Prepare the Way

Christmas Eve

So it’s Christmas Eve. The wait is almost over. Either we are now prepared, or we have tossed the idea of preparation. Either way, it is time to settle into mystery. It is time to follow a star, head over to Bethlehem and join a bunch of other stragglers around a manger. 

What will greet us there?

Hope.

In C.S. Lewis’ the Chronicles of Narnia, four children who find their way into a wondrous land through the back of a magical wardrobe in their uncle’s house. It is called Narnia and it is a kingdom where animals talk and where Kings and Queens govern from tower-filled castles. When the children first enter this land they discover that it is under the control of the wicked White Witch who rules with an iron fist and a cold heart. As the story unfolds, one of the children, Lucy, meets a faun named Mr. Tumnus. He describes the White Witch to Lucy by saying, “Why it is she that has got all of Narnia under her thumb. It’s she that makes it always winter. Always winter and...NEVER CHRISTMAS; think of that!” ...always winter....and never Christmas...” 

Sound dismal? These past few days of only 3 hours of light and -41 temperatures make ‘always winter’ a scary thought for me to imagine! Life like one long winter of cold, snow-covered ground, trees with leaf-less branches, constantly clouded skies.... with no Christmas.... nothing to look forward to....

But at the manger tonight we are reminded that Life is NOT always “winter.”  In The Chronicles of Narnia Jesus is represented by a huge lion named ASLAN. And at the beginning of the chronicles it is always winter in Narnia because ASLAN has not been seen in the land for generations. But when ASLAN comes (and He does....about a third of the way through the first book) Christmas comes and spring begins again.  In this story C. S. Lewis reminds us why Christmas is so special. At this time of year we celebrate the truth that there is hope!  As the lyrics to the old Christmas Carol say, “The HOPES and FEARS of all the years are met in THEE tonight!” We receive the gift of hope as we realize if this God-baby is here - anything is possible.

Wonder.

We marvel at the ordinary becoming holy and the holy becoming ordinary. We stand in awe before the mystery of a God that places glory in every existing thing! Shepherds, straw, myrrh, dung, dogs, donkeys all testifying to a God who is does not stay in the heavens but comes to the glorious muck.  The signature of our Savior is that He comes into the mess. You can recognize Him because He will show up in the messiest place you can imagine.  He chooses not to answer our prayers by lifting us out of the doubt and pain of our lives, but by coming right down into the middle of them.

Love.

We ponder the depths of God’s love affair with our world that produced this baby. A love affair that began at the beginning of human time, that is fully present today and that will reach through all our tomorrows. It’s made up mostly of our mistakes and His forgiveness. Our wanderings and His faithfulness. We think about this love-child and just how far God would go to be held in our arms. It is a love beyond reason.  As it turns out, all the preparing and longing we have done during this Advent season was really just a taste. A taste of the longing and waiting that resides in the heart in the God Himself. A longing and waiting for us to follow His directions, bow before in worship, and pick Him up and hold Him in our arms even as He holds us in His.

So please linger at the manger tonight.  Stand in wonder and gratitude and then let out a yell and do a dance (or at least let out a big smile!)  as you realize that God has come near.  For you.  To you.

[And so we conclude this Advent blog - thanks to all you readers and contributers for joining me on this journey.  I've prayed today that Jesus will come fully into your life and that your life will come fully to Him - Merry Christmas! - Steve]

Standing in Awe

The word 'wonder' has a duel meaning.  On the one hand it means to question, “What Child Is This?" On the other hand it means to marvel, to stand in awe,  "What a Child this is!" We speak about the seven wonders of the world.  In the far North we stand at night and stare up at the stars and the Northern Lights and we wonder at the universe. The Bible speaks of the wonder of God’s great love. It speaks of Jesus performing signs and wonders. The people being filled with wonder when they saw Christ.

There was a lot of wonder associated with the birth of Jesus. Mary pondered these things in her heart. Those who heard the shepherds were amazed at what they were told. The wise men were over-joyed when they saw the star – they were all filled with wonder. I need a sense of wonder at Christmas time too.

Someone once called us to wonder by saying that “Life is measured not by how many breaths you take but by how many times your breath is taken away.” 

In my life there are several things that steal my wonder.

The first is familiarity. Somebody can live under the splendor of these Northern Lights and eventually get so familiar with them that they don’t ever stop to notice, much less wonder at, them.  Some people lived in Nazareth and so close to Jesus that when it was announced that he was the Messiah – they couldn’t see it. “O, that’s just Mary’s son we’ve seen him as a carpenter.” And they dismissed him, and they missed him.

Many of us have been through a lot of Christmas’ and we are so familiar with it, sometimes it can lose it’s wonder.  The Bible speaks of people who have ears but don’t hear, who have eyes that don’t see, who have minds, but they don’t understand.

Another enemy of wonder is immaturity.  As a teenager I went to see Niagara Falls. After a long trip across the country, we eventually arrived, got out of the car and looked at that spectacular scenery. I was filled with awe, for about a minute!  Then I was ready to leave - I couldn’t understand why the adults wanted to spend so much time to absorb the scenery.

Immaturity misses the wonder because it is always drawn to that which appears to be more spectacular. Who wants to gaze at water tumbling over rocks when you can watch the latest DVD or play the latest Xbox game? Who wants to think about God at a Christmas time when there are presents to buy and parties to attend and World Junior Hockey to watch ? Immaturity can seen at any age.

Perhaps the most deadly thief of wonder is cynicism. The skeptic by nature doubts, challenges, and questions all the time. The cynic loves to sit on the sidelines and make fun of others who have sense of wonder and try to throw cold water on their enthusiasm. He imagines that his doubt is sign of his intellectual superiority – but in reality it is often a sign of ignorance.

There is an old story about a man who made a visit to the Louvre. He found it hilarious that visitors were “Ah! Ah! – ing” about all the paintings that were there. He glanced and them and said, “I don’t see anything to get excited about.” A man standing near him, who had come to love each painting said, “Yeah, don’t you wish that you could?”

Christmas season with 2 and 4 year old children includes one wonder-filled moment after another! “Look! Look Daddy! Look!” My kids have got me seeing things this Christmas that I haven’t seen for a long time!

What would take for us to recapture the wonder this year? Maybe we need to dive into the story as if for the first time?

Approach that stable again. It’s just a small shed really. Smaller than you thought, simpler and older.

Walk right up to it.  Get close enough that you can smell with your own nostrils that distinct odor of the barn.

Hear the creak of the door as you open it up and let your breath be taken away as you peer in at that scene on the inside.

Notice the animals, the straw, the dim light and warmth.

There’s Joseph. He’s kind of blocking your view. He’s a larger man that you had imagined – then you remember – the carpenters in that day had to cut down their own tree – they were kind of lumberjacks. As you stare at his face you can tell by the expression that he is a new father – he’s relieved and exhausted.

There’s Mary. Not sitting up like she in the traditional picture – but as most mother’s would be, she is lying down on the straw. Her face is kind of pale. Her hair is matted from the perspiration of the trauma of giving birth. Her face too is amazing to see. She has distinct look of satisfaction and accomplishment. She did it!

Stand on your tiptoes now and look at that bundle she has in her arms. It is a little baby. If you look carefully you can see that little face. Those tiny features. That soft hair. Those little tiny fingers with pink fingernails.

Anytime you see a baby you are filled with wonder but when you understand this child is the Son of God - it takes you breathe away.

