Christmas Eve: The Dawning Light
The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned...
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
—Isaiah 9:2, 6-7
I was 11 or 12 years old, sitting in my family farmhouse with the late afternoon sun shining in the bay window. It was the kind of sun that makes you feel nostalgic, sad even. The kind of sun that had me feeling depressed.
We lived on a non-working farm, a quarter of a mile from our nearest neighbors. My father, before he left the family that year, worked long hours at the business he ran. When I did see him at home, he was painting the house or fixing something.
After he left and my friends came over for a sleepover, I told them that Dad was on a business trip. I couldn’t bear for them to know that he wasn’t living with us any longer. My older siblings had already moved out, and though I had wonderful companionship with my twin sister, loneliness was never far away.
And so that afternoon, as I stood and felt the sun warming me through the window, I felt sad. But there was something else. For the first time in my life, I thought how glad I was that I knew Jesus. Otherwise—what? Would I wonder what there was to live for? I didn’t know.
I didn't get that far, because the Light of the World had come to me—and keeps me still.
Fast forward to 2024.
Earlier this year, I traveled with a group of women through England and Wales. It was a trip I had helped to plan for the past five years, which was delayed by both COVID and Brexit. Finally being there was like the difference between the drawing of a stained glass window and the reality of the sun shining through the colored glass of that window.
What could be better than traveling with wonderful women in the Cotswolds?
This particular day was a little overcast, but who cares about that when you’re in a charming village surrounded by old honey-colored limestone buildings? We set out every which way to shop and find somewhere to eat lunch.
As we were making our way back to the van, we popped in and out of cute stores, laughed at postcards, and admired little stuffed animal sheep, woolen scarves, and tiny red trolley cars.
Just then one of our new friends received a phone call that rocked her world—and to a lesser extent, ours.
On that perfect English day, she received news of an unexpected death in her family. There on the streets of that picturesque village in the Cotswolds, we cried, hugged, and prayed as she hastily made plans to return home.
That night, we gathered around a square table for dinner and shared one of the sweetest moments of the trip, one I continue to treasure. We talked about her family and also about our families. We shared our own griefs and losses, and the difference Jesus has made in our lives.
At 4 a.m. the next morning, she left for Heathrow airport to be with her family.
As I think back on this beautiful and heartrending time, I realize that no matter where we are, how fortunate we are, or the circumstances we live in, we all carry burdens and pain, difficult weights we can’t forget.
But though we walk in darkness, we have seen God fulfill His promise in Christ. The Light of the World has come.
On this final day of Advent, we enter into the deeper, transformative reality of the birth of Jesus Christ—a reality that speaks of hope amid struggle, light amid darkness, and God’s relentless love breaking into a fallen world.
We look to what God has already done in Christ. And even as we rejoice that He came, we know that we need Him to come again to restore all things. We yearn for the fullness of His salvation to be revealed.
And so, together with my friends, I wait in hope, in the darkness and pain, for the fullness of His light. Why? Because I believe that the God who came to us in humility and love will come again in glory.
Merry Christmas.
—Ginger Weeber is the Gift & Stewardship Officer, raising money to sustain and grow the CCO's ministry through relationships with individual donors.
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned...
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
—Isaiah 9:2, 6-7
I was 11 or 12 years old, sitting in my family farmhouse with the late afternoon sun shining in the bay window. It was the kind of sun that makes you feel nostalgic, sad even. The kind of sun that had me feeling depressed.
We lived on a non-working farm, a quarter of a mile from our nearest neighbors. My father, before he left the family that year, worked long hours at the business he ran. When I did see him at home, he was painting the house or fixing something.
After he left and my friends came over for a sleepover, I told them that Dad was on a business trip. I couldn’t bear for them to know that he wasn’t living with us any longer. My older siblings had already moved out, and though I had wonderful companionship with my twin sister, loneliness was never far away.
And so that afternoon, as I stood and felt the sun warming me through the window, I felt sad. But there was something else. For the first time in my life, I thought how glad I was that I knew Jesus. Otherwise—what? Would I wonder what there was to live for? I didn’t know.
I didn't get that far, because the Light of the World had come to me—and keeps me still.
Fast forward to 2024.
Earlier this year, I traveled with a group of women through England and Wales. It was a trip I had helped to plan for the past five years, which was delayed by both COVID and Brexit. Finally being there was like the difference between the drawing of a stained glass window and the reality of the sun shining through the colored glass of that window.
What could be better than traveling with wonderful women in the Cotswolds?
This particular day was a little overcast, but who cares about that when you’re in a charming village surrounded by old honey-colored limestone buildings? We set out every which way to shop and find somewhere to eat lunch.
As we were making our way back to the van, we popped in and out of cute stores, laughed at postcards, and admired little stuffed animal sheep, woolen scarves, and tiny red trolley cars.
Just then one of our new friends received a phone call that rocked her world—and to a lesser extent, ours.
On that perfect English day, she received news of an unexpected death in her family. There on the streets of that picturesque village in the Cotswolds, we cried, hugged, and prayed as she hastily made plans to return home.
That night, we gathered around a square table for dinner and shared one of the sweetest moments of the trip, one I continue to treasure. We talked about her family and also about our families. We shared our own griefs and losses, and the difference Jesus has made in our lives.
At 4 a.m. the next morning, she left for Heathrow airport to be with her family.
As I think back on this beautiful and heartrending time, I realize that no matter where we are, how fortunate we are, or the circumstances we live in, we all carry burdens and pain, difficult weights we can’t forget.
But though we walk in darkness, we have seen God fulfill His promise in Christ. The Light of the World has come.
On this final day of Advent, we enter into the deeper, transformative reality of the birth of Jesus Christ—a reality that speaks of hope amid struggle, light amid darkness, and God’s relentless love breaking into a fallen world.
We look to what God has already done in Christ. And even as we rejoice that He came, we know that we need Him to come again to restore all things. We yearn for the fullness of His salvation to be revealed.
And so, together with my friends, I wait in hope, in the darkness and pain, for the fullness of His light. Why? Because I believe that the God who came to us in humility and love will come again in glory.
Merry Christmas.
—Ginger Weeber is the Gift & Stewardship Officer, raising money to sustain and grow the CCO's ministry through relationships with individual donors.