Turns Out, the Night in “O Holy Night” Wasn’t Even That Holy

Turns Out, the Night in “O Holy Night” Wasn’t Even That Holy

by

A few weeks ago, I was preparing an Advent-themed email. In the email, I’d landed on sharing about the classic Christmas carol “O Holy Night” and quoting that one famous line:

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

As I prepared my email, I began pondering the history of this song which, turns out, was first written as a poem. A poet-writer myself, I was deeply intrigued and let my mind wander on the origin story of this poem.

The poem, originally titled “Minuit, Chrétiens” or “Midnight, Christians” was written by Placide Cappeau, a French poet and wine merchant who, surprisingly, was an atheist. I read that in 1843, Cappeau was tasked by a priest in Roquemaure, France to write a Christmas poem in honor of celebrating renovations within their small-town church.

Suddenly, in the middle of preparing my email, this song that I’d always taken at face value was now the most fascinating discovery. How could someone who didn’t believe in God pen such a poignant poem-turned-hymn and declare the divinity of Jesus to countless millions? How could Cappeau conjure words to proclaim the power of that night when Jesus — swaddled in all humility and humanity — came into the world?

I began to dig a little deeper into the rabbit hole of “O Holy Night” and, in reading, I learned that Cappeau eventually showed his poem to French composer Adolphe Adam. Not too long after this encounter, Adam set music to the poem, and Cappeau took this poem-turned-hymn back to Roquemaure, where, in 1847, it was first performed at a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.

In 1855, the song was translated into English by minister and music critic John Sullivan Dwight. Dwight considered the original French lyrics of “Minuit, Chrétiens,” which, in English would be:

Midnight, Christians, it’s the solemn hour,
When God-man descended to us
To erase the stain of original sin
And to end the wrath of His Father.
The entire world thrills with hope
On this night that gives it a Savior.

Then, in his translation from French to English, Dwight rendered the lyrics we’ve come to know and cherish today:

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth;
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
‘Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

In every iteration, the song “O Holy Night” is stitched through with the sacred themes and tellings of Christmas. It paints a soul-arresting scene of the night of Jesus’ birth, and it is musically wrought with melodic highs and lows that resonate with the emotional feelings of Christmastime. Stunning and stirring, “O Holy Night” is now one of the most beloved Christmas songs, with recordings and renditions by Josh Groban, Celine Dion, Lauren Daigle, Gladys Knight, Nat King Cole, and the queen of Christmas herself — Mariah Carey.

What’s interesting to me, however, is not merely the history of “O Holy Night,” but the irony of it. Anyone (atheist, poet, priest, or not) who opens to the story of Jesus’ birth in Luke 2:1-20 can clearly see that the night so famously caroled about wasn’t even that holy. There was nothing magnificent or mighty or sacred or set apart about the night when baby Jesus was born in that messy manager.

At the time of Jesus’ birth, Caesar Augustus issued a decree for a census. This meant that “everyone went to their own town to register” (Luke 2:1-3 NIV), and this is precisely what brought Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem. With everyone traveling for the census, Bethlehem was bustling and busy. Hence, the reason there was no room in the inn.

Hmm! Imagine that? The first Christmas wasn’t quiet or calm. Not at all that much different from the Christmas we’ve come to celebrate today. . . Indeed, the first Christmas was neither hushed nor seemingly holy. The world then (and still now) was fraught with war and work and woes on every side.

As I prepared my Advent email, I pondered what this means for our humble, less-than-holy human lives today. Then my heart remembered this precious truth:

It is not the night of Jesus’ birth we glorify, it is only and ever the name of Jesus we glorify.

At Christmastime, and at all times, we believe and bear witness to the truth that Jesus makes glorious the impossible gloom. Through song and deed, we declare that Jesus makes miraculous the mundane and saves the wretched sinner. We repeat and repeat the sounding joy — that Jesus restores that which is beyond repair and makes divine even the darkest night.

This season, let the lyrics of “O Holy Night” (or your favorite Christmas song) prompt you to ponder the powerful One who presides over all nature, all names, and all nights. In all our singing, working, gifting, parenting, cooking, and, yes, even in our email sending, may we honor and extol the only One who is worthy of our wonder and our worship.

Friends, what’s your favorite Christmas song? Comment below and share why — I’d love to hear from you!

Letting Go of the Perfect Christmas

by

This time of year crackles with anticipation, like logs tossed into the fireplace. While the season glows with warmth and hope, it can also feel heavy with unmet expectations.

“It has been too long!” we said, waving to each other’s pixelated video screens as we started to talk over each other, eager to reconnect. Through the miracle of modern Internet, we caught up on work woes, family foibles, and everything else we could squeeze into our hour-long chat. 

“Okay, so tell me, really, how are you?” I asked her, washing down my supplements with a soda because, honestly, that was how I was doing.

My friend was talking from a parking lot, where she had squirreled away time in her car. She leaned into the screen.

“Well, I cried before our family photos, if that gives you any indication,” she offered, amusement and exhaustion in her voice.

I replied with a knowing laugh.

“It’s not family pictures unless someone cries.”

She smiled, but we understood the deeper truth hiding in our shared humor. This season — touted as the most wonderful time of the year — often comes with heaps of expectations. And sometimes a few tears.

‘Tis the season of Christmas cards and end-of-year recaps. (A tradition I adore, by the way.) In our digital world, I delight in sending and receiving tangible reminders that we are connected and cared for. I love reflecting on the year as I add handwritten notes to envelopes and little flourishes to each card I address. It’s a festive practice that brings me almost as much joy as stuffing an excessive amount of mini marshmallows into my cocoa.

But here’s the thing: No one sees the tears behind the shiny, put-together photographs.

We share our vacations, milestones, and biggest wins from the year. And there’s nothing wrong with sharing the good in our lives — joy worth celebrating! But our winning write-ups don’t include the sleepless nights, the dreams we had to let go of, or the hurts hidden inside our weary hearts.

When another glossy photo lands in my mailbox, it’s easy to assume the sender’s life is as perfect as the card itself. It’s easy to get trapped in a snowbank of comparison, believing I’m the only one sitting in the gap between how I wish things were and how they are.

As I hang our Christmas cards on our door frame, I’m not immune to envy and jealousy that stick to me like the tape I use to hang the cards. But I have to remind myself that our lives are more than a few curated highlights.

Recently, two friends told me about amazing overseas vacations. “You must have had an incredible time!” I said, but I was really thinking, It must be nice to travel like that. Both confided that their trips weren’t quite as perfect as the pictures made them look. From the outside, you couldn’t see the arguing spouses or the son stuck in the hotel room with food poisoning.

The truth is, this sparkling season has a shadow side. Sorrow, comparison, and exhaustion often linger at the edges of our joy, casting darkness over the twinkle lights that frame the windows.

For many of us, Advent carries a weight, like your snow-soaked mittens do after a snowball fight — heavy and cold and clinging no matter how hard you try to shake them off. Maybe your heart weighs heavy with the loss of a loved one, strained relationships, or unmet expectations.

