“Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.” ― A.A. Milne
It was like we were in the middle of the fireworks show as they exploded with light and sound on every side of us. The crowd gasped with awe and let their delight be known in applause and audible “oohs” as Wilbur frolicked through the state fair. It was pure magic watching my children see Charlotte’s Web acted out feet in front of us at a local puppetry center.
When the show started, my eyes naturally focused on the black shapes moving in the background. My mind went into evaluation mode as I tried to figure out how the puppets worked and how the people controlled the seamless movement of the delightful characters. I looked back to the sound and light booth to scope out the source of the fireworks that enveloped the theatre. It was then that I heard the most beautiful sound. My six-year-old was snuggled next to me in the dark theatre and he erupted with laughter when one of the puppets tripped over the barn door and went flying through the air.
I stopped looking at the play and started watching him. His eyes were transfixed on the stage in fascination and his hands fidgeted in his lap, trying to contain his excitement as he waited to see what was next. I suddenly saw one of my favorite childhood stories completely differently—through his eyes. I have always loved the tale of friendship and sacrifice and wanted to share it with my children. Charlotte’s Web was the first chapter book we read together at bedtime. But for the first time in years I saw it as more than something to pass on to them, but a delight to experience anew. I wanted to stop observing their lives and start living alongside them with childlike wonder.
I started listening and watching their reactions more after that. When I met a circumstance with worry, they saw the opportunity in it. As I evaluated when we needed to sleep on our transatlantic flight to ensure we’d arrive with the best leg up on jetlag, they counted how many movies they could watch. While I asked for prayer for our transition into a new culture and all the logistics of our move, they dreamed about what their new room would look like, glorying at the opportunity to get all new stuff.
As we embark on a brandnew adventure in life, I don’t want to miss it because of my tendency towards anxiety and planning...
When I was a young evangelical who was new to faith and the church, I learned to speak about Jesus with passion. When we praised someone who was “on fire for God,” we were describing a person who was vocal about their faith, who talked about experiencing the presence of God, who served in big ways. These were those kids at youth camp who raised their hands or the ones who showed up for the small groups and service projects. We talked about their fire because we could see external evidence of something burning inside them.
So we all worked harder to show our faith. We wanted the feeling of being so consumed by something that it changed our lives. Duty and devotion were intertwined in the inner workings of our faith. If we loved Jesus, then everyone should know it. Our goal was to be sold-out, on fire, radical. Young and fearless, we prayed the prayer of Jim Elliot: “God, I pray light these idle sticks of my life and may I burn up for thee.” All passion and fury, we forged ahead…and some burned up but most burned out.
The nature of fire is that it constantly needs to be fed or it fizzles out. I equated faith with feelings and looked for mountaintop experiences with God to fill me. I understood the Lord’s presence as something to be felt or God must be absent. As we prayed “God, be with us in this place,” I learned to invite God into my worship as if He wasn’t already there and if I felt some stirring within my heart then I must be pleasing Him.
But when the music stopped and the lights went out, I didn’t know how to hear Jesus in the quiet of my own heart. When I heard no answer and felt no rousing emotions, I wondered—had my fire gone out?
I had a language for fervor but not for the doubt, or the dark night of the soul waiting on the other side of anxiety. I didn’t have a place for God in the brokenness or even in the mundane that made up the moments between being lit up. For years I struggled with feeling like I was just living among the dying embers of something I had lost a long time ago. I kept going through the motions of the truth I knew, hoping one day I would feel again.
Just like I can’t pinpoint a time when I entered the wilderness, I can’t remember emerging...
Where do you experience God? If you can't feel His Presence, do you know He's still there? Come with me to SheLoves today as I share how I'm relearning how to experience God in the silence and in the noise...
It’s the first morning of Advent—the season that embodies longing, the pause between waiting for deliverance and the arrival of Emmanuel. The only sound I can hear is the ticking of the clock as I scribble in my journal that’s lit only by the soft white glow of the Christmas tree’s lights. It’s one of those moments you wait for—hushed and holy.
But I hang my head in regret in the still of that tender moment. My first act of Advent is repentance as I read the words that describe exactly what I did the day before:
Make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted taking care of all your day-to-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. –Romans 13:11, The Message
I wanted everything to be perfect that day. Thanksgiving was behind us and Christmas was close enough to touch, to start the daily countdown written in chalk next to the stockings. We have the tradition of decorating while listening to Christmas music and sipping cocoa before we watch the first Christmas movie of the season, always Elf.
I worked myself into a frenzy trying to create that perfect moment. The furniture had to be moved to make room for the tree. That meant cleaning the baseboards where the couch had been. It also meant packing away the fall decorations to make way for the collection of mangers that adorn every surface of the dining room. But those surfaces were all covered in dust. One cleaning project turned into another until every space was spotless and by then the time to decorate the tree before we went to evening church was limited.
There are no pictures of the kids laughing while they hung the ornaments. I didn’t have time for that. We had cocoa with dinner but drank it quickly and rushed off to the next thing. In all the preparations for that special moment, I missed it altogether. There were no prayers said beside the tree. The joy of it was lost to me.
