Check this story out. It sounds incredible.

The powerful benevolent ruler of a vast kingdom was so grieved over the thought that he had to banish his disobedient subjects from his face forever, that he transformed himself, left the splendor of his mountain top palace and came to dwell in the crime ridden valley of those very subjects.  For years he walked among them, teaching them how to live, showing by example the meaning of love.  But most of his subjects never believed he was the great king everyone talked about.  Many made fun of him, others spoke evil against him, still others proclaimed him a fraud.  But he patiently endured it all because he had a plan, a plan so incredible that even his enemies were stunned.

The king’s domain was enormous, and included other subjects that dwelled in his mountain top kingdom, subjects far superior to those living in the crime riddled valley.  A king over such a kingdom could never rescind his decree or be perceived to show favoritism.  No.  Once he proclaimed something into law, it was cut in stone, and had to be satisfied.  The penalty for treason was death; a death so terrible it meant banishment forever into a realm of darkness far from his kingdom of light. And there was only one thing that could satisfy the great king’s justice—an innocent life had to be give up for the guilty. And so, he decided to pay the penalty himself.  In fact, that was his plan all along.  From the foundation of his kingdom, he had planned to lay down his life for the very ones who mocked him, called him names, considered him a fraud. That was the only reason he had transformed himself into a little baby, born in a manager, in an insignificant village, to a humble virgin. Who can explain a love so great?  Or a plan so wonderful and shocking all at the same time?

But it’s true. It happened when Jesus, the King of Kings, the Ruler of the Universe, the Creator of all things came to the crime filled streets of earth with the sole purpose of saving us from banishment to hell.  And it’s up to us what we do with it.  Will we ridicule Him? Speak evil against Him? Proclaim Him a fraud? Or accept what He has done and acknowledge he has paid for our crimes? Acknowledge that because He has, we have a place with Him forever in His great kingdom?

Wishing you the peace, and joy, and hope and promise of Christmas.

Until next week,

Sylvia

So many people have called my husband a “loveable Teddy Bear.” And he is. And this week, someone at work came up to him and in front of a group of people began telling him how kind, nice, thoughtful he was.  The person went on and on, and out of embarrassment my husband walked away.

The point is this, we seldom realize how much we affect others.  We think our lives are small, filled with ordinary jobs, laundry, cooking, cleaning, and a hundred other mundane chores.  We don’t live the large life of a Billy Graham, a man with a giant footprint. And because we believe this we think we can’t make a difference. Nothing is further from the truth.  Each of us will touch hundreds of people in our lifetime, and impact them for either good or bad. 

A friend of mine loves to sing.  But because someone told her long ago she couldn’t carry a tune, she claims she won’t even sing in the shower.  Karen Carpenter, the famous 70s singer, once read a newspaper article about her brother, Richard, where, in one small sentence, the reporter called her the chubby little sister.  From that day on being thin became an obsession, and she battled an eating disorder for years until it finally claimed her life. 

These are obvious negative impacts. But the reverse also holds true.  How many times has a kind word here, a smile there, lifted our spirits? How many times has just the right word stopped us from doing something stupid? Made us dare to follow our dream, or not quit at something? We may not leave a giant footprint, like Billy Graham, but we’re all going to leave our thumbprints on the people who cross our lives.  And the thing is, we’ll probably never know the far reaching impact we’ve had on them until we get to the other side of glory.

In this season of good will and cheer, it’s easy to want to go that extra mile to be kind to someone, to spend more time listening, to care more for others. And that’s a good thing.  But let’s not forget that when the tree is packed away and the tinsel taken down and stashed in the attic for another year, people are still going to need plenty of good will, and it’s up to us whether or not we make a positive imprint on their lives.

Until next week,

Sylvia

Christmas is in the air.  The lights, the music, the holiday rush make it an exciting time. I’ve spent hours shopping.  Even more hours decorating my house so it will look “magical” when the grandkids come.  Next to Easter, this is the most wonderful time of year for a Christian. I feel both joy and excitement as I get ready to participate in the biggest birthday party in the world.  Our God, our Savior, our King, our Friend came to earth as our Kinsman Redeemer over 2000 years ago, and millions are preparing to celebrate. 

I think of them now.  They are my brothers and sisters in Christ.  But I also think of the many who will go through the motions this season only because it’s “tradition,” and not a matter of the heart.  They celebrate because that’s how their parents did it, or because that’s what everyone else does, or because they don’t want their kids to miss out on the presents and fun. Their house will be decorated, too, their shopping done but there will be no room in the inn of their heart for the One who loves them, who gave Himself for them, who longs to whisper in their ear and call them, “friend.”

Tradition can be a fine thing, but it can’t warm the heart or strengthen resolve or heal a troubled mind.   There is only One who can do that, and He’s too much of a gentleman to barge in uninvited.  If ever there was a time when we needed to open that door and invite Him in, it is now.

I pray this season will be filled with good health and joy.  But most of all I pray that room will be made in the inn of your heart for the One whose birth we celebrate.

Until next week,

Sylvia