Friends are pretty near the best things around, and there’s never been one better than the Man from Galilee …

His story is the greatest I’ve ever told and the one, even today, I love the most.

There is none to compare.

To tell it in a page or two is impossible, but I can at least introduce Him to you, just as Preacher Miller and Grandma and Mama and many others introduced Him to me a long time ago.

One of the reasons I like to see a year wind down is that it is during those wintry days of December that the world focuses on Jesus the Christ more than any other time of the year. The scenes and songs that fill the air are heartwarming, and the story of the babe born in a manger is inspiring. But there’s more to the story, and I like to tell it all.

Years ago – when I was a young boy of almost eleven who had recently gone down into the water with Preacher Miller - I was asked to step up and lead a song at the old, red brick church of Christ building in my southern hometown. I’ll always remember the title of the hymn.

After 30-plus years, in a way it kind of tells my own life story: “I love to tell the story.” And I do. I still do. I think I love to tell it more now than ever. It means more. I’ve had more years to weigh its value. I have the burden of plenty of failures, too, that give the story and its message more meaning.

It is still the story of a beautiful child born in Bethlehem, born among the animals in a barn.

But it’s more. It’s the story of a Man who ate with sinners and healed the diseases of the afflicted and gave strength to the weary and hope to the discouraged.

It’s the story of more than a man – the son of God – Who would take men whose lives were battered and torn, and He’d mold them so that when they walked away you wouldn’t recognize who they were at all.

It’s the story of the King of kings finishing supper, then tossing a towel over His shoulder and taking a basin of water and bowing down to wash the feet of his disciples. This is one of my favorite scenes of all, because it reminds me that there are plenty of feet around that I could be washing. It reminds me to strive to be a servant, not a king.

It’s the story of a Man who – when He washed the disciples’ feet – washed the feet of a man by the name of Judas.

This story is of a Man who happened upon the scene where a lady stood facing a mob with rocks in their hands, ready to condemn her for her sins. When the Lord had finished reading the stories of those men’s lives, they walked away in shame, and the lady – because of the Man fromGalilee – walked away with redeeming grace in her hands.

I love to tell the story of the blind man who had never seen a single thing his whole life. Until he met Jesus.

That evening, this blind man stood and watched for the first time as the sun went down, scattering and blending its colors of orange and blue and yellow and gray throughout the western horizon. Then ­– as John records in the ninth chapter of that gospel – he cried out the words of another great hymn, “I was blind, but now I see.”

It’s a story of a master Storyteller, standing before the multitudes and telling of the boy who ran away from home but later retraced his steps back to his father’s house with nothing but rags on his back and an apology on his lips.

But there’s more to this story, much more than a page can hold.

It’s a story of a Man who carried a cross up a hill called Calvary, a story of a man with nail scars in His hands.

But the biography of Jesus doesn’t end that dark day outside Jerusalem.

Triumphantly, there’s an empty tomb and a risen Saviour and a reigning King.

That’s the story I like to tell. So, now, thirty years after my first feeble attempt to stand and lead a song among my congregation of friends, I still carry a song with me, as though it were just yesterday.

And I carry its message:

“I love to tell the story, more wonderful it seems, than all the golden glories, than all our golden dreams …”

Ah, I love to tell it, even as I’ve told it just now.

(An excerpt from Steven’s book, Inspiration Point. Your comments are always welcome. Write steven.bowen@redoakisd.org)