In Our Lack, He Draws Closer

In Our Lack, He Draws Closer

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I hung up the phone with my friend, her words echoing across my mind and heart. I’ve thought about her words hundreds of times since she said them to me last November. “There is no such thing as too much love,” she said. “Only a lack of it.” 

I have fought the fear of too-much-ness my whole life. I’ve felt too loud, too different, too eccentric, too weird, too awkward, too strong-willed, too passionate. I have felt like I needed to withhold love if only to protect my too-soft heart from ever breaking. But my friend’s words pierced something within me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake them.

What if there’s no such thing as too much? 

I think about my sister and the love she has for her kids. Whenever my niece or nephew fall, their cries swelling in the room, my sister goes to them. I’ve watched her do this hundreds of times. She’ll scoop them into her arms, intertwining her body with theirs, bringing them close. She holds them as tight as she can, and slowly their crying stops and their breathing deepens. 

She draws near to them, as close as she can possibly get. She can never get too close. Her love for them is never too much. 

God does the same with us. Like a mother hearing the cry of her child, God came ever close. God – who formed the stars with His hands and sprinkled galaxies we’ll never even know about – allowed His body to grow within the body of a teenage girl, the closest fathomable human connection, bodies tangled and intertwined together. 

God drew near, as close as anyone could possibly get. As His muscles and lungs and fingernails formed in her womb, He drew nearer to dwell with us. He came to all who lacked. Jesus often seemed to surround Himself with poor and unspectacular people. A teenage girl. A step-dad who wanted to choose divorce. A group of shepherds whose names we never even learn. 

They all lacked, and yet He came closer. Their lack was never something to keep Jesus at bay. He can never get too close. His love is never too much.

If you are lacking, or if you feel too much, know that God is not held back. He comes closer and closer. He hears your cries. He holds your hand. He wants to sit with you as you tell Him your story, as you pour out your fears, as you lean your head against His chest. He is as close as the skin on your body, as close as the air that you breathe. He comes nearer and nearer and nearer still. Having or being or offering enough is not a prerequisite for nearness with God. He has always been coming closer and closer. He always had a plan to dwell with us. He is always near.

There is no such thing as too much love, only a lack of it. But here’s the thing: Jesus lacks nothing. And with Him dwelling within you, you don’t lack anything either.

When it feels like I don’t have anything to offer God, when I come to Him with nothing but empty hands and a worn-out heart, He takes my lack and gives me something in return: far more love than I could ever fathom. 

It’s more than I could ever deserve. But with God, I can step past my fears of too-much and step into the abundance He offers me. 

He pours out His love, lavishing it. In our lack, He comes closer and closer still. 

 

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We Can Bear Witness to the Glory of God in Each Other

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Each year at the start of the Advent season, I find myself thinking about Mary, the mother of Jesus. This teenage girl was to be a womb for God, the mother of His one and only son. That day when the angel Gabriel came to her, I imagine light refracting in all directions in her humble home in Nazareth. I have three daughters hovering in the tween/teen years, close to Mary’s age. I can’t help but think about what it would be like if one of them received such outrageous and magnificent news from an angel wrapped in light.

Mary’s heart must have been racing like half a dozen horses galloping in her chest when Gabriel called her “the favored one.” I imagine she trembled when the angel revealed that her body would embody God Himself.

Pregnancy and birth is a season of uncertainty. The body of a pregnant mother stretches and morphs daily to build a sacred space for new life. I remember my midwife telling me that pregnancy is like your body climbing a mountain even when you’re not moving. (That certainly explained why I was so often exhausted during my three pregnancies!)

There is pain and purpose wrapped up in each moment as a mother waits for her anticipated child to arrive. I found this to be true also for my friends who waited and anticipated through months of an adoption journey.

I am inspired by Mary’s brave response to the angel Gabriel in Luke 1:38 (ESV): “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

There’s a distinct courage and unmistakable faith in Mary’s words even as she stands at the crossroads of so many unknowns. She risked her future with Joseph, her reputation, her life. Her “yes” was an invitation into a life of grief and glory.

After Mary’s encounter with the angel, she hustles to the hills to visit her older cousin Elizabeth, who is also pregnant as an angel predicted. (I like to call her Aunt Lizzie out of love and respect.) Aunt Lizzie was pregnant with John the Baptist, who was the cousin and forerunner of the Messiah in Mary’s womb. Aunt Lizzie was in her third trimester and Mary was in her first. Aunt Lizzie had been secluded for the first five months of her pregnancy, making this visit with Mary that much more meaningful. When the two women are united, the baby leaps inside Aunt Lizzie’s womb and she is filled with the Holy Spirit.

Aunt Lizzie offers up words of affirmation to Mary:

God has blessed you above all women, and your child is blessed. Why am I so honored, that the mother of my Lord should visit me? When I heard your greeting, the baby in my womb jumped for joy.
Luke 1:41-44 (NLT)

Mary needed Aunt Lizzie to provide confirmation, affirmation, and encouragement to her as the mother of the Prince of Peace everyone had been waiting for. She was to be the home for God wrapped in flesh. That was quite a job description for a teenager.

Aunt Lizzie needed Mary who would labor for her long-awaited Savior. She also needed a friend through her geriatric pregnancy, someone to celebrate and anticipate this long awaited birth with her.

Sometimes it takes another woman to help ground us and remind us of our God-given callings.

When I was a young mother, women like Serena, Michelle, Eunie, Chris, and Jane spoke life into me through our Bible studies and MOPS group. Today, as a writer, leader, and mom of girls, women like Jo, Tasha, Stephanie, Bev, and Vivian infuse me with courage and remind me of my gifts and calling.

Aunt Lizzie and Mary stayed together for three months. I imagine this was a sacred time when the two women delighted, commiserated, and prayed together, a sacred time of encouraging one another. These two chosen women — one older with wrinkles dancing across her cheeks, the other younger with eyes full of hope — were able to bear witness to His glory in each other. Mary probably stayed there in the hill country to celebrate the birth of John, who would also one day bear witness and affirm Jesus’ identity.

Friend, God designed us to bear witness to His glory in each other. We were not made to weather life’s storms or taste sweet victories alone.

Perhaps you are hurting today. Perhaps you are lonely and wondering if you really have what it takes to wake up tomorrow and continue on this life journey. Perhaps you are navigating loss, disappointment, and grief in this season. I want to encourage you to reach out, to connect, to find an Elizabeth or Mary among the women in your community.

Let’s choose to offer courage to each other. Let’s choose collaboration over comparison. Let’s bear witness to the glory of God in each other. Let’s be an Elizabeth or Mary to someone today. You and I were designed to flourish together.

Do you have an Elizabeth or Mary in your life? Tell us more about her in the comments. How has she infused you with courage?

Dorina has created a four-part, audio + print Advent devotional on the theme Rejoice! Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here to get a copy gently delivered to your inbox.

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A New Kind of Artful Conversation

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A few weeks ago, my husband and I spent a weekday morning at our local art museum, Newfields. The museum was hosting a series called “Artful Conversations,” and we signed up to attend without knowing exactly what we’d learn or encounter.

Standing by Robert Indiana’s gigantic LOVE sculpture with a handful of other strangers, we were greeted by an unassuming museum curator. He led our group into another area of the museum where we stood facing two large works of art: one wall tapestry, The Miraculous Draught of Fishes, made by Flemish artist Hendrik Mattens in the 1500s based on the design by Raphael, and another more modern wall sculpture called Duvor, made by Ghanaian artist El Anatsui in 2007.

