The Place of Honor

    You cannot see the place of honor. It is buried somewhere deep inside the core of me. Perhaps the soul and spirit of a woman or man reside somewhere between the God-inspired confluence of heart and brain. I know not where. I know only that it is there. Unseen by human eyes, this is the place where He has set his seal upon me and in so doing has claimed me and marked me as His own.
    It still takes my breath away. The little girl with the sorrowing hole in her heart has found it filled to the full. And overflowing. The young fatherless child is now a daughter, His daughter. My eyes seep tears.
    This is how I celebrate the advent of the Christ, the coming of the Long-Expected One, my Savior. I remember. I stop. I cease my endless striving. I fall down before Him. I wish that I could remain in this place stretched out in the silence before Him. Joyful. Hopeful. Thankful. Oh, so thankful for my Abba, my Poppa, my Father, the Holy One. I am overcome and humbled by the long and difficult journey He took to claim the heart of one then eight-year-old girl. To afford me the honor of being His forever.