God Gently With Us

At Christmas, we are reminded that God chose to reveal Himself to humanity in the most unexpected way—not with thunder, fire, or overwhelming glory, but as a helpless baby.

I’ve often wondered why.

God could have appeared in all His majesty, clothed in light, speaking worlds into existence as He once did. Yet Scripture tells us we could not bear such a sight. When Moses longed to see God’s glory, the Lord placed him in the cleft of a rock and allowed him to see only what had passed by. It wasn’t rejection—it was protection.

“But,” He said, “you cannot see My face, for no man shall see Me and live.”
—Exodus 33:20

The Bible is clear: no one has ever seen God in His fullness.

“No one has ever seen God.”
—John 1:18

And yet, in His mercy, God still desired to be known.

So He came to us gently.

He came as a baby—small enough to be held, fragile enough to need care, familiar enough not to frighten us away. Everyone loves babies. Their innocence draws us in; their vulnerability softens our hearts. God, in His perfect wisdom, chose a form we could approach without fear.

And yet, this was no ordinary child.

The baby in the manger was fully human and fully divine. Wrapped in swaddling cloths was the One who created every delicate insect wing and flung the stars into the vastness of the heavens.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…
All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made.”
—John 1:1, 3

This Creator did not remain distant.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory.”
—John 1:14

In that tiny, developing brain dwelled the fullness of Deity—unchanged, undiminished.

“For in Him all the fullness of Deity dwells bodily.”
—Colossians 2:9

This is the miracle of the incarnation.

Some struggle to believe that God would enter the world this way. But an omnipotent, omnipresent God knew exactly how He would be received—even in the soft, dimpled body of a newborn.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.”
—John 3:16

Christmas is not just the story of a baby born long ago—it is the story of a God who loved us enough to meet us where we were. Not above us. Not beyond us. But with us.

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,” which means, “God with us.”
—Matthew 1:23

---

Heavenly Father,
We stand in quiet wonder at the mystery of Christmas. Thank You for revealing Yourself not in ways that would overwhelm us, but in love that draws us near. Thank You for the humility of the manger and the grace wrapped in human flesh. Help us to receive You anew—not only as the baby we adore, but as the Savior who knows us completely. May our hearts remain soft, our faith deep, and our awe undiminished as we celebrate the miracle of God with us.
Amen.

---

Cookie Christmas

Today I was remembering a special time during my growing up years. This memory is specifically from my time in Girl Scouts. (I have so many memories I could share from my scouting career - from Brownies, at age 7, all the way up to my time as part of a Co-Ed Explorer group, in my high school years, and every rank in between those two, but today, I'll stick to one tiny memory from my Junior year.)

Girls from my troop were so excited as Christmas approached and we were even more excited when we found out we had a chance to learn cookie making one afternoon after school. 

Mrs. Stodghill, one of my scouting friend's mothers, had agreed to teach a small group of us how to make gingerbread cookies. 

We stood around her kitchen counter as Mrs. Stodghill read the recipe to us. She allowed us to ask questions as she carefully explained terms we were unfamiliar with. After she'd read the complete recipe, she began pulling out the necessary ingredients and placing them on her counter. 

Through fascinated eyes, we looked at the bag of brown sugar, the jar of molasses, the blocks of butter, the spices, and flour. We couldn't wait to get started! 

Mrs. Stodghill was a kindhearted and very patient woman. Tenderly she allowed each of us to have a turn doing part of the preparation. As the dough came together, one by one, we'd get a turn to stir the big wooden spoon in her sturdy, Pyrex bowl. 

We each took turns smelling the dough when it was complete. Mrs. Stodghill asked if we could smell the ginger and we assured her we could. 

Then we watched as she ripped off a long sheet of wax paper. She smoothly laid it on the counter then turned the bowl of dough upside down smack dab in the middle of it. We had no idea what she was doing, so we watched in awe as she took one end of the paper and began rolling. Soon she had a long roll of dough covered in wax paper. Next, she twisted each end and told us the dough had to chill in the refrigerator for several hours. We were so disappointed thinking we wouldn't get to make cookies that day, but Mrs. Stodghill had thought ahead. 

Smiling, we watched as she wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward the refrigerator gently placing the cookie dough log inside while at the same time, pulling out another. 

Putting two and two together, we all began to giggle. We'd definitely be making cookies that day and we were happy about it. 

She turned on the oven to let it preheat, then pulled out a rolling pin and dusted the counter with flour. Before we could participate, she made us all wash and dry our hands as she explained the importance of being sanitary while cooking. 

She assigned each of us a small task and before you know it, we had dough flattened out on the counter, dusted with a light coating of flour, and various cookie cutters had been chosen by each girl. 

When it was time, Mrs. Stodghill showed us the proper way to cut and lift the cookies from the dough onto the cookie sheet. We worked slowly and carefully so as not to tear our cookies apart. 

After all the cookies had been cut and placed on the pan, Mrs. Stodghill placed them in the oven while we helped clean up the mess we'd made. 

Before we knew it, it was time to take the cookies out. The aroma that filled that kitchen was heavenly. 

The cookies cooled and then we had the fun of decorating them. Our artistic abilities brought peals of laughter and when we were done, we each got a couple of cookies to take home but also one to enjoy right away. 

Every year, since she was old enough to climb up in a chair, I've baked gingerbread cookies with my granddaughter, Heather. This year, since we live a good distance from one another, she'll make them at home with her Mama. She's 10 now and an excellent student so I'm sure my daughter, Laura, will allow Heather to do the majority of the mixing while she oversees. 

It's so fun to teach little ones to master a skill. Cookie baking helps them learn to follow directions but also teaches them that together time is special. 

I'm thankful Mrs. Stodghill gave of herself to that group of precocious little girls one afternoon. I wonder if she ever thought, after 50 some odd years, I'd still remember the time spent with her?

