THAT'S LIFE

Ah, December. I love December. It's an old friend, back from the days when it came so slowly I thought time was standing still. Back when I had real ideas about what I WANTED for Christmas. Back before I began to say things like, "I really don't know what I want for Christmas." Or "You don't have to get me anything for Christmas. I'm fine." Back before I lied in my false humility like a cow searching for a bit of hay-covered ground on a cold, snowy night.

Ah, December. Did I mention I love December?

This morning as I trudged out to get the newspaper, flicking aside frost as I walked, the sun made a brilliant stand against the cold. The light was shimmering, bouncing off the white-covered ground like a fullback against a defensive line. Ah, December.

This morning I had the most wonderful image as I woke. We don't really use heat in our house, being poor pastors and pastors' wives, and because my pastor's wife doesn't allow it, and I was snuggled against one of our dogs like my life depended on it. But as I awoke, I had this glorious instantaneous idea about how loved I am. Just popped into my head like a sudden desire for fried okra.

I'm loved. I didn't do all that much good for the world yesterday, but that has no meaning. God loves me. Gets past all the clutter, all the self-shiness and loves me. For me. Not for what I tried to do and flunked at. For me.

This isn't a shock. I knew this. But somehow, snuggled against the terrier-mix on a cold (I know it's colder somewhere but that's not the issue), clear December morning I knew it. KNEW IT. Didn't suspect, wonder, think about or ponder. KNEW.

Didn't last long, this idea. Didn't help my hips, back, knees, and especially the painful shoulder as I picked myself off the bed that was supposed to cure all that stuff. But there it was. A cold morning with frost on the ground ,and I suddenly am stock sure that I am loved.

Now, many of you are confirming what you suspected before right now, about how nutty I am.

That's fine. It's December. The morning is cold. The dogs are sniffing at this foreign substance on the ground, this white, frigid stuff looking for a proper place to do their morning thing but finding obstacles, unknown and cold obstacles. And I am loved.

The apostle Paul, writing in a little book called Philemon, says of all this nuttiness: "Every time your name comes up in my prayers, I say, "Oh, thank you, God!" I keep hearing of the love and faith you have for the Master Jesus, which brims over to other believers. And I keep praying that this faith we hold in common keeps showing up in the good things we do, and that people recognize Christ in all of it. Friend, you have no idea how good your love makes me feel, doubly so when I see your hospitality to fellow believers."

In other words, on this first day of December, it's good that I recognize how much God loves me, because the aftermath of that is that it will brim over to my dear wife who is loved by God and others more than I. That will brim over to other believers, who will touch others and on and on and on. This faith, and this love, that we have in common will show up in all the good things we try to do this day. We will actually pay love forward because we first were loved by a God who certainly doesn't need or have to.

And through it all, Christ is recognized.

It's December, and God loves me. This I know. For the frost (and the Bible) tells me so.