Will You Welcome Him This Christmas?
Fifteen college students gather in a horseshoe of desks. It’s our last meeting of the year.
“What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” he asks.
I look around at the others, waiting for someone to speak up. I’m shy because my story, if I can even think of one, will be lame.
Seconds later, in my mind’s eye, a memory surfaces. It rolls out like an old movie in blurry black and white.
I moved right after the blizzard of ’96. Ridges of gray snow still loomed over the roads. It was so cold our breath crystallized in our mouths before billowing out in frosty clouds. We yanked our jackets tight across our bodies, blasted the heat, and buckled in. We sailed out between those ridges, leaving white puffs of exhaled breath and car exhaust behind.
A family rift fueled my exit. I figured I could live my life, and they could live theirs.
I tried to take control of my life and reverse the pain I felt in my heart, but a cascade of bad choices only layered on the shame. I was building a poor life resume, and my current career choice was definitely not something you write home to mom about. In fact, it was the kind of choice about which you tell no one.
On Christmas Eve, the phone rang. My mom’s voice on the line was direct. “Pick me up at the airport on the twenty-sixth at four o’clock. I’ll be alone.”
How did she get my number?
I borrowed a car and rolled up to the arrivals door as directed, and there she was. She hoisted her bag into the trunk without expression. Or was that a hint of worry trying to camouflage itself behind her narrowed green eyes? Oh well, I thought. Coming here was her choice. I didn’t ask questions. She would just have to deal with what she witnessed.
I wasn’t surprised that she kept her word and showed up, and I don’t remember much about what we did during those two days. But at some point, it hit me: I was important to her. Important enough for her to leave her husband and two young children behind to be with me, and only me. At Christmas.
She saw what I was up to and still wanted to be with me. Even after knowing everything, she wanted me home.
My mom’s 700-mile trip changed our relationship forever.
In that small, stuffy, college classroom, I remembered another Christmas trek. A King seated on his heavenly throne saw me. He saw you. He stepped out of his beautiful home into our messy, unpredictable lives.
Not only did Jesus come to be with us, he came to live like us. To feel what we feel. To see what we see. He covered his glory in a man costume and lived among us.
You are important enough that the One who calls the stars by name left his position, ruling heaven, to be near you. He knows what’s going on in your life right now. He’s not embarrassed by you. He sees your dreams buried under time and choices.
Today he calls your name.
He whispers to you: “You are mine. I see you. I know the pain and the shame you carry. And I choose you. I love you.”
Do you have a favorite Christmas memory? Perhaps this year, you will.
God’s love is waiting at the arrival gate of your heart. Will you welcome him this Christmas?
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, 100% Jersey-blooded, recently resettled her family inside the DC metro. Their spiritually and culturally diverse family billows with giggles on good days and chases character building on the hard ones. She is passionate about unearthing the callings and gifts of women in all walks of life. Join her at taraaltay.com to find encouragement and unearth your awesome.
Photograph © Greg Weaver, used with permission
