What Did I Miss?
The bride and the groom were all smiles, exiting the church and descending the stairs. Friends and family lined the sides, blowing a cascade of bubbles. The idyllic moment transpired, my husband and I ducked out of view, sliding lower to hide behind our car’s dashboard. We’d just arrived.
I don’t remember precisely why we missed the wedding, other than that life had gotten in the way. We were twenty minutes late and hoped to slip into the back row unnoticed. Instead, we were deer in headlights, caught pulling into the parking lot by none other than the bride and groom. We had missed the entire ceremony.
In Bethlehem, an innkeeper brushed past seated guests and stepped over lodgers lounging on the rug to see to another couple waiting near the door. The inn hit max capacity days ago, but guests kept arriving from out of town to be counted in the census, and they needed lodging. He’d never been so busy or frazzled by the commotion. Every bed and floor space was taken. Every seat in the dining room was full, and food supplies were running low. The innkeeper stopped near the door and noticed that the woman of the travel-worn couple was pregnant, and by the lines of pain etched in her expression, that she could give birth at any moment. He inwardly groaned.
He shakes his head at the couple and says, “We’re full.” But as he turns to aid a man demanding to borrow a candle and another who seeks a beverage, the innkeeper’s wife spies the young pregnant woman and eyes her husband with a do-something look. He drags his hands down the length of his face and, with a sigh, turns back to the couple. “The best I can do for you is a spot in the manger out back.”
It’s late when the innkeeper ascends the stairs to his chamber and steps over his sleeping children to climb under the blanket next to his wife. He hears a woman’s cry and sits up. The cattle and sheep are lowing in the manager, and he stiffens. Should he check on what’s disturbing them? But then he remembers the young couple sleeping there. He peeks out the window and is surprised by the bright star illuminating the night sky. He listens, but things have calmed. Releasing a yawn, he crawls under the covers and goes to sleep. So close, yet he missed the Savior of the World being born in his manger that night.
I don’t know the innkeeper’s true story. The Bible doesn’t say, but how sad for the innkeeper to be so close to God, yet missing Him? God convicted me in my writing about being close but missing the fullness of Him and His presence. A modern writing trend is to use deep point of view (POV), where an author gets into the character’s head and writes the character's thoughts rather than writing like an outsider, observing and describing the character's actions. Here’s an example:
Deep POV: The door clicked. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. He’s in her room.
Non-deep POV: She heard the door click and gasped silently. She feared he was in her room.
As part of my routine, I enjoy listening to sermons and watching a prayer Vlog on YouTube in the morning, but God nudged my heart and said, Come closer. I needed to form a deeper POV with God. While it’s great to learn about Him through others and pray others’ prayers, doing so kept someone between us. I was close, but I was missing the fullness of God’s presence and the quality of alone time with Him. I was looking out the inn’s window at the manger and not going in and kneeling at the feet of Jesus.
God desires that we crawl into His lap and talk to Him, spend time with Him. James 4:8 says, “Come close to God, and He will come close to you.” Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” And Revelation 3:20 states, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” God wants a personal relationship with us. He loves us so much that he took on human form as a baby, lived among us, and was crucified so that our sins wouldn’t separate us from Him.
Our bridegroom is waiting for us. Draw closer. Don’t miss the wedding.