Let Your Light So Shine

by Marnie Pehrson

This weekend I had the unfortunate privilege of attending the memorial service for a childhood friend. Lamar Combs, who would have been thirty-seven this month, was training his dog to duck hunt, when he was thrown from his boat and drowned. The community of Chattanooga poured out their love and support for the family in a search and rescue mission that lasted for almost four days.

While I hadn’t seen Lamar since 10th grade and my memories of him were fuzzy, two things stood out in my mind about him. He was always smiling, and he never made fun of people the way a lot of other kids did. As I listened to his friends and family share their memories of him, it was obvious that this happy Christian young man continued to befriend and love others into adulthood. Individual after individual shared with a large sanctuary packed with people the way he made them feel good about themselves - the way he took an interest in each of them and cheered them up when they were down. He genuinely loved and cared for other people. He was a good husband and doting father to his four-year-old daughter and was looking forward to the birth of their second child in February.

While I was driving home from the memorial service, I asked myself, “What can I learn from Lamar? Surely good must come of every tragedy. Nothing is wasted if we can all learn from it.” The admonition of the Savior found in Matthew 5:14-16 came into my mind:
“Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”

Lamar let his light shine. He brought glory to his Father in heaven. Sometimes I think I have to do some big or grand thing to make a difference in the world. But I learned from Lamar that an ordinary man, who loves his wife and children, reaches out to others, shares his warmth and smile and who looks for ways to build others up can leave a lasting impact on the world. I was awestruck by the sheer number of people who were touched by the life of Lamar Combs - someone the world would call an ordinary man, but who lived his life in an extraordinary way.
We each have the light of Christ within us. Jesus Christ is “the Light that shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehendeth it not” (John 1:5). We bring glory to our Father in heaven when we let Christ’s light shine through us and out to others. We don’t have to be someone we’re not. We don’t need to covet the talents of others. We each have unique gifts, talents and messages to share with the world. Christ’s light shines through us when we are who He created us to be. We let His light shine when we give of ourselves, when we truly love others and share what God has given us. Great things happen, people are touched and lives are changed when we let His light shine.

An Unexpected Christmas

By Marguerite Nixon

We were well over half way to our farm in East Texas when the storm broke. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed and a tree fell with a great ripping noise. When the rain poured in such a flood that we could not see the road, my husband drove on to what seemed to be a bit of clearing deep in the piney woods.

As we waited I sensed we would not get to the farm that night to celebrate Christmas with our family. We were sitting there, miserable and dejected, when I heard a knocking on my window. A man with a lantern stood there beckoning us to follow him. My husband and I splashed after him up the path to his house.

A woman with a lamp in her hand stood in the doorway of an old house; a boy of about twelve and a little girl stood beside her. We went in soaked and dripping, and the family moved aside in order that we might have the warmth of the fire. With the volubility of city people, my husband and I began to talk, explaining our plans. And with the quietness of people who live in the silence of the woods, they listened.

"The bridge on Caney Creek is out. You are welcome to spend the night with us," the man said. And though we told them we thought it was an imposition, especially on Christmas Eve, they insisted. After we had visited a while longer, the man got up and took the Bible from the mantle. "It's our custom to read the story from St. Luke on Christmas Eve," he said, and without another word he began:

"And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger . . . "The children sat up eagerly, their eyes bright in anticipation, while their father read on: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night." I looked at his strong face. He could have been one of them.

When he finished reading and closed the Bible, the little children knelt by their chairs. The mother and father were kneeling, and without any conscious will of my own I found myself joining them. Then I saw my husband, without any embarrassment at all, kneel also. When we arose, I looked around the room. There were no bright- wrapped packages or cards, only a small, unadorned holly tree on the mantle. Yet the spirit of Christmas was never more real to me.

The little boy broke the silence. "We always feed the cattle at 12 o'clock on Christmas Eve. Come with us. "The barn was warm and fragrant with the smell of hay and dried corn. A cow and a horse greeted us, and there was a goat with a tiny, wooly kid that came up to be petted. This is like the stable where the Baby was born, I thought. Here is the manger, and the gentle animals keep watch.

When we returned to the house there was an air of festivity and the serving of juice and fruitcake. Later, we bedded down on a mattress made of corn shucks. As I turned into a comfortable position, they rustled under me and sent up a faint fragrance exactly like that in the barn. My heart said, "You are sleeping in the stable like the Christ Child did."

As I drifted into a profound sleep, I knew that the light coming through the old pine shutters was the Star shining on that quiet house. The family all walked down the path to the car with us the next morning. I was so filled with the Spirit of Christmas they had given me that I could find no words. Suddenly I thought of the gifts in the back seat of our car for our family.

I began to hand them out. My husband's gray woolen socks went to the man. The red sweater I had bought for my sister went to the mother. I gave away two boxes of candy, the white mittens and the leather gloves while my husband nodded approval. And when I was breathless from reaching in and out of the car and the family stood there loaded with the gaiety of Christmas packages, the mother spoke for all of them. "We thank you," she said simply. And then she said, "Wait."

She hurried up the path to the house and came back with a quilt folded across her arms. It was beautifully handmade; the pattern was the Star of Bethlehem. I looked up at the tall beautiful pines because my throat hurt and I could not speak. It was indeed Christmas. Every Christmas Eve since then, I sleep under that quilt, the Star of Bethlehem, and in memory I visit the stable and smell again the corn shucks, and the meaning of Christmas abides with me once more.