You may not realize how the things you do impact your children or grandchildren, but often, some of their fondest memories stem from the little things. 

Every time I smell ginger, I think of Mrs. Stodghill and her willingness to work with us. My hope now is that Heather will have the same type memories of our baking time together. 

It may be holding the big, wooden rolling pin, that reminds her of cookie baking with me, or it may be the sprinkles of flour we spill on the flour as we get messy together. It doesn't really matter to me. All I want is for her to know she's loved and that I made time for her, like Mrs. Stodghill did for me. 

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."

1 John 4:7-8

A special Christmas memory

Christmas memories are often either some of the very best or the very worst memories a person can have. I'm thankful I can say that most of my Christmas memories have been extremely pleasant and most of them have revolved around selfless love given to me by others. I'd like to share one of my childhood memories with you today in hopes that it might encourage or bless you during this emotionally charged time of year. 

I don't remember exactly how old I was the year I received my most prized possession but I must have been between the ages of 8 and 10. That Christmas, like most others in my childhood, centered around just being together instead of focusing on what was underneath the tree. 

I distinctly remember turning in a Christmas list to my mother earlier in the month. I'd talked with my next door neighbor (who was a little older than I) to find out what the most popular gifts were at the time. I'd asked her what she was going to ask "Santa" for and she showed me pictures from the Sears catalog of all the beautiful Barbie dolls and accessories she'd added to her list. I took home that empowering information and rewrote my list knowing all the while that my parents could never afford such luxuries. Although I would have loved to have found a Barbie dream house, Barbie, Midge, Ken, and Skipper under my tree, I knew I'd be lucky to receive one doll, if any. 

On Christmas morning, as my brother, sister, and I, sat patiently on our living room floor waiting for the signal to begin, I glanced at the packages beneath our tree. There were less than a dozen which meant there were probably only two or three a piece for each of us. This was nothing new. Each year, we were very thankful for whatever we received, but as a child, it was only natural to hope that year after year, things would get bigger and better. 

When Daddy came downstairs, Mama gave permission for us to begin opening our gifts. As we scrambled to find the gifts with our names on them, our parents sat back and watched with anticipation. Great thought and time had gone into the choosing and even though money was scarce, there was no shortage of love in our household. 

My brother, sister, and I were busy opening our gifts simultaneously. I have no idea what they received that year but I do remember my special gift. The box was bigger than a shoebox and I had no idea what might be inside. It was too small to be a Barbie Dream House and too big to be a Barbie doll. I hadn't asked for anything that was even remotely that size, but as I continued unwrapping the box, the mystery was revealed. 

Through a clear cellophane window on the front of the box, I saw a beautiful Italian doll. Her velveteen bonnet and dress were a deep burgundy in color. Her hair, perfectly coifed, was coiled into individual blonde ringlets framing her angelic face. 

I stared in awe as I beheld this wondrous gift. I felt so loved! Where on earth did my mother find it? I'd never seen anything so gorgeous in any of the stores we'd visited before Christmas. 

Carefully, I removed the wire ties that held the doll securely in the box. After she was free, I held her close and examined every inch of her loveliness. Glancing up from the doll, I looked into my mother's face. Tears of joy stained her cheeks. 

I didn't realize it at the time, but the purchase of that doll was a huge sacrifice. Surely she had cost more than any other gift under the tree and had been picked out just for me. 

For years, I cherished that doll only holding her once or twice a day for fear of soiling her loveliness. She was the most special material possession I owned. 

I don't know whatever happened to that doll. More than likely, as I grew older, she was given to a needy child in the neighborhood or donated to a charity but the memories of her will be with me forever. 

Last night, as I was perusing Ebay, I saw a photo of a doll very similar to the one I loved so dearly. It sparked all these memories and made me realize how very loved and cherished I was to my parents back then. It also made me realize how very much we take for granted in our lives. 

If I could have a "do-over," I'd make sure to let my parents know how very much I appreciate them not buying me a Barbie Dream House that year. Their gift was so much better because it was chosen with love. 

We don't always realize our blessings until they're gone. And while a Christmas doll seems so trivial, it's symbolic of a greater gift. Just as our parents want to give us their very best blessings and take joy in giving us our hearts' desires, so our Heavenly Father wants to shower us with His abundant blessings. 

This Christmas, don't focus on the "things" that make the day merry and bright. Instead, focus on the hearts and love around you. Most of all, remember the most beautiful, priceless gift of all...the sweet gift of God's one and only Son, Jesus, handpicked especially for you.

Heavy hearts at Christmas

My dear friend, Joy, texted me a few minutes ago. She shared a lovely photo and asked how I was doing. I didn't want to tell her, but I did. I told her I was missing family members today. I knew she understood, because as we continued our chat, she said she was feeling the same way. And that's when I knew I had to write another devotional-

There’s a quiet ache that settles in during the days leading up to Christmas, an ache we can feel even if we don’t speak it out loud. While the world is twinkling with lights and singing “Joy to the World,” our hearts sometimes hold a different song. When someone we love is no longer here to share the season, everything feels just a little dimmer.

It shows up in unexpected ways: an empty chair at the table, a Christmas ornament that brings back a flood of memories, or a familiar carol that suddenly makes our throat tighten. We long, not just for the person, but for the warmth, the laughter, the presence that once filled a place no one else can fill.

And that longing? It isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s love. It’s the echo of a bond that even time and distance and death cannot silence.

But it is also a reminder that our hearts were created for something more than this world can offer. There is an unfillable void within us, one that even the happiest Christmas morning can’t satisfy. Only Christ can meet us in that place of deep sorrow and gentle hope, offering comfort that reaches beyond the ache.

God sees the longing, the tears, the moments we try to be strong but feel anything but. He knows what it is to love deeply, and He promises to be near to the brokenhearted, even in December, when the world expects us to smile.

