We reach up with trembling hands to the One who created us, the One who created the world with a hope that is not ours; the hope that was given to us the day the baby was born in a barn. A hope that was born the first moment the baby opened His shining eyes and looked on the dying world He had just entered.
We don't fully understand this gift of this hope, but He gently suggests that we follow Him so like sheep, we carry along behind knowing that even though we can't see what's in front of us, there will be safety. You assure us that even though the desert sun is harsh, the ultimate end to our journey is safe and warm; (It isn't even really an end is it?) and with that, we rejoice. Some with yelps, some with whispers, some with a quiet smile and a twinkle in their eyes becuase we know that we cannot make this distance on our own swollen feet.
For though we are week, we are the chosen ones; the ones who through our weekness, this baby, this son, has made whole again. Those of us on the journey are not exclusive; there is enough room in our Father's house for many. Will you please come join us on the journey? There is love here. There is acceptance and a peace that can soften hearts of those hardened to the desert wind.
Will you please come join us?
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