Some things just don’t turn out like you might expect. The idea of celebrating the birth of Jesus in the land of his birth might be one of them. I don’t know about you, but I grew up singing about chestnuts roasting and "Dreaming of a White Christmas." Naturally, you might expect Israel to be the ideal place for everything you every wanted to experience about Christmas.

Today, I took a ride around the Judean hills. It’s December and I got to thinking about the scene two thousand years ago. I happened onto a poinsettia and that just seemed to make the picture. Take a look. The poinsettia is 15 feet tall and stands next to a palm tree. Christmas in Israel.

Still, he was born, lived, taught and died in Israel. He may not have seen much white winter snow and may not have roasted chestnuts but the wonder of his birth is just as outstanding no matter the physical surroundings. No other man who ever lived had the opportunity to choose where he would be born. Jesus decided to be born in Bethlehem, in a humble home with no notable advantage because he knew that was how he could best get to know you and I.