The curator went on to describe the way he had been curating pieces in this particular wing of the museum by intentionally placing unexpected artwork duos side-by-side as if they were in conversation with one another and with us, the viewers. I’m not a visual artist; I admittedly don’t know that much about art. I’ve only been in a handful of art museums in various cities in the world, but in most of the museum experiences I’ve had, the artwork was arranged and separated by time period, location, or movement.

The experience of seeing art and thinking about what it was saying in this new combined way was fascinating. On one hand, I could hear Fiddler on the Roof’s “Tradition” playing in the back of my mind like a fearful protest. Yet on the other hand, I was enthralled by the way these two pieces — that no one would ever expect to have anything in common, that bridged generations and geography, worldview and experience, dark history and the hope of transformation — worked to illuminate one another. One made centuries ago with the finest materials of its time for an elite group of people, and the other, a modern work, made from recycled liquor bottle caps and copper wire as a statement “on consumerism, disposability, and the colonial legacy of the rum trade.”

I stood there staring at this intentional pairing thinking about how much like our Creator God it is. God, the ultimate Creator, Curator, Artist, Designer, Storyteller, Mathematician, Scientist, Gardener, Forester, and Accountant of every star, human teardrop, strand of hair, and grain of sand, has made the world to be diverse and to thrive together in and through diversity.

Like those works of art, we are a communal reflection of the immensity of our Creator God. We are a connected conversation that bears the weight of God’s image and love over space and time.

Similar to this museum wing experience of conversation and connectivity, I recently learned that in nature, it’s diverse forests that are the healthiest forests. The forests with the most variance and difference living side-by-side become the strongest. According to scientists, biodiverse forests are nourished more deeply because of their diversity and dependence, and in return, they are able to offer nourishment that stretches far and wide.

Diversity isn’t a trend, it’s a sacred system and divine intention for our nourishment and thriving.

In his lettered response to the church in Corinth thousands of years ago, the apostle Paul argued and exhorted our spiritual ancestors to remember that their diversity was their strength and divine design. They were intentionally placed side-by-side as walking works of art who make up the body of Christ, intentionally made to depend on one another.

“If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.”
1 Cor 12:17-19 (NIV)

After our day at the museum, I spent time further researching the artwork we saw that day. I learned the meaning of El Anatsui’s wall sculpture Duvor is communal cloth. Perhaps that ancient 16th century tapestry and this modern recycled sculpture had more in common than first meets the eye.

As we prepare for a new year, may we each seek to be our fully unique and connected part of the communal tapestry we were made to be.

This new year, may we allow those different from us to illuminate and weave together the image of God in us and vice versa.

This new year, may we be the body of Christ who is willing to be a new kind of artful conversation.

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When Mothers Travail in Birth Again, at Christmas

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Christmas began in a surge of bodily, motherly fluid. Blood and water, water and blood. Jesus didn’t come neatly — giving birth to the Savior of the world was not without pain.

I am nursing pain of my own, struck by the fact that blood and water still vividly convey the travail that Christmastime can bring to a mother’s soul. This Advent, I am sitting in a slew of questions. In many ways, I have nothing but question after question, upon a decade of waiting for answers. Such is life when you are the parent of a pigpen-dweller, the mother of sons who have run away from God. Yes. I have more than one son who cashed in on the reputation of a good father and ran away to live life on his own terms.

These would be easier words to type ten years ago. My fingers would not hover over the keyboard, straining for the meaning behind a decade of their wandering and my own bitter sorrow. All these years later, hope is no longer “a thrill” of hope. No, my hope is narcoleptic — though she waits her eyes are closed.

If writing is, as Hemingway alluded, “sitting at a typewriter and bleeding on the page,” then this digital page is a warm, red pool. I beg your pardon but, when a child isn’t walking with God, a mother lives a slow bleed. And the world can sing “Silent Night” until the cows come home but her inner world will still howl in loud lament. She never stops feeling the travail of it.

“My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you.”
Galatians 4:19 (KJV)

In situations like mine, therapists say that a certain amount of detachment is important . . . and I agree. Every believer in Christ must learn to coexist with the unresolved, and to do it with patience and even (dare I say) joy. The alternative is to be happy only when all is nearly perfect.  The only way to truly live and thrive in spite of the Painfully Unresolved is to learn the art of emotionally isolating and containing it so that it doesn’t contaminate other precious parts of life.

But all this good advice begs the question: When does healthy detachment become unhealthy holiday hopelessness? For me, the answer is found as I consider this mother and this water:

“Early the next morning Abraham took some food and a skin of water and gave them to Hagar. He set them on her shoulders and then sent her off with the boy. She went on her way and wandered in the Desert of Beersheba. When the water in the skin was gone, she put the boy under one of the bushes. Then she went off and sat down about a bowshot away, for she thought, ‘I cannot watch the boy die.’ And as she sat there, she began to sob. God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, ‘What is the matter, Hagar? Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Lift the boy up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.’ Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. So she went and filled the skin with water and gave the boy a drink.”
Genesis 21:14-19 NIV

While other mothers are planning to jingle-bell-it and bake cookies for boys who are still innocent, I sob again alongside Hagar of old. Maybe this describes you this holiday, too? I believe God is asking me and all mothers of prodigal sons or daughters the same thing He asked Hagar: “What is the matter?”

Despite the inconvenience of the unresolved and the awkwardness of having sorrow in The Age of the Hallmark Channel, we must search our hearts and we must answer honestly. My honest answer? Sometimes I am afraid my sons are going to die without ever coming back home to their heavenly Father. When it comes to pain of this magnitude, emotions can often only choose between fight, flight, or freeze. My heart usually wants to freeze. Let me not see the child die, I think and pray.

But, hold on a minute. I hear the haunting strains of a beloved Christmas song . . .

O come, Thou Dayspring, from on high,
And cheer us by Thy drawing nigh;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel.

The long tarry of Advent is incomplete without supernaturally good news and the thrill of hope reawakened! There is still a well — the well of salvation! It is still available to every weeping son and every mother who weeps for him. May God open our eyes to it. May we gather at this well and drink deeply, you and I. May our prayers “lift the boy up and take him by the hand” (Genesis 21:18).

Sure, we may yet travail in blood and water. Our tears may run rivulets, our wounds may slow-bleed, always fresh, until these prodigals come home. But home they’ll come. The gospel tells us so.

And so, we wait. In hope.

"So This Is Love" by Sheila Atchley
“So This Is Love” by Sheila Atchley. A mixed media original on wood canvas, rendered in Stabilo, acrylics, ink, and willow stick.

 

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It’s Time

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On this last Sunday of Advent, we invite you to take a journey with storyteller Sherri Gragg as she leads us in a meditation of what Christ’s birth might have been like. This story is likely not the version you are accustomed to, but based on historical and cultural evidence, this very well may have been closer to Mary’s experience. Regardless of the details, we pray that your heart will be led to celebration and worship of our humble, miraculous Savior!

~

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.
Luke 2:6-7 (NIV)

Mary couldn’t sit still.

With great effort she rose from the low stool in the courtyard where she and the other women were preparing the evening meal. She placed one hand on her lower back and began to pace back and forth. She felt restless, uneasy.

The older women watched her for a moment before casting knowing looks to each other. Mary’s baby was ready to make His entrance.

As the family sat in a circle on the floor, tearing off pieces of pita bread and scooping up couscous and yogurt from the large communal bowl, Mary sat looking at the piece of bread in her hand.

She knew she should be ravenous, but somehow she couldn’t eat. She reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat from her temple. The packed room was stifling despite the fact that the sun had set long ago.

A moment later Mary gasped as the dull ache in her lower abdomen suddenly intensified. One of Joseph’s aunts, seated next to her, frowned, reached out to place a hand on her stomach, and found the muscles clenched tight. “It’s time,” she said.

