Not Forgotten

Today, a little kid on our street got off the bus and his mama wasn't there to meet him.

He could have gotten back on the bus.  The bus driver would have phoned his mama, would have taken him around the route, would have even returned him to the school if there was no answer.

But he looked up at me, face crumpling, eyes flooding with tears, and asked, "Can I come with you?"

Of course he could.

(I wouldn't have said yes if we were strangers, but I've watched him after school before, so I'm on the list to meet him at the bus. And I couldn't turn that pleading face away.)

We checked his house to see if there was anyone inside, and then just went home to have a snack and play with Sam and Vava. (It turns out a relative was supposed to meet him, but didn't have the correct time - anyway, all was well.)

"Can I come with you?"
Of course he could.

Because that feeling of being forgotten is the absolute worst.
Forgotten by your mom.
Forgotten by your friends.
Forgotten by your loves.

Forgotten stinks, whether you're a little kid or a big old grownup.

It doesn't get any better.  We might be older, less inclined to cry and ask a neighbour for help, but it's no better.

And that is why Jesus came.
That's why there is Christmas.
Why God sent His Son in the flesh.

He came to tell all humanity: we are not forgotten.
We are not abandoned.
We are not alone.

Immanuel.  God with us.

God with me.
God with you, sister.  God with you, brother.
He came to us.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.