I was a child, probably in grade school.  Christmas break was official and I was curious.  I was at “that age”.  You know of the age of which I speak.  “That” age - the age of question, the age of curiosity, the age of really wanting to know the full truth behind the little fat guy in a red suit.  Was he real?  Did he fulfill all the gifts on your wishlist?  Did he really know if you were naughty or nice?  Did he eat cookies set aside for him as a reward for breaking and entering?

I had my suspicions.  Friends at school called those who still believed in this mystical fabrication of legendary tales of old Babies.  Was I a baby for still believing?

“Could you go into my room and find my scissors?”  came the unsuspecting voice of my Mother in the kitchen.  I, tucked in my room reading a book, saw this as an opportunity to find the truth alongside finding her scissors.

Her room was a sacred space of functional sleeping quarters and magic.  Mom usually kept her sewing machine out during the Christmas season.  Behind her bedroom door, to the humming of her sewing machine, she created dolls and clothes and Christmas dresses and ornaments and stockings.  The mystery that surrounded that locked bedroom door was second only to the mystery Lucy must have felt approaching the wardrobe.  Behind that locked door, another world of creativity and wonder awaited.

Now, I was being invited into this sacred space.  On the queen-sized perfectly made bed lay the odd piece of tape used to wrap a gift.  Occasionally a thread could be spotted that she must have discarded from a sewing project still kept secret.  Tidy.  Spotless.  Nothing to be discovered by a pesky grade schooler.

In my hand I carried a mitten.  I’m not sure why the mitten accompanied me into her room but nevertheless I had a mitten.  I know this to be true because that mitten changed the course of my life.  

After spotting her scissors laying on the dresser on the other side of that perfectly made bed, I made my way towards them when that fateful mitten dropped from my hand onto the shag carpet that entangled my socked toes.  Bending over on fragile limbs to get my mitten, I spotted something that caught my eye.  My mitten, precariously and partially laying under her comforter, lay dangerously close to something that had caught my vision and was also igniting my imagination.

Slowly and deliberately, with stealth precision, I carefully lifted the edge of the comforter with a hand I’m sure was trembling with anticipation.  Not one prone to risks, I lifted the edge just enough to see there was a box.  Heart racing, the box then led my mind to believe enclosed was a game.  This was not a game worthy of me letting go of that edge of the comforter I held in my shaky hand along with any hope of finding the truth.  This was a game I had circled in the Sears and Roebucks catalog.  That sacred book kept all my Christmas wishes circled and identified for my parents to see.  Those circles represented the longings of my heart.  And this very box that lay before me had the potential of not only being the fulfillment of what I longed for in the Sears and Roebucks catalog but also the answer to my truth seeking.

I did it.  Despite my rule-following demeanour and uber responsible behavior, I pulled the box from its hiding place under the bed.  Exhilarated from rebellion and nervous from the potential risk of being discovered, before me lay the very game my red marker had circled in the catalog.  As quickly as I had entered into criminal behavior I proceeded to hatch a covert plan.  I decided to keep my secret buried deep in my mind and discover the truth on my own terms.  I would not ask my parents about the identity of Santa.  Potential evidence now presented itself before me.  

I would wait.  Come Christmas morning, if this game appeared under the tree as a gift from my parents, any doubt about St. Nick would be crushed.  If, however, I discovered that this very game became a gift from the fatman himself, I would have hard evidence to debunk Mr. Claus.  My parents would be counted  among the players in a global coverup and Santa was indeed not real.  

The nights leading up to Christmas Eve were torturous.  I would script scenarios of the unveiling.  Part of me wanted my parents to be the gift givers.  But, a bigger part of me wanted so desperately to believe that Santa flew through the celestial sphere on a sleigh directed by flying reindeer.  I wanted to embrace the folklore of Santa Claus, the North Pole, Elves, Rudolph, and all things I would soon find out were just the stuff of fairy tales.  