Joseph leapt to his feet, his face white with alarm. His uncle chuckled, patted him on the shoulder, and sent him off to get the town midwife. As two of the women helped Mary to her feet, the matriarch of the family began barking orders to the rest of the clan. Normally Mary would have been offered the privacy and comfort of the kataluma, the guest room, but since the house was full of guests and her labor could possibly stretch into the early hours of the morning, they would need to improvise.

Quickly, the animals were evicted from the stables beneath the main living area. The children were tasked with sweeping the area clean and placing fresh straw on the floor. By the time the midwife arrived, Mary was leaning against the cool stone wall of the stables as she waited for the next contraction to pass.

The jovial older woman shuffled into the stables, birthing stool hooked over her arm. Joseph peeked anxiously through the doorway at his wife for a moment before one of the women shooed him away to wait upstairs.

The moment his foot landed on the first step leading to the main living room, Mary cried out in pain. Joseph froze. Beside him, his uncle laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.“Come, Joseph,” he said. “She is in good hands.”

Hours later, in the dark early hours of the morning, Mary gasped for air and cried out in pain from the birthing stool, where she leaned back into the supportive arms of Joseph’s aunt. The midwife crouched low in front of her, murmuring encouragement.

“It is time to push, my daughter,” she said. “Be strong now.”

The next contraction tore through Mary’s body only seconds after the last one subsided. Then, with a cry of agony, she bore down with all of her remaining strength.

The pain faded as her baby’s first cry pierced the night.

“You have a son!” the midwife announced. Upstairs, Joseph’s ecstatic shout was joined by the joyful celebration of his uncles and cousins.

In the stables below, the midwife tenderly placed the crying baby on His young mother’s chest. Tears flowed down Mary’s face as she bent to kiss her son’s forehead for the first time.

Joseph peeked around the corner of the stables. His aunt turned to wave him into the room. “Come,” she said. “Come meet your son.”Joseph rushed to Mary’s side and knelt down to wrap an arm around her. Gently he placed a calloused hand on the baby’s head as he blinked back tears of joy.

“Have you chosen a name?” his aunt asked.

“Yeshua,” Mary said as she gazed tenderly into the eyes of her son, now quiet and alert. “Yeshua…”

“She will give birth to a son, and you are to give Him the name Jesus [Yeshua], because He will save His people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).

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As written by Sherri Gragg in Advent: The Story of Christmas. Connect with Sherri on Instagram and her website.

Advent: The Story of Christmas traces God’s ribbon of redemption – from Eden to Jerusalem – through thirty-one biblical stories. Sherri Gragg’s unique storytelling, infused with cultural accuracy and color, has been described as “Bible stories for adults.”

Her narrative style offers a fresh perspective on the lives of God’s people, both ancient and modern. Advent: The Story of Christmas will enrich personal devotional time during the seasons of Advent and Christmas.

Today marks the fourth Sunday in the season of Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day. We’re so pleased to have spent these weeks sharing excerpts from this beautiful book, learning more about Jesus, and counting down to Christmas, together.

We Can Love Extravagantly with the Smallest Acts of Kindness

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Meanwhile, Jesus was in Bethany at the home of Simon, a man who had previously had leprosy. While he was eating, a woman came in with a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume made from essence of nard. She broke open the jar and poured the perfume over his head.

Some of those at the table were indignant. “Why waste such expensive perfume?” they asked. “It could have been sold for a year’s wages and the money given to the poor!” So they scolded her harshly.

But Jesus replied, “Leave her alone. Why criticize her for doing such a good thing to me? You will always have the poor among you, and you can help them whenever you want to. But you will not always have me. She has done what she could and has anointed my body for burial ahead of time. I tell you the truth, wherever the Good News is preached throughout the world, this woman’s deed will be remembered and discussed.”
Mark 14:3–9 (NLT)

As a woman and as a mom, I constantly pour out love without expecting anything in return. Since my kids were babies, I’ve given up my body for their benefit. I nursed them, spending every waking hour (and many of the non-waking ones) feeding them, changing their diapers, doing their laundry, and bouncing or rocking them. I’ve made grilled cheese sandwiches, tied shoes, prayed over consequences, and stayed up into the wee hours listening and worrying and picking up the house. I’ve done most of this while wearing the previous day’s clothes that I picked up off the floor, and very likely without having eaten a hot or complete meal myself that day.

As a daughter, as a wife, and as a friend, I’ve also been on the receiving end of such love.

My mom, a single mother from the time my siblings and I were very young, burned the candle at both ends to provide for us. Now that we are adults, she continues to love and care for us in new ways. One time she drove ten hours to watch my baby daughter while I participated in a work retreat, and she told me she loved every minute.

My husband pours out his love in both big and small ways. The dishes are his domain, and for that I am so thankful. (I love to cook. The cleanup? Not so much.) He makes sure my water bottle is full at night and my mug of coffee is poured in the morning. He cheers me on through countless work projects, holds my hand during scary dental procedures, and folds all the laundry.

Over the years my friends have shown up at different times to love me well. They have scrubbed my toilets. Cooked and dropped off meals. Prayed over text messages. Laughed and cried through both fun and hard times.

Love often calls for sacrificing our own comfort. We see this kind of extravagant love poured out in our own lives, we see this in the life of Christ, and we see it in Mark 14.

Jesus was eating a meal, and a woman came ready to pour out her love. Can you imagine the hammering of her heart as she approached the table? Can you see the look of hope, adoration, and terror on her face as she offered her lavish gift? Can you imagine Jesus looking at her with love and acceptance?

And then the disciples had the nerve to ridicule her offering. I love the way Jesus rebukes them, saying her gift would be remembered. What a comeback!

That woman recognized the extravagant love Jesus offered, and expecting nothing in return, she lavishly poured out her own love on Him. We too can give extravagantly of ourselves.

We can love our families by returning home to continue our work after a long day on the job. We can clean bathrooms, cook meals, and go back to the office the next day. We can wipe baby bottoms in the middle of the night or stroke a middle schooler’s hair after they’ve had a hard day. We can switch loads of laundry and do the dishes for the fifth time that day. All are gifts we give — some to ourselves and some to others — but are likely never thanked for.

Some of the most fulfilling gifts we can give are anonymous, and therefore thanks-less. There’s something heart-swelling about giving to someone without the possibility of being thanked, recognized, or credited. Maybe it’s paying for a stranger’s coffee order in the drive-thru or leaving a small gift or card on a friend’s doorstep. These acts are quiet in their anonymity, and heartfelt for both giver and recipient.

Jesus loved us extravagantly to the end, literally pouring out His own life so that we may live fully, abundantly (John 10:10). Because of the extravagant way we have been loved by Christ, we can do the hard work of daily living. And just as the woman poured out her heart and soul for Jesus with a jar of perfume, we can do the same for our family, friends, selves, and God.

Lord, thank You for going first in showing me how to love extravagantly. May I learn from You and then turn to those around me and do likewise. I pray that like the woman who poured perfume on Jesus’s head, I would pour out to others generously. Amen.

This article was written by Anna E. Rendell, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Empowered: More of Him for All of You, by Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell is designed to incorporate the five major components of our being — physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual. The sixty Scripture passages and devotions invite you to see from different angles how God empowers us, and each day ends with prayer and reflection questions to deepen the learning. Grab a copy now. We pray it blesses you.

When This Christmas Looks Different from Those Past

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I tiptoed out of bed just before midnight, too full of sadness to sleep. I’d kept the tears at bay all week as I hopscotched from work to errands to chores, their distraction accomplishing what distractions do as I focused on various to-do’s. But under the cloak of night, the distractions disintegrated, and I was left with my own troubles attaching themselves to my attention, at attention, front and center.