If I had been there, I would have been nervous to ask but I would have had to, “Mary? Can I hold the baby?” 

What would it be like to hold the baby Jesus?

Anytime you hold a new baby you wonder- you look at it and wonder what will happen to this little child when he or she grows up? But when you hold Jesus and you know what is going to happen it will take your breath away.

Wouldn’t you be tempted to just rub that tiny brow?  Knowing that 33 years later that brow was going to be pierced with thorns.

Wouldn’t you be tempted just to pat the cheek where Judas was going to kiss a kiss of betrayal? And rub the other side where the spit would land?

Wouldn’t you want to rub those tiny shoulders?  “O Baby, you don’t’ understand, but one day there is going to be a cross on these shoulders.”

Then to hold those tiny hands and know the wonderful things that those hands would do! Touch blind men and make them able to see! Touch lame men and make them walk!  Caress lepers and they would be cleansed! Take loaves and fishes and they would multiply in these hands! And with these hands little children would be held, and blessed.

As you rub those tiny hands you would know that one day they would bear nails and be suspended on a cross.

The wonder of all to think that Jesus carry in himself the payment for my sin!

You then hand the baby back to the mother. But don’t leave yet. Let the wonder of it all captivate you for a moment.

Christmas is the one time of year that we seem to give ourselves permission to ponder the spiritual. In the wonder of the moment take this chance to invite him in.

Invite him to come into your celebrations and meals and up and downs and busy-ness of this season

Ask Him to give you the courage you need to keep Him in your life every day this upcoming year.

Seek His comfort for your loneliness – search for Wisdom for your decisions.

Tell Him you want Him directly involved in your life, and thank Him for all that He’s done and will do for you.  And thank Him for the wonder of Christmas.

That 2000 years ago, the all powerful God, the one who specialized in taking that which is common and making it spectacular, the all powerful God who took a rod and parted the sea, the all powerful God who took a pebble and killed a giant, the all powerful God who spoke the universe into existence, said to his angels, "It is time for me to show them my love, and in order to show my love, I am going to have to set aside my power."

That is worthy of our wonder. All year long!

The Gift Wrapped in His Son

Early last Christmas season I sent Dad a new computer program. I wanted to give a gift that would make life easier for him. The program would allow him to send a fax straight from his computer. I sent it proudly, confident that I was helping him ease into the world of modems, baud rates and the wonder of computers. After a couple weeks I still hadn’t received a fax of thanks so I called him.

“So Dad have you sent any faxes lately?”

“No, actually son I can’t seem to get the thing to work.”

“What? (incredulously) Aren’t there instructions?” (of course there were)

“Yes, they are right here” (patiently)

“Aren’t there help files?” (like I was speaking to child)

“Yes, several.” (he spoke to his child)

“So what’s the problem?”

“I guess I just needed you to come with it.”

I hung up muttering about computer illiterate elders — my giving spirit dampened. I decided I was content to let him remain in his state of computer frustration. Next year he’d get a tie.

Looking back I realize a lesson about giving. Sometimes instructions wrapped in cellophane and help files don’t get the job done. Dad didn’t need more advise or another manual with the gift - he needed his son.

It was a timely message. We too need help. Not to manage desktops, but to manage life. Not to figure out how to send faxes but how to obtain forgiveness. God knew what we needed. We needed salvation. We needed help with our sin. So God sent us a gift. We celebrate that gift each Christmas season. We celebrate because the gift did not come as a manual (we couldn’t have figured it out), it didn’t come as another command (rules couldn’t contain this gift!), another bad example wouldn’t do. No, God in His wisdom sent you and I the gift we needed wrapped in His only Son. The Father’s love was not sent priority-post, air-mail or even e-mail it was sent via His Son — as a baby, born in a barn. Christmas reminds us that God will do whatever it takes to give the gift. He traveled from heavenly realms to earthly depths and worked through a teen-ager and carpenter to wrap His only Son in flesh all so that by Jesus’ living, dying and rising you and I could receive THE gift. Wow!  That is reason to celebrate!

I spent my morning thanking the Father for the gift wrapped in His Son.  Maybe I’ll see you shopping today and remind you of it too — I’m off to look for a tie.

The Arrival

[My cousin Bonnie Baxter and her husband Todd live in Vancouver, B.C. She is a vibrant person who brings much fun and love to our family!  Thanks Bonnie for sharing such a special moment - Steve]

The messages over the loudspeaker fade and don’t really reach my consciousness, as I am lost in my thoughts about the deep things of life. I mindlessly flip pages in the magazine in my lap, and when I get to the end, I start flipping pages backwards, one by one, and only occasionally do I realize that I haven’t really seen any of the pages I’m looking at. “It smells in here,” I think fleetingly. I sigh and shift position – I’ve been sitting here a long time, and I’m tired. We have half-hearted conversations with each other as we keep one eye directed toward the only reason we are there. The room is loaded with emotion and anticipation as we all wait for the event we’ve been waiting for – with a mixture of relief and great sadness. 

Suddenly, something changes in the air. I look up from my magazine to see her daughter holding her hand, and I feel alarmed inside. I realize that THIS IS IT. I think ‘oh no’, and then I think, ‘thank you Lord’ and then I think ‘oh no’ again. I can’t get up and run, but instead I sit, frozen, and staring, both horrified and wonder-ified at the same time. The others in the room realize something is happening, and the conversation halts and we all hold all our breath. The room becomes absolutely silent, except for the raspy breathing of the beautiful woman who is now a shadow of her earlier appearance. Her eyes look a little wild as she looks at her daughter, and then reality sinks in as we realize that this isn’t another scare…this isn’t just a pause in the breathing…she has finally arrived.

Arrived in heaven. It was a holy moment, truly. It felt so significant. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. Her spirit had left the room as clearly as if she’d got up and walked out the door. The shell of her body lay there as a reminder of her, but somehow that didn’t even resemble her anymore.

On one hand I was so glad for her! I was glad she was running into God’s arms at that moment. I was glad she would see her husband and daughter that she had missed and loved for years. I was glad she could speak, sing, run, dance. I was glad not to wonder if she was in pain, trying to read her every grimace and moan. 

But it felt so shockingly sad too. She was really gone. I felt sad for my husband, knowing that he wouldn’t see her face light up again, as she greeted her grandson who she had raised since he was a young boy. I was sad for her daughter who had lost everyone in her immediate family – her daughter’s heart-wrenching cries echoed in our hearts and in the quiet room. I was sad for many others who loved her and would miss her stability in their lives. I was sad that we didn’t have any children for her to hold on her lap and look into sweet baby eyes and squeeze chubby knees.

I wonder what God thought when Jesus had finally arrived in the manger. I wonder if he had a mix of joy and sadness too. Joy that the plan to save us was finally springing to action, that Mary was such a faithful good choice for the mother, that Joseph had made the trek to Bethlehem, that the innkeeper agreed to let them stay in the stable. I wonder if he was sad too – he knew what would happen after this arrival, and things would never be the same again. I wonder if a bit of this arrival felt like a departure and had a twinge of sadness for the Father of all.

My husband’s grandmother, Mildred Monkman, lived a faithful 85 years and arrived in heaven this summer. She had 2 children and for a time, raised 5 more. She is loved and remembered by many. We miss her a lot these days.

I’m glad for Jesus’ arrival on earth too, and will be forever grateful for this sacrifice. Come Lord Jesus.

