Curled up in front of the fireplace all cozy and warm, I glanced out the window at new fallen snow. Bright, orange flames shot up our chimney lickety-split. Wood crackled and popped, while pine-scented smoke wafted all through our country farmhouse.
In just two days, Christmas Eve will have arrived, and then I’ll head off to church to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
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“And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manager, because there was no place for them in the inn.”
Luke 2:7 (ESV)
On December 17, 1990, one week before Christmas Eve, I gave birth to my firstborn daughter. I’m not comparing my experience with Jesus’ birth, but I’m certain Mary experienced the same pains of childbirth. Read the rest of this entry