If you’re scrolling your social media this holiday season and feel the pangs of comparison, you’re not alone. I’ve been taking a break from the glow of instant photos and the steady stream of updates. It’s been freeing — not striving to share the perfect post but living into each moment God has brought me into.

This pause has reminded me that life doesn’t need to be staged to be sacred.

Advent is a counter-narrative to perfectionism. Year after year, we set aside time to anticipate when Love came down, entered our mess, and changed the world forever. When we remember this is our truest reality, we can open our waiting hearts to welcome a God who enters into the imperfections of our real lives. We can loosen our grip on the pressure we feel about putting on a polished show.

Jesus wasn’t born in a spotless palace. He arrived in the mess of a manger. His arrival reminds us that our lives don’t have to be picture-perfect for Him to meet us there.

What if this Advent we prepared room in our hearts for the glory of presence instead of the empty chase of perfection? What if we stopped striving to make everything just right and instead allowed ourselves to rest in the hope that’s already here?

While we often feel the need to have the stockings hung and the cookies baked, Advent invites us to hang up our hustling and kick our feet up by the fire. It’s a time of waiting for Christ to come into the messiness of our lives, just as He did so many years ago.

No year-end highlights were written on papyrus or birth announcements sealed with a kiss from Mary and Joseph. Yet the glory of God broke through heaven and earth in a miracle that changed the world forever.

This is the hope of Advent: Immanuel — God with us. Right here. Right now. In our real, uncurated, unstaged lives.

The pursuit of a perfect life will always leave us longing for more. No matter what’s printed on a Christmas card or posted on social media, you only see a glimmer of real life. We all carry unseen hurts and tender disappointments, stories that rarely make it into what we share with others.

But here’s the good news: The best story — the truest story — reminds us that the Maker of Heaven and Earth bent time to be near us, to dwell with us, to bring light into the dark corners of our lives. Jesus is the message from our God, who doesn’t require perfection but longs to meet us in the mess. The miracle of Advent invites us to let go of striving and be held by the One who catches every tear, knows every imperfect part we try to hide, and calls us beloved.

What would it look like for you to rest in this truth? To dwell in the presence of the One who was born into chaos yet chose to stay in perfect love? What would it mean to notice soft snowflakes dancing under a streetlamp, to truly see the people and places before you, to accept your imperfect life as the sacred gift it was always meant to be?

As you place stamps on envelopes and wait for your mail carrier to deliver holiday cheer, may you find peace, not in polished perfection, but in the presence of the One who came to light your way and bring hope to the world.

 

Listen to daily devotions on the (in)courage podcast!

The Quiet Quest

by

There are pains and aches and struggles that can be named. We can put our finger on them and openly talk about them. We can post about them on social media and rally a group to pray or intervene. Things like,

I’m moving to a new town and I need prayer.
I’ve lost a parent and need comfort.
I’ve been sick for a week and need someone to bring me soup.

These are moments when the body of Believers shines and we can rally together like the family we are, openly and without reservation. People check in and we start group texts and give updates. It’s a beautiful thing, right?

I’ve received meals and cards and encouragement during hard times in the past. I have felt upheld by those in my small group or neighborhood or workplace. It makes an already hard situation feel a bit more bearable.

But what do we do when we simply cannot openly share what we’re dealing with?

I’m not talking about hiding something secret like a sinful habit or refusing to open up about something that should be freely shared for the sake of accountability. No, it’s not about self-preservation as much as it is about preserving someone else’s story.

I want to be clear: if you’re staying silent about something and it jeopardizes your safety, you should not stay silent. But if you’re keeping silent because you just aren’t sure where to start or the story isn’t quite yours to tell, you might be on what I call a Quiet Quest.

Sometimes, there are stories unfolding that we are not at the center of but are directly impacted by. Sometimes, to ask for prayer, we have to stay vague to protect the dignity or privacy of someone we love. Perhaps you find yourself walking through something that is taking effort and energy, is exhausting or heartbreaking, but very few people are aware of it because that’s simply the way it has to be for a while.

Perhaps a loved one is struggling with mental illness or grief that they do not know how to express, and it weighs heavily on your mind and heart every single day. But there are unknowns. There are limitations. It can’t be shared broadly out of respect.

This is a challenging place to be because, as Christians, we are called to community. And what is community, if not sharing our burdens?

Here’s the thing: we are certainly called to invite others into our story, but there are moments when we need to guard how many people know the details of a specific situation. And while that can be good and right and healthy, can I be honest? It can be lonely.

The Quiet Quest is a place that often feels like we’re totally on our own. There’s a lot of watching and waiting and wondering. It can seem that we’re totally alone — the first and only one to experience this journey.

You don’t hear stories from Quiet Quests much, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen. In fact, they’re happening a lot more than we may realize. Your neighbor may be carrying the burden or losing a friend to an addiction. Your professor might have gotten a terrible diagnosis and doesn’t know how to share the news. The woman sitting beside you at the doctor’s office might have gotten a call that her sister was just checked in to an in-patient mental healthcare center.

Or perhaps, friend, it’s you. Perhaps you are the one with a diagnosis or a phone call or a front-row seat to someone’s addiction. Perhaps you’re on a Quiet Quest you never chose and you feel unseen or unheard, but it’s blindingly difficult and louder than anyone else can imagine. If that’s the case? I’m so sorry. I know you can’t speak about everything running through your mind, and you’re up at night and you’re restless. I know you must feel so overwhelmed, and I also know I can’t actually write anything to fix it or take it away.

But what I can offer you on a random Tuesday is this: there is a companion who walks beside you and has no intention of leaving you in the dark. And because He’s omniscient — all-knowing — there’s no pressure to explain yourself or your situation to Him.

Scripture reminds us to cast our anxiety on Jesus because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).

Jesus is ever-present, filling in every blank and understanding every subtle subplot. So reach out to your closest, trusted people and keep them posted on how to pray, but know this:

You are held by a Savior who will not miss out on loving you.

You are seen by a kind and all-powerful God who deeply desires redemption for you and your loved ones. And your Quiet Quest is not too quiet for Him to hear and come running.

Make a Joyful Noise This Season

by

I grew up singing. In fact, when I was really little, my mother, a teacher and single mom of three,  assembled us as a family band to help make ends meet. We played shows at churches and libraries, connecting books with faith and music. My siblings and I also wore matching outfits for these shows… but I digress.

I sang in honors choirs, church ensembles, and school groups. I sang in musicals and plays, in the car and at camp. I wasn’t destined for Broadway or anything, and I never got the lead role or concert solos, but I did love to sing!

Yet there was rejection along the way. While I was usually cast in the chorus of two musicals a year in high school, there was the one musical with a new director who cut me. Entirely. I watched all my friends practice without me, and it was so painful. Then there was the time I auditioned for solo and small ensemble parts in a show. The director told me (out loud in front of other people!) that I was “ok, but definitely not solo-ready,” which stung for years. A few more stinging moments came along the way and I started to doubt myself. I doubted my voice, I knew it wasn’t good enough, and my confidence was dashed. I stopped singing in public and in choirs, and resigned myself to be a shower-and-car singer only.

