When You Lose Sight of the Manger

It is Christmas Eve. I am sitting on my couch in the same pajamas I have had on since Friday night. And I miss my grandparents. I am lonely.

I am the only one who really celebrates Christmas in my house. A plea to put up the tree is met with a "You go ahead...have fun." No one wants to listen to Christmas music, so I resort to my earbuds. No one wants to bake, just eat the end results. No one cares that there aren't presents, because all they really want anyway is as much cash as I will give them. And no one has the desire or time for church.

And it all begins to diminish...

The images of happy families converging together to celebrate is so foreign to me. Somehow, it becomes about everything else. And I have never been able to live up to people's expectations. It is almost with a sense of apology that I will present small tokens to those I love, somehow fearful that they will miss the thought behind my second-hand gifts. But it's not about that at all.

And all of this (the grumpiness, the consumerism) has caused me to lose sight of what is truly important. The only gift that could ever matter is God's indescribable gift: Jesus. That is all. That is enough.

So, I draw my heart to the cradle and remember. I will do my best to love all of the bah humbugs in my life. I will cling to the holy. I will be thankful for all of my blessings. My boys are still breathing. I have a roof over my head that keeps out the rain. I have this moment.

I am going to take a scorching hot shower and wash all of it away. Then I will leave early for church to get a poinsettia for Bernice. She hasn't any family. I want her to know that she is thought of and never alone. Because, after all, that is the real message of Christmas, is it not?

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night, O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night, O night divine! 

The End

"God, it's the end of the world, and I'm still 15 minutes late." -Penny {Seeking A Friend for the End of the World}

Today I: went to work; made coffee; answered phones; answered questions; greeted co-workers, children, and families; drank coffee; sang Christmas tunes; ate chocolate; responded to emails; listened; responded to hurting children; prayed; did the chicken dance with excited first and second graders; pinned on birthday ribbons; wrote out Christmas cards for families with gift cards; handed out cards; received cards and Christmas goodies; gave out hugs; passed out mail; laughed; ate more chocolate; remembered to breathe deep and smile when I didn't feel like it; came home; hugged husband; hugged boy; went on errand; played with cats; started laundry; made dinner; lit candles; put on music; said "I love you"; read; blogged...

And it has been a good day. 

Some people believed that the end of the Mayan cycle meant that today would be the end of the world, or maybe the beginning of catastrophic events would commence. And there is so much hype surrounding this theory. Doomsday preppers and shows about the Apocalypse have been pervasive. Overall, I guess it just makes me sad that so many people are fearful. I actually had a few parents say they were keeping their children home because of the alleged prediction. They mentioned that their children were afraid. They were afraid. 

"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord." Luke 2: 8-11

In the sending of a Savior, a reminder to not be afraid because there is joy for ALL because of He who was born to save us. 

And one day it will be our last. One day the time we have on this earth will come to an end. Yet, I am not afraid because I know that there is nothing that can separate me from God's love. 

This is the love that came down at Christmas time. This is the sacrificial love that bled out on a tree. This is what causes me to hold on {even when things of this world are scary. and horrible. and heart-wrenching}. 

Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus

I don't have anything profound to say. Really.

I was sick. I came into work late on Friday. I needed to handle a few time-sensitive tasks before returning home. I had not heard the news.

It came in an email from another secretary. I opened up the attached article. All I could do was shake my head in disbelief and bow it low.

Last night, the images of grief-stricken children and parents and an entire community left me undone. Prayers in the form of teardrops fell.

And they didn't stop for long. Today, while out running errands, my throat tightened upon seeing little ones with their parents. My thoughts went straight to those with longing arms and aching hearts.

And maybe I was just imagining it, but there seemed to be something different about today. Usually this close to Christmas, especially on a Saturday, there is a frenzy of activity that is generally characterized  by people behaving poorly {You know, the horn-honking, rude, impatient variety}. Today, however, people seemed to slow their pace. Smiles were exchanged. Just because. Overall, people seemed to be kind. {And I think: In light of everything, how can we be anything but kind to one another?}

And because the Light was sent into the darkness...And this is so dark.

And because we are broken, But God is close to the brokenhearted.

And because we can't understand or fathom...we hold on.

And there is sorrow now, but "He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever." {Revelation 21:4}

I light candles and let these words pierce my heart tonight:

Come, thou long expected Jesus,

born to set thy people free;

from our fears and sins release us,

let us find our rest in thee. 

Israel's strength and consolation,

hope of all the earth thou art;

dear desire of every nation,

joy of every longing heart.

Born thy people to deliver,         

born a child and yet a King,

born to reign in us forever,         

now thy gracious kingdom bring.

By thine own eternal spirit

rule in all our hearts alone;

by thine all sufficient merit,

raise us to thy glorious throne.

A Home for Advent

I should write more. Even if it's just my incoherent thoughts between me and Jesus. I should talk to Him more, too. Sometimes, especially when I need Him the most, He seems distant. And I know it's me.

As Advent approaches, I am beginning to realize just how much I desperately need His arrival anew in my heart. Strip everything away - all the glittery adornments we plaster everywhere to distract from the ugliness - and we are left with a lowly infant. A Savior. And we all need saving. Every day. 

