A Christmas message to old friends:

Dear old fighter pilots,

Here’s my Christmas wish–decidedly unwoke: When my allotted days are up (Psalm 139:16), please don’t say that I “flew west.” When it applies to ourselves and our loved ones, we sure come up with some esoteric euphemisms to keep from choking up on that “d” word that we were so cavalier about when it applied to the enemy. But we’ll be just as dead…to the world.

I don’t know what’s west, but I know where I am going. I am flight planned to fly home (my forever home in heaven) and it’s been signed off by the Head Shed, and I’m just cooling my jets in a mighty comfy alert shack with the love of my life awaiting the call to launch, which I do not anticipate anytime soon.

How can I be so sure I’m flying home? It has everything to do with that babe born in the manger in the Middle East 2000 years ago, the Son of God who, at great cost and incomprehensible Grace ransomed my soul, and the irresistible power of the Holy Spirit that changes hearts. Unworthy? For sure! Grateful? Overwhelmingly so!

If our Sovereign God can work a miracle in my stone cold heart, he can do the same for you, if he hasn’t already. May you all enjoy that gift this Christmas.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11).

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