I’m not a fan of being alone, at least not for long. (That might surprise some of you who see my introvert side). The loneliness I avoid runs deeper than “who can I talk to at this party?” It’s the fear that ultimately, it’s all up to me to take care of myself.
Really, it’s a fear that I’m not enough. Loneliness sometimes feels like an indictment, doesn’t it? Like there must be a reason I’m alone. If I’d been more interesting, more worth the trouble, more something, I wouldn’t be by myself. It’s not.
And this is why I love Christmas.
Because now, God is with us. Immanuel. The one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, is now our constant.
Christmas declares that we are not alone. We never have to be alone again.
Christmas proclaims to the world that everything that might keep us from others-our failure, our mistakes, our deficiencies, our “not enough” or our “too much”-does not keep us from the love of God.
In fact, before we even asked, before we even knew we needed it, God decided to remedy our loneliness. Jesus’s birth mended the brokenness in our relationship with Him, and subsequently, in us.
And if He went through all the trouble of coming for us in the first place, He’s not going to leave us now.
The fear that drives me to rescue myself and everyone around needs to simmer in the greatest rescue story ever told, when the Hero stole into enemy territory under cover of darkness to find me because He just had to be with me.
When I’m tempted to pick up all those worries and fix them myself, Immanuel reminds me that He didn’t just come to save us from our sin, but to save us from ourselves. He is with us in the midst of the anxieties, not with condemnation but with comfort and help.
Jesus’s willingness to be with me speaks to the part of me who believes I have to prove that I’m worth having around. He came before we ever did a thing.
And though I forget again and again to lean into Him, He patiently waits, available. He is with us in the middle of every trial, every tear, every heartache, closer than our own hearts.
The one who is with us is the giver of peace, the God of comfort, the Father who won’t fail us, our greatest counsel.
We are never alone, because He is with us.
I’ve had to remind myself this over and over again lately because it’s hard. The self-sufficiency that served me and others so well and for so long in my life is not why Jesus came. He didn’t come to affirm my self-reliance, but to take it away. He came to heal it.
So this Christmas, this is the thought I’m choosing to dwell on: I am not alone. Immanuel. He is with me. With us.
“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”).
Somewhere along the way, I realized it was my parents who filled my stocking, not him. It felt unfair that they filled mine and not the other way around. I wanted to give them a gift.
So a few days before Christmas, I trekked to the flower shop my aunt owned, where I purchased two little apple ornaments. My aunt painted my parents’ names on them for me.
I could barely sleep on Christmas Eve. 3 a.m. seemed like the perfect time for my stealth mission, so I set an alarm. When it chimed, I crept down the stairs and tucked those ornaments into my parents’ stockings.
The next morning, while everyone else dug in, I watched. My parents pulled out the unexpected items and gave them curious stares. Looking back, they must have thought it was a gift from the other, and not the snazziest gift ever. I didn’t care. I was so happy to give them something nothing else mattered.
This story came to mind recently as I look ahead to Christmas. I can see how, in a way, it’s reflective of the nativity.
Because you see, there is no Santa Claus (I apologize to anyone whose child might be reading over their shoulder). But there is Someone who gives and gives, to everyone, everywhere.
Can you imagine His anticipation of Christmas? Not just a few days, or weeks, but years upon years. How did He stand the waiting? He knew what He had in store.
And then, at just the perfect time, He snuck Jesus into the world. What an unassuming package.
Most people didn’t even know what happened that night. Those who did had to wonder, “Is this it? Is this what we’ve been waiting for?” This baby was so unexpected.
I imagine God watching it all unfold, so overjoyed to give us this gift. He knew what it meant for them, and what it would mean for us, 2,000 years later.
I want the exchange of gifts this year to remind me of this truth: He is present in every one of them. We give because He gave. The joy we experience is a pale reflection of the joy He has in seeing His plan fulfilled.
There is no greater gift, and He rejoices to give it to us.