Scripture:

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

Father, 

You know the heaviness we carry as we walk through this season without the ones we love. Thank You for seeing our tears and holding our hearts with tenderness. Help us feel Your nearness in the quiet moments when grief settles in. Fill the empty spaces with Your peace, and remind us that the hope of Christmas is not found in perfect moments, but in Your perfect presence. Give us strength, comfort, and a gentle reminder that love never ends. 

In Jesus’ name, 

Amen.

Everyday Devotionals ©️ Bonnie Annis

The Word Became Flesh

At Christmas, we celebrate more than a birth in a manger. We celebrate a miracle so profound that human language strains to contain it—God became flesh and dwelt among us. This holy mystery is called the Incarnation, and it is the heartbeat of the Christmas story.

John opens his Gospel with words that echo all the way back to creation itself:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1)

The Greek word used here for “Word” is logos. It is far richer than a simple spoken word. Logos means reason, expression, explanation, and divine revelation. Jesus was not merely someone who spoke God’s words—He was God’s Word made visible. God’s message to the world arrived not as ink on a page, but as a living, breathing Savior.

When the angel told Mary she would carry the Christ child, her faithful response was simple and profound:

“May your word to me be fulfilled.” (Luke 1:38)

In that verse, the verb form of logos is used—lego, meaning “to speak” or even “to count.” It’s almost like fitting one block upon another, piece by piece, trusting the design will stand. Mary didn’t have all the details, but she trusted the Builder. And with her humble yes, the eternal Word stepped into time.

From the very beginning, God has always worked through His Word. In Genesis, we see that creation itself came into being not through force, but through speech. “And God said…” and it was so. Light. Land. Life. All formed by the power of His Word. And at Christmas, that same powerful Word took on skin and bones and a heartbeat.

Christmas is not ultimately about trees or gatherings or wrapped gifts under twinkling lights. It is about the God of the universe lowering Himself to dwell inside a tiny human body. Born of a virgin. Wrapped in swaddling cloths. Laying in a manger. The Creator entered His own creation.

Jesus would grow as we grow. He would feel hunger, thirst, exhaustion, pain, sorrow, and rejection. He would live in a sin-filled world and yet remain completely sinless. Then, in the greatest act of love the world has ever known, He would freely give Himself on a cross—bearing our sin, our guilt, and our shame.

And all of it—His birth, His life, His suffering, His death—was for love.

There is an old Christmas carol that captures this holy mystery beautifully. Written by H. R. Bramley, it says:

“The Word in the bliss of the Godhead remains,
Yet in flesh comes to suffer the keenest of pains;
He is that He was, and forever shall be,
But becomes that He was not, for you and for me.”

Don’t you love that?
“He becomes what He was not, for you and for me.”

This is the wonder of Christmas. The Holy became human. The Eternal stepped into time. The Word became flesh—for us.

As Christmas approaches, I hope you’ll take a few quiet moments to ponder this truth. Treasure it deeply in your heart. Let it stir your worship and soften your soul. Jesus loved us enough to become one of us.

Heavenly Father,
We bow in awe of the miracle of the Incarnation. Thank You for sending Your Son, the living Word, to dwell among us. Thank You that He became what He was not, so that we might become what we could never be without Him—redeemed, forgiven, and made whole. As we move through this Christmas season, help us to look beyond the noise and the busyness and fix our hearts on Jesus. May we never lose our wonder at the truth that You loved us enough to come near. In the precious name of Emmanuel, God with us, we pray. Amen.

 

Still Waiting, Still Watching

When we think of the Christmas story, our hearts naturally go to Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and angels, and the wise men following a star. But tucked quietly into the story—just days after Jesus’ birth—are two faithful souls who hardly ever get the spotlight: Simeon and Anna.

They didn’t travel from faraway lands. They didn’t see angels in the sky. They didn’t bring precious gifts. What they brought instead was something just as powerful—a lifetime of faith, worship, and waiting.

The Bible tells us Simeon was a man who was “righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel” and that the Holy Spirit had promised him he would not die before he saw the Messiah (Luke 2:25–26). Can you imagine carrying a promise like that for years? Every wrinkle, every ache in his bones, every sunrise—still believing, “Maybe today.”

And then there was Anna. A widow. elderly. Living at the temple. The Bible says she worshiped night and day with fasting and prayer (Luke 2:37). In today’s world, we might say she basically lived at church. If there had been a sign-in book at the temple, her name would have filled half the pages. She didn’t grow bitter with loneliness or age—she grew faithful.

When Mary and Joseph brought baby Jesus into the temple, it wasn’t the religious leaders or celebrities of the day who recognized Him. It was two elderly believers who had learned how to wait well.

Simeon took the baby Jesus in his arms and praised God, saying he could now die in peace because his eyes had seen the Savior. Anna immediately began telling everyone who would listen that the Redeemer had finally come. All those years of praying, fasting, hoping, trusting—they were not wasted.

I often wonder what Simeon and Anna would look like if they lived in today’s world. Would they be the quiet saints sitting faithfully in the same pew every Sunday? The prayer warriors no one notices? The ones still believing when others have grown cynical?

We live in a world that wants everything fast—fast food, fast internet, fast delivery, fast answers. Waiting is not our specialty. Yet Simeon and Anna remind us that God often does His greatest work while we wait.

They waited by faith.
They worshiped without proof.
They believed without seeing.

And that sounds a lot like what we’re called to do today as we await not Christ’s first coming—but His second.

The truth is, it’s hard for people to believe what they can’t see. We want evidence. We want guarantees. We want God to show us the ending before we commit to the story. But the Bible gently reminds us, “Without faith it is impossible to please God.”

Simeon and Anna pleased God not because they were loud, famous, or flashy—but because they were faithful.

