So there’s this neighbour guy in your house.
He’s handsome, has an easy air about him, and is very easy to talk to.
He invites you for breakfast every morning, but you don’t have time for that
You can’t even remember the last time you had a proper breakfast.
Not when you had a job to report to and bills to pay.
So every morning, you jump out of bed, brush your teeth, have your bath, and manage to look nice.
Then you dash into busy streets like a bolt of lightning.
You come back exhausted when the skies are dark and only the street lights are awake.
Surprisingly, your neighbor always manages to be at your door, and he has his offer with him.
“Let’s have dinner today?”
But again, who has time for dinner?
You need all the sleep you can get before your treacherous alarm wakes you up. So you pass.
“Thank you, but not today.”
One Saturday evening though, you give him a chance.
“That dinner you talked about… is it still up for grabs?”
He flashes you a familiar smile, the one that made you want to stay. How come you’d never really paid attention?
“Of course, it is. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… we can always have them together.”
You walk into his house and can’t help but notice the ambience. It’s well lit, the air is warm, and filled with soft worship music.
But it was the dining table that blew you away. It was about six feet long and was filled to the brim with every delicacy you could think of. The aroma hits you like a wave, and you rush to take a seat.
Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you only then realize how hungry you are.
“Go ahead,” he says. “All yours.”
And you dig in. Cautiously at first, then ferociously. It was good. So good.
Your phone beeps beside you with an incoming message, and he watches to see whether you’ll pick it up.
You don’t. You’re still amazed at what you’d been missing every time you passed on his offer for breakfast. Or dinner.
By the time your stomach’s full, you see him lean forward on the table. He calls you by name and says, “Can you really not stop by for at least 30 minutes every day?”
You shake your head. “I literally can’t.”
You stand up to leave, full, satisfied, but somehow wanting more. Despite how much you ate, it seems as though you hadn’t made the slightest dent in the feast still spread across the table.
But you turn your back to leave anyway. Life must go on.
As you leave his house, you see his name on a mantlepiece, and you realize who this neighbor of yours really is:
Immanuel – God with us.
