Lately I have had a problem with sin. Being involved in a Bible Study deep into the Book of Leviticus hasn’t helped either. It isn’t that I have been sinning any more than usual (at least I hope not); it’s just that there is no escape from sin. I am doomed before the sun comes up.

With God’s help, we can forgive others for what they have done to us and be graciously removed from damaging bitterness. Another very real struggle is letting go of our own sins. We hold onto our deeds as if we think they are too dirty or dangerous for heaven. What keeps us tossing and turning at night is not trying to forgive the world for what it has done to us, but forgiving ourselves for what we have done to the world.

The stories and accounts of the Bible are living. They are as true for us today as they were when they occurred long ago.

The three Magi were regular people from a faraway land, probably Babylon.

We, too, all come from faraway places, experiences, and paradigms.

On Christmas Day six years ago, a chunky baby boy with golden hair was born. Coffee cups were left behind on tables, wrapping paper and gift boxes were strewn around the family room, and the unlit Christmas tree looked slightly malnourished. Our entire family - fathers, mothers, children, aunts, uncles, and cousins - were gathered at the hospital to welcome the Christmas baby into our world. With gusto and appetite, Hunter Charles left his only known home of amorphous tranquility to join a new sphere of lights, noises, surfaces, and the touching, turning, and cradling of hands holding him in the air he gulped

Ever so gently, with care and adoration, pick up your Bible. Open its pages and caress them. Feel the story of God whispering through your fingers. Can you imagine your Bible being the Christ Child in your hands?

The story of Gideon found within the pages of the Book of Judges and the less than stellar history of the Israelites, is one about movement. Due to their continual, almost predictable disobedience to God, His Chosen People had once again found themselves in bondage to a cruel and oppressive force, the Midianites.

It doesn’t seem fair that the Christmas season, so full of celebration and goodwill, brings with it stress, short-tempers, and exhaustion.  The holiday chaos has nothing to do with the meaning of Christmas. In spite of the fact that the essence of Christmas celebration is “Christ is born!” and “God is with us!”, we leave Him behind as we scurry about doing our shopping, gifting, and entertaining. No matter how we try to scale down the holiday schedule, new obligations and unexpected mishaps foil our best-laid plans. There have been too many years of my adult life when December 1st signaled a twenty-five day marathon, with flickering Advent candles at the finish line.

He made me cry tonight. The light over my desk brought me to tears. I didn’t know he cared – that anyone cared that much about what I do. He is our building contractor for the bathroom, right? That should be his focus; his “job”, as he keeps saying, adding with bravado, “And to make the homeowner happy!”

The story of the Samaritan woman who met Jesus at the well can be haunting. Like this woman who had secret relationships, we all have sins we would rather not talk about. In many ways we can identify with her. Yes, there are days when we, too, feel beaten down and plain worn out. We just want a fresh start, like a glass of cool water, and all we get is the stale repetition of every day failure. Just leave us alone.

I would have preferred to think of myself as recycled art rather than a discarded road sign. Yet, there was nothing salvageable about my journey-worn frame the other day as my daughter pulled her van bulging with pillows, tote bags, rolling cases, stuffed animals, boogey boards, and blankets, out of the driveway. Her children, my life’s bounty, are bound in steel plated car seats by straps locked together with iron jaw teeth that warn, “Authorized release only.” I am not authorized believe me.  My granddaughters were secure for the trip home, a menagerie of whirlwind and clutter, with my entire beating heart wrapped in their curls and blue eyes. An arsenal of water bottles, Sippy cups, Goldfish, cereal bars, and the beacon of security itself, a cell phone with charger, was placed within the ready reach of the driver, my daughter - the Mom.