Mar 6, 2014 | The Good Word
It was a year ago today. Perhaps even a year ago this very moment, as I type these letters, that the phone rang. We were sitting on the couch, eating ice cream, just HH and I. Kids in the bed, life peaceful, lots on our minds, lots to think about, but it was the happiest day I’d had in a really long time.
My Mom came over to stay with the kids and we drove through the dark, long half an hour, full of minutes streaming on, second after second until at last I was in that emergency room — so sterile an environment with a doctor encouraging me talk to him, we’re putting him on ice. Intravenous cold therapy. Cardiac arrest and stroke. Dizzying words in a dizzying scene.
Maybe he can hear you and maybe he can’t.
It was all a year ago, today.
The week that followed was the longest, the hardest, I can count among my days. Hand sanitizer and in and out of the Cardiac ICU to nurse a four-month-old so full of life and stand beside the bed of my dying Dad.
On the Seventh Day, he rested.
And here a year has come, has gone, with lows and highs and milestones and some days just wondering in between.
My brother and sister and I exchange text messages and memories. How he hated to wear socks. The times he got himself in a bit of trouble with his words. Miller Lite with a lime. Beach music and grilled chicken wings.
And a whole full year — it just goes, life, like the good water, the water that flows, 365 days I’ve lived without one of the three who had a tangible hand in my beginning.
It has been hard. Finding closure, about his life. And in particular this time — so many meetings, so much paperwork. Selling the boat he promised to buy when we moved back from South Africa while U2 played over the radio — Sometimes You Can’t Make it On Your Own — I got in my car and wept.
Questions that won’t be answered this side of heaven pile high in far corners of my mind. No sense in writing them down — you can’t take it with you, can you?
But there is this truth I’ve known through all of this. There is this God, available and near to the brokenhearted. Who won’t extinguish the flame of a dimly burning wick.
In two days time, we’ll begin a journey back to South Africa. Back to the Beloved Country where HH first asked and I first said yes. The country where the Bear learned to walk and the Tank cried his first cry and learned to breathe.
I am joyful — so joyful to be going.
We’ll introduce the Belle to a Goo-Goo and Gammy who’ve only ever seen her on Skype. Two aunts and one uncle who’ve enjoyed the photographs but not yet the presence. And we’ll meet one precious little niece for the first time.
There’s a kind of homesickness I have for this place — and it’s funny to explain, but true.
It may seem strange to be homesick for the place you weren’t born, lived twenty years before setting foot on. But the soil’s been on my shoes and in my heart and a children’s book called Grandfather’s Journey actually put it perfectly:
The minute I am in one place, I am homesick for the other.
Three countries on earth I have the privilege of longing for and loving dearly. I find joy where I am, but I also look forward to going again, with a deep, unexpected longing.
And here is an amazing thing.
I found joy on my kitchen floor not too long ago. I can say for sure: Even after loss, there can still be so much laughter. Even after change, there is still space for so much hope and joy.
These 365 days have been unexpectedly full. Grace to grace and strength to strength, joy to joy. Hard times, sometimes yes, but still — I am learning to see the gifts, and thereby learning to better see the Giver.
Somewhat like the homesickness you might feel if you live in a place for a while and fall in love with it, there is another homesickness, a different one.
It’s where you find yourself when someone you have loved so deeply is gone and you are left — you know you can’t renew your passport and buy your plane ticket and make your way to the place where you are together again.
It’s a homesickness not of this world.
Such powerful words, whispered gently in the movie The Gladiator — to a soldier who has lost his wife and son, and must carry on to live the rest of his days: You’ll see them again, but not yet.
Not yet, indeed.
Until I’m called home to the One who dreamed me into being, I’ll be here — and after last year’s loss, I am a little more homesick to be there.
Because this is what I’ve heard about it:
And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” {Rev. 21:3-4}
The best. The best is yet to come.
Our lives can change so quickly, friends. It is profoundly, unbelievably true. I’ve stayed still this year. Cried hard this year. Breathed deeply this year. Made painstaking efforts to say yes to Will you play with me? more often than I say no — though I fail, sometimes, I fail. Pressing on toward that beautiful call I was created to hear and respond to. I’ve aimed to be intentional, loving the people who mean the most to me, extending with grace and gentleness to the world around me.