In a Bible study on listening prayer, we were told to ask God, “How much do you love me?” and wait for a response.
While I fully believe God speaks to us, I don’t usually just sit there and wait for an answer. I have more of a “so . . . get back to me on that when you’ve got a chance” attitude. But this time, I just listened and this is what He said: The cross.
Now, I know what Christ did on the cross demonstrates His love for me, but at times it feels a little impersonal. Christ died for me, but He died for everyone. It’s like saying, “You’re unique, just like everyone else.” Who’s to say I didn’t get caught up in the cosmic mix of humanity?
So I said, “God if that’s your answer, you’re going to have to unpack that.” And of course, He did.
A couple of weeks later, I watched the movie, First Knight. As I watched, God said, “Gina, that’s what I did for you. Lancelot diving into the water, jumping through fire, fighting the enemy for Guenevere? That’s what I did at the cross. That desire you have in you for a hero who will sneak into enemy territory, break down the walls, slay the dragon, climb the highest tower because of his love for you – I am that hero.”
The cross was not simply an act of the will, but a passionate, daring, emotion-driven rescue of those He loved more than life itself.
It didn’t start with the cross though. God’s love for us showed up on earth as a helpless, vulnerable baby in the arms of an ordinary girl.
“Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” (best lyric of a Christmas song ever. I will fight you on this).
At that moment, He told us how much we’re worth to Him.
We’re worth being cold and hungry and tired and tempted and tried and misunderstood and hated. He was willing to come through a humble birth to live a humble life in order to rescue us.
And all so that one day, He could be our hero, come to our rescue, and save us from death itself. That’s how much we’re worth.
I hope in all the busyness of this season, we hold fast to that. Feel your worth, friends: worth living for, and worth dying for.
One year, I almost ordered 300 Christmas cards from, “The Carter family.”
We are not the Carter family.
Every year, I chase this elusive idea of a perfect Christmas.
In my scenario, all gifts (and I mean all) are purchased by December 15th at the very latest.
One day of baking suffices for all the places and people who require me to give them creatively arranged sugar.
No child ever asks me to help them get a gift for a classmate/outreach/teacher by tomorrow.
All the cards and gifts for friends are doled out early on, leaving plenty of time to simply enjoy the holidays, drink chai latte, and let Alexa play me Christmas carols all day. I want beautiful family memories, traditions we all love and embrace.
I long for harmonious relationships, the Norman Rockwell family gathered around the fireplace. There is unity, love, and warmth.
But sometimes you almost order cards with someone else’s name on them.
Sometimes you try to make a gingerbread house and it nearly drives you insane.
There are more cookies to make, more gifts to buy, things are out of stock, there are too many parties, and the tree falls over of its own accord (I’m looking at you, tree of 2014).
There’s the awkwardness of unreciprocated gifts and cards, stilted conversations with family members, tiptoeing around the topics we know ruffle feathers.
There is a new empty space at the table.
There are missed flights, disappointed expectations, stressful coordination of schedules and outright painful interactions.
You start to wonder if you could just not participate in Christmas this year.
But there’s still a perfect Christmas to be found.
After all, the first Christmas was an imperfect one, but it still ended well.
I’m sure the Christmas story was not what Mary had planned.
She didn’t want to be an unwed mother, traveling during her last month of pregnancy, forced to give birth in the stench of animals, far from her family.
Joseph never wanted the stigma of his fiancé being pregnant.
He didn’t ask for the hassle of traveling to his hometown.
He wouldn’t have chosen to become a refugee in Egypt to protect his son.
But this is how God orchestrated sending his son to us. And in the end, it was all good, because we got Jesus.
The perfect Christmas is one where we find Jesus.
We do not owe the world a beautifully decorated house or a slew of Christmas gifts.
We can send them a picture that claims we are someone else, and they will still know who we are.
The tree can be lopsided. We can skip parties.
Say no to the strained relationships because they make it too hard to focus on enjoying Jesus.
Go ahead and risk what others will think if you don’t participate in sending Christmas cards or go to another party because your soul needs time to breathe instead.
Step away from the bustle and let him speak to you.
The perfect Christmas is one where we are lost in the wonder of what He has done, and our souls feel their worth.
It’s a Christmas where we search hard for Jesus, and when we find Him, we cling to Him like nothing else matters. Then, in a weary world, we can rejoice.
Let’s chase that with more energy than we chase the outward appearance of it.
So let your Christmas be imperfect to make room for Him.
Leave off one more gift to enjoy His presence.
It’s ok if the ornaments break because He’s still coming.
Step away from what is trying and rest in His peace.
Let yourself soak in the reality that you are loved more than life.
Look for Him, and you will find the perfect Christmas.
This has been a divisive year. Lines have been drawn and ugliness has risen to the surface in many places. Sometimes the darkness feels all too strong.
Jesus understands that kind of world.
When he entered it, the Jewish people had endured 400 years of silence from God. They lived under the oppressive rule of Rome. Soldiers walked the streets. Riots were not uncommon. Even within Judaism, there was division, as four sects fought for control. Shortly after he was born, Jesus and his family were forced to flee to a new country to avoid Herod’s massacre of children under 2. Dark times, indeed.
The Jews wanted someone to take away the darkness. They wanted a Savior, but their idea of how they would be saved and from what was misguided. Jesus didn’t come as a military or political leader. He didn’t free them from Rome. He wasn’t about conforming governments to his will. He didn’t erase dividing lines between people. He didn’t make everything easy, or pave a straight, conflict free path for us. He didn’t eradicate evil. Instead, he shone a light into it.
He was light in the darkness.
That light sets hearts free. He stepped into the darkness to make room for joy, peace, hope, mercy and grace. His light was life and love, come into the world, to transform us, rather than transforming our worlds to suit us.
We are not called to look at the darkness and be afraid. We are not meant to see it and complain and argue about what it all means. We don’t shake our heads and give up. We don’t wring our hands in despair.
We turn on the light.
We move into the world as people who know joy, peace, hope, grace, mercy, and above all, love. This is what we are about. We are about shining his light brighter and brighter. So this Christmas season, how can we remember to shine his light in the world?
We shine the light of hope. Our hope is in a person, not an outcome. We do not hope in government. We do not hope in society conforming to our standards. We hope in what he can do. We hope in what will be.
We shine the light of peace. Peace is not merely an emotion, but a state of reconciliation brought about through him. So where there is division and unrest, we speak peace. In the midst of chaos, we breathe peace.
We shine the light of joy. He gives us joy beyond circumstances, the joy of knowing him and being loved by him. That joy ought to show on our faces, in our spirits, in how we move through this world.
We shine the light of mercy and grace. Jesus came for the outcast, the downtrodden, the poor, weak and weary. We declare that the gospel is for the ragamuffin, for those who are not too proud to receive what they need. That starts with recognizing we are counted among the needy.
We shine the light of love. Most of all, the light that shines in the darkness declares that love overcomes. It overcomes the darkness in our hearts and opens the door for us to receive all that he offers us. Christmas is God’s shout of love to the world, a shout that makes the darkness flee. Let’s simmer in this reality long enough for it to show up in our actions, in our words.
Yes, the world is dark, but we know the light.
This Christmas, let’s seek ways to make the light brighter in what we say, how we treat others, how we make room for them, where we look for life. Let us be people who reflect the light to a dark world.
“for he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the son he loves.” Colossians 1:13
‘Tis the season of waiting. We wait in lines, for packages to arrive, for family, friends, parties, planes.
In the Bible, the word wait is often translated hope. They are intertwined. We must wait for the objects of our hope.
Hope feels deeper. We don’t just hope for that gift we want for Christmas. We hope for marriage, children, jobs, for needs satisfied.