I moved downstairs, plopped down on the sofa, and cried my eyes out. I cried over a few things, not the least of which was a friendship that didn’t look like it used to. I mulled over its history, and in the dark of night I could now see plain as day that the more effort I put into crossing the gap between us to improve the relationship, the more it became apparent that the other person wasn’t interested in improving the relationship.

I couldn’t change the other person’s “want to,” and I couldn’t do the work for the both of us. I knew it was finally time to accept that fact and quit forcing the relationship to be what it wasn’t.

A few days later, at our favorite Christmas tree farm, my husband saw me take a deep breath of chilly December air and let out a sigh as big as the nine foot Canaan fir evergreen next to me.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“This! This is what’s wrong.” I raised and dropped my arms dramatically. “For the first time, we’re picking out a Christmas tree without all the kids. I know that’s not wrong, but it doesn’t feel right either. Oh, I guess it’s just different, and different right now makes me sad.”

Since our daughter, the baby of the family, sprang the nest this past August — three years after our twin sons did the same — my husband and I are doing a lot of Christmas traditions as a party of two. The usual Christmas activities look and feel much different than they did when at least one child lived at home, and I’m surprised at how this change hurts a little more during this time of year.

As I try to comfort myself in old family traditions, the reality of new losses means I’m a literal far cry from merry and bright.

Now, you may be as far from my own parenting stage as you are from the North Pole, but I bet you sit rather close to a change or two that is messing with your familiar Christmas feels. Maybe you’ve had a change in a relationship, and someone you’ve spent more Christmases with than without won’t be celebrating with you this year. Maybe someone you’d like to distance yourself from is going to be sitting at your Christmas table for the first time. Maybe you’ve had a change in finances, your job, your address, or your stage of life. Whatever it is, that change feels particularly acute this time of year, a Real Life roadblock between you and your holiday happiness.

Wouldn’t we all like the realities of Real Life to take a vacation during the Advent and Christmas season, at least for a little while?

I sure would. I want to reside in the land of the Sugar Plum Fairies where I can simply relish my traditions of sugar cookies and cinnamon rolls and Bing crooning about a White Christmas in the background alongside all my favorite people. I want delight without a lick of drama, holiday cheer without the harshness of change. I want only good tidings of great joy, not the hard-on-the-heart realities of broken relationships and missing my kids.

But then I’m reminded that the actual good tidings of great joy — Jesus — is why we can walk through Real Life every day of the year, no matter where we are and what season we’re in.

Before Mary gave birth to Jesus, she had to first receive the miracle formed in the shadows. She had to sit in the shadow of the Most High.

“The angel answered, ‘The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.'”
Luke 1:35 (NIV)

Miracles form in the shadows, and we never know when one will show up smack-dab in the middle of Real Life.

There’s no shame in being sad if things look different for you this Advent and Christmas season. Following that shadow of sadness, perhaps a miracle will come — a birthing of a new truth or tradition that will bless you for decades to come. Maybe something will change for the better, and maybe it won’t. Either way, you and I serve ourselves well when we let go of our expectations that the Christmas season will only be good if it looks a certain way.

Things may be different, yes, but different can still be good. Because while something new isn’t familiar, it can still be fantastic.

During this Christmas season, may we be acutely aware of how God births miracles in the dark. He did so for Mary, and He, in His sovereignty, can do so for us. May we remember He turns our impossible into possible, our difficult change into a grace. When we start to doubt or forget this, may we take our eyes off of what’s around us and instead look toward Jesus — the Way, the Truth, and the Real Life that is with us always.

 

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Advent — the Language of Heaven

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The world we live in doesn’t often give us a chance to slow down and catch our breath. It’s fast paced and doesn’t show signs of stopping. In many ways the slowness of the pandemic feels like a distant memory.

Life happens. And it happens again and again and again. There are trials and tests and struggles. There is loss and hurt and change.

Even as we speak, I am in the middle of a transitional season. There are decisions to be made as soon as possible. There are several questions looming over me with no apparent answer. I’m honestly at both a crossroads and a loss. I don’t know which way to go or what to do.

I don’t normally do well with change. And this situation is no different. I very much wish I could say that I’m excited about what’s to come, but I’m not. I’m a bit fearful and worried. I’m concerned about the outcome. There are a million ways this could play out . . . some of them great and some, not so much.

When unexpected seasons come my way, I often think about Peter and the disciples in Matthew 14:25-32. When Jesus was walking on the water, the disciples thought He was a ghost and even cried out in fear. I understand that all too well. Jesus told them to not be afraid and to take courage. Those were words He has spoken numerous times before. Peter locked eyes with his Savior, stepped out of the boat, and walked on the water toward his Lord. Then, He took his eyes off of Jesus and focused on the wind and the waves. Immediately, Peter began to sink. Jesus graciously rescued him in the midst of all of his doubt. This, I also understand well.

How many times am I Peter in the story? How many times are you? How often do we take our eyes off of Jesus and fix them on the natural and temporal things of the earth? How many times do we see the Lord moving and yet we still doubt?

During this Christmas season, I also think about Mary and her season of transition. She was just a girl with very little idea of the gravity of what God was asking of her. Luke 1:26-38 tells of the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary detailing how she would conceive Jesus by the Holy Spirit. She was greatly troubled at his words. Again, God’s reassurance was to not be afraid. Mary’s response was that she was the Lord’s servant and that His will should be fulfilled.

What faith did it take for both Peter and Mary to look upon Christ, to trust Him, and to obey, whether it was for a moment or a lifetime? They were both in unforeseen circumstances. They were both met with a test of their faith. They were both challenged by where they would set their attentions.

We are faced with the same decision every day. It is ridiculously easy for me to look to the right and to the left. I often pride myself on being extremely independent and self sufficient. I’m a problem solver. But, only one actually has the power to say that their word will never fail. Guess what? It’s not me.

The season of Advent is the perfect opportunity for us to slow down, remember the Lord’s faithfulness, and focus on Christ in the midst of the chaos surrounding us.

When Jesus was born, He came into the world bringing gifts to the broken, the weary, the lost, the hurting, and the confused. He came with the gift of hope. Titus 2:13 describes Jesus as our blessed hope. He is the gift of hope to the hopeless. He is the very reason why you and I can look forward knowing that His plans are for our good. He will never fail us. He is our faithful Father.

1 John 4:7-21 repeatedly tells us of all the ways in which God is love. It is because of His great love for us that He sent Jesus to save a dying world from their sin. It is through His love that we can love Him and love others. God’s love is how we can even know Him, how we are able to wait for Christ’s return. His love sustains us when the wind and the waves seem to engulf us. His love won’t let us drown.

Jesus’ birth was a great joy to Mary and Joseph and those who were foretold of His coming. There are numerous verses to speak of Jesus’ joy being made complete in us and His joy being our strength and finding joy in His presence. It is through His joy that I can consider it pure joy when I encounter trials. He is the lifter of our heads and our strong tower.

Jesus is called Prince of Peace in Isaiah 9:6. And 2 Thessalonians 3:16 calls Him the Lord of peace and then goes on to say He gives peace at all times, in every way. Repeatedly God is offering peace to His children freely. His peace is what anchors us to Himself, to His heart, and to His promises. We can rest in knowing His grace is sufficient for us no matter the thorn in our flesh.

Advent is the language of Heaven…hope, love, joy, and peace. And Jesus’ life spoke this language.

I am choosing to speak Heaven’s language throughout endless uncertainty.

I will gaze into His hope.

I will bask in His love.

I will dance in His joy.

I will rest in His peace.  

