A Wonderful Story of a Wonderful God

A Wonderful Story of a Wonderful God

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In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

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. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Luke 2:1-20 (NIV)

On this holy night, may you let these ancient words sink deep into your soul.

It may be the first time you’ve read these words, or perhaps this is the first time in a long time that you’ve really read them. Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle, slowly losing steam as the hustle and bustle of the season have swept you along.

No matter where your heart is today, pause, reflect, and rest in the story of the shepherds and the straw, of new decrees and new parents, of heavenly hosts and a baby King. What a wonderful story of a wonderful God!

May the twinkling glory of Christmas Eve breathe peace and life into your heart right now.

Making Space for Both Sorrow and Awe

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The darkness of my apartment flees as soon as I light the purple Advent candle in front of me. I kneel in front of my coffee table, watching the flickering of the flame. It is late. I always think Christmas comes fast, but this year it’s come ever so slow. As the pace of my life has slowed down this year, my ushering in of Christmas has been slow and steady too.

I watch the candlelight dance, the abstract reflection against my television set. I sing a hymn, and my voice is low and soft; the only other sound in my apartment is the hum of the dishwasher. 

O come, O come, Emmanuel.

At once, I find myself crying in the loneliness of my apartment. It is just me, alone, and although I’m alone every night, tonight I can feel it more sharply as I ask Emmanuel to come and be with me. 

And yet, the paradox of Christmas is that I know He already is.

I feel as though I don’t have much to offer Jesus this year. I feel tired and worn, and as my candle burns lower, I realize I feel like I’m burning to a waxy stump too. 

This year, I decorated my apartment with all I could muster — a tree and lights and lanterns and candles and wreaths and Scripture and dried out oranges I baked in my oven. And even though each morning I wake up to the see the lights sparkle on my tree, even though I watch every Christmas movie I can find on Netflix and drink hot chocolate most evenings and read the Christmas story over and over and over, none of the holiday magic seems to touch the ache inside of me. 

It is an ache much deeper than just getting through a horrific year. 

It is an ache much deeper than dashed dreams and disappointments. 

It is an ache of longing — an ache only God Himself can touch. 

As I write this, an eleven-year-old boy struggles to survive in my city. He was hit by a pickup truck yesterday as he walked home from school. I read in an article that the crossing guard flailed his arms, trying to save him. It was no use. The boy’s family holds his hand in his hospital bed today, as the news articles about him are shared over and over. I see his parents’ names circulate my Facebook page hundreds of times, each post begging for prayer and a miracle.

I cry as I pray for him. I don’t know him. I don’t know his parents. But it’s December and a young boy is dying, and it’s not supposed to be this way. 

I ask Jesus for a miracle — a Christmas miracle — because doesn’t Hallmark promise that those are the best kind? But the truth is, I don’t know if his family will get their miracle. I don’t know if their Christmas this year will be marked with joy or with sorrow. 

Somehow pain hurts so much more at Christmas time. Sorrow clashes against my garland and lights and cheerful songs on the radio. 

The candlelight flickers in front of my face, and I think of that young boy. I pray again, asking Jesus to hold him and his parents this Christmas, to breathe the breath of God into his body. 

I keep singing O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and I can feel the presence of Emmanuel in my apartment as I sing. 

My home feels smaller, quieter. I still ache, but the ache is different now. I can feel the presence of God with me, and tears stream down my eyes — sadness for the boy, exhaustion for our world, but something else, too. 

Awe. 

As I watch my purple Advent candle continue to light up my apartment, I am struck by the good news of great joy that never fades — even in the midst of sorrow. 

There is awe here too — 

Awe for a God who put on brown skin and was born on a dark night to a world that would treat Him cruelly. 

Awe for a King who deemed the poor in spirit as the most blessed. 

Awe for a Savior who saw you and me and decided we were utterly worth saving. 

As I pray for the boy, for our world, for miracles of every shape and size, I make space for the awe too. 

I take a deep breath, blow out my candle, and everything is dark. 

But the Light of the World is coming. 

No, He is already here.

God Meets Us Right Where We Are

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“You’re Kimberly, right?” he asked.

“Right.”

“My daughter, right?” He nodded in a half statement, half question.

“Right,” I smiled.

He patted my knee and looked at me, “You know I was married before.”

“I know,” I chuckled through my response, “to my mother.” (My parents divorced, and my dad remarried over thirty years ago.)

We sat in silence side by side on the sofa like strangers on a park bench. I longed to find the question that would connect us back together again. I silently searched my mind for one memory we could share.

Talking to my dad is like a waltz these days as wisps of memory dance in and out of our conversations. Timing is everything. Mornings are better than evenings. In person is better than phone calls. Sharing his childhood memories are better than mine. A question answer cadence is repeated over and over — 1-2-3, 1-2-3.

God is teaching me many things through my dad’s journey with dementia.

My dad can no longer join me in the world in which I live. The present day is missing for him. He often struggles with knowing if it is morning or evening or even if he is married or not. When I go visit him, I can’t expect to have a conversation with him as I have had in the past. He doesn’t really know who I am. To him, I have become “that nice young person who comes to visit.”

In order to connect with my dad, I have to find out where he is in his memories and join him there. I have to go to where he is. I cannot force him to see me for who I am and where we currently are; he just can’t connect to me in that way. Trying to get him to be who he was is a struggle in futility that leaves us both frustrated. It is impossible.  He can’t change. But I can.

The struggle I have with connecting with my dad has opened my eyes to the dilemma God faced in building a relationship with us after our sin separated us from Him. He was perfect and holy, but because of our brokenness, we couldn’t go to where He was. No matter how hard we could try, we couldn’t be good enough to be in relationship with Him.

