Truth or TRUTH - which will you listen to?

   I wont accept it!
   I don't care what the internet, or the doctors or anyone else says. I won't accept it.
   No, I haven't got my head in the sand. I can hear what is being said. I understand the evidence and to the world it may look like the truth.
   But there is truth and TRUTH. There is perceived truth and there is God's TRUTH.
   Let me explain.
   Years ago we listened as a Psychiatrist delivered her prognosis. 'If she survives, she will need counselling every week for the rest of her life. She will likely never marry, drive a car, have a job...'
I tuned out. Yes, this was the truth as the doctors understood it. In other words  they were admitting they couldn't really do anything to cure her. They could try and help her live an existence far short of her potential and her destiny.
   However, several months earlier, a young man of God had given us a higher hope. 'Though the bud be bruised there will be a flower'. This was God's promise. After we left the doctor's office we made a choice. We would not accept the doctor's truth. We understood they would operate through that paradigm, and we would work with them where possible.
   But we would cling to the TRUTH. God had promised a flower. We looked for a flower. We prayed for it, waited for it and focused on it.
   Was the road easy? Did we see an instant miracle? No. But God proved himself to be faithful. We saw a beautiful flower. (You can read all about it the in the book 'Though the Bud be Bruised'.)
   Now I find myself in a similar place. Our granddaughter has now had more anaphylactic episodes than I can count over the past five weeks. Twice on Monday ambulances silenced their sirens outside her home. They stabilised her, and then transferred her to hospital.
   Her problem is fickle. One moment it is threatening to shut off her airways. An hour later she can look fine, as though nothing happened. Six hours later it can rebound for the whole process to be repeated.
   Doctors believe she is allergic to her own hormones. It is like trying to avoid an invisible enemy that lurks constantly within you. Medics are trying to get permission from the Governor General to administer drugs that may or may not help her, but come with nasty side affects.
   However, I have a promise for this battle; a simple promise. "Nothing was missing." Before David was made King, the enemy raided his town and took everything; houses, possessions, wives and children. But he pursued the enemy relentlessly. They marched and fought until they were beyond exhaustion. They recovered everything. Everything.
   And as a vile unseen enemy tries to rob, kill and destroy within our family, we will fight. God has promised me victory with 'Nothing missing.' Everything will be recovered.
   I choose to believe the TRUTH. After all Jesus gave His life so we could walk in victory. To accept anything else would be dishonouring to my God.

Christmas is coming, ready or not!

   I did it. I have pulled my head out of the sand and faced the fact. Christmas is nearly here.
It's not that I don't like Christmas. I'm not ready. They must be scheduling it twice a year now. It was only the other day that I pulled the tree down and stored it in the shed. Now there are voices everywhere demanding its return to my living room.
   Santa arrived at our local Westfield store about two weeks ago. I know that because my granddaughters were two of the elves that escorted him, along with a strange mix of animals, into the centre. I can understand Santa wanting to escape from his exile at the North Pole, but his timing is affecting all of us.
   My gift cupboard isn't ready for Christmas. Nor is my pantry. My daughter-in-law has been asking where we are gathering for the celebrations. I have been  plugging my fingers in my ears and singing, 'lalal alala,' very loudly.

   However, yesterday I was briefly inspired. I pulled down my book display and replaced it with Christmas decorations. I even added three pieces of tinsel to the house. The plan is to add a little bit more each day so that I ease into the season gently.
   Today I placed my little nativity figurines in front of my fireplace. Even though baby Jesus is already in the feeding trough, but I began thinking about Mary walking to Bethlehem carrying her unborn baby. And as a grandmother, I've been thinking about Mary's Mum and Joseph's Mum. I wonder how those grandmas were feeling as they waited for the pending birth. I sympathise with them. My guess is the community of Nazareth didn't buy the angel story. I can hear the women outside the synagogue whispering now. 
   'That's the worst excuse I've ever heard for turning up at your wedding, large with child! I hear she says its God's son. Blasphemy! She should have been stoned! I don't know what Joseph is thinking! He should have demanded her punishment  Oh! Don't give me that story about an angel in a dream. God stopped speaking four hundred years ago. Disgusting it is...'

    Being a grandma is a wonderful experience, unless the baby is out of timing, or something goes wrong. This whole episode must have seemed like a nightmare to these Grandmothers who were part of the earthly family chosen as to raise the Son of God. I wonder did they understand, or were they so consumed by the sorrow surrounding the illegitimate child they couldn't hear the story their children were telling?
   There would have been many who judged Mary and Joseph, not knowing, or being willing to accept the truth. I'm sure our Lord's family suffered gossip and rejection for years.
    Today, as I place my little Mary and Joseph beside the crib, I'm challenged again. How often do I judge others without understanding their full story?What if I poured contempt on someone when, in truth, it was God doing something unusual in an unexpected way? 
    Pausing, I realise I'm closer to the Christmas spirit than I thought. Maybe I'll go and play, 'Joy to the World.'