TIM E HOLDER

Many things about the birth of Jesus amaze me. He is the Son of  God. He was with God from the beginning. John 1 says, “In the beginning was the Word.  The Word was with God. And the Word was God.”

I have wondered, at what point in His life, did Jesus understand His mission on this little ball of water and dirt that HE himself created. I have to believe He always knew.  I have to believe that although the fully human part of Him learned how to walk and talk and eat independently, just like the rest of us, learn a trade by using his father’s carpentry tools, the fully divine part of Him was always aware of who He is. Always. He is, after all, God. “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who, although he existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. Being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5-8).

I don’t believe deity and divinity are attributes one would want to or even could just lay down.  The idea of Jesus leaving the very face of His beloved Father, leaving the love and affection of His Father’s home, discussing and deciding in the great halls of eternity to come down to this tiny, time inhibitive planet, is incredibly claustrophobic to me.

First, willingly walking away from His Father, coming to this tiny speck of dust in the universe He created. Not to mention knowing that He would be cognizant of deliberately floating in amniotic fluid for several months, the whole while understanding that He was literally wrapping Himself in the very dirt He created.

I also can’t imagine the sacrifice of His Father, His Dad, by design and foreknowledge, knowing what was to come, letting the hand of His boy go so He could leave Home for awhile and go away to fulfill a mission that would ultimately be rejected by so many.

The one lesson I can carry away from all of it is service. The simple definition of sacrifice is the act of giving up something or enduring the loss of something that you want to keep especially in order to get or do something else or to help someone.

It is easy for me to think of the sacrifice of Father God in relation to Jesus coming to earth to help us, to teach us about God, to serve.  But, I equally love the idea that He sent Jesus to earth to “get” me. Understand me.

It tells me that there is nothing He wouldn’t do, there is no opportunity He wouldn’t present to ensure that I am with Him forever. And in fact, did make the biggest sacrifice, by giving up His Son for a season.

I have, obviously, not yet seen Jesus, my BFF, face to face yet. And though it was only 33 earth years, it breaks my heart for God that He was forced to live without the physical presence of His most precious possession. The One Who knew Him best, the One Who was always with Him, the One Who for all of eternity, up to that point, lavished His love on His Dad.

But, God and Jesus were willing and did it for us. Abba Father let go of that strong, perfect hand, the hand that created the universe, knowing that it would one day come back, but would never look the same again.

That hand would become, for awhile, small, fragile, reaching up to be supported and held by parents and relatives. It would grow to heal the sick and hurt and broken, even hearts.

And that wounded hand would one day become the very symbol of my salvation.

And that wound would never heal. The blood from that tiny hand still flows. And it covers me and it saved me. And how can I, knowing the absolute reality of that love and sacrifice, not raise my own hand, to reach up to touch such perfect devotion. Such a small token I give as I hold on to the mystery and the hope of His birth. And wait for the hug.

A few days before Christmas, even at the Christian bookstore where I worked at the time, the stress was palpable.  I could taste the anxiety in the demeanor of the guests I waited on.  Every morning I would pray before I went in that I wouldn’t let it or them get to me.  Although 90% of the people I checked out were awesome, there was that 10% that pulled me down.  A couple of times, I seriously wanted to just stop, look them in the eye and say, “Tell me something.  If I were NOT a follower of Jesus, what is it about your attitude right now that would ever make me want to say, “WOW…whatever YOU’VE got…I WANT IT!'”  Seriously, it was getting bad.

One day, after standing at the register, non-stop, for 5 hours, I looked up and saw a lady walking into my line.  Just behind her, I saw a couple of my friends smiling and heading toward my queue.  I couldn’t wait to connect with them.  I knew they would make everything okay with a smile and a hug.  Get through this one lady first.

I looked down at this tiny little lady and saw tears streaming steadily down her face.  I froze.  I’m not talking about a few tears.  She was silently sobbing, her body wrecked with the obvious pain of sorrow. All I could do was respond.

I leaned toward her.

“What’s wrong?”

She just shook her head and said, “I’m okay.”

“No.  You’re not okay.  If you want me to check you out, you’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.”

With tears streaming down her face, she literally sobbed as her voice trembled. “My son died three months ago.”

I leaned closer.

“This is your first Christmas without him.  I am so sorry.  I am so very sorry. How did he die?”

“Meningitis.”

“Oh…man. How old was he?”

“13.”

“What is your name?”

“Sarah Ann.”

“Well, Sarah Ann, would you mind if I prayed for you?”

She nodded. I looked at my friends behind her, who were listening to the whole thing, and I motioned for them to move to the next checker.  They nodded with full understanding and moved to the next queue. I put up my “We would be happy to check you out at another register” sign. Sarah Ann and I moved over to the children’s section and I took both her hands.

Just at that moment, a miracle happened.

Remember, the precursor to a miracle is that there always has to be a problem first. It is that moment when we give the Holy Spirit permission to move in and build a vacuum…a fortress around us.  And you know, the enemy can’t penetrate the holiness of that place and that moment no matter how hard he may try.

I physically felt the presence of the One Who breathes out stars into the universe and is, amazingly, more interested in the next breath I take.

I began to pray. I prayed to a Parent who understands these specific emotions and this excruciating loneliness and is acutely acquainted with the impossible horror of experiencing the death of His beloved Son. I said it made no sense, from our viewpoint, for this boy to die.  But, even if we can’t understand the experience, we can trust His heart.

I prayed for Sarah Ann.  I asked the Lord to wrap His strong arms around her and that his hands would hold her so tightly that she would have no doubt that He was right there with her. I prayed that He would cover her with His feathers and that under His wings she would find refuge…that His faithfulness would be Her safe hiding place.  I prayed that He would send angels to stand in strategic places around her so that she would find peace that the darts of the enemy could never penetrate.  I prayed that He would hold her little boy’s hand, tell him that his mom misses him very much, loves him and can’t wait to see him again one day.  I prayed that Sarah Ann would remember, one day, to introduce me to her boy. And then I said “amen.”

Sarah Ann turned toward me and wrapped her arms around my neck.  We stood there for many seconds, her heart-wrenching tears falling into a deep ocean of loss.  I held her there, a pretty shabby life jacket, beaten and weather-worn, held afloat only by the buoyancy of grace.

Finally, she was able to stand on her own.  She looked up at me.  I looked at her and couldn’t help but see Jesus’ mother and how Mary must have looked when she realized her boy was gone. I could only think of how Mary must have remembered the miracle of His birth, and that somehow, even in light of this inconsolable loss, someday, as they reached for each other’s hands, there would be absolute joy in the reunion.  There was only one thing I could say to her and truly, for the first time that season, mean it.

“Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas Sarah Ann.”