by

Advent: The Risk of Faith

During this Advent season, when I consider the challenges of modern marriages, including my own, I cannot help but reflect on the journey in faith that Mary and Joseph took to Bethlehem, even before they were married. Their arduous physical journey alone is inspiring. Add to that the fact that Mary was nine months pregnant and that Joseph was not the father of her child, and, well, I cannot even begin to imagine or comprehend what was required of this man and this woman.

Perhaps we are all given our own challenge of faith in our marriage journey. Perhaps we are all asked to stand by someone when the culture of the times would demand otherwise. Perhaps we are all asked to walk what seems too many miles when we are tired and uncomfortable and anxious.

Perhaps the beauty of marriage comes from these challenges. Perhaps the beauty is in the faith this marriage journey requires.

The faith it requires of us in each other. The faith it requires of us in ourselves. The faith it requires of us in our God.

And, so, in this second week of Advent, with a focus on Bethlehem and a focus on preparation, I eagerly anticipate what God has planned for my marriage this Christmas. Despite the broken vows, despite the deep hurts, despite the challenges of faith, I believe something amazing and miraculous comes to those who are faithful to the purposes of God. To those who are focused on a life, a marriage, designed by God for the glory of God.

In what ways would the Christmas story be different if Mary or Joseph or both of them had chosen differently? If they had not trusted God. If they had not trusted one another.

I think it is too easy today to take for granted the faith Mary showed in God’s message to her about the Savior’s birth or the faith Joseph demonstrated in the angel’s assurance that he should remain by Mary’s side. Given Mary’s age, given the cultural views, given the unknowns for both of them, the stretch of faith they made but that we so nonchalantly celebrate does not inspire us to similar choices.

But if we take a moment and consider what was asked of this couple, what was required of this man and this woman, how can we not venture forth boldly and faithfully to meet the challenges our marriage journey asks of us.

Would it be easier to quit? Maybe. Would it be easier to refuse the arduous, life-changing journey for the safety of life as usual? Probably. Would it be easier to settle for the world’s design and expectations of marriage rather than pursue God’s ideal and design. More than likely.

But it is only to those who accept the risks that faith calls us to who enjoy the miracle of Jesus.

And that it definitely something I want in my life. And my marriage.

by

Advent: The Heart of Christmas

Today, Sunday, begins the second week of Advent. If you are someone who lights the candles of an Advent wreath, you know that today we light a purple candle, sometimes called the Bethlehem candle or the candle of preparation.

Bethlehem. The place where God entered the world. The place where a teenaged girl and her husband-to-be searched through darkened streets bone weary tired for a place to spend the night. The place of shepherds and angels and mangers and good news and glad tidings.

The place of redemption. And reconciliation.

The place of God with us.

Bethlehem.

This afternoon, my almost-six-year-old heard a song that referred to Bethlehem and Jesus.

“Mama,” she begins, “why was Jesus in Bethlehem?”

“Because that is where he was born.”

“Jesus was born in Bethlehem?” she asks.

“Yes. Just like you were born in Cincinnati and your sister was born in Pawtucket.”

“Why was he born in Bethlehem,” she asks again and I smile. She no longer asks why he was born, instead she asks why there.

She has already concluded for herself that because Jesus is God that Jesus sent himself to be born.

She has already acknowledged that Jesus lives in our hearts.

She has already begun to understand that Jesus still loves her even when she isn’t quite so nice to her little sister; that he doesn’t vacate her heart because of what she does, but that he loves her because of who she is.

To this sweet little girl, Bethlehem could just as easily been one town over from us. She is fascinated by the story of his coming. She is delighted in him.

“Christmas really begins with Jesus,” she tells me tonight as we arranged the pieces of our nativity set. “And Christmas is about sharing.”

That God uses the heart and the words of my little girl to speak truth to my heart never comes without awe from me. Those words of truth remind, convict and encourage.

They remind me that my heart is Bethlehem this Christmas; it’s where the good news and glad tidings overflow in anticipation of celebrating a baby’s birth.

They convict me that even when I worry about gifts and wrappings and cluttered spaces, those are not nearly as important as the people with whom I get to celebrate Christmas.

They encourage me to prepare my heart, not just my home, for Christmas.