And then just as unexpected as the request that came from my Mother’s voice from the kitchen to go on a search and rescue mission for her scissors came my answer to my question.  Christmas morning brought gifts under the tree from my parents and gifts unwrapped on the couch from Santa.  Among my bounty, unwrapped on the couch, was the game.  There it lay.  Before me the answer and the end of my childhood nievate.  Santa wasn’t real.

I enjoyed my game.  I enjoyed the gifts.  However, that Christmas marked the end of my belief in Santa.  It was the first among a long line of disappointing Christmases.

Let’s face it.  Christmas disappoints. 

I could continue with a long list of detailed stories depicting tale after tale of Christmas disappointments.  They would be long and varied.  They would include the Christmas that my Dad, my sister and I spent Christmas in a third-world country without  my Mom.  She, at the age of 38-years-old, suffered a stroke just months prior to Christmas.  Due to the lack of medical treatment offered to her in our remonte Air Force base in Turkey, she was flown back to the United States to recover while my Dad tied up our life, packed up our belongings and navigated a 17-year-old and a 12-year-old back to the United States.  I don’t remember the presents.  I don’t remember a Christmas tree.  I just remember the disappointment of being separated as a family.

My Christmas disappointments would include another Christmas separation.  Having just moved to Austria in March of 2009, we received word from family in the United States that Chris’ father had unexpectedly passed away.  The day before Christmas Eve, I drove my husband to the airport for him to say his final goodbyes to his father.  As he boarded a plane, he would fly thousands of miles only to get stuck hours from home due to a snow storm that caused havoc on air traffic and brought further disappointment from exhausted travelers now confined to airports as places of Christmas celebrations.  As Chis nestled in for an uncomfortable night on a plastic airport chair, I tucked in three girls entrusted to my care in our new home in a new country.  This was our first Christmas away from all extended family and now due to this unexpected passing, we four girls were away from the man that secured our foundation as a family.  We decorated Christmas cookies and opened packages but it wasn’t that same without Chris.  That Christmas left me disappointed at the turn of events.

There are more.  The gift I didn’t get.  The gift I gave and the recipient didn’t hail my contribution as their favorite.  The family discord.  The lack of money.  The distance of miles.  The recipe that didn’t succeed.  The anxiety that drowned my enthusiasm.  

On and on.  

Disappointment after disappointment.

I have a friend.  Rose.  Rose is wise and quiet.  She listens more than she speaks.  And when she speaks, her wisdom is elevated by the quality of her few words.  She doesn’t need a lot of words to communicate the deeper truths that she has discovered in her quietness before a holy God.  

Rose says that we can see God most clearly in contrast.  For example, you don’t know how beautiful the light is until you’ve been in darkness.  That’s good.  That’s profound.  That’s the wisdom of Rose.

As I look to my disappointing past, the Christmases that have come and gone, I’m oddly thankful.  I’m thankful that the gift didn’t come or the recipient didn’t rejoice.  I’m thankful that there was discord and lack and distance.   I’m thankful for the lack of success and lack of peace.  For it was in those things that so successfully disappointed that contrasted so powerfully against the beauty of a God who never disappoints.

God’s people are all familiar with disappointment.  

Looking back to the virgin who carried a baby as well as a tarnished reputation, the people God chooses experience disappointment.  I’m sure Mary was disappointed by the way in which the Savior of the world crashed into her plans of marriage and then baby.  

Looking back to the people of Israel who believed in a Messiah who would clobber the Roman empire that smothered them with overwhelming taxes and social prejudice, I’m sure they were disappointed.  The Messiah they waited for was never imagined as a soft, cooing baby lying helpless in a stable.

Yet.  The disappointment drives us to the Promise Maker and Promise Keeper.  

Despite my desire to desperately believe in a Santa flying through the celestial spheres, the North Pole, Elves, and Rudolph, the truth of the real meaning of Christmas has changed the course of my life just as that falling mitten landing under my Mother’s bed comforter changed the course of my life as a child.

Despite a Christmas separated from our Mother, the reunion of seeing her and the celebration of a new year together as a family with my Mom well and healthy superseded the disappointment of a treeless and presentless Christmas.