December 23, 1962: a Christmas Memory

[David Hisbrook lives in New Jersey and maintains an active blog called Not Perfection. His blogging interests cover politics, world religions, Augustine and a lot of stuff in between.  Thanks David for this encouraging example of His story touching yours - Steve]

I turned eleven in October right around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I remember this because my mother cried a lot of the time, bought a lot of canned goods and bottled water (a relative rarity in 1962), and I didn’t have a proper birthday party. The most popular show on television was “77 Sunset Strip.” Our family had seen what seemed to be an unusually abundant crop of good movies that year – “The Longest Day,” “The Miracle Worker,” “To Kill A Mockingbird,” and ones my parents saw, but I didn’t, like “Lawrence of Arabia,” “The Manchurian Candidate” and “Days of Wine and Roses.” President Kennedy’s assassination was eleven months in the future and the Beatles didn’t happen in Americafor another 16 months.

I had loved being a Cub Scout for the last couple of years and wanted to become a Boy Scout. There wasn’t a troop headquartered at St. Paul’s RC Church, our home parish; but there was one at Agudas Achim Synagogue - just one block from where we lived. When I showed up on a Wednesday night with a brand new scout uniform from Bruner’s Men’s and Boy’s Wear, Scoutmaster Larry Goodman and assistant Scoutmaster Mike Greenburg said I could stay. I was in! Tenderfoot Scout Hisbrook. I was greener than my never-been-washed uniform. The youngest of the bunch, more than a little chubby (at that time, fat boy clothes were euphemistically called “husky sizes” – maybe they still are), and the only goyim in a troop full of older, rough-and-ready Jewish scouts. Their faded uniforms, 2^nd Class, 1st Class, and Eagle Scout pins; their Order of the Arrow patches; and their sashes full of Merit Badges were far more intimidating than the Star of David above the meeting hall. There were even Explorer Scouts there – older Scouts, towering teenagers in dark green shirts and red neckties, beyond the imaginings of a little Mexican-American kid who had been wearing Cub Scout blue only weeks before.

I took more than a little ribbing, but it was good-natured. I must have felt comfortable enough and safe enough to come back every week. The fourth or fifth week I was there, we had our big Council-wide Camporee: a three-day extravaganza with troops from all over the Alamo Area Boy Scout Council.

I had never been camping. It showed. Pitching the tent, rolling up a sleeping bag, gathering wood for a fire, building a fire, using a compass, all manner of scoutcraft was new to me. The outing was planned for a few days into the Christmas break from school (when everyone could leave on a Thursday night and not have any homework to do upon an exhausted return on Sunday). We rode out of town on big flat-bed trucks as this was a time when such transport was considered perfectly safe and appropriate for kids. An hour’s ride on a December night into the Texas Hill Country made me realize why my mother insisted I wear a coat. For the first time in my life, I was lonely, uncomfortable, cold, and headed into the wilderness away from family.

Making camp was hard for me because I was of little use – I drove the tent pegs at the wrong angle and too shallowly; the wood I gathered was too wet and too small; my intended half-hitches turned into Gordian knots in my fingers. The others worked around me as my breath made clouds of vapor in the cold, damp air. The first full day, it rained. The second night out, the ground was still uncomfortable to sleep on and colder still. I remember being so homesick, I cried after everyone else in my tent was asleep and I prayed to go home, just to go home. The second full day I dropped and broke my eyeglasses right on the bridge between the lenses. I was the walking cliché then: the nebbish (a Yiddish word I learned that day) with the bridge of his glasses held together with white adhesive bandage tape. It was a long, long weekend.

Sunday morning, we were to break camp and Sunday couldn’t come fast enough for me. I had managed to master some basics and started to pull my weight in earnest. I washed breakfast dishes and headed to the tent to pack up for our 11:30 departure time. Scoutmaster Mike called my name. “David, come here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hisbrook, aren’t you a Catholic?” he asked me peering at a mimeographed calendar of events at Camporee.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Says here that Mass is at 10:45. You’d better get a hustle on if you’re going to make it.” said Mike.

I froze. “That’s O.K., sir, I’d rather…”

“Don’t waste time, David. Get yourself cleaned up and hike the mile over to Meeting Circle 1 – where the flagpole is. This is Christmas Sunday, you know. Double-time it over there… you’ll be late!”

I didn’t know what to do but obey Mike. I had thought all the time that I was going to miss Mass because, well, we were all Jews -- all except me. But there I was, double-timing it to Mass because my Jewish Scoutmaster told me to. I listened at Mass, responded at the right times with the other Catholic boys; in Latin (in pre-Vatican II 1962), boys from all over San Antonio said the Lord’s Prayer.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem:sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

And despite my unwillingness to ask dispensation from my fellows and my troop leaders to do so, I attended Christmas Sunday Mass on December 23, 1962 in the open air in the wintertime under a blue sky by limestone bluff in the Hill Country of Texas. I genuflected and made the Sign of the Cross. I took Holy Communion. I shuffled back to camp, still puzzled and a little chagrined to be singled-out.

As I approached, the work was done, the gear was packed, and everyone was on the trucks. They knew where I had been, who had sent me, and were all smiles as they yelled for me. “Come on, David. Double-time it. Let’s go!” They laughed and smiled and slapped me on the back and high-fived me as I found my place.

One of my first and clearest experiences of the Holy Spirit at Christmastime was the joyous acceptance, the lesson in tolerance and the hand-waving encouragement of two truckloads of Jews, happy to see me, happy that I was with them, happy that I had done my religious duty, and happy to wait for me as I did it – exhausted as they were – to come back from worship.

Forty-two years ago, there was such a thing as a “God and Country” Merit Badge (but not today, unfortunately). You earned it by doing your religious duty, by answering a series of questions posed by your pastor or rabbi, and by doing volunteer work. When I completed its requirements, Father Leopold at St. Paul’s signed it and returned it to Temple Agudas Achim. It was the first Merit Badge I earned, and the one of which I am most proud and fond. It was handed to me, accompanied by the whistles and applause of Troop 9, by Assistant Scoutmaster Mike Greenburg.

Sabbat Shalom, fellows – wherever you are. Dominus vobiscum. May the LORD be with you.

To learn more about scouting today or to donate your time or money to scouting, go to http://www.scouting.org/ or http://www.scouts.ca/Default.asp?cmPageID=81.

Clearing Space

Yesterday we put our house up for sale. Tomorrow a prospective buyer is coming to look at it. Which means, of course, that today is a busy day! There are floors to scrub, walls to wipe, carpets to vacuum, dishes to wash, books to re-arrange, and oh, so much junk to get rid of!  We live in a 16ft wide trailer and every bit of space counts.

Not a bad analogy for Advent.

Preparing the way means paving the way. It means clearing out anything that might get in the way of new life. I’m not sure exactly what it will look like for Jesus to come this year. One of the hardest parts of Advent is letting God come in His time AND in His own way. We wait without knowing what exactly will come, not knowing when it will come, what it might look like or how it might change us. We can’t plan it all out but we can get ready. Which means creating space or more precisely, clearing space. There is stuff to clean and stuff to toss. A careful sorting through of old ways, old loves, old paradigms, old edges is essential. Today is the day to empty hearts, minds, schedules and patterns so that there is room for new life. Here’s some stuff that is currently taking up too much space in me.

Independence. The idea that I can take care of myself and everything will be OK as long as I keep working at it.

Family. If I could just get close, committed family around me I will be happy and complete.

Planning. If I can figure out the way that things are going to work I can then get busy making sure they do!

Religion. My soul will be safe when I get my faith sorted out, sifted through and put together.

These are all good things, they are just taking up too much space.  It is hard for me to have space in my house and not fill it with stuff. It is even harder to have space in my heart and not fill it with idols.

Prepare the way. Prepare for something new and something mysterious. Prepare the way for a gift brought in person from the Living God right to you. God Himself will come to those who have saved Him room.

But as for today, what’s taking up too much space?

Trusting in the most unlikely of things

[Darryl Dash pastors a congregation in Toronto.  He is an active blogger and his homepage contains many sermons online.  He also hosts The Dying Church blog.  Darryl your words here remind of the "only-God-could-have-come-up-with-this!" spirit of Christmas - Steve]

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

I've always read Isaiah 9:6 and thought that there must be more to this passage than meets the eye. I often read passages like these and forget that they were not given in a sterile environment. This passage is included in Handel's Messiah, which gives it a triumphant tone. Although it is triumphant, the circumstances in which it was given were anything but triumphant.

Judah had gone of the rails. King Ahaz - not a good guy, by the way - faced a tough choice.  Israel and Syria were threatening him.  Assyria was a threat - a huge one.  Assyria was known for its huge armies (185,000 were lost in one battle - Isaiah 37:36) and its brutal psychological tactics. He had to choose how to respond. His life was in the balance.

Ahaz did what I tend to do. He looked after himself and made the rational choice. He sided with Assyria against Isaiah's warning. He made the wrong choice.

What was the alternative? According to Isaiah - a baby! It's hard to trust a baby as your defense when you could trust in a massive army instead. Babies are nice, but babies aren't a good strategy when you've got armies ready to attack you. Still, Isaiah says - trust the baby.

I'm reminded as I think of this that Advent is about hoping for and trusting in the most unlikely of things - in a baby. Not just any baby. It's about hoping for Jesus. He is the Wonderful Counselor (the one with a strategy), the Mighty God (He was the power to pull off the strategy), the Everlasting Father (our protector), the Price of Shalom.

It's hard to hope for a baby. But that baby does for us what we can't do for ourselves. That baby does what armies can't. That is why I am waiting for a baby.

Waiting?

[Linea Lanoie is a wife, mother, dentist, and a thoughtful and interesting blogger.  Thanks Linea, your words remind me that I can't rush waiting!   - Steve]

All my life the weeks before Christmas have been filled with anticipation. As a small child, this time was spent imagining, hoping, and even being afraid that I had ruined my hopes for presents by being bad. I was usually pretty sure that I had been bad!

There was a special feeling about this time of waiting.  The wish book would arrive and my siblings and I would begin studying the pages. The weeks before Christmas were always busy, filled with programs, glitter and lights, and secrets.  Exciting stuff to children.  Time couldn't pass quickly enough.

This year as I prepare for Christmas, and as I think about the period of time we call Advent, I am disturbed by the way my life rushes by.  What has this period of time become?  Waiting?  I hardly have time to wait.  Most days I feel like a little hamster on a wheel.  I get up still tired from too little sleep at night and launch into the incessant movement of my day till I crawl into bed beside my already sleeping husband, fading out as my head hits the pillow.

I hardly have the time to prepare my home with decorations, let alone my spirit.  Time, now that I am older, passes way too quickly.   All the stuff I do seems necessary and good but there is little unclaimed time to fill with waiting, with anticipating.

And waiting?  Waiting means that I am going to have to be patient.  It involves letting time pass.  It can never be instant.  Waiting for God to come.  Waiting for God to act.  Waiting for the right time.

Waiting.  My problem is that I want results now.  I want to see God act.  I want to see changes - in me, in those around me.  I want to see answers to my prayers now.  I don't want to wait any more than a small child wants to wait for a parent's gifts.

God, be patient with me.  Help me to wait for your good gifts without constantly poking and shaking the packages they come in, in my attempts to unwrap them all in my time and on my terms.  Prepare me as I wait so that I will be ready to receive your hope, peace, joy and love.

Half way through Advent

Well, we are about halfway through Advent.  After two weeks of great reflections, we will continue on this week and narrow our focus somewhat. 

Worship leader Chris Tomlin gives us a good image for our coming reflections.  “I feel as though we’re like this landing strip in the desert for our great, incredible God to arrive on; a way for Him to come into people’s lives,”   
I like that. Imagine your heart as a landing strip.  You are a runway and God is getting to ready to land!  Based on these words from Isaiah 40 , "Thunder in the desert! Prepare for God’s arrival!"  I'd like us to consider some of the obstacles that need to be removed so that God can get a clear landing in our hearts.

Thunder in the desert! "Prepare for GOD's arrival! Make the road straight and smooth,  a highway fit for our God. Fill in the valleys, level off the hills, Smooth out the ruts, clear out the rocks.  Then GOD's bright glory will shine and everyone will see it.    Yes. Just as GOD has said."

Isaiah 40:3-5 (MSG)

Celebrate Him by Following His Example

[Randall Friesen lives in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.  He pastors some Jesus' followers there and several more through his regularly updated blog.  Thanks Randall for these practical suggestions! - Steve]

Some time ago, I sat at a table relaxing and enjoying coffee with a few people. We began to talk about Christmas and I asked them if they were looking forward to it. Their response was interesting. They wanted to look forward to it, they enjoyed the season, but they didn't have much hope that this Christmas would be different from any of the past few.

The consensus seemed that there were too many expectations: too many family functions they were expected to be at, too many socials, too many pageants and programs, too many cards to send, and too many gifts they felt pressured to buy. They wished for simpler times and celebrations, for opportunities to reflect and enjoy the real celebration of Christmas; to be able to sing and worship, to ponder and think about this baby and his young, inexperienced mother and father.

We wondered aloud what it would mean for us to take back Christmas. To celebrate the birth of Jesus in a way that would honour his simple coming into the world. Our conclusion was that the whole thing was too big to fight against. It would mean family members could be hurt, and co-workers and friends might misunderstand not getting a card or gift this year. That could cause offence which wasn't intended and make the rest of the year very long.

We wondered when Christmas moved from being a magical time, to a time of such pressure and expectation. We decided it must be sometime between childhood and being an adult. I remembered my own childhood Christmases, and I had to agree, those were the times that Christmas really shone.

I remember plenty of preparations. We had to learn lines for the school program, and we also had to memorize our lines for the Sunday School program. This was not as hard as actually getting me up in front of the whole church to say those few words.

The day before Christmas would find me in fine form. My home made gifts were ready, we had seen our favourite shows, Charlie Brown Christmas and the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and now we just needed to wait for the big day.

Christmas morning would find me wide awake and filled with excitement after a somewhat sleepless night.  When my siblings and I got the "All Clear" signal, we would meet in the living room, around the brightly lit tree.

Thus began a day of excitement and meaning. It included family and gifts, church and God, food and visiting, playing and singing, weariness and finally sleep. A good day all around.

Memories are generous things; they are often better than the real thing was! Still, I figure my childhood was pretty standard, and as I reflect on it, we were busy then too.

What would it mean for us to simplify Christmas just a bit this year. To allow more moments to enjoy what Christmas is really about. To remember and give thanks that the God of all creation gave up His status to become human. Not even to become a rich, well-placed human, but to become a baby born in a stable. A lowly, simple entry if ever there was one.

Perhaps we don't need big, extravagant celebrations all the time. Maybe we should look to Christ's example and celebrate in a simpler way this year. What could we do to make our Christmas less cluttered this year?

Parents, why not take some of the money set aside for the children's gifts, and give it to an organization that works with poor children. Get your children to help you decide where it should go.

Dads, try to take a day or two off while the kids are on their school holidays. Take them along on your last minute errands, or go play a game of street hockey with them. Spend time with them, and share your life with them.

Moms, get the children to help you with some baking, or decorating the house. Help to make good memories that will last a lifetime.

Grandpas, tell your adult children that you understand the pressures they are under with commitments and activities. Don't let guilt motivate them as you plan your celebrations. Enjoy the time you have together - sharing and making memories.

Grandmas, why not cook one less kind of vegetable for the Christmas feast this year. Or better yet, get your guests to help by bringing a dish, and have kind of a potluck Christmas dinner. This would take some pressure off you.

Kids, why not clear the neighbours' sidewalk of snow for them, then go to the door and wish them a Happy Christmas. It's a great gift, and only cost's a little bit of love.

Take time this year, to really celebrate the coming of Jesus by following His example. Let's look for ways to un-complicate Christmas and enjoy it more. Let's make great memories and remember the things that are important.

Getting to Bethlehem

[Darrell Buchanan is a Raging Moderate who serves God with a congregation in Stoney Creek, Ontario.  He's an excellent teacher and one of my most wise friends - you'll see why as you read this Advent reflection - Steve]

Ask anyone in the New Testament for directions to Bethlehem and they'll say, "Go out to the desert and keep going until you get to the River Jordan. You can't miss it. There you will find a man, standing waist deep in the water, baptizing people. That's John the Baptizer. If you want to go to Bethlehem, you've got to start there. There is no other way to get there."

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all say that if you want to go to Bethlehem, you have to start with John the Baptizer. If you don't start there, you will never understand what Bethlehem is all about. You may visit Bethlehem and even see the place where it is thought the baby was born in a manger, but you will never really experience Bethlehem until you ask for directions from John the Baptizer.

Now, I don't know about you, but I don't want to go out to the desert and ask directions from John because he's like a broken record, saying only one thing. He has only one sermon and it is summed up with one word: "Repent!" 

What kind of a preacher has only one sermon? And John doesn't even soften it with jokes, illustrations, or stories. He just roars like a lion in the wilderness. I can hear his "Repent!" echoing off the barren landscape.

Is it any surprise that he's out there in the desert? No doubt, he has destroyed
every church he preached for! John the Baptizer just can't get into the
Christmas spirit. No wonder he's not on any Christmas cards . . . he may be the
original Grinch who stole Christmas! This is not the time of year when I want to
hear his message.

Yet, all four gospels say the same thing. They all say, if I want to go to Bethlehem to see for myself, if I want to find out who Jesus really is for myself, if I want to really know Jesus in my life - then first I have to go see John.

So I might as well do it.  I might as well get it over with. 

There is old John.  He comes up out of the water. He's been in the River Jordan so long that his legs are blue. He says to me, "Are you planning to go to Bethlehem again this year?" I say, "Yes, I will be there in little more than two weeks."

Then John asks, "Are you going to give your loyalty to the powers of this world or to Christ? And when you make up your mind, then come out to see me here and I'll tell you what you must do to really celebrate the meaning of Christmas."

I knew he was going to say that. John says it every year and I don't want to hear it. What I want to hear is that God came into this world the way it is - so the way it is must not be so very bad.  It may even be the way God likes it. 

But John won't let me get away with that. John says that God came into this world to change it, to transform it, and that God wants to begin with me. John says Christmas means nothing less than an invasion of this world by God. A new age is here. God's rule has come. 

So John is waiting. He's waiting there in the water until I am ready to hear the real meaning of Christmas, until I am ready to see that what happened then makes a difference in what happens now.

O Come, O Come

[Roseanne and her husband Paul are some of my favorite people! Roseanne homeschools their 5 great kids.  She has not yet taken the plunge into full-time blogging but I'm hoping that day isn't far away!  - Steve]

O come, o come Emmanuel…  Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel, Shall come to thee O Israel.

The carol plays through my mind and the invitation for Emmanuel to come grabs my attention and causes me to contemplate.

Emmanuel – God with us.

As I slow to consider Emmanuel, to prepare for Emmanuel, to recognize Emmanuel, I long for more Emmanuel in my life. Recognizing Emmanuel in my life whets my yearning for more Emmanuel. I am thankful for the glimpses of Emmanuel that I see around me as I reflect on this past year, glimpses given by grace. Emmanuel. God with us.

My youngest man, who thanks his Maker every day for the things, including inanimate objects such as his puzzle pieces or whatever else is part of his life at the moment, and people he sees around him. Who, at 28 months, in his still emerging speech, says, “Oh shoot! Sydney, Aiden, Seve, and Beca” when he temporarily forgets to pray for his friends/pastoral family. And as I write now, a little voice is singing a one-liner from a song, “You are God”. Emmanuel. God with us.

My 8 year old telling me I shouldn’t be praying for a log home by name because I may be limiting God in what He wants to bless me with, and He may want to bless me with more than I could imagine. Perhaps I should just pray as Jabez did, that God would bless me indeed. My self-same “Spiritual Accountability Manager” also asked me if it was ok for me to thank God in prayer for my best friend, my spouse, when,” Isn’t God supposed to be your best friend Mom?” A personal spiritual accountability manager. I am convinced that no one should be without one. I can lend you my son but I’ll need him back shortly. Emmanuel. God with us.

Seeing my 10 year old daughter’s body fluid through space as she executes a perfect round-off double back handspring gymnastic maneuver and I recognize the moment as authentic worship to her Creator. (In contrast, any gymnastic maneuver that I may attempt would look more like blasphemy than worship.) Emmanuel. God with us.

My 12 and 13 year old guys who drag me into their bedroom at night and tell me things that would possibly be more befitting to mention in a guy’s locker room. Oh my mother’s eyeballs would roll. Emmanuel. God with us.

Being married to my best EARTHLING friend. (Of course I must emphasize the earthling part for the sake of my spiritual accountability manager.) A gift from Emmanuel. God with us.

Another 600 hours logged in hubby’s pilot logbook to bring his total flight time to 10 000 hours and I imagine all those hours of him in the skies, tucked right under our Father’s big arm, just like the ancient words “…under whose wings you have come to take refuge.” Ruth 2:12 Emmanuel. God with us.

Property that comes so suddenly to us that it’s as if it was dropped straight from heaven. We’re talking ownership for the first time after doing the fairly transient pilot thing for our almost 18 years of marriage. A verbal deal held as good by a trusting little lady until papers were signed and 70 more calls to her from perspective buyers, even though it was never listed with any real estate agent or advertised in any paper. Why us, Emmanuel? Thank you. God with us.

Having “Today I choose to follow you. Today I choose to give my yes to you. As for me and my house, we will serve you. As for me and my house, we will spend our lives on you…today..” (an amazing song by Brian Doerksen), running through my brains all day as I try to priorize which activities will use up my family’s time. Emmanuel. God with us.

Deut. 6:5-7 from the ancient words, “Love God, your God, with your whole heart: love him with all that’s in you, love him with all you’ve got! Write these commandments that I’ve given you today on your hearts. Get them inside of you and then get them inside your children. Talk about them wherever you are, sitting at home or walking in the street; talk about them from the time you get up in the morning to when you fall into bed at night. Tie them on your hands and foreheads as a reminder; inscribe them on the doorposts of your homes and on your city gates.” Learning more about this passage and feeling more confident that the sometimes lonely road of home schooling is a very good thing. Emmanuel. God with us.

