The Day After

The shepherds had left, returning to the fields to tend their sheep. The morning brought activity to the inns and markets and life returned to normal the day after. A Savior had entered the world. A night filled with glory unspeakable dawns with everyone returning to the mundane. . . finding food in the market. . . preparing meals. . . laundering the clothes. . .fishing the shorelines. . . completing the census. Life went on and what began as a moment of indescribable awe now bleeds into the ordinariness of needing to find food and shelter and the getting on with life. A night of holy pause to reflect on the God who had kept His promise, now melts into a daily life of living with the Christ-child. The Messiah, the Savior will be one of us. And because He is now one of us--a baby who looks like any other--I wonder if anyone noticed. Were Joseph and Mary frustrated that no one saw who He truly was. Sure, their family oohed and aahed over a beautiful new baby boy. But I wonder, did anyone at home bow down in holy awe? He looked so much like. . . like every other baby. The long awaited Messiah? That's the Messiah?

Two thousand years later. . .Our homes swell with excitement over the long awaited moment. We pause and we remember and we celebrate. He has come. Born of Mary. Our Immanuel. And the day after life goes on. . .we pick up the mess. . .we wash the dishes. . .we return to the usual. And yet He is still with us. Does anyone notice? Do I? Would I have thought that the very I AM would disguise Himself as a babe?

I wonder, after the moments when we pause to remember and to celebrate His coming. . . His with-us-ness. . . the day after . . .how do I still remember the Holy. . .where will I look for Him? Surely, He is with us. He took on human flesh--the best of disguises--and became one of us. God, you are so different from the world. So other. We look to the best the world has to offer and you are not there. You, God "chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise" (1Cor. 27) We pick our "best and brightest" to lead the nations. You chose a baby to usher in the greatest kingdom ever.

The day after, I need to remember to look for You in unexpected places. If You chose to make Your grand entrance in a Bethlehem stable, my guess is You will appear most often again in places I least expect. I expect to see you, Jesus in the grand sanctuaries we fill once a week. My guess is I'd find you more readily huddling with the world's forgotten. . .not just one day a week--but everyday.

The Gift

I thought I'd share a story with you--hopefully, in this season of wonder, I won't let the sheer astonishment of redemption through the most unlikely means fail to stir in me a hope of redemption in my own unlikely story. After all, if God used an impoverished baby born in obsecurity to usher in the grandest, most everlasting kingdom--to redeem the curse-- there's simply no telling what He'll use in my life--and yours- to "repay the years the locusts have eaten---" (Joel 2:25). So, Hope is allowing me to tell her story. Its a beautiful illustration of redemption. I feel as though I know it well enough to tell it in first person. And no, the irony of a name is not lost on me, either. So, the story--I'll tell it as if its my own.

I have not been this upset in a long time. So much so that by the time I hung up the phone with Mom my face had completely broken out with an acne rash. Great, now I'm pissed off and I look like I have some contagious disease. On my face. That's hard to hide. Probably easier than the fury that I'm feeling,though. Every single holiday offers my older sister the opportunity to find creative ways to hurt others in the family. Before I completely explode in rage and berate those closest I know I need to call our closest family friend, Joshua. Joshua has been a mentor to Jake and I since we were first married. Surely, with as many years of living as he has acquired--he could offer some advice. You don't get to be 81, deeply love Jesus, and not have wisdom. So I called. He must have heard the exasperation in my voice because the first thing he said was, "calm down, Hope-- it surely isn't as bad as you sound."

"Really?" I almost yelled. Then, in one venomous spew, I rehashed years of grievances against my sister. Most recently, she had proceeded to cause further family division by hosting a Halloween costume party and only inviting half the family. . . she constantly changed our family's traditions on a whim to suit her own passive-aggressive tendencies. . . she lies constantly, don't even get me started about the lies. I have never known anyone that self centered, except----I don't know how long the diatribe went on but Joshua listened intently, even seeming concerned, which by the time I was all wound up I was sure had to be insincere because who in their right mind would care about this kind of crap. I was over it. And I made that clear. I was done trying to function as a "normal" family--over it!! OVER IT!! Nobody should force themselves to get together for a fake family Christmas when deep inside you really want to cuss another family member out. Okay, maybe not cuss (surely Christians can stand above the fray on this). . . no, come to think about it, some people only understand a good cussing. . .

