Advent and Defiance

This coming Sunday marks the beginning of Advent, the season leading up to Christmas Day when we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ into our world.

Advent means “coming” or “arrival.” During these weeks leading up to Christmas, we live in anticipation of Jesus’ arrival. While it is tempting to run ahead to the celebration, to walk in the spirit of Advent means to temper our impatience, to slow down, and to live in the time of waiting.

            

A long time ago, God promised a Savior to the world. The book of Isaiah records that this Savior would come “out of the stump of David’s family” and would be “a banner of salvation to all the world” (Isaiah11:1-2, 10). And so, God’s people waited, and waited, and waited for this light to come to the broken world.

            

We also know from Scripture that David’s family line turned from God, and became greedy, fallen, lovers of money and sin. Their lives were ruined. They were unfaithful. But God keeps His promises. He is faithful even when we are not, and so even out of the unfaithful He brings forth the Savior of the world.

            

For us today, in Advent, we reflect on being in the in-between time. We look back, and we sit in waiting with God’s people who waited anxiously, painfully, and often unfaithfully for the Savior of the world. They ached, sin crushed the world, and they waited. And we ache and wait along with them.

           

Yet we know that Christ has come, and we know that God was faithful to bring a conclusion to the waiting. So we reflect on God’s faithfulness, we marvel at our promise-keeping God who follows through even when we don’t, who comes with redemption even when we wander away. We know that in Christ, God has begun to restore all things.

            

Looking forward, we are waiting for the return of Christ. This is our in-between time, the time in which we remember the waiting, and we remember God’s faithfulness, and we hold onto that faithfulness because it is our confidence while we wait for Him to come back.

            

This season we reflect on the fact that the one and only thing the world needs is coming and has come – Jesus Christ Himself. God, coming to us, a gift to us, coming to reconcile all things to Himself. This season we say yes Lord, be born in my heart again, and again, and again.

          

 So much more could be said. What a magical season, a time when the Christian can be soaked, saturated, filled, and completely swept away by the mystery of God’s grace.

            

Or – it can be missed. Entirely missed. Dear Christians, have you ever stumbled through Christmas while missing Christ? Because I have. And I’m not doing it this year. I’m not doing it.

            

One thing I understand well is defiance. They say that stubbornness, pointed in the right direction, can be a powerful force for good. I am taking a defiant stand for good this Christmas.

            

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and the world is already spinning, already shopping, already spending and planning and eating and whirling. Holiday sales have already made the stores feel like crack dens. Calendars are already filling up. It already feels out of control, like it is already overtaking you in its loud sparkling chaos.

            

Okay, maybe you don’t feel like that at all. If you are someone who floats through holiday chaos with no sense of resistance then I applaud you and you need read no further. But for the rest of us –

           

This is my act of defiance: I’m not doing it. I’m not missing out. I will not let the miracle of Christmas get buried in stress and anxiety. I will not let the presence of Jesus and the mystery of the incarnation get lost in the whirlwind of a world which chases everything while needing nothing other than to look that mystery straight in the face and fall in love.

            

This is my defiance, heels dug in, unmoved, pointed in the right direction. This year I don’t want to just survive, I don’t want to just get through the holidays gritting my teeth and taking shelter in sarcastic humor. Nope, I want more.

I want to know God more. I want to stop and stare at the nativity, and I want to meditate on its wonder. I want to understand the Old Testament passages which are attached to our Jesus but of which I have no understanding of whatsoever.

I want to not pretend away my ignorance of this season and all its majesty. I want to feel the pain of Israel and I want to taste the hope of Jesus’ return. I want to believe that every tear will be wiped away by God Himself.

           

I want to reflect on God-made-man, fully-divine fully human, born of the Virgin Mary. I want to get lost in the thought of infinite God born as tiny sweet baby, having the sweet baby smell, needing His mommy. I want to be swept away entirely in the soft light coming from the Christmas tree while basking in the Word every night.

            

I want to share the wonder as it sparkles in the eyes of my children. I want to really see them this year. I want to tell them about Jesus. I want to help them learn how to be a defiantly different person in Christ against the tidal wave of our culture. I want to linger in the romantic light of the Christmas tree, I want to see the snow sparkle, and I want to see Christ in all of it.

            

I want to go deeper with this God who came here so that we would have the option to do so. I want to stand with other Christians in worship every week and sing about Jesus’ coming. In Sunday school, I want to read and discuss the coming of the Event which changed the world and our hearts forever. With Christians around the world I want to say yes, this season is about Jesus, about God’s faithfulness, about hope and light in a broken world.