Could we all be flowers unfolding, in a way? Petal after petal, peeling back so gently, so slowly. We extend and stretch out ourselves toward the world around us, if we’re willing. Isn’t it beautiful when a flower opens up? At the very center, they’re pointed up toward the sun.
Where is your life pointing? Where are your arms stretching? Don’t put the day after tomorrow among the things you count on. Live knowing this moment is important, because you don’t know how many more you have.
And if you’re homesick, let that homesickness remind you how fragile and fleeting our days truly are. How quickly things change.
Today could be the day everything changes — like me, last year — a day you might feel homesick for later on.
Love deep and live well, dear ones. This is the time that you have. Make it count.
xCC
Feb 16, 2014 | The Good Word
Question. If you were given a moment to give a personal State of the Union address — one that simply pertained to all things related to the life of {Insert Your Name Here} — what would it say? Do you think you’d come up with a list of all good things? Mostly good things? You like your job, you’re happily married, the people you love are in good health, and so on?
Would your State of the Union address (like mine sometimes) eventually head down a rabbit trail of looking at what you think is missing? If the challenge was to be most honest — might you take a deep breath and say “I’m often unhappy and here’s a list of why’s”?
If I had my head on straight, giving a genuine and honest overview of my opinion of my life at the moment, I could make two very true statements. 1) I am so ridiculously blessed in so many facets, I could write a hundred blog posts and never give all the reasons. 2) Discontentment, comparison and ingratitude often steal my joy by distracting me from the truth of Statement Number 1.
Number one seems obvious enough to take at face value: I have a home to live in, we eat three meals every day. Besides the occasional cough and cold my kids are healthy. Our family business (Quiver Tree Photography!) is growing, and we are encouraged that the risks we’ve taken by putting a lot of eggs in that basket have the potential to put food on the table long term. I’m happily married. Our children are a constant source of joy. We give thanks often.
But Statement Number Two, friends. Statement Number Two. Here is one amazing thing: the enemy of my soul will try his darndest to help me focus on WHAT’S MISSING. Or better put, what seems to be missing. {I will put these next examples in second person, because I’m confident I’m not the only one in this situation, and I hope it will help you to consider whether Statement Number Two would be a valid addition to your State of the Union.}
The enemy’s efforts to direct your attention toward what seems to be missing often work like this:
Instead of everything that is wonderful and good and praiseworthy about your spouse, you tend to see the handful of things that you think are wrong. (i.e., Sure, he works very hard every day, puts up with a lot of stress and still comes home and plays with the kids for you to make dinner or does bath time or bed time, but will he EVER help with the dishes? Or hang his dang towel back on the hook? Or take you out for a meal every once in a while?)
Instead of everything that is good about your job, you struggle to see past the things that are wrong: the one co-worker who isn’t pulling his weight, the lousy amount of vacation you get each year, the raise you are confident you deserve. (Not saying ya don’t, friend… not saying ya don’t.)
Instead of everything that is good about your home, you struggle to see past the things you wish were different: it’s too small for our family, I just don’t like how the rooms are arranged, it basically doesn’t look like it belongs in a magazine.
And — this can seem small but still be a big one — instead of seeing the good, happy, healthy relationships you have in the people around you, you turn your gaze to the things you weren’t invited to, the cliques everyone seems to have but you, the events everyone else seems to be enjoying that you are not a part of.
What a powerful strategy of the enemy of our souls this is! It’s like a game of trying to keep you distracted from remembering which cup the ball is under — an attempt to convince you there’s actually not a ball at all.
And, can you believe it’s practically the oldest trick in the book? It dates back to the garden, friends. And we’re still getting played.
Picture Adam & Eve — participants in an idyllic paradise. So surrounded by glorious blessings were they — the presence of God, and everything they could have ever needed. God created and it. was. good. But the one thing they couldn’t have blinded them — and out with a slither and a whisper, the inherent question behind the face value question was Is God really good?
Sure, the serpent phrased it as “Has God indeed said, ‘You shall not eat of every tree in the garden?”
But could that translate: What exactly is God withholding from you?
Eve answered, ““We may eat the fruit of the trees of the garden; but of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God has said, ‘You shall not eat it, nor shall you touch it, lest you die.’”
But could that translate: Well, we can eat the fruit of the trees, but there is one tree we can’t eat from, and there are consequences if we eat it. Which I guess means God is withholding something from us.