And here’s the gentle humor in all of this: if God trusted the greatest announcement in human history to two elderly temple regulars, then surely He can use ordinary people like us—wrinkles, doubts, and all.

This Christmas, their story invites us to ask:

• Are we still watching?
• Are we still worshiping while we wait?
• Are we still believing when God’s promises feel delayed?

May we be found faithful—eyes lifted, hearts full, still expecting Jesus to move.

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the example of Simeon and Anna—two faithful souls who waited patiently and believed wholeheartedly. Teach us how to worship while we wait, how to trust when we cannot see, and how to remain faithful in a fast and faithless world. Strengthen our belief in Your promises and renew our hope in the return of our Savior. As we celebrate Jesus’ first coming this Christmas, help us also live in expectation of His second. And when You fulfill Your promises in our lives, may our hearts recognize You immediately, just as theirs did.
In Jesus’ precious name,
Amen.

 

 

The Star that Led the Way

 

“After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.” Matthew 2:9–10 (NIV)

 

That star was more than a sparkle in the night sky. It was heaven’s own divine GPS, guiding weary travelers across deserts and danger straight to the feet of a newborn King. The Magi didn’t stumble upon Jesus by accident; they were led. Step by step. Mile by mile. Light by light.

 

The Greek word used for star in this passage is aster, the root of our modern word astronomy. Even today, when scientists use massive telescopes and advanced technology to study the heavens, they’re still tracing their work back to the same stars God flung into space with His own hands.

 

As a child, I remember sitting in the dark planetarium at Fernbank Science Center, craning my neck toward the dome as the lights dimmed and the heavens lit up above us. We learned the names of the constellations - Orion, Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper, and sat in awe of the vastness of it all. Even as children, we felt small beneath that endless sky. And yet, we were also filled with wonder.

 

The ancient world looked at those same skies, but they didn’t yet know the names of the stars as we do today. They didn’t realize the sun itself was a star. Yet long before astronomy had charts and classifications, God already knew every star by name:

“He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” — Psalm 147:4

 

In Babylon and Persia, the stars were often studied for messages from false gods. Sometimes, they were even worshiped. God warned His people clearly:

“Do not be enticed into bowing down to them or worshiping things the Lord your God has apportioned to all the nations.” Deuteronomy 4:19

 

And Isaiah echoed that warning:

“Let your astrologers come forward… surely they are like stubble; the fire will burn them up.” Isaiah 47:13–14

 

And yet here’s the holy mystery - God still chose to use a star to lead the Magi. Not because it was powerful. Not because it was to be adored. But because it pointed to the One who alone is worthy of worship.

 

The Magi were likely scholars from Persia or Babylon, possibly followers of Zoroastrianism, one of the world’s oldest monotheistic religions. They believed in one supreme god, Ahura Mazda, and lived by the moral code of “Good Thoughts, Good Words, and Good Deeds.” They believed in a cosmic struggle between good and evil, and in personal accountability after death.

 

Somehow, through ancient prophecy, spiritual hunger, and divine appointment, God reached across cultures, belief systems, and borders, placing a longing in their hearts to search for the true King.

They studied the skies not casually, but faithfully, persistently, and expectantly. They searched until heaven answered with light.

 

And when the star stopped, right over the place where the Child was, they were overjoyed.

 

Not impressed by the star.

 

But overwhelmed by Who it led them to.

 

The star itself was never the destination. It was only the signpost to the Light of the World.

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will never walk in darkness.” — John 8:12

 

This Christmas, we live in a world still full of glittering distractions, things that shine, things that promise guidance, meaning, or hope. 

 

But only Jesus shines with eternal truth.

 

The same God who named every star also knows your name.

 

The same God who guided the Magi is still guiding hearts today.

 

And the same Light that shone over Bethlehem still shines into dark places now.

 

We don’t worship the star.

 

We follow it until it leads us back to Jesus.

 

Lord,

Thank You for being the Light that never fades. Thank You for guiding seekers then and guiding us still today. Help us not to chase signs, but to follow Your Son. Lead our hearts, our homes, and our hopes straight to Jesus this Christmas. Like the Magi, fill us with joy when we find Him again and again. In His precious name, Amen.

The Most Amazing Night Shift Workers of All

 

“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night.”— Luke 2:8 (NIV)

 

I’ve always wondered about those shepherds. Out there in the middle of the night. Cold. Dark. Probably tired down to their bones. While most folks were tucked in under blankets with the fire burning low, these men were wide awake—watching sheep. Not exactly the kind of résumé that lands you at the front of a royal birth announcement.

 

And yet… there they were.

 

Why in the world were they tending sheep in the middle of the night anyway? Didn’t they ever get any rest? Didn’t they have better things to do? Well, as it turns out, shepherds played a mighty important role in ancient Israel. Those sheep weren’t just for wool sweaters and Sunday roasts. They provided food, fabric, and animals for temple sacrifice—especially around Passover. Their work fed families, clothed communities, and played a role in worship itself.

 

Still… of all the people God could have invited to the grand opening of salvation, He chose the night-shift workers.

 

Then suddenly, Scripture tells us, the sky split open with glory. An angel appeared. And just like that, an ordinary work night turned into the most unforgettable moment in history.

 

I’ve often wondered what happened to the sheep when the angel appeared. Did the shepherds just drop everything and run? Did they herd those sheep toward town with a bunch of confused lambs bleating in front of them? The Bible doesn’t tell us. But it does tell us this:

“When they had seen Him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child.”— Luke 2:17

 

Whatever they did with those sheep, they didn’t let fear, responsibility, or exhaustion stop them from going to Jesus.

 

And isn’t that just like us? We worry about our unfinished tasks, our responsibilities, our schedules—our “sheep.” But heaven still calls us to come and see.