And so I pause, in the moments after the nativity is arranged and the girls are standing looking into the stable at the baby Jesus, and I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving for where I am, for who I am with this Christmas, especially my husband, and for who I am becoming.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.
For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep the Angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given;
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His Heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy
Pray to the blessed Child,
Where misery cries out to Thee,
Son of the Mother mild;
Where Charity stands watching
And Faith holds wide the door,
The dark night wakes, the glory breaks,
And Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray!
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels,
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!

by

Advent: A Reflection of Light

{this post is part of Five-Minute Friday at Lisa-Jo Baker}

How it works: Write on one word for five minutes. No editing. {All the details for how to play along are here.}

Today’s word: Reflect…

{Go}

I saw today’s word come through my Twitter feed last night. Then, I saw Lisa-Jo’s post come through and was humbled by her words.

As for my Five-Minute Friday post, I considered how the word, reflect, related to my marriage Advent series. And it came to me as I thought about the way that Jesus came into the world and the way he brought his truth and his healing into our broken world.

Who he was and who he is still takes my breath away. And it is to him that I give all credit for my marriage, all the good, the bad, the messy, the betrayal, the pain, the joy.

He brought David {my husband} into my life after spending a good long time preparing me for that gift. And I still believe that, even now, in the midst of rebuilding and moving forward from the hurt and pain of deception and lies.

I still believe that because God is good.

I still believe that because it is still true that David reflects Jesus to me in ways that nobody else in my life can.

I still believe that because what God planned for good cannot be torn apart by the world or by the enemy or by my emotions.

Because Jesus reflects his light all around my life and I am blessed to reflect that Light to a hurting, broken world. Especially those who may be in the midst of hurting or struggle or less than in their marriage.

I believe that God can work all things together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purposes.

And I am called. I am called to be a daughter of the King. I am called to be a voice of Truth in the world. I am called to reflect the hope and the peace that only Jesus can provide to a world that hurts and longs for something more.

And so I praise Jesus for right now. I praise him for the gift of my husband and my marriage. I praise Jesus because he showed me the way to do these things.

{stop}

by

Advent: A Miracle of Truth

Outside it is gray, foggy, somber. Inside, it is warm, cozy, Christmasy. This contrast of the warm glow of Christmas lights to the cloud of mist settled thickly outside my window reminds me of the seeming contradiction of a life lived in faith.

The way that circumstances appear, the way that they seem to stack up like an insurmountable obstacle, stands starkly against the inner presence of Strength, Hope, the Comfort of the Creator, that provides encouragement and assurance.

How is it that in the face of pain, brokenness, unfairness, fear that we can stand strong, radiate hope, whisper prayers of gratitude, embrace joy?

By faith alone.

Only because of Jesus.

I have waxed and waned in my trust and hope. But in the waxing moments, the extraordinary power and presence of Jesus in the midst of my circumstances has provided me recollection enough to pursue him when my faith wanes. Those memories remind me that faith is not a feeling and that faith does not depend on my emotions.

Jesus’ eternal love, his merciful grace, his omnipotent presence do not depend on my emotions.

Faith just is. Jesus is, was, always will be.

And I am more than thankful that none of it depends on me. On my ability. On my strength. And I remain more than thankful that Jesus has revealed himself to me in mighty and powerful ways in past moments. Moments of despair and desperation and moments of jubilance and celebration.

Which is why, in a circumstance of betrayal and deception, in a circumstance that would cause many to pause and consider walking away, I choose to stay where I am. I choose to believe that God will cause all things to work together for good. I choose to focus on, to cling to God’s promises and trust his providence.

Love is a choice. Marriage is not easy. Both require much from those who choose to enter into them. And to whom much is given, much will be expected. And I have indeed been given much: two amazing little girls and an amazing husband. Is he flawed? Absolutely. Because he is human. I, too, am flawed.

But that’s where Jesus enters in. In fact, that is why Jesus entered in. Why he came into the world as a lowly babe. Born a child and yet a King. A King to enter into our lives. To enter into our hearts.

To enter into our brokenness and make us whole. Including a broken, flawed marriage. Such knowledge is to wonderful for me. But it is beautiful. And it is truth.

It likely will not make sense to the world. Faith rarely does. But fortunately, what Jesus has done, what Jesus does, what Jesus will do, does not rely on what the world thinks or believes or perceives.

Because Jesus is, was, always will be. And that is the miracle of Christmas for me.

Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s Strength and Consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a child and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever,
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit,
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

by

Advent: Jesus in My Messy Midst

It is difficult to admit that I can’t do something. That I can’t fix something. Because when something is broken, I want to fix it.

