In the Hush of Christmas

We drove west last night, out into the dark. Out of the city and lights and wound through hilly roads under inky, clear skies.

So quiet and calm, I just stopped to look up before I closed the van door and couldn't even imagine...

As warm breath turned to clouds of cold vapor, I couldn't help but wonder at the contrast...

He left.


Bound by nothing, surrounded by the glory and peace of heaven, He left.

He left the freedom of Heaven to come near to the crush and chaos and filth of humanity.

Madison House became a home for Christmas this past Monday with a number nearing 2000 mamas and daddies and little ones coming through...

I stood in the stairway with my own four little ones packed in tight and sharing tired smiles.

I sat down in the basement to watch nervous actors, so thankful that smiles speak clearer than my broken Spanish ever could.  Thankful for the mamas who smile through broken English and press in close because sometimes that's what mamas do. Sometimes that's all we can do, press in close to each other and press in close to Jesus,

because that's what He did.

He left the expanse of Heaven for the crush of earth and for the pursuit of us and I've learned this:

Christ entering in to our mess is beautiful.

He alone makes our mess beautiful.


Jesus stepping onto earth's crust does two things -

it makes me long for the peace of Heaven,

and it opens my eyes to beauty in the ugliness of earth.


It lets me rest in the in between spaces.


I placed tiny paper Jesus into the tiny paper manger before I turned out the lights late last night,

I surrounded Him with the wise men and Mary and that tired old donkey that got her there.

And in the quiet I felt the tension slip away,

there is peace in the in between spaces,

all because He came.

All because He came for love...

When Christmas...and Joy...Are Near

It is five days until Christmas and the sun sinks lower and fast. Shadows begin just after noon and I am running low on candles.

They race to plug in the Christmas lights and I race to get everything done and they do what I used to do and they try and wish the days to race faster.

I just want them to slow down.

The youngest, the smallest, the one who this time last year stretched my skin taut, she stands shaky and takes that first step to the cheers of her daddy and braves 5 steps from table to dishwasher to the tears of her mama.

This is our last *first* Christmas.


The Wise Men Three come with me to the espresso machine in the early hours - I assume they must be weary as well. Maybe the aroma of ground coffee beans will be just the kick they need. They started their journey December 1st around our home and soon they'll find rest and the babe and the little ones won't frantically search for the Searchers each morning.

We light candles in the evening as we read of The Word in His Word and we read of the wait for His first coming and my eyes are opened a bit more to the tension as we wait for His second.

Those Three Kings searched with their eyes on the skies and I have found myself searching with eyes on tissue typed words...

The weeks of Advent have been intentional this year and as we entered into this week of Joy, I assumed that is what I would easily find - only, before there is to be Joy, there first needs to be a revealing...and as we draw nearer to the solstice, when the day will be shortest and the night longest the contrast between light and dark becomes ever clearer as one wick is ignited and then another into the hungry and surrounding shadows.

And His light - it is what He does - reveals the deepest and the darkest places in us that need examining. Lifts that curtain on hidden sin and pierces deeply.

Then waits expectantly.


Tuesday found me sitting with Nehemiah as he and Ezra and the priests and elders stood before and among the Israelites and read from the Torah - heavy words weighted down with all of the places they had fallen short.

They wept.

They were grieved.

They were failures.

And it is here that I realized that until there is deep and true repentance, Joy remains elusive. Until there is a turning from, there is never a turning up of the corners of a mouth or a lightness in the heart.

Nehemiah, he saw the grief and he knew the solution,

And Nehemiah, who was the governor, and Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep.” For all the people wept as they heard the words of the Law. Then he said to them, “Go your way. Eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions to anyone who has nothing ready, for this day is holy to our Lord. And do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” So the Levites calmed all the people, saying, “Be quiet, for this day is holy; do not be grieved.” And all the people went their way to eat and drink and to send portions and to make great rejoicing, because they had understood the words that were declared to them. Nehemiah 8:9-11

I think of Mary, whose skin stretched tight with her Savior and who held His newborn skin close. The mama who clapped for God-in-the-flesh as He took His first wobbly steps across a dusty floor. The mama whose first born Son knew her before she ever was and she cradled Him in her arms and ached for days to slow by.

