It’s here in the silence, after the Christmas celebration; after the food is eaten; after they’ve all gone home; in the spaces, between the dotted “I”s and the crossed “T”s.
He meets me. The overflowing. The meaning of it all.
His love is real, as tangible as the sound of the snow falling. As warm as the blanket I’m wrapped in. I know He loves me.
The true meaning of the celebration of Christmas some years gets lost in the food, the fun, the surprise of the presents, the hugs, the egg nog. Yet the very reason that we celebrate is the ultimate gift of Love.
His Love come to us.
To the shepherds, the kings, the Simeons, the Annas, the wedding party, the woman who touched Him, to Jairus, to the centurion, to Peter, James and John, to all who followed Him, to Lazarus, to Martha and Mary, to Mary Magdalene, to Paul, to Timothy.
To us. The broken, the dysfunctional, the wounded beyond repair, the sick, the dying, the liars and the cheats, the get along pretty well on our own. We all of us are the object of His Love.
He came to us, for us, because of us, because of our friends, our families, our parents, our siblings, our children, our frenemies, our enemies.
Why? Because we can’t do this by ourselves. This living and dying. He designed us. We broke us, and only He can fix us.
Not one of us can do that. Only Love. His Love. LOVE.
Do you hear it? The whisper in the silence, the still small voice passing by reminding us why we just celebrated?
God so loved the world (you, me, everyone who has lived, is living or ever will live) that He gave His one and only Son (just One for all) that whoever (each one of us) believes in Him (has faith, looks to and hopes in the Son) will not perish (no everlasting death) but have eternal life (complete and whole as we were designed to be).