           

I want to be present to the people around me, and rather than my usual sarcastic thoughts about holiday tolerance, I want to be able to offer the hope and light of Jesus to those who are already feeling exhausted, depressed, hopeless, full of grief, and broken this year.

I want more of this God, this Jesus whom we can’t possibly wrap our infinite minds around, but who was born in a manger and lives in our hearts. I am hungry, I want to be saturated, because the only other option is to starve in the dry and weary land of consumerism and shallow holiday greetings. I am bent on waiting for the Savior to be born in my heart again, to reveal Himself to me again, and again, and again. Anew, and anew, and anew.

If there is one thing God is teaching me right now, it is that He has to be my first priority. Not just in theory, not just because I say He is, but because I will it to be so, I make it so, it is in reality. When this theory becomes reality, it changes how time is spent, it changes priorities, it changes relationships and thought-life, it changes everything. What better season than this?

Carol Carletto writes: The best metaphor for our world of today is astronauts speeding through the cosmos, but with their life-support capsule pierced by a meteorite fragment. But the Church resembles Mary and Joseph traveling from Egypt to Nazareth on a donkey, holding in their arms the weakness and poverty of the child Jesus: God incarnate.

Yes. God help us all to wait, to slow down, to seek, and to expect miracles this season. Help us see clearly that busy schedules and ribbons and bows do not a fed Christian make. Help us not to be so silly that we starve even though we are surrounded by the richest kind of food in Scripture and tradition this season. Come Lord Jesus, come!

God's Will

What is God’s will for my life…..?

I have traveled through several real and imagined journeys while being haunted by this question. For many years it seemed to me that “God’s will” was some ridiculous Christian insider phrase, some secret knowledge discernable only by those who knew God in some absurdly intimate way which I would never, ever experience.

I can't hear You, God?!?!

I would hear Christians say that “God told them” something, and it was enough to make me consider moving to another state where I could be a quiet atheist free from the sickening plague of spiritual inferiority, and removed from the well-meaning condescension of Christians who did not understand why I was incapable of tuning into that “still, small voice.”

What they (and I) didn’t realize was that I had drowned that still, small, God-conscious voice in years of booze and covered it in crushed up pills and buried it in debauchery and veiled it in plumes of marijuana smoke. It would be years before that voice would become discernable again. And so I struggled.

My whole life, from childhood on, I felt like everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing, and everyone received the life instruction booklet. Except me. For whatever reason, I lived in chronic anxiety and confusion, never having a clue what it was I supposed to be doing, and hating everyone else who did.

This was no different. Everyone knew exactly what God’s special purpose was for them, everyone could hear His voice, everyone was living delightfully in the certainty that they were walking on the path God had planned for them.

Everyone except me. Because I had no idea what God wanted from me. I couldn’t distinguish His voice from all the other voices inside my head warring for my attention.

I figured that even if God had a path planned out for me, which seemed unlikely, it wouldn’t matter anyways, because there was no way I was going to find it in my bumbling, unspiritual, confused idiocy.

Sometimes I hated all of it so much that I just wanted to walk away from God, from Jesus and Christianity and people who threw around their knowledge of God’s voice like it was a spiritual medal of honor. Get me out of here please I need some air….

This is a good time to point out the grace of Jesus Christ and the power of God’s Word. I hated all of it, I hated the struggle, the internal war, the questions, the doubts, and especially the people who “knew God.” Even when they were sincere I hated it. For whatever reason, I burdened myself with an absolutely insane obligation and personal responsibility to find and discern “God’s Will” for my life. It was all up to me, and I was bound to fail, and so I was mad.

But while I hated it all and shook my fist at this God who would not give me my answers, I was still drawn to the name of Jesus. There was just no walking away from Him. Not only this, but in my self-reliant struggle to find all answers, God’s Word began to break into my heart, changing me and shaping me, even as I kicked and struggled. Jesus Christ and God’s written Word are more powerful and capable than any battle I try to fight, thanks be to God.

Eating Bugs?

Eventually, my rage turned to indifference. Alright God, if you aren’t going to show me the long-range plot of my life and exactly where it is in Africa that I will be eating bugs for Jesus, then whatever. I’m going to do the best I can with what’s in front of me, I’m going to seek you, and I’m going to stop thinking about it. I’m done trying to hear some mystical wind pointing me in the right direction. Whatever.

About this time, a dear friend quoted Micah 6:8 to me: “He has shown you, o mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

What a relief. God wants me to love Him, and to do what is in front of me. And this is enough. I do not have to figure out the rest of my life today. I only have to figure out how to best love God in my actions in each moment today. Is it so simple?

