The Gift of Christmas Lies

For so many of us Christmas is such a special, sacred, holiday. Sometimes it is easy to become disgusted with the focus on material gifts and parties and the whole "keeping up with the Jones" that Christmas has become. Sometimes we let our love for Christmas morph into a hatred for the way that the world responds to it. And hear me out, I would love a life where there wasn't complete insanity in every store and at all the busy intersections. But if you think about it Christians keep expecting everyone out in the world to treat Christmas with the importance that we do, and that isn't really fair. People who are not believers and followers of Jesus Christ  know that we are all supposed to value Christmas and cherish its "true meaning," but how many people even know why? This year I am embracing the surface level, materialistic lies about Christmas because, like all lies, these Christmas lies will be exposed. The sentiments of Christmas and fairy-tale like story of Christ's birth have become surface level for most Americans. But that only means that the true story of Christmas is that much more accessible. The marvelous story of a world hungry for deliverance and a savior who came to save them is real. Christ is real. Christ is the only Son of God. Christ is the only way to salvation. Take advantage of "fairy tale", and share the real story behind it.  Merry
Christmas.


"And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28 ESV)

When life gives a beating, blessed am I

I have missed this place...this place for me...but lately I've been denying the call to come back and make the time and use these gifts and talent. I can guarantee you that you can look forward to a post about thankfulness, about community, about health (the good, the bad, and the ugly), and about crazy stay at home mom moments. But in this moment I have to sit down and write the words that are circling around the inside of my head.

Recently I have had the privilege of walking beside a dear sweet friend as she and her husband have taken heartbreak after heartbreak from life. I shared with them recently that during a night of worship at our church, I felt jealous of them. I wasn't jealous of their circumstances--I wouldn't wish them on anyone (and my sweet friend, I wish I could take it away from you). But I was so jealous of their absolute and total need, their thirst, their desperation for Christ and for the hope of heaven. I remember that place. When we were waiting in limbo to find out if I had miscarried (in February), when the bad news of our miscarriage had indeed been confirmed, and when I found out that I was once again pregnant and terrified of what might happen--those were precious times. In the moment I hated all the feelings I was feeling and the place we were in, I felt like it was somehow a bad thing that Christ alone kept me going every day. But when I think about the totality of worship that I felt, it was the one area of my life where I felt passionate. I remember that it didn't matter how big or small the gathering, I felt this compulsion to physically crawl over the rows of chairs in front of me and climb up an invisible ladder and sit in the lap of the Father.  He felt like He was just right there, and He was, but I'm sincerely at a loss for words to describe the closeness I felt during those times. I've done the summer camp thing (and although awesome); I know how to spot a "spiritual high." The most difficult times are different, I don't think anyone would say that adversity brings a spiritual high. But it does bring your flesh, your human nature, to an all time low. Most of us do and say things that we normally wouldn't in times when we feel like we just can't take another minute. This past year and half I look back on those hard times, the heartbreaking days, and the excruciating pain as markers of my spiritual growth and learned reliance on God. The times when I was sad all day, or couldn't move from the pain, the days when I knew that no one could fix my problems, the days when I felt like life had beat me into a limp little pile and then come back for more--those times are when Christ's light shines so brightly. Those times are such precious memories because of how loved I was, because of how much love I felt, because of how much love I needed.

But if it had not been for the good times, for the boring days, for the bible study routines and structure and normalcy with Christ...how would I have recognized His closeness? What would I have done and felt and believed in those moments where I couldn't hold a bible in my hand or sit in church? He would have been just as near, but would I have even known it? Would I have recognized His character and His love? Would I have been able to stop demanding that He change my circumstances and start praising Him for who He is?


I'll leave you with those questions. This is going to have to be a two parter. 

The blood

Right now our church is doing a mini series on The Lord's Supper. It has been awesome so far and there is still more to come. Last week when we took The Lord's Supper as a congregation, it was the sweetest one I think I have ever been a part of. Usually in a big room full of people, it is never really quiet. There is always a baby babbling or a woman unzipping her purse or pages turning or people whispering. ALWAYS. But I promise you, if the room hadn't been carpeted, you could have heard a pen drop. Everything was quiet, everyone was still, and we all knew that He is God. It was the kind of quite that I have only heard in empty places. That sounds contrary to what is was, if it was empty--I think it's because hearts were being emptied of sin and making room for the Holy Spirit. It was beautiful.

The worship team came up for a last song, Nothing But The Blood. And the hope that comes along with the atoning blood which washed me white as snow was overwhelming for me. I thought "I cannot imagine existing, much less living in this world if the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus had never happened." Then for the first time an important light bulb lit. "For those who haven't been told, it is as if none of it ever happened. They live in the darkness of a world with no hope. That is why it is good news. It did happen."

Once I lived in darkness, but someone gave me good news. I think for the first time, I really get that. I really get how important that is.

Not spiritual, maybe funny, definitely a rambling

So I found this author that I like...no dare say I love. I loved reading her book, just reading her words, I honestly didn't even care if they were happy or sad words. I just loved the rhythm she wrote in and the way she described things. It was therapeutic for me. Then I made a massively huge mistake. A mistake I will never make again. After finishing her book, I googled her. I googled her and I found her. Then I found a video of her reading from that beloved book. It was the biggest disappointment. She didn't read it the way I read it. She didn't read it with the confidence and ease that I think she wrote it in. I'm sure the way that I was feeling is the grown-up equivalent of finding out there is no real Santa (yep thats right, I never believed in Santa as a kid, and I'm not even sad about it). Unfairly, I decided I couldn't bear to read any of her other books. (In case you can't tell I'm an all or nothing type of girl.) I find myself getting lost in the words and rhythms of a few new authors these days and I have used all my self-control to keep from googling, especially videos. I don't want to lose anymore heroes and heroins, day dreams and poignant perspectives.

Here is the kicker though. Last night Austin and I were watching a movie about a girl who lost her arm in a freak accident. As I was watching her learn how to slice an orange a new way, I thought to myself "what would I have to re-learn?" Then I was relieved when it dawned on me, "my writing comes from my brain so I could totally dictate it or something like that." Then came reality, clashing like a noisy gong. If I couldn't physically type out the words I think I would lose my rhythm. I don't ever speak the way I write. I don't journal the way I type. I only type the way I write. Or is it write the way I type? Either way, I need to work really hard to wean my "writing rhythm" away from my "typing rhythm," is this making any sense?

 I can conclude that one day if I'm lucky enough to have a book that someone loves as much as I loved the previously mentioned book, then I would probably break her heart too if I ever read aloud.