My dad, a man of few words, told my brother and me, “Boys, Christmas is about Jesus.” In one of those bedtime, book-time moments, somewhere between the fairy tales and the monkey with the lunch pail, I thought about what Dad had said. And I began asking the Christmas questions, and I’ve been asking them ever since.
God knows what it’s like to be a human, and when we talk to him about deadlines or tough times he understands. He’s been there. He’s been here. Because of Bethlehem, we have a friend in Jesus. Christmas begins what Easter celebrates. The child in the cradle became the King on the cross. And he doesn’t tell us, “Clean up before you come in.” He offers, “Come in and I’ll clean you up.” It’s not our grip on him that matters, but his grip on us. And his grip is sure.