It is. I began to realize that in my childish demand to see and fully grasp the big picture, I was failing to live as God wanted me to in the daily picture. And the daily picture is truly what matters the most, because it is the string of daily moments which weaves together our bigger picture.

            

In truth, what am I really doing if I cannot be obedient to Jesus in the present? Isn’t my willingness to obey some far-off destiny as futile as sand running through my fingers if I am unable to obey Him right now in this very moment? The desire for big-picture obedience might be veiled in good intentions and nobility, but not if I am neglecting Jesus right now.

           

My ego would like me to believe that real ministry and work for God are somewhere other than right in front of me. My ego would like me to believe that my far off romantic destiny of eating bugs for Jesus in Africa (or whatever) is way more important than the daily humdrum of laundry, dishes, jungle animals, coloring books, and the ever-present reminder that I can never sweep the floors clear enough to not have crumbs stuck to the bottom of my socks. Never, it never happens.

            

But then Jesus reminds me that in His Kingdom, things are upside down, or perhaps right side up. What seems important to me is not, and what seems trivial to me is significant in the eyes of God. To see God Himself dead on the Cross is to see that surely He acts in unexpected ways. His ways are not our own.

            

Trial, error, struggle, exhaustion, and surrender have taught me that to love God and love others I have to start with one person at a time, particularly the person right in front of me at any given moment. It is not about grandiosity or glory, but about trying to make the lives of the people around me a little better, one at a time, often in ways that seem insignificant very much un-glorious.

          

In my world, this means that the big picture thoughts surrender to the immediate needs in front of me. My curiosity about when/where/how/what will come in the future bows to the filthy construction worker clothes that must be washed, the lunch that needs to be packed, the little people who need to play with blocks and learn hymns and hear about Jesus from their mama. I am learning more and more that Jesus wants me to be right here, right now. Nothing more, nothing less. Just here, present in love.

            

This also means I have come to firmly believe that God cares about the seemingly tiniest and most intimate details of our lives. He sometimes gives big-picture guidance, but more often, He gives guidance about what is most important right now, because that is enough, and this is walking by faith.

And yes, I have even come to firmly believe that God does speak to us. I had to be rid of a lot of sin-sickness and it had to be replaced with a lot of God’s Word and Christian love. This is daily work, but it is not really work to receive the gift of grace from God. A small price to pay indeed for finally being able to hear His voice today.

It was pouring rain on Saturday night when little Theo and I walked out of a restaurant. He was my dinner date. As the rain began to hit our heads, he began laughing out loud, the sound echoing across the parking lot and into the night. “It’s raining mama – it’s raining! Hahahahahaha….”

This is God's Will for me

I laughed and we ran to the truck holding hands, getting pelted by rain and laughing the whole way. Before we got in, I knelt on one knee in the rain and looked him in the face and told him that I love him and that he is so very special. We hugged in the rain and I thought  -

Yes.    

This.     

This warm and random November rain, this sweet child, this laughter.  

This is it. 

This is God’s perfect Will for me. 

This is how God teaches me. 

All Saints and Ghost Babies

November 1 was a rainy, cold day. Like many of you, I had what can only be described as a sugar hangover, the consequence of indulging too freely in the Halloween candy which was acquired from neighbors by my little elephant and little purple dragon the night before. 

 November 1 was also All Saints Day. Traditionally, the church held this as a day to recognize and remember not only the martyrs of the Christian faith whose blood helped to carry the church along, but to remember all those Christians who have led us, taught us, been examples to us, and gone to be with Jesus. On this day we reflect upon the “great cloud of witnesses” which surrounds us and encourages us. (Heb 12:1).

          

 There is nothing like looking one more time at the pictures of those who have died. The memories come, and with them the happy but sad knot that wells up in your throat and your stomach. Suddenly life feels like sand slipping through your fingers, like someone has pulled the rug out from under your feet. It is hard to put into words, even for this writer who dwells always in a cacophony of word-related delight.

This year I realized, for the very first time, that I know a lot of dead people. Until recently, my dead grandparents held a cherished place in my heart, but their deadness was a very far away thing; a very unique and unusual thing. Over these past years, I have seen many more join them, including two great uncles and a cherished aunt who all made their way to heaven last month within days of each other. Death has come a bit closer to me.

As I looked out the window at the sloppy wet leaves covering the driveway and sidewalk, I was hit by a grief-wave reminder. Death has come a bit closer to me not just by these relatives, but in my own home, in my own womb not too long ago.

