers—especially Christian writers—will understand this statement, but sadly others will think it false humility: I did not write my newest book, “Body, Be Gone.” (Not yet released—but should be out within a week.) God wrote, I typed. Often, I had a hard time keeping up with Him. The old laptop I use had a hard time keeping up with both of us.
For writers and non-writers, the encouragement contained in this blog is the truth that God put “Body, Be Gone” together. He is the best ever at putting things together. He created us. He created the world in which we live. You don’t need to be a writer to trust God to put things together in your life. He loves you. He is infinitely able to put thing together for you no matter who you are or what you have or have not done in life thus far. Even if you hate writing and have never written anything. God is the author of your life. He is writing it for you.
Folks sometimes battle depression during the Christmas season. Should you be feeling melancholy and blue—just remember that God is building your life. The dark places and dark times are as important as the silver and gold threads holding it together. In the end—your life will be beautiful and as unique as you are.
Joy to the world, the Lord has come—with all the tools needed to equip and complete us for getting through this life. Beautifully.
Growing up in the southern US, we never had snow for Christmas. We almost never had snow. That didn’t bother me. Even then—I hated cold. I suppose my hatred of snow and cold was partly because our family was too poor to afford warm clothes.
One thing that bothered me from a young age was Christmas cards. They portrayed wintery, snowy scenes that made it appear that it wasn’t Christmas without snow. I would wonder, “Where are the Christmas cards for people like us? Doesn’t anyone realize how beautiful our landscape is at Christmas and all during the year? What about the folks who live further south and have never seen snow? Where are the Christmas cards for them?”
Other things that bothered me even before I became a Christian were Santa and gifts. I grew up amid folks who could not afford to give gifts at Christmas, and children who never got anything from Santa. Did it make them feel worthless? That bothered me a lot. It still does. I knew families who considered one bag of sugar, or one sweet potato, or one handful of laundry soap priceless Christmas gifts.
Every family has its own Christmas traditions. One of ours was a tangerine in the bottom of a stocking with a few pieces of chocolate on top. I traded my tangerine to my clueless younger siblings for chocolate. Or, perhaps—being the oldest—I bullied them. Thankfully, I don’t remember—but I do know that I never ate the tangerine.
We had a tradition of going out into our pasture and finding and cutting down a pine tree and decorating the house on December, 20, my birthday. And because my parents were atheists, “Santa” was big at our house. When I started school at age 5 and the other children were singing “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” and “Away in a Manger”—I was perplexed by the words. I didn’t understand. God was not allowed to exist at our house, and “Jesus” was a swear word that we children were not allowed to use.
When my son Luke was a child, I started our own tradition. We never opened Christmas gifts until after I read Luke, Chapter 2, verses 1-20. We kept that tradition up until he left home to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps.
We have a friend in Finland. She writes to us every Christmas with lovely tales about “Father Christmas” and Finnish food and traditions. She is passing those customs down to her grandchildren. And, yes, they involve snow. Lots of snow.
All around the globe, folks will be celebrating their own special Christmas customs and traditions in their own climates. But no matter the place around the globe, the distance from the equator, or the weather—one thing is the same everywhere. Jesus is the Reason for the Season.
And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. So all went to be registered, everyone to his own city. Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, unto Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife who was with child. So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered, and she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields keeping watch over their flock by night, and behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: you will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
And that—in any spot on the globe—wrapped in any local traditions and customs—is Christmas. With or without snow.
Stephanie Parker McKean 