Despite not having the company of my dear husband during our first Christmas abroad, seeing the sweet ways God took care of every detail of his travel and me and my girls while we celebrated apart from him was spectacular.  

O, where is the thrill of Hope because a weary world rejoices?  Dare I fail to recognize the disappointments of the season as a gift pointing to the true spirit of the season? Never!  The thrill of Hope is the thrill of belief in a person.  The weary world, including my weary person, can rejoice because of that Hope in which we place our very lives.

I want to always be disappointed with the things of this world.  Now, more than ever, I want the lights and the gifts and the marketing of Christmas to desperately disappoint.  I was not designed to be fulfilled by lesser things.  I was not designed for counterfeit happiness and short-term thrills.  I was designed for the real thing.  I was designed to walk through the disappointments alongside the presence of the One to whom my affections belong, especially at Christmas.

I look back to that revealing Christmas as a child.  Just as I tentatively lifted the comforter to see what lay under the bed, I want to empower that child-like curiosity to continue to lift the comforter, so-to-speak, on the things of God.  I want more.  And until I am truly disappointed with those things that offer temporary fulfillment, I will continue to look in the lesser places for the greater joy.

Today, I will hang an old mitten on my Christmas tree.  It won't match my decor.  It will look out of place.  But, oh my, how it will trigger the deeper things in me and call me to be disappointed so that in Him only I will rest.

From that little pesky grade school girl, Merry Christmas.  Discovering the truth will always lead to the greater things.  And that, dear ones, will never disappoint.

Before this decade settles into the history books, and wordsmiths like me write on themes of goals and new beginnings, I want to dwell on the past.  I want to dwell on perhaps the single most extravagant gift our family experienced this past holiday season.

Always wanting to create "perfect" and always falling short of whatever picture I have in my head, I began asking the Lord what kind of gifts we could give to our adult and almost adult children this year.  When they were little girls with dolls and toys on the wish list, we chose to give them "gifts" that would create memories in hopes those memories would carry them into this season of life they find themselves in now.  They ranged from the budget friendly gesture of hopping into the car in footy pajamas, discovering Christmas cookies in the back seat, and driving through a neighborhood known for their electric colored extravagance and just like that ... a memory was made.

Memories often get harder when children grow older.  As life circumstances took our family overseas, the memories became a little more extravagant.  A surprise trip to London made the top of our list as well as a horse drawn carriage ride through the snowy streets of Vienna.  Lovely, beautiful and breathtaking memories.

This year, I had only one small idea that bubbled up from that place of inspiration that when it rises you know was conceived by the Holy Spirit.  I can come up with some pretty good ideas.  However, its the Holy Spirit that comes up with GREAT ideas!  What seemed to be just a small act of kindness  erupted into a spiritual experience for each one of us whose last name is Elledge.

We had set aside money, knowing we wanted to give it away during Christmas.  We always pray and ask God how He wants this money to be used.  Part of our give-a-way money was to be reserved for us to pass out to people with whom we had no prior knowledge of on Christmas Eve.  Before any festivities began on Christmas Eve morning, we piled into our car and headed toward the East side of town where need is seen clearly and opportunities would present themselves often.  Each Elledge carried an envelope of $60.  Our mission was to ask the Holy Spirit to whom the money was to be given.  There were no rules.  We would wait on the Holy Spirit to highlight the recipient of our small financial gifts.

I was the first to offer my bounty to a middle-aged woman who was shopping for groceries.  As I approached her, I simply said that my family and I had set aside money just for this day to give away.  I told her that the Holy Spirit highlighted her to me and I'd like to give her a small token of love.  I explained this was not from me but from God.  He was using me to be His hands and feet and show her, in a tangible way and on this specific day, how much He loved her.  She said nothing.  She need not utter words.  Her smokey brown eyes lit up and caused her arms to reach out to me as we embraced in a hug.  Two strangers standing in front of the stacks of Michelob cartons sharing a holy moment.

