How to enjoy Christmas anyway

There are Christmases where nothing goes as planned. There are Christmases that fill up with busyness without you even knowing how, days and days of tasks that swallow you up so quickly you forget to prepare for Him. There are Christmases of sickness and it’s all you can do to get off the couch, much less lead your family into worship. There are lonely Christmases where you feel invisible and misunderstood and small. There are Christmases that don’t match up to the one in your head, Christmases where your house is a mess and your family is grumpy and you are trying to survive and that’s all.

There are Christmases when you wake up and the big day is two days away and you find yourself wondering what happened. And your heart is crying out for you to stop, come to Him, do what you should have done so long ago, but you wouldn’t, because coming to Him meant coming face to face with your failure. You wanted to bring Christ into your Christmas, but instead you ended up with a Christ-less mess.

And so, two days before His birthday, you stop. You admit defeat. You are too tired to try anymore.

You think about the Jesse Tree stories, the history you have been reading to your kids about all the times God rescued His children, reaching into their messes again and again, saying, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”—and all because He loved them too much not to.

And this is the meaning of Advent—coming. God coming down for us because we couldn’t reach up to Him. He was born right into a mess and held by a terrified teenage girl who had no idea what to do except cling tight to that Baby. And maybe she had worked hard to prepare for Him and had a little place of welcome all ready, a room all clean and tidy. And now here she was in a stable, giving birth in the dirt, and soon she would be running for her life to a foreign land, and that little room must have seemed like a faraway dream.

And that’s the whole point. We made a mess of things right from the very beginning, and from the very beginning He has been coming, coming, and all we have to do is let Him in. Sometimes—always?—that is the hardest thing to do. But He sends stars and angels and wise men from afar to remind us we are part of a bigger story.

And so, one day before the big day, you decide to stop trying so hard and just let Him into the mess. You decide to smile.  You sit at His feet awhile, and you marvel at the beauty of this story that keeps unfolding into all the messes, always.

He just keeps coming. All you have to do is let Him.

Hush of the holy

"I'm actually just looking forward to January."

My friend says this frankly with a smile of weariness. It's only December 8 and the Christmas pressure is just too much. I find myself nodding in understanding.

The Christmas festivities that are meant to be fun pile together into this suffocating to-do list that seems to take on a life of its own, shadowing us with this malevolent promise: if you don't get this list done, your Christmas is a failure. Gifts to shop for and wrap and mail, cards to send, food to make. Parties to plan for and attend, concerts to enjoy, trips to go on, decorations to put up. And in the midst, regular life barrels along at its regular breakneck pace.

And yet we continue, year after year, to plunge into the Christmas craziness. Why? What is it that compels us to create such chaos of our world?

What does it all mean?

A good question.

I love the Christmas chaos, actually. And when I think of why, I see there is this hush beneath it all, this place of wonder and joy.

The hush of the holy.

Advent is a time when the barriers of time and place grow thin. God comes near, we feel His breath, and we touch a little piece of eternity.

That baby in a manger. That virgin mother. Those shepherds standing bewildered beneath a chorus of angels. Wise men traveling across years and continents to worship a tiny child.

God is with us. These things speak of hope and miracles. They remind us of the love that made this world and came among us to rescue it. And for a little while, we slow and we still, and we enter the holy.

Except when we don't.

When the celebrations replace the Child, the holy becomes hectic.

When we stress instead of still, we miss the story.

There is a reason every child loves Christmastime and a reason we want our children to love it. For a little while life becomes less ordinary, and we create reasons to celebrate and be together. We sing special songs. We surround ourselves with meaningful objects and memory-filled traditions. We tell stories in whispers, stay up late, eat more. 

We want a reason to rejoice. 

I think the specialness, the set-apartness, of this time is good and freeing and meaningful. But what is really important during Advent? In the end, what will stay with us? What do I want to remember? What do I want my children to remember?

I want to enter the holy. I want His gift to be the only gift that matters.

I doubt the weariness will go away. I know the chaos will clamor to consume us. But we can choose not to let it. We can choose to let these things usher us to the Christ child, and we can let go of the things that don't.

Slow.

Still.

Enter the holy.

Made of love

I'm writing a story to my kids about the Christmas narrative, starting from the very beginning--at creation. I'm trying to imagine the perspective of an angel looking on as God speaks the words that bring the world into being, and suddenly I'm stunned by a thought. 

The world is made of love. 

Literally. God made us because He just couldn't stand not to (at least that's what I think). He dreamed us up and He so wanted to love us that He just had to create. And His love is so huge and strong and beautiful that the words just came spilling out, like an artist inspired. And here it all is. A whole world made of love. 

What other force could have dreamed of skies spread thick with silver stars, mountains piled up like craggy fortresses, rivers sparkling, life teeming, all of earth yearning upward in this glorious song?

Have you ever stood at the ocean's edge at sunrise, watching that burst of light breaking through where sky and water meet? Have you stood on a mountaintop looking out over wave after wave of frosty peaks?

Every day He declares Himself to us over and over in a million creative ways (Psalm 19). His creation shouts, whispers, sings to us of His love. 

