Tonight we took the kids for groceries.
I think this was the first time Kachi rode in the cart alone - at Superstore, the carts have double seats, so he always has a buddy. But both Sam and Vava have decided they are big enough to walk, and they enjoyed the freedom and chance to move a bit more.
As we left the store, Kachi was riding in the cart, Sam was pushing, and Vava was pulling. (I bet you can see where this is going.) Suddenly, Vava tripped, skinning her knee, and the cart ran right over her foot. I scooped her up as she wailed, and tried to distract her.
"Look at the big black sky!" I pointed, "Look at the stars!"
She howled louder and pressed her face against my shoulder. "It's scary," she sobbed, "I don't like that big dark!"
"But do you know who made it?" I asked, "And who made the stars?"
"Jesus," she cried, reaching up, forgetting her injuries, "I want Him to come to me!"
And that's just it, isn't it - the whole gorgeous truth, the amazing story of Christmas - Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus came to us. So I told her that He really came, He was actually here, under the big dark sky He made, far away from the song of the stars. He came to us, and He came to take us home with Him.
And when we're sad, or lonely, or scared, or crying in a parking lot with a skinned knee, that message is exactly what we need, exactly what settles the ache, exactly what gives us hope.
Merry Christmas, friends.