Christmas has come and gone.
All that remains is to take down the ornaments and the tree. And put out trash bag after trash bag of wrapping and tinsel and rosettes and more. Gather together the gifts that will be returned. Or store to be re-gifted next year.
Forgive my cynicism, but the Christmas of today is so far removed from the Christmas I grew up with. Thus, my enthusiasm is somewhat muted.
But I can get excited about the Second Coming of Christ.
Yes, THAT one.
Nobody really knows when. Even if they think they do. And tell you so. Stop you in the street to warn you of imminent death and destruction.
Maybe they are right. Maybe not. Bottom line –
I’m writing this ensconced in my Morning Happy Chair. Watching the shifting clouds. A space appears. The sun streams through. Glorious silver rays.
No morning orange and gold to soften the light. No, it’s an “in your face you need sunglasses” blinding brilliance.
And somehow, probably from a childhood memory or story, this is how I envisage the Second Coming of Christ.
Nothing like the birth of the Christ Child. No sweet innocent baby in a manger. A tired scared teenage mom. A bewildered young father. Cattle lowing. Fluffy sheep.
No, this will be a spectacular happening. In my mind it will be a cloudy day. The clouds will shift, slowly, and, surrounded by light too bright for human eyes,
Christ will appear.
FOR EVERYONE TO SEE!
My feeble mind tries to grasp this. What about people in other time zones. Where it’s night. The sun hasn’t risen yet. The moon still hangs in the sky.
Will the whole world adjust at that moment?
Will it happen at different times?
I don’t know. I can’t wrap my brain around this miracle waiting to happen.
I don’t know how it will be for others but for me?
The clouds will separate, and He will be there and I?
I will be on my knees.
Cyber Hugs and Blessings All. In my church, instead of the usual cross, we have an image of Christ floating down. I love it.
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