ONE SOLITARY LIFE

He was born in an obscure village, the child of

a peasant woman. He grew up in another village,

where He worked in a carpenter shop until He was

thirty. Then for three years He was an itinerant

preacher. He never wrote a book. He never held

an office. He never had a family or owned a home.

He didn’t go to college. He never visited a big city.

He never traveled 200 miles from the place where

he was born. He did none of the things that usually

accompany greatness. He had no credentials but

Himself. He was only thirty-three when the tide of

public opinion turned against Him. His friends ran

away. One of them denied Him. He was turned over

to His enemies and went through the mockery of a

trial. He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.

While he was dying. . . His executioners gambled

for His garments; the only property He had on earth.

When he was dead, He was laid in a borrowed grave

through the piety of a friend. Nineteen centuries have

come and gone, and today He is the central figure of

the human race. All the armies that ever marched, all

the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever

sat, all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have

not affected the life of man on this earth as much as

that. . . . . . .

ONE SOLITARY LIFE

The above is Doria2’s favorite Christmas greeting of all time, and he wishes all his friends around the globe a Merry Christmas,  full of love … and a Happy, Healthy, Holy New Year.

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