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”).
I’m the kind of girl who focuses on the end goal-not much for taking in the scenery. I was reminded of this last summer while on vacation near the Smokey Mountains.
One morning our group of 14 ventured out in several cars to go whitewater rafting. In our car was one person who insisted on stopping for “real” coffee (I don’t know what this means. I don’t understand coffee), so we lagged behind the others.
The arranger of our trip wanted us on a tight schedule, so we weren’t exactly starting the day off on the right foot. The optimists in the car were sure we could make up the time (I was not one of them).
But then our route took us through the mountains, and they just kept getting more beautiful. The higher we drove, the more breathtaking it became. It was criminal not to stop and take it in.
With each stop, I was conscious that the rest of our group was waiting for us. The timekeeper in me nagged a little, but was silenced by views like this:
And this:
With each stop, I realized that while what was waiting for us at the end of the trip was exciting, the journey was just as amazing as the destination. If we only focused on the end, we would have missed the beauty along the way.
What We Can Find on the Journey
How easy it is to live so much in anticipation of what lies ahead that we miss what is here. It’s not about the destination; it’s about what we experience on the way.
If we are people who only look ahead, we never really arrive. Or if we rush along the way, never stopping to take in the view, we rob ourselves of joy in the journey.
Because there’s good along the way. There are things we should stop and celebrate. We can stop and measure for a minute how far we’ve come, even if we have far to go. We can enjoy the greater and greater views.
In the journey of faith, slowing down helps us see what God is doing. Taking time to look around leads to worship and gratitude. Seeing that we are not where we were reminds us that God is faithful. It gives us courage and hope that He will keep working. God isn’t anxious for us to be “done.” He loves us every step of the way.
What are the stones of remembrance that mark my walk with God? How can I stop, celebrate, and give Him glory for what He’s doing in me? I might still have far to go, but the view keeps getting better. That’s worth rejoicing in.
I probably said that a dozen times during the week when our son was home from college.
It was good to have his presence here again. His words and laughter filled the empty spaces. More food was eaten. I did his laundry. Cut his hair.
We ate out as a family, but other than that, it was an average week. I felt we should do something epic, like a beach day (but our kids hate the beach, and my husband traveled).
But that’s ok. We didn’t need to do anything special together. I just wanted him to be with me.
I wanted to be in his presence, hear his stories, sift through his fears, learn what he’s learned.
So, like a creepy person, I followed him around the house.
When he watched TV, I sat with him. While he tinkered with his computer, I sat on his bed and read a book. Whenever I noticed him unoccupied, I called him over, “Come be with me.”
Each time I did, I couldn’t help but think that this is how God views us.
How He Sees Us
As I go about my day, often weighed down by tasks or worries, God patiently waits.
When I slow down enough to be with Him, the temptation is to make that time productive. Purposeful. I’m a soldier, reporting for duty, ready for my orders.
But He just wants to be with me.
I come with agendas. My prayer list, or the Bible study I’m doing.
But He just wants to be with me.
Or I convince myself it’s not that important to Him if I come or not. It should be epic, right? Meaningful time. Spiritual progress. Mountains moved. I should make it worth His while.
Yet God says, “Just come. Be with me.”
Yes, feel free to bring the needful tasks of your day. He will speak to them. But so much more He simply wants our presence. He wants to listen to our stories, sift through our fears, hear what we’re learning.
It’s unfathomable to me that God might miss us while we’re off trying to save the world, but He does. He watches us in our busy days and whispers, “Come be with me.”
Cease your doing. I just want to enjoy you. I love to spend time with you. I’m glad you’re here.
Whether we come in our filthy rags or we come in all our glory, minds quieted and at rest, or cluttered with the tasks of the day, He wants us to come.
I want to cultivate this awareness in my life-wherever I am, He is there. He is waiting. Waiting to sing over me, to listen, to laugh, to simply be alongside me.
“Your God is present among you, a strong Warrior there to save you. Happy to have you back, he’ll calm you with his love and delight you with his songs.”
Sitting in a time of silence one morning, I felt led to pray for our son. In the words that poured out, I sounded like I was informing God of our son’s situation. Like He didn’t know.
I do this sometimes. Talk to God about my life like He needs more information. Like if only He really knew what was going on, He would spring into action in a way He seems to not be.
Alongside this news briefing is a desire to get God to care as much about the situation as I do.
As if He doesn’t.
I beg God to love my kids as much as I do. Care about this crisis in my life as much as I do. As though He’s indifferent.