Yet God still deeply desired to be in communion with us, so He chose to come to where we were. He sent Jesus to dwell with us by becoming human, being born as a baby. I can’t expect my dad to be with me in the present, but I can join him in the past. When I am with him, I purposely choose to be where he is in his memories, and God did the same for us. He purposely chose to become like us so we could  have a relationship with Him.

Even when we are in relationship with Him, God doesn’t expect us to be something we are not. He knows we are frail, sinful, and needy. So He meets us where we’re at. In John 4, Jesus met the Samaritan woman right where she was — at the well at noon. He knew she would be there and chose to come into her town, her space, to quench her insatiable thirst for love. He doesn’t require us to be perfect or even good to be loved by Him. Bit by bit and by the grace we have in Christ, God’s love draws us closer to Him. 

That day sitting on the couch with my dad, I asked a question that unlocked a memory. My dad proceeded to tell me a story from his childhood. As he talked of hunting rabbits in the winter snow of Minnesota, I had him back — his voice and expression the same as it had once been. And in that moment, it was enough. Likewise, with each step of faith I take, with each whispered prayer I make, I move closer to my heavenly Father, who never stops reaching out to meet me where I am. With each moment of spiritual connection I have with Him, I sense His steadfast, faithful love — a love that will never give up on me.

I take heart knowing that God will keep working through the circumstances of my life to connect with me, just like I will continue to work to stay close to my Dad as we waltz within his memories.

For the Ones Who Don’t Make the Cut

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Our bodies crowd around the wall outside the gym. We stretch our necks like baby birds reaching for food, trying to find a place where our eyes can see every name on the paper list taped to the wall. I scan the names slowly, stopping and restarting after a friend squeals with delight, and another two friends hug each other in celebration.

Before I can get to the bottom, one of my friends grabs my shoulder and says, “I’m so sad you aren’t on the list. Maybe I’ll tell them I’m going to quit since you didn’t make it.” Another friend announces, “I heard you were as close to the cut off as you could be, and if they decided to add one more person to the team, you would be up there too.” Even at thirteen, I know those attempts to lessen the blow aren’t true.

I overhear another friend talking about how they don’t care what they get for their upcoming birthday, that making this team is their dream come true. There’s talk of practices, performances, and the parties they will have together. There’s speculations and squealing about outfits and how their lives will change for the better now that they are on the inside.

I slip away from the commotion and celebration and walk home from school shuffling my feet. I am aware of each clumsy step. In my head, I make my own list, wishing I can cross off each quality I don’t like about myself with a bold pen. I trudge forward, eyes on the sidewalk, wondering whether anything would be left if I cross everything off.

I learn to laugh at myself and my two left feet. I try to find reasons why it was better not to have made the team. I become a silent detective, excellently skilled at finding silver linings, and in the process, exchange the expression of my feelings for a poker-faced life.

Hindsight is important, and perhaps with time, we are given the grace to sometimes see imperfectly why things were the way they were, or why we are who we are, or why we had to endure specific pain or loss. But most of us don’t get a why or how, and casually telling people to seek answers to such questions is like sending them into a battle they cannot win. It’s cruel.

In my adult years, I keep coming back to moments and memories like these. There are too many to count. I still want to run from them, pretend they don’t matter to me now or make them laughable. But it’s the grace of God that brings them back to mind — not for a second dose of pain but for the chance to see Him with me in that pain, to experience His presence with me now. He holds out His book of recorded tears, ready to record each of mine, giving value and validity to every ache and every teardrop.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

The lie of our culture says to get over it and toughen up. It tells us that if we work hard enough and stay strong enough, we’ll not only heal, but we’ll have a chance at being the underdog that ends up on top. But Jesus says His name is Immanuel — He’s here with us, in all our tenderness and quiet pain.

My own kids are reaching the age that I was when I began to stuff my feelings. I watch them navigate new losses and all the things I naturally want to shield them from. I don’t want them to not make the cut or feel the sting of loneliness and rejection. But do I want them to know the God who comes near, who bore the pain I instinctively want to push away? Will I do everything in my power to keep them from that knowing, or will I come alongside them with my presence and believe God catches each of their tears? I cannot do this for them unless I am willing to receive it for myself.

Jesus knows the pain of being on the outside. He knows what it’s like not to be invited in. He’s felt the sting of carrying a burden alone. He’s been wrought with insomnia — praying through the long hours of an unrelenting night, while the friends He asked to join Him never showed up. He knows what it’s like to wish His life wasn’t what it was. He’s asked God to take hardship away. He knows the sting of rejection and mocking. He knows deep loss and the taste of tears. The Chosen One was unchosen by the crowd that most of us want to be chosen by.

The advent of this Jesus is not confined to December trees and tinsel, but this week, let’s remember the One who came near. Let’s receive Him in every part of our past and even in the memories of the pain we’d like to forget. Let’s receive Him, our Immanuel, that we might be like Him to a hurting heart beside us and world around us.

The Upside Down Kingdom of God

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And Mary said:
My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
because he has looked with favor
on the humble condition of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations
will call me blessed,
because the Mighty One
has done great things for me,
and his name is holy.
His mercy is from generation to generation
on those who fear him.
He has done a mighty deed with his arm;
he has scattered the proud
because of the thoughts of their hearts;
he has toppled the mighty from their thrones
and exalted the lowly.
He has satisfied the hungry with good things
and sent the rich away empty.
Luke 1:46-53 (CSB)

Since sin entered the world, God has been at work to upend unjust systems and to dismantle oppressive beliefs.