"When did this start" Joshua's fragile words jolted me out of my monologue.

"What do you mean when did this start" I said. "It's been going on for years. . .she just keeps getting more creative with her ways of hurting us."

Joshua speaks softly, "this time, Hope. When did this anger surface this time? What happened?"

"I was recently reminded of a couple of events, that's all. But its a long story and I'm sure the other person didn't mean anything by it. . . and I just kept mulling it over. Weird--really, sorta out of nowhere. . . and I couldn't let it go" I sighed realizing my culpability in the current family drama.

Sensing my pause, Joshua continued, "Then what did you do?"

I explained to Joshua that I had simply called Sam (my younger brother) and our Mom and explained what all had happened, though none of it was new. But my anger was new and I wasn't sure now, talking to Joshua, why that was. With just a few questions he was making me question the cause of this fury. All of this stuff had happened weeks ago. Why now was I so "over it"? I was justified and Mom and Sam agreed. Our sister was selfish and she lied and everything I spewed out had validation. Sure, Jesus said to forgive. He said to leave your gift at the alter and go be reconciled--but He also said to shake the dust off your feet if those around you don't accept His message. . .surely that's applicable here. The next words that broke the silence nearly sent me over the edge and I wasn't sure whether to hang up the phone or cuss Joshua out.

"Let it go, Hope. . .let it go" then he was silent.

"Let it go?. . . I'll be damned if I'll let it go. I went through this for years with my dad and I swore then and I swear now no one else in my life is going to be allowed". . . I had to trail off before I could no longer choke back the sobs.

"Thank Him for this gift", he whispered.

What in the hell is wrong with this man. Joshua have you been drinking? Are you that senile? What?

He continued, "Hope, do you remember the story of Joseph?" What, an old testament Bible lesson. I could give a crap about Joseph or Abraham or Isaac or any of that right now!

"Yes, Joshua I've heard that story since I was a child. . .but really right now I just need"

"Quiet, child. . .listen to me. God gave Joseph a gift, and to everyone around-- even Joseph-- it seemed like God had cursed him. One calamity--one injustice after another. But God was using those "injustices" to save a family-- to save Joseph. I know what your thinking, Hope. Of course you think you would do things differently. Our pride convinces us we know better than God".

"So your saying that if I endure this crap I'll eventually rule over a lot of folks and be the hero of this messed up family--like Joseph?" I said, sarcasm dripping.

"Probably not, Hope" he was always gracious and kind.

"I'm simply saying that you don't yet know the end of the story-- you don't know how God is going to work it out. But He is, Hope and He's working it out for your good. And your sister's'".

"So, what should I do? Are you saying that I need to continue to let her walk all over me, and our mom?"

"As hard as this will be, you must give up trying to work this out. You must release your grip. Give God the opportunity to defend you. Simply love--the way Jesus loves you. Outcomes are up to God--to work out in His was and in His time. Remember, Job didn't know the whole story and chances are--you don't either. You know Hope, your sister is not the only sinner in all this".

"I know Joshua. . . I stir up strife. I rehearse the pain from years of . . . I'm not sure how to heal. . I need to move forward . . . to find my all in His love for me, not. . .

"Hope, even now God wants to offer you a gift in this, while you wait for Him to complete His work."

"Really, what's the gift?" I ask. . . certain that if it's anything like Joseph's I don't want it.

"Hope, you always remind me that one of your least favorite points of theology is the 'fellowship of His sufferings', right?

"Yes, Joshua if I could clip those verses from Holy Writ, you know I would."

"Well that you can't Hope, not safely anyway," he chuckled "but you can accept the gift. . .you can identify with Jesus in feeling misunderstood and rejected. Jesus' most intense suffering was not the physical beatings He took. . .it was the soul beating of friends. His family. His own wouldn't even receive him, remember? God's "workers"--those who should have recognized Him--the priests. . . they conspired to kill Him. And certainly I don't want you to over dramatize this hurt. There is much more suffering in the world than this. Peter couldn't drink the cup that Jesus had to drink and Hope. . ."

"I know, Joshua I couldn't-- I wouldn't--- even take a sip" I said, tears streaming.