While I was sharing my gift with my person, Addison spotted a grandmother with two grandchildren in tow.  The Holy Spirit showed Addison she was to be the recipient of her gift.  She came up to the woman in like fashion and gave her the money.  The grandmother, in shock, began to explain to Addison that she had $8 in her wallet.  Now, with Addison's gift, she could buy the coffee she wanted to buy and they would really celebrate!  Once again, two strangers embraced in the aisle and another holy moment was shared.

Next, we sat in the parking lot of the shopping center where people entered and exited from a grocery store, a laundry mat, a Plasma collection center and a pawn shop and we prayed.

Parker spotted a woman who was highlighted to her.  Her pain was worn as plain as her poncho she draped over her clothes.  We watched as Parker introduced herself and shared with her her mission - to give away her money.  The woman embraced Parker.  They continued to talk as we tried to make out the content from our parked car.  Three hugs later and what seemed to be a prayer said over this stranger by our daugther, Parker returned to the car.  Her tears communicated her holy moment.  This woman was just thrown out of her house and was homeless.  She was on her way to give plasma to have some money.  Parker's gift was an answer to her prayer.

The Elledge clan sat with tears hanging close on our eyelids and waiting for the next stranger to be highlighted by the Holy Spirit.  A young woman in a broken car pulled directly in front of us.  As she put the car in park, she bowed her head in her hands.  Libby knew this woman was her recipient.  I got out of the car alongside my 16-year-old, however, Libby was clearly the leader in this exchange.  Libby shared the same story about our mission to give away money.  Upon receiving the envelope, she hung her head.  We asked her if there was something we could pray for her about only to have her quickly say her family was just as broken as her car.  In the middle of that parking lot, Libby put her hands on the shoulders of this broken woman and spoke life and hope in the name of Jesus over her.  Three women were being led into a holy moment born out of brokenness.

Finally, Chris was the last person to not have a direction for his money.  As we drove through the parking lot, we saw an older man who was standing unshakable on the street corner.  As we passed him for a second time, Chris knew the Holy Spirit had found his recipient.  This man was on his way to put down a deposit for an apartment.  He was homeless and needed $50 to secure a safe place to live.  In his envelope, he received $60.  Before Chris could offer to speak to God on his behalf,  the man reached out his hands,  placed them on Chris, and prayed blessing over him.  He prayed for our entire family.  The one who had been given so little prayed a generous prayer of thanks and blessing on our behalf.  A fifth holy moment had been experienced in a part of town that many deem down and out.

We were all moved.  We were all aligned into right perspectives.  We listened and watched as God not only did something miraculous for those who received our small financial gift but also for us.  We shared holy moments with strangers.  We experienced joy that comes only in giving.  We resisted the temptation to empty our savings and continue to listen and distribute funds for the joy of seeing Him work in our midst.

I share this story of our Christmas Eve to paint this one picture:  this was my "perfect".  This was the gift that gave us the most pleasure.  It's a tradition we will pursue in maintaining every year.

Happy New Year!  May 2020 give us clear vision, courage to follow through, and faith to do the extraordinary,
Christina

It seems funny that God should use a passage in Luke 5 about fishing to draw my heart to the feeding trough which held the King of kings.  God isn't defined by our traditions or stories or timetables or logic.  He does incredible and impossible really, really well.

To close out my series on Advent, I'm at a lake with fishermen, fishermen who gained their livelihoods by fishing.  Hard work, generational work, they were committed to this lifestyle.  Working hard all night only to catch nothing may have been somewhat normal.  Washing their nets and allowing empty boats to sit near the water's edge would have been totally normal.  However, to cast out again, after no haul of fish, unthinkable.

Yet, that's exactly what Jesus called Simon Peter to do in Luke 5.  The choice of words is not lost on this wordsmith.  Jesus calls Peter to put out into deep water.

• Boats were empty.
• Fishermen were tired.
• Nets were washed.

As long as you keep pottering along, a boat’s length from the shore, you will only catch little fishes. The big ones, and the heavy takes are away out yonder. Go out there, if you want to get them.

