The mailman delivered a gift to her humble home. She heard the bell ring and opened the door. The arctic blast settled into her bones. She shut the front door and opened the present, immediately. It was a colorful combination of chocolate-covered fresh fruit. She had her friend to thank. This time of year, her birthday involved an ongoing celebration. There was also Christmas, but she didn’t buy into that commercial holiday, anymore. She had lost her faith, and her finances suffered. She was in no position to give gifts, but occasionally she would receive a present with a bow on it. As for the gift of salvation, it was an unopened box. But who could resist chocolate?
Her mother called her to wish her a happy birthday. It had been years since they last saw each other. She used to be her anchor and role model, but these past few years invited separation and distress after the pandemic socially distanced this family. She hung up the phone and scribbled in her diary the following poem:
My life has gone wrong.
My list of sins is too long.
…bird without new song
Greater love hath no man than this, that he buy chocolate for a friend. She texted her friend who sent her the birthday gift and thanked him. She could count the number of friends she had before she slept as her head hit the pillow and as she prayed for a restful evening.
Today, she was torn apart. Her special day was a mixed bag of joy and justice, of mercy and memories. She felt guilty that she hadn’t visited church in years. It was as if burning arrows pierced her throbbing heart. When would she commit to Christ? Was it a daily recommitment process?
She lost touch with almost all of her Christian friends. It was a sad state of affairs. Poverty leads to social death. The church taught prosperity. It baffled sincere believers. On this day, the doorbell rang several times, but every other time, there was no one visible who pushed the button. Who could it be? Was it an angel or one of the neighborhood children? Someone sent her to the door repeatedly and on the umpteenth time, she saw a card on her welcome mat. It said, “Sing a new song!”
Had someone read her journal? Impossible. But this message from Psalm 96 clearly stood out. It was on special stationery. It referenced a church around the corner from where she lived. Somehow, they knew the song in her heart. And that’s when she decided to go to church. Her heart was heavy, but this message made her steps light. If she could celebrate her own birthday, why not the birthday of Jesus? He used to be her anchor and role model, much like her mother, until she moved out on her own. Now, she was sailing solo in an ocean of discontent. She had thousands of reasons not to believe in salvation through the blood of Jesus. She could quote the Qur’an or the Hebrew Bible, but lately the weight of her tears outweighed her doubt. She was broken. It was the perfect time to approach the throne of God. This time, the seat was not empty. This time, Jesus was on the throne. This time, she made a home for Him in her heart. He was the author of salvation. She was in need of prayer. So, she walked to the church on a cold, winter’s day and discovered she was not alone. She was in the company of strangers, but they had Christ in common. This made her feel safe.
…until someone barged into the door and sprayed bullets throughout the rows of church pews. So many died that day. It was unfair. Where can people pray in peace? What should people believe? The domestic terrorist was shot by the police. What happened to the man with nails in his wrists? Was Jesus’ death an event people properly witnessed? Can we rest our faith in apologetics? Whose blood is on our hands? Can God really become a man?
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