If you find yourself in need of the hope, love, joy, and peace that is only found in the Lord, I’d love to pray for you!

 

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God Handcrafts Unique Gifts for Each of Us

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My favorite Christmas memory as a child happened the year my dad lost his job. That was the year Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. In case you are not a child of the ‘80s, they were one-of-a-kind cloth dolls with plastic heads that came with birth certificates and adoption papers. All the girls wanted them for Christmas.

They were also expensive.

My family was scraping by on my mom’s teaching salary. Even though it was a gift I longed for, I knew in my heart it wouldn’t be possible. I didn’t want my parents to feel bad about it so I kept my wish to myself.

My mama, however, had different plans. She found a woman from our church named Delores, who was making handmade dolls similar to the name-brand ones and charging much less. Delores had cared for me when I was in the church nursery. She painted the dolls’ faces and crafted their hair, making each one with unique features. Mama commissioned her to create a doll for me with my same chai latte skin tone, freckles, dark brown pigtails, and even a diamond-shaped beauty mark on her right cheek just like mine.

On Christmas morning, my brother and I raced downstairs to the tree eager to dig into the treats in our stockings and unwrap the gifts beneath the tree. I was surprised to see a hand-sewn, quilted baby carrier nestled among the other wrapped gifts. With sparkling eyes, Mama and Daddy encouraged me to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen with lush, dark chocolate hair and features similar to my own. I was stunned. How did they do it? How did they know what I’d wanted?

I named my doll Kailani, which was my middle name meaning “heavenly child of the sea” in Hawaiian. That doll was my treasure for years. I cared for her, cuddled her, styled her, read to her, and talked to her about all my dreams. Cradling her in my arms, I cared for her like my own baby — never imagining God would one day give me three baby girls.

Kailani was a sweet reminder that God delights in giving us good gifts. He gave Delores and my mama the gift of creativity to fashion this doll just for me. And the best part was that Kailani looked like me. She wasn’t like all the other Cabbage Patch dolls. In my second-grade mind, she was more beautiful and perfect than if we had had the money to buy the name-brand one. Decades later, I’m still savoring the memory of receiving that handmade gift.

In the book of James, Jesus’ half-brother, reminds us:

Every generous act and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights; with Him there is no variation or shadow cast by turning. By His own choice, He gave us a new birth by the message of truth so that we would be the firstfruits of His creatures.
James 1:17-18 (HCSB)

Friends, sometimes in life we may find ourselves longing for something that someone else has. She might be especially adept in the kitchen or inspiring when she speaks on the stage. Your friend might have a way with words or beautiful features or that cute pair of shoes you’ve always wanted. We can focus on that specific gift that our friend has, or we can unwrap the generous and perfect gifts God has handcrafted uniquely for each one of us.

Maybe He painted you with freckles or shaped you with naturally curly hair. Maybe He molded you with a gift for organization or singing or gathering people. Maybe your gift is being able to see the person in the room who is hurting or on the fringes. Whatever your unique gift, embrace it. Receive it. Rip off the paper and use it for His glory!

As we draw near to Christmas, let’s remember the most perfect gift God gave each one of us. When He sent his son Jesus as a newborn baby to earth, He made the greatest sacrifice of all time. He knew when He gingerly placed His precious child in that rough manger that Jesus would one day have to die a horrible death on the cross. He gave up His most treasured possession to gift us freedom from sin and eternal life. Friends, this is not a gift we can earn or strive for. It’s unmerited and undeserved but given with unabashed love and grace. In all our traditions and gatherings, let’s not forget the True Gift — Jesus.

From the (in)courage archives and as printed in the Everyday Faith Winter Magazine.

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What Mary, Jesus, and Birthdays Teach Us About Naming Our Needs

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“I’d love to throw myself a little birthday party this year,” I admit to my husband while schlepping another load of soaked snow pants and dirty mittens into the washer. He stands at the kitchen sink, rinsing lingering hot cocoa and melted marshmallows from our kids’ mugs before loading them into the dishwasher.

I’m embarrassed to admit that amid the holiday hustle and crammed calendars, I’m considering adding a birthday party (For myself! A grown-up!) to our already brimming schedules.

Who has time for that? How selfish could I be?

But still the desire lingers so I text a few friends to see if anyone might be available on an upcoming Friday or Saturday, attempting to coordinate an evening birthday bash at our house. I’m not celebrating a milestone birthday. There’s not anything particularly big to celebrate. And as my fellow December birthdays will tell you, none of our celebrations hold a candle, ya know, to the birth of Jesus.

Visions of charcuterie boards and fizzy drinks dance in my head as it looks like we’ve finally landed on a date a handful of neighbors and friends can make work. A murder-mystery party game has been collecting dust in the corner of my bedroom, and excitement bubbles over as I imagine finally getting to bust it out at my birthday soiree.

The laughs we’ll share! The costumes we’ll wear! The photos we’ll snap!

The email comes soon after.

“You and your children are invited to the PTA’s Elementary Winter Wonderland Dance!”

I scroll to the end to find the party’s date and time.

You guessed it: The same night I’d just managed to secure for my own little celebration. I swallow a swig of coffee and collapse on the couch.

“Maybe our three elementary schoolers won’t want to attend anyway,” my husband offers.

I hear their anticipatory chatter as they tumble out of the bus.

In real-time, my heart seems to shrink two sizes too small. I feel myself morphing into full Grinch mode.

My mind swirls with whispers of resentment like, “Why can’t I ever just have anything for me?” along with guilt-laden musings like, “It was selfish to plan a party for myself anyway.”

Have you ever been left reeling from hopes dashed and plans scrambled?

Maybe you’ve felt foolish for trying to plan something for yourself only to be left unwrapping disappointments. Or perhaps you’ve put everyone else’s priorities in front of you, and now you’re tangled in resentment like a toddler playing in the Christmas tree tinsel.

Complicated experiences and complex emotions are real, especially for those of us who tend to hold everything together for our loved ones throughout the year, particularly during the holidays.

But we’re not doing anyone (our friends, our family, ourselves) any favors by not tending to our own needs.

Caring for others includes caring for ourselves. 

While I did pivot my plans so our family could sip punch together while boogying to “Jingle Bell Rock” in the elementary school gym, I didn’t let my hopes to celebrate my birthday completely fizzle out either. Instead of hoping someone would surprise me with a cake, I called up a local bakery and placed an order myself!

The give-and-take of life together means we pivot sometimes – this is true. Dreams change, and expectations shift as we create spaces for the flourishing of all. But all means all. When we put ourselves on the back burner, rage or resentment will boil over.  

In this season of Advent, we anticipate the arrival of God breaking into our world with the birth of Jesus. It’s cause for celebration! We marvel at Mary, who cared for a little one who, out of the deepest divine love, would change the course of history forever. 

And as we marvel at the manger, I’m also reminded of something that happened when Jesus was older; we’re invited into an interesting interaction between Mary and Jesus.

In John 2:1-11, they’re at a wedding party, and the celebration is running low on wine. Mary, who knows that Jesus could do something about it, mentions the dwindling libations to Jesus. And He performs His first miracle, turning water into wine – good wine, we’re told. 

It was the first time people caught a “glimpse of His glory.”

Milestones bring big feelings. Holidays hold taut the tension of both joy and grief, celebration and disappointment. But perhaps when we, like Mary, name what we want, we can catch glimpses of glory beyond what we could even dream of.

It’s difficult to fathom the passing of time. It’s why we light the Advent candles in anticipation of the birth of Jesus. It’s why we gather around the table and sing together, marking time with cake and candles, friends and family.

Life together is illuminated with the glow of both giving and receiving. Of glorious miracles and mismatched schedules. In the busy schedules and mounting pressure to create picture-perfect birthdays and holidays, let yourself take a breath.

Remember that you are loved by a God who doesn’t desire how much you can do – but calls you beloved because you are.

That’s something worth celebrating.

Find prayers that put words to your ordinary and extraordinary family milestones and holiday celebrations in Kayla’s book To Light Their Way: A Collection of Prayers & Liturgies for Parents.

 

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When You Aren’t In the Mood For Christmas

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I’m just not in the mood.

I don’t have a good reason to be in a funk. I haven’t dealt with hard stories of grieving, hurt or loss or broken relationships like others I know, but I’m still struggling to be in the mood for Christmas. I usually really enjoy Christmas. The specialness of remembering the greatest miracle, making others feel seen and loved, the music, the beauty of decorations, and the thrill of hope. I don’t want celebrating Christmas to turn into a “have-to” but remain a “love-to.”

I keep trying. But I haven’t been able to take a deep breath lately due to an extremely busy season. I feel like I need a good long exhale and about a month on the couch with my feet up before I can even think about Christmas.

I’m tired and I’m not feeling very festive. Maybe you can relate?

I’m trying to be better about noticing when I feel tired, stuck, or emotional about something and ask God what’s going on in my heart and what He wants to reveal to me. Preparing for Christmas is definitely one of those areas that I’ve been asking Him for revelation and help.

I wonder if the feelings I have are part of the point of the manger? Weary. Heavy laden. Tired. Burdened. Distracted. Busy. Not really feeling it. All reasons why Jesus came for God’s people. Jesus — Immanuel, God with us in every feeling and circumstance — is the ultimate reason we have to celebrate God’s goodness.

As I’ve processed my lack of Christmas cheer, God reminded me how He called His people to celebrate Him many times throughout Scripture. Celebrating was a choice, not a feeling, and not always convenient. But God’s people obeyed His specific calls to celebrate because they understood that celebrations, or feasts as they are called in the Bible, were not just about eating certain foods or gathering in particular ways — every feast was meant to point to Jesus.

Guidelines for feasts and festivals are especially prevalent in the Old Testament. For most of my faith walk, I wanted to ignore the Old Testament, thinking it didn’t really apply to my life. But there is such a rich and beautiful story at work when we look at Scripture as a whole and remember that God is the same from the first page of Scripture to the last to how He is present in our lives today.

With just a little research, I’ve learned that the feasts God asked His people to celebrate annually were clues pointing to His Son. These times of celebration and feasting are connected to our being able to celebrate our salvation, the resurrected Savior, and His imminent return. To praise, to sing, to dance, to eat, and to remember. A rhythm of feasts reminded God’s people to make space for Him. To recognize His love and His good plan. It took preparation, planning, and energy to celebrate in the ways God had instructed, but it was worth it because they were inviting God to be with them.

Each feast God created connects us to a way we can celebrate Jesus’ birthday and the hope of His return. Here are a few ideas based on the holy feasts that are helping me get in the Christmas spirit:

Sabbath: I’ve planned ways to simplify my life so I don’t continue to over extend myself. As I accept God’s call to rest, I make space to sit in the quiet so I can hear the Lord and see things from His perspective during this miraculous season.

Passover: I’ve done my next right thing and continued on with putting up our Christmas tree. It’s a lot of work but I feel enveloped in God’s love when I sit in the dark with the glow of the tiny lights and remember how Jesus hung on a tree for me — the cross of Christ reminiscent of the original cross on the doors of those first saved in the first Passover.

Unleavened Bread: I’ve baked in the kitchen with my daughter and been reminded of how Jesus is the “Bread of Life”.

First Fruits: I’m praying through what I can do for someone else this month rather than continuing to think about myself. Sometimes the lack of Christmas spirit is because I forget how to give from what God has given me.

Pentecost: I will set aside time each morning to pour God’s Word into my dry Spirit. To re-read the story of Christmas and prepare my heart for Jesus, asking Him to make a way in my heart and renew me with fresh fire.

Feast of Trumpets: Trumpets were used to call the workers to stop and come to the temple so I will crank up the Christmas tunes and worship in my living room. Let’s make a joyful noice not only because God deserves our praises, but also because we need to sing and dance and celebrate who God is and what He’s doing in us.

Whether you are familiar with biblical feasts or not, we can all ask God to speak to our hearts — through His Word and through the Holy Spirit within us — and guide us in making this season one of meaningful celebration.

It doesn’t matter if presents are perfectly wrapped or if cookies get baked, but it does matter that we devote time to celebrating who God is and the gift of His Son to this weary world. Indeed, that is a reason to rejoice!

How do you choose to celebrate if you’re not feeling very Christmas-y?

 

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I Am Not Superwoman

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“So how was your day?” my husband asks. Our eleven-month-old is sleeping at last and, in the quiet, we unfold our day over the dinner table filled with plates of roasted potatoes and rice.

Well let me tell you, I think to myself, recalling the serpentine to-do list that’s been strangling me all day. I sigh suggestively, settle into my mask of martyrdom, and recite each flurried step of my day. My multitudinous accomplishments, as follows: tackling the small city of dishes that sprang up over the weekend, scrubbing the floor (because, “scrubbing” sounds more Cinderella-like than “wiping”), loading the washing machine with a baby strapped to my body, running (literally) to the bank, waiting on hold with the airline for an hour and a half (emphasis on the time) to confirm details about an upcoming trip. The list goes on.  

When I finish my performance (curtain closed), my husband kindly suggests that I rest this evening. But I bat away his compassionate commonsense. There’s still so much left to do. The truth is there’s always so much to do. At the end of each day I have a bad habit of listing all the tasks I have completed. Not to say that listing all my completed tasks is bad. The bad part, however, is that the list becomes my litmus test for self-worth. The more work I complete, the more valuable I am. In the courtroom of my mind, I (as defendant) offer my litany of all the reasons I’ve earned an evening of rest after a day of hard work. But most often, I (as judge) condemn myself for not having done enough. 

There are always errands I didn’t get to. Always people I forgot to text. Always new needs jutting up like weeds. Constantly. Continually.

My to-do list will never end. Ever. But recently, God’s been showing me a liberating truth. He’s been showing me that my work is not only not enough most days. It’s never enough — and it’s never going to be. 

No matter how many tasks I accomplish during the day, I will never be able to earn God’s kindness, God’s invitation to enjoy His presence while simply sitting on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea. No matter the many hours I volunteer or the many meals I make for hurting church members. No matter the many words of encouragement I give or the many dollars I donate — it will never be enough.  

In offering His body on the cross and rising to breathe again, Christ already accomplished all there is to make us enough in God’s eyes and to enjoy His presence. In one act of cosmic sacrifice, Christ completed the ultimate to-do list for all time. And, if I believe in Him, there are no good deeds or completed chores I can do to make myself more desirable to Him or more worthy of His rest. Any Christ-less, goody-two-shoe attempts to make myself acceptable are garbage. Clothed in the sufficiency of Christ, I am already enough before God.

At the root of my anxiety to configure my worth at the end of each day is a hunger for acceptance. Underneath my litanies of completed tasks is a quaking desire to be loved. Rather than berate myself for all the things left undone at the end of the day, I can remind myself that, in Christ, I am infinitely loved — loved beyond my wildest fantasies or deepest desires. And in that love. . .I can rest. 

That’s not to say that doing good things isn’t essential to a Christ-centered life. Again and again in Scripture, believers are called to action, to offering our time and energy for others, especially the weak, the losers, and those unlikely. The abundance of God’s love should overflow into a continual outpouring of love to our children, spouses, grandmothers, neighbors, and, yes, even and especially the woman behind the cardboard sign at the freeway exit. Even loading the dishwasher and preparing a spaghetti dinner are acts of obedience to Him. 