 

Years later, that baby in the manger would grow up and say something that tied it all together:

“I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep and my sheep know me.”— John 10:14

 

First the shepherds watched over sheep. Then the Shepherd came to watch over them—and all of us.

So whether the shepherds were cold, sleepy, confused, or downright startled out of their sandals, one thing is certain: God trusted them with the first public announcement of His Son.

 

Not the kings. Not the scholars. Not the wealthy.

 

The shepherds.

 

Ordinary people doing faithful work in the dark—just like so many of us.

 

And still today, the Good Shepherd calls His sheep by name.

 

Lord Jesus,

Thank You for coming to us in such humility and grace. Thank You for choosing the lowly, the ordinary, and the tired to witness Your glory. Help us, like the shepherds, to run toward You when You call, no matter what we are carrying or tending. Teach us to trust You as our Good Shepherd and to hear Your voice above the noise of this world. As we celebrate Your birth this season, may our hearts be wide open with wonder and worship.

Amen.

 

And FYI: Christmas was probably first celebrated near Passover instead of on December 25th.

Christian patriarch, Tertullian, working from gospel accounts, placed Jesus' crucifixion on 14 Nissan in the Hebrew calendar, which would have been March 25th on the Roman calendar. He then presumed Christ's birth to be exactly 9 months following which would have been on December 25th.

For nearly three centuries, Jesus’ birth wasn’t widely celebrated at all. In A.D. 336 Christian emperor, Constantine, possibly in an effort to compete with other pagan celebrations of winter, established Christmas to be observed on the date of December 25th.

The Magi

 

Every Christmas, they quietly show up on our mantels and front lawns—three finely dressed fellows riding camels, bearing gifts fit for a king. We call them the Wise Men. The Bible calls them Magi. And oh, how much deeper their story is than our neat little nativity scenes let on.

 

Long before they ever followed a star, wise men were known throughout Scripture as advisors to kings—men trained to study the skies, interpret dreams, read signs, and seek hidden meaning. 

 

In Genesis, Pharaoh called for his wise men and magicians when his troubling dream needed interpretation. In Exodus, another Pharaoh summoned wise men and sorcerers to try and duplicate the miracles God performed through Moses. In Esther, King Xerxes consulted his wise advisors to determine how to handle a defiant queen. And in Daniel, when the Babylonian king demanded the meaning of a terrifying dream, every wise man came up empty—until Daniel declared:

 

“No wise man, enchanter, magician, or diviner can explain to the king the mystery he has asked about, but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries.” (Daniel 2:27–28)

 

That line still gives me chills.

 

So when Matthew tells us that wise men came “from the East,” it doesn’t mean they packed up their camels and headed west from China, Japan, or Korea. In biblical times, “the East” pointed toward Persia, Babylon, or Arabia—lands rich in scholars, astronomers, and royal counselors. These were educated men. Influential men. Powerful men. And yet, they traveled hundreds of miles to bow before a child.

 

And here’s another detail we often overlook: The Bible says they entered the house and saw the child (Matthew 2:11)—not a stable, not a newborn in a manger. This tells us the Magi came later, likely when Jesus was a toddler. Herod’s dreadful order to kill all boys two years old and under confirms that timeline. The Wise Men didn’t arrive on Christmas night… but grace still led them right on time.

 

Now, we all grew up singing about “We Three Kings,” and I’ve sung it loud and proud myself—but truth be told, Scripture never tells us how many Magi there were. We assume three because of the three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But given their status and the dangers of travel, it’s very possible there was a whole caravan. Meaning—Mary may not have just greeted three men at her door… she may have seen a parade of foreigners coming to worship her Son. Now that would’ve made a good Southern woman drop her dish towel in surprise.

 

And that’s one of my favorite parts of this story.

 

Jesus wasn’t only worshiped by shepherds from nearby fields. He was worshiped by outsiders. Foreigners. Men from faraway lands with different accents, customs, and skin tones. Before Jesus ever preached a sermon, heaven already declared: This Savior is for the whole world.

 

“For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son…” (John 3:16)

 

The same God who used flawed kings, frightened prophets, reluctant servants, and wandering foreigners still delights in using unlikely people to accomplish eternal things. The Wise Men remind us that distance doesn’t disqualify devotion—and background never outruns grace.

 

They followed what little light they had… and it led them straight to the Light of the World.

 

And friend, isn’t that how it still works?

 

Heavenly Father, 

Thank You for the reminder that Your love reaches far beyond borders, backgrounds, and expectations. Thank You for the Wise Men—who followed a star and found a Savior. 

Help us to seek You with the same hunger, humility, and persistence. 

When we don’t have all the answers, teach us to follow the light You give. 

And may our hearts, like theirs, always be ready to bow before Jesus. 

In His holy name we pray, Amen.

Joseph

 

More thoughts on the Christmas story - today I'll focus on Joseph:

 

When we think about the Nativity, our hearts naturally go to Mary and the baby Jesus in the manger. Angels, shepherds, wise men, a star shining bright—there’s so much wonder in that holy night. And then there’s Joseph. Quiet, steady, faithful Joseph. The man who doesn’t say a word in Scripture, yet speaks volumes with his obedience.

 

Joseph was betrothed to a young girl named Mary. Their parents had likely arranged their marriage long ago—two families from the same small village where everyone knew everyone else’s business. You can almost imagine the hopeful conversations between the parents: dreams of a modest home filled with laughter, toddlers underfoot, and someday a house full of grandchildren to spoil. Everything was going just as planned… until it wasn’t.

 

Mary received a visit from the angel Gabriel and was told she would conceive a child by the power of the Holy Spirit. Try as she might to explain that to Joseph, you can only imagine what his heart must have felt when he discovered she was already expecting. Scripture says he was a righteous man, and because of that, he planned to divorce her quietly, not wanting to expose her to public shame (Matthew 1:19). According to the law in Deuteronomy 24:1, he had every legal right to do so. His heart was broken, but his character remained intact.