And then I met my husband, who was (is) a self-taught musician. He fell in love with me and with my voice. We sang together around campfires. We sang together in the car. We sang together at church. He asked me to sing at our wedding, and together we started a little praise band at church.

His love and confidence in me helped heal a part of myself I’d closed off and deemed inadequate.

We still sing together. We brought that piece of who we are when we changed churches. We sing with our kids, writing little songs and always with the kitchen radio on. We began sharing “Fireside Chats” this month, choosing a song that we love to sing together, filming our duet, and putting it on the internet. (Such a vulnerable feeling! But I’m doing it!) And now our kids are auditioning for choirs, singing in little ensembles at church, and rockin’ in the minivan with us.

I sang well by myself. But I found my voice when I started to sing with his.

Historically, singing has served as a significant means of expression, communication, and praise. I love that throughout Scripture we have scores of examples of people pouring out their hearts, together, in song — Moses and the Israelites for one, Paul and Silas for another, and maybe lesser-known (but super tough and cool) Deborah and Barak.

Did you know that Mary is the only woman in the New Testament to contribute a song? When Mary is told she’s going to have a baby, that she is going to birth the Son of God, she first responds with a ‘yes’. Then she heads out to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who is also having a miracle baby. When Mary greets Elizabeth, her baby begins leaping in the womb, and in reply to Elizabeth’s exclamation Mary sings a song:

“My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name…”
Luke 1:46-49 NIV

There are also numerous passages about singing. Here are a couple of my favorites:

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth,
    burst into jubilant song with music;
make music to the Lord with the harp,
    with the harp and the sound of singing,
with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn—
    shout for joy before the Lord, the King.
Psalm 98:4-6 NIV

 Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.
Colossians 3:16 NLT

And in my very favorite, Zephaniah reminds us that God delights in us, so much so that He sings over us!

Who knows how well the people in the Bible sang? For all we know, it was an off-key mess. But God knew their hearts and smiled at their song. As we near Christmas, I hope you are able to enjoy carols and hymns, and the pure joy that comes in making a joyful noise, especially together. Whether we’re a lovely soprano voice in a choir or an off-key solo wonder, it’s all glory to God!

This Christmas, with our lives and our lips, may we all make a joyful noise for the One who is Emmanuel, God with us.

And tell me: what are your favorite Advent and Christmas songs to sing?

For more Advent devotions from Anna, pick up her book A Moment of Christmas: 25 December Devotions for Moms. There’s still time to give yourself the gift of peace, encouragement, and inspiration this Advent season!

 

Listen to daily devotions on the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app!

The Joy of Jesus

by

Then Nehemiah the governor, Ezra the priest and teacher of the Law, and the Levites who were instructing the people said to them all, “This day is holy to the Lord your God. Do not mourn or weep.” For all the people had been weeping as they listened to the words of the Law.

Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

The Levites calmed all the people, saying, “Be still, for this is a holy day. Do not grieve.”
Nehemiah 8:9-10 NIV

Throughout Scripture, we see Jesus feel plenty of emotions — anger, sadness, grief, burden. But there’s also a convincing argument to be made that Jesus had an incredible and indescribable spirit of joy. People were drawn to Him, constantly and consistently. His joy must have been magnetic. He hung out with the fun crowd and had dear friends. He was invited to parties. He and His friends went to weddings together!

Jesus knew joy because Jesus knew God. 

. . . for the joy of the Lord is your strength, says Nehemiah.

We can lean on the strength of this joy. God’s joy. We don’t have to live at a frenetic pace; we can let God’s peace draw us in. We can let joy take a front seat for once. We can be amazed at the glimmers of hope we feel. We can lean into the joyfulness of the season, even if everything around us is hard. Doing so just might be a gift God is waiting for us to open. 

Jesus, God with us, offers a spirit of joy that can carry us through long after the holidays. There’s hope. There’s joy.

Christmas is coming, friends. May your heart be light. And may you have a very merry Christmas season. 

Today marks the third Sunday in the season of Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day.  Join us here at (in)courage each weekend in December and let’s count down to Christmas together. For daily Advent devotions, visit DaySpring.com — they are featuring (in)courage devotions each day this month! Sign up here to receive an email with one every day in December.

Make the season bright by reflecting on the gifts and promises from God. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the season, make time to quiet your heart and hear from His.

Can’t Steal the God Light!

by

I was helping my six-year-old get ready for school one morning when he looked at me and proclaimed, “Can’t steal the God Light!”

In our typical form of microphone singing, we proceeded to make a song about this proclamation. (Turns out, the acoustics in the bathroom are extraordinarily perfect for the both of us!) I’ve always known my son is full of insight beyond his years, but this godly nugget came as a surprise and made me pause in the best way. I love that about the little people. How profound!

Later, my son informed me that the “God Light” means God’s power and ability. He also shared that God’s power is so great, it cannot be stolen. As a visual person, I tried to put figurative imagery to this God Light. Taking cues from my lifelong memories of light, I thought up a list of simple visual metaphors:

Is the God Light like a flashlight, charged to shine on a wooded, forest pathway in the nighttime?

Is it an oil lamp, similar to the one my family kept in the back closet growing up, ready for use at all times?

Perhaps it’s like the sun at daybreak, a powerful illumination streaming over a dark horizon of wispy clouds?

Or a trusty beaming headlight for a wayward car?

My favorite fireworks show — perfectly timed for a summer’s night sky?

The lone closet light, a quiet early-morning place to pray after a long, sleepless night?

Oh, the internal light surrounding a person shining from with, lighting up a room with positive joy?

A fire pit giving warmth and utility, gathering friends and family for S’mores and fellowship?

Or an ever-present candle, a steady aromatic glow that feels like home?

A lantern, maybe — a hope we carry with us on our way?

Electrical energy, moving currents and charged power that feel scientific — we can’t explain it though we feel it?

Is the God Light like the stars? Uncontainable, numerous, and as vast as the universe?

Perhaps it’s like a lighthouse, a strong shelter to welcome weary travelers to safe shorelines?

Or the spectrum of visible light — waves of colors bringing beauty and bright to inform our everyday?

Alas, none of my visual metaphors can do justice. For, God’s light is too big, too vast, too powerful for our finite comprehension. Yet, still, His light is so near and reachable as He graciously shares a little bit of it with us. God’s beautiful light keeps us lifted and steady in this dark world that does not understand us. Without the God Light in and surrounding us, we would stumble when the night’s darkness presents. God’s light is life, and it is salvation and power. It is our strength to cancel out all fear and our direction so that our feet do not stumble.

Jesus told us that He is our light, fulfilling the promise of our propitiation: “I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life” John 8:12 (NKJV). He beckons us from darkness into His marvelous light, so that we can be the chosen people to proclaim His goodness and grace. God He has made a way for His light to shine in us so that we may know Him, experience Him, and share His glory with those who have yet to see Him illuminated.

It may be the case that, as my son’s memories are replaced by newer and older memories, my little one may not remember singing his “God Light” song with me in the bathroom. But it’s okay if he forgets the song, because I believe that, amidst our comings and goings and growings, Jesus is the good thing that cannot ever be taken away from us.

