A Real Christmas Story.

This may be a strange way to start a blog, to tell a Christmas story two weeks late,
but that could be the story of my life.
Two weeks late.
This story could have played out a million times over this year.
A family of four, barely scraping by.
Begging for direction.
Praying for God's will to be revealed.
Assuming the money will come around by the time we need to buy Christmas presents for our two young boys.
But, with a struggling budget, $30 is what we had to work with.
With the oldest of the two boys being four years old, he will be the one who may remember or may be asked at church what he got for Christmas this year.
So, he would get the lions share.
That's how a broken conversation ended between parents.
Both walking away hoping we are both wrong and that something will break loose or change.
Hoping we wouldn't have to argue whether we should spend $30 on presents again.
Nothing changed.
But God spoke to another family.
Compelled them to give joyfully out of love.
Being the hands and feet and body of Jesus.
To not let that old-time spirit of Christmas die.
From that day, my still cynical view of Christmas and the gifts and the carols and the drinking and the consuming was broken.
My hidden view of people and these days of american greed and self-absorption was crushed.
We came home from a family Christmas party to find a note on our front door, saying
"Go check out your back patio. Merry Christmas".
As I unlocked the front door and looked out the kitchen window to see what might be going on,
there were Christmas lights strung out on our patio table.
We hauled the sleeping one year old into his crib and excitedly told the oldest
to put his coat and shoes back on so we could go check out our back patio.
He kept asking, "Why? But, I don't want to go back outside!"
"Hurry! C'mon!" we replied.
I picked him up so he could see out the back window.
Once he saw the lights he hopped down and went straight for his coat and shoes.
The three of us marched out the back door.
The boy made it there first.
My wife and I walked slower and slower as we got closer.
Our son was going on and on about what was on the table, pointing and yelling and jumping but I could hardly listen to what he was saying.
I could barely see through my own tears.
A mound of Christmas presents meticulously wrapped and lit up by the lights.
What seemed to be another mound of household items and food and drinks neatly arranged.
Paper towels, baby wipes, wine.
I finally thought to look at my wife, who had been maybe laughing/maybe crying,
standing there in disbelief with her hand over her mouth.
It seemed like we had been standing there like that for a while.
The boy still rambling off the list of things in the baskets.
Pointing out each thing, "Juice! They got us juice!"
As my son and I walked the presents into the house, which took multiple trips, I realized something.
I can't take my faith, my family, my friends, my life and my Jesus for granted anymore.
I can't hide under a bushel anymore.
Hide what God is doing for me and my family, anymore.
I hope this real Christmas story reaches you.
I hope it crushes your cynicism like it did mine.
I hope you have a new found love for people like I do now.
I hope it inspires you to create a real Christmas story to pass along.
All praise and glory be to God.