The First Breath of Grace

Unto Us A Child Is Born

By Karen Friday

He took his first breath.

Wrapped in swaddling cloths, though adorned with royal titles.
Wonderful. Counselor. Prince of Peace. Holy King. Immanuel (God with us). The Ancient of Days.

The Lamb of God who created the star that was lit and placed in the heavens to announce his arrival. He is the light of the world.

I held him in my arms. Overjoyed. This is my child. My baby. My boy.

Barely minutes old and seemingly fragile. But this baby embodied the fullness of the Godhead. Such power was later demonstrated when he cast out evil spirits and raised the dead to life again!

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Silent Night. Holy Knight.

© 2014 by Karen Friday

“S-i-l-e-n-t night . . . all is calm . . . .” (Calm? No. But very quiet.)

I sipped on herbal tea with honey and fresh lemon. Under the canopy of a bath towel, my face hovered over steam rising up from the sink.

Unable to squeak out a single word. Laryngitis had set up residence in my vocal cords. Late into the silent night, I was trying every known home remedy. On my umpteen cup of tea, I knew I could not outwit this condition. I was at its mercy.

My voice went on a short vacation and didn’t ask me for permission to leave. The nerve! Why the uneasiness? I had a job interview the next morning. How could I possibly introduce myself?

It’s no secret. I’m fond of talking. Me and words are BFFS (best friends forever). ‘Verbose’ should be inscribed on my forehead or near my mouth. (Rest assured of my family’s reaction to the period of silence: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!”)

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You Go First

By Karen Friday

My bare feet made their way up the ladder, mortified to back out now.

A jump from the high diving board. Could I pull it off? With this quiet, secret fear of heights? A ‘public’ embarrassment to turn around and go the same way I had arrived—down the ladder. Past the people waiting in line. As pool-siders gawked behind sunglasses, I would look like a scaredy cat.

Me and my sister, along with friends, hung out at the local pool several summer days a week. We were middle school age (yes, younger kids jump off high dives). I had conjured up enough courage to make jumps (oodles of them) off the low dive. It was low.

Mind you, I wasn’t planning a crowd-pleasing, eyebrow-raising dive or backwards flip. I wasn’t a good diver. I kind of fell into the water from the sidelines with hands in proper position to go in first and head following after. My body wasn’t perfectly straight, bent legs gave me away. (Judges score cards read 3.0.)

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