A Christmas Story

“I have to trust God for the journey.”

Simple. Matter of fact. Unwavering. If you weren’t careful you’d miss just how quiet her voice really is. She says this so strongly and all at once you’re reminded once again how powerfully God works in the lives of those who love Him. You wouldn’t have to tell her that this is a world dotted with disease, she knows all of that first hand, but you couldn’t convince her that miracles still didn’t occur for she knows all about them now. That night we were coming together to pray for one more.

All the little ones are asleep now, dreaming Christmas dreams, while my big ones wrap last minute gifts and pots and pans clang together in a kitchen dusted with flour and beginning to smell like ham. I am in between dishes so I slip away to write before life speeds up again – somewhere, somehow I have to keep finding places to put the miracles. Some are on scraps of paper tucked inside my Bible or purse as they wait to go into a journal, others are noted on the back cover of my Bible and still too many rest in my head and on my heart and I fear they will never all be written down. But this one should because it’s Christmas and what would a Christmas story be without a Christmas miracle?

I had nothing to give her and she didn’t care, she never came to me asking for anything. Somebody else called me to see if I could help because she had inspired them but here it was a week before Christmas and the coffers are near dry. Food and gas, yes, but finding a place to lay your head when you have none is next to impossible and finding a home by Christmas is just out of the question. Especially when you don’t have a penny and won’t for another couple of months until you are out of school. So we did what Christians do, we came together to lift it up in prayer. It was when her small hands melded into mine that I noticed that she was missing a number of fingers. I guess it surprised me, not for the injury, but because she was completing Cosmetology School in record time. It couldn’t have made it any easier, could it? As I rubbed the places on her hands that had seen so much hurt, I asked before I thought, “What happened to your hands, honey?”

“Well,” Miss Liz, “That’s when it was all getting bad. We were all doing the drugs and selling the drugs and some of them, my boyfriend included, started to get nervous. They thought I was talking to the Feds about them and decided to kill me. They attacked me with a hammer, that there is what happened to my fingers and the side of my mouth, and then they set me on fire. It’s amazing I don’t look worse than I do.”

She doesn’t remember who put out the flames or much about the life flight to the hospital but she does remember that when she got better she went to jail – they all did. Whoever had been talking had talked enough. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Miss Liz, I was running pretty bad and I deserved to go in. And I ain’t mad about it either, it was there I found Jesus.”

And so she did. I asked if she relapsed after she got out of jail and she laughed like she does and said, “Oh, yea, that very first week!” She was clean, but she didn’t know how to live clean. But, she did know Jesus so she walked herself right into a church and told them they had to help her learn to live clean. Just like that. She signed up for school, worked every single hour they would let her, and one month before she was done she is now homeless. And so, we did what Christians do and we gathered together to pray. The coffee house rocked there for a little bit, I’ll give you that.

“See, Miss Liz, this is why I just have to trust God for the journey. You and I both know that there is just no way for me to get a place for me and the boys by Christmas. Everybody knows that. But what I know that they don’t is that God ain’t done with me yet. He didn’t bring me here to just drop me off and say ‘No, more, that’s all you’re going, girl.’ No ma’am, He’s got work for me to do and I’m telling you, I’m going to trust Him for this.”

Now, you’ve got to know, I agreed with her. There was just no way for her to get a home in a week. And because this is what I do more times that I want, I didn’t want to promise her something I certainly couldn’t deliver on nor did I want to give her false hope. But……but you weren’t there. And so, as I held her hand and rubbed over those spots that still must hurt now and then I said, “I think you’ve got your trust put exactly where it needs to be.”

Two days ago….well, now three, it’s officially Christmas as I write this….she is given a key to her new home. It may have been the most joyous message ever left on my voicemail! A few phone calls and a couple of angels later she has rugs and dishes and lamps and whatnots because isn’t joy just like that, contagious as all get out? She’s nice and warm and tucked away with her boys and doesn’t have to worry about rent for quite a few months and how about that for a Christmas story?

So I have a few more dishes to cook and there’s a little more quiet to be had and soon the house will wake up to squeals of laughter and you know, that will be just fine. We love our babies and delight in their delights. I was most delighted the other evening, however, when I heard sneaking little girls crawling and whispering around the tree wondering the wonders of Christmas and I heard the wise big sister explain to the little sister, “You know, Christmas isn’t about us, it’s about Jesus. He’s the real gift.” It is my prayer that each person here knows that there’s miracles to be had – you just have to trust God for the journey.

Merry Christmas!