 

Then God stepped in.

 

An angel visited Joseph in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:20). In that moment, everything changed. Joseph woke up, and instead of walking away, he leaned in. He chose faith over fear. Trust over logic. Obedience over reputation.

 

And just like that, Joseph became the earthly father to the Son of God. No pressure at all, right?

 

Joseph’s role in the Nativity is often overlooked. He doesn’t deliver grand speeches. He doesn’t receive songs from angels. But he does something just as holy—he shows up. He leads Mary on a long, uncomfortable journey to Bethlehem. He searches for a safe place for her to give birth. He stands beside her when whispers begin to circulate. He protects her honor. He respects her purity. And when the time comes, he kneels beside a manger holding a baby he knows is not biologically his—but forever entrusted to him by God.

 

Joseph knew from the angel’s message that this child was the Savior of the world. Still, he never resisted his role as the earthly father. He didn’t argue. He didn’t demand explanations. He simply obeyed. He named the baby Jesus. He raised Him. He taught Him. He loved Him.

 

One of the most remarkable things about Joseph is that he never speaks a single recorded word in Scripture. Not one sentence. Not one question. Not even a whispered prayer that we can point to on the page. And yet, his faith is loud. His obedience is bold. His love is unmistakable.

 

Joseph didn’t need a microphone to make an eternal impact. He listened when God spoke. He moved when God directed. He stayed when others might have fled. In a world that often rewards the loudest voices, Joseph reminds us that some of the strongest faith is lived silently, steadily, and faithfully—one obedient step at a time.

 

And maybe that’s where many of us find ourselves too—serving behind the scenes, trusting God without all the answers, loving without recognition. Joseph shows us that God sees quiet faith. 

 

And He uses it to change the world.

 

Joseph reminds us that obedience often happens quietly. Faith doesn’t always wear a spotlight. Sometimes righteousness looks like doing hard things without applause. Sometimes it’s choosing God’s plan when it completely rearranges your own.

 

Joseph may not have received songs from angels while he was awake—but heaven surely took notice of the man who said yes when everything in his life suddenly changed.

 

And maybe that’s the lesson for us: God still works powerfully through people who are willing to trust Him—even when the dream looks nothing like what they expected.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the quiet faith of Joseph—steady, obedient, and unshakably trusting. 

Thank You for showing us through his life that righteousness often looks like showing up, even when the road is hard and the plan feels uncertain. 

Help us to trust You when our dreams change, to obey You even when we don’t fully understand, and to protect what You have placed in our care with humility and courage. 

Teach us to walk by faith and not by sight, just as Joseph did. 

We place our lives, our families, and our future in Your loving hands.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

The Christmas We Got Jesus on a Spring

It’s that time of year again—when Christmas is tiptoeing closer, and families everywhere are doing the annual shuffle of, “What are we doing for gifts this year?”

Between all of us, we’ve tried just about every system known to mankind—drawing names, setting dollar limits, rotating years, and of course, the ever-entertaining white elephant exchange. With our family still growing and most of us already blessed beyond measure, the white elephant once again won out. And that decision brings me right to the heart of this little devotional.

A couple of years back, several family members couldn’t make it home for Christmas. Since I’m one of those folks who believes Christmas is best celebrated with a houseful of people and a kitchen full of food, I invited some dear friends to join us. One of the couples was multicultural, and we explained our game plan: a big meal, lots of laughter, games, and sweet fellowship.

They kindly asked what they should bring. I told them food if they wanted—and maybe a gift for the white elephant exchange.

What I failed to realize back then was… they had no earthly idea what white elephant meant.

Christmas Day came, and the house filled with chatter, casseroles, and carried-in desserts. After we’d all eaten too much and rested just enough to catch our breath, it was time for the games. One of my daughters carefully explained the rules, and our guests caught on quickly—stealing gifts and laughing right along with the rest of us.

Then it happened.

When the gift our friends had brought was opened, every set of eyes in the room widened. Inside that little box was… Jesus. On a spring.

Yes, you read that right.

And wouldn’t you know it—I was the one who received the gift. Slowly, I lifted Jesus out of the box… and as soon as I did, He started to wiggle.

Our friends burst into laughter and explained they weren’t quite sure what kind of gift to bring, but they knew how much I loved Jesus—and they thought He’d be the perfect choice.

Standing there holding a wiggly, jiggly Jesus in front of my astonished family, I honestly didn’t know what to feel. Should I be horrified at the sacrilege of Jesus on a spring? Or should I laugh and accept their innocence and sweet intention?

Jesus was stolen a time or two before the game ended—but sure enough, He eventually made His way right back home to me. And by then, strange as it sounds, I’d grown rather fond of Him.

I noticed on the bottom there was an adhesive pad, meaning you could stick Him just about anywhere you wanted. I tucked Him away in a cabinet and wondered where in the world I’d ever put Him.

Days turned into weeks. Then one spring afternoon, I had a stroke of inspiration.

I stuck Jesus on our riding lawnmower.

I don’t rightly know why that idea tickled me so, but I figured it would give Him a front-row seat as my husband mowed the yard. The first time Phil cut the grass that season, Jesus wobbled back and forth on top of our John Deere like He was enjoying the ride. Phil didn’t notice Him at all until I pointed Him out when he pulled into the driveway.

“Don’t you like having Jesus with you while you mow?” I asked.

Phil smiled and said, “Why, yes… I do.”

A few months ago, the adhesive finally gave way, and Jesus tumbled off the mower. Phil brought Him inside, and I set Him right on the kitchen countertop. And now—every single day as I pass by—I glance at that little plastic Jesus on a spring and think what a precious, unexpected gift our friends truly gave us.