In choosing Mary, God turns patriarchy on its head, valuing and centering a woman to bear and birth the Messiah.
In choosing her, God favors the humble, turning His face away from the proud.
In Jesus, the mighty are overthrown, and those without power are exalted.
In Him, the rich aren’t given more privilege. Instead, the hungry are satisfied.

This is the upside down kingdom of God, where the unseen are seen, the unloved are loved, and the dignity of people is restored. As we look forward to the day when Christ will return, may we be about the work God has been doing, and like Mary, may we be bearers of the good news that He is making and will make all things right again.

This is the hope of Advent and the miracle of Christmas.

‘Tis the Season to Celebrate

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I start watching Christmas movies in October. While finishing my kids’ Halloween costumes, eating their candy, and planning my Thanksgiving menu, holiday movies are on in the background.

I also start rockin’ around the (musical) Christmas tree with Christmas music in September.

You know what else? In November, I have my first red cup drink at Starbucks. It’s usually a skim one-pump chestnut praline latte, and I love every calorie-laden sip.

We put up our tree before Thanksgiving too. It’s pre-lit, so we enjoy the glow without decorations for a while, and then the day after Thanksgiving, we trim it! It goes up early and stays up late — well into February.

I hear a thousand of you inhaling sharply.

I also believe I may hear a thousand of you clapping. I know I’m not actually alone in my stretch-out-the-celebrations-as-long-as-possible style.

If you know me, you know I love me some holiday season-ing. (Yes, I made it a verb.) I’ve written two holiday books and countless social posts about holiday-ing with my family. We try to go all in with our whole hearts, and we try to squeeze every drop of joy out of each one. Throw in my kids’ Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter-time birthdays, and our family festivity motto is “Celebrate big!”.

It seems that sometimes when people express their holiday joy outside of December, they’re met with scoffs and scowls and general Scrooge-iness, and I always wonder why. I understand letting each holiday breathe on its own, giving each its own space and time to be enjoyed, but what in the world warrants actual anger at someone simply enjoying a holiday or celebration that brings them deep joy? Can’t ‘tis the season mean just that — this is an entire season full of opportunities for celebrating?

The God we celebrate and praise created each of us with unique hearts and likes and things that bring us joy, and I’m pretty sure He wants us to lean into them. Irenaeus’s famous quote, “The glory of God is man fully alive,” resonates with my year-round, Christmas-loving heart because loving and celebrating holidays both big and small is part of who He made me to be. I hope it brings Him glory when I lean into that, operating in who I am by His design.

Friend, when it comes to celebrations, you do you. It doesn’t matter one bit when you jump into the holidays. October? November? Christmas Eve? Not at all? Whatever works for you! All Thanksgiving all the time? Okay! Put up the tree tonight or keep it tucked away til Christmas Eve? Game on! Have a holiday movie marathon and cookie swap in November? Go for it! You get to celebrate in the way that’s most meaningful for you, and no one gets to tell you there’s a better or different or right way to do that.

Just over a year ago, my family celebrated my mom’s twentieth year of being breast cancer free.

We celebrated every one of the gifted-to-us days from the last twenty years with pink everything, loud laughter, tearful stories, and being together. The week before our party, I attended the funeral of a friend who punched metastatic breast cancer in the face for eight years, right up until the end. Hundreds of us gathered to celebrate her life through our tears. With such a different kind of celebration so fresh in my mind, the celebration for my mom was even deeper and more meaningful than I’d expected it to be.

We have today, which means we have a chance to celebrate.

So do it. Celebrate — whatever you want, whenever you want. Put up all the Christmas decorations your house can hold. Eat the cake. Keep your tree up into February. Lean into celebration whenever you can because there is extraordinary in every single one of our plain old everydays, and each one of them deserves to be celebrated.

Whatever brings you joy and God glory, do that — during the holidays and all your days.

When You Want to Forget This Year

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I’ve been wrestling with the idea of forgetting 2020.

We’ve all seen the social media memes about 2020 that make us laugh so we don’t cry. Maybe using our extra toilet paper stash to wipe away this last year and start over is a good idea?!

I laugh and nod in agreement with most of the jokes about this year. But as I do, the Holy Spirit whispers to my heart a tender message that I hope you and I will listen to: This year has not been a waste. Look for Me and My marvelous works.

Will we dismiss this year with all its gut-wrenching nuances, grief, and turmoil, or will we look for the miracles God has done? Will we be filled with joy because of who God is, or will we focus only on our tough circumstances?

Blaming 2020 and being ready to be done with this year is probably the most natural response we could have after all we have endured. Our experiences have each been so unique based on our health, family, the color of our skin, location, age, political stance, career, and even our expectations. We have all grieved, struggled with loneliness, felt angry and overwhelmed, been hopeless and just plain tired.

Unfortunately, our feelings and personal struggles, the global pandemic, racial injustices, and our nation’s political divide will not magically disappear when we turn the calendar to 2021.

But thanks be to God, there is hope! Not the sappy Hallmark Christmas movie kind or the “stick your head in the sand” kind but the kind of hope that King David knew:

I will praise you, Lord, with all my heart;
I will tell of all the marvelous things you have done.
I will be filled with joy because of YOU.
I will sing praises to your name, O Most High.
Psalm 9:1-2 (NLT)

David did not write this psalm after a miracle or a victory. David chose these words in the middle of being attacked, exhausted from the enemy, and wondering if God has abandoned Him. Sounds familiar, right?

As we approach Christmas, I wonder if the year Jesus was born felt similar to 2020 for those living during that time. The Roman Empire was a worldwide tyrant, persecution was the norm based on beliefs, race, and culture, and a census had created upheaval with heavy taxes looming in the future. Not to mention the grief, frustration, and hopelessness each individual experienced.

