I love Christmas.
I love the excuse to talk about my Savior. I love the fact that the entire Western world is thinking about Him — or at least knows they ought to be thinking about Him, because it’s supposed to be His birthday.
I don’t know about you, but the more commercialized Christmas gets, and the busier my life becomes, the closer I want to get to the original story. If I could, I would get right inside it! Time travel would be really nice.
But one of the very best things about living and studying in the Holy Land was this: it gave more fuel to my imagination.
This story was a Christmas present.
It was my first holiday at home after a year in Israel, and I spent late Christmas afternoon in my room, listening to Handel’s “Messiah” and writing, writing, writing. I was closer than ever to getting inside the actual tale, and I wanted to share that with my friends.
There’s still a lot I don’t know about Jesus’ birth. Was it in December? If so, did it fall on the 25th, or Hanukkah? Or was it during the Feast of Tabernacles in the fall? What were the folks in Joseph’s hometown thinking? Was his family there when Mary’s baby was born? Did they really know what was happening?
After I’ve stretched to the limits of my knowledge and imagination, I’m still not satisfied. I need something more.
When I’m at home, I sit in our darkened living room (in fact, I’m doing it right this minute) and look at the lights on our tree. Somehow, it helps my heart to be quiet. Hanukkah lights do the same thing for me, when I’m in Jerusalem. They remind me that God’s work, while quiet, is powerful. And miraculous. And life-changing.
And honestly, that’s the best way to get inside the Christmas story: let the Author do His work inside of me.
Emmanuel: God with us.
Is here.
Right now.
Elisabeth Adams 