Why do we do this? Why do we pray this way? God is not a sleeping giant we must rouse to compassion and action on our behalf. He doesn’t come help the ones who scream the loudest and seem the neediest.
God already knows
He is able to do more than we ask or imagine. We are engraved on the palm of his hands. Nothing escapes Him. He’s got this. He’s got us.
Even the care we feel about our part of the world pales in comparison to how He loves it. He IS love. I can’t say that about myself, even toward those who most have my heart. He aches for what we love, more than we ever could.
May that perspective fuel our prayers.
[ictt-tweet-inline]Rather than screaming for God’s attention, may we sink into the awesome awareness that we already have it. [/ictt-tweet-inline]The hairs on our head numbered. His thoughts of us more than the grains of sand on the shores of the world.
Every one of those thoughts fueled by love, goodness, compassion, grace, mercy. Fortified with wisdom, power, insight, sovereignty.
Then our prayers won’t be us waving our arms to be seen but raising them in praise and gratitude. Instead of wringing our hands, we open them to release these things we love and hold so tightly. Rather than pleading, our prayers will bring us to peace and perspective.
We join in with what He’s already doing for our people, the world. Step into the confidence that comes from knowing He is at work. Rejoice that our hearts are known, and already His plans are laid for us. He doesn’t need us to tell him anything. He just needs us to trust.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment and now it’s here and I’m not ready.”
This is what my daughter said to me the night we sat in our car on a dark street, waiting for another soccer family to pick her up and take her away for a weekend tournament.
The weeks ahead of that one moment were marked with anxiety, not knowing the family well, wondering how she would do without me.
So often life feels like that. Moments we knew were inevitable, but we just aren’t ready for them.
I Wasn’t Ready Either
Back then, I wasn’t ready for our son to drive on his own (could I just always be in the back seat?). I wasn’t ready for colleges to send him invitations (back, vultures, back!). Our kids were gearing up to fly to South Africa (SOUTH AFRICA) without us on a mission trip for 6 weeks. Life just kept coming at us.
If I thought I felt unprepared then, how much more now, as those college invites DID come, and he just left? And his sister, who also just got her license, and a job, will follow him before we know it.
Life relentlessly marches on, and these moments that feel unbearable keep happening.
I Thought I Would Be Ready
When they were little, I thought I couldn’t wait for these moments. I couldn’t wait for them to do it on their own. I couldn’t wait for my time back. I couldn’t wait.
I’ve been waiting for this moment – the moment when our kids would grow up and stretch out, becoming independent, learning to live without us.
And now it’s here, and I’m not ready.
But just like I told her at that moment, He is with us.
He has brought us to this moment, and He will carry us through.
And just like I promised He would be with her in those moments when I wasn’t there, I have to tell myself the same truth – He will be with them when I am not.
When we said goodbye to our kids that day at the airport, our friend who accompanied them saw the fear in my eyes for my 14-year-old and gently said, “We’ve got her. She’ll be okay.” And she was.
We walked through that, and college applications, and teenage drivers, and we’ll get through this too.
He’s Always Ready
Sometimes we’re just not ready, but He is.
From that first day of kindergarten to the last day of the place you love.
The first scary step into a new dream, or the death of an old one.
The last goodbye.
The first anything.
[ictt-tweet-inline]He is more than enough for those moments we feel inadequate to face. [/ictt-tweet-inline]
The next season that feels so huge, scary, undesirable even, you will get through.
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you . . . for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” Isaiah 43: 2, 3
“The poor in spirit . . . have made peace with their flawed existence.”
I remember reading this quote from Brennan Manning when I was barely out of college. It did not sit well. Poor in spirit? Doesn’t sound fun. Flawed existence? Eesh.
But he spent a lot of time talking about being poor in spirit in his book The Ragamuffin Gospel. While he spoke of it as something to emulate, it brought to mind worthlessness, weakness, helplessness, being lesser. I wanted none of that. When I read in the beatitudes that the poor in spirit inherit the kingdom of God, I thought, “well, at least they get something out of it.”
Fast forward 20 years, and I can’t say that in the interim being poor in spirit was something I even thought about. Until now.
This phrase, “poor in spirit”-I can’t get away from it. When I mention it to others, they say, “That’s not good, right?”
We don’t want to be poor in spirit. I have wondered what it really looks like. So I’ll start with what I know-how to not be poor in spirit.
How to avoid being poor in spirit
If we want to avoid being poor in spirit, we take everything for granted. Believe that whatever we have, we deserve. We have a right to it. That includes religious freedom, answers to prayer, a smaller waistline (c’mon 2018). Come to think of it, we should include salvation in that. After all, we’re decent people.
