The Truth About Christmas

“You are,” he says.

I do turn the corner. I have tremendous compassion for the tender spirit of a teen, and I know that on this busy street, most anyone we know could drive by. But I have to stop, and my son knows it. Sometimes the Lord speaks through the rush and hurry of my world and holds my attention soul-deep. Today He’s spoken to the quiet whispers of my mama-heart. To the place where worry is loud and fear is bold.

And He’s done it from a marquee sign.

The church is small and brick and the sign out front is simple. But I’ve driven around the block twice looking for a place to park. When I find one, I slip from behind the wheel and walk to the front of the church.

The sign reads: “Autumn leaves. Jesus doesn’t.”

Honest. Simple. True.

I stand on the sidewalk. Cars move fast but it seems like everything has stopped because I’m humbled, moved, by grace.

Jesus never leaves.

This year has brought worry, maybe more than any other year. I’ve wrestled and battled, and enemy attack has been strong. But in those times, when the night is still and fear moves within it, when the day has gone dark, and my heart has too, Jesus has met me.

He’s met me in my worry and He’s banished the darkness with His light-giving truth. He’s comforted my spirit and cared for my soul. He’s brought hope and peace and strength that overpower all because He is Lord.

He comes near.

As I stand there, I understand that although the sign says nothing of Christmas, it is the perfect message for the season. It’s the heartbeat of the believer, and it’s the pulse that brings life.

The babe in the manger brought salvation, and His Presence is a promise.

I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. (John 14:18, KJV)

The strong truth of Christmas is that Jesus–powerful and mighty, gentle and kind–will forever be by my side. Today. Tomorrow. For eternity.

I’m standing in December wind when someone comes down the walk. Her smile is warm and her eyes are kind. I don’t know if she’s the pastor, a member of this church, or someone taking a walk. But when she sees me standing there in front of this sign, snapping a picture, I know that she understands.

“It’s powerful,” I say.

“Yes,” she says.

My heart is full.

I return to the car and my teenager smiles now too. “Sorry, Mom. Sometimes I worry too much.”

“It’s okay,” I say. Oh, sweet son, I understand.

Worry has come close this year.

But Jesus has come closer.

And as the sign says, he’ll never, ever leave.

Shawnelle Eliasen

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