Wrapped up in our hope is expectation. We have ideas of how we want our hopes realized. And when we are asking God to step into our hope and meet it, we put those expectations on Him.
What does it look like to hope in God? We place our fragile hopes in His hands, but too often the waiting is long, the expectations unmet. We fear disappointment. Sometimes it’s easier not to hope.
The Israelites knew a little about waiting. They waited in slavery, in exile, for the Promised Land, for a Messiah. In their waiting, they hoped. Their expectations grew. They longed for a leader, a savior, one who would protect them from their enemies and carry them to victory. For hundreds of years, they waited and hoped and expected rescue.
And then Jesus came, and He wasn’t anything they expected. But when I look at His birth, I’m reminded why God is worthy of our hope. In Christmas I see that:
God keeps His promises
Jesus fulfilled every prophecy about the Messiah. “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him, the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.” 2 Corinthians 1:20
He has promised us so much – that He will never leave us, He will work all things for good, He will give us abundant life. We can hang our hope on His promises.
He meets our deepest needs
Four men lowered their paralyzed friend through a roof, but instead of healing his body, Jesus forgave his sins (and then healed him). The Israelites thought they needed a leader; God knew they needed a redeemer. We think we know what we want, but God wants to give us what we may not even know we need. Christ’s birth reminds me that not only does He knows my needs, He can also meet them.
His ways are not our ways
The Israelites probably would not have chosen an unwed, teenage mother or a poor carpenter to parent the ruler of the universe, or have made Him a Nazarene. So many of the chapters of my life I would not have written the way God did, but looking back, they are so good. We stumble the most when we hold too tightly to the ways we think God should answer our prayers. Like the Jewish people, we might miss His answers entirely.
He loves us more than life
One of my favorite songs a few years ago was “Touch the Sky,” by Hillsong United. It says, “You traded heaven to have me again.” Christmas tells me to put my hope in Him because of this: He would do anything, give up everything, just to have me.
It might not happen now, or when we expect, but God is always working good on our behalf, meeting our deepest needs, keeping His promises out of his deep love for us. He is worthy of our hope.
This is the season of Advent, which means expectant waiting. So we wait quietly, attentively, continually, dependently. We put our hope not in an outcome, but in a Person.
It’s the wee hours of Christmas morning. The only other person awake is my mom, stuffing our enormous stockings to capacity, leaving the rest as a stack underneath. In our family, we DO stockings!
Once again, I find myself struggling to wrap my heart and mind around the reality of Christmas. I don’t want to walk away from another season with nothing more than warm feelings and a pile of loot. I want the truth of it to sink deep in my soul and change me.
So I ask myself today, “what does Christmas mean for me?”
This is my answer:
Christmas means I have life.
Not just eternal life but abundant life here, now, life with meaning and purpose.
It means having a Savior, a rescuer, not just for eternity but for all those moments when I flounder on my own.
I have a shepherd, a comforter, one who is compassionate on me in my weakness and need.
I am no longer alone.
There is one who sees me, knows me, wants me, holds me fast.
He was willing to be limited, weak, helpless, affected, vulnerable, poor, tired, misunderstood, hated and killed for love of me.
When it says in Isaiah that He will “open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison, and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness” – Iwas the blind, the captive, sitting in darkness. You were you.
Christmas means light, freedom, a way out. All of this on his initiative, moving toward us out of love. When I look at this Jesus, I see the face of God. He is personal and good.
Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, all due to the intense and relentless desire of our son to make a gingerbread house.
We made one once, in the U.S., before we knew that you could preserve your sanity and use a kit. I vowed never again to make one from scratch. I would have used a kit here, but IKEA ran out before we got one, and the other places are too expensive.
So here I am, so exhausted, frustrated, and stressed that I resorted to taking a few old potatoes and hurling them at my shower wall as hard as possible.
I need more potatoes.