We should also get the glory for where we are in life. We have gifts and we used them, simple as that. Give us some credit.
Of course, we should rely on our own resources. Don’t admit need or ask for help. We don’t want to be a burden to anyone. People like you better when you pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, right?
Naturally, we should maintain some semblance of control. We can do it all and have it all if we just exercise enough autonomy over our circumstances.
We should be underwhelmed by life in general. The sun comes up every day-no need to be wowed by it every time. If people are kind, loving, generous, or gracious to us, just accept it. No need for gratitude.
But if we do all this, we lose the kingdom.
I don’t know about you, but I’m done being underwhelmed. Relying on myself hasn’t gotten me far. Everything I have is a gift, and I want to treat it as such. There but for the grace of God go I, in every single thing. I want that truth to permeate my being.
So what does it look like to be poor in spirit? Here’s where I’m starting:
The poor in spirit are humble. The truth is we have nothing apart from God, and everything with Him. When we are poor in spirit, we own our brokenness and our wholeness, and see ourselves rightly before God and others. We make peace with our flawed existence.
The poor in spirit are generous. If we know nothing we have is ours to begin with, we won’t hold tightly to it. Instead, we will be open-handed, giving and receiving freely. Beggars showing other beggars where to find bread.
The poor in spirit are grateful. When we remember that nothing originates from us, and yet we are swimming in blessing, how can we not be thankful? The first breath we breathe every morning, the work we do, the people we love, the fact that we have purpose, joy, peace, salvation-it is all an undeserved gift.
The poor in spirit are dependent. Dependent not only God but on others. Our weaknesses will not drive us to hide but to lean. Daily bread will be our food, limping our stance, and all without shame.
I want the kingdom.
So this is my intention for 2018: to live out what it means to be poor in spirit. I’m still learning what it means, but I’m going to start with this: humble, generous, grateful, and dependent.
After an intense October and November last year, I finally found a day to catch my breath. Or rather, to realize how hard it was to breathe at all. My chest was tight, my heart rate elevated. All the activity of those months left much undone, and the strain of getting my footing back was overwhelming.
Most of my tension stemmed from feeling I had not planned well. I had failed to keep a restful pace. I felt pressure to live up to an image of the working mom who can have it all and set a good example doing it. And in the middle of all of it was a lack of trust that God would help me through it.
But the Bible says we shouldn’t be anxious, right? Anxiety means somewhere along the way, I must have lost faith or perspective or something.
When it arises, my desire is to eradicate it as soon as possible. Leave those negative feelings behind. So I try to do what others tell me to do, and claim Philippians 4:6, “do not be anxious about anything.”
I wish “do not be anxious” was a magic wand that instantly wiped away all the feels every time worrisome thoughts pop up. It would dissolve the physical manifestation of anxiety as well as the emotional strain.
Sometimes, when the worries are small, it does the trick. It brings my mind and heart back to the right place.
But sometimes, “do not be anxious” just isn’t enough.
Because fueling those anxious thoughts are lies. Skewed perspectives. Ruts of wrong thinking. They do not easily leave.
Behind my anxiety about my schedule is often the lie that my value comes from doing more, being successful. Worry grows when I slip into thinking I can control my world, keep all the bad from happening, make all the good come into being. The more I focus on my worries, the more my heart loses faith that He will care for me.
Those lies do not simply vanish. Our hearts will not naturally drift back to the truth on their own. We have to address what got us off course in the first place.
It’s a little like the “Just Say No” campaign from the 80’s, which failed miserably. Why?
Because while we told people to say no to something, we did not tell them what to say yes to instead. Those underlying needs that drove people to drugs were still there.
So while the admonition, “do not be anxious” is true, in order to live it well, we need to dig deeper. We can’t just say no. We need to say yes to something else.
When we say yes to truth, we can say no to anxiety.
So I go back to the words that whisper my worth, not in what I do, but who He is. I feed on His faithfulness to remind me that whatever is coming, He’s got it, just like before. When I feel the pressure to perform, I read and re-read the invitations to rest, breathe, trust. I tell myself the gospel over and over so I remember who is God and who isn’t (namely, me).
And on and on it goes. To not be anxious, we must soak ourselves in truth. Bathe in it. Breathe it in. Feed on it. Fill our minds with it so there’s no room for anything else. When we live again in what is true about us, and about Him, we can relax.
We need to talk to ourselves more than we listen to ourselves.