Going deeper may scare the living daylights out of you, as was Simon Peter's response, but it's a fear that calls and brings us into new spiritual places.  It's a fear that causes a holy reverence for a powerful God.  It's a fear that sheds light on our human condition in light of God's awesome power.  And finally, as we see with this crazy fisherman who gave it all up to follow Jesus, it's a fear that causes us to forfeit all and follow.

And there we find the baby, wrapped in burial cloths, and lying in a feeding trough.  Having been in the deep, He knew His calling.  Luke 4:43 says that Jesus knew He was sent to proclaim the good news about the kingdom of God.  Born into human flesh, He forfeited all to fulfill what walking in the deep allowed Him to do.

As you experience all that 2019 held for you and anticipate all that 2020 may usher, have the courage to follow the one lying in a manger and go deep.

Merry Chirsatmas,
Chrisitna

• The Holy Spirit revealed he would not see death before he saw the Messiah.
• The Holy Spirit guided him into the temple complex where he would see the Messiah.

In keeping with the recent Advent posts, let's just continue to make this a series on Advent!  To refresh our memories, Advent is the time leading up to Christmas.  It's a time to "prepare" for the birth of a Savior.  Advent can be practiced by lighting candles, opening paper doors on a calender, or any number of physical displays of preparation.  However, Advent can also be a mindful practice to prepare your heart for the thrill of this Christmas season.

In my personal exercise of Advent this morning, I have drawn a line from the temple in which the baby Jesus was brought directly to the temple that the grown up Jesus was brought for trial of crimes He did not commit.

Joseph and Mary followed Jewish law.  After eight days of cleansing post birth, a Jewish baby was brought by his parents to the temple to be presented to the priest.  This was an act of obedience on Joseph and Mary's part.

As a baby, any human is helpless and totally dependent on others for all needs.  Yet, when I follow that line from this God baby to the end of his earth life, I see him in a temple setting again.  Put on trial for crimes His own people falsified to get religious justice, He came helpless and He came totally dependent on others for all needs.

But wait, isn't Jesus also God?  Yep.  But how could He exercise His rights as King of the Jews without fulfilling His human purpose on the planet?  He had to become helpless and dependent to sacrifice His life for ours.  Sin had a price to pay.  He was the currency.

But wait ... there's more!

• When the baby Jesus was brought to the temple, He was set apart as holy.  When grown up Jesus was brought to the cross, we were set apart as holy.
• When baby Jesus was brought to the temple, His parents brought a sacrifice as a sin offering.  The traditional ask was a lamb (see Leviticus 5:5-7).  His parents could not afford that sin offering price and brought a lessor offering:  two young pigeons.  When grown up Jesus was offered as a sacrifice as our sin offering, we could not afford the sin price.  Instead of allowing us to bring a lessor offering, God provided the choice lamb, Jesus, to pay our price.
• When the baby Jesus was brought to the temple, His parents brought a sin sacrifice.  But when grown up Jesus was brought to the cross, He was the sin sacrifice!

Oh friends, when we take the time to look deeply at the simplicity of the Gospel, especially during this festive season, we should come undone.  Undone by the acts of obedience that led to our freedom!  We are so deeply loved.  May the scenes of the baby in the manger trigger our thoughts to the reality of the Savior on the cross.

Advent.  May you give space to experience who this baby is and what He came to do,
Christina

In my last post,  I wrote of preparing my heart to celebrate Christmas through the mindful practice of Advent.  Today, I want to share another way I personally prepare my heart for the season:  mindful story reading.

The story of which I speak is the story of Jesus' birth.  To clarify, the story isn't fictitious.  It's the narrative surrounding the real events of the birth of Jesus.  Much like my girls when they celebrated birthdays when they were young, we would retell the story of their birth.  That's what I personally treasure during this holiday season.  I read the story of the birth of Christ.  Yet, I don't read in anticipation of knowing what comes next.  I read through the lens of a new reader.  I ask the Holy Spirit to reveal new things in this old story.  And, because of His faithfulness, I am never, ever, disappointed!

