Here is the story that...
Illustration
Here is the story that never grows old. An angel came to a little wisp of a girl and told her
she would be the mother of the Savior of the world. Naturally, she asks, How can this be?
Christmas topples the impossibles of all our lives.
Ann Kiemel tried for years to have a child of her own. After a series of miscarriages, she developed an infection that doctors could not cure for a long time. They put her on pain- killing drugs and, in time, she became addicted. It took her years to recover. But she came out on the far end a different person. She has written a number of books. In the preface to I Love the Word Impossible (Wheaton House: Tyndale House Publishers, 1976, pp. 11-12) she writes after her addiction words of comfort for the impossibles in our lives.
I love the word impossible ...
it's like joy after sorrow.
People being friends after being enemies.
Rainbows after drenching rain.
A wound healed.
Sunsets on quiet evenings after
hot, noisy days.
Paralyzed, injured limbs learning to grow
strong and useful again.
Forgiveness after wrong.
Truth after fog.
New love-made babies, birds learning to fly and own the sky.
Bitterness turned to mellowness.
Fresh, genuine hope ... once abandoned.
People finding each other at right moments,
In unexpected, obscure places ...
For God-ordained reasons.
This is only part of her poem which begins her book. On the eve of Christmas what better word could we sound than Luke's words from his birth story: "For nothing will be impossible with God." Surely God must love the word, "impossible."
Ann Kiemel tried for years to have a child of her own. After a series of miscarriages, she developed an infection that doctors could not cure for a long time. They put her on pain- killing drugs and, in time, she became addicted. It took her years to recover. But she came out on the far end a different person. She has written a number of books. In the preface to I Love the Word Impossible (Wheaton House: Tyndale House Publishers, 1976, pp. 11-12) she writes after her addiction words of comfort for the impossibles in our lives.
I love the word impossible ...
it's like joy after sorrow.
People being friends after being enemies.
Rainbows after drenching rain.
A wound healed.
Sunsets on quiet evenings after
hot, noisy days.
Paralyzed, injured limbs learning to grow
strong and useful again.
Forgiveness after wrong.
Truth after fog.
New love-made babies, birds learning to fly and own the sky.
Bitterness turned to mellowness.
Fresh, genuine hope ... once abandoned.
People finding each other at right moments,
In unexpected, obscure places ...
For God-ordained reasons.
This is only part of her poem which begins her book. On the eve of Christmas what better word could we sound than Luke's words from his birth story: "For nothing will be impossible with God." Surely God must love the word, "impossible."
