Just some early morning thoughts from me to you…

Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger…When [the shepherds] had seen Him, they spread the word…and all who heard it were amazed…”

Luke 2:11, 12 & 17, 18 (NIV)

A cold front has already blanketed much of our nation, and as we all know will be the case, another one will soon be heading our way. Wrapping paper and ribbon once decorating presents neatly tucked under Christmas trees have made their way to the recycle bins. Decorations and lights are slowly moving toward storage closets for another year.

Christmas day has come-and-gone.

But what about the amazement and joy?

Looking back for another moment to that time of long-ago which we celebrated a few days ago, can you possibly imagine the amazement of those who were there over two-thousand years ago when God’s Angel proclaimed the birth of the Savior—the long-awaited Messiah? It had to be a night of amazement—that glorious moment when God came to earth and when the Word became flesh in the form of the Babe of Bethlehem.

I wonder if today—just a few days after Christmas day—the amazement and joy still remains for us?

I suspect that when many of us woke up today, we woke up to find that the excitement surrounding the days leading up to and following Christmas day had diminished somewhat. Family and friends have gone home. The bills will be arriving soon. Life seems to be back to normal.

Whether we’re ready or not, the sparkle and majesty of the moment has lost some of its luster. We have probably noticed by now that life is still coming rapidly at us—with its many faces of pain, disappointment, worry, disillusionment and anxiety. Where is the amazement and joy from a few days ago?

I want you to do something—stop right there! Do yourself and favor and don’t think another thought in that direction.

The amazement and joy from over two-thousand years ago and a few days ago is still there. It hasn’t gone anywhere. We tend to tie it to all the glitz and glamor of the commercialization of Christmas. And when all the lights and decorations come down, and we take the Christmas trees down, the amazement of the day may get covered up a bit in the clouds that circle with our everyday living—but it’s still there.

Robert Louis Stevenson’s biographer tells this story about the noted author when he was a young boy growing up in Edinburgh, Scotland. Stevenson was a sickly child of affluent parents and it seems that one afternoon his parents had left him with his nurse at home.

Being sickly and without much opportunity to spend any time outside of his room, he had often amused himself by looking out his window on the streets below. On this particular evening, as twilight descended upon the countryside, he had observed the lamplighter coming up the hill with his ladder and torch, lighting the lamps on the side of the street one-by-one as he came up the hill.

With his tiny little nose pressed tight against the window pane, he watched him for a while lighting lamp after lamp, when suddenly he turned from the window and exclaimed:

Nurse, nurse, there’s a man out yonder punching holes in the darkness!”

And that’s what Christmas means—that a Light, Jesus Christ, has come and punched holes in the darkness of our world, and the darkness of our lives.


That’s why we celebrate Christmas, to remind us of that amazing love of God as revealed through His Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. A love that has not left us despite the passing a few days ago of our day of celebration. And it’s a love that will never leave us.

A cold front will be heading our way soon. The wrapping paper and ribbon have been tossed away. The decorations and lights are being put away for yet another year.

But the amazement remains.

Christmas day has come-and-gone.

But the amazement remains. The joy remains.

The Light of Jesus Christ is still punching holes in the darkness. And it always will—today and every day for the rest of our lives.

In His Name—Scott


Copyright 2014. Scott L. Whitaker. All rights reserved.