The serpent followed up that response with a big fat lie, and the rest, as you know, is history. She decided the fruit did look good, she believed God was withholding something good from her — and she was so focused on what was being withheld, she was completely blinded to all that she’d been given. And Adam, right there with her, fell into the same trap.
Seems dumb, amIright?
But do we ever trade an idyllic paradise for a lousy apple?
Do men and women ever trade what could be a happily ever after marriage for the apple that throws meaningful glances and complements their way? The whisper that things could be better and something’s missing?
Do people ever trade the choice of a reasonably-sized home and enslave themselves to an excessive mortgage for the lie that happiness is synonymous with extra square footage?
Do all of us sometimes trade what could be joy and peace in our every day lives because discontentment, ingratitude, and comparison whisper so loudly: ALL OF THIS IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH, and THERE ARE TOO MANY THINGS BROKEN FOR THIS TO BE WORTH FIGHTING FOR.
We are missing the orchards and orchards of gifts in the days of our lives because we think there’s a better apple on the other side of the fence.
I challenge you today friends — while your Facebook feed and commercials on TV, magazine covers and the darkness in your own soul all team up to tell you your life is just not good enough — stand back, take off your shoes and see: see what has been given.
Do you know how to read? What a gift! Do you have food to eat? What a gift! Are you currently employed? Have a place to call home? Are you able to walk? Able to see? Have a fellow human being to talk to or occasionally share a meal with? Gift, gift, giftgift, GIFT!
David once wrote, “You fill my cup to overflowing. Surely Your goodness and love will be with me all my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.” {Psalm 23:5-6}
David was the outcast inside his own family — the kid sent to watch the sheep while his brothers went to the army, the one not invited when Samuel the prophet came to visit — and if you follow the story of his life in the years that follow, you know it was full of mess. King Saul was out to kill him, his son betrayed him and started a massive rebellion, he made his own bad decisions while looking for an apple on the other side of the fence — but, at any of the trial-filled moments that filled his life, how could he say God’s goodness would always be with him?
Two words.
Perspective and Thankfulness.
{That was kind of three — sorry.}
Two different people with the very same set of circumstances can have completely different opinions about their own State of the Union. One does well to see the forest, the other is distracted by a few unpleasant trees. And I regret to admit how much joy I’ve missed out on because I failed to just see and give thanks.
So here’s the sermon in a nutshell at the heart of all this: Aim to look for and consistently celebrate the good gifts in your lives, friends. Don’t miss out on enjoying the orchards of gifts you’re showered with every day, for the sake of a few bad apples.
In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus. {I Thess. 5:18, NASB}
Jan 22, 2014 | Stories, The Good Word
It was bright and sunny Sunday morning. The birds were singing, the sun was bright, the kids were excited, and we were running late. The Hubs had to be in Greenville early to assist with preparations for a guest speaker, and we hoped I’d be able to arrive with the kids in order to attend the speaker’s talk before church.
We normally go to church in Washington… so the half hour distance, plus not having HH’s assistance in getting the kids ready, plus needing to go extra early, plus the Belle wanting a wee nap… basically it all combined to mean that I was so far from the possibility of getting there on time. I think I counted that after getting everyone in the car, I went back into the house approximately six times to grab one more thing before the van actually reversed out of the driveway.
I started the trek to Greenville, noisy little people in the back, me flustered at the thought of now being exceptionally late, and I prayed that the Lord would somehow help us make it on time. Yes, friends, I kind of treated God like a magic genie and I hoped that if I rubbed His lamp, a thirty minute journey would become a fifteen minute journey, and then the time-space continuum could get back to normal.
I intended to do my part by driving as quickly as seemed reasonably possible.
Shortly after that prayer, I heard a reply from the Lord. This was especially significant because I hadn’t been a very good listener lately — if I was asking and He was answering, I probably didn’t hear it. But this was the whisper:
You need to slow down. Let it go. This isn’t a big deal.
It was something like that — you know how you hear something with your heart and it’s not necessarily a message with words, but still something you just understand? I sensed this simple encouragement from the Lord to relax, to trust that this “issue” was very small in the grand scheme of things, that it was all going to be okay.
I agreed. You’re right, Lord, I need to slow down. I purposefully slowed down the bustling mini-van and continued the journey.
I sat not-so-patiently as the next two stop lights I encountered were red and took FOREVAHEVAH. I was anxious to get scooting again, and sped up again — not to the slowed-down pace I’d been directed to by the Lord, but to the previous pace — the as quick as reasonably possible one.
