The Christmas Visitor

Mrs. M with two friends from church

The church of Heritage Bible was caroling, caroling in the rain, going to the less traveled group homes, nursing homes, and rehabilitation homes. Men and women—some surprisingly old, with one man preparing to turn 101 in a few weeks—and some surprisingly young—listened, tapped, and smiled. There were people who didn’t seem to understand or “get” any of our carols, the goodies we handed out, or the tracts we pressed into their hands. And then there were some who sang at the top of their lungs and cheerfully followed the guitar and violins and singers as we made our way through the halls. There was a woman we ran into whom we all knew—her dad, Jack, was staying in this very place, and so we caroled to him just like we caroled to all the rest.

On the way out, however, chattering and laughing and scurrying to get to our next place on time, someone came bolting up to the front of our group with the message from behind—Mrs. M just fell! A terrible, frantic, sick feeling washed over me—and I’m sure everyone—and I was by her side in an instant. There she lay, moaning as we surrounded her. The dark, cold night, the unfamiliar terrain, the wet cement, and the illogical cement block sprouting out of the sidewalk which had almost tripped many people all conspired to bring Mrs. M, a dear septuagenarian widow, to the ground. While Mama took her to the hospital, everyone else came back to our house where we ate, prayed, cried, talked, and waited on edge for the phone to ring.

Finally, we heard the news—she had broken her shoulder in two places and would likely need surgery. She would come back to our place. And so, since last Tuesday, we’ve had an addition to our family during the holidays. Although we already loved her dearly after an acquaintance longer than a decade, we’ve come to love her even more. Her inability to complain, but her refreshing frankness about her welfare if you ask how she’s feeling, her saintly love for the Lord, and her constant desire to help around the house one-armed—can I be like her when I grow up?

God has blessed, and she won’t need surgery after all. That, however, was not the most amazing surprise of the week. You see—our caroling was worth it, broken bones and all; for shortly after, Jack died, eagerly telling his daughter of his last, bright memory—a group of people caroling of God’s love to him at Christmas and always. We were all affected by this, realizing just how meaningful the Christmas carols are, as they tell the story of Jesus' birth. And so, we have two visitors at Christmas this year—Mrs. M and Jesus. I am so thankful for both their visits, but I owe my life to Jesus’ visit—for without His willingness to come to earth in human form, to become a humble man with a painful mission, to give His life and become the death that is required of all of us for our sins, and to resurrect miraculously, you and I would be doomed to an eternity in hell as payment for our sins. Praise the Lord for Christmas visitors!

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

~Verse 2 and 5 of In The Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti.