I don’t cry easily. Really, I don’t. But this week, I have. The overwhelming sadness that sits right outside our doors is hard to fathom. Every morning I get pulled from a deep sleep into a waking up, and my thoughts go like this, “It’s light. It’s morning…. oh, we are still in the middle […]
When you leave a church and have been in that church’s active ministry, it’s hard. It’s hard, because so many people misunderstand. It’s hard because people tell people what they heard, leaving a long and confused string of thoughts and ideas about why the leavers left. It’s hard because it is a loss-both to the leaver and to the stay-er. The sense of loss on either end no doubt can be measured by the investment of time in the place, and the people of the church.
Family. Home. These words remind us that we have a place. That we have a space and people to come home to that is safe and warm and full of grace and hope. Home is a place to come and heal after mistakes are made, or to recover injuries from ugly words thrown around like […]
My family, my world. I am more grateful every day for the people God gifted me with, called family. We are not perfect. We are flawed–Pretty much all of us. But, we love. We forgive. We grant pardon, we embrace, we venture on, because This is Us. This is our family.
It’s Christmastime. Noel. Peace on Earth, good will to all. Light has come, and is in us and around us and through us if we just turn inwards, upwards and outwards and notice. Light is Come. Enjoy this piece of my inward, upward and outward journey toward Light.
I’m in a quandary this Christmas season. We’ve been through the most difficult transition year of our married lives, our girls have said goodbye to all of their childhood friends, we sat in a room with a dozen friends we raised our babies with and sobbed. Gut wrenching, heart aching, sobs. I’ve never cried harder in my life than that evening, saying goodbye to lifelong friends.
In May we made the move from Granger, In. to Shawnee, Ks. The best, but most difficult family decision we’ve ever made. I’ve felt like an ocean has been moving under my feet since we landed, trying to get acclimated myself, get my girls acclimated, figuring out how to fix a new bathtub with new problems, how to keep the hot sun from killing my plants, and all that normal stuff.
And then in September, my precious Uncle died. How do I tell my aunt, who spent years of her life dedicated to him, to Jesus, to their children…translating the bible into unwritten languages, whom she loved…how do I tell her to be merry this christmas?
In November, my cousin died. He was too young. Only 5 years older than me. The thought of losing him does not ring true with “Merry and Bright” or a cup of Christmas cheer.
A mamma lost not one, but three babies, triplets, born too early this week. They suffered through the trauma of the funeral of the first two, held out hope for the third. He died. Now another funeral.
The news…the news. I cannot even bare to watch it with my children asking questions about atrocities committed against children their own ages. I cannot even watch the news alone.
But I can walk in the darkness of this Advent hour. I can walk in peace, with lots and lots of tears, but with peace. Knowing my Savior was born. He came to save a fool like me. He came to abolish slavery, to set the prisoners free. He came to love. He came to forgive. To teach us to love and forgive by what He did for us. Born humbly. Walked through His ordinary days like an ordinary guy, but holy. Perfect. Full of love. Never casting the poor or needy aside if they did not match up with His holy critera for those worthy of His time. He walked slowly. He touched. He held. He healed. He lifted heads. He gave new names. He brought joy. He brought mystery. He brought laughter. He brought light. He embraced the unembraceable.
He was the light. And He is. He is the lifter of our heads, the light in our darkness. Forever.