| 1 Corinthians 2:9 – “No one has ever seen, no one has ever heard, no one has ever imagined what God has prepared for those who love Him.” |
What do you want? That’s a Christmas question as people frantically shop for gifts to complete their lists.
But in the noise of Christmas, the joy escapes us. Yet, joy comes in different ways as Hans Christian Anderson showed in his story The Little Match Girl.
It was New Year’s Eve, and the evening was dark, and snow stroked the streets. A little girl with golden hair made her way through the streets. Under her arm was a bundle of matches. If she sold some, they would eat. If not, her family would go hungry again.
She trudged through the snow with her mother’s slippers, much too large. She moved away from the coaches in the street and lost one. It was snatched by a boy as his prize for the night.
She continued making her way through the streets as her naked feet grew red and blue from the cold. Here she was, a small girl, trembling with cold and hunger, the very portrait of sorrow.
As she walked through the streets, candles flickered from the windows of houses. She could smell the roast goose, the centerpiece of a proper new year’s feast.
She came to two houses which formed together an inside corner. She was so cold she crouched in the crevice of the houses. She had a bundle of matches. But if no money came and matches were missing, her father would beat her. But the cold overcame her senses as the winds snaked through the cracks in the buildings.
She took a match and scratched it against the stone, and it flared to life. For a moment, numb fingers warmed as if turning by a large iron stove. Then, the wind snuffed it out, leaving the girl with its black ember.
She struck a second and the light turned the wall of one of the houses into a veil. She saw the white tablecloth adorning a table with porcelain china. And there was that goose.
Suddenly, to her delight the goose hopped off the table and did a jig on the floor. And the match blew out again leaving only the wall.
Quickly, the girl struck a third and its light showed a large, decorated Christmas tree that must have belonged to a rich merchant. She reached out her hand toward the lights…and the match again went out.
She struck another and saw the lights rising from the tree, higher and higher until they were stars, and one of the stars fell in a long trail of fire.
“Someone just died,” she said. She recalled her grandmother’s voice telling her that when a star falls, a soul ascends to heaven.
Another match gave light and in its flicker was her grandmother, alive again looking at her in a loving gaze.
“Grandmother, take me with you. You go away when the match goes out.” With that, she scratched the entire bundle of matches against the wall and the light was magnificent.
Her grandmother looked down and scooped her into her arms and they went higher than the stars until…. they were with God.
In the corner of two houses, at a cold hour before dawn, sat a girl with rosy cheeks, smiling and leaning against the wall, frozen to death on the final evening of the year.
“She wanted to warm herself,” said people when they saw the burnt matches in her hand.
No one has an inkling of the beautiful things she saw or the splendor with which she, with her grandmother, entered the joys of a new year.
It is a sad story with a different ending.
It was true about when Jesus came to earth. It was a sad story. A pregnant woman rode 100 miles on the back of a donkey and was in labor. A manure-laden stall was the only place to stay. And it was there among the straw and the lowing cattle a baby is born, a hard entry into life.
And yet, the angels sang.
Such is where we find true joy…when the sad story has a better ending.
–Robert G. Taylor
robertgtaylor.com
