God is uncomfortably personal. Not GETS uncomfortably personal; IS uncomfortably personal.

That was the gorgeous thread I found woven through Luke’s Christmas narrative this winter: A God so personal that even while he was executing the most prophetically anticipated event in history, the birth of his son, he found time to pause and wipe the disgrace from a barren woman’s soul. His chosen ones are not inconsequential pawns, selected in spite of their unique needs, struggles, and stories — they are chosen because of those things. Why Mary? Listen to the angel’s greetings. Read between the lines. God chose her because she profoundly needed to be chosen. Why Bethlehem? Why pick that hick town above a dozen others? When the prophecies were whispered centuries earlier, God could have chosen a different burb. But no, he chose Bethlehem… because he had a soft spot for shepherds and wanted to meet those ones in particular and give them a dignified part in the story of the ages.

Honestly, we’d blush if we knew what ridiculous lengths God has gone to in his love for us. And I’m not even talking about the cross. Just life, if we have eyes to see it. Have you ever been gifted with something so stunning that it takes your breath away? So personal that it blesses you beyond words and humbles you to your core? A gift so poignant that it digs up all your residual feelings of unworthiness and makes you feel like you’re a King or Queen and a slug under a rotting log at the same time? Yeah. God’s that personal.

I was supposed to pick up my kids at school today, but I was thoroughly engrossed in something. Every fifteen minutes I’d grunt up at the clock, but suddenly, out of the blue, I sucked in a sharp breath — I was already almost ten minutes late! Kicking myself, I rammed my feet into my shoes, not bothering to tie them. I lurched the car out of the garage so fast that the aerial GATANGED the rising garage door as I shot out. Arriving at the school, I threw myself across the snow-covered field, and fell flat on my face in thigh deep snow that looked much shallower. My kids were fine.

On the way back to the car, I saw a lady hopelessly stuck in a snowbank, her little ones huddled in the back seat wondering what mama was doing. So I offered my help, and back, and muscle. Luckily she rocked her way free from the arctic trap, and I returned to my own car with these thoughts running through my head:

“God could have reminded me to pick up my kids on time, in which case I would have come and gone before that lady got stuck. Even tripping in the snow was part of the fun. God loved her so much that he reminded me late and tripped me so that I could be in the right place at the right time.”

Sure, I could have just been more responsible. But even that became part of God’s plan. I love it when a plan comes together. For more on experiencing God’s presence, voice, and touch, check out my website: www.presencevoicetouch.com.