Tomorrow we head northward in search of family and Christmas tradition. We were just informed that the forcasted high for tomorrow at our destination is 2. That's right, 2 degrees fahrenheit. I'm still used to walking around without a jacket (still an odd December experience for me), so I definitely need to pack the heavy stuff.
Why do I do this? Really, when you think about it I should get all of my family to come down here. Somehow that just wouldn't be right, something would be missing. . .it just wouldn't be home. Home is that ineffible quality that refuses to be replicated. It is the reason why we overload the car with stuff, cram a crabby cat into the back seat, and drive for fourteen hours. To fellowship with family, catch up with friends, observe traditions, play in the snow, and to arrive - ultimately - at home. That's why we head to the cold.
The way I see it the pinnacle of ventures into the cold came two-thousand years ago. Jesus himself left the warmth of his heavenly glory and went out into the cold dark to find us. Why would he do this?
Because this isn't home and although we may have a map, he knows we'll need a ride.
[insert pithy quote here]
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