Advent: The Way God Comes

When I was growing up, one of our family traditions was to drive out to the Christmas tree farm as a family and chop down our very own tree for our home.

            

As is the case with many family traditions, this one was a steady mixture between the magic and wonder of the Christmas season, and the comic relief of trying to make special memories in the complex context of family life.

           

My sister, and I would wander around the Christmas farm in subzero temperatures, sometimes for hours, marveling at the beauty of the snow glistening on the pine trees. Mom would be ever cheerful, and Dad would grumble. Fingers and toes would become numb.

            

We could never come to a collective agreement on a tree. Finally dad would give us an ultimatum and we would have to force a decision. Then he would saw the tree down by hand and heave it into our vehicle. Mom, still happy, wished dad would be happier. We were all cold.

            

At home, we would all get warm and watch with rosy cheeks while dad figured out how to get the tree cleaned up, through the front door, and into the stand. By the end of the night the tree was up, decorated to capacity, and the house smelled like pine. Whether or not dad thought it was worth the work, all of his girls were very pleased.

            

For the rest of the month the tree stood in its corner, lit up, full of magic and mystery, hope and excitement, wonder and beauty, begging you to linger a little longer. It was the presence of Christmas in our home. These are those real-life, perfectly imperfect kind of memories that we cherish close to our hearts.

           

This year we decided to carry this tradition into our own family. On Monday afternoon, I awoke from a nap, grumpy. The boys awoke a moment later, grumpy. There was not a flake of snow to be seen, but I drank some stale old coffee, and we piled into the truck and drove off to the tree farm.

            

Little Theo and I exchanged opinions about tree shapes and sizes. Remi bobbed around, thrilled to be running in an open field. My husband told us to hurry up. Like my mom, I worried that he didn’t realize the importance of this experience.

            

We picked a tree, and the boys watched their dad cut it down. Then, my husband picked up the tree, lugged it over his shoulder, and promptly turned to walk to the truck. He nearly took my head off with the tree, and hit me in the face with it, but I suppose that worse things have happened.

            

Little Theo got to ride on the back of the tailgate with me, and both boys got to see how the tree-shaker works. My husband did all the hard work of getting the tree into the house, and by the end of the night it was lit up, decorated, and standing in the corner, bringing wonder and magic into our home.

            

The tree will be with us for the entire month, an ever-present reminder of God’s presence promised, God’s presence coming, God’s presence born to us in Jesus and dwelling with us until He comes back again.

           

Each night, as it grows dark outside, we plug in the lights of the tree, and our home is filled again with that mysterious, soft, still warmth. When the kids finally fall asleep, and my husband is outside in his shop, and I am left alone with the sparkling lights and the lingering smell of pine, I can’t help but feel called, beckoned, invited into its rest. I can’t help but think…yes…yes this is how God comes.

            

God comes again, and again, new every day, and every night. God comes softly knocking on the heart, inviting you to linger a little longer in His presence. God feels like cherished childhood memories and like safety and warm fire places. God smells like pine needles in my home.

           

He comes into our homes and into our hearts, the ever-present One dwelling with us. Ready or not, He comes. Sunshine or rain, snowflakes or sleet, He stays. He is with us always, offering us light always, our soft place to land, always. Teaching us to love each other, always.

           

God comes to me after my long day, He enters right into my weariness and my aching head. He softly says Come child, sit, rest, bask in my Word. And by the soft light of Christmas lights on the tree, I do.

            

God enters into my grumpy, and into the way my coffee tastes stale and old. He dwells among our pre-nap and post-nap grumps. He is with us when my 2 year-old is screaming at midnight because we won’t let him sleep in our bed. He is with us when my 2 year-old is screaming again at 4am for the same reason. He is walking beside me when I am red-eyed and sleep-deprived, little people clawing at me before the sun is up.

            

God dwells with our family, in our home, among the crumbs that always seem to be there and the chocolate milk fingerprints on the walls. He enters into my impatient mommy heart when I have nothing left for these little people, and He gives me a little more to give, a fresh dose of grace for their sake and my sake. He walks with me through my fears and my worst moments.

            

He comes and cuts right through my PR campaign, and reminds me that He knows the truth, and loves the true me. He sprinkles my conscience with His blood, reminding me that I am free to be His true child, with total freedom to love and to serve.

             

He dwells with us and changes us, and in the lull of the Christmas tree lights it seems so clear that He is always offering us a Word of hope and healing in a very raw world, always offering us grace that renews and rest that restores, enough for each day.

           

It is hard for me to wrap my mind around this God-with-us, God-with me. The sense of wonder that comes with this season, the sparkling lights, the crystal snow, the music, the magical crisp feeling of nighttime silence after the snow falls…it is overwhelming.

            

 I feel flooded by grace, wrapped up in grace like a warm, soft blanket surrounding me. Nurtured by God’s Word and the constant reminders of His presence, I feel quieted to my very core.

            

This is how God comes, to me and to the whole world. Quietly, like the biggest understatement there ever could be. Softly, like the glow of a candle.

            

He comes simply, into an unspectacular manger, a cold night, a tired mother, a clueless sin-sick world. No pomp and circumstance, no glory, just God entering into our space, coming to us just as we are. Born to die for our redemption, born to suffer for our healing. 

            

Tonight I write this reminder to myself. When the pleasant haze of Christmas has passed, when the decorations are down and the tree is dead, when this soft warmth has shriveled back into winter cold and nothingness…Christ still comes.

           

He comes when fear sets in and tries to paralyze. He comes when depression brings exhaustion. He comes when sin infests the heart. He comes when the broken world seems too much to bear. He comes to walk beside, to love, to cry, to guide.  

            

Those times will come, and even tomorrow may be a new kind of hellish valley. But the great thing about Christmas is that this reminder of Christ’s presence is just so tangible, so real. We taste it and touch it and live in it. It bombards us and overwhelms us, wraps us and holds us and quiets us. What a foretaste of our eternal inheritance! The God who came as a baby to die for the ugly broken world will come to our hearts again and again, and will be faithful to return, wiping every tear, making all things new.

           

Friends, in years past I would always suffer from Holiday panic. Anxiety and depression almost always gripped me as I thought about all the activity pressing in on me. This year, there is only one thing that is different. God has drawn me to shift my focus onto Him, not just in theory but in reality. He whispers stop child, stop looking around. Don’t worry about that. Just look to me, think about me, dwell in me, let me heal you with grace and mend you with my Word. Come to me as I come to you, fix your eyes upon Jesus and be at peace.

           

And it is much better this way, just expecting God to come.