The Man Under My Mistletoe

“Here, this is for you,” the man told me as he stretched out his hand to me.

I looked a little warily at the sprig of who knows what. I simply didn’t know what it was. But the man insisted, so I took it from him.

“It’s mistletoe,” he told me.

Whoever would have guessed? The man, supervisor to a crew of tree cutters who had just lopped off way more branches than I would have preferred from the trees on my property to make way for the new power lines, had just handed me a sprig of mistletoe. I can’t remember the last time I saw any, and, quite frankly, I had no idea I had any in my yard.

The man must have sensed my surprise.

“You’re supposed to stand under it with the love of your life and hug on him,” he explained.

Just as I was surprised by the mistletoe, I can only imagine how surprised the man must have been by my response.

“Well the love of my life is Jesus!” I exclaimed.

“Then I guess you’ll have to hug on Jesus,” the man replied.

“That’s exactly what I plan to do when I get to heaven,” I said joyfully as I walked off happily with my sprig of mistletoe in hand and the love of my life filling up my heart.

Who would have guessed it? Me and Jesus under the mistletoe.

After decades of misery and loneliness beyond description going through one trial and one tribulation after another while pursuing the people and things of this world in an ever futile attempt to deliver me from the pain and chronic loneliness, I can’t even recall the last time I had an ounce of loneliness.

But then, how could I? Not with Jesus, my man under the mistletoe. 

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