Yes, we made a wreck of it. Yes, we are all dying, and this world is dying with us. But just like a shoot growing from a stump (Isaiah 11), His love is the pulse of life that keeps springing upward no matter how we trample it down. 

He won't be outdone. Circumstances may try to convince you otherwise. But this Christmas, I hope you will breathe in the love your world is made of. I hope you will come to Jesus. 

I hope you see shoots growing from stumps. 


Here is the link to my children's Christmas story--one each day until Christmas!

Jesse Tree Journey: What the Angels Saw

I have done the Jesse Tree stories for the past few Christmases with my kids. This year I wanted to bring the stories a bit more to their level, creating a storyline that would pull all of the Jesse Tree Bible stories together in a fun way. This story is my attempt to do that. I am happy to share it with you!

I incorporate the ornaments with our advent calendar. Each day the kids open the “door” on our calendar and pull out the ornament that is inside. Then we read the story together. There are some great ideas for making your own ornaments on pinterest, or I think you can Google ornaments to purchase. I just printed out paper images and glued them to cardboard—cheap but effective. 

I hope you and your family will enjoy sharing this journey with us. I will post the entries Please be patient as I am writing the story as we go along and I’m not quite sure where it will take me. I’m excited to find out!

I will post the daily entries below. Have fun!

Introduction to the Jesse Tree

December 1: The Plan

How to die, part 2

"If anyone serves Me, let him follow Me; and where I am, there my servant will be also" (John 12:26).

He has just raised the dead. Raised the dead. He let Lazarus lie in the tomb for four days just to remove all doubt of the miracle's authenticity. Now He has ridden into the city surrounded by adoring followers. His name is everywhere. His disciples spend their days controlling the crowds trying to get to Jesus.

It must be fun, riding that wave of fame and popularity. To be able to say, "Yep, I'm one of His chosen." "Yes, I was there when He raised Lazarus. In fact, I have seen almost all of His miracles."

These disciples have followed Him for three years, and if anything, they have learned He is unpredictable. But He is good. And now He is at the height of power. He is changing all the rules in their world. He's going to save them. He's the answer they have been waiting for. They swear they will follow Him anywhere.

We have the luxury of hindsight. We know that only a few days later, Jesus walks right into death, and almost all of His followers flee in terror.

He shattered their expectations. They did not understand a love that willingly gave itself up to suffering. They could not see beyond the now. They didn't know that sometimes He doesn't meet our expectations because He's going to exceed them in ways we cannot imagine.

He was part of a story so much bigger than their little world. And so were they.

It's easy to follow glamour. It's simple to attach ourselves to success and fame. But Jesus wants servants, not fans, and servants follow into death.

"Where I am, there my servant will be also."

Where is He?

In heaven, yes. And He's promised we will be there with Him. But obviously we are not there yet.

He is here, too. And if we follow, we will be where He is.

Where is He?

With the poor.
With the brokenhearted.
With the captives.
With the mourners.
With the desolate.
With the dying. (Isaiah 61)

If you know the story, you know that most of the disciples came back. They did follow. Right into death. Right into a lost and dying world. Into need. Into sorrow. Into anger and rejection and fear. These few men carried the candle of His hope, and it spread across the whole world.

We're all dying. It's how we die that matters.

We can walk into this death with our candles of hope, following where He is. Or we can cling to a life we are sure to lose. The question is, when we lose our life, what will be left?

It all depends on who we follow.

Thanksgiving

Sky above mountains

pink painted, swirling

impossible blue, shot with

sun's rising rays.

Early morning fire crackle, 

cat on lap, world still, 

listening.

Tousled heads bobbing

down hallway, tiny

arms round neck,

kisses.

Shoes heaped in

piles, toys lying in wait

like land mines,

songs sung loudly and

off-key. Juice spilled

again, chocolate-smeared

faces grinning at jokes

told a hundred times.

Golden hair streaming

as she runs. Giggles

cascading, contagious.

Finding his stories, written

by flashlight at bedtime.

The smell of sawdust

in his hair. Strong hands catching

daughters flying through the air,

building Lego masterpieces, creating

a home.

Breathing

the song of His

story.

Naming and

being named.

Sharing the

struggles shot through with

joy, knowing victorious

Love.

How to die, part 1

"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life" (John 12:24-25).

The thing is, we're all dying.

We started dying the minute we were born. Ironic. We come into this world taking these gasping breaths, clinging to this slender branch, instinctively wanting to live.

But we're born into a dying world, and we've no choice but to be part of it. Even as we grow and live, we know we're doomed. We've been given passage on a sinking ship.

It seems like we spend most of our life denying death, running from it, fortifying ourselves against it, warding it off at all costs. Makes sense. We were created to live, after all. And death is suffering, and suffering is pain.

But in spite of all our efforts, pain is just the way things are. It's not the way things were supposed to be. But there it is. The God who loves us, He had to allow for the possibility of pain if we were to choose to love Him back. And so we made a wreck of things, rent this gaping hole in our existence through which death comes grinning.

Each day we die little deaths that only remind us of what is coming. 

