Make Him Room

A bang on the door. A man soaking wet and glowing under the stark security light, his wife the same, from the deluge pouring from the sky. Breath hanging in the air through the reinforced glass door, he's shouting "we need to come in" in a thick accent.

My son runs behind me "who is it mummy?"

"Shh. I don't know! Just a sec"

Chain on, I open the door.

"We need to come in, please" he says again. The woman lets out a strong groan. "Please. She's in labour. No-one will open."

My mind goes down the check list. The kids area already bunked up together, the in-laws are in the spare room. The living room is strewn with toys and dirty plates and glasses after Christmas dinner. Ah I shouldn't have left it for the morning... Wait a minute, what am I thinking?

"I have a full house, there's no room. Your wife needs a hospital."

Another groan.

"There's no time"

"Ambulance?"

"Yes, please call, but we still need to come in."

"Who is it?" my husband calls down.

"There is literally no room." I say and shrug making an awkward face.

Yet another more anguished groan. Oh that's less than a minute apart.

"Err... Come and get Jo" I shout to my husband. "Go up to Dad and tell him to bring towels. I'll put them in the caravan."

"Urgh, rank" says your boy and runs upstairs.

I'm just in my gown and slippers but still I grab the padlock key for Grandad's old caravan off the rack and pull off the chain. I pick up my phone and start dialling as I walk the couple out to the dilapidated caravan on the driveway. My slippers squish on the soaking paving immersing my feet in icy water.

"It's not much but it's dry. How did you get here?"

"Our cab driver kicked us out when the contractions started. We'll never make it now. Yours is the third door I've tried."

The pale, soaking faces of the two drowned rats sparks my compassion and urgency, I contemplate it briefly but I still can't bring myself to let the strangers in to my house. I heave open the side door of the caravan and shove aside the box of leaflets and flyers I've been storing for the school Christmas fair and the box collapses spilling them over the floor.

"Ah crap." You and the man haul the groaning, weeping, fainting woman and make her lie down on the little cushioned bench. You look around you. Cobwebs. Mildew. A cracked window. Completely untouched sports equipment I've been meaning to take to the charity shop. But it's dry.

"Thank you. Oh thank you" says the poor man looking anxious and exhuasted.

"Hello... Yes its an emergency. There's a stranger in labour in my driveway. The contractions are less than a minute apart. What do we do?... I don't know if she speaks English... They're putting me through."

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It's just a scene I've set, but this is how much room I think I make for Jesus at Christmas. A late night emergency stopover in the old caravan in my driveway. But He is coming, whether I'm ready for Him or not! All the other enjoyable rituals of Christmas are out of the way. All of the family are fed, rested and cared for. I don't want inconvenience and to really let Him disrupt my day. I feel slightly embarrassed about letting him fully be seen by the guests I want to make comfortable. I don't want to have a load of mess and chaos all over my comfortable little home. There's a corner I'm not really using now that everything else is taken care of: I'll let Him in there.

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A bang on the door

"Hi I'm looking for Mrs Hirst"

The daylight streams through the reinforced glass door as I dash with dripping wet hair and a fluffy towel wrapped around. Chain on the hook I open and say...

"Yes, what is it?"

"I have a delivery for you. Won't fit in the letterbox"

"Oh. I'm not dressed."

"Won't take a minute. I just need you to sign, and it is a bit heavy..."

"I didn't think there was a postal service on New Year's day. Who would be sending me...? I'm a little confused." I unhook the latch and open the door, catching my breath in the crisp fresh air.

"Don't know love, am literally just the messenger..."

"So what is it?"

"Just a box. Doesn't say."

"Ok, I'll sign"

I scribble on the electronic pad something illegible and he kicks the box on the ground with his foot which makes a clang.

"Want me to bring it in for you?"

"I feel a little vulnerable here!"

"Am not looking, honest" he says and with great great effort reaches down to the metal strong box and makes a grunt as he picks it up and heaves it just over the threshold onto the mat.

"Ok thanks, well, that will do. Is that it?"

"Yep. Bye then"

"Uh, Happy New Year" I remember to say.

"Yep, and to you!"

I shut the front door and just stand looking at the tarnished metal box for a full minute. Still soaking wet, I crouch down to take a closer look and see there's a note taped to the front over the latch.

"Mrs Hirst. Thank you. Thank you for letting us in. This is all we have to thank you, but it is yours"

Oh it must be from... I gasp with a jaw drop that actually causes my mouth to make a popping sound as I creak open the stiff rusted lid. Dozens of bars of solid gold sit glinting in that unexpected sunlight...

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The miracle of Christmas is that even though all the room I might make for the arrival of Jesus is the most minimal effort I can manage, the tiniest thing that causes me the least inconvenience and the smallest change to my own plans and activities, even grudgingly... He rewards me with not just one, but dozens of bars of 24 carat gold. The value is beyond anything I can ask or think. Riches and treasures that will blow my mind and herald the end of an old way of struggling through life, bringing me in to a victorious new way of living free from the debt of past errors. Because He is a God of extravagant love. All He wants is for us to make Him room. And when we see the vast rewards for such a small sacrifice on our part, well.... it doesn't seem like so much, and we begin to see how utterly priceless it would be to let him in a little bit more.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:21