"Just take the gift, and thank the Giver. If you can thank Him in this then Satan's power is lost. You acnowledge He redeems. You live the fact that He is your redemption, Hope. I need to go now. But I believe that your Enemy brought this up for a reason. You'll need to figure that one out with the help of Jesus. But I'm confident, Hope that soon you'll call me and shout, 'Joshua Satan meant that hurt to harm me. . . but Joshua, God used it to accomplish. . . ' I look forward to hearing what it is".

"Are you kidding me Joshua?. . . you think I would yell and get all dramatic. . .?"

We both burst out in laughter.

"Merry Christmas, Hope."

"Merry Christmas, Joshua. . . give my love to your family".

The baby born--the God-child comes. And we sing:

No more let sins and sorrows grow,

Nor thorns infest the ground;

He comes to make His blessings flow

Far as the curse is found.

(Isaac Watts)

If your family is feeling the effects of sin and sorrow. He comes. And you will feel His Presence.

Merry Christmas,

Wondering down the road,

Joy

The Understated

I often have a love--deep dislike relationship with the church, or better put churches. I could never say love-hate because well, I could never hate the broken, untrustworthy institution that is simply that because of me and others like me, of course. And I don't know that I could ever be as bold as St. Augustine who said, (referring to the Church) "she is a whore, but she is my Mother." The Church universal is a beautiful thing because she is the Bride of Christ, she belongs to the Beloved and He makes her beautiful. The earthy, fleshy--working out of that reality can be an ugly thing and cause untold hurt. Which is probably why we hold back. . .we retreat. . . we only attend some. . . pain does that--doesn't it. . .forces us to defend our hearts---

None of which is central to my thoughts this evening. But I've been known to digress a time or two and ramble on. So, when the Lord woke me one night out of a dead sleep with the thought pounding in my heart "December 11th". Me all groggy and sleepy, "huh, Lord?" then "go to church". . .this is weird even for me. . . immediately, I questioned and rolled around thoughts of "where. . . I think Alivia has a ballet performance at some church?. . .the church we've been visiting?". . . I don't find that God hangs around for my internal dialogue. . . sure, He's there but He's "spoken" and the rest . . .well. . .

So, I kid you not, I journal about this . . . I talk to spouse about it (though no others)--R tends to be okay when I think God is leading me one way. . .'cause sometimes I'm so wrong that I cry and pitch a fit. . .and really, its ugly. Trust is hard--even on this journey. I get that. So, I'm all thinking that God is gonna do the miraculous--and I'm pretty sure it's probably going to be spectacular and since my present need tends to be clarification on areas of "serving God" (as if he needs me, but never mind my fat ego for a minute) I have all manner of vain imaginings swirling around my mind. It's Henry Blackaby's fault, actually --Experiencing God is so life changing that now I'm--lookin' for where He's working--then fear--Lord, a new word, really. Don't laugh. R humors me and with great anticipation we head to church. I'm all nervous. . .him too, I suspect.

Panic sets in--really, the title of the sermon series is something about Christmas songs. Surely, I'm not going to have to bear the exegesis of The First Noel --which after all wouldn't be exegesis, now would it? Please Lord, the western Church has got to be deeper that this. Kidding. So I immediately pen a note to R about how this time I was "wrong again". . . but secretly I'm hoping God has sent a disguised angel to give me a "word of direction". . . I do dearly love planning for God-- how He can fulfil His word to me, surely I know exactly what I need and what He meant for me, anyhow. Exhale. Breathe deeply.

Then, when no one was suspecting. . .God broke forth with an amazing chorus of angels, brightly dressed. . .eyes blinded. . .shattering glass of the sanctuary. . .a word in a heavenly voice, "my child this is my will for you". . . I faint outright.

Uh, not really--not even close. I expected skies split, lightening sent forth, fire from heaven. . . words spoken from an ass (wait, He does that ----with me!). . .instead ---

. . .He sent the ordinary. A pastor doing what he does every Sunday. Preaching. Teaching. . .

. . . A baby born in a manger. A mother doing what mother's do. Loving. Holding the vulnerable. .

Extraordinary though, when God takes the usual and infuses it with Himself. For that man who stood before the congregation on Sunday, he broke the bread and Jesus. . .no, the pastor. . .no, Jesus fed my hungry soul. As pastor spoke words that were scrolling through my mind . . . he read them, my mind to his touch pad. . .and I, broken and in need, cowering to an enemy who so often does soul damage with threatening words. Soul fear. . .a life held back. . .just, in case.

