Merry Christmas, friends!

Thanks to Kate’s recommendation in an earlier post, I’ve been immersing myself in Bonhoeffer’s Advent guide, God is in the Manger. He reminds us Advent is a season of waiting. As kids we waited excitedly for the gifts and magic of Christmas. In a year of isolation we wait with hopeful anticipation of gathering with family and friends. We wait for things to change, solutions to problems, an end to this pandemic, for things to feel okay again. The very essence of Christmas is rooted in a weary world waiting for a Savior. It was true 2000 years ago when He came as a baby in a manger. It’s true now as we wait for His return as King. Bonhoeffer pretty much sums it up when he says “our whole life is an Advent season, that is, a season of waiting for the last Advent, for the time when there will be a new heaven and a new earth”. 

Darron and I spent the last three weeks in the mountains of rural North Carolina where we bought a little bit of land and a tiny log cabin. This is something we’ve dreamed about and saved for, something we’ve been waiting for until the time was right. We have big plans for this place. We envision summer nights with grandkids chasing fireflies, family gathered around the fire pit with guitars under the starry panorama, a future house and Airbnb, Thanksgivings and Christmases, a place where friends come to be refreshed, where the chaos becomes quiet and the voice of God is easier to discern.

We’ve been painting the brown walls white, renovating the small kitchen and stocking the place with fluffy towels and cozy linens and all things to make it feel inviting. I love seeing it transform before our eyes and my driving force is the future memories not yet created.  And so we wait … for springtime, for our next trip, for an opportunity to share it with people we love.

Meanwhile during this same few weeks I’m steeped in an intensive global trauma recovery course. During the daylight hours I paint and tile and clean; at night I read and listen to video presentations and join in the class discussion board. This is heavy stuff. It’s genocide, child soldiers, trafficking, ethnic cleansing, Vietnam vets and refugees. My mind struggles to find a place to file it all. What’s my role? How can I be a part of the healing in some small way? At times I feel guilty for being so tucked away in this peaceful, remote location surrounded by such beauty.

It leaves me pondering the deep questions of life. Longing for a world that makes sense, where hope and unity and love light up the darkest places. Longing for the last Advent.

Bask in the goodness of a God who loves you this much, who waits expectantly for you even as you wait for Him.

And then … there are these moments. Moments when time stands still. I’m painting bright white trim around a double glass door in our cozy cabin. Outside my window the flakes are dropping big and soft, blanketing the landscape in a winter wonderland. The familiar chords of Ave Maria begin playing on Pandora and I’m transported into this moment of pure awestruck worship. What other response is there in moments like these? It’s as if the heavens have opened and revealed a glimpse of their glory and – for a moment - the quiet, gentle beauty overcomes every burden of mankind. The purity of the snow covers the brown winter earth and death gives way to life and hope is birthed anew. 

I have no choice but to set down my paintbrush and allow myself to be steeped in the peace and presence of the Almighty God. How can it be that the Son of God reached down into our broken world, became one of us, so we could live forever with Him? Even as I’m preparing this place for my family to gather, He’s doing the same. It’s a mystery too marvelous for my human mind to fully grasp. 

And yet I get the sense it’s worth spending my whole life trying. Something deep in my being tells me this is worth the wait. HE is worth the wait.

May your Christmas be filled with the awe and wonder of Christ in the manger, the holy God dwelling among us. Bask in the goodness of a God who loves you this much, who waits expectantly for you even as you wait for Him.

Peace and joy,

Jana