Let's re-examine what Christmas is about. It's really pretty simple....it's a birthday.
Joseph and Mary were not rich. They were just common people. A carpenter and a housewife. They had to make a journey to pay taxes .. and along that journey, Mary went into labor. There was no room at the inn ... they had to stay in the stable with the animals. Sometime during the night, Mary gave birth to a son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and he slept in a manger ...not a crib ...not a playpen .. a manger, where the animals fed.
We forget, this was no common child. His birth was announced by the angels. A star led wise men and shepherds to his side. This was God's gift to the world.
For decades ... the world waited for the Messiah ... the one person who would save the world from sin and despair. At this moment in time ... the waiting ended ... the Messiah had arrived. Jesus was born to a virgin ... the son of common people ... the Son of God was placed into a family that would love him, and teach him, and allow him to grow in body and spirit.
Lets remember the reason we celebrate Christmas. It's not a day to get gifts, or give gifts .. it is a day to celebrate THE GIFT that God gave to us ... HIS SON ... JESUS !!!!
" It Wasn't His Child" ... by Trisha Yearwood
He was her man, she was his wife
And late one winter night
He knelt by her as she gave birth
But it wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
Yet still he took him as his own
And as he watched him grow
It brought him joy, he loved that boy
But it wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
But like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn't easy for him but he did all he could
His son was different to the rest
It wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
And when the boy became a man
He took his father's hand
And soon the world would know why
It wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
And like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn't easy for him but he did all he could
He grew up with his hands in wood
And he died with his hands in wood
He was God's child, he was God's child
He was her man, she was his wife
And late one winter night
He knelt by her as she gave birth
But it wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
Yet still he took him as his own
And as he watched him grow
It brought him joy, he loved that boy
But it wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
But like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn't easy for him but he did all he could
His son was different to the rest
It wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
And when the boy became a man
He took his father's hand
And soon the world would know why
It wasn't his child, it wasn't his child
And like a father he was strong and kind and good
And I believe he did his best
It wasn't easy for him but he did all he could
He grew up with his hands in wood
And he died with his hands in wood
He was God's child, he was God's child
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