Susan LaffertyChristmas approaches. Like a freight train. It’s that time of year.
Loud in commercials and sales. Glitz and glitter. Richly-colored wrapping and ribbons and bows.
Bright trees. Exquisite nativities. Christmas baking on point.
And the music. Playlists mixing winter themes and manger scenes. O Holy Night and a blue Christmas without you.
In the midst of it all? Hunger for something more.
Preconceived outcome looms. Hinders. Weakens the witness. “Do you believe this is true?” A simple question. One I can ask after sharing the gospel. But everything in my mind braces for resistance, remembering frequent rejections. Anxious thoughts pile up. Expecting the “no.”
One Christmas in Karachi. Mary’s travel to Bethlehem in her pregnancy catches my attention. And imagination.
I’m expecting our second child at the time. Struggling with all-day sickness. I put myself in her shoes. On the rough road from Nazareth.
Arriving. Travel weary. And finding no place to stay.
Making do in temporary quarters. Where animals are kept.
Giving birth.
Away from home and the familiar.
Placing a newborn in the feeding trough.
Yet, treasure. In the midst of it all. She holds the Savior of the world in her arms.