That’s the key. Obedience. So much of what I expect from myself is not what God expects from me. So much of what I labor over are achievements to prop up my own facade of self-worth, rather than make much of the God whose breath and blood give me the grace to do anything at all.

Many of the tasks He might call me to are things that don’t fit on a to-do list. They appear unexpectedly in the day, are quickly forgotten and largely unnoticed. Snuffling into my son’s neck as he giggles joyously mediates the love of God. My son may never remember this laughter and I certainly won’t win a “Funniest Mama” award, but it is a small act of obedience. And this small act is a sign of the true labor of a Christ-follower. 

My prayer is to live so in tune with the Spirit that I move in step with Him, the tasks He is calling me to. He knows the hours I have. He knows the energy I have. He knows I am most definitely not Superwoman (though I too often try to be).  

But He is Superman. And that is enough. 

The Road to Christ’s Birth

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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…
Luke 2:1-6 (NIV)

“Oh,” Mary moaned softly.

Joseph anxiously turned to his wife, trailing along behind him on the back of their donkey. Her face was drawn, her eyes weary from four long days of travel.

“Do you want to walk for a while?” he asked her.

“Yes, thank you.”

Joseph held the donkey with one hand while he helped Mary to the ground with the other. Other members of their caravan of extended family plodded steadily past, anxious to make it through the gates of Bethlehem before nightfall.

“We are almost there,” he said reassuringly.

Mary nodded, smiling weakly.

Within the hour, the walls of Bethlehem appeared as a long line severing the horizon. The promise of a meal and sleeping mat in the comfort of a relative’s home cheered them and they quickened their pace.

Mary and Joseph fell into the silent rhythm of the trail, measuring the last mile of the journey one weary step at a time. At last, as the setting sun bathed Bethlehem in soft golden light, the journey was completed. In the fulfillment of thousands of years of prophecy, the long-awaited Messiah was carried through the gates of Bethlehem, sheltered in the womb of a virgin.

Steadily, Joseph led Mary through the familiar streets to the place called home to his aunts, uncles, and cousins. When he and Mary stepped into the courtyard of the family compound, relatives rushed to meet them, excitedly wrapping Joseph in their arms. One of the children took the donkey’s rope and led it to a trough of water. Mary momentarily forgot her fatigue as Joseph’s aunts joyfully caressed her burgeoning abdomen, each making their own predictions of how much longer it would be until the baby arrived.

Then, the wizened old matriarch of the family stepped forward. She placed one gentle hand on each side of Mary’s face and searched her eyes.

“Ah, daughter,” she said, sighing. “You are weary. Come, you need rest.” Then she placed an arthritic hand on Mary’s stomach and nodded solemnly. “It won’t be long now, my child.”

Mary glanced back over her shoulder to Joseph as she was led to the comfort of a good meal and a soft sleeping mat. She found him smiling at her, the relief evident on his face. She was in good hands.

That night after the evening meal, Mary and Joseph’s sleeping mats were joined with the others that lined the main living room of a relative’s home since the kataluma*, the guest room of the home, was full. Immediately, Mary fell into an exhausted sleep. Joseph, though weary, lay awake lost in dark thoughts of the census report. It represented so much to Israel, little of it comforting. What kind of world would Jesus grow up in? How would the brutal rule of Rome mark His life?

Joseph sighed in resignation. There was so little within his control. But for tonight, Mary and the baby were safe. His wife would not give birth on the side of the road but in the care of his family. Kind and experienced women would help the baby into the world.

And with that comforting assurance, Joseph finally surrendered to sleep.

*Kataluma has been inaccurately translated as “inn” in some translations of the Bible. A kataluma was the traditional guest room of a home in first-century Palestine. Since everyone was returning to their ancestral homes, this room was understandably full when Mary and Joseph arrived at his family’s home in Bethlehem. More recent translations of the Bible (see the 2011 New International Version) have corrected this error.

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As written by Sherri Gragg in Advent: The Story of Christmas. Connect with Sherri on Instagram and her website.

Advent: The Story of Christmas traces God’s ribbon of redemption – from Eden to Jerusalem – through thirty-one biblical stories. Sherri Gragg’s unique storytelling, infused with cultural accuracy and color, has been described as “Bible stories for adults.”

Her narrative style offers a fresh perspective on the lives of God’s people, both ancient and modern. Advent: The Story of Christmas will enrich personal devotional time during the seasons of Advent and Christmas.

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 Sunday during these weeks as we share excerpts from this beautiful book, learn more about Jesus, and count down to Christmas, together.

 

Finding Joy When the World is a Dumpster Fire

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You reveal the path of life to me; in your presence is abundant joy; at your right hand are eternal pleasures.
Psalm 16:11 (CSB)

Did you know the phrase “dumpster fire” is in the dictionary? In 2018, Merriam-Webster decided this colorful description of disaster was used often enough by enough people that it deserved its own entry.

I suppose I’m not surprised. How many times have I used that phrase to describe a situation or a season? A lot. I’ve said it a lot.

But lately I’ve been trying to avoid the saying, which one reporter calls a “gleefully catastrophic phrase.”* While it remains true— sometimes devastatingly so—that this world offers us constant chaos and catastrophe, that isn’t the only truth I know and believe. And it isn’t the reality I want to focus on or have a false sense of delight in.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying we should deny reality or pretend like everything is fine when it’s not. We shouldn’t filter our words and our photos so heavily that nobody ever sees our true feelings. And I am certainly not saying it’s wrong to grieve or struggle when life is hard. But while it’s healthy to feel our feelings and to share openly with trusted friends and family, let’s not dive into despair and throw our hope into the dumpster!

When we throw up our hands and declare a situation, a season, an entire calendar year to be a complete loss (i.e., a dumpster fire), we’re choosing to abandon hope and walk away from the joy God is placing before us. Instead, we’re attempting to find joy in the fleeting—and false—feeling of relief that comes from cursing a hard circumstance and avoiding both the real pain we’re experiencing and any gift or beauty that God offers us in the midst of that pain.

My oldest daughter just turned thirteen, and already I’m tired of people telling me how terrible the teen years are. First of all, I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten the challenges of being a teenager (and the many fights I got into with my mom). Second, and more importantly, I don’t like being told that I should expect parenting to be miserable for the next several years.

Thankfully, a few of my friends have children a bit older than mine and have chosen to find joy in parenting their teenagers. When they share about late-night conversations, shared laughs over old movies or autocorrect disasters, or the way having another driver in the house frees up their time (if not their worries), I feel so grateful to see that it’s not all bad. I’m encouraged to look for the ways God gives us joy in even the most annoying, awkward, or awful seasons.

At the time I’m writing this, our world resembles a dumpster fire in so many ways. It’s hard out there, and to be honest, it’s hard in here. Globally and personally, it’s been a difficult season—and I’m not sure when it will get better. If ever I’ve been tempted to throw in the towel and feel confident that joy is nowhere to be found, this is it. But rather than leaning into the cynicism that says nothing good can come from any of this, instead of abandoning my deep belief that we can choose the joy of the Lord in even the darkest times, I’m determined to choose joy.

Are you looking at a world or a season or even a life that you desperately want to declare a waste, a loss, a real dumpster fire? What would it feel like to pause, take a deep breath, and open your heart just enough to be filled with the joy of God’s love and His presence in your life? Is it possible to do this?