I doubt they’ll be handing out any medals in heaven for half-obedience.
Not long after, flashing blue lights were behind me, and I hadn’t even made it out of Washington yet.
It turns out, the stretch of road I was driving on was a 35 mph zone, but I thought it was a 45. To my credit, there were no speed limits signs posted from the point where I turned onto the road to the point where I was pulled over, and the first sign you see, shortly after the spot where I was pulled over, is a 50. Since I was going as fast as reasonably possible — faster than 45, I was going rightmuchfasterthanreasonableina35milesperhourzone.
Needless to say, I was 1) disappointed to get a speeding ticket and 2) SO disappointed that it could have been avoided if I had just done that one little thing I encourage my kids to do all the time: listen and obey.
OUCH.
When you do something stupid like that, and you realize that you specifically, deliberately (or perhaps absentmindedly) disobeyed the Lord (the way I chose not to relax and slow down) I imagine it is completely natural for you to feel a couple of different things. One is totally frustrated and angry with yourself. Another is really sorry and disappointed at yourself. The third is just totally ashamed of yourself.
The frustration and anger tend to subside. Deep breaths. The sorrow over the mistake will hopefully lead you, like it led me, to ask for forgiveness. But there is this funny thing about shame. Shame is like a stinky wet blanket, laid thick and heavy over your soul.
The person who feels ashamed usually wants to hide. Regret and frustration and sorrow are healthy parts of the process of dealing with something you’ve done. But shame often turns the nail on its head and tries to point instead at the problem being with who you are.
I basically dealt with my own anger and frustration about the situation. I asked the Lord to forgive me for blatantly continuing on my own course of action, instead of truly listening and responding to the gentle whisper He was kind enough to give me.
But then, in relational terms, the situation was a big knock. It hurt my pride. It made me feel foolish. It bummed me out because in the States speeding tickets can negatively affect your car insurance premiums, and with the Hubs being a “legal immigrant alien” (or some similarly strange term) he has no domestic driving record, and we’ve had to be creative to avoid the super-high insurance premiums that we would have to pay to insure him to drive here. (Hence the usefulness of the Hubs driving a motorcycle.)
Godly sorrow leads to repentance and brings with it hope, and a renewed sense of thankfulness for the forgiveness that Jesus paid for. In the end, it reminds us that, while we are fallen and broken, God sees us as worthy — worthy enough that He’d send His Son to take the punishment we deserve.
Worldly sorrow, and the shame that goes with it, whispers a different message. It says: you are a mess and you’re just not really worth it. You think this about yourself but the truth is that.
I walked around for a while with my tail between my legs. Even though I’d asked for forgiveness and was confident I was forgiven, there was still this uncomfortable discontent in my heart.
I’ve recently been working my way through Beth Moore’s book, When Godly People Do Ungodly Things. It has been so enlightening, such a great encouragement, and it has given me so much food for thought about my faith I feel like I’m overindulging at an all-you-can-eat-buffet. In one section, she is discussing the fact that our enemy feels no remorse for kicking us when we’re down. She comments:
“Somehow we secretly hope the devil, as low as he is, surely has enough scruples to draw the line where the fight would be totally unfair. Satan has no scruples!”
Beth Moore, “When Godly People Do Ungodly Things
“
It feels ridiculous to admit that I’d like to assume that there are at least a few things that are too low even for the enemy of our souls. But truly — he is as low as it gets!
So after dealing with just being bummed about my disobedience, my lousy decision-making and the consequences, you’d think that was enough to deal with — but no! Satan has no scruples — and he is sure to try to kick you while you’re down!
These whispers quietly creep in, and you feel as if they’re your own thoughts:
Man. You’ve been complaining about cars speeding through your neighborhood. You should totally be ashamed, hypocrite.
Gosh. You really thought you were a lot further along in your walk with the Lord than to go and do something stupid like this.
Cue the flustered embarrassment. Cue the I’m-so-disappointed-I-want-to-run-and-hide feelings on the inside. Cue the resulting ‘uneasiness’ that I just couldn’t put my finger on for a while.
Can I tell you the best thing to do in a situation like this? If you don’t already think I’m crazy, you might think so now.
If there’s any truth in the words the enemy is whispering, agree with them.