But God sent angels to proclaim good news, long awaited prayers were answered, and Jesus came to save the world — all in the middle of a year that most probably wanted to move on from and try to forget.

The focus of that year could have been the hardships that preceded Jesus’ birth or the months that immediately followed with Herod’s deadly decree. But the focus was on Jesus and the beginning of His rescue plan.

The outcome of that difficult year a little over 2000 years ago should remind us that God never ignores our cries for help. We can trust Him with our afflictions and praise Him in the difficult middle and not just in our victory. God is always doing miracles, even in a year we would like to forget.

As we approach the celebration of Jesus’ arrival, let’s choose not to dismiss this difficult year but to look for God’s marvelous works in it. May we be honest with Him about the difficulty of this year and praise Him for all He has done.

Lord, thank you for the real hope of Christmas in the middle of this trying year. When times are especially hard, help us to remember what You’ve done and be filled with joy because of You.

In the comments, bring a gift of praise to Jesus. Share with us how you have seen God’s marvelous work in your life in 2020. 

 

How to End This Year Strong

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In two weeks we’ll have what we’ve been looking forward to for a long, long while: a new year. If ever there was a year that demanded a do-over, 2020 is at the top of the list. I understand. It’s been a lot.

Though tempting, let’s not be so quick to put the year behind us. Between now and then, we have fourteen days to  make the most of. That’s 336 hours or 20,160 minutes, and I don’t want to squander a single one of them. We can finish the year strong. And with Christmas just over a week away, our hearts and minds are already tendered toward what can make this possible, or rather, who can make this possible — Jesus.

Yet, isn’t it right about now when you can feel the panic of last-minute shopping, desperate to find the perfect gift for those remaining on your list? Maybe you’re already at the point where any gift will do. Shipping for online orders is at a premium. Department stores know this. It’s why they have entire spaces devoted to novelty gifts and gadgets you never knew existed (and no one actually needs).

Honestly, I struggle with the gift-giving part of Christmas. Not with gift-giving, per se, but with the commercialism and excess that often comes with it. While I absolutely delight in finding the perfect presents for the people I love, it’s easy to lose sight of Christ amidst the chaos. If only the tangle of tree lights was the lone Christmas trapping.

As I was praying about all of these things — ending this tumultuous year on a positive note and finding beautiful and meaningful ways to celebrate Christmas with my loved ones — the image of fruitcake came to mind.

Ummm, what in the world?

Fruitcake is a mystery to me. I’ve never understood its appeal. If I’m going to blow calories on cake, it’d better daggum well include chocolate or buttercream icing, not all manner of dried fruit and allspice.

But as much as I don’t like fruitcake, I knew it came to mind for a reason. I was sure God was leading my thoughts, and I just needed to follow. 

Though fruitcake might not be mentioned in the Bible, fruit definitely is —

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.
Galatians 5:22-23 (ESV)

On the surface, this passage has nothing to do with Christmas, and yet, doesn’t it have everything to do with Christ? His incarnation ushered in the gospel, the good news a broken people were desperate to hear — good news we are desperate to hear.

It is in Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection that we find our hope.

God sent His one and only Son to accomplish what man failed to do — to live a holy, righteous, and perfect life without sin. Then, Jesus died the death we deserve because of our sin, enduring God’s wrath upon the cross and in so doing, assuring that we would be remembered, forgiven, and redeemed. He conquered sin and Satan and even death when He was raised three days later.

And when we put our faith and trust in Christ, He gives us all He has — He gives us Himself.

As daughters of God, we carry the good news of the gospel in us, and we have the privilege to impact the people around us by sharing it. As we approach the end of the year and look forward to the new one, what if our lives were characterized more by the fruit of the Spirit? A world with more love, more joy, more peace, more patience, more kindness, more goodness, more faithfulness, more gentleness, and more self-control would be a more beautiful world, indeed. 

As the image of fruitcake lingers in my mind, I’m reminded that living the gospel is the way to make the most of the last fourteen days of this year, and just as lovely, the best way to begin 2021.

Thankfully, ending the year strong doesn’t depend on anything we can do but on what Jesus has already done. What a reason to celebrate!

 

A Simple Christmas: Gifts From the Heart

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Sisters, I’m going to admit something ugly here. This is a safe space, right? Lean in close so I don’t have to speak these words above a whisper:

I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.

There, I said it. (Please don’t judge.)

Since we’re being honest, can you relate to this feeling? It makes me feel like a bad person to harbor any ambivalence about a holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ — the most important event in all of human history — so I’ve analyzed the source of those feelings and ways to push past them to more fully enjoy the season. What I’ve found is this: the problem is usually rooted in my unrealistic and self-imposed expectations.

Recently, a friend posted a graphic on Facebook that said, “Mentally, I’m ready for Christmas. Financially, I’m not ready for Christmas.” Many of us feel this way. Is it really necessary to purchase a gift for every friend and check off every box on our children’s wishlists? Maybe not.

When we believe it takes deep pockets to fully enjoy the season, we do ourselves and our families a disservice. If we allow it, it can steal our joy. Many of our greatest gifts don’t require money, but they do require our time and our presence.

Family activities that reflect the Christmas spirit of love and generosity can include delivering a pan of Pioneer Woman cinnamon rolls to friends, neighbors, or the local fire department. It can include planning a DIY day with your kids to make inexpensive homemade gifts like sugar scrub, Mason jar brownie mix, or painted canvases. Search Pinterest for DIY Christmas gifts — the ideas are endless!

Let’s teach our children about gifts that come from the heart.

