but He had come as a Servant King, con-founding those whoâd been expecting a political deliverer and warrior.
âHow little we understand the true nature of the kingdom of God,â Pastor Clark said as he closed his Bible. âEven today, we still have a hard time comprehending Jesusâ teachings that the last shall be first, the least will be the greatest, the meek will inherit the earth, and dying to self leads to life.â
The praise team closed the service with a slow, worshipful ver-sion of âO Little Town of Bethlehem.â After Pastor Clarkâs sermon, the words of the third verse took on more meaning:
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him,
Still the dear Christ enters in.
Whew. The promised Messiah definitely showed up in a way the âreligiousâ folks didnât expectâin a stable with the animals.
But it was the meek folksâthe shepherdsâwho ran to welcome Him . . .
Afterward, as chairs were pushed back and tables set up for the potluck, I was grateful my sprained ankle gave me an excuse to stay anchored for a few more minutes, thinking about Pastor Clarkâs sermon.
His low-key style didnât compare to Pastor Cobbsâs dynamic preaching, and his voice was a bit raspy with ageâbut the man was deep. And what he said was true: I still struggled to understand Godâs âupside-down kingdom.â
Father . . . Abba . . . Daddy God, I prayed silently as lively com-motion swirled around me, forgive me for being such a knucklehead. Even though Iâve heard the Christmas story a zillion times, help me to hear the story this year with open ears. I want to know You and Your Son and Your Holy Spirit even more this year. Help me to look for You in unexpected places. And thanks for giving me Yada Yada sisters who arenât afraid to get in my face andâ
âYo, Jodi!â
I opened my eyes. Florida was snapping her fingers in my face.
âWhat? I was praying.â
âOh. Sorry.â Florida plopped down in a chair beside me. âThought youâd zoned out. Want me to get you a plate of food? Ruth brought some blintzes, whatever they are. Says itâs a family recipe.â
I declined with a shake of my head, noticing her âZulu knotsâ were still holding. She craned her neck, looking around the room. âWhereâs Josh at? Havenât seen him for a couple of Sundays. He and Edesa goinâ to her Spanish church these days? Thought they was doinâ every other Sunday. Sure too bad about that Carmelita girlâanâ her leavinâ that poor baby without a mama. Mm-mm. Wonder whatâs goinâ to happen to her?â Florida prattled on, but now I did zone out.
Exactly what Iâd like to know.
AFTER THE POTLUCK, the teens invited any adults to stay whoâd like to help them decorate the sanctuary, but Denny and I cut out. âI feel like a wimp, just sitting around not doing anything,â I said as Denny took my crutches and hoisted me into the front seat of the minivan.
âThatâs it! Youâre a wimp!â Denny grinned at me as he climbed into the driverâs side. âI always knew there was something special about you, just couldnât put my finger on it.â
He had me laughing by the time we got to the house, listing all my special qualities that had surfaced with my spill on the ice: a Cinderella foot that fit perfectly inside that foam-and-Velcro âslip-perâ; a sexy swing of the hips as I perfected walking on crutches; a laid-back attitude toward life, letting the laundry pile up; theâ
Denny stopped midsentence as we came in the back door. The lights were on and music was playing in the living room. Denny and I looked at each other. âHello?â he called out.
The music flipped off. âOh, hey, Mom and Dad.â Josh met us in the hallway, shirt hanging out beneath a pullover
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