And who would dare write their own death into the script so that the rest of the characters in the tale might live? God of course.

Christmas is a bold act of emboldening sacrifice and the most selfless gift ever granted the rebellious lot that we are.

Of course love is blind; it keeps me blind to myself.

Easter is the invulnerable tale of utter selflessness where at an inestimable cost God did for us what He did not need done for Himself. And that kind of ‘doing’ happens every day.

And so to tame Christmas we spin myths to temper the story, we create our own caricatures to speak our own lines into the script, we gift ourselves to enhance an adventure now lagging, and we think we’re on a grand adventure when we’ve completely forgotten what an adventure is.

Sacrifice is a noun in my vocabulary that should be a verb in my life.