Although I remember some Christmas presents from my childhood, I recall special moments and family traditions even more: my grandmother’s homemade hot cocoa and chocolate-covered cherries, my Great-Aunt Myrt’s cheese spaghetti, the Christmas morning when my sister and I found sooty Santa footprints in front of the fireplace wiped off on the towel that protected my mother’s prized white wool carpet, the LifeSavers Sweet Storybooks in our stockings each year, learning to make coffee for our parents so they would come sit down by the tree sooner.

As parents, my husband and I have established traditions with our own children, some old and some new. At bedtime on Christmas Eve, they unwrap pajamas, which they’ll sleep in, and movies, which they’ll watch on Christmas morning before dragging me and my husband from our warm bed. They may look different than the ones from my childhood, but my children also find LifeSavers Storybooks in their stockings, as well as fun socks, a new pen, a deck of cards, and a lip balm. We draw Secret Santa names in our large family so the kids are only responsible for one gift. This year, we’ve exceeded our usual quota of family nights watching cheesy Christmas movies, and I hope that will be our pattern for years to come.

Though we usually go caroling in local nursing homes, this December, we’ll find new ways to teach our kids to learn to sacrifice their time in ways that bring joy to others.

Don’t allow finances or self-imposed expectations to spoil the wonder and reverence of the greatest gift we know: that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14 KJV) and that Jesus came not to be served but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45 ESV).

Anything that takes the focus from Him detracts from the simplicity of Jesus’ message and the beauty of the Christmas season.

Written by Dawn Camp, from the (in)courage archives

We want you to enjoy a heartfelt, simplified Christmas this year. So we’ve gathered a few of our favorite (in)courage words on this very subject, and they’re ready to share with you!

Sign up for this FREE Simple Christmas 5-day email series, and we will send you five daily emails with encouragement to be present and celebrate this special season with courageous simplicity. Join us and get your holidays off to a simply great start.

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Does God Care About All My Concerns?

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When life gets overwhelming, do you ever wonder if God notices all that you are carrying? If He sees how hard you’re pushing yourself, trying to take care of everyone and everything that is going on?

You might be staying up late to pay the bills and wondering if there will be enough left over for Christmas gifts, expensive postage costs, and a holiday meal. You might be stretched between relationships at home, work, and online, and there isn’t enough time to balance them all while caring for aging parents in the midst of a pandemic and schooling children online for months now.

Last week, suffocating under the weight of it all, I told my husband I wasn’t sure how much longer I could do this. With a huge work deadline, horrible back pain that wouldn’t go away, and a to-do list a mile long, I was exhausted and tempted to quit everything.

I didn’t have enough energy to handle it all. I doubted myself and worried about my ability to manage life and fulfill all the roles and responsibilities God had given me.

And all my worries made me wonder. I wondered if God noticed and cared about the burdens I carried. I wondered why He wasn’t doing something to make my life more manageable. My days were consumed with doing things for Him and others, so why wasn’t He making my load lighter and my burdens easier?

In my frustration, I thought of Martha in Luke 10. Faced with her own overwhelming responsibilities, Martha wondered if Jesus cared:

She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
Luke 10:40b (NIV)

Interestingly, Jesus didn’t answer her question. Instead, He told her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed — or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41-42).

In that moment, Jesus showed Martha just how much He cared — not just about how hard she was working but about the rest He knew she needed. Instead of giving her what she demanded, Jesus showed Martha what was better and the choice she needed to make to receive it.

Jesus helped her see that Mary hadn’t abandoned her to do the work by herself. Instead, Mary chose to walk away from the distractions and preparations so she could take hold of something that couldn’t be taken away from her.

It was the only thing that would last even after Jesus was gone. It was time with Him, resting in His presence, soaking in His perspective, and listening to His promises.

As I read through Martha’s story, 1 Peter 5:7 came to mind. It says, “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.” With both Scriptures in mind, I began to see the difference between what God offers and what I had been doing. I was carrying the heavy weight of my concerns, but Jesus invites me to come to Him and cast my cares upon Him so He can care for me.

When I do all the talking and instructing, God doesn’t have a chance. Instead of telling Him what I need, He invites me to share what’s on my mind — all my worries and concerns — and to ask, “Lord, what is going on in my heart? What are Your thoughts about this situation? What do I need and what should I do?”

This year is teaching me on a whole new level what it looks like to give my concerns to God. And as I take time to let Him care for me, my heart rests in knowing just how much He cares about me.

Are there things you’re carrying that are too heavy for you to bear? If so, take time to talk to the Lord. Sit at His feet. Rest in His care for you.

Holding Onto Christ Until Normal Comes Back

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My friend stands on my front porch, waving at me through the glass in my security door. She’s wearing a mask. I’m wearing a mask. I wave back, trying to say thank you loud enough so she can hear me. She’s here to pick up a box of the devotional I wrote a few years back. They’re the gift she’s getting for soon-to-be graduates this month whose soon-to-be graduations will feel anything but devoted, let alone normal.

But nothing feels normal these days. The election that we all wanted to come and go still somehow hasn’t. The football games my husband and I watch on our kitchen TV still show near empty stadiums, with cheerleaders wearing glitzy outfits shouting “Defense!” while standing six feet apart.

In hospitals, doctors report some patients yelling at them for wearing heavy protective gear — those patients arguing that they aren’t sick with COVID. In the meantime, Dr. Fauci says that even after the vaccine shots begin, life still won’t be normal for a long time. Arthur Reingold, a renowned epidemiologist, adds, “What that says to me is that people will have to keep wearing masks at least until spring. We won’t be in a magically different situation by February or March. I don’t see how that can possibly happen.”

Normal? Not any time soon.