Living the nightmare of hubby’s father suffer sickness before death, long distance style, several provinces away, hubby in Toronto, and me single parenting our 5 kids, going to bed in grief and sadness, cheeks wet with tears, yet having “You are my rock in times of trouble, you pick me up when I fall down, all through the storm, your love is the anchor, my hope is in you alone….” play through my head and realize that when I hit Rock bottom, thank God that Jesus is the rock. Emmanuel. God with us.

Having the first of our parents die, Paul’s father, and feeling the strength of family at a time when the word “strength” itself is nothing short of a paradox. Emmanuel. God with us.

On the way to Dad’s memorial service, an eternity of a road trip away, picking up a stranded stranger in -56C from the side of a deserted NWT highway and traveling many miles, hours, out of our intended path of travel to get the fellow home and having to stay night in that “not anywhere near where we want to be” town, because by now, it is no longer safe for our family to get back on the highway and not feeling any of that joyful servant heart stuff at all, and our kids seeing that sometimes being salt in the world isn’t really that great of a feeling but it is still a conscious choice, knowing that Dad G. would have done the very same thing. Emmanuel. God with us.

Spending a month at the lake in the summer and falling asleep hearing the lake join the river each night and wondering how I could ever say there is no God, even though unanswered questions burn on my brain and I wonder why babies have to be born with FASD. Emmanuel. God with us.

Hanging out with my local religious tribe and being glad to be part of His body with them and feeling Emmanuel corporately. God with us.

People that believe in me….that challenge me to do more or challenge me to do something different. To sing publicly, to write publicly, to pursue dog sledding after a several year hiatus, to find my passions. Emmanuel. God with us.

As my colossal daily challenge in this season of my life is to try to model characteristics of my heavenly parent in my earthly parental life, and as I try to be more intentional each day in gently nudging my children to acknowledge Emmanuel in their own every day lives, I need more and more Emmanuel. God with us.

Am I really, finally, slowly changing? Am I really not quite as crusty and cynical as I used to be? Have I lost at least a few of my sharp edges? Am I more patient and loving than I was a year ago? Emmanuel. Need more Emmanuel. God with us.

O come, o come Emmanuel…

Please keep coming, please keep coming, Emmanuel. Amen.

Grab your pen.  Make a list of the times you recognize Emmanuel - God with us, in your life.

A Time To Gather Up Hopes

It’s only the second week of Advent and already I am weary of waiting for Jesus.  Waiting is the hard work of hope.  I've faced this struggle before.  It's not that I completely toss in the towel on the  idea that Jesus is coming - I just lower my expectations. I still believe He’ll get here eventually, I’d just rather not bank my life on it.  So instead, I choose to spread out my portfolio of hope. I'm tired of waiting for Him, so I put my hope in other things - rational, common sense things - that I can touch and see - tangible, practical things. I put my hope in the goodness of people and programs around me. I put my hope in advanced technology, modern medicine and whatever goodness and knowledge I can acquire and notice in others. I trust in willpower and potential.  Sure, they may not save me from my sins but they do relieve me of self-doubt and give me some instant payoff.

Perhaps preparing for Jesus means taking careful inventory of the location of our hopes.

We all have an internal hope chest. A place where we store our deepest longings and dreams. Human beings are incurable hopers. It’s why we get married, have kids, go to counselors, buy ab machines, read self-help books, play bingo, go on blind dates, read the Bible and go to church. It’s why kids bounce off the walls on Christmas morning. We are hopers. We hope. We have hopes. On the day when hope is lost, we begin to die - from that day on we are just marking time. The question is not whether you and I have hopes, the question is, “Where have we put our hopes?” 

“In what have I invested my hopes?”

When you hope-hunt through my life where will you find my hopes for love, peace, fulfilled dreams, change, Spring, joy, eternity?

Advent is a good time to centralize hopes. Give it a try.  Go ahead and gather them all up together in a big pile and pick the whole floppy, slippery thing up – all the broken hopes, lingering hopes, forgotten hopes and things that you long ago labeled hopeless - then, carefully walk over and place the whole thing on a baby in a manger.  If you can do it you will join a long list of other hopers who have believed that because God invaded our earth in Jesus, the best is yet to come for this messy world and for you and me.

Are We There Yet?

[Harmony teaches English in China.  Check out her blog and photo site for some more China beauty. Oh yeah, and of all my sisters she is the ... youngest!  Of course I've never heard her whine this question...  thanks Harm for reminding me that sometimes whining ain't such a bad thing! - Steve]

The fruit snacks are gone, the books are boring, the line in the backseat is fading by the minute, it's too early to eat the sandwiches and you can't have anything more to drink because we can't stop for a pee break. And we're only thirty minutes into the twelve hour journey. From the backseat comes the most beloved travel question in
all of history: "Are we there yet?"

It's recited with startling consistency, until the last leg of the trip when the question comes at least every ten minutes. It's not really so much a question as it is a plea. It is a timeless question for all travelers. I'm sure the same question is begged in every language on the globe. We can all hear the blessed whine- it's unmistakable.

About a month ago, "Are we there yet?" once again became a very real question in my mind. I had joined my friends on a trip to Sichuan, another province in China. We began our journey with a twelve hour train ride, which was followed by what we now refer to as "the bus trip of death". Indeed, a most ugly thing it was.

Before setting out, the driver told us it would be a six hour trip to our destination - a very famous national park called Jiuzhaigou. Okay, six hours, I can handle that. No problem. It was not long before we realized that this was not going to be your typical smooth-sailing Greyhound bus ride. Of course, I expected the filthy leopard printed seats, the always appreciated deep horking rituals coming from the seat behind me, the smoke filling my lungs, and the Chinese pop music. It'sChina-there are certain things that you begin to expect. But this so-called "road" was unlike any I have traveled before. It was like someone had this really great idea to attempt to build a road on the side of a mountain, right smack in the middle of a landslide.  Right. So half the time I dared to peer out my window, and most times I couldn't see the side of the road but rather a rushing river below.

About six hours into the journey, the other English speaker in the bus informed us that we actually had another six hours to go before we arrived. I guess that whole six hour thing was just a small joke for the foreigners. And so we pressed on, and by the ninth hour, we had almost decided that maybe this incredible place, Jiuzhaigou, was just an imaginary place that Chinese people created to pull a funny joke on the dumb foreigners. "Are we there yet?" "How much longer?" With every bend in the road, we longed for our long-awaited destination. 

It seemed unreachable. It felt like we would never get off that stupid bus with the stupid pop music. By the time we arrived, we had some seriously high expectations for Jiuzhaigou. It had better be incredible after enduring the bus trip of death! Jiuzhaigou did not disappoint. It was an amazing place, with scenery I had never dreamed existed. Awesome.

This Advent, I need to climb back on that bus. I don't think I've ever made such a journey to the Son before. I need to ride it out and let the expectation build. I'm ready to keep my eyes peeled and my heart set on the moment of arrival.

Sometimes I feel like experiencing the coming of the Son is something people have just made up; it's some kind of imaginary place that I'm never really going to arrive at. Can I experience this kind of glory? I want to be hungry for the Holy One. Mary tells me that He fills the hungry with good things, and so I'm ready to journey with you on the road to the most Beautiful One. I want to be starving for His glorious coming by the time our Advent journey is up. 