Because without even realizing it, they gave us a daily reminder of a powerful truth:

Jesus is with us wherever we go.
He sees what we do.
And He never leaves our side.

Our friends who gave us that gift are not yet saved—but they knew Jesus mattered to us. And ever since that Christmas, our jiggly little reminder has also nudged us to pray for them faithfully. Our hope is that one day they’ll come to know personally the Savior they once wrapped in wrapping paper.

So yes, that Christmas, we received Jesus on a spring.
And somehow, it became one of the greatest reminders of faith I never expected.

I hope this little story made you smile—but even more than that, I pray it made you pause and remember:

Even if you don’t have your own jiggly, wiggly Jesus, He is always with you.
You may not see Him.
You may not feel Him.
But He is near—and He loves you more than you’ll ever fully understand.

Hold on to that truth this Christmas. And if your heart gets a little heavy, just picture my Jesus bouncing along on a lawnmower… and smile.

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the simple, unexpected ways You remind us that You are always near. Thank You for laughter, for sweet friendships, and even for the moments that catch us by surprise and point our hearts back to You. As we celebrate this Christmas season, help us to remember that the greatest gift we could ever receive is Your Son. Draw our loved ones closer to You, especially those who do not yet know You. Let Your presence be felt in our homes, our conversations, and our daily lives. May we live in a way that reflects Your love everywhere we go. In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.

Mary

 

When I think about Mary, the mother of Jesus, I often picture her as a girl not much older than my youngest granddaughter—just twelve, standing right at the edge of womanhood but still tender, impressionable, and growing. 

 

Scripture doesn’t tell us what Mary was doing when the angel Gabriel appeared, but I imagine her in her parents’ home, helping with simple chores: sweeping a clay floor, dusting pottery jars, or preparing a meal alongside her mother. In those days, young girls were expected to participate in the daily rhythms of household life just as my own granddaughter does today. Perhaps Mary was doing something perfectly ordinary when heaven stepped into her day.

 

But the Bible leaves her activity a mystery. She may have been writing on a wax tablet or quietly resting after a morning’s work. What is certain is this: when Gabriel appeared, Mary was startled—but she didn’t flee, scream, or cower. She didn’t react the way many twelve-year-olds today might react—like my granddaughter surely would, who might let out a shriek, drop the broom, and race toward her mother’s arms. Instead, Mary paused. She listened. She absorbed the angel’s greeting:“Greetings, Mary. The Lord is with you. You are highly favored.”

 

And then came the message that would change history. Gabriel told her she would conceive and give birth to a Son—One who would be called the Son of the Most High. It is no wonder Mary asked, in innocent confusion, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Gabriel answered her with a holy mystery:

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.”

— Luke 1:35

 

That word overshadow comes from the Greek episkiazo, a word associated with the shekinah glory of God Himself—the same glory that hovered over the waters of creation and filled the tabernacle. Imagine being twelve and hearing that God’s own presence would cover you. Imagine trying to understand something no one in human history had ever experienced.

 

And yet—Mary believed.

 

She trusted.

 

Her heart bowed long before her knees did.

 

I imagine her later, sitting quietly in a corner of her room, replaying the angel’s words. Wondering what she would tell her parents… what Joseph would think… whether anyone would believe her. A virgin birth had never occurred before—and would never occur again. But Mary’s faith was stronger than her fear. She knew the God who spoke through His messenger could be trusted.

 

I look at my granddaughter and imagine her hearing such news. How would she respond? Would she tremble? Would she hide? Would she run to her mama? The comparison only deepens my respect for Mary. At such a young age, she displayed a spiritual maturity far beyond her years—an openness to the will of God, even when it came wrapped in mystery and sacrifice.

 

Two people—Zechariah and Mary—received miraculous announcements from Gabriel. Both were promised sons. But their circumstances could not have been more different. Zechariah and Elizabeth, in their old age, would come together and conceive John the Baptist. Mary, untouched by Joseph, would be overshadowed by the Holy Spirit and conceive the Savior of the world. Two miracles—one natural, one supernatural—both declaring the same truth:

 

Nothing is impossible with God.

 

Mary’s story invites us to trust the Lord even when we don’t understand His plans. She reminds us that God often steps into the everyday moments of our lives—into our sweeping, our cooking, our resting—and calls us to something bigger than we imagined. She reminds us that faith doesn’t depend on age, status, or understanding. It depends on willingness.

 

Like Mary, may we learn to say: “Be it unto me according to Your word.”

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the beautiful example of Mary—young, humble, willing, and full of faith. As we reflect on her courage and surrender, help us to cultivate that same trusting spirit in our own hearts. 

 

Teach us to listen for Your voice, even in ordinary moments, and to respond with obedience when You call.

 

Strengthen our faith to believe that nothing is impossible with You. 

 

Guard the hearts of the young ones in our lives, like my granddaughter, and guide them into a deeper understanding of Your love and purpose for them.

 

May we, like Mary, say with confidence, “Be it unto me according to Your word.”

 

In the precious name of Jesus, Amen.

Zechariah

 

There’s something wonderfully comforting about the story of Zechariah—this elderly, faithful priest who had spent a lifetime serving God, praying for a child, and probably long since assuming the answer was “No.” Yet God had a “Not yet” tucked away in His perfect timing.

 

One ordinary day in the temple, while Zechariah was burning incense, the angel Gabriel—God’s heavenly messenger specializing in dramatic entrances—appeared beside him. “Do not be afraid, Zechariah…” Gabriel said (Luke 1:13). That’s angel-speak for: You’re about to hear something unbelievable.

 

Zechariah was told that he and his wife Elizabeth—both well past the age of baby showers—would have a son, and not just any son. This child was handpicked by God to be the forerunner to the Messiah. His name was to be John, and he would “make ready a people prepared for the Lord” (Luke 1:17).

