Sometimes It's Just a Christmas Sign

Sometimes it's just a Christmas sign on a winter Monday morn that launches an avalanche of tears. On the way to the washer, I passed the red sign poking out of a random bag nestled among the everyday household clutter in the utility room. My daughter passed along the decoration, one that annually graced her fireplace mantel but would no longer be needed. She was in transition to the mission field along with her family.

Later that morning, my grief nudged me to her empty house. As I pulled up, the rich male voices on my car CD player sang out "Amazing Grace," a family favorite. How often my young grandson had suggested we sing that old hymn during our music times together.

I wept and prayed for my daughter and family engaged in intensive language study. Our time apart had been the longest in close to 12 years.

And it hurt.

Deeply.

Yet, it occurred to me that in every pain is a touch of heaven calling me Home.

Grief compels me to focus on my real Home and the reason I'm not there yet.

I have a story to tell. And so does my family.

A story of Jesus' love and forgiveness.
A story of reconciliation with the Father.

" . . . that we may know Thee, the one true God," Jesus says in John 17:3.

This is eternal life.

For this reason I sacrifice physical closeness with my children/grandchildren so that they can let the nations know . . .

John 17:3: "And this is eternal life, that they may know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent" (NASB).

For this I live, and sometimes it takes a Christmas sign poking out of a box to remind me of my God-given purpose on a winter day.