It’s not always easy. It takes intentionality. But the peace that doesn’t make any sense at all in light of our circumstances is waiting at the end of our fight.
“Do not be anxious about anything” is absolutely true. There is no reason to fear anything. Peace is ours for the taking. To get there, we need to examine why we are anxious in the first place. How is the enemy lying to us? Where have our minds and hearts gone astray? What truth do we need to embrace?
Whatever is weighing our hearts, God speaks to it. His word is the yes we need to say no to anxiety.
A few summers ago, our family spent several weeks in Colorado. Naturally, we hiked. Our kids were not fans. It was, “Too hard, not fun, too hot, not enough snacks,” you name it. We trained our kids not to say, “I can’t do this,” but rather, “I currently struggle with . . .” challenging things. At one point, our daughter commented, “I currently struggle with this mountain.”
Mountain climbing isn’t easy, but I’ve learned one thing that helps me keep going: stopping once in a while and looking back.
When we look back, we see that yes, we actually are making progress. The top is closer. The view is getting better. Just that look back can encourage us to keep pressing on.
As we enter a new year, we do not know what the future holds.
It could be that you are excited about the possibilities. But maybe you’re heading into a new season that is uncertain. Prayers you started last January may sit still unanswered. The path forward might be a tough road. It’s easy to say, “I currently struggle with this,” and want to give up.
So before we move forward, we need to look back.
Recently, I did this with my ministry team at work. On a retreat, we reflected on Joshua 4, when the Israelites crossed the Jordan. After they did, God admonished them to take stones from the river and pile them up in remembrance of what He had done, so that future generations could see His faithfulness.
In the absence of stones, we found a piece of driftwood from the Intracoastal. On one side, we wrote, “we remember . . .” We each took turns writing something God did for us this past year, some way He showed His faithfulness. It was good to reflect on how He has worked good in our lives.
On the other side, we wrote, “therefore we hope . . .”
Therefore. It’s an important word. We hope because we have seen. Looking back, we remind ourselves how far He has brought us. We see that He has been our faithful companion along the path. It is His strength and wisdom that have brought us to this place. He will guide us the rest of the way.
It’s in looking back at His faithfulness that we can move confidently with hope into the future.
When the future looks foggy, look back. When we do, we gain vision for what is ahead. We record the evidence of His faithfulness to chart our way for the future. There will be stones of remembrance to gather when we stop again further down the path. He has loved us too much to stop now. The One who brought us this far will continue on the journey.
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.
When I was a young staff girl with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, I crushed hard on a boy who worked with Campus Crusade for Christ. When I dreamed of my future, it was hard not to imagine a scenario where he would wake up and realize he couldn’t live without me. And yes it was a future serving God in some amazing, world changing way, but also, with the boy. Always with the boy.
Until the day he called me and told me he liked someone else, and we were only ever going to be friends. Ok, I thought. Change of plans. I can handle this. Apparently I am not going to marry this guy. But it seemed like such a good idea, God! So now what?
Growing up in Minnesota, I remember swaths of dandelions. We rubbed them on our chins and noses. Watched them fly lazily through the air. I couldn’t understand why my dad hated them, or the admonition from my parents not to blow them.
But our dad knew. Dandelions are not flowers. They’re weeds, and those innocent pieces of fluff, when blown, propagate them. The more there are, the less room there is for other life.
The hope of that relationship was a dandelion.
To be honest, I was not entirely surprised to have the rug pulled out from under me. The book I was reading at the time was When God Interrupts:Finding New Life Through Unwanted Change. Uncomfortably convicting and timely. In it, there was a quote, “When we have focused too narrowly on the dream we thought the Savior would give us, then it is the dream that has become the savior.”
The dream that takes His place. Or the activity, person, job. Whatever takes our focus off of Him. Chokes out true life. Keeps us from being fully open to God’s direction in our lives. Makes you scribble your potential married name all over the margins of your journal. The thing that looks good, but is a weed in disguise. The hope we are banking on to make us feel secure, happy, comfortable.
We have to let Him weed us of the false flowers.
With the boy out of the picture, my dreams got bigger. Or rather, my willingness to let Him shape my dreams got more expansive. Letting go of something I thought would bring life actually made room for God’s plans for me.
False flowers show up in many forms. A relationship, or the hope of one. The perfect job, or chasing an image. The activities that consume us, but God never actually asked us to do them. Anything that causes us to focus on something we think will bring life, rather than on the Giver of life Himself, can crowd out the Spirit. What looks good might not be good, if it isn’t God’s call or plan.
