a Christmas remembered

This Christmas one of our Honduran sons, Franklin, visited us. We are so grateful.The prophet prepares the way…

I don’t know what it is about November but it wears me out. Every November I groan as we enter December. Usually about the second week of Advent, I realize that the first Sunday of the season flew by me in a blur.  I lament to myself: I am already tired and the holidays are coming.

The story I want to share is from a November that we lived in Honduras probably 2004. This particular November ended with a visit from my mama. I had my own little Christmas miracle as Mama and I bustled about Tegucigalpa shopping, cooking, visiting and having fun. But that is another story. 

This December began with a prophet staying with us. He called himself a prophet. He walked like a prophet, talked like a prophet, dressed like a prophet; so I guess he was a prophet. Modern Sansabel polyester pants and a cowboy hat replaced the usual goat-skin tunic. Prophets are ok to have around, maybe even necessary, but they are not very good house-guests. There is a reason Elijah and John the Baptist lived in the wilderness. 

I knew it would be bad when I arrived home after a day of shopping in the city (by this time Mama was back in Mississippi) and Matt told me the prophet would be eating dinner with us. I was aware he would be staying with us but I thought he would be eating in the “Big House.” We were living on Rancho Ebenezer and guests usually stayed there and ate their meals there. The prophet had come to lead a conference. That wasn’t the bad part. The bad part was that Matt tried to help me with dinner and burned the tortilla chips he was frying. I slammed a few cabinets and the prophet kept bringing up my behavior at dinner. He complimented Matt on the near black chips. It went downhill from there. 

Like John the Baptist, our prophet came before Jesús …

All that was to say we were tired as a family… tired from November, tired from the prophet. That’s why we decided to visit only one family Saturday. We hosted construction brigades here every other week to build out the Ranch with houses. The abandoned children who were a part of WGO lived in “foster” type situations with a mother and father. Four Honduran boys lived with us. We loved them as sons.

Our family was in charge of outreach to the poor families living in the mountain nearby. We would take the construction teams to visit two families, share a few testimonies, and leave them with some gifts. Out of convenience, we “picked” Sandra’s family. She worked on the Ranch. She was an easy choice because she was at the prophet’s conference. Jesús is Sandra’s brother and in this story he is the prodigal. Jesús is a common name in Honduras. In Spanish it is pronounced “hay” like horses eat and “seus” like Dr. Seus. Just say “hay” “seus.” 

Our family visits Jesús …

Saturday morning the team from South Dakota loaded up and we headed down the mountain to Sandra’s house. When we first arrived, Jesús was hugging the barb wire fence in the shadows far outside our circle of missionaries. He was wearing an earring in his left ear. Nobody wears an earring in Honduras except maybe gang members. He wore a hard expression. I worried he may be a gang member as I scooted our children closer to the circle.

As we shared with Jesús the love Jesus had for him, Jesús began inching toward our circle on their tiled patio. The team began to get excited. Everyone piped in and asked questions. Jesús understood that God loved him. He knew he was a creation of God but not a son of God. He was without Jesus and without eternal security. Our discussion resembled a ping pong match between 14 people. All of us were praying. We felt the spiritual battle for this man’s soul. I could not translate fast enough.

It’s all about the cigars…

It all came down to cigars. Jesús thought he must give up cigars to come to Jesus. We lent our voices in a feeble attempt at explaining grace. We told Jesús about the Holy Spirit that would guide him and work in him to change him. We come to Jesus, we added, broken and needy not tidy and fixed.

The prodigal comes home...

As our family and the team gathered round about Jesús, he confessed with his mouth the belief that was in his heart. We could almost hear the hallelujah chorus. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The only picture I have of Jesús is one that burns in my mind’s eye. I’ll never forget the look on his face…the joy radiating from his countenance as he wiped away tears of gratitude. The internal war had ceased. The prodigal was home. The sheep was with his shepherd.

Deck the hearts…

Sitting in church the next day, I fought a panic attack as they lit the second advent candle and I realized that I had “missed” a quarter of Advent. Not one Christmas decoration decked my halls. But Christ had decked my heart. I pondered the story of Jesús and treasured it in my heart. This wayward missionary was called back to the true meaning of Christmas by Jesús. 

The prophet had prepared the way. 

The prodigal lead me. 

I am in awe of such perfect grace.

The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood. John 1:14

I’m still in awe even as I sit here and remember those few years ago how He lead us and cared for us. And now He is still preparing a way and leading and astonishing me.

Merry Christmas!!!