Or maybe the little deaths are the hardest to bear. We don't mind dying in the end (knowing where we are going), but we want the passage there to be smooth and comfortable. We can't stand the losses and the hurts and the goodbyes and the hopes shattered. We long for certainty and safety. 

So we patch and paste and cover and mend, only to end up tearing bigger holes in this flimsy fabric of life.

But what if we die to live? What if we stop denying death and instead step boldly into it? 

We were made to live. But the life that is waiting for us lies through this passage of death. After all, we are all dying already. It's how we die that matters.

How we die determines how we live, not the other way around. 

And so Jesus comes to show us how these little deaths are seeds falling into the earth, smothered in black darkness for a time. But seeds that die in Him, these seeds live again. They grow up strong. Fruit-laden. Full of life. 

It seems absurd to think of a seed clinging to the branch past its time, trying its hardest to keep on living. And what if it does succeed? A seed that never dies must ultimately lead a withered, lonely life. 

We spend a lot of time being afraid of death. Maybe it's time to look death in the face, to determine how we are going to die. Maybe those little deaths--that really aren't so little after all--maybe they are seeds lying in the darkness of a long winter. 

But maybe spring is waiting. And maybe this death is about to sprout up into glorious life. 

He is there in the darkness. And when we are in Him, we never die alone. 

Five things you should know about abiding

Abiding in Him changes things.

It changes us. 

Here at the end of 31 days, I am only beginning to see it. How this groping for Him, finding Him, and clinging to Him is the secret to the life of joy. Without Him this is all meaningless. 

John knew it. This disciple, who later became Apostle, knew what it was to abide. He wrote the infamous chapter on abiding in John 15, and he mentions the word "abide" no less than 20 times in his letters. This idea of coming to Christ, remaining in Christ, and living out of Christ's love--it pervades everything he wrote. 

In trying to sum up this month-long journey, I find five things from John that we should know about abiding.

1. When we abide, we know we are loved.

Christ came to abide in us. He wants us so bad that He comes to us first. He doesn't simply reach out a hand to the drowning. He plunges into our muck, and He stays there with us as long as it takes. 

He abides with us because He loves us. He stayed to walk among us, teach us, suffer for us, and die for us. And then He sent His Spirit to stay with us still. To remain with us forever.

Throughout the gospel of John, the author refers to himself not by name but as "the disciple whom Jesus loved."He didn't need any other identity or recognition. Though he was one of Christ's most trusted and faithful disciples, with Christ in the most intimate and powerful moments, he did not draw attention to himself. His identity was found in Christ's love for him.

John knew He was loved. And that was enough.

"We love Him because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19).

2. When we abide, we go to the Cross.

John, this beloved disciple, is the only one mentioned by name as following Christ all the way to the cross. The others fled in fear at some point during that awful day. But John stayed. He was close enough for Christ to look down and speak to him from the cross (John 19:26-27). 

John was willing to follow into Christ's suffering because he knew Christ's love. He had been changed by knowing Christ. I doubt he understood what was happening. I am sure he suffered just as Christ's mother did, standing there together watching their hope die. But he knew Jesus, and knowing Him, he entered the suffering. He stayed.


3. When we abide, we believe.

I wonder if John saw it coming. His beloved taken by death and buried in a tomb. I wonder if, having seen the miracles, he expected Christ to defeat the cross, call down His angels, and take up His kingdom then and there. How did John feel when all his hopes and expectations were shattered? When Jesus died?

In John 20, when Mary comes running all breathless to tell the disciples she has seen the empty tomb, John seems to have been waiting for this moment. He and Peter run to the tomb to see for themselves. John 20:8 says "he saw and believed." 

While Mary is weeping, John is rejoicing. John 20:9 says that "they did not know the Scripture, that He must rise again from the dead." But John did not need the prophecy because he knew Christ. Abiding with Christ had taught him to believe.


4. When we abide, we share His joy with others.

John spent the rest of his life telling people about Jesus. He knew the secret of abiding, and he had to share the joy (1 John 1:4). His letters are filled with the joy of knowing Him.

"This is how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must live just as Jesus did" (1 John 2:5-6).

When we really know Him, we can't help but be like Him. 

5. When we abide, we love as He loved.

Knowing Christ's love must lead to loving others.  

John says this over and over. 

"He who loves his brother abides in the light" (1 John 2:10). 

"He who does not love his brother abides in death" (1 John 3:14).

"He who does not love does not know God, for God is love" (1 John 4:8). 

"And this commandment we have from Him, that he who loves God must love his brother also" (1 John 4:21).

And isn't this why Christ came? To show us the way? The way is love. 

We know love because it created us, it sings all around us, it walked among us, and it dwells within us. 

The world will know love when we abide in it, when it fills us to overflowing and floods our lives with light and hope and joy. Because He abides in us. He draws us to Himself, and He will use us to draw others. 

And finally, someday, we will see Him in all His glory. We will fall at His feet in joy of Him and abide with Him forever. And we will know Him because we have been with Him. Because we stayed.

Let it begin today.

Day 31 of Abide: 31 Days of Resting in Him

See all posts from this series here