But what, after all, was normal before the virus? Mass shootings came to our shopping malls and schools. The middle class was squeezed and still is. The working poor still fare even worse. Injustice and racism and divisions, despite those who deny such things, never went away. Other “isms” still find a foothold.

In month nine now of a pandemic, millions have lost jobs, businesses have shuttered, nearly 300,000 men, women and children in this nation have died from COVID. Then, close to my home, when I Googled a favorite mom-and-pop restaurant to check pickup options, the website greeted me with one word: CLOSED.

As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a Public Safety Alert: Your region is at severe risk from deadly COVID. Use caution.

But God.

Our pastor reminded us of our Redeemer during a recent virtual sermon. Dressed preacher-casual in a hoodie and jeans — and preaching by Zoom from his home office — he got down to business, pointing us to Isaiah 43:1: “Do not fear, I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.”

He could’ve kept reading through that robust forty-third chapter, moving to God’s stunning promise that “when you pass through the waters. I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze” (Isaiah 43:2).

He also could’ve emphasized that “God has not given us a spirit of fear” (2 Timothy 1:7).

But most of all, he drilled down deep on God’s comfort from Isaiah 43:1: “You are mine.”

Looking resolved in his hoodie, our hard-working pastor — who has ministered by faith to church members over these long months, helping folks with COVID, and even burying others — spoke to us like this: “It’s my pastoral duty to remind you that you belong to God. You are the center of His heart. God is keeping you. He can bless you and protect you, even in a pandemic.” Then he closed his sermon with this: “Thank you, Jesus!”

Seeing the screen fade away, my husband Dan and I shouted back: “Amen!”

Yes, thank you, Jesus. He still sees us, knows us, and cares all about us. “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17).

That’s how the apostle Paul taught of the Lord when he was at Colosse. It was a hard time then too, with false teachers dividing the church. Paul, however, pointed the people back to the One Who knows us each by name. Your name. My name. He is the One Who invites us to turn from what looks fearful and to run to Him instead. God alone still holds all things together.

As my humble pastor said, “Thank you, Jesus!” We can try to say more in times like this. We can try to fight our way from the grip of a scary pandemic, try to ignore safety rules, piling into churches or restaurants as if our “right” to gather matters more than common sense. Or we can rest in the Lord as He holds us and everything else together. Until normal returns–however we define normal–we are still His. Even in this storm? Especially in this storm. And may God Himself help us to believe it.

The Posture of a World-Changing Woman

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In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man named Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And the angel came to her and said, “Greetings, favored woman! The Lord is with you.” But she was deeply troubled by this statement, wondering what kind of greeting this could be. Then the angel told her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Now listen: You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of his father David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and his kingdom will have no end.”

Mary asked the angel, “How can this be, since I have not had sexual relations with a man?”

The angel replied to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. And consider your relative Elizabeth — even she has conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called childless. For nothing will be impossible with God.”

“See, I am the Lord’s servant,” said Mary. “May it happen to me as you have said.” Then the angel left her.
Luke 1:26-38 (CSB)

Mary’s life was interrupted and forever changed by this interaction with the angel Gabriel, and her words forever changed ours: May it happen to me as you have said.

Her posture of acceptance, obedience, and fierce courage was one of open hands and a trusting heart. Though she had no precedent to look back on to guide her in this situation, though the calling to bear the Messiah was heavy and huge, she knew the voice of the Father. She was willing, and she entrusted herself completely and wholly to Him.

As we continue to wait for Christ to return, may our posture be like that of Mary’s, His mother. May we be courageous and willing to say yes to God’s Word to us.

How can we pray for you?

Today, as we hold space for one another in prayer, tell us one thing God is inviting you into in this season or in the upcoming year. It may be vulnerable to type it out, so no pressure if you don’t want to. As we share our callings, dreams, and the Holy Spirit’s nudging words to us, write prayers of encouragement and affirmation for the person who comments before you.

Leaning into Our Ethnic Roots This Christmas

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Celebrating Christmas as a kid made me feel thoroughly American. Buying a tree, hanging stockings, and having candle lights in the windows was the most connected I ever came to my non-Indian classmates and neighbors. It was the one time of year where we lived our lives in a similar way. All of this, of course, was intentional. My mom, like many immigrants who came to the U.S. in the seventies, had not celebrated Christmas in her home country. Having married an Anglo American man and raising bicultural kids, however, made this holiday feel like a requirement to assimilate. It didn’t matter if we still ate traditional Indian food or only exchanged a few gifts. The material objects we bought and strung up around our house served as a megaphone to say, We belong.

The older I became, the more I believed the myth of assimilating at Christmastime. December became a month of watching Hallmark movies, The Christmas Story, and It’s a Wonderful Life. I consumed nothing but stories of happy white people, giving gifts and experiencing “the Christmas spirit.” Feasts became larger. Wearing fancy American dresses, doing cookie exchanges and Secret Santas were all musts. I began to believe this was how I was supposed to celebrate the holidays as an Indian American Christian.

But after college I found myself questioning it all: Was I celebrating Christmas to really reflect upon and give thanks for the birth of Jesus or was I trying to find a place to belong in what often felt like an overtly white American holiday?

I’ve wrestled with this question over the years, and lately, I’ve been trying to get back to my own roots during the Christmas season. I want this time of year to be a season of prayer, gratitude, and devotion to what Christ has come and done, not a chaotic month of presents, decorations, cookies, and parties. More than that, I want to be more connected to who I am as an Indian American woman. What does it mean to celebrate the birth of Jesus in ways that are authentic and meaningful to who I am as a cultural being? How can I celebrate Christmas — and by extension, holidays in general — in ways that incorporate all of who I am as whole, beautiful, and good?

