I almost missed Advent

Yesterday Advent began and I almost missed it.

Last night I stood under a bedazzle of millions of Christmas lights all dancing to music blaring through the streets, all the glitter and noise celebrating US! And our stuff! And fun! Welcome to the season of eating and spending and all our desires fulfilled! I stood agape with the rest of the crowd and felt the Christmas frenzy coming on. 

 

Around the corner from the party a quiet street held the obligatory nativity. No dancing lights here, no blaring music. As if the creators of the show somehow knew that here was a sacred thing. Though the scene was fake and even a bit cheesy, that place somehow for me became holy. This was not a place to be profaned by our noisy self-worship.

A crazy thought. What if these thousands of people celebrating suddenly stopped and knelt at the manger? What if we all went together to this holy place? What if we hushed our hearts to listen? What would we see? What would we hear?

Advent. Coming. A season for reflecting upon the coming of Christ into our world. This is a holy time. That chaos and noise and frenzied search for meaning? That’s exactly what He came to enter into. To stop us. Still us. Show us the way.

He came that long ago time to those whose hearts were ready. Shepherds standing under the endless, quiet sky. Wise men searching that same sky for promise, for hope. Anna and Simeon, waiting in the temple for God to speak. And a terrified mother and father, gazing with bewildered wonder at the God in their arms.

He came to be touched. Held. Heard. Known. He is still coming. It’s easy to miss Him when the world beckons and bedazzles. It is easy to lose Advent when the demands of life press in.

This is when we must press into Him.

Nations are in uproar and kingdoms fall, but God is coming to save us and make us glad. He calls us to “Be still, and know that I am God.” When we are still, then HE is exalted (Psalm 46).

Stillness is a choice. Pressing in is a discipline. Advent is the perfect time to step into the holy hush of His coming. Miracles might be waiting for us in the quiet. Rest might restore us to the God who calls for us.

When the loud lures, let’s step around the corner into the stillness of His presence. He is here, and He has been here all along. He always comes for us, if we will let Him.

This is what I've been thinking about for four months

I’m not sure any of this is going to make sense.

And if it does, you might not like it. But I need to say it anyway.

It has been awhile (OK, four months, sigh), since my last post. Even as my own life has been upended and put back together again in beautiful, scary ways I never imagined, I’ve walked with friends through some dark valleys. Mental illness. Unfaithful husbands. Abusive husbands. Miscarriages. Addictions. Rebellious children. Loneliness, depression, despair, anger, bewilderment, longing. I have seen the yawning chasms of need and loss, doubt and indifference, fear and apathy. And I have watched with the rest of the world as terror rears up like a dragon and howls its hatred.

At night I stare at darkness that billows up into my heart, fear pressing in. These giants are real and large and dangerous. What can I do? What can I say? How can I stand against such need? I am small. And the evils of the world are very, very big. I try to write and it feels like throwing pebbles at a brick wall.

A voice in the darkness. A whisper to my heart.

Press in.

It’s the word God gave to us sisters when we huddled around our broken hearts, crying out our confusion and grief. It’s the word He continued to speak into my bewildered and aching soul through all the long summer and the healing time that followed.

Press in.

When the fear presses in, press into Him.

When the doubt presses in, press into Him.

When everything you know seems like not enough and despair takes hold, press into Him.

He is enough. This is what I am coming to know, and this is what I am learning to tell myself over and over when the darkness looms.

But I spend so much time thinking about things that don’t matter. I waste endless hours comparing myself to others in ways that miss the point about why we are here and what we should be doing. I am so easily consumed by the petty, the trite, and the insignificant.

I’m not saying the day-to-day details are not important. They matter more than we know. They matter because it is the moments that make up a life. And we are letting the enemy take them.

I am convinced that great darkness is coming for us. The enemy is prowling and his hatred is growing, and we forget this all too easily. We are lulled away so quickly. We chase our dreams of comfort and security at any cost. Or we know it and we are terrified, staring at the giants like we are kids with stick swords.

Mostly I have been mired in the insignificant. But in those moments when I really press in, I see it clearly. There is a war and we are the warriors and we have the weapons to fight.

The enemy is coming, is already among us. We can forget and lose ourselves in apathy and pettiness, or we can let fear paralyze us.

Or we can press in.

We can start to know—to really know our God. And knowing Him, we can begin to truly know ourselves and one another. And we can be ready.

What would it look like to press into Him continually? How would it shape my days, my relationships, my thoughts? He longs for us to know Him, and He longs to transform us. We have become so blind to Who We Are and to Who Our God Is, and we don’t really believe He is enough for us. We don’t believe that we are enough in Him. I don’t believe. Not always. But I want to. I want to know Him. I want to be transformed.

This thought fills me like fire in the bones. We must press into Him. I feel so weak and small and broken and inadequate, but the more I press into Him, the more I know His truth in my very soul.

We are His. Made in His image, glorious and beautiful and strong. What if we started really knowing and believing and living the truth? What if we lived like warriors and took up our weapons together?

Our enemy is great. But he knows full well that our God is infinitely greater. He’s the father of lies and he will never stop lying to keep us from our God.

We must press in. Our lives depend on it.

What does this look like? I don’t know yet. But I want to find out.

Will you join me?