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.
“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