And I really want a home this Advent. A home where Jesus resides and isn't lost in programs or political power plays. Somehow, I have been tainted, ruined even. I have entered into rows of pews and steeples high, pointing to heaven, but You weren't there. I have walked down isles flanked in the most elaborate stained glass, but there was no light. I have watched, almost helplessly, as those in your clothes, your God robes, abused their power. Conversely, I have seen congregants, pious to a fault, abuse those whom You called to serve them. I have walked out of a fellowship hour because it has now become acceptable for old ladies to badmouth their pastor in front of strangers, in front of the those who need grace. And no one stops them. And we have become the hypocrisy. And my orphaned-heart continues to break. 

I'm no theologian, but I know that we have it so wrong. And I am struggling to keep trying. I enter new places like one who has been abused; one who has seen too much. I subconsciously look for the cracks and signs of impending doom. Surely, it all will come crashing down {it always has}. 

Sigh. I know it can be different. I have seen the miraculous things that grace has birthed. I have experienced true community with others. And yet in this season, it eludes me. 

So I pray and wait. Because Advent, and all that is promised therein, is coming. And everything within me cries maranatha.

Slow

I looked at my phone tonight. The number 29 caught my eye. It's hard to believe that it's already the end of October. In exactly one month, I will be 38. And I don't think it's just me - this feeling that the years seem to pass in a hurry {each one more fleeting than the one prior}.

It's hard to keep perspective sometimes. Let's be honest, it's much easier to focus on the negative, the lacking, the broken. Wounds are difficult to choke down.

Tonight, I took things as they are. I slowed down enough to laugh and enjoy those that God gave me to love. And I decided that there isn't anything else to do in the hard times but to love. Love, after all, is the only thing that remains.

So, I made chicken biscuits for dinner and while they cooked, I peeled pears for a tart. And the boy played with his kitten. And I laughed watching the two of them. Thankful.

Then I took out one of my grandmother's old baking sheets. It is warped and it has its own special patina from the years of service. I can't help but smile as I place pastry within its walls.

And I feel peace. I am hemed in. I am thankful for it all. This time. My dirty kitchen. Everyone home this autumn evening. I can't help but feel like this is the sacred. Here in this place with all of the broken people. Here is Jesus. And this is why He came, anyways...not for the well.

I pulled the tart from the oven. It is beautiful. Perfect in its imperfection. And it's my first attempt, after all.

And I will keep attempting: Attempting to be thankful for everything. Attempting to love well. Attempting to make the time slow. And in the slowing, I pray that these boys of mine, big and small,  don't miss it. I pray that they feel Jesus near, too, and know that it is all grace.

Hidden

Not only are things never perfect, they are also rarely what they seem. Jaden wanted to adopt an older kitten for his birthday. He was drawn to a picture on the shelter website. Besides being a little scrawny {she was a stray}, she looked perfectly fine. The weekend passed. They wanted to spay her before we took her home. We got a call yesterday to come get her. They didn't spay her because she was sick with a common infection that cats usually contract. They gave me medication.

I took a beaming boy and his sneezing kitten home. I wasn't too concerned at first, except she wouldn't eat. So, I ran the shower on hot and sat with my glasses fogged up. I put cat food in the blender and force fed her. Twice. I have fresh scratches and I smell of rotten fish. And I prayed. I prayed fervently for Primrose Everdeen Beasley, because she needs to be okay. We need to be okay.

I would gladly take all of the blame. But that doesn't change anything, does it? All I want to do is wrap myself up in His grace and remain there. And I remind myself that it will be okay. Eventually. But maybe not here. Not completely.

There is a purpose for this...

He has a plan to use this...

Tonight I hide myself away where I am safe with Him. And there, among the unknown, I can still lift my hands and my tired heart, bowing everything within me low before my God.

Safe.

Door of Hope

Things aren't perfect. In fact, they seem far from it. And I confess that it leaves me weary sometimes. Hope diminishes quickly some days and it's all I can do to try to cling to Jesus. Some days my heart mutters, "I believe, Lord, please help my unbelief." Other days, I am more like Job. I question indignant, "Why me? What did I do to deserve all of this?" {And I know down deep what I really deserve without grace}

There it was in the Old Testament reading this morning -one of my favorites: "The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace and remain at rest." And my legs felt too wobbly to carry me to the altar, but Jesus was with me in that pew being my peace. I leaned into His rest.

I admit, I have cried hot, desperate tears for not wanting to go further down this path, for this seems too painful {and I have been through enough in my life, I plead}. But, I look back at everything else and I remember it all. I remember the ugly that He used to shape me. I remember the trials that proved Him over and over. Even my own choices done in rebellion have been redeemed. My heart remembers that He can be trusted. When it is all said and done, He is the only One that can be trusted completely {even when I don't understand and can't see}. And, so, I am giving this Valley of Trouble to Jesus. He is the only One who can turn it into a Door of Hope.

So, I cling to Him. I cling to that hope.

{Prayers appreciated, kind friends, for this season.}