In Matthew 5, Jesus said “Agree with your adversary quickly, while you are on the way with him, lest your adversary deliver you to the judge, the judge hand you over to the officer, and you be thrown into prison.” {v. 25}
Here’s what this looks like in practice.
“You’re right devil. It is very hypocritical for me to complain about all the people who have been speeding through my neighborhood, and then to think I’m a special case and I ought to be able to get away with it. But you know what else is true? Every mistake I’ve ever made or ever will make is nailed to the cross. I am sometimes a hypocrite, but I am always forgiven because of Jesus. The Bible says ‘Those who look to Him are radiant. Their faces are never covered with shame.’ {Ps. 34:5} so I don’t have to be ashamed of the mistakes I’ve made — when Jesus said ‘It is finished” He meant this, too!!”
And in response to the suggestion that this is an indication that I still belong in Children’s Church:
“You’re right that I did a stupid thing, devil. I should’ve listened when the Lord told me to slow down. But even Paul the Apostle said, “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” {Phil 3:12} If the Apostle who was responsible for bringing the Gospel to the gentiles and was imprisoned for his faith said he didn’t have it right, there is still plenty of hope for me. I will only attain perfection when Jesus returns and makes all things new — but the Lord has brought me this far, and I most certainly intend to keep on climbing!”
The difficult thing about the whispers of our unscrupulous enemy is that they are often a mix of fiction and non-fiction. They contain just enough truth to disguise the lies that lie underneath: the whispers that question God’s goodness, or question our inheritance in Him.
Friends, are you ever discouraged that you’re just not good enough? Not smart enough? Not perfect enough in one way or another?
We can deeply embrace the truth that we all totally fall short of the incredible, impeccable example of Jesus — and since that’s the gold standard, we should not try to hold ourselves to any other standard. Because this is the life-giving truth: God knew from the beginning we’d never measure up. But He also — in some beautifully marvelous mystery — decided that we were absolutely worth it anyway.
The next time some worthless whisper comes creeping past your ear? Be quick to agree that while you may not measure up, God saw you as worthy enough to send His Son to planet Earth for you. And you really can’t get more valuable that.
Jan 1, 2014 | In the Name of Love, The Good Word
A little over nine months ago, I was in my brother’s car. We’d left the hospital where my Dad lay unconscious, still breathing, but almost no longer with us. Russ was getting a bite to eat, I was getting fresh air, and it was hard to know what to say, what to think, what was going to happen over the next few days.
A song came on the radio that I’d heard several times before, but this time it began to haunt me. I felt like maybe it was a whisper from the Lord. I listened intently, deer frozen in headlights, but the lyrics didn’t yet mean anything to me — I was sort of numb with grief, so heavy-hearted. Grounded in the passenger seat of my brother’s car, and simultaneously lost at sea.
A few days later, I watched my Dad breathe the last breaths he would ever breathe, and I entered a journey of grief — so sudden, so unexpected, such a crevasse… a frightening abyss.
From time to time, I’d hear that song again, and be whisked back to that moment in my brother’s car. Sitting in the passenger seat — clearly not driving, not steering the ship, not in control of what was happening around me.
It took a while for me to not cry if the song came on… but still, I wanted to hear it, and hear it again.
The week before Christmas, for the first time, truly, I was deeply, profoundly, greatly surprised by joy again. I’d been out grocery shopping, and an international collection of reusable shopping bags scattered our kitchen floor. The Belle crawled in to inspect all the interesting things at baby’s-eye-level.
She proceeded to find a cupboard she could open and unpack. While she pulled things out here, I put things away there, and eventually I sat down beside her to repack the random assortment of boxes and bags she’d pulled to the floor. Once everything was packed away, still seated on the floor, I lifted her up over my head, and she squealed with delight at the fun of the moment.
I lay flat on my back on the floor for a while, lifting and tickling the baby, intentionally choosing the moment over the continual rush of what was tapping on my shoulder, the next thing on the to-do list.
In the moment, I was overwhelmed with joy, reminded of the gifts I’ve been counting in my heart and sometimes on paper. The simple convergence of a decision to be in the moment, to enjoy this little girl who’s changing every day, and a few giggles and laughs was enough to create such an overflow of glee in my heart, it spilled out in happy tears on my cheeks.
Grief has been a long and an unfamiliar road, and it’s a road I’m still traveling.