. . . An angel of heavenly hosts praising God. . . shepherds?. . .really, no crowds and dignitaries. . .

. . .A word of life breathed into a soul. . .one small congregation. . .really, more should hear this. .

And really are we suprised that the world laughs? Our belief that something so common could change all our yesterdays. . . our tomorrows. How a baby could rewrite the course of human history, by reworking the human heart. Really? How God reworks a life--writing His love more often on "tablets of human hearts" than across the skies. His wonder and amazement shown through a man who speaks of. . .

Shalom. . . Eirene. . .Peace

Jesus walks through my world today just like he did so many years ago. Offering peace in the ordinary. . . the commonplace. . . in the stores and sanctuaries, the farms and factories, to the stay-at-home mom or the CEO, the burger joint worker or the football star--walking through life. . .offering Himself. . .an exchange--- my life for His. Grace sufficient for today. Peace for today. All I need I have in Him--today.

I walk away with hope and I am changed.

One step further,

Joy

,

The Bread of Freedom

Amidst the headache I am harboring due to my self-imposed dietary restrictions, I pleaded for a word. A word of freedom from the tyranny that is my lack of self-control. Most presently, it's in the area of food related indulgence. But really, it could have been one of many. Can you relate? Shopping?. . .Gossiping? . . .Lying?. . .A general lack of self-control--area non-specified? GLSC, yep, that's me. I sighed deeply. . . realizing that my reading today, from the gospel of Mark, would probably speak more to the events leading up to Jesus' death----and what really does that have to do with dieting, or lack of self-control for that matter?!? Discouraged. . . and still with a headache. I ponder a while over who the two men are that help Jesus and his disciples prepare for His last Passover. Nothing. . . good thought material though-- but nothing to address my present distress. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I continue reading on as Jesus offers the bread and the cup-----how the bread is His body, broken for us. . . and I peruse Exodus and learn that Jehovah instituted a "lasting ordinance"-- a remembrance, and He tells them before they leave. . . .then death comes and our ancestors are rushed from Egypt. . . so quickly that "the people took their dough before the yeast was added, and carried it on their shoulders in kneading troughs"(Exodus 12:34). . .and I too, rushed quickly from the house and thankful for the Passover and for the Lamb but without the gnawing hunger filled.

Later, Jesus gently whispers, "this is my body, broken for you" . . .Him holding the bread, hand extended to me . . .and I remember---- the bread eaten as they escaped slavery. . . and really, Joy the only way to escape slavery is by eating--- this bread--my Presence. It is Me. The Word as food. . . learning that you won't truly live until you feast on Me.

When you "take and eat", then the bread you eat will not only be the bread of escaping slavery, but the Bread of Life. . .life that is truly living. When I fill your soul----when I daily fill your soul, then Satan's strangle-hold is released and you are free. . . free to follow Me.

So driving up the hill from my busyness I learn . . . to come and follow, for your Yoke is easy and Your burden light. . .and soul-hunger is only satisfied by You.

One step further down the road,

Joy

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

The words to a John Lennon tune are rolling through my mind. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. I gave birth to the first of two darling boys --seven years ago today! Did I say that? My first man-child. The prettiest "at-birth child". Ahem, most handsome. The easiest to parent. . .for the first year. . .then the most difficult (though others are giving him a run for his money) for the next three. Now, we've hit a stride and it is pure joy. The hardest (I think) to birth--let's see. Two days of five minute a part contractions, a military hospital, equipped with nurses in combat boots. That's no joke, ya'll. Funny later--not at the time. Military births. . . how to put it--uh, let's just say, I swore if I ever had to do it again--that way, I'd just give birth at home.

He is my promised child. My miracle birth and the story still gives me chills if I think about it. But its a long story and one for a post to itself. . .later.My son, your Momma is flat-- so thankful that God would trust your life to us for these years 'til I don't know what to do. We are so much alike. We do life full on--out loud! And if our on isn't full--well, we are still LOUD! Your joy for life and enthusiasm make me want to think up new things for you to discover. You love Jesus well. When you decided to follow Him, after we discussed that you could still have a cool car and follow Jesus--you started "running the race" with all out abandon! Seeing a seven year old talk about loving God and Jesus "the most" makes me understand why Jesus loves children so much. You are my "bear hunter-- not butterfly catcher" (its a family story). My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. I love you more than you will ever know.

Love,Momma