He will not disappoint; His beauty will far surpass anything we've known to exist. I want that to be true to me this December. There's something inside all of us that longs for the end of the road, the chance to escape the dirty bus and reach the destination. I've got my eyes fixed on something worth waiting for. And so this Advent, the timeless plea endures- "Are we there yet?" 

Let the whining begin!

He Will Fill My Story With His.

[Randall Friesen lives in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.  He pastors some Jesus' followers there and several more through his regularly updated blog.  Thanks Randall, I've been crowding out most of the spaces in my life and I needed to hear your wordss - Steve]

Gratitude, Surrender and Hope

[My cousin Bonnie Baxter and her husband Todd live in Vancouver, B.C. She is a vibrant person who brings much fun and love to our family!  She knows well the challenges and blessings of waiting.  Thanks Bonnie, you words and your walk help me learn how to wait - Steve]

A couple of weeks ago, Steve asked me to contribute to his Advent blog. I love this season, and I was happy to do so. Last week I wrote a piece about being light to the world and being one who truly tells the story of Christmas. I still like that piece of writing overall, and it still says what I believe.

But it left me feeling unsettled – a little like I would come across as fake and too happy if you didn’t know me. I am a pretty happy person overall, but I didn’t want to minimize the painful things you might be feeling, or the struggles that you might be going through. I don’t think the readers would know from reading that piece about the road I have walked in 2004 – that the sadness has burnt the edges of my soul a bit – kind of like what my mom would sometimes do to a piece of parchment paper with a poem printed on it, leaving a sculpted edge with a hint of brown. More beautiful in the end, but not without some pain.

In preparing for worship this Sunday and having the theme of Hope, I find it quite sobering that I am surrounded by people who are longing or waiting, people who need some hope.

    - A good friend just heard his young and vibrant father has 4-6 weeks to live from cancer.

    - A friend lost her baby at 23 weeks not long ago and the mourning isn’t any easier yet.

    - Another friend is struggling financially and would love to stay at home to raise her new baby but can’t fathom how to work that out.

    - Another struggles with guilt as she reconsiders some financial choices and waits for a brighter day.

    - I wrote just last night in my Christmas letter about my 9 nieces and nephews, and I remembered again that it is truly 10 and I sent my invisible love to that sweet girl being raised by another family. She is always in our hearts and still brings tears to my eyes, even these 7 years later, as I long to know her as an auntie.

    - My grandma fears a wheelchair and changes that are happening as she ages.

    - My other grandma is struggling to remember important details, such as our names, and my grandpa watches in pain as she sinks deeper into a world he can’t understand.

I could go on and on with examples, and I know you could add to this list. We’re all waiting or longing, and we all need hope.

I don’t have any answers, of course, as to why we find ourselves in places of longing and waiting and disappointment. I wonder sometimes if it is to keep reminding us of our true longing…heaven. I ask “why” also, and I don’t really have any answers.  But I will tell you the ways that God speaks to me in times of waiting, and maybe in that you will find a morsel to cling to, easing your disappointment and helping you cling to the Light that is “God with us” … God with you.

One way to wait with grace is to foster Gratitude. When I am overcome with wanting and pain in waiting, I set my mind to what I’m thankful for. It sounds simple, but often it is difficult for me, and my heart says to God…”but, but, what about ____?”.  And he just sweeps his arm out to the beautiful things he has brought to my life and reminds me that He is enough, even in times of waiting and longing. He has given me so much to be grateful for!

Gratitude feels easy though, when I think of the second thing I have worked at this year, and that is Surrender. Sometimes I feel surrender, but most often I choose it – I say truths that I deeply believe, about God being enough and more than enough, and about His love for me and about trusting His will for me. I quote scriptures of truths that resonate in a deep place in my heart. So often He draws me through music and through the songs of surrender written by others. I sing these songs by myself with an earnestness to be His, and a flicker in my heart grows into a flame (or more often a heaping mess of me crying on the floor in pouring out my will – ha!). Repeatedly laying down my will and my longings is a part of my Christian walk that isn’t always easy for me, but I think that is kind of the point. And, God does bring me around to feeling surrendered to Him eventually if I am willing to stay in that place of earnestly longing for Him. He reminds me in this of how much he longs for me, how much he loves me, and I realize that I am so grateful for his passion for me.

I remember earlier in this year realizing that Hope is a free gift of God – something that he holds out to me in his hand, and I can either choose to accept it or reject it. There was something freeing in that for me, and it is the third thing that has helped me in this past year of waiting on God. The light of Christmas is Hope. The light of heaven is Hope. The light of my life is Hope. Sometimes I reject hope, to be honest. Sometimes, for me, hope hurts, because it means that I risk disappointment. I think that the only time hope is disappointing, however, is when my hope is in anything other than God’s love for me. So many people are disappointed at Christmas because they put their hope in other people’s actions or reactions, or in financial security, or their own plans for their life, or in their family…from their parents all the way down to their children and grandchildren. But, if hope in those things satisfied us, when would we ever run to God?

That brings us to Advent. It is a celebration of the waiting, even through the pain. It is a glorious reminder that there is light at the end of waiting. It is a reminder that waiting draws us closer to God…and that some things are worth waiting for.

Refusing to Lose Wait

How do you feel about waiting? 

I don't like it when I call someone and get put on hold. I don't like it when I have to wait in line at the bank or the post office or the Tim Horton’s drive-thru. I don’t like waiting rooms. I don't like being at a stop light sitting behind an accelerator-challenged driver when the light turns green. I don't like it when I pull into a gas station and all the pumps are occupied, and I have to wait for somebody to pull away. When I go to the grocery store, I scan each check out lane even before I start shopping – I want to find out which is the shortest line so I can get into it. I get frustrated at airports where it seems like every one is in a rush to get you somewhere so that you can wait.

Like most kids, as a child I had a hard time waiting for Christmas to come. Do you remember the feeling? Something's coming. There is a present with my name on it under the tree. It might be something wonderful or something disappointing, but until it comes, there's not much to do but wait.

Life is full of waiting.

We wait for things come. Phone calls. Marriage. Children. Employment. Reunions. Retirement. Faith. Christ.

We wait for things to be over. Meetings. Winter. The NHL lockout. Separation. Depression. Cancer. Waiting.

Lewis Smedes puts it like this:Waiting is our destiny.As creatures who cannot by themselves bring about what they hope for. We wait in the darkness for a flame we cannot light, We wait in fear for a happy ending we cannot write. We wait for a ‘not yet' that feels like a ‘not ever.' Waiting is the hardest work of hope."

Scripture calls us to wait. God tells his people 43 times in the Old Testament "wait upon the Lord."  Apparently some things should not be rushed. In fact, the Bible seems to give a high place to those who learn to wait.

Waiting is more than just delaying gratification. It is part of God’s plan for working out His character in our lives. Most often this ‘working out’ is just as vital to our spiritual life as the very thing that we are waiting for. Waiting can be seen not a state of in-activity or ‘putting in time’ until we get what seek, but rather it a statement of trust that God is in control and not me.

Waiting well means choosing to allow what is hoped for to grow and mature before it is birthed.

Waiting forces us to realize that we are not God – it pulls our hands off the wheel and our feet away from the gas.

Waiting reminds us that if the thing we hope is going to come it will be at God’s initiative.

So we wait for Jesus.

      Trusting that He is working in our waiting.

      Trusting that He is worthy of our waiting.

      Trusting that He is worth the wait!

