The love of God moves in a young girl’s heart on a cold winter night.
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A Love Remembered
One step more. Another. I felt the enormous grip of the cold as I plunged my bare feet into the snow. I tried to move forward as quickly as I could to make it to the church door and warmth. Thoughts flooded me as I hurried on.
I wasn’t chosen to be Mary for the Christmas pageant. I was asked to be a shepherd, as we had too few boys that year. The sandals, which were in the costume closet were man-sized, and I couldn’t keep them on my feet.
We were to leave from the back door of the choir room, walk through the churchyard and enter the church’s front door as a group of shepherds going up the church aisle to Bethlehem together.
I had abandoned the sandals in the choir room and was now trudging far behind in the snow.
By the time I entered the church, the other shepherds, robed and sandaled, had made a credible journey and appearance at the manger.
I made a solo, hasty dash to Bethlehem, tracking snow, barefoot, and ashamed.
“Could I never get it right for you, Lord?” my young heart questioned.
Try as I might, my attempts at things for the Lord seemed always to fall short of the mark.
Still, looking up, I felt the majesty of the nativity scene about me. I wasn’t Mary, but I had made it to Bethlehem. My feet had stopped aching. I was worshipping Him, as best I knew, and it was Christmas. Joy warmed me.
Weeks later, an older man, who had attended the service, stopped me.
“I saw you in the Christmas Eve pageant, ” he commented.
“I didn’t do it quite right,” I whispered. “There were no sandals I could keep on…” My voice trailed off.
“So you walked barefoot in the snow to get there,” he mused. Then, he looked at me and said, “People are still talking about it.”
I cringed, but he just chuckled and said, “Things attempted out of love for God are never truly failures. I’ll never forget it.” He smiled, “It’s the love I remember.”
Six children, many grandchildren, and more than fifty years have come since that pageant. So many times, I have failed though trying so hard at something I had wanted to do for God. My voice wasn’t good enough for solos. Some stories I wrote hoping to inspire multitudes were never published. Projects I tried to accomplish, failed.
Getting older, I wondered what God would say to me at life’s end. I knew He would know how very much I loved Him, but still, I wondered, would He be disappointed with all my failed attempts?
Then, at my lowest point, I remember the older man’s words and my soul knew.
Someday, I would stand barefoot before God.
” I didn’t do it quite right,” I’ll whisper.
He’ll look into my eyes.
“Things attempted because of your love for Me,” He’ll say, “are never truly failures.
I’ll never forget it.
It’s the Love I remember.”
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Note by the editor: If you enjoyed this as much as I have you may also like her article, “Coat of His Love.” I thought that it was exceptional. Bruce