So far this season, the Holy Spirit has shown me a few things that I am already cherishing for the beauty they hold:

• Jesus, at birth, was wrapped in strips of cloth.  According to some, these cloths were traditional burial cloths.  How symbolic is that?  The baby born to die, at His first showing, was wrapped in burial cloths!
• Zachariah, a priest who became a father in his old age, was muted by his unbelief for nine months.  The minute he spoke, it was to name his boy child the name told to him by an angel.  Faith opened his mouth!
• Mary's belly continued to grow as a sign of God's faithfulness to her.  Unwed, unbelief by those surrounding her except her fiance, unrecognized as anyone "important" by worldly standards, she had a daily reminder of God's message being true!

Our family has always celebrated and participated in the tradition of Advent.  As a child, counting down the days before Christmas was marked by a chocolate German calendar that held the power of this five-year-old to believe behind each door held a chocolate treat that ushered in the coming of Christmas.  As a child, the lighting of the Advent candles, the tradition of church services planned to honor the season, the personal opening of paper doors to reveal chocolate surprises - all of it held a magical sense of anticipation.

As a young mother, I kept my childhood traditions of Advent alive.  Each season my girls had Advent calendars that we taped to the refrigerator.  Each calendar held its owner's imaginations captive to see what chocolate awaited them on the appointed day of opening.  We incorporated the lighting of the Advent candles in our home and still practice Advent today.

One of my personal preparations for Advent begins with my heart.  I begin reading Luke on the first of December.  I ask  Holy Spirit to show me new revelations on an old story.  He never disappoints.  Never.

This morning I was held captive to a portion of Luke that I had never seen before.  (On a side note, that's the power of reading and building a life around a book that is alive, active, and sharper than a two-edged sword!)  In Luke 1:39 - 45 we discover the power of shared experience.  Mary has an encounter with Gabriel.  Her next response is to run to her cousin, Elizbeth because what the angel told her included Elizabeth.

I love that scripture says she hurried to Elizabeth.  The fact that she put on her proverbial tennis shoes and high tailed it to Elizabeth tells me Mary, young and inexperienced in life, had a maturity of faith.  She took the message that was told to her as truth.  With this truth, she ran to either confirm or rejoice or both with her cousin.

Then, we see another aspect of the role of the Holy Spirit by what happens when Mary bursts through the door of Elizabeth's house.  At just the hearing of her voice, Elizabeth's baby responds and then she is filled with the Holy Spirit.  Spirt recognizes Spirit.

But look what happens as a result of Elizabeth being filled with the Holy Spirit.  Things told in hushed whispers by Gabriel to Mary are now known by Elizabeth.  She knows Mary is blessed  She knows the baby she carries is the long-awaited Messiah - her Lord.  And then she declares a blessing over Mary:  "She who has believed is blessed because what was spoken to her by the Lord will be fulfilled."

All this occurred before any conversation with words took place.  Sprit seeks Spirit and truth is proclaimed.

Advent is the looking forward to and anticipation of an event.  I'd love to encourage you to put some personal time into preparing your own heart for the Season.  Whatever activity brings peace and hope into this season and draws you closer to the One we anticipate, do it.  I pray you find new treasures in this holiday as you prepare for the magic that is Advent!

The story of a Christian Christmas begins with a senior adult priest, his barren wife, and a virgin teenager.  It seems more like the things Hallmark movies are made of and not the plans of an Almighty God to save the world.  To be honest, I like that about God.  I like that He chooses those things that seem so unlikely to have a powerful impact.

At the time that Zacharias was a priest, 18,000 other priests were separated into twenty-four divisions.  According to the Jerusalem Perspective (https://www.jerusalemperspective.com/2304/), during the Second Temple period, the twenty-four priestly divisions served in the temple at Jerusalem in a rotation system.  According to my limited math skills, that means there were 750 priests in one division.  Let me point out what I believe to be an unlikely situation:  God orchestrated events so that Zacarias would be the one priest out of 18,000 to be selected to go behind the sacred curtain within the secret place of the Holy Temple to hear some incredible, life-changing news.  God went to extreme lengths to share a special message with an unlikely candidate.

