I don’t know where to begin.
I’ve been drinking from a fire hydrant the past few weeks. But instead of feeling like I’m drowning, I feel like I’m tasting Living Water and it only makes me want more.
Before church on Sunday, my husband told me about this David Platt podcast. In a nutshell: David Platt got in an Uber on the way to the airport and his Muslim driver asked what he did for a living. David Platt told him he was a pastor. The driver said I’ve had a dream I need to tell you about. (Some history: Muslims believe Jesus was a good man and teacher, but they do not believe God became a baby).
The driver said, “Can you help me understand it? In his dream, he described a baby who talked like an adult man and the baby said, “Do not question or underestimate what God can do.”
David Platt shared the Gospel and said, “God did the impossible–He became a baby so that we can have eternal life…”
The Uber driver professed Christ by the end of the ride.
It gave me chills. I have prayed for years that my Muslim friends would be visited by God in their dreams.
This story made me cry like a baby.
We left home and went to church. The sermon was about the Good News with Great Joy that the angel of the Lord delivered to the shepherds about a baby.
The Christmas story, illustrated in our favorite manger scenes, focuses on the baby. But it’s become so familiar, so trite, so ordinary, we don’t even pause and remember that a holy God chose to become a helpless baby to redeem us for eternity. We are comfortable with it. We decorate with it–we forget that this is Good News with Great Joy-redemption through a baby!
After angels lit up the sky and probably frighted the shepherds, they didn’t go and tell everyone about the crazy thing they had just witnessed–no, they ran (with haste, the Bible says) to the baby.
It was so unique, so outrageous, so impossible–that God would become a baby–it demanded an immediate response.
We have forgotten how special, how incredible, how much humility was required the day God became a baby.
During the sermon, tears slipped down my neck and I cried like a baby.
In the past month, I’ve sat in more than a dozen homes of my new middle eastern friends from Afghanistan. It’s the best part of delivering groceries and helping Afghan evacuees resettle here in Houston: the outrageous hospitality. These allies who warmly welcome my family into their homes and offer us from the little they have.
Yesterday, I met an Afghan family who was expecting their first baby. The wife was due any day. Her home was empty–not even an assembled bed, a sofa or a package of diapers. Here we are just days from Christmas and I couldn’t help but remember another middle easter couple, looking for a place to birth a Savior. Jesus, didn’t have a bed either.
I cried like a baby.
Friends, Jesus came as a baby–a baby! And we have this incredible opportunity to share this Good News with Great Joy with our neighbors, new and old.
Go ahead, join me.
Cry like a baby.
Looking for ways to welcome Afghan evacuees this Christmas to Houston? Click here for opportunities
