It’s Christmas morning and I’m staring at the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. The hotel room smells of my dad’s freshly brewed coffee and sounds from the Creed II soundtrack bump in the background, numbing me into digging deep. There is no snow, no Christmas tree, no excited children. This isn’t Christmas – not the Christmas that’s in my heart. Not the Christmas that is in my memory. Not the Christmas that is in my hope. But just the same, I find myself pondering Christ’s birth as I gaze across those Pacific waters and can’t help but be overcome with gratitude at the sacrifices that have been made for us, Heavenly Father’s children.
Christ was sent as a fragile new born baby, was taught as He grew, just like us, and then He descended below all so that He could understand us, so He could be our best friend, our defender in the complete sense, so He could know us completely and offer himself to us, openly, vulnerably, completely.
I’m not sure I will ever fully understand the love that went into that sacrifice, but I am so humbled and grateful to get to be a part of it, and grateful that I get to spend this Christmas morning with my Dad making Christmas memories of a different kind. He makes sacrifices of his own for me.
Forever Grateful!
