There aren’t any lights on the outside of my house this year. No inflatable reindeer, no twinkling LEDs, and certainly no Clark Griswold moments on a ladder. I’m a child of God not because I’ve decorated a rooftop to prove it, but because a Father saw my empty pockets and invited me into the stable anyway. Grace is a gift that arrived in a feed trough, and I’m just the guy holding the empty wrapping paper.
As for Christmas cards, we gave up on the post office when the price of a stamp started feeling like a down payment on a farm. These days, our “cards” are mostly sent via text or email—digital greetings that arrive just in time, but without the fancy paper.
It’s a reminder that my standing with Heaven doesn’t depend on how well I manage my to-do list, my correspondence, or even my anger. Calling Him “Father” has nothing to do with my merit and everything to do with His mercy.
My record is clean at the courthouse. There aren’t any blue lights flashing in my driveway this morning, and I haven’t done anything to land me on the “Naughty List” in any legal sense.
But the truth is, my heart can get as cold as the morning after a blue norther streaks through the Gulf Coast. And my patience can wear thin faster than a $.99 bath towel. Grace isn’t just for the headlines; it’s for the everyday messes I make just by being me.
Some habits are like cockleburs. They’re nature’s Velcro—those stubborn little hitchhikers that grab hold of your jeans and stick to your Converse All Stars the second you step off the path. I’d love to tell you that the “Season of Peace” makes me perfectly peaceful, but some of my old, selfish traits still cling to me like those burs on a wool sock. My wandering these days isn’t because I’m lost—it’s because I’m proud.
We’d rather focus on the lights, the tinsel, and our porcelain Christmas village, but the reality is often a rush to anger in a crowded store or a hard feeling we’ve been holding onto like an uncirculated 2 dollar bill. But the Manger was built specifically for the broken.
Jesus didn’t come for the people who had their lives gift-wrapped and tied with a bow; He came for the ones who couldn’t shake the habits that stick. The Manger was where the second chance took on human form.
I’m still the guy who needs a fresh start even before my first coffee has cooled enough to sip. I can’t coast along on my own merits, even if everybody thought I was a great guy yesterday. Every time the sun comes up, the Lord is right there to pull me back in with a fresh supply of mercy. God doesn’t run out of patience, and He doesn’t run out of grace.
“When God our Savior revealed his kindness and love, he saved us, not because of the righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He washed away our sins, giving us a new birth and new life through the Holy Spirit.” — Titus 3:4-5 (NLT)