But there is a difference between wanting to fix something and being able to fix something. Which is something I am learning continually. Even more so recently as David and I address the brokenness of our relationship.

The hurt and betrayal of trust are beyond the scope of what either of us can repair no matter how much we long to do so. And, for me, that is where Jesus enters in. That is where Emmanuel, God with us, comes into my little part of the world.

As I met with my counselor the other night, she reminded me (again) what I already know. Though I do not trust my husband right now, I can trust Jesus always. I can trust Jesus with my husband. I can trust Jesus with my marriage. I can trust Jesus for healing.

I can trust Jesus not only to fix what is broken in my marriage, but to redeem it. To redeem David. To redeem me. To renew us both and to make this marriage new.

I can trust Jesus.

And the season of Advent reminds me why I can trust Jesus. Because the Creator of the universe gave up heaven and to enter into this messy, broken world by way of a messy, bloody, human birth inside a messy, dark, stinking stable.

God with us.

Jesus living in my messy, broken, hurting, crowded heart.

God with us.

Jesus walking with me through the dark valley of betrayal so that I have Light and hope and strength.

God with us.

The shadows flee in his presence. The darkness is as light to him. No more exile. The paths of misery now closed. I have been ransomed. I am free. Free to rest in him. Free to lean on him. Free to give up my struggle for control. Free.

God with me. Here. Now.

Always.

And in this do I rejoice in my heart, in my prayers, in my day.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan’s tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o’er the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai’s height,
In ancient times did’st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

by

Advent: Cleaning out the Clutter

I remember Christmas when I was a little girl. The favorite Christmas albums. The favorite ornaments. The hunt for the perfect Christmas tree that we would cut down ourselves.

And the cleaning. Oh, my, the cleaning.

Because we would be hosting guests, cleaning took on an epic feel. We expended a lot of time and energy on cleaning all the things. We paid attention to every detail. To every nook and cranny. Of course, compared to all the fun things there were to do, all the food there was to enjoy, all the celebrating there was to come, having to clean felt like the chore it was.

It was work. And I didn’t want to work. I wanted to play. I wanted to enjoy myself. I wanted to have fun.

And honestly, as a grown up, I’m not sure I’ve changed all that much, really. Not when it comes to Christmas. I’m still not interested in the cleaning and the tidying and the making room in order to decorate and celebrate Christmas.

But, if I don’t do those things, I find that the decorating isn’t anything more than clutter in the midst of a mess. The beauty of the tree or the inspiration of the nativity set is swallowed up by the chaos of my life.

And, so, although I have not changed much as an adult because I’d rather play and have fun, I understand the need to clean all the things.

Especially when it comes to my heart. Or my marriage. Or my attitudes.

Which is why I have embraced Psalm 139 as part of my Advent journey this year. As part of the hard work of cleaning out the clutter of my heart. As part of preparing my heart for the Christ child. I look forward to the celebration, but I am also looking forward to the work of getting ready.

Psalm 139

1 You have searched me, Lord,
and you know me.
2 You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.
3 You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.
4 Before a word is on my tongue
you, Lord, know it completely.
5 You hem me in behind and before,
and you lay your hand upon me.
6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
17 How precious to me are your thoughts,[a] God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.

19 If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
20 They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.
21 Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord,
and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
22 I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.
23 Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
24 See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

by

Advent: Beauty in the Bleakness

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

This familiar Christmas hymn is based on a poem written by Christina Rossetti and its stark beauty has always resonated deep within my heart. I love the word pictures Rossetti painted of the barren landscape, the hardened earth, the frozen water, the blanket of deep, pure snow.

It reminds me of my heart. Of my relationship with Jesus. The pure, absolute holiness of the Savior who lives inside my heart but too often is crowded by the influence of the world on me. The worldliness that hardens my heart as I yearn for stuff that fades away.

And, yet, because Jesus makes all things new, he renews my heart again and again and again.

Wrapping me in his grace. Covering me in his righteousness. Infusing me with hope in his coming into the world.

By his love, in his love, he creates beauty from the bleak brokenness of my life. And so I am made new. Again. It is an on-going process by this God of second chances. And I breathe a prayer of thanks, even as I pause to reflect on my heart’s desires and on my marriage this Advent season.

So, I read these words anew and I am reminded that there is but one thing Jesus wants from me: my heart. It is all I have to give. But it is enough.