Christmas in the sand.
Lately, I have been struggling with my memories of Christmas in Iraq. Like yesterday, I can remember the 40 degree drop in temperature. “Santa” went from base to base with a fully loaded convoy, ready for bear. He handed out gifts, and other items to those on “Santa’s good list.” My first Christmas in the sand brought me packs of albacore tuna and a box of Cliff bars and a 10-minute conversation with my family on a SAT phone.
Then it was interrupted by screaming and explosions. The war doesn’t take a day off.
Today I had a conversation with a man about Christmas. Baby Jesus was laid in a manger and wrapped in swaddling clothes. His family entertained guests that evening. Three wise men showed up to worship The King of Kings. King Herod tried to kill him to keep his power. 33.5 short years later, He was betrayed. They beat him mercilessly, but they couldn’t find any evidence of wrongdoing. No hurtful words ever came out of his mouth. He inspired, loved, healed, and brought the dead to life.
Who am I, that Jesus Christ, the hope of glory, would love me enough to extend His mercy to me?
I’m no one special, but I am forever grateful.
16 December 2019