[Discoveries] 12-25-08 Merry Christmas! -- Luke 2:10

[Inspiration in Your Inbox]

/*For those struggling financially ...*/
/*You will walk through valleys, but you that doesn't mean you were 
designed to stay there for ever. Your struggles are temporary. They 
don't define you. Rather you define them. You are not poor; you are rich 
(2 Corinthians 8:9). How does a rich person deal with a financial 
crisis? He or she gathers a group of advisers, identifies an opportunity 
and goes after it. As long as there are people with needs, there will 
never be a shortage of opportunities. Go and bring hope to a discouraged 
world.*/

/*But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news 
of great joy ..." -- Luke 2:10*/

This story has become a Discoveries Christmas tradition. Enjoy and Merry 
Christmas!

I remember my first Santa Claus doubts. How could a fat man get down a 
skinny chimney, not just at our house, but at the houses of little boys 
and girls all over the world? I mean there must be hundreds.

Then came the fateful day when I learned the Truth. Two truths, in fact. 
My mother was cleaning something in the living room and she said, "You 
know the Easter Bunny is just make believe."

That didn't bother me. The Easter Bunny always hid the baskets behind 
the TV. He was expendable.

Then she added, "You know, make believe, just like Santa Claus."

I nodded like I had known all along. But inside this revelation hurt. I 
wanted to believe that somewhere there was someone who cared enough 
about me to find out just what I wanted and to risk getting stuck in the 
chimney to bring it to me.

I missed Santa Claus. He had been a good friend.

I think my dad missed Santa Claus too. Now he had to take the place of 
the man from the North Pole. And my dad's sack of toys wasn't as big as 
he wanted it to be. Every December he sat us down and delivered the sad 
news. "I'm afraid there won't be much of a Christmas this year," he told 
us. "We just don't have the money."

I felt for him. I wanted to tell him it was okay.

"We don't have the money," he said and so my brother and I prepared 
ourselves to face the sparse holiday my father had predicted. Yet, on 
the morning of the 25th, we came downstairs to find our stockings 
stuffed and the floor beneath the tree littered with presents.

Santa slipped out of my life, and, as I grew older, a chilling 
realization slipped in -- one that haunts me even to this day. In every 
city and scattered across the country, little ones, with hearts full of 
hope, hang up their stockings with care. But the man in red flies by 
their homes without stopping. In the morning their stockings look no 
different than they did the night before.

These children don't need to be told that there is no Santa Claus. They 
find out quite on their own.

Now I'm a dad. My little girl never heard of Santa Claus until one of 
the neighbors told her. And, at bedtime, she doesn't ask me to tell her 
about a man with toys and eight reindeer. Instead she says, "Tell me 
about when Jesus was born."

She knows the story well, but she asks me to tell it to her just the same.

I start with the decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should 
be taxed. I tell her that Joseph and Mary had to walk a long time. And 
when they got to Bethlehem, no place was found for them to stay.

My daughter and I ponder that in the silence of our own thoughts. I 
suppose she thinks of how it would be to never find a McDonald's with a 
Playland and how it would be to ride on a donkey without a car seat. But 
I think of Joseph. There he was, pushed out of his home by a senseless 
decree from a Roman emperor. He comes to the town that is rightfully his 
own, but no one greets him. No one takes him in. Worried, he asks around 
for a midwife and a dry, warm, comfortable bed for Mary. "Sorry," people 
say. "Sorry, we can't help you." In the end, he takes shelter in a barn. 
And all he can offer the one he loves is a wool blanket and some straw.

I feel for him.

Then my mind goes back to my dad. I see him there at the kitchen table, 
sifting through a stack of bills, wondering where he will get the money 
to buy toys for his children. And for the little ones everywhere whose 
stockings are empty, I hurt. I wish I could shower gifts on them all. 
And I wonder, Where is the outrage from heaven?

My daughter tugs at my arm. "Tell me the rest of the story, Daddy."

We switch to the hills around Bethlehem. "On the night Jesus was born," 
I tell her, "in the hills, the sheep were sleeping -- sleeping away. 
'Baaa. Baaaa.' They were dreaming sheep dreams. The shepherds were 
there, watching over their sheep.

"All of a sudden, an angel appeared to the shepherds! They were afraid.

"But the angel said, 'Do not be afraid.'"

My daughter always smiles when I tell her this.

"The angel said, 'I bring you good news of great joy. For tonight unto 
you in the city of David is born a Savior, who is Christ, the Lord. And 
this will be a sign unto you: You will find the baby lying in a manger.'

"And suddenly, all across the sky, the night was bright with angels. And 
they were singing, 'Glory to God in the highest. And on earth peace, 
goodwill to men.'"

My little girl's eyes get big as we look at the bedroom ceiling 
together. And I wonder to myself, Can she see what my eyes cannot? Can 
she see the heavens filled with angels?

What would it be like to see the heavens open? I ask myself. But, though 
I try, I can see no vision of angels. Instead of angels, I see a man. 
But he's not in a shepherd's field; he's in a hospital room. And he's 
not singing. He's dancing, holding his newborn daughter in his arms, 
filled with emotions he could never put into words. I see him there, 
spinning and twirling, and I realize that man is me.

"Daddy, tell me the rest of the story."

The reason for the angels' visit begins to make sense. So, tonight, I 
change the story. "What do you suppose those shepherds saw when they 
came to the barn where Jesus was born? Do you think they saw Joseph out 
in front, dancing under the stars?"

"Daddy, you are silly. They saw the baby Jesus lying in a manger."

Oh, yes. I sit there for a long time while my daughter falls asleep and 
dreams of angels. I sit there and think about those words from heaven: 
"Do not be afraid."

And, suddenly, I want to rush back through the years and talk to a 
little boy who grew up to be a daddy himself and say, "Have you seen the 
angels? Have you heard their song? Did you know that Jesus is here?"

And then I want to stop at a kitchen table and speak to my tired and 
discouraged dad. "Do not be afraid. What you cannot give has been given 
for you."

And I want to swoop down chimneys everywhere with angels at my side and 
bring the good news to every little one whose heart was filled with 
hope. "Do not be afraid. The heavens have opened for you. The angels are 
here for you. Immanuel has come. Do not be afraid."

If I could, I'd bear presents to them all. Not because I think the 
trinkets I can give will satisfy Christmas needs. Instead, I'd bring 
gifts as tokens of a giving, caring God. And I'd pray that when the 
children finally unwrapped the paper, they'd find not a doll nor a toy 
truck, but rather a tiny baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a 
manger.

The next morning, my wife and I are busy in the kitchen. Company is 
coming. Our little girl is talking to her dollies and her stuffed 
animals, saying this and that. We don't pay much attention, glad to have 
a few minutes to straighten the house and make a meal. All at once we 
are arrested by her words:

"Do not be afraid. For I bring you good news of great joy."

Be encouraged!
Dwight

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