I’m reimagining my cultural narrative and values and asking myself, How can I make this about Christ? How can I celebrate what Jesus has done and is doing in my cultural story?

Our cultures are a composite of our ethnic story. Part of my story as a bicultural, second generation, Indian American woman is navigating liminal space, of straddling different worlds and living in the in-between. I’m not fully Asian, nor fully white. My story is a mix of the east and west, of immigration and crossing borders, of farmers and people of the land. And the beauty of the Christmas story is that Jesus came down to earth with me in mind. Jesus the Messiah came to save and rescue me, a caramel-colored woman with all of my joys and pains, all my passions, struggles, and insecurities. Jesus doesn’t overlook me. Jesus doesn’t reject me because I don’t fit into neat racial categories. He sees me in my humanity and loves me as His child.

The simpler I make Christmas, the more I discover this truth.

This year I’m choosing to make Christmas more story-driven. Sure, I might still bake some holiday cookies with my kids, but instead of blasting Christmas classics non-stop and filling our evenings with holiday movies, we’re spending more time talking and reflecting on the good news of Jesus for our Indian-Mexican family. We’re asking each other questions like, “In what ways should the coming of Jesus ’cause great joy’ (Luke 2:10) for us as second generation Indians and Mexicans? How can we embrace the peace of Jesus as cultural beings this Christmas (Luke 2:14)? And in what ways can we celebrate and give glory to God in distinctly Indian and Mexican ways?”

As you gather with your families around the table, I want to invite you to consider asking the same kinds of questions as it relates to your own ethnic roots. Perhaps there are objects and materials within your ethnic heritage that you can repurpose or create to point to Christ. Maybe the foods and dress of your culture can be thoughtful ways to celebrate Jesus’ birth.

As we take into account our cultural and ethnic roots, may we be like the Israelites of old, recounting memories and sharing stories of what God is doing in our lives. Let’s celebrate and worship Jesus with our own tongue, culture, and values and reimagine Christmas in a way that is more diverse and authentic to who we all are as God’s children.

Learning to Trust When the World Doesn’t Make Sense

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If you would’ve told me five years ago — even one year ago — what our world would look like today, I wouldn’t have believed you. Life “yesterday” looks nothing like life “today.” And the longer days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, I find myself crying out along with King David, “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1 NIV).

When circumstances don’t change and prayers remain unanswered, it’s easy to believe God has abandoned us. How long will this continue? How long will we continue to struggle and wrestle with fear over all of the future’s unknowns?

How long, Lord? 

For over two decades, my husband has owned his own construction business. His specialty is large remodels and basement finishing. He loves nothing more than going into a home that’s been neglected or a basement that hasn’t yet been finished, and transforming cold concrete walls into a warm and beautiful home. His customers love it too.

But there is one part of the construction process that seems to trip people up. In the initial weeks, as bathrooms and bedrooms are being framed out and walls are erected, everyone feels excited and hopeful at the transformation. The changes are obvious, the work apparent.

But then, everything seems to slow. As the projects stretches from days to weeks to months and time passes with little evidence of work, people can grow discouraged. Of course, just as much work is happening behind the scenes: electrical and plumbing installation, permit applications and county inspections, planning and measuring, and ordering things like tile and fixtures and paint colors. But to the people who wake up in the same in-progress home day after day, all they see is a lack of work.

Did the contractor take off? How long will the chaos continue?

How long, Lord?

John 5 tells the story of Jesus healing a man who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him, He healed him. Of course, the local religious leaders were upset that Jesus worked on the Sabbath, but Jesus’ response? “My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working” (John 5:17 NIV).

My friend, this life is hard. And more days than not, I struggle to make sense of our world. The chaos is overwhelming, the relentless suffering and conflict paralyzing, and when each day’s news brings more of the same images, my heart aches. There are days when it appears as if God is absent or, at the least, completely uninvolved.

How long, Lord? 

Be assured, whether you see evidence of Him or not, He is present. He is always at work, and His purposes will not fail. His is the help you can always count on, the one who keeps watch day and night. And He will not let us go until He has done what He has promised. And that means we can trust Him, even when the world doesn’t make sense.

My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

Psalm 121:2-4 (NIV)

What We Need Most This Holiday Season

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I stood shivering in my church’s parking lot, chatting with a couple friends (six feet apart). I was there to pick up my daughter after her small group, and they were there to clean out the children’s ministry bins that had been sitting unused for eight months. We caught up on each other’s lives for a bit, and then one of my friends said, “Oh hey, have you watched any holiday movies yet? Which ones did you like?”

The next weekend, another friend texted with the same question. She had an evening to herself, and she intended to spend it wrapping Christmas presents and watching a Christmas movie. With screen shots and emojis, we walked through the options, and I helped her find a movie to watch that night.

It is a truth universally acknowledged (at least by the people who know me) that I am a holiday movie expert.

I don’t say that to brag — I promise! I am fully aware that this is a dubious honor to many and a silly obsession to others. But the truth remains that I love holiday movies, I’ve watched a lot of them, and I love helping people enjoy them as well.

Now, if you can’t stand made-for-TV holiday movies, don’t worry. I’m not really here to convince you they’re for everyone. Instead, I want to encourage you to embrace whatever simple, sweet, or sacred comfort helps you find your way back to the Reason for this holiday season.

Does ’round-the-clock Christmas music warm your heart? Go for it.

Does driving past that house with the crazy lights make you laugh every time? Do it.

Are you tired of counting calories and craving daily Christmas cookies? Why not?!

Or on a more serious note . . . 

Do you need to watch four different sermons this week because you’re missing in-person church so much?

Are you wishing you could stay home, even though everyone else in your circle is getting together?