I thought that it might be hard to make a gingerbread house here because of the high humidity. That was the least of our issues.
I thought it would help to use a box inside for reinforcement. Yeah, that wasn’t much help.
I could list out the problems, but let’s say that in the end, we have a gingerbread house precariously held together with not just frosting but also tape, glue, staples, nails, and sewing pins. It is a house that any inspector would instantly condemn.
I’m afraid to let the kids decorate it because I know the second someone touches it, it will collapse. So it will remain undecorated. In fact, when I get around to it, I’m pitching it. I’d like to pitch it against my shower wall too, but I still have to clean up the potatoes. And the nails might scratch the enamel.
I informed our son that we are never ever going to attempt another gingerbread house from scratch. The crazed look on my face convinced him not to argue. I told him maybe we could just paint a box brown and decorate that. He said maybe we could just eat the decorations. Hey, even better!
The biggest bummer is that I was at a Christmas luncheon on Thursday and part of the dessert was these really cute little figures made of sugar – trees and people. I asked everyone at our table to give me theirs so I have a virtual sugar forest and village. They will be homeless this Christmas.
Our family has been reading through the Bible in a year, and we’re nearing the finish line! I can’t say I’ve spent extensive time in the minor prophets, which is where we are now. It’s fairly gloomy. But yesterday I read something that seemed quite timely, from Micah 5:2, 4:
“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
from ancient times.”
He will stand and shepherd his flock
in the strength of the Lord,
in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
will reach to the ends of the earth.
What amazes me is that this was written more than 400 years before Jesus was born. And it hit me – God’s timing is definitely different than ours. It says in 2 Peter 3:9 that God is not slow in keeping His promises, as some understand slowness. I must understand slowness not like God then because 400 years is not my idea of a quick answer to prayer. Really, it was even longer than that for the Israelites who were waiting for a Savior.
But I believe He came at just the right time. I guess that gives me hope, today, when I think about the things I wait for. I haven’t had to wait anywhere close to a long time for an answer to prayer, relative to the Israelites, but it can be difficult just the same. We pray, we hope, we wait, we are tempted to despair. But God’s timing is good. Keep waiting. Salvation is coming.
So the last couple months have felt like the steep transition learning curve has leveled off. It’s like when you’re mountain climbing (or maybe hill climbing – can’t say I’ve climbed that many mountains. Ok none. I’ve climbed none) and you get to that point where you can see the top. It starts to feel easier.
And then you turn a corner and there’s a sudden incline you didn’t anticipate. In my world, that’s called December.
I realized this morning that it’s been hard to admit this, for several reasons. First of all, it’s just tiring. I don’t like to keep feeling like I don’t have life figured out here. I don’t want to face the fact that I don’t have rhythms, routines, traditions, surrounding this time of year. I have empty spaces with no Christmas decorations because I lived for 13 years in places where they were hard to find. I feel like I should make Christmas desserts and give them to people, but after years of $5 bags of chocolate chips, I’m out of the habit. Are people expecting them? Who do we give Christmas cards to? Do I have to go to ALL these Christmas parties? The questions are endless.
Not only that, I can feel like there’s an expectation that we should be “over it.” People have said frequently, “So you’ve been here over a year now? You must be pretty settled.” Well, no, but now I FEEL like I should be. It’s easy to feel like I just need to get with the program and figure this season out. When I talk with friends who have been through this transition back to the States, they are quick to remind me that it’s not true – this creating a new normal takes time. I know that to be true. It’s just hard to be in the in between.
So I took some time Tuesday morning just to think about where we are and really what is important for us as a family. There are just some things that aren’t going to happen. Those 3 strands of Christmas lights I managed to buy (and then I realized I needed more like 8 to cover the house) will stay by the back door. They’re one of the things that we’ve decided get a “transition pass.” In my climbing analogy, this looks like me choosing not to try to summit that incline for now – I’m just going to circle around a little bit and try to enjoy the view from here.