If you’re struggling to find anything good at all, ask God to help. Ask Him to reveal the path of life to you, to open your eyes to the beauty in the middle of the pain, to show you one reason to feel joy. Perhaps it’s simply His presence that brings you comfort and then delight. Perhaps He will show you the work He’s doing even while chaos seems to reign. Perhaps He will redirect your thoughts to focus on the good gifts He gives us rather than the pain of this world.

Finding joy when everything is falling apart (or burning) feels impossible, but nothing is impossible for our God. Ask Him to be with you and to bring you joy, and He will do it.

Lord, thank You for never abandoning me or this world when we seem like a lost cause. Please give me the strength to feel my feelings but to also keep going, to search for beauty, and to find joy—no matter my circumstances. Give me eyes to see You wherever I look today. Amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Single and Not Sorry This Holiday Season

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Obviously, I’m not trying to win the approval of people, but of God. If pleasing people were my goal, I would not be Christ’s servant.
Galatians 1:10 (NLT) 

Look straight ahead and fix your eyes on what lies before you. Mark out a straight path for your feet; stay on the safe path. Don’t get sidetracked; keep your feet from following evil.
Proverbs 4:25-27 (NLT) 

We’re always comparing. They have more spending money than we do, but we have a cozier home. This friend has a fast-paced, highly successful career, and we enjoy our job just fine but work mostly for the weekend. That neighbor seems unattainably confident in their skin, and we spent last night researching different diets.

Comparison seems to be ingrained in us, and it’s only harder when you’re single.

Unfortunately, if we get into this mode of thinking, it also makes the holiday season even more difficult. We go to a party and are asked approximately 32 questions about our dating life, we catch up with friends we haven’t seen in a while and they are newly dating or engaged, and we compare our singleness to everyone around us who is in a seemingly happy and joyous relationship. We look at our lives – and even though they are filled with beautiful things big and small- the lack of a relationship causes us to feel like we come up short. These passages exhort us to cease the comparison game, and instead focus on our own path that God is leading us down.  

If you are single: Part of comparison is the evaluation of if there is enough to go around – enough success, enough happiness, enough love. But just because others around you are in flourishing romantic relationships and solid marriages does not mean that opportunity is gone for you. Just because it is for them doesn’t mean it’s not for you. Theodore Roosevelt once said comparison is the thief of joy, and that rings true when you assume that others’ relationship success means there is no hope for you. The idea that when someone else finds happiness in a relationship, your chance at this same happiness is diminished is simply untrue. Besides, the joy that is there for you today, on your path, is devalued when you peek at a path not meant for you.

Instead, if you actively work to focus your eyes ahead on the path God has laid out for you, you will find joy untethered from comparison. God knows your desires and your heart, and He has laid out a path just for you. During the holidays, it’s okay to invite other people to not ask you about dating, to reject bad advice, and to have to take a break from the small talk when you need to refocus and remind yourself of the goodness of your life in the here and now. You are single, but you don’t have to be sorry.  

If you aren’t single: It’s hard not to ask the single people in your life about dating – it’s so exciting! But just like your relationship with your significant other is a facet of your beautiful and complex life, the same is true for those of us who are single. As you gather with friends and family this holiday season, consider asking after other elements of your single friends’ lives: their job, their pet, their favorite kind of cheese. . . We’d welcome the opportunity to bond with you over our similarities, not what often feels to us like our biggest difference: our relationship status. It will be such an encouragement to your single friends when the emphasis isn’t placed on their single life but on who they are as a person.

None of us were created as a fragment, looking for its matching piece in the heart of a significant other. Psalm 139 says that we were “skillfully formed” (v.15) by God and “in Your book were written all the days that were ordained for me” (v. 16). God, your Father, created you unique and distinct from 8 billion other people on earth. And the same is true for your single friends. Many of us would love that reminder from a friend or family member during this season. 

The bottom line is: our God is not a God of lack but abundance. Comparison tempts us to feel that we are lacking, but God reminds us that He has a path full of richness and joy laid just for you. During this holiday season, let’s all pursue intentionality as we flee from the comparison trap and love one another with the love of God Himself. 

 

Opinions about single life — especially Christian single life — are plentiful and wide-ranging. In a social world that idolizes romantic relationships, single people can easily feel incomplete or less than. Single and Not Sorry: 90 Devotions of Real Encouragement for Right Now provides readers with inspiration from God’s Word about living according to God’s trustworthy purpose and plan regardless of their relationship status. Our true value is found in Christ alone — and through this book, readers will be able to confidently appreciate and enjoy exactly where they are in life. Single and Not Sorry releases in February 2023 – preorder your copy today!

 

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How Wrestling with Your Longings Can Lead You to Worship

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I haven’t played tennis since 1998. My team advanced to the playoffs in the fall of my senior year of high school. When we lost, I put my racket away and never really played again.

Years went by and I didn’t think about the sport very much. There was a part of me that always wanted to get back on the court, but children, work, or time constraints always got in the way. It’s easy to put my desires on the back burner of everyone else’s needs. Which, honestly, isn’t always a bad thing. I have been in a long season of raising babies to teenagers and putting some of my longings on hold was my way of loving them. The bad thing is that I lost touch with my desires completely.

I wrestle with my longings. Do my desires matter? How much space should they take up? Doesn’t love always mean dying to myself? Because I didn’t have good answers to all these questions, I put my longings to sleep. I didn’t pay much attention to them. But longings always tell the truth. They don’t tell me what to do, they tell me what I want. Longings left in isolation leave the heart lonely.

I had every excuse to not sign up for lessons or take a clinic. It took my thirteen year old asking to try tennis for me to reach out to a tennis coach that I know, coach Mercedes.

I dug through my old tennis bag on the top shelf of the garage. The strings on my racket were loose, the paint chipped, and the handle grip was worn down. But, when I held the racket it felt so familiar, like shaking hands with an old friend. I was nervous to play again. At one point in my life, I was actually good. I had the right form, an ace serve, a killer backhand, and a cute skirt. But, twenty-some years later, I might not be able to even rally.

I showed up as the fog floated up from the fenced in tennis courts at Los Posas park. I volleyed, swung, and struggled to find my footing. I moved slower than I did in 1998. My step had less zest, but my seasoned legs could still sprint from the backline to the net. I wasn’t good, but I was so happy.

Coach Mercedes says she experiences God on the tennis court. I’m not sure I can totally relate to that. Tennis is a sport. It is exercise and score keeping.

Throughout the book of Psalms the writers worship God through instruments, their voices, and even their lament. In Psalm 33, the psalmist worships God through a lyre (harp). Play the strings skillfully, he says. I think this is what Coach Mercedes means when she says God is on a tennis court. I think she’s talking about worship. And the more and more I get back on the court, I know what she means.

I can raise my racket like I am raising my hands in praise. I can lob a tennis ball over my opponent the same way my voice lifts to the cathedral ceilings. Everything I do is worship if I let it be.

I can slice potatoes for the soup as an act of worship.
I can call a friend who is struggling as an act of worship.
I can fold the laundry as an act of worship.
I can play tennis as an act of worship.

I can also minimize almost everything that I do. I can look at my revived love for tennis as silly or a waste of time. But I can also look at it as worship. When I understand that all I do is worship then the bounce of the ball off of the strings is a song. The perfect placement of a ball is engaging in a choir of praise. I don’t just play because it’s fun or good to move my body, although both are true. I play because God gave me a love for the game and as I play, I bring Him glory. When I play, I feel alive.

It’s like Ireneaus said, “The glory of God is man fully alive.”

When we give God glory, we experience His love. We are surrounded by it. Our longings lead us to love.

What is more loving than tennis? Even when I lose, I get to call out, “love!”  Every game, every match, every set starts with a the bounce of the ball and the words sung out — “Love all!”

 

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