It’s early morning on Christmas eve. My house is quiet. In a corner, the kids’ gifts, wrapped–tucked in a bag until later to go under our Christmas tree. On my desk, Bible open. Coffee, second cup. And a melody in my mind, O Holy Night–my favorite Christmas song this year.
Reading through 2 Chronicles, struck by the slaughter of animals. Blood splashed against the altar. A somber image. Burnt offerings and sin offerings made for all of Israel.
Zechariah and imagery of a Good Shepherd. A Messianic message.
And John 14. Slowly savoring words in red letters. Today, considering the eve of his birth, so long ago, these words yet to be spoken then–now in my hands to read over again. His voice arrests me with its authority,
“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.” Verses 6-7.
His words. Red, like blood against an altar. His life a sacrifice. A sin offering. His death enough to cover the sin of the world.
Contemplating his birth.
Long lay the world, in sin and error pining. Till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Courtney (66books365)
Sixty-six books in a year 