Ached as He was beaten.

Broke as He was nailed to a tree.

Wept as He died for her,

for me,

for you.


It's five days until Christmas and the One Who came as Mary's Firstborn, God as Babe - He came to be with us. To take on our skin and break the curse that courses through our sin-caked veins.  That tender, fragile Infant, born into the filth of a stable, He took on all our filth and became The Way for us to come Home.

But first, I sit with the Baby. I sit and I wonder at a limitless God Who took on the limitations of our dust and I hold on to the sureness of Him.

And I find Joy is His nearness...

Adoring:

You came as Mary's Firstborn. You came close and You took on the form of a small and helpless Babe.

Thank You. God Who flung the galaxy in space and created silky grass and the blue of the sky, You came near to be born, to fill lungs with our air and Your heart beat in time with our own.

You reveal the dark places in me and You, Light of the world break the curse of sin and darkness and You strengthen me with joy as I turn from and learn in towards You.

Thank you for coming, for coming to rescue us who are desperately lost without You.  

When Hope Meets Grief

It's been almost 4 Christmases since that rope and his neck and that tree out in the woods. 4 Christmases since everything changed and the landscape of our lives was lost under a flood of grief.

It has been 3 Christmases since we packed up our life and our children and dreams and left in the bright sunlight of that bitterly cold morning in January.


This season has become one that is marked now by the number of years since - since grief entered in. I can still remember how it was marked by the anticipation of songs and carols and decorations, crazy snowfalls and the warmth of home...

It can all change so quickly.


This season? Underneath all that is beautiful, all that is anticipated, all that is wonderful and bright - it can be marked with an undeniable ache, a yearning for what once was, what we wish could be and the darkened days can match that hollowed out howl and the days leading up to the days of Christ's birth can be a stark pain of salt rubbed into raw wounds.


I can forget, under all that is merry and bright that the One Who came wrapped in an infant's skin and wrapped in torn cloths and placed in the brittle straw of a manger, that He came not indifferent, but as God, as One acquainted with grief. 


Each night, the four little ones and us, we sit close and read of Christ's history, of the story of His coming that stretched right back into the very beginning of Genesis. Each night we light the advent candle that shines brightly into the hushed dark.

This week has been the week of Hope. Of a wick lit and a flame burning brightly when everything else around it is dark. All week I have been reading Words woven throughout Scripture that breathe Hope back into my heart. Back into the days that have become marked with dread.

He entered in, stepped through the veil of the unseen to become fully seen and it's the question that has been echoing in my heart as I grab hold of His Hope -

Will I cling to Him too? Will I cling to the One Who is a Man of Sorrows, acquainted with grief, rejected, despised...One not esteemed?

Will I identify my life with One Who broke through and identified with mine so that He could save and mend and heal the brokenness and clothe me with His righteousness?

This season, with the holly and the twinkling lights and the softly lit nativity scenes - they are only the opening notes that move my heart to remember why it was that Jesus came.

Grief marks my Christmas, but grief and sorrow marked my Savior and out of Him came new life and hope and He comes to redeem and make new.


So I can worship and praise and sing carols with tears on my face because He knows. And He came. And in the darkest night, Hope shines brightly...

Hope fills the afflicted soul with such inward joy and consolation, that it can laugh while tears are in the eye, sigh and sing all in a breath; it is called “the rejoicing of hope” (Hebrews 3:6).  William Gurnall

Adoring:

God Who is acquainted with grief, Who is acquainted with the very depths of me - I come before You in quiet adoration. Underneath the unsteady days of memories and hearts that are still broken, You hold firm and hold us fast. You are peace in the darkest of storms and the Hope that shines brightly to pierce the blackest night.

I praise and thank You for Your compassion, for not coming to us as unfeeling or too lofty, but for bending low in the dirt of us and for weeping over the wreckage of sin in us and for dying for us so our souls could be redeemed. You are so good, so amazing and this season, with all its joys and grief is itself redeemed when my eyes are fixed on the beauty of You.

When He Sees

November is breathing her last and I want to try and figure out how to prolong these dark autumn days just a little longer.

I don't know where these days have gone.


