[ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Janelle does mom-things, all day every day. She writes about it here.]
It’s Christmas Eve, and I am supposed to drive from our little farm to meet my city-working husband at a hotel for the night. This isn’t a simple task because of the seven children and the forecasted blizzard and Saskatchewan. But it’s Christmas and I want to be with him, so I pack everything the night before and early in the morning, before dawn, I wake them and load them, all seven still-jammied little people, into my eight-passenger vehicle, and we set out in the dark.
It’s a mistake. I know it is a mistake before I get more than a few kilometres down the road but the oldest son says, keep driving and I’ll help you see where you are going, so I do. I whimper and pray that vehicle down the highway until I get to a stop sign, and there, at the corner of Highways 43 and 2, I sit and I wait for the light.
Dawn breaks, and the sun’s cold-fingered rays begin to creep across the prairie, and I am transformed. Fear and Panic begin their awkward retreat, back to the shadows, and Hope steps out all sweet and confident, and I am renewed by her spirit.
With the hopeful light, I can see the road ahead and I smile back at the kids and I turn the wheel and we make the corner and the journey continues.
In the beginning, God says, the world was a dark place. Dark and formless, way back then, and on the first day of creating brand new things, God makes light. Of course He does, I think. Every new day needs light.
The second beginning is much the same. The world is dark and lost, and fear and panic have had their way. But God, the light-bringer, does it again. He brings light into the world, and a new day dawns, and in a Bethlehem barn, Hope is born.