All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it's not only around us; it's within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don't see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

Romans 8:22-28 (MSG)

Spiritual Spidey-sense

The latest game on continual repeat in our house is hide-and-seek in the dark. What a great game! All four of us usually end up giggling and laughing. 

My daughter Sydney (2) is just old enough to get the idea. Well, sort of… I close my eyes, count to ten and then announce, “Ready or not here I come!” immediately from the behind the couch I hear a yell, “Here! Daddy here!”

Aiden (4) on the other hand has become a master at staying in hiding. In fact, he’s started to hide whether or not we’re playing the game just so that we’ll look for him. He’ll stuff himself under the bed or on a shelf or in a dresser drawer and not make a peep. I’ve had to tell him that he is not allowed to hide inside appliances. One day I searched Extra Foods for 45 minutes before I found him behind a 10 foot tall stack of Cheerios.

Hide-and-seek in the dark is fun for me too. The part I love most is the feeling of anticipation. There is something about waiting in expectation that heightens my awareness. I hear every creak in the floor, each dripping tap and I am super-aware of where others are. My Spidey sense is in it’s prime during this game! I am never more alert than when I am anticipating that someone is coming.

Advent has cranked up my spiritual Spidey-sense this year. I’m on the lookout and I’m seeing and hearing all sorts of things that I would normally miss.

As a close friend listened to and loved my wife through our recent miscarriage, a couple of times I am sure I saw angel wings hovering around them.

I looked at that homeless man staggering past the post-office and thought, “John the Baptist?”

Is this task before me a terrible inconvenience or is it a birthing-pain - a reminder that Jesus is trying to be born in me?

Was that an angelic choir backing up my kids as they rolled on the floor in belly-shaking laughter?

When we look at the world we don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are. The call of Advent is for us to be anticipation people. With eyes peeled and senses aware we assume the 'ready' position - at that moment the horizon shivers and shimmers into a new focus and we find ourselves seeing things we've never seen in December before.  This is the path to wonder.

How's your Advent anticipation level?  Is your spiritual Spidey sense tingling these days?      

Ready?

         Or not?

                 Here He comes!

Just Out of Reach

[Cory Aldrich is from Dayton, Ohio.  He is a creative Bald Man who blogs about things like the alternative worship services, emerging churches, and yes, baldness. Thanks Cory, these words slow me down and stir up my longing – Steve]

            Here I sit before a page

            Awaiting words that never come,

                 Words of waiting,

                 Words of watching,

                 Words that tarry out of reach.

            I sit and wait and watch - not writing -

            Seeking words just out of reach.

 

            I seek words to speak of seeking,

            Words to talk of watching, waiting,

                 Words that tarry,

                 Words that linger,

                 Words that lie just out of reach.

            O'er this page I run my finger

            Wanting words just out of reach.

 

            The words, they tarry oh so slowly.

            While I wait, they take their time.

                 Words that amble,

                 Words that wander,

                 Words that stroll just out of reach,

            They meander, over yonder.

            They make sweet eyes just out of reach.

 

            I listen for those words of waiting,

            Words that tease from over there,

                 Words that murmur,

                 Words that mumble,

                 Words that whisper out of reach.

            I strain to hear beyond my grumble,

            But still they stay just out of reach.

 

            I watch and wait. I want to write,

            I long to write those eth'real words,

                 Words that flutter,

                 Words that prance,

                 Words that flit just out of reach.

            My eye beholds the graceful dance

            Of precious words just out of reach.

 

            Waiting for those words of waiting,

            Searching for those searching words,

                 Words that scour,

                 Words that seek,

                 Words to extend beyond my reach,

                 Words that give my soul a peek

            Of that which lies just out of reach.

I thought I heard a Voice...

These first days of Advent are wintry days. Days of waiting. Days of darkness.

Just outside my frosted window it is -35 degrees Celsius. Factor in the windshield and it’s somewhere colder than -50. As we Yellowknifer’s say to each other when we burst indoors, “Whew! This is the real thing!” The sun will rise tomorrow morning at  9:32 AM and be gone by 3:17 PM. Such is winter North of 60 - cold and dark and it will get colder and darker yet. Up here we have four seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter and construction. In other words, 8 months of winter and 4 months of poor snowmobiling. Our faith community is truly the Frozen Chosen.

I’ve had people tell me that since God made winter, it must be good. Yeah… right. There is no mention of winter in the Bible before the Fall. In Genesis, the Garden of Eden contains trees that are bursting with life and fruit and people who did not need to wear clothes.  Wherever that Garden was, it was not anywhere near Yellowknife! So basically according to the Bible, winter is evil! We all know this to be true. We know it in our bones. That’s why people say things like, “I’ll do that when hell freezes over.” The ultimate in human suffering is hell and winter joined together!

Actually, winter has it’s special attraction and exotic beauty. Tonight though, I am aware of a different kind of darkness and a different kind of cold.  A kind of wintry Advent that none of us can move South to get away from.

As I began Advent on Sunday by complaining aloud to God about the darkness of the world, I slowly became aware of something even more disturbing. I began the conversation indignant and frustrated and ended it humbled and quiet.  The longer I talked with God the more obvious it became that the darkest places and the deepest shadows had very little to do with unanswered questions or tragic circumstances. In fact, the darkest places were not the things that I do not understand, but the things that I have known about for many years. When I took off my parka, Sorels and toque and sat in the dark for awhile, I realized that the darkest and coldest places were not on the outside.

Naming this interior darkness doesn’t quite capture it, but words like doubt, fear, insecurity, and depression give you the general idea (without me having to be too specific J). Some of it has to do with the past and some of it with the future. Some of it is about things like shame, regret, and despair. Some of it is just disappointment.  Disappointment that I rush, instead of savor, life with my wife and kids, that I don’t change like I know I should, that I love God so little and sin so much. Perhaps the coldest sensation is the realization of the large gap between what I long to be and what I must admit that I am. Perhaps the darkest truth is that I am not more disturbed by the darkness and cold that I find within.

Yet even as I realize those dark, ugly places in my life some part of me is still aware of some small light. It seems dim, but I feel like there is something or someone with me. A presence that is willing to travel into the winter of my soul. How else could I be seeing anything? When I am forced to look deep within I discover the cold and the dark, but I also discover that I am not alone. Somewhere in the mess of me there is Light.

God doesn’t seem to change seasons very quickly. He doesn’t take away the darkness all at once. Instead He offers us what He offered His own son, not a way around inner or outer pain, but a way through it. God’s way is not so much plucking us from darkness and death but rather, He seems to do His thing by bringing us light and bringing us back to life. He doesn’t take away our winter - He transforms it.

In the midst of the darkest and coldest winter, if we search long enough and listen hard enough, we will hear the whisper of One who says, “You’re not alone. Something is coming!” You might hear that voice deep within you. You might hear it in a conversation with a loved one, in a baby’s cry, a child’s prayer, or a Christmas carol or card – wherever - tune into that Voice this Advent and you will hear hope – hope that darkness, cold and winter - even in Yellowknife - will not last forever.

“But me, I'm not giving up. I'm sticking around to see what GOD will do. I'm waiting for God to make things right. I'm counting on God to listen to me. Don't, enemy, crow over me. I'm down, but I'm not out. I'm sitting in the dark right now, but GOD is my light. I can take GOD's punishing rage. I deserve it--I sinned. But it's not forever. He's on my side and is going to get me out of this. He'll turn on the lights and show me his ways. I'll see the whole picture and how right he is.”

 Micah 7:7-9 (MSG)