Christmas Lights, a Junkyard, and the Manger
God is with us in all of life's messy places.
My eyelids sprang open at three in the morning. Christmas morning. I was seven years old. My half brother Joel—already twelve and too cool for kid stuff—lay sleeping soundly next to me on a makeshift cot in the dining room.
Fueled by the anticipation of Santa’s arrival and a record-shattering blood sugar level, my whole …
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