Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Christmas at my grandparents’ house. We lived about two hours north of them, so visiting them was always a treat, but Christmas was the highlight of the year. My grandparents’ home was like a magnet, pulling together our extended family to reconnect with one another and to celebrate the birth of the Christ child.

This past summer, I did something I had never done before: on two separate occasions, I set off on a 3-day, 2-night solo backpacking trip into the wilderness of a regional state park. More than once, friends asked me, “Are you sure you want to do this?

During the four hundred years of prophetic silence between the Old and New Testaments, generations of people like us were waiting and wondering and hoping for something. They believed there was more to life than what they saw around them. People were hurting, fighting, not loving, not trusting.

All five of my kids are coming home for Christmas this year; I can hardly contain my excitement! With one missionary family and two pastors in the mix, merging our Christmas schedules is challenging. It has been thirteen years since we were all together on Christmas. Admittedly, I inwardly sigh with contentment whenever I picture them all here!

I grew up in a culturally Christian home, but it was a home that ultimately lacked any real devotion to Jesus Christ and his Word. Nevertheless, from a young age I believed there was a God and thought of myself as a Christian, though most of my Canadian peers did not.

When God sent his Son to dwell among us, Jesus not only stepped into our world as God incarnate, but humbled himself to a position where others were invited to step into his world. The baby Jesus grew up learning how to live like the people around him—how to speak, eat, walk, laugh, and pray like they did.

November/December 2023 issue of Faith & Fellowship