It is as my son said: the God Light can’t be stolen. It’s a gift we can choose and cherish. So . . . may we all continue to choose the precious God Light.

What the Sear’s Catalog Taught Me About Christmas

by

Pushing my face up against the icy window, I peered down the front drive anticipating the postman’s arrival. Every day I’d bundle up in my winter jacket to conquer the brisk Wisconsin weather and rush to the mailbox hoping that the coveted Sears Christmas catalog had finally arrived. Known as the “Wish Book” for an excellent reason, this thick catalog of joy heralded the start of the holiday season and gave generations of recipients permission to dream. Its arrival invited hope, anticipation, and a dream of something brighter for our future.

For younger generations who don’t understand the nostalgia, the 600-page catalog’s arrival was nearly as magical as Christmas itself. Long before massive malls and the internet invented impulse shopping, families huddled around one catalog that introduced us to products we could never have imagined and gave names to wishes we never knew we had. We poured over every page, circled our favorite things, and dog-eared dozens of pages. I’d never own most of my circled wishes, but it didn’t stop the anticipation, especially for a fluffy, stuffed dog. I’d cut some of the catalog pages up to make paper dolls and glued popsicle sticks to create small puppets, enjoying imaginative playtime.

Anticipation was palpable, but my expectations weren’t exorbitant. Hope was alive in my dog-wishing eyes.

Is anyone else walking down memory lane with me during a simpler time of Christmas? The Wish Book was our Amazon storefront, yet credit cards were rare, so people only spent what they’d saved. With no “buy now” buttons, often seasons of waiting occurred before we received our most anticipated present. That’s why on my eighth Christmas, I knew I’d get the pink, stuffed dog. It’s all I wanted.

On Christmas morning, my mom handed me the coveted present. I tore through the wrapping paper to unveil a… china doll. What little girl wants a fragile china doll? Disappointment descended. I couldn’t hug or play with her and definitely couldn’t sleep with her at night. It’s not what I had hoped for or expected. The next few years I continued receiving china dolls and my little girl longings became intimately acquainted with unmet expectations.

Do you recall a season like that? When your hope wavered over something far more significant than a stuffed animal? Maybe you’re experiencing it now. Broken family ties, financial hardship, sickness, or loss? Is it wrong to prepare our hearts for unmet expectations this season?

Advent signifies a time to reflect on God’s faithfulness through history. A time of preparation and anticipation as we train our hearts to wait and celebrate the Savior’s promised return. But for the Hebrew people, Jesus’s arrival ushered in a season of unmet expectations within their lingering impatience.

After the Old Testament prophets foretold the coming of the Messiah, the Israelites entered four hundred years of silence when God didn’t say a word. Yes, He was still alive and active, preparing a far better future than we could anticipate. But when Jesus finally came, He crushed their “Wish Book” expectations. His humble beginning wouldn’t make catalog-worthy content because their culture associated the coming of a Jewish king with conquering power and prestige — while the Savior took on flesh as a swaddled babe.

Who could have envisioned their long-awaited King born in a stable, not a castle; raised as a pauper, not a prince?

When Jesus approached Jerusalem for His triumphant entry, the Jewish people expected He’d storm in on a warrior’s horse, establish a political kingdom, vanquish Rome by force, and be crowned King. Instead, Jesus declared His kingdom was not of this world (John 18:36). People didn’t recognize Him. He preached of everlasting life, rather than a prosperous one, and modeled how to serve others rather than be served (Matthew 20:28).

It’s easy to dream of a Norman Rockwell “Wish Book” holiday with family gatherings, meaningful traditions, and white twinkle lights galore. But in God’s upside-down kingdom, Advent reminds us that Christmas also comes with a great cost. Jesus came with a choice that cost Him everything. His life for ours. Definitely not what people expected, but the greatest gift worth everything. Hope eternal which far surpasses any other expectation.

So as I light our Advent candles one at a time, I remember unmet expectations flipped upside down by the One who sears the darkness, thwarts oppression, reconciles the divided, and bridges the chasm of death to life. Our Redeemer who comes amid both excitement and disappointment to meet our greatest longing and invite us to encounter Him anew.

I continued receiving china dolls for ten more Christmases — ten years of Sears catalog disappointment. But a few years after I received that first doll, my dad plowed through the kitchen on my birthday with the most ginormous, stuffed pink dog in his arms. Larger than me and more grand than I ever imagined, my unmet expectations were blown away with this dream coming to fruition.

In my years of longing and waiting, I almost missed that my future held something far better than I could ask or imagine.

It’s probably not a pink dog, but our King is doing the same for you (Ephesians 3:20).

What are you anticipating this Advent season?

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

When You Shatter Like a Broken Plate

by

I’m not sure what happened.

In my memory, the plate barely touched the countertop when it broke into pieces. I wasn’t banging around in anger, and I wasn’t being careless — but I was moving quickly. Emptying the dishwasher is my kids’ chore and I can only convince myself to do it if I race against the clock (or, in this case, the microwave timer).

So there I was, moving at a completely reasonable speed with a reasonable amount of care, but when I set a plate on the counter, it shattered.

Immediately I stopped and stared at the pieces of pottery in front of me. It was a dish we’d registered for when my husband and I got married — 25 years ago. Fine, it wasn’t a new plate. It had been used hundreds of times over its lifetime. Perhaps it was just worn out? (Do plates get worn out?)

I’m not sure why that plate was primed to break, but it was. It was fragile for some reason I couldn’t see, and with just the slightest bump on the hard counter, that plate fell apart.

Maybe you can relate? Yes, to the plate — the one that seemed just fine until it wasn’t.

I’ve certainly been the plate before. Many times, if I’m honest. I’m going along, living a normal day, and then one small bump in the road rips my “everything’s fine” mask off my face and ruins my entire day. One inconvenience, perceived slight, or even a sincere question, and I’m falling apart, unsure of what happened or how I got to this shattered state.

Perhaps for you it looks like holding it together through a stressful morning and then losing your mind when your sweater catches on the doorknob. Or staying calm all day long when customers or coworkers try your patience, only to yell at the people you truly care for at home. Or it’s facing unprecedented time after unprecedented time with faith and fortitude, forging ahead no matter what the world throws at you until the day a health crisis stops you in your tracks and your body forces you to deal with all the things you’ve ignored or pretended to handle.

So, what do we do about this?

While I can’t tell you how to stop feeling like the plate sometimes, there’s something important we can learn from it. When life’s bumps cause us to break, we don’t have to stay shattered. Instead of pushing our feelings aside or pretending everything is fine, we can acknowledge the cracks and invite God into the mess. He sees every fragile moment, and He’s never surprised or unprepared to hold us together again.

Here’s what that broken plate is teaching me:

When we find ourselves crying “for no reason” or falling apart without notice or provocation, it’s time to stop. Take a moment and ask yourself what’s actually behind the emotion pouring out. Try asking, “What am I actually upset about right now?” and then, if you can, go deeper and ask, “Why does that upset me?”

Then, before you move on, clean up the mess. When we’re talking about a broken plate, that means sweeping up the shards and slivers and putting them in a paper bag. But when we’re talking about our own brokenness sneaking up on us, that might mean doing some deep breathing or taking a walk or drinking some tea.

On a larger scale, cleaning up “your broken plate” might mean making an appointment with your counselor, taking a break from the thing that was your last straw, or apologizing to anyone who was collateral damage during your breakdown. It also might mean asking God to give you courage to face what’s underneath the brokenness and to help you process whatever has left you fragile.

And that’s both the good news and our third step: remembering God is with us.

Jesus is here when we fall apart and He cares deeply about what we’re facing and how we’re feeling about it. So many times in Scripture we see Jesus help people understand and deal with the issues beneath their outward expressions of pain. Over and over, He saw people suffering and stopped to ask, “What do you [really] want?”

Luke 18 tells the story of Jesus healing a blind man. When the disciples heard the man begging Jesus for help, they told him to be quiet. They saw his emotional outburst as a nuisance. But Jesus heard the man’s heart and had mercy on him, asking him what he needed and then offering it to him freely. (Luke 18:35-42)

Jesus isn’t surprised by our unexpected emotions, and He isn’t bothered by the sudden appearance of our pain. When we lash out or blow up, when our brokenness becomes sharp edges that can so easily cut, Jesus doesn’t condemn us. Instead, He protects us and shows us the way to repair what’s broken.

This life is hard, and we will all experience times when it becomes too much. We may keep pushing ahead, through the pain and the struggle and the fear and the confusion, but at some point, we just can’t push anymore. When that happens and we find ourselves shattered into a pile of broken pottery, Jesus is there.

If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.
Psalm 34:18 MSG

 

Listen to Mary’s devotion below or anywhere podcasts stream.

That’s Not Fair and I Want Justice

by

Not long ago, I was reading Matthew 5 in my Bible and said to myself, “Holy moly! The Lord is setting us straight.” I barely got through three paragraphs when I began feeling the conviction. Today, we’ll just talk about one of the paragraphs.

In Matthew 5:38-39 (NLT), Jesus says: 

“You have heard the law that says the punishment must match the injury: ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say, do not resist an evil person! If someone slaps you on the right cheek, offer the other cheek also.”

When I read this Scripture I immediately thought about how I feel when I’m driving in heavy traffic and get cut off by someone in a hurry. Or when I’m on a highway and the lane is ending, so all the cars have to merge into one lane, and there’s always that one person who feels entitled to pass everyone else in line. (Until a truck driver takes up both lanes and blocks the selfish line-cutter. At that moment, the lover of justice inside me cheers.)

Yet, Jesus’s words reveal an entirely different way of thinking:

Instead of retaliating when someone does something wrong or rejoicing in their punishment, what if I could let it go? What if it’s okay that they cut in front of me? In this Scripture, Jesus is teaching His followers how not to retaliate when someone does something selfish or hurtful.

But you know what? These words don’t sit very well with me. They push on the part of me that desires justice. It isn’t fair, I think. It isn’t fair how the person who cuts me off in traffic or the grocery line seemingly gets away with it.

However, Jesus isn’t telling us to seek fairness. He’s asking us to examine the condition of our hearts. Jesus wants our hearts to look like His heart, and our actions to look like His actions.

As Paul writes:

“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!”
Philippians 2:5-8 NIV

Jesus gave everything for us and nothing done to Him was ever fair. Jesus came to serve, not to be served. He did not come to make things fair but to make a way for people to have a restored relationship with Him! He invites us to follow His ways and be His ambassadors. And while this sounds good and beautiful, the truth is we often don’t want to do this — I often don’t want to do this.

It seems wrong and unjust to allow people to treat us unfairly without putting up a fight or defending ourselves. But that’s not how the Kingdom of Heaven works. As children of God, we’re not called to fight and fend for ourselves but to follow in Jesus’s footsteps and forgive those who hurt us. In Matthew 5:40-42 (NLT), Jesus says, “If you are sued in court and your shirt is taken from you, give your coat, too. If a soldier demands that you carry his gear for a mile, carry it two miles. Give to those who ask, and don’t turn away from those who want to borrow.”

Truth is, we don’t want to do this. It goes against everything we’ve been taught. We tend to think that if we give — whether of our time, strength, or resources — we will no longer have enough. But Jesus is showing us how investments work in His Kingdom. He knows that the Father will honor whatever we give, even if giving, serving, or loving feels unfair or undeserved. Surely, forgiveness and generosity are hallmarks of God’s character that we get to receive and are called to share with others. 

The next time someone cuts you off in traffic, hurts your feelings, or treats you unfairly, rather than retaliating, remember the invitation to participate in God’s kingdom. Forgive quickly. Serve eagerly. Love freely. Release the need for fairness and choose the mindset of Jesus — knowing that, in the end, the God of justice will right every wrong. 

People around you may not understand your choice to “offer the other cheek.” 

But remember the words of Jesus: “You have heard . . . but I say.”

Then, respond just like He would.

 

Listen to Tyra’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast player!

Preparation for Peaceful Holiday Celebrations: One Decision at a Time

by

A few years ago, I worked hard to throw a great celebration for our family. I spent a lot of time shopping, cooking, planning activities, and — I’m not going to lie — spending money. I wanted to give everyone some time off so they could sit back and not have to do anything. I wanted that three-day weekend to feel special for everyone.

But I didn’t realize that prioritizing everyone’s relaxation was setting myself up for things to go perfectly or for me to be really disappointed.

You’ll never guess which way things went.

The downward spiral kicked off when my son said something funny but sarcastic and, as it turns out, hurtful. I was crushed. I wanted to yell, “Do you know how hard I worked to make this great for all of you?”

But of course, they didn’t know — because I hadn’t invited anyone else into the process.

I had stayed up until midnight making extra food, when I should have spent that time with the people I love. Because by the time they filled up on appetizers, no one had room for all of my side dishes anyway.

In my effort to relieve my loved ones’ stress, I was only adding more to my own.

As a people-pleasing oldest daughter, I’ve often felt I must shoulder the responsibility alone. But I’ve learned I don’t have to stay alone. So much hurt, disappointment, and discouragement can be avoided by having conversations about expectations and sharing the load.

I love how the Message expresses Proverbs 21:5:  “Careful planning puts you ahead in the long run; hurry and scurry puts you further behind.”

I have lived most of my life in hurry and scurry.

But no more, friend …

I’m making a shift in how I approach family gatherings and I’m hoping you will too.

Because this holiday, I’m not worried about whether your son gets the cologne he wants or your sister gets the KitchenAid she’s been talking about since last year, or your husband or dad or uncle gets served the perfect slice of pie.

Beloved, my concern is for you. You, the one who wants to make sure everyone is happy. The one who has somehow been assigned to make sure that no one is upset or disappointed. The one who knows everyone’s triggers and is trying to keep them from all going off at the same time.

Beloved, I am worried about you.

Make your list. Right now. And then start asking …

  • What others can bring
  • Who can pick up grandma
  • Who can take over all the desserts
  • Who will be in charge of dishes

And next year?

What parts of that list can someone else take over completely?

Could your husband take over logistics? Could your daughter take over meal planning? Could you and your brother trade hosting duties each year? Deciding now will relieve a lot of stress in the months and years to come.

We are on the countdown to Christmas. What practical decisions could you make right now to ensure the next two weeks are a little more peaceful and a lot more joy-filled? Start with small changes.

Embrace the power of one small decision at a time:

Eliminate One Dish
Does your family need every single dish you make each year? We decided, for this one meal, it’s okay not to have a salad. And even though we bought two different kinds of apple pies at the fall festival, we’ll only defrost and bake one. We’ll save the other one for the middle of January when we want a pick-me-up.

Delegate One Dish
What is one dish you normally make that you can hand off to someone else in the family? Maybe it’s time your son learned how to make the family’s broccoli and cheddar casserole and carry on the tradition.

Set One Boundary
Practice having kind but clear conversations about your expectations this holiday season. You can’t fix every family fracture, but you can set the tone for the holiday meal around your table. If your aunt can’t keep her political opinions to herself, let her know that the table needs to be a safe place for everyone, and she is free to call and have those conversations with individuals before or after the holiday, but not during the celebration.

Progress, Not Perfection
This is where you will need to embrace imperfect progress and protect your peace. (And at the same time, protect the peace of those you love.) Maybe you can’t solve all the issues that make your holiday gatherings difficult, but you can make small changes that allow you to host the celebration you want.

Peaceful holidays won’t come from just hoping everyone magically does what is needed. But manage one small decision at a time and you can throw a great celebration that everyone enjoys, including you.

In Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV) Jesus says:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

What a relief that we don’t have to carry the weight of perfection, people-pleasing, or holiday expectations alone. Christ invites us to surrender our burdens, partner with Him, and find rest in His grace.

Let’s lean into this truth as we prepare for the holidays, making room for peace — not through doing everything perfectly, but through trusting Him and inviting others to share the load. This mindset shift can lead to the joy-filled gatherings their hearts long for.

Want some help making decisions about what’s for dinner? Check out Kathi’s latest cookbook, Sabbath Soup: Weekly Menus and Rhythms to Make Space for a Day of Rest.

 

Listen to Kathi’s article anywhere you stream the (in)courage podcast!

When Rage-Walking Becomes Prayer

by

Many of us have heard the adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Isn’t it striking how easily we can recall that familiar phrase, yet just as vividly remember the hurtful words spoken to us — words that have lingered in our hearts for decades? Scripture would disagree with the notion that “words will never hurt” and so would my own life experience.

In the Book of James, we learn that words can bring life or death – that the tongue isn’t something to underestimate.

Throughout the anti-Asian violence that heightened during the pandemic, when dehumanizing language like “China virus” was tossed around like confetti, I started rage-walking and I learned how to lament with others.

The problem with dehumanizing language isn’t just that it’s hurtful or that it’s a lie; dehumanizing language normalizes dehumanizing people who are made in the image of God.

In Asian American communities, many of us saw the impact of specific dehumanizing words. A quick look at national or international history will provide a plethora of similar examples of the dire harm of dehumanizing language and where it always leads if allowed to take root.

I experienced so much internal churning during that time that all I could do was move. This past month, my body, recalling that season and carrying the weight of grief and fear about what may lie ahead, has needed the same movement and prayer all over again.

Triumphant, cheerful worship and shallow platitudes didn’t help throughout that time and they still don’t do a thing to help me move through my grief, anger, or sadness. What does help is journaling my prayers, letting others know how I actually feel, and inviting them into the expression of those feelings. And I rage-walk to pray when I need to. What begins with rage — sadness like a storm stuck under my skin — is given to God, one step at a time, until my body can slow down and rest; until I’m aware of how safe and held I am by God, who isn’t displeased with or overwhelmed by my rage, and whose arms are open wide to my lament.

There was a time when I thought that standing up and slapping on a smile was spiritual. There was a time when I felt I had to keep my sadness, and especially my anger, to myself, lest I disrupt some appearance of unity or reveal that something was wrong with me. I lived as if I had to prove to God and others how faithful or faith-filled I was — how nice and pleasant I could be.

Spoiler alert: it proves nothing except that one can learn to pretend. And beyond that, it is utterly exhausting. No one, and I repeat, no one, is drawn to people who seem so out of touch with their own lives and the lives of their neighbors that they smile and carry on while the (figurative) houses around them burn down.

Can you imagine how different the story would be if Jesus, instead of weeping alongside His dear friends with the news of Lazarus’s death, was smiling, with eyes toward heaven, and said something like, “Don’t worry, God is still on the throne!”

I know things like that are often said to offer encouragement. We smile or bypass the pain of others with spiritual nuggets because we don’t know what else to do. Maybe our own pain has been bypassed in this way for most of our lives.

I love how Dr. Alison Cook, author of I Shouldn’t Feel This Way and The Best of You, defines spiritual bypassing: “Spiritual bypassing simply means that you use spiritual concepts, platitudes, or activities to “bypass” or avoid dealing with your true feelings, especially the hard ones like anger, grief, fear, loneliness, envy, and shame.” 

A month ago, I was having a terrible week. I found myself whispering countless breath prayers of “help” and “why” with plenty of rage-walking — until I finally felt held.

At some point, I invited others into my rage and grief. I asked others to lament (express grief) with me. A group of women showed up on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday, and for hours we sat around my dining room table, refiling our coffee and tea as needed while sharing our fears, outrage, loneliness, and grief. All of it was welcome.

What’s true and bears repeating is that sticks, stones, and words can damage all of us.

What’s true and bears repeating is that it’s okay to feel rage.

What’s true and bears repeating again and again, is that communal lament is a womb for collective hope.

What’s true is that God comes and stays close enough to each of us to catch all of our tears, no matter how many. And not just the tears that fall pretty.

As my friends and I sat and ate and held space for one another, I silently wondered, “Who holds the tears of God?”

And as I listened to my friends, I thought, It’s us. All of us. We hold God’s tears when we hold the tears of one another.

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts. 

Love’s Twinkling Glory

by

Friend, we invite you to light a candle or cozy up with your favorite hot drink and savor today’s passage from Scripture:

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)

May these ancient words from The Great Love Story 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 quick pace of the season’s hustle and bustle sweeps 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, promising His love will be with us!

May the truth of this ancient story light your spirit with fresh hope.

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

Today marks the second Sunday in the season of Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day.  Join us here at (in)courage each weekend in December and let’s count down to Christmas together. For daily Advent devotions, visit DaySpring.com — where you’ll find (in)courage stories each day this month! Sign up here to receive one each day via email in December.

Make the season bright by reflecting on the gifts and promises from God. Amid the fullness of the season, make space to quiet your heart and listen for His.

Let’s Trade the Magic of Christmas for the Miracle of “With Us”

by

Chubby little preschooler hands wrapped around treasured ornaments as I tried my best to oversee the decorating of our tree.

My boys were young, barely out of diapers and — try as I might to make some sort of magic out of decorating — the noise of my young sons arguing over who would hang the ornaments meant the whole experience felt more like barely-controlled chaos than magical memory-making.

“I need a break,” I whispered under my breath and to my husband. Then, I hastily locked myself in my room for a moment to reset and calm myself from overstimulation.

It was there, in the quieter-but-not-all-that-quiet space that I realized the weight of pressure had settled on me. I was reminded of something deeper: Christmas was never about creating magic. It’s always been about resting in the miracle. The miracle of with — God with us. 

The story of Christmas is not one of glittering perfection or elaborate plans. It’s the story of a quiet, unassuming night when God chose to step into our world, taking on the form of a newborn baby. A baby, small and fragile, held by a young mother in the simplest of settings. No grand entrance, no dazzling display — just the everyday miracle of with. Immanuel with His young mother. God with us. 

In this season of motherhood, I often find myself striving for the grand, the special, the unforgettable. Elaborately-written rhymes that create a scavenger hunt for birthday presents. Steam train rides and small-town parades to kick off the Christmas season. I want my children to feel the magic. But what if the best thing I can offer them isn’t magic at all? What if, instead, I choose presence? What if I choose to slow down and be fully with them, to honor the miracle of God’s presence by offering them mine? 

Isaiah 7:14 (NIV) says, “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” Immanuel means God with us, which means this truth — God with us — is the heart of Christmas. It’s a tender reminder that we don’t have to manufacture something extraordinary. For, the extraordinary has already come. God has come near, not in flashes of brilliance but in quiet, humble closeness. And, in response to this miracle, I can offer the same to my children. Rather than trying to create the perfect Christmas, I can rest in being a mother who chooses to be her children in the mess, the noise, the everyday moments. 

When I think of that first Christmas, I picture Mary cradling her newborn, wrapped not in luxury but in love. Her quiet presence was enough because it mirrored the very nature of God’s heart — a God who didn’t come with fanfare, but with nearness. That’s the gift I want to give my children this year. Not mere perfection, not more things . . . but more of me.

So, this year, I’m letting go of the pressure to make Christmas magical. I’m choosing to step into the miracle of “God with us” by being fully present with my children. I want them to remember not the perfectly decorated house or the stack of presents, but the warmth of a mother who slowed down, who listened, who laughed with them and looked into their eyes.

I want my home to echo the heartbeat of that first Christmas — simple, humble, and full of love. A place where my children feel seen, not because I created a magical wonderland, but because I gave them the gift of my attention, my time, my presence. 

This Christmas, let’s release the need to create something magical. Instead, let’s honor the miracle of God with us by being with our children, our families, and those dearest to us. Let’s show them that they, too, are seen, loved, and valuable — not for what they do or what they bring but simply for who they are. Just as Christ came to be with us, we can choose to be with the ones we love.

May our presence offer a love that reflects the greatest miracle of all.

When We Need Jesus’s Hope Now More Than Ever

by

In my historical Victorian neighborhood, families might put up two, three, or even four Christmas trees during the holiday season. The first tree is usually the fanciest. This one tends to face the street. This is the Instagram-ready tree that’s draped with the loveliest or most impressive ornaments and a fancy foliage vibe that screams, “Look, we’ve got our act together this Christmas!”

Tree number two tends to be the family tree. This one has a homemade look that only the people living within the walls love. This is where the kids’ perfectly imperfect ornaments rest for a few weeks each year. In my opinion, this tree isn’t complete unless there’s a saltdough candy cane created by a second-grader or a Scotch-taped construction paper wreath with a snaggle-tooth photo of an elementary school kid. This is the tree that we smile at each night after the kids go to sleep or we linger by if our kids are grown up and out of our home.

Looking at our Christmas trees evokes all kinds of emotions. But do you realize that whether you put up four or none or one Christmas tree in your home, we all tend to pop up emotional Christmas trees in our hearts?  

Our emotional Christmas trees are decorated with a mix of internal ornaments like memories, expectations, and anticipation. When we’re feeling upbeat and joyful, other bright and shiny bulbs like joy, gratitude, peace, and hope hang from the branches and light up our hearts. Since life isn’t perfect, the less-than-popular bulbs like past holiday hurts, resentment, unrealistic expectations, and holiday fears take up their space on the tree, too. Even if we don’t acknowledge our bah-humbug baubles, they are there.  

Maybe, your emotional Christmas tree is filled with memories of past, happier Christmases, and this year, you feel like you’ve been robbed because life isn’t the same and you miss that old life. Perhaps, your heart tree is anxious because nothing has gone as planned, or it’s overwhelmed because you have way too many plans.   

Today is an invitation for you to tend to your inner emotional Christmas tree and believe that God can light up your heart with hope. Will you give God that chance so that you can experience all His best blessings this holiday season? It’s so easy to let the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season camouflage or even cover up what’s happening inside of us. Can we agree that smiling on the outside, but suffering on the inside is no way to spend the holiday season?

Eight Christmas seasons ago, I didn’t have the strength to decorate any of the Christmas trees in my home because of a marriage separation, and my oldest child left for a year-long military assignment two weeks after Thanksgiving. My emotional Christmas tree was overloaded with sadness, grief, fear, and pain, and I almost gave up on celebrating Christmas. The a-ha moment came as John 1 reminded me that Jesus’s hope was bright enough to light up the dark pain in my heart, even if my circumstances didn’t change:

“The Word gave life to everything that was created,
and his life brought light to everyone.
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness can never extinguish it.”
John 1:4-5 NLT

In my dark season, Jesus’s light provided the path that I needed to walk through that time in my life. His gift of peace (John 14:27) calmed my chaotic heart so that I could see the evidence of God’s constant care for me.

As a practical way of living this out, I decided to create a visual reminder. I bought a pack of large wooden cutout ornaments and wrote the words on the front that I desired to reflect in my heart with a matching verse on the back. Hanging these on a Christmas tree reminded me of the attitude and gratitude that I wanted to hang out in my heart.

Here are a few examples:

JOY – Always be joyful. (1 Thessalonians 5:16 NLT)

HOPE – I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in Him. (Romans 15:13 NLT)

PEACE – Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you. (1 Peter 5:7 NLT)

GRATITUDE – Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever. (1 Chronicles 16:34 NLT)

What if you took time this Christmas season to invite God to decorate your inner emotional Christmas tree with the good gifts that He gives? Whether you decorate ornaments with verses or put these verses in your phone as a reminder, the more you focus on the light that Jesus’ life brings, the more your heart will shine that light out in a world that needs Jesus’s hope now more than ever.

Article by Barb Roose from the archives and featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

The winter issue of DaySpring’s Everyday Faith magazine is out, and you’re going to love it!

From cover to cover, you will find stories and articles in Everyday Faith magazine to inspire hope, encourage your heart, and remind you that you are loved by God.

With Thanksgiving just behind us and Christmas and the new year just around the corner, there is so much to celebrate and find gratitude in right now! In this issue, you’ll enjoy uplifting stories, meaningful quotes, heartfelt prayers, practical resources, and tangible truth straight from God’s Word that will allow you to pause and reflect on the reason for the season.

The article above is just one of many featured in Everyday Faith magazine, which is perfect for gifting to a friend, Bible study sister, Sunday School teacher, or neighbor. And to help you do just that, we’re giving away* FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend!

