As Christmas inches closer, love is on my mind. Not my love of pine branches in our living room complete with twinkling lights and glass balls. Not how much I love watching my favorite movie of the season—White Christmas—for the umpteenth time. Not the cranberry tea pot with liquid love simmering on the stove.
It’s not the gifts to be delivered or the Melting Moment cookies we will make for friends in the coming weeks. It’s not the Christmas carols or decorations or the holiday cards bearing the faces of sweet families sitting in our mailbox.
The love I’m thinking about came to us in the most humble way imaginable. Humble because there wasn’t room at the inn; no room for the King of Kings? It’s unthinkable.
His life started in a stable, some say it was more like a cave. It’s tough to even visualize such a scene in our world of modern conveniences. It must have been dirty and maybe a bit chilly, and I’m sure the smell of manure was overwhelming. The goats and donkeys chewed on the dry hay, the same hay that cushioned His mother’s back and the feeding trough cradle they would place Him in. The birth of the Savior wasn’t grand.
Sometimes Love is quiet, sometimes the purest love can go unnoticed.
Even after thousands of Christmases, we can overlook how His humble beginning changed the world. It changed everything for all time. When He came down, Love in the flesh started something new.
To live among us.
To walk with us.
To work in us.
To leave and someday take us with Him.
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