Is your Advent devotional the only thing keeping you from spiraling into a dark place right now?

Then I say, Do it. Do what you need to do to say centered and safe and sane. Do whatever it is that brings you comfort and joy in this season, that pulls you closer to God who promises to be with us, that keeps you mindful of the One we celebrate this time of year — our Emmanuel.

And if holiday movies happen to do that for you? Well, I say go for that too! After all, knowing what to expect with our traditions and our comfort foods (and our sappy, formulaic movies) is a blessing in itself. Coming at the end of such a tumultuous season, that sweetness and predictability feels like a relief. It seems to meet our deep desire to have something we can count on right now. 

When the truth that’s really universally acknowledged is that this year has been challenging in ways we never expected, ways we were not equipped to handle, ways we can barely even put into words, we might be tempted to think our “silly” traditions don’t even matter. As the darkness and difficulties drag on, despite becoming more drained and more desperate for relief, we can be tempted to give up on finding any comfort or joy at all.

But our reason for celebrating the holidays — with all the traditions or just a few, with purely sacred comforts or a mix with the silly as well — hasn’t changed. Jesus is here for you, and no difficult, draining, or even depressing year can make that not so. Our true comfort is in Christ, and our real joy is in Him. 

We need the comfort of Christmas more than ever. And if you find some of that in candy canes or white lights or Christmas carols or even in my beloved holiday movies, I hope you embrace those things with joy. Just don’t forget the One who loves you most, who never changes, and who is always there for you.

If you do actually love holiday movies like I do, I invite you to visit my site, HookedonHolidayMovies.com, for a free bundle of fun and festive downloads (including movie guides, recipes, and a holiday movie-inspired devotional)!

 

The Invitation of an Unconventional Way

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We were newlyweds, and as a newcomer to the church my husband was already attending, I was encouraged to postpone volunteering in any capacity for three months. As I waited and got acquainted with my community, I assumed I’d serve as a vocalist. After all, throughout my churched life, I’d always found my place in the choir and praise team. The pastor even assured my husband that I’d have a much coveted spot on the praise team once the three months was up.

But during my three months of sitting quietly, I kept hearing Holy Spirit say one thing: prayer team!

What’s a prayer team? I wondered. I knew what prayer was, but I had never heard of a prayer team. I tried to imagine what it might look like and what it did. Was it like a football team or maybe a dance team? I honestly had no idea what a prayer team was, but I was certain I was to be a part of it. 

Nervously, I turned to my husband to share my thoughts and reluctantly pushed the words through my lips, “I want to be on the prayer team.” I could tell he was thrown off. I had deviated from the expectation that I’d want to be on the praise team, and now we sat in awkward silence. To break the tension, I asked him if the church had a prayer team, and he led the way for us to find out. 

An administrator for the church confirmed that there indeed was a prayer team, but before we could ask her any further questions, she said, “But you can’t simply join the prayer team — you must be invited!” She ripped the corner from a piece of paper, wrote a name and phone number on it, and passed it to me. “Here’s Ms. Pat’s number. She leads the prayer team. Perhaps you can ask her about the process for being on the team,” she offered. 

At that point, learning that joining the prayer team required an invitation left me feeling confused and misdirected. Inwardly, I shrugged it off with “Oh well God, I tried!” My husband and I thanked the administrator and walked away, down the corridor toward the exit. Suddenly, a woman walking from the opposite direction stepped into our path and stopped us. She greeted us with a wide smile, extended open arms, and a voice overflowing with joy and the certainty of God’s embrace. I had never met her, but in that moment, I felt as though we knew each other.

“Hi! I’m Ms. Pat!,” she exclaimed. She focused her gaze on me and with confidence and certainty announced, “God told me that you are going to be on my prayer team!” 

Overwhelmed, I exhaled a chuckle and showed Ms. Pat her name and number on the piece of paper I’d just been handed moments before. She let out an encouraging laugh and proceeded to instruct me on where and when to join the prayer team. I was in awe of her audacity. Though still unclear about what I was being invited to join, I was certain that she had welcomed me to my new home.

Whenever I feel disoriented or unsettled by circumstances, I reflect on this chapter of my life. While on the prayer team, I not only experienced immeasurable growth, but I also saw how God meticulously repositioned me in order to more fully live into my purpose.

Repositioning isn’t like relocating or getting a promotion. It invites us to experience a significant shift — one in which we ultimately alter how we perceive ourselves. I learned that repositioning isn’t always obvious or comfortable, nor is the path obvious or logical. And because the process is dynamic and complex, repositioning can be disconcerting.  

In marriage, I was uprooted. I remember feeling dislodged, knocked from my path of assurance. As a newcomer to a church, I was forced to pause, and in that stillness, I was given instructions that seemed unconventional. I was fearful of the unfamiliar. But by faith, I moved forward. And in grace, I was embraced by the assurance and belonging of purpose.

Perhaps during the pandemic, you’ve felt uprooted or detached from your “normal.” Or maybe you feel disoriented by constantly shifting circumstances. Perhaps, like me, you are desperate for the familiarity of a daily and weekly rhythm. Or maybe the thought of moving forward into an unknown future feels more intimidating than a forced pause. Consider that you are being invited to divinely reposition yourself.

Think of Abraham, whose move uprooted him from his family home and repositioned him in order to become Father of a nation (Genesis 12:1-9). And consider Joseph, who was sold into slavery and was promoted second-in-command to Pharoah in order to save nations (Genesis 37-41). Repositioning invites you to participate in unfamiliar, uncommon, and sometimes awkward movements to expand you into purpose.

Though you may feel uncertain, I pray you move forward, confidently knowing that God is with you every step of the unconventional way.