I love to tell the story

 Storytelling is an art.  Drop by any VFW club or American Legion canteen (pre-covid) and you will find any number of artists plying their craft of telling what are affectionately known as "war stories" on any given evening.  I've heard, and told, my fair share of these types of stories.  Back before "war stories", the stories of the Americas were told by storytellers.  Passed along by word of mouth, they became known as "tall tales" because lies is such an unpleasant word and as they worked their way into the fabric of America, they became known as folklore, or legends.

If you've known me for longer than a day or two, you know that if I tell you a story, at some point I have to either tell you a story to tell you the story I want to tell you, or interrupt the story I want to tell you to tell you another story that sets up the finish for the first story.  As I said, storytelling is an art, and each artist wields his brush in a different manner.

Tonight, though, is about the greatest story ever told.  Despite what you believe about it, there's no denying that in it's telling, the main character of that story changed the course of human history.  By Himself.  I think the story is fascinating for many reasons, so let's look at the cast that God uses to set up the story:  A young girl who has to trust God because the ask is so huge, it could potentially endanger her own life.  A man who has to believe, honestly, the most outlandish story about a pregnancy ever told.  The most powerful man on the planet, who declares a census so that the young couple could arrive in Bethlehem at the appointed hour to fulfill prophecy.  And an innkeeper, who sends the couple to a stable because there's no room at the inn.

And behind it all   The Sovereign God, who is orchestrating a story of redemption for all mankind who would hear and believe it.  

Think about it:  God wrote the story His way.   If Dale writes the story, there's room at the inn. If Peter writes the what He thought was the end of the story, Jesus avoids the cross.  If you write the story, then you write it where your heart leads.  My point is that if we were in charge of writing that story, we don't write it the way our God had it planned out from the beginning of time.  

I did online church tonight.  I saw part of the service from my church in Ogden and watched the whole service from the church I'm attending here in North Bend.  At the end of it, the pastor sang a song that asked the musical question: "Is there room in your heart for God to write your story?"

As I said, if Dale writes the story, there's not a census.  It's just a direction to go to Bethlehem.  But Dale is not in charge of his own story, let alone the story of the King of Creation.  One of the things God is working with me on is my tendency in my head to want to re-write bad endings in my own life.  More than once, that's gotten me into real trouble here on planet Earth.  Sometimes stories are supposed to have bad endings.  The girl doesn't come back.  A bad experience is bad to keep you from having a worse one.  The Savior of the world is born in a stable because there's no room in the inn, because the most powerful human at the time on the planet decided there was to be a census and everyone had to go to their city to be counted and taxed.

The Roman emperor had a part in the story because God is God and I am not, and He's got things under control.  That part of the story fascinates me because to me it's a prime example of the most powerful human being at the time having a hand in orchestrating the birthplace of the most powerful human being that ever walked the face of the earth, and it points me to the fact that God is Sovereign over everything.

God is writing my story.  I know that because it's not a story that I'd write for me.  First off, I'm not that creative.  Secondly, I'm not omniscient, omnipresent, nor omnipotent, so I have no idea how my story would intertwine with the people it does because I'm not writing it.  My involvement in my story is to a:  Surrender to God's will and to b:  do my part, and to c:  not try to do God's part or do what I want and expect Him to bless it.

This Christmas is one like none of us have ever seen.  Many of us will not be with the people we want to be with.  I fall among those and it's not lost on me that the man who used to invite strangers to his home to share in a celebration will be alone (unless God, who is writing my story has other plans!).  Although things haven't gone exactly to plan in 2020, I still know Jesus and He's still very much working on my story.  

I put up a tree.  I decorated the house.  Presents are under the tree for my family and I will, God willing, see them next week, albeit not together, and most likely, just very briefly.  I know not a lot of single people go to all that trouble, but the wonder of Christmas has never been lost on me.  I know the story, and for the last eleven years, I've known the One whose birth the story is about.  Christmas is to me, that celebration of the best news ever, and as one who has been forgiven much, I love much.

You see, it's not about me.  Christmas is about Christ.  Christmas IS Christ and if you're not a Christian, tomorrow is Friday.  I know because I spent Christmas of 1990 in Saudi Arabia where Christmas isn't a thing and December 25th is just another day of the week.  That last statement may sound a little harsh, but it's a truth told in love.  Without Jesus, it's Friday.  With Him, you're commemorating a day set aside by man to celebrate the birth of the One who would redeem mankind.  The first Christmas was in a stable.  I'm comfy in Casa Bonita by the Sea (well, almost by the sea!), safe, fed, warm, and comforted by my pets.  I'm benefiting from the blessings of the God who saved me from sin, death, hell, and myself.  I have much to be thankful for.

I don't know where this Christmas finds you, physically, spiritually, emotionally.  Maybe you've lost someone this year.  Maybe Corona has wrecked your life.  Maybe a relationship went south (one of mine  did, literally).  Whatever it is, I'd like you to remember to look beyond yourself or your circumstances and bend the knees; worship Jesus, because He's worthy.  Because He came to save you.  And if you're not a believer, I'd share these words that put me on the path back to Him, that lonely night in April eleven years ago:

When life gets to be more than you can stand, kneel.

I got to the point where I knew I needed a Savior because I'd messed my life up so bad that in six weeks I'd lost just about everything that meant anything to me.  Over the ensuing 11 years, it took a lot of wrestling, but God finally got the pen out of my hand and now that He's writing the story, it's taking twists and turns I could have never seen, but with each one I see the Author and Perfecter of my faith crafting the story.  The cool thing about it is that He lets me tell it to you (well, sometimes).  It's my hope this Christmas that there's something here that reminds you that He came for you, too.  He does comfort.  He still heals.  He still answers prayers, and He's 100% still in the saving business.  

And as a side note, He's also the best storyteller ever to live.  The New Testament gospels are filled with Jesus telling stories and teaching through parables to show us the way back to God through Him.

Merry Christmas, friends.  Wherever you are!  And thank you Jesus, for coming to save us.  Happy birthday to you, and Glory to God for you!