O my God, thank You for an incredible weekend — meeting brand-new grandson Theo, doing the Hokey Pokey with big brother Jonah, and playing with him in the snow! Monday morning, with its to-do list, isn’t nearly as much fun. Yet, OMG, I’m still smiling.
O my God, when I’m with grandsons, I lose decades. Such fun! But after a museum-sprinting, pizza-eating, pillow-fighting weekend, I feel 157 — and look it. Still, OMG, thank You for every tackle-hug — and the sweet time warp of being a grandma!
Have you ever worked the night shift?
Years ago, I waitressed from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m. at a Denny’s Restaurant in Oregon.
I didn’t see angels.
As a nursing home aide, I sometimes drew night shifts around holidays. Ghosts wandered dim hallways, one hunting chickens to fry for threshing crews who had labored 60 years before.
I didn’t see angels.
As a young mother, I frequently drew the night shift. My babies wailed, slimed, puked, and worse.
No angels anywhere. I couldn’t even see my shift’s end.
I should have realized that millions throughout the ages have worked lonesome wee hours, too. Take Joseph, a first-century carpenter. When busy, practical Joseph worked night shifts, angels never appeared.
Not until his fiancée told him she was pregnant — and that God was her Child’s Father.
No amount of coffee could clear her head. Or his.
No cutesy cherub, that other-worldly being was so impressive that Joseph bucked family and culture. He married the girl who generated snickers wherever she went.
“What are you thinking, Joseph?” His friends rolled their eyes.
He wasn’t thinking. He was listening to an angel.
When the baby was born, did the shepherds’ arrival mean as much to Joseph as Mary?
For angels had invaded their night shift, too — a huge choir who lit up the sky like Vegas, singing about God’s peace and goodwill through Baby Jesus.
Their story convinced Joseph that Jesus was the Messiah. The stepfather continued to listen to angels.
Even when one instructed him to take his family to Egypt because a king wanted Jesus dead. Even when, after finally adjusting to their new life, an angel told Joseph to return to Israel.
All during night shift.
I rarely work overnight hours now, but Denny’s servers do. Nurses, doctors, and many others: stock clerks, factory workers and truck drivers.
Those caring for sick children and elderly parents.
Many who battle demons of loneliness and misery throughout the night shift.
Few expect to see angels.
But the Bethlehem angels’ song still echoes, announcing Jesus, God’s Gift who offers peace to everyone — especially those laboring in darkness. Those stuck with tough hours. Those who have drawn life’s short straws.
Our Extraordinary Ordinary: When the angels show up, will we listen?