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Showing posts from December, 2015

He came to fail

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I wonder how she felt as she wrapped her new born baby in strips of cloth.  Did she wish she had a proper place to lay his tiny head?  Only months before, she had been promised that her child would be great, and his kingdom would reign over Israel.  She was called into royalty, and I'm sure this was not the beginning she had imagined for the future king.

And in 33 short years, she would live to see how his humble birth set the precedent for his humiliating and painful death.  She wept below the foot of the cross, as her boy suffered in agony while a mocking world listened to his words, "It is finished."  By all standards of what humanity can comprehend, his life was over and he had failed.  And what of her promise?  What of the moments she had gathered over the years and held so closely to her heart that reminded her that her son was purposed for greatness?

You and I have the benefit of seeing the whole picture.  We get to know how the last chapter reads.  It wasn't …

The Night Still

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The night so ordinary, still The quiet sheep did have their fill Beneath the stars the shepherds lay The town of David not far away
When suddenly a glorious light Broke through the dark, removed the night The terrifying sight did see By lowly shepherds on bended knee
And as the beings offered praise As if they'd sung this all their days The silent shepherds heard their song As more did join to sing along
Glory to our God on high! His son, just born, has come to die Wrapped with cloth in manger lay The prophesies of old did say
Beneath that mysterious star was found A tiny one they gathered round With awe and adoration speak Of Savior that they all did seek
And remember we that Holy night Imaginings hold wondrous sight As we come to worship him With heads bent low and lights so dim
And shall we sing the angel tune  A glorious song in brightest moon To share with those in darkness now Good news to hearts that will allow?
Glory to our God Most High He sent his son that he should die …

The one gift we all can give

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It is born out of need every year.  We gather them up and bring them to the makeshift hospital I've set up in our home.  The lame and broken are scattered on the counter before me, and I get to work restoring them all.

One year, I remember, I cared for two decapitated Cinderellas.  The tragedy of it all overwhelmed my little girls whose pictures were forever posed right beside the delicate ornamental characters, their smiles clueless to the brokenness so close to them.  It was a strange site to see such happiness as they sat there unaware of their neighbor's plight.

A dab of stubborn glue healed the situation and those resin ornaments were placed back on the tree.  You'd have to look closely to see the hairline scar, a reminder of the past.


It's nearly Christmas.

Our Advent calenders are dwindling down, and the kids are full excitement.  I remember how slowly the days would pass when I was younger.  Now I feel there is barely enough time to breathe deep before another …