When it came to Christmas, Love didn’t send a card. Love didn’t dispatch an ambassador. Love came in person.

Caesar Augustus thought he was ordering a census. He didn’t realize he was positioning players for the greatest arrival in history. While an empire flexed its muscles, heaven held its breath. Then, in an unremarkable town, during an inconvenient journey, love arrived—wrapped in human flesh, weighing maybe seven pounds, six ounces.

No room in the inn. No sterile hospital. No comfort. Just a feeding trough in a barn, surrounded by the smell of animals and the sound of Mary’s exhausted breathing. This is how God chose to enter His world—not in power’s corridors but in poverty’s corners.

Why? Because love must be near to be known. Abstract affection changes nothing. But love with skin on—love that hungers, cries, needs—that kind of love can be touched, trusted, followed.

The baby in the manger is the answer to every person who’s ever wondered, “Does God really care?” Yes. He cares enough to come. To leave heaven’s throne for earth’s stable. To trade glory for vulnerability.

Love didn’t remain distant or theoretical. Love arrived. Love moved into the neighborhood. And nothing has been the same since.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Change begins in you!