With hands that shaped galaxies and a heart overflowing with love, He began to write.
This was no ordinary book. It was The Book of Life — the manuscript of all existence. There were no alphabets, no rising suns, no ticking clocks.
Only the Author and the blank canvas of eternity.
As He wrote, a creation began to form — vibrant, beautiful, yet destined to fracture.
A world that would laugh and dance, build and break.
A world that would need saving.
With divine resolve, the Author dipped His pen in love and declared that humanity would be made in His image, and that every life would carry purpose.
But the story took a turn no reader could have anticipated.
The Author Himself entered the narrative — not as a mighty king or warrior, but as a child.
Born into poverty, wrapped in cloth, and laid in a feeding trough.
The God who had spoken stars into existence now cried in the arms of a teenage mother.
The One who once overlooked the universe now looked up at it through infant eyes.
Two thousand years later, on Christmas Eve 2020, the Author continued writing — this time through the hands of a young Amazon delivery driver in Louisville, Kentucky.
This is a true story.
While the world remained cloaked in the isolation of a global pandemic, the driver pressed on through the cold, completing her final deliveries.
Her van was nearly empty, and her heart carried the weight of personal loss.
Her last stop led her to a modest home with a crooked mailbox and a flickering candle in the window.
She placed the package on the porch and turned to leave, but something stirred within her. She knocked.
An elderly woman answered the door, visibly emotional.
The package contained a Bible — intended for her grandson, who was incarcerated.
She had hoped it would arrive before the new year, believing it might offer him the hope he desperately needed.
The driver stood in stunned silence.
Her own brother had died in prison the year before, alone and without faith.
Though she had never spoken of it, the moment felt divinely orchestrated.
She understood, with quiet certainty, that this encounter was no coincidence.
The two women prayed together on the porch — strangers bound by grief, grace and the gentle hand of Providence.
Weeks later, the grandson received the Bible, read it cover to cover, and surrendered his life to Christ on New Year’s Day.
Two years later, upon his release, the first place he visited was that little house — where his grandmother and the delivery driver were waiting.
Today, the driver serves in prison ministry, helping others find the hope her brother never had.
That delivery, once thought to be routine, became a divine appointment — proof that even the smallest act of obedience can ignite a transformation.
As we celebrate Christmas next month, may we remember:
The Author is still writing. He’s writing your story and mine.
Whether you see yourself in the grandmother, the delivery driver, or someone still waiting in the dark — your chapter matters.
Your pain has purpose. Your presence in this world is not an accident.
And sometimes, the smallest act of faith becomes the spark that sets a soul ablaze.
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago.”
— Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)
Pastor Samuel Jacob
Lifesource Church, Echuca
21°C