I prepare the candles for advent and our home for Christmas and their excitement is building, but I just want to be back at the beginning of the cooling-down days of Fall; to hold on to the burning fire of fading leaves for just a few more moments before each memory made swirls on the blowing wind of time ticking fast.


I look back on this year and it has been beautiful and hard and the newborn haze has quickly been replaced with pre-toddler motion and my hands feel so empty and full all at the same time.


And I have been Sarai, the one who dreams of a dream fulfilled and always the answer seems to be no, not yet. 

The waiting of it aches.

And I have been her, the woman who sees the potential in other places and demands that that is where it will be made right.

But it isn't.

It never is.

Only Jesus is Savior and anything else crumbles under the weight of rushed ambition.


I have been Hagar, not empty but desperate and wandering, searching and not sure where to go next in a place void of all answers.


I have been both.


The angel of the Lord? He found Hagar by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur.

Her flight was taking her in the direction of Egypt.

She was heading back home.


She was moving towards the familiar. Where else could she go?


It feels that way, sometimes. When what I have planned for falls through and when what I am doing hurts and feels awkward and heavy. Why not just throw it all off and go back to what I know, what feels familiar and right and doesn't require too much of a change?


Hagar was heading back home, but she was also staying near a spring of water. She was staying near a source of life.

And it was here that the angel of the Lord stopped her, he met her, he called her by name.


She wasn't forgotten in the promise of another. She may have been discarded by the ones over her, but she was still treasured by the One Who formed her. Their eyes may have looked away as she started over that dusty plain, but His Eyes never, never left her.


He told her to go back. Back to shame and humiliation and what would be hard. He asked her to walk that path back and to submit to a woman who would despise her.

But she would go back with a promise.

And she would go back knowing that God Himself saw her.


The years and the days may whirl by in a dizzying speed,

my heart may ache at all that is changing and moving and these hands may cup small ones close because tomorrow, they won't be so small.

But as the seasons change and calendar pages are flipped and as we enter into a season of Advent and Christmas, I can know,

  always,

God sees me.

I am known.

And the One Who Sees is the One Who Provides and He will cover my days until He welcomes me home.

I can trust this.

I can trust Him.


Adoring:

Father God, You have given this day and You gave all the ones before and You hold me in the questioning and You see me in my wandering; You cover me and You know all that tomorrow holds. Like Hagar, help me to know You as the One Who sees, and like Sarai, let me know You as the God Who sustains in the waiting.

And as November fades in the quiet and crazy of Christmas, let my heart burn with a deep love that is unfading for You in the long nights that find me waiting for Your arrival.

I love you, Jesus. You are so good.

For When She Wonders (Day 21)

Mama, what happens if someday, someone calls me ugly?

She asked me that just as I was tucking the sheets under her 6 year old chin.

We are all dust and we all crumble under the pain and hurt of the brokenness around us.


And the one thing she longs for is beauty.

She searches it out and is the first one to point out the beauty of nature around us. The first one of my children to compliment a stranger, no matter how crazy or outlandish an outfit. She seeks beauty in all things and she is tender enough still to actually find it.


But what happens if...?


Somewhere along the way, over days or weeks or mere seconds, the thought crossed through her mind that the one who seeks the beauty may never have the beauty sought out in her...

And she was crushed.


Dust crumbles under the weight of worry and expectation and just like the ground we will return to, when it is dry enough, it will all just blow away...


I hold her close and recite those words long ago memorized at a bible camp when a longing for home made the tears run down my face; when I was all awkward and gangly and thought these words were never meant for me,

For you formed my inward parts;

you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

my soul knows it very well.  Psalm 139:13-14

God creates beauty and that means that you are beauty in motion. You are beautiful and there are only beautiful people. The only ugliness that we see are the ugly attitudes we allow...but when God created you all wonderful, He created true beauty.

She needs to know that He has His hand on her. That there is no where she can go that He won't find her...There is a God Who sees her. That when she is lost in a sea of loneliness or when the darkness of sin sweeps over her, she is never unseen by Him. He sees her and loves her and relentlessly pursues her.

Her covering of dust may make her feel ordinary, hidden, like nothing really special at all, but the One Who knit her together in my womb lifts her up and calls her beauty His own because He sees and He pursues and He gently lifts her up.