I still furrow my brow just thinking about the journey, even though I can see so many gifts along the way.
Last night I was joyful to say Goodbye to 2013. Along with a couple of million other Instagram users and Facebookers and social media addicts, I created a little “Flipagram” with lots of my favorite camera-phone images from 2013. {You can view it here.}
I selected a few dozen images, and then the option of choosing a song appeared, and instantly that same beautiful, haunting song came to mind. I searched and scrolled to find it, selected it, and listened again, as images from this past year flew by.
The song is called Home, by Phillip Phillips, and there was just this one lyric I couldn’t get past: what is this place that is going to be Home? Where is home? If God has something to say to me, what is He saying about where home will be for a girl who’s lost her Dad and now feels just a little less attached to planet Earth than I did a year ago?
But today was the day for it to finally hit me. If these are the whispers of Jesus — this God-whisper has the encouraging truth I was missing: whether we are here on Earth, or we’ve breathed our last and flown away some glad morning, the home we should all be longing for is in the Presence of God.
The Christmas we celebrate is so significant because of the coming of the presence of God, as a human on Earth.
The death and Resurrection we revere is so significant because it paves the way for us, though we are messed up and fallen and broken still, to find our way back to that home — that place where we most belong, the glorious presence of an incredibly loving God — there and waiting, arms wide open all along. Prodigals, come home and rejoice!
That first shower on New Year’s morning seems to be an epiphany moment for me always — and today was no different.
The melody was in my mind again. I could hear the God-whisper in those lyrics, and finally, my heart understood:
Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave (wave) is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m gonna make this place your home
Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m gonna make this place your home
This indeed has been a year where trouble has dragged me down. Where voices in dark corners have whispered fear that shook my very soul.
It has been a year of getting lost. It has been a year of being found.
And the glory of it all is learning, deeper still, to make the presence of God the home where I live always — in this life and the next. God has been the one to hold onto, who has rolled with me down this unfamiliar road. Me, in the passenger seat and out of control, wishing things could be different, mourning what was lost, disappointed at what happened, what was done and wouldn’t come ’round again.
What a promise it was — when He said He’d never leave us.
If there’s one wish, one hope, one resolute commitment for me in the year to come, it’s to constantly say yes to the God who wants to make His Presence my home.
Troubles might drag us down, but if we get lost we can always be found. Friend, know you’re not alone, and this year, make His heart your home.
xCC
Dec 16, 2013 | The Christmas Story, The Good Word
I love a good story. And one of my favorite parts of homeschooling the Bear has been getting introduced to new stories in the children’s books selected for the Five in a Row Literature series. We read a new book every day for a week and pull out different things to discuss: perhaps a science lesson, new vocabulary, character lessons, elements of the story that are important to discuss, how the illustrator created the imagery and what we can do to do create something similar.
A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting down for our Five in a Row time, and I’d deviated a little from the books on the list in order to read the Christmas story in his Beginner’s Bible each day that week. There were lots of interesting aspects of the story to discuss, and I was super-impressed with the Bear’s version of the angel, Gabriel, which he drew and painted one afternoon.
{The Bear’s Gabriel – Remember he’s only 5 folks!}
{I also came up with an idea for clothespin angels!}
One morning, we read the story and before discussion time I quickly went to put the Belle down for her nap. When I returned, he had flipped through the Bible, all the way to the story of the crucifixion. He asked if I would read that story to him as well.
Imagining how this could be a very useful and teachable moment, I immediately started reading — but I didn’t expect it to be a teachable moment for me.
We read about Judas carrying out his “bad plan” and about it being time for Jesus to die, as it had been planned for a long time. And after his (G-rated) death, then there was, “A Great Surprise” — the Resurrection.
It was so strange to see so many parallels — and to consider that this was the end that God had in mind, from the beginning. That precious baby boy, wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger, would eventually become a fully grown, fully God-man, wrapped in grave clothes and laid in a tomb. From a poor baby’s crib, a feeding trough for animals — to a rich man’s tomb, the gift of another Joseph.
His unexpected birth while Mary & Joseph were just visiting in Bethlehem was paralleled by an unexpected death, when he and his followers were “just visiting” Jerusalem.
But the thing that stood out the most to me — what I’d never noticed before that made me drop my jaw and say, “Wow!” aloud, to the Bear? The story began with an angel appearing to a woman named Mary, telling the Good News of the arrival of the Son of God. And the story ended with an angel, appearing to a woman named Mary, who’d arrived at the tomb to mourn — but the angel had Good News — Jesus was alive again!