 

Zechariah, bless his heart, responded the way many of us would: “How can I be sure of this?” (Luke 1:18). In other words—Lord, I believe… sort of… maybe… could You show me something in writing?

Because of his unbelief, Gabriel struck him mute—possibly even deaf (Luke 1:62 hints strongly at this, since the crowd had to “make signs” to him). And so began nine months of holy silence.

 

Now imagine it: Zechariah at home, unable to speak, possibly unable to hear… and suddenly the house is filled with the joyful voices of not just one pregnant woman, but two—Elizabeth and her cousin Mary. (Scripture doesn’t say if he could listen in, but if he could? Oh, those conversations must have lasted hours. Cravings. Baby kicks. Miraculous conceptions. Divine destinies.)

 

I can almost see Zechariah sitting there, nodding politely, wishing he could add a comment… or escape to the quiet of the temple. And if he couldn’t hear? Then all he could do was watch—two glowing women exchanging wonder-filled, animated conversations while he sat silently in awe.

 

Either way, God had placed him in a season where the only thing he could do was observe, reflect, and wait.

 

And isn’t that exactly how the Lord works with us sometimes?

 

When our doubts speak too loudly, God lovingly invites us into silence—not as punishment, but preparation. Not to shame us, but to shape us.

 

On the eighth day, when it came time to circumcise the child, the relatives were ready to name him after his father. But Elizabeth insisted, “No, he is to be called John.” The crowd turned to Zechariah, waving their hands to get his attention: Surely YOU want the child named after you?!

 

Zechariah asked for a writing tablet and wrote with confidence:

“His name is John.” (Luke 1:63)

And with that act of obedience—faith finally stronger than doubt—his tongue was loosed.

He didn’t complain.

He didn’t clear his throat to say, “Finally!”

He didn’t ask what he’d missed.

He praised God.

Because when God fulfills a promise—especially one you thought was impossible—you don’t waste a moment on anything else.

 

The birth of John reminds us:

• God writes the last chapter, not our age or our circumstances.

• God answers prayers long after we think the window has closed.

• God can use our seasons of silence to strengthen our obedience.

• And God keeps His word—even when our faith wavers.

 

John grew into a bold, wilderness prophet who prepared the way for Jesus. And Zechariah, once doubtful, became a man whose first spoken words were a prophecy praising the God who turns impossibility into reality (Luke 1:67–79).

 

If God can bring a prophet from the barren womb of an elderly woman…

If He can transform a doubting priest into a praising one…

Then He can surely work miracles in our lives too—right in the places we’ve quietly given up hope.

 

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the story of Zechariah—a reminder that Your timing is perfect and Your promises stand firm, even when our faith feels fragile. Teach us to trust You in our seasons of silence. Help us to wait with expectant hearts, believing that You are working behind the scenes in ways we cannot yet see. Strengthen our obedience so that when You speak, we respond with faith, not fear. Just as You brought John into the world to prepare the way for Jesus, prepare our hearts to recognize, welcome, and praise the Savior who changes everything.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Reflection

Here I am, in the last few days of my 67th year. As I reflect on my life, I can’t help but be thankful for all God has done. His hand of protection has been continually upon me. 

• In my teens: I was searching to discover who I was and what I wanted out of life. I made a whole lot of mistakes and although I didn’t always make the right choices, God kept me safely in the palm of His hand.
• In my twenties: I began my family and learned how to be a wife and mother. Life was crazy busy but there was always laughter.
• In my thirties: As my children grew up, I learned to be a better person. I also learned patience, resilience, and forgiveness. My strong faith in

God sustained me.
• In my forties: I became a grandmother! For the first time in my life, my heart was stolen. I attended the birth of my first grandson and learned life is even more precious than I ever could have imagined. Another epiphany I had during my forties was learning I had the right to say NO and not feel guilty about it.
• In my fifties: I discovered the freedom to begin doing things for myself instead of always doing for others. It was hard to move out of the mother role but I managed! I started to like myself and hoped, by God’s grace, to learn how to love myself. I learned it doesn’t matter what others think of me and I don’t have to be a people pleaser. At the age of 56, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and thought I’d been given a death sentence. It was one of the hardest years of my life but God saw fit to allow me to continue to live and for that, I’m extremely grateful. Having cancer gives you a whole new outlook on life.
•In my sixties, I watched many friends and loved ones pass away and realized I’m not immortal. I also became a Great Grandmother! Gosh! 

With the majority of my years behind me, I know the highest quality years lie ahead of me. I say this because I am in the best spiritual and emotional health ever. It isn’t really about the number of years ahead of me versus those behind me because, although I hate to admit it, I’ve wasted so many of them in the past. But now, I get to take all the experience, strength, hope, and love that the last decades have provided and I get to put them to good use every single day for the rest of my life.

For the past week, I’ve thought about my past – the good, the bad, and the ugly. I think it’s high time that I stop thinking and start doing. Life is short and I don’t want to waste one more minute. Erma Bombeck had it right when she said, with regards to her life, “There would have been more I love yous ... more I'm sorrys ... more I'm listenings ... but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it ... look at it and really see it ... try it on ... live it ... exhaust it ... and never give that minute back until there was nothing left of it. Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “WOO HOO what a ride!”

I’ve been so blessed over my previous years and can’t wait to see what God does in the future. My one and only goal is to enter into His presence and hear Him say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.” And that’s what I’m going to be working in the days ahead…that and sharing His love with every single person I meet. I am grateful to say I am blessed and highly favored. I’ve lived a good life!

What will 68 have in store for me? I have no idea, but I kinda like being a sexagenarian! Maybe Medicare will finally stop bombarding me with booklets and emails.

As we continue to watch the moral decay of our society, I’m truly ready to hear that trumpet sound so I can finally go home to be with the Lord forever. Until then, I’ll keep on doing my best to please Him.