I sit in this quiet, soon-to-be-filled-with-pandemonium morning, having enjoyed a most wonderful holiday season. My heart is so very full. It is just amazing to me that all this comes from one small child, born in a manger, in a then insignificant backwater of the Roman Empire. The son of working class people, he never put a word on paper, let alone wrote a book. Never travelled more than thirty miles from home. Never was part of the "in" crowd, associating only with "publicans and sinners." Never owned a home. Relied on the generosity of others for the necessities of life. Lived only 33 years. Died among thieves, amidst widespread condemnation by those in authority, betrayed and denied by some of his best friends. At the end of his life, he had perhaps 120 souls who really followed and believed what he taught.
And yet think of all the love and generosity and kindness and good will; the beautiful music; the laughter and friendship; the belief and hope and faith in the good and the right, that is spread throughout the entire world in this magical season--all because of that one person. Surely, that is a miracle.
May God bless us all, as he does and has so wonderfully, through that one small little baby.