I am sure the kids saw nothing but magic; the lights, the cocoa, the music were all there. But I knew better. I was waiting for this magical moment. I was trying to whip up some sacred experience like a batch of Christmas cookies...
In the hustle and bustle of the season, do you find yourself trying to get through your to-do lists and keep the moments going? Join me at SheLoves today and pause during the sacred and mundane moments to wait on the Lord.
I stare into the gleaming white lights of the Christmas tree until they blur together and dance across my vision, that tree adorned with symbols of peace and hope:
The star that lights the way to the one who delivers. The angel that sings of peace on earth. The manger that holds the hope of the world inside.
We love to sing and ponder the wonder of this time of year, to hold the beauty of a silent night close to our hearts.
But so often our hearts are anything but at peace as the holiday draws near and the flickering lights mock us. Hope seems out of reach and a silent night is all but a story in a children’s book that we can’t imagine being our reality.
What then? Does Christmas offer anything when all is not calm and bright?
So much unknown darkens the heart of Christmas for me this year. The gloom of declining health of family members casts a shadow over celebration. The grief of a life in transition and the uncertainty of what lies ahead in the coming months hangs over all our festivities. The never-ending parade of duties overshadows the sacred Advent call to waiting and expecting.
And that’s just my tiny little world. I can’t even begin to name the darkness that threatens to overtake so many people this season — the fear of what is to come in our divided nation, the death raining down on a city under siege across the world tonight, the bombs claiming more and more lives each day.
As darkness threatens to close in, I sit in the quiet where tiny dots of light are piercing the night. It’s here in the dancing shadows cast down by the sparkling evergreen reminder of hope that I realize this: peace comes with a cost.
I think about the land the Word became flesh in all those years ago, the people Christ came to when He became a babe. The Israelites had a history of wanting redemption without the cost. So do I...
I love the changing of the seasons. It so easily lends itself to reflection on what you learned and where you are headed next. Fall is my favorite time of year and I really tried to savor it this year. As fall is ending and we're heading into the expecting and waiting of Advent, I am joining Emily Freeman's "What We Learned" series and reflecting on some things I learned this fall...
- I desperately need real rhythms of rest in my life.
We took a trip with my immediate family to the North Georgia mountains to experience all the things I love about fall - pumpkin patches, apple picking, the changing leaves, and time with family. It was an incredible time to recharge and slow down. But I also need to learn to truly practice Sabbath each week and find times to rest not just when I can get away. Thanksgiving week was a time of real rest as well. I learned I still truly struggle to slow down and just be and that I constantly have to remind myself Sabbath time isn't wasted time. It is just as important as all the tasks ahead. I am not there yet, but it is a practice I journeyed in more this fall.
2. I still love Stars Hollow as much as ever.
The day after Thanksgiving I entered a lovely Gilmore Girls cocoon. Stocked with lots of coffee and Gimore-appropriate food (cheeseburgers with lettuce essence), my girls and I spent 9 hours watching, laughing, and crying. Maybe it is the connection with the best friend I got together with weekly to watch the first round of Gilmore seasons back in the day, maybe it's the fast-talking, coffee-loving ladies I identify with in many ways - but my journey back to Stars Hollow was the best TV binge of all time.
3. I am in love with Bullet journaling!
Don't get me wrong, I put everything on my family Google calendar. But I have always been a fan of still having a paper calendar and to-do list. But I haven't found a system I truly love until I started bullet journaling. Like the Sabbath practice, it's a practice that is a work in progress. But I love having every to-do list, shopping list, writing idea, and other things that jump into my scattered brain throughout the day all in one place. I love it!
4. I practice contemplative prayer so much better with guidance.
Not being a part of a faith community that focuses on contemplative prayer but having been reading all I can and being drawn to the practice for a couple years, I have really been trying to focus this year on lectio divina, examen, and centering prayer. But I get so distracted and give up so easily practicing these disciplines on my own. I discovered a couple apps that are changing that for me as I feel like I have a personal guide, someone journeying with me: The Pray as You Go (my favorite) and Jesuit Prayer app have been my companions in prayer this fall and they are growing my prayer practice immensely.
5. I love social media but I need regular breaks from it.
Having friends all over the world, social media is truly a love of mine. The ability to connect with people anywhere and share life with those I can't be with in person is priceless. But the negativity on social media especially this fall was wearing on my soul and I found that my weekend social media sabbaths were stretching into the week more and more. I learned there are seasons I need to step back from being on social media too much for the good of my mental health and soul. I won't ever abandon it completely but if I am silent for a while, know that I'm still present online but needed a breather.
6. Transition is hard, but also one of the best training grounds in total dependence on God!
As our transition to South Asia gets more real —packing commenced this fall and we started putting some of our belongings in the shipping container that will hold most things we own back in America as we decide what to pack in two suitcases each— so does the excitement and the grief that comes with an international move. This fall has been an emotional roller coaster and I know it is only the beginning of those feelings. But it has driven me to crying out and leaning on Jesus more than much else in my life has. It's a hard, beautiful place to be and I am grateful.