What Christmas means to me....
When I was a little girl, I remember walking to church on Christmas Eve for Midnight Mass on a frigid night. It was so cold, the snow crunched under my feet.
I looked forward to hearing the choir singing the hymns that night.
The service would be long, and end up with everyone receiving Communion.
There was something comforting in all of that ritual and tradition that I was so used to year after year, growing up.
And then I learned what Jesus was all about.
He was no longer this statue of a baby laying in a manger.
He was The Son of God, who left the Throne Room of Heaven, laying down His crown to put on human flesh.
Jesus came and lived among men, as a servant.
He had no home to call His own. Just the clothes on His back, and the sandals on His feet. Jesus was fully aware of His mission.
Knowing every choice, and every decision I would make in my life....yet, He still chose the cross. He was scourged for every single sin, every dirty thing I have done.
Every thorn, every punch, every hair and piece of beard pulled out....endured for me.
Every drop of blood.
The sound of steal on steal, as the hammers pounded on the spikes ripping through His flesh.....for me.
Then the slice of the spear in His side.
Yet......it was a heartache that made Him cry.
He gave His life, so I would understand.....is there any way, I could say no to this Man?
This is what Christmas means to me.