            

We had a miscarriage in July. It was not the first time, but that did not make it any less strange or painful. It was very early in pregnancy, but this also did not make it any less strange or painful. We were not expecting to get pregnant, but again, this did not make it any less strange or painful. We have two healthy boys already, but this too did not make it any less strange or painful.

            

Statistics tells us that most women will have a miscarriage or several of them throughout the course of their life. Why is it that we hear so little about it? I have no scientific explanation for the quietness that surrounds miscarriage, but I can tell you why it simply had to be a lonely silence for me as I walked through it.

            

When I found I was pregnant, I was stunned, which is pretty much always the case went you aren’t expecting it. Surprise quickly turned into enormous excitement because THERE IS GOING TO BE ANOTHER BABY, and my friends, there is just no way to not be excited about that!

            

Hormones began to rage. I began to crave celery with grapes and blue cheese. Strange. The July heat led to headaches and nausea, part of the bitter sweetness of building a little person inside of you. We began to talk about how exhausted we already are with two boys, and how we might never sleep again. We began to cautiously dream of a quiet, soft, sweet little girl who would sleep through the night, snuggle with pink teddy bears, and generally not be another rough and tumble little boy.

So you begin to hope and dream, to imagine doctor appointments, labor, little fingers and little toes, curls and the smell of newborn skin. Big brothers. You experience the profound flicker of new life, the sense of wonder which makes you float like a balloon. And then, suddenly, the flicker goes out, like trying to light a match in the rain.

Anger comes, and part of me couldn’t help feeling like God was a big mean bully dangling a piece of the best candy ever in front of my face, only to snatch it away when I was just about to taste it. My prayer life for a while consisted only of the question – God, what in the world was the point of this rollercoaster ride?

           

Sadness and depression also came, and I walked around for weeks feeling like one big raw nerve ending exposed to the elements. Everything hurt, and something as soft as the wind blowing could send me into tears. More than anything else, I was tired.

            

A few people knew, and I coveted their prayers, knowing the waves could easily sweep me away, and someone ought to be praying for me. Yet for the most part, I kept it to myself, like most women do.

            

Why do we do this? Because while suffering alone is terrifying, it is preferable to suffering in public. There are a lot of things that I will put right out there for everyone to see, like my testimony of being a drunken drug addicted spiritually bankrupt fool until I was redeemed by Jesus thank you God.

            

But unlike testimony, which might help others, the thought of airing this searing pain in public was enough to send me running for the hills. All I had was a heavy sadness and a sense of blank emptiness – not only spiritually and emotionally, but literally physically too. I suffered in silence mainly because I had two little T-shirts in a bag under the bathroom sink (along with the positive pregnancy test) that both said “BIG BROTHER,” and I had been waiting for the right moment to put them on the boys and send them to see their grandparents. (The shirts are still there – I’m not ready to deal with that yet).

I didn’t want to talk about it because I had nothing to say, nothing but an overwhelming sense of nothing and stupid injustice and hateful death in a broken stupid Fallen world of misery.

Several months later I still don’t like it, but with grace I finally have enough acceptance that I think it could be helpful to others who suffer in silence.

It still feels unfair and really sad. But here is what I know – Scripture tells us that eternal life with Jesus is a real thing. Our little phantom baby of July is with Jesus, and with the rest of the Saints – and that is far more than I ever could have given that little one here.

            

C.S. Lewis says this: “We are very shy nowadays of even mentioning heaven. We are afraid of the jeer about ‘pie in the sky’, and of being told that we are trying to ‘escape’ from the duty of making a happy world here and now into dreams of a happy world elsewhere. But either there is ‘pie in the sky’ or there is not. If there is not, then Christianity is false, for this doctrine is woven into its whole fabric.”

            

Right you are, Mr. Lewis. While I don’t know what the other side looks like, I know that Jesus has my children – all of them, the ones on earth and the ones in that happy place with Him. God’s ways are not my own, because I want my babies, all of them, with me, today and forever, for my selfish enjoyment. His ways are better. 

            
Maybe you know someone who is silently suffering with the pain of a phantom baby. Maybe instead of trying to be helpful or offering her rational comforts, you can give her this article, and leave her to lay in bed in all her emptiness. We have to live in that empty place for a time. She will come out of it, because God is full of grace, and because ultimately we mothers can’t help but come to the conclusion that we, in all our motherliness, are not the Savior, and in truth it is at once sad, but restful and wonderful to know that He holds our little ones.