From that first announcement of the impending imminence, to the final telling of His death-defeating transcendence, it is a story that a writer just relishes to read. The very re-telling of it, simplified into a children’s Bible, is still awe-inspiring.
This simple and unexpected parallel made me consider how Jesus’ story absolutely began with the end in mind.
And what does it mean for us now? Could it serve to remind us that Christmas and the Crucifixion are rightly seen as inseparable, first and final acts in the greatest story ever told? Could the Christmas trees lighting up our homes remind us that the One who hung on a dead tree brought life and light to all of us?
And the angels we sing of, we speak of, we decorate our trees with — could they remind us of those twin bookends to that greatest of stories? That miraculous, angelic Good News bringing, that had all of heaven excited? Couldn’t it serve to remind us that you and I, and all the earth, should continue to celebrate the Good News, live the Good News, and share the Good News all year long?
He is the gift wrapped up from God to all the world, with swaddling clothes at the beginning and grave clothes at the end. Planned from the beginning, foretold by the Law and the prophets, announced by the angels, born at night to symbolize the Light arriving into the darkness, rising again in Glorious Day to signify that the Light had fully come.
He is a gift too large to fit under any tree, but the right size to grow our hearts a few sizes the instant we understand the meaning.
What a glorious story to savor, start to finish!
Whether the lights are still twinkling on your tree, or the wreath no longer graces the door, hold it tightly in your heart.
Merry, merry Christmas.
xCC
Dec 6, 2013 | South Africa, The Good Word
Last night, Mark and I read the news for the first time — that South Africa lost her greatest son, as Nelson Mandela passed away at the age of 95. In South Africa, he was affectionately referred to by two special names from the Xhosa language: his tribal name, Madiba, and Tata, meaning father. Perhaps no country has ever felt so close to a democratic president as to refer to him with such genuine and lasting affection.
The world has not forgotten that the greatness Mandela consistently exhibited was forged in a crucible few others will experience. His twenty-seven year imprisonment provided a case study in human relationships, and I imagine Madiba, in his heart, was taking very good notes. He learned to see his oppressors as fragile humans, he learned their language and culture, but he stood for a vision that meant he held fast to see it accomplished — he even turned down one opportunity to get out of prison.
Like Joseph, imprisoned for all those years before he interpreted Pharaoh’s dream, I wonder if he clung to the belief that his imprisonment had a great purpose.
Indeed, it did.
Finally, he walked to freedom in a way that “set in motion a chain of events that would lead to free and fair elections and majority rule [in South Africa] four years later.” {Source}
At the end of his memoir, he wrote about his release from prison:
The truth is that we are not yet free. . . . We have not taken the final step of our journey, but the first step on a longer and even more difficult road. For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.
Mandela saw forgiveness as a path to healing for a torn-apart nation. Under his leadership, the country avoided erupting into absolute state failure during the days of government transition, while the world watched and wondered — it looked like a simmering pot about to boil over.
What a challenge the words he wrote and the life he lived are to all of us. Can those of us who’ve found freedom in Christ strive to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others? Do we too often confuse political freedom with the true freedom a man can experience in his soul — I imagine it’s a freedom Madiba found, while still imprisoned.
It is a sad time to say good-bye to a man who was a warm light and a shining example to us all. I pray for the beautiful country he left behind. {The image above is a view from Gordon’s Bay, looking toward Cape Town — it hangs above the fireplace in our home and serves as a reminder.}
Dear friends in South Africa, know that so many around the world are truly holding you in our hearts.
The journey is indeed not over for us collectively — but with the time we have left, we can endeavor to honor and prefer one another.
I believe in the power of the church in South Africa — to continue to tear down the color lines and to continue to endeavor together to live humbly, love the poor, hold on to hope and believe the truth. I’ve seen the beauty of the Rainbow Nation worshipping and I believe her best days are still to come.
The world lost a great light yesterday — let us remember his example, treasure the memory of the way he walked, his grace. And let us remember the season we lost him — the season we celebrate the Light of the World’s first appearing, the season that brings us hope that even if this world sometimes feels broken, broken, broke, yet still there is hope, always hope.
We thank you for your example, Madiba. You truly made the world a better place.
xCC
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