Then He turns to her mama, to me, and I see that He says this for my dusty and broken heart too...



Adoring:
God Who raises me from the dust, You use the fears of my daughter to speak into the fears of this heart and instead of ash blowing away, You cup this heart and pour Your love into a simple, fragile jar of clay.  You are the Lifter of my head and the Lover of this soul and eyes that are lifted and filled with You, see true Beauty and lives are transformed...

To Become Small

The desire to be seen,

to be known,

can be so strong at times.


As though being where you are and who you are is never quite enough.


But the Father sees. He sees when you take a step back from all that striving to be noticed. He sees that step you take back, away from chasing after all the mirages of what you think will satisfy.  He sees, when in the quiet, in the mundane, in the routine of what He has given to you now, you step away from it all. Not to enter into a fight for recognition, but to enter into the quiet, intimate spaces of being known fully and completely by the very God Who created you.

He sees what is done in the secret places, in the quiet places, in the questioning of your worth and in the feeling small.


Because it is then you see Him most clearly.

If God doesn't rule your mundane, then He doesn't

rule you. Because that's where you live.   ~Paul Tripp

Adoring:

My Father Who sees in secret, make me fearless of being small. Of being unknown. Of being known fully by the One Fully God. Nothing escapes Your eyes that always see and when I place myself before Your greatness, there is no other place safer for my soul.

Rule the mundane spaces, the places I despise. Transform them into an oasis where I see you most clearly. 

When I Can't See {Day 13}

We meet in that familiar stance again this morning, as the sun streams in the window by the front door and defiance flashes in her eyes.

My face is set to match her will and we stand at that standstill, again, for the one thousandth time.

We both know that as the mama, I will eventually win, but she is going to give me a run for my money before she allows that to happen.

And it isn't until later that I remember those verses from this morning, after the battle has been won in my favor and she is calmed down and quietly working that His Word sinks deep:

But now, you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander,

and obscene talk from your mouth...Put on then, as God's chosen ones, 

holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and

patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against 

another, forgiving each other, as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also

must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything 

together in perfect harmony.  Colossians 3:8, 12-14

I can forget often, that before her anger can be addressed, my heart needs examining; while her eyes are flashing, mine need to soften. Before we stand, locked in a heated battle, my arms need to open and pull her in close.

It feels more natural to allow frustration to take the wheel - for my position as the mama to be the driving force behind compliance...but that isn't what Jesus asks of us.

Instead of putting on what feels normal, He asks us to go against the grain and to put on what our flesh will want to rip off:

Peel off anger and cup compassion.

Remove wrath and receive kindness.

Throw away malice and kneel in humility...

And when everything in me wants to complain about the attitudes and the immaturity, forgive. Bear with the child, the friend, the stranger, the one out to harm; bear with them and lean into the Holy Spirit - receive from Him all that is needed to speak His Life and Love to the broken soul in front of me.

Because I am only seeing with my eyes what is going on around me. I don't know what is going on deep down in her heart. I don't know what set off the first battle cry and in the heat of the moment, it is going to be even harder to decipher. 

Like Samuel, He asks us to look beyond what our eyes see and trust that He alone knows the very depths of her heart and I can make all the judgments I want to about the situation, but her heart will remain unreachable, her will unteachable unless He reveals the way through.

Tomorrow, we will try again. 

Tomorrow, I will meet her at the bottom of the stairs and trust that Jesus will show me how He sees her heart.

And the white flag will wave in surrender to the One Who gave her to me.

Adoring:

You are the God Who Looks at the Heart and most days I fall into that chair exhausted because I don't know what is going on in that head of hers, of his...of theirs. I fall exhausted because I don't fall on You and if I just would...I would find You to be faithful and loving and kind.  God Who Looks at the Heart, of them and of me, You give when we ask for wisdom and You graciously, along with Jesus, give.  Today is done, tomorrow is new and Your Mercy will be mine for the taking - so be with us in our sleep, be with us in our waking and surround us with Your Love in our interacting with one another. You are so good and so amazing, to love us and to draw near to us the way that You do.  Thank You, Jesus.