God spoke a crazy word.  He declared that a barren, senior adult woman would conceive a baby.  This baby had a purpose.  These plans were laid before the foundations of the earth.  Her age, her womb, her past record of bearing no babies were not criteria that disqualified her for an extreme encounter with the Living God.  

Then, as if we needed more crazy, God does something even more unlikely.  He chooses a virgin teenager to be the vessel He uses to bring His Son into the planet.  He allows the Holy Spirit to overpower a teenage girl and through power that only requires breath, creates new life inside her womb.  God did this.  God did the unlikely.  

Barren.  Old.  Virgin.  Young.  Immaterial when it came to God doing what God had already planned.  

I love that this whole story leaves you scratching your head a bit.  

• Why did He choose to answer Zacharias and Elizabeth's prayer to have a baby well after their bodies were able to handle the chemistry of virile and young love?  
• Why did He choose Zacharias in the first place?  Weren't there other priests who were ... more priestly?  
• Why did He choose to ask Mary, of good reputation with a bright future ahead of her, to offer her body to carry the Holy One that would save those who mocked her and scorned what they thought to be scandalous life choices?

Do not be afraid.

Ah, Christmas!  The sights overwhelm.  The sounds inspire.  The food delights.  The parties ignite.  The hustle and bustle stir and blurs.  The build-up, the anticipation, the wonder, the joy, the awe - all of it just screams a magical time of the year that is like no other.

Yet, many in our midst, are not experiencing the  Hallmark movie plots that tell their predictable tales.  This week our family was forced to face this fact as we laid a sister, one day younger than myself, to rest.  She died by her own hand.  No amount of holiday cheer can explain the pain each member of her family and circle of friends are facing and living right now.  The sights, sounds, food, parties, hustle, bustle, build-up, anticipation, wonder, joy and awe all seem so secondary.

I have lived long enough and learned lessons that have changed the chemistry of my heart to know this one thing about this God that I choose to follow.  The end and unshakable truth - He is good.  Good?  Yes, good.  Good is the condition of His heart toward His children - all of them.  Good is what He desires and pursues on my behalf.  Good in the face of shocking news.  Good in the sparkle of Christmas.  Good in the routine of life.  Good.  Always good.

The very heart of God is expressed through the lens of a loving Father.  A Father comforts us when phone calls bring bad news and interrupt our life.  A Father grieves with us when we sit in funeral services when shopping for last minute Christmas gifts should be the order of the day.  A Father whispers His love toward us when gripped in depression too severe to be able to think clearly.  A Father loves us when we don't understand.  A Father works all the ugly into beautiful on our behalf.  A Father makes sense of the unthinkable.  A Father supports when legs feel too weak to walk through life.  A Father just loves ... all the time.

At Christmas, we need to be reminded that God is a good Father.  The trouble is, often the default thinking of the term "father" causes us to compare an earthly father to the Father of Jesus, God, Creator of all things, King of Kings, Omnipotent and Omnipresent Father.  Comparisons are natural.  Comparisons, however, fault on the side of too little input from our human brains to adequately draw an accurate portrayal of who God really is as Father.  Hurt from the past, horrible role models, physically or emotionally absent fathers, our own experience, and the misunderstood truth of a biblical worldview distort the all-encompassing heart of a Father, God, whose love for us is too wide, too tall, too long, too much for human brains to put into tidy boxes of rational thinking.

What's a human to do?  Believe, by faith, that God is a good Father.  God, the One who formed us in Mother's wombs and chose the man that would biologically contribute to our oxygen breathing selves on the planet is ... good.  There are theological books, seminary courses, counseling seminars, self-help workshops and plenty of online resources to expand on the Father-God concept.  But .. this blog is mine.  I know, from many years hearing the kind voice of my Father, that He is good.  In loss too unbearable to carry, He was good.  In heartache that caused physical reactions of nights with too many tears, He was good.  In physical pain, He was good.  In job loss, He was good.  In a miscarriage, He was good.  In the final goodbyes to my Mom, He was good.  In too little money to provide Christmas, He was good.  In thousands of miles separating me from my extended family, He was good.  In the stress of relationships, He was good.  In lies being told about my character, He was good.  In my Anxiety and Panic attacks, He was good.  In high fevers from little baby girls in the middle of the nights, He was good.  In the viewing of those I love suffer, He was good.  Just as an apple can be nothing but an apple, the character of God can be nothing but GOOD.

