When someone loves us we know they will do their best to keep us happy, safe and provided for, but we humans have our limitations. However when we realize with that in mind, God loves us personally, it takes of a whole new dimension.
Currents surged and tossed her,
Sharp prongs tore at her flesh in passing.
She was overwhelmed.
The surge of humanity,
The tide of evil,
The depths of depression.
Disorientated she could not find the light,
The way to the sky she remembered as a child.
She sank beneath the weight of her wounds.
As muscle relaxed,
A force of nature revived.
Her being floated slowly upward
Towards its natural element
Light and air burst upon her
Filthy water streamed from her face
Eyes encompassed by light rejoiced.
She saw an extended hand and grasped it
Yielding all to the strength of its creator.
There is so much we can learn from children, innocence, wonder, joy, gratitude and faith etc.
The prayers of a small child are without equal. They have yet to discover it can’t be done.
Watching the ducks waddling across the thin layer of ice I thought how like this coming year. So much of the world seems to be walking on very thin ice indeed. Last year brought impending change, Brexit, the US elections, the worsening Middle East situation etc. etc.. Even my normally stable, cozy little island (UK) stands on the brink of flux.
Then I got to thinking. If the ice did brake its no big deal for the ducks. They can swim and they have warm greased feathers. It might be momentarily scary, but no big problem. So I thought are we like ducks? Can we swim?
Then I remembered we know the one who could walk upon the water and my apprehension vanished.
It’s a long story how we came to be in the old farmhouse in Ireland realizing our dream. We, little nobodies, had helped stage a Christian camp for youngsters. They’d come, some eager, some confused. and some rebellious. We loved them, pulled our hair out at their antics and prayed (oh how we prayed!) Now it was over. They’d returned, tiny flames of love kindling in their hearts, to their domains, leaving a great joy of satisfaction in their wake.
There was just one problem. It was almost Christmas and while we had food aplenty and a roof over our heads, we had no money left, zilch, nothing, and there were children there, mine included. We explained there’d be no presents that year, no tree or decorations. They were such troopers, not a single complaint.
We made our own décor, holly and fir branches from the forest. Silvery yogurt tops, kept from the camp, were cut into snow flakes and suspended from fallen branches dabbed white with left over emulsion. It looked wonderful!
Christmas Eve was still special. We read old Christmas stories by candle light, and I sang my guys to sleep with childhood carols.
I came down to see the two teenage boys who’d helped with the renovations were gone.
“They went to look for a tree.” My eldest whispered. Due to a lot of boggy ground fallen trees were common in the surrounding forest.
Our Texan builder/handyman was heading out too. It was he who first dreamt up the project. His tiny 5ft 6 frame harboring a personality that somehow gave the impression of a 6 footer.
I joined my daughter and the other teenage girl who’d stayed to help clear up the aftermath of the camp etc. We’d almost done when the boys dragged in an enormous tree. I restrained myself from checking for axe marks (their hearts were surely right and the forest was common ground I reasoned.)
They set it up in a bucket which the girls artfully draped and we went about gleaning all the décor we could find, painted fir cones, odd bits of tinsel yogurt top snowflakes. It looked beautiful even without lights.
I was just drifting off to sleep when I was roughly wakened.
“Come on mum. We need you to help wrap.”
Our Texan angel had been to see a friend who owned a small toy factory. He’d been hoping there might be a few “old line” bits and pieces for the kids. But the Irish heart never gives by half and the little van was crammed with toys, enough for several presents for each child and lots left over to pass on to others, there were even fairy lights for the tree.
Imagine the wonder next morning when the children were awoken by Christmas angels (my daughter and friend had raided the prop box) and brought down to the old living room. There they saw a huge tree blazing with lights and an immense pile of presents.
They didn’t think it was Santa. They knew who to thank, and their happy praises sounded all day long. The presents were special because they knew Jesus had sent them and that made His birthday “magic”.
We adults of course didn’t get presents, or did we? The gifts of joy, love, peace and intense gratitude filled our hearts in a way presents never could. Jesus’ love for these precious children and the hearts that had given so freely of time, goods and sleep were more than enough!