Last night as I drifted off to sleep, my eyes beheld a uniquely bright start through the skylight window above my bed. Above my deep and dreamless sleep, a not-so-silent Star went by and was waiting for me this morning to teach me one more lesson before heading home this Christmas Eve.
In the fullness of time God came again to His people. No longer cloaked in a terrifying tornado, this time His presence dwelled in a teething toddler. His radiant glory, instead of flashes of lightning across the eastern sky, now shone from the eyes of a humble baby in a manger.
I drifted off to sleep reading a copy of A Christmas Carol by Dickens and didn’t sleep well, expecting to be awoken by three spirits ready to lead me on an inner journey. I was relieved to wake up to the bright sunshine of Mt. Mystic rather than the gloomy darkness and shadowy streets of Dickens’ 19th century London. But my relief was short lived.