Leave a comment telling us to whom you’d gift a copy, and we’ll draw five winners.

*Giveaway is open to US addresses only and will close on 12/13/24 at 11:59 pm central. 

 

The Best Advent I Never Had

by

Every year I think it’s going to be different. (Every year it winds up the same.)

I buy a bright new devotional. I restock the candles for our wreath. I make the kids a countdown calendar, complete with chocolate and small surprises for each day of December.

But then life interrupts — every time.

I never finish the devotional. We forget to light the candles and say the prayers at dinner. Kids end up fighting over the chocolate more than enjoying the daily surprise. I find myself wandering store aisles at 10:00 p.m. on December 22, head throbbing, feet aching, trying to buy something for someone, who knows who.

Advent never turns out the way I want. All those perfect versions of the-best-holiday-season-ever? They only live in my mind, never the reality under my roof.

My dirty little secret, whispered from one woman’s ear to another, is that I love Advent — waiting for God in the quiet dark — but I don’t love December.

This year, I foolishly thought I would be on top of everything for Christmas because I’d be recovering from surgery during November, so I’d have plenty of time to make plans from my recovery bed and order everything online. (Are you laughing yet? Go right ahead.)

What I did instead was sleep. Rest. Recover. Exactly what my body and soul needed.

Now I find myself standing sheepishly (ok, sitting, still tired) on the threshold of a new season, utterly unprepared for what comes next.

This is exactly where Advent is supposed to find us. The point is to prepare for Christ’s coming, not to wear ourselves out before Christmas Eve. The purpose of the season is to humble us back into love for our Savior, not to try and save the season ourselves.

So this year, as my body recovered and my scars healed, I decided to do the most obvious thing. I asked God what I should do for Advent, since every best intention I’d made in the past had always fallen short. I was tired of ending up with another Advent that felt too fast, too fleeting, and too cluttered with holiday chaos before December 25th even dawned.

Do you know what I heard back in prayer? (It’s so simple, I’m almost embarrassed.)

God told me to sit on the couch. And do nothing.

In all seriousness, the strongest response I felt to my prayer was the call to sit my do-too-much self down in our family room, ignore the mess around me, and spend time with God. Maybe read something. Maybe pray in the quiet. Maybe do nothing.

I heard the message loud and clear to stop, slow down, and seek God. Right in the chaos of the busiest month of the year.

For a few weeks, I felt foolish about this non-plan for Advent. Friends were sharing their shiny, starry-eyed plans for spiritual disciplines or memory-making family celebrations, and I was going to sit on my lumpy couch and stare at the kids’ toys on the floor?

But you can’t ignore the voice of God when it comes clearly and won’t quit. I know what I’ll be doing this December, and it’s less.

The smallness of the Scriptures surrounding Jesus’s birth never fails to surprise me. What we know to be the biggest event in human history happened in backwater Bethlehem on a quiet night that almost no one noticed. The Gospels don’t share story after story of everything that happened to Mary and Joseph in the days and months around Christ’s coming; they offer only a handful of short stories that leave much to our imagination — a reminder of how God’s best work is often hidden, slow, quiet, and countercultural.

But the prophets remind us how God’s under-the-radar work was precisely the plan:

“But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.”
Micah 5:2 NRSVUE

If the Holy One whose birth is the reason for the season saw fit to come among our chaos as Emmanuel — God-with-us who shared our humanity as a helpless baby — who am I to think doing one-more-thing will add to the beauty and wonder of Christmas?

All we have to do is open up our lives in small ways to receive the Christ Child again. To say yes like Mary. To let our plans be turned upside down like Joseph. To welcome even the strangest of nudges in prayer, like the call to do less — to stop rushing, slow down, and seek the voice of the God we wait to welcome again.

If you care to join me on the couch this Advent, feel free to shove aside whatever mess you find and make yourself comfortable. Slowly, quietly, surely, God will meet us right where we are, all over again.

For We Are Saved By Hope

by

The surgeon says my bones are strong. Strong enough to remove the splint that immobilized my arm after surgery, and to do so a week earlier than planned so my elbow wouldn’t lock in place. Strong enough to attach a plate to the solid bone on either end to hold my shattered upper arm together.

Still, hearing those words and believing life will ever feel normal again are two different things.

Not a minute of my (waking) day goes by when I’m not aware of my arm. Invisible stitches pull it taut from the inside, even when the muscles feel relaxed to the touch. There’s an odd disconnect between how it feels on the outside and on the inside; the mixed signals confuse me.

Recently, I saw a verse in Romans that resonated with me: “For we are saved by hope …” (Romans 8:24 KJV) Because I’ve experienced times in the past when I couldn’t find hope, I know its absence cripples me.

Hope is crucial to my existence, especially now.

When I was thinking weeks ago about writing this article, it thrilled me when I easily pinpointed a topic. (Any (in)courage contributor can confirm the search for a topic often takes longer than the writing.) I jotted down some thoughts weeks in advance of my deadline. I felt so ahead of the game.

And then I began to lose hope, and couldn’t write about it.

I should’ve seen the signs I was sliding into hopelessness: I quit filling my diffusers each morning. I woke up one day and decided I didn’t feel like editing my novel. (I’m a workaholic; I could work on the book 24/7). I spent more time dwelling on things I couldn’t do instead of what I could.

Will I be able to hold my new grandchild in March?

Will I ever throw a baseball or go bowling again?

When will I be able to lie on my side comfortably?

Day after day, I told myself I wanted to return to the curb where I tripped, fell, and shattered my arm, but I always found an excuse not to go: I was too tired. I didn’t want to go after dark. And the one I didn’t say out loud: I was afraid all the pain and frustration trapped inside of me since August would break through, that I’d start screaming and wouldn’t know how to stop.

But I knew I needed to muster enough hope to write this article. I needed to move forward again.

So my husband took me to Costco, and I stood on the sidewalk where I fell that awful August day. I went to occupational therapy twice a week, and I asked hard questions about my prognosis. I stopped avoiding discomfort and started to lean into it.

Pain will pave my path to progress. So be it.

For years, I’ve tried to translate my experiences into something relatable to other women, but I know in my bones I’ll find few who share this exact one. Most of us, however, know how it feels to lose hope. To look at our circumstances and struggle to see a way out or a way forward. To lie in bed at night, unsure how to pray because you can’t envision anything that could make things right.

Hope can be even harder to find during the holidays when our pockets may be empty and our relationships strained. When the expectation to decorate all the things, feed all the people, and buy all the presents can stretch our resources and crush our spirits.

But God answers prayer in wildly creative ways. He cares about us. He isn’t restricted by the limited scope of our imaginations (Isaiah 55:8-9 KJV). I think back to a few years ago when I was under an unrealistic book deadline and I came down with shingles in my left eye. Thankfully, I received a four-month extension and turned in a book I was proud of instead of something rushed. It sounds crazy, but that case of shingles was an answer to prayer.

Ours is not only the God of hope but also the giver of it:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Don’t despair, for we are saved by hope.

 

Listen to today’s devotion below or on the (in)courage podcast!