This Christmas, my prayer is that those who have been so cleverly misguided, lied to, deceived by the worlds attempt to color a picture that is not accurate of God, the Father, to experience an overwhelming breakthrough of truth that the Father is good.  May coffee cups across from one another be joined by conversations that dispell ugly notions and bring freedom into hearts this Christmas.  God is good.  That's what Christmas is all about!

 This Christmas, may the sights, sounds, food, parties, hustle, bustle, build-up, anticipation, wonder, joy and awe all seem secondary - wonderful - yet secondary to the undeniable truth that God is good!

Christmas stirs.  Memories, emotions, mixing bowls full of cookie dough, people, our comfort zones. This Christmas, I find myself strangely content - most of the time - in the middle of circumstances that I wish were different.

I am not alone.

In my immediate circle of friends and family, one struggles with the loss of a good friend as he lost his battle with an illness way too early in life, one has just lost a job, one needs more income to meet monthly expenses, one doesn't see a way out of a bad marriage, one needs answers to health problems, one is depressed, one just buried her Dad, one is spending her first holidays apart from family, one is caring for a loved one with Alzheimer's, one needs a new car.  The list goes on.

This season of Advent (that waiting period that leads up to the birth of Christ), I'm reframing the season to mean more than just Advent.  I want to see Adventure.  What I am getting is Waiting.  I'm reframing it because - if I'm honest - I thought it would look different.  I thought we'd have a house.  I thought I'd be decorating my new house with my own decorations while having the Martha Stewart Christmas I thought would be mine this Chrsitmas.  Instead, I have a tree I bought from Facebook Marketplace, borrowed ornaments, surrounded by stuff that isn't mine in my temporary home.

I know I come off sounding like a brat.  These are first-world issues.  In the grand scheme of things, I have it good.  I'm grateful - I really am.  I just thought it would look different.  And in the looking different, I find God.

While I wait, I am finding the courage to wait - some more.  This week, I read - what I didn't want to hear with my head - the words of Zephaniah 3:8.  Right out of the gate, the Lord doesn't mince words.  He's straight up.  Clear.

"Therefore, wait for me."

In the waiting, there are some beautiful instructions that are counter-intuitive to what my brain wants to do:   SING for joy, SHOUT loudly, BE GLAD and REJOICE with all your heart.  These are things I typically want to do when things are as I think they should be.

Yet ... God.  God does things strange to my logic yet perfect in His.  He says that I can SING, SHOUT, BE GLAD and REJOICE because He is among me.  He is a warrior who saves.  He will rejoice over me with singing.  He will bring me quietness with His love.  He will delight in me with shouts of joy.  And He will do all these things right in the middle of circumstances that I deem to be undesirable.

Strange.

Yet, that is kinda God's M.O. (Mode of Operation).  Since God is unchangeable, I look at how He brought this "thrill of Hope" into the world over 2,000 years ago.  A baby to working-class parents in the low rent district.  Such a strange way to save the world.  What appeared to be less than perfect circumstances were the perfect circumstances to usher in the light of the world.

In the middle of my current circumstances, I choose to see from Gods perspective.  I don't always get it right.  I don't always rejoice in the moment.  I often shout but not out of a place from joy.  Yet, I am squinting to see the Hope and logic of this advent through the lens of adventure.  I am choosing to see that right now He is with me.  He is among me.  He is and has orchestrated my circumstances so beautifully it supersedes what I can see with my eyes.

I'm waiting ... but not wasting my time.

During this season leading up the birth of Christ, may you find Him in the middle of your circumstances.  He is among us - especially as we WAIT!

Waiting and trying to do more shouting with joy than irritation,
Christina

"A Strange Way to Save the World"