Think of a time when you felt really alone. Maybe you were sick in bed or on a long solo car trip. Maybe you were stuck in an elevator. Or maybe you weren’t physically alone, still surrounded by lots of people moving around you as they continued with their lives unaware of your profound hurt, but you felt in your deepest heart of hearts that you were all by yourself.   When we’re feeling alone and wondering where God is, we have plenty of company, sometimes even people of faith who might surprise us by their times of doubt. For instance, what comes to mind if I say the name Mother Teresa? You would probably think of her selfless love and service to the poorest of the poor in Calcutta, India. Or maybe that she received a vision from Jesus telling her to start the charity that would minister to these often forgotten people.   What you might not think of is her nearly unbearable doubt when it came to her faith. After her death, her private letters were published in the book Come Be My Light . In the book, we learn that for most of her adult life she experienced what some theologians call the “dark night of the soul”—an absence of feeling God’s presence. It was utter loneliness for her. Mother Teresa experienced this painful darkness as if it were her own Calvary—the thirsting and abandonment and pain. Her letters show a constant fear that God would withhold his blessings if she became prideful about their work serving the poor. She was always looking for reasons that God might have pulled away from her. Eventually she realized that by living in that miserable state of abandonment, she could better identify with the people of Calcutta. Just like the people she served, she felt unwanted, unloved, and unclaimed. Her darkness gave her a unique ability to understand the people she ministered to.   Of course, her unique story won’t be the story for every believer. God is so good—He tailors each of our journeys according to our own distinct situations and gifts. But whatever place we find ourselves—in the dark valleys or in green pastures beside still waters—God is there. He got there before us, and stays beside us.   Psalm 73:25-26 says, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” This is a perfect mantra for those tough times. Regardless of the unrealiable nature of our feelings, we can trust that God is at work. And He tells us “Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you.”

There’s a joke I’ve heard a lot: “We come from dust and when we die, we go back to being dust. That’s why I don’t dust. It could be someone I know.”   There are a few places in the Bible that talk about our dusty origin story—one being Genesis 2:7, “Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Starting from the “dust of the ground” is about as low as you can get!   Here’s another one from Psalm 103:13-14. It says, “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” First of all, God knows how we’re formed—that we’re just a pile of dust. Trying to impress God, like we try to impress the people we run into every day, seems like a big, fat waste of time. There’s nothing we can say or do to surprise or wow Him.   But this verse isn’t meant to make us feel worthless. In the preceding verses, it says: “For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”   He loves us that much even though He knows everything—and I mean EVERYTHING—about us…where we come from, what we’re thinking, our motivations, all of it. The New Living Translation says, “For he knows how weak we are.” Unless you’re prepping for a job interview, nobody likes to spend much time thinking about our weaknesses, but we want His compassion and we need His intervention on our behalf because we are ultimately so very weak.   Thinking about how God, our Father, has compassion on us makes me think about when my kids were very little. I remember bringing my newborn daughters home from the hospital. They were so little and fragile, and they relied on us to meet all their needs. When they had a dirty diaper or spit up on me, I didn’t just say “Gross, Ella” or “Lucy, you disgust me!” I didn’t shout at them, “Clean yourselves up, girls!” No! I knew them, how they were formed, where they came from, what their weaknesses were. And I had compassion on them. Not because they had something significant to offer me or because I was an exceptional person, but because I was their mom.   This verse also feels a little like it might work in reverse. Like in Matthew 6 when Jesus says, “If you forgive others for the wrongs they do to you, then your Father in heaven will also forgive your wrongs. But if you don’t forgive others, then your Father in heaven won’t forgive the wrongs you do.” So here when it says, “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him,” I wonder if the reverse would be true? Like maybe the person who lacks tenderness and compassion towards others won’t be shown compassion by the Lord. That’s a frightening thought!   Being a parent can often be an inward battle to die to ourselves and to lavish undeserved grace and mercy on our kids. (Which is exactly what God does for us!) Those of us who get to be parents—or those who are around kids we love as if they’re our own—are given a fitting example of how God loves us, and how we’re called to love. God has compassion on us, so he instructs and disciplines us. Out of His great compassion, He comforts us, picks us up when we fall, and He forgives us. A pile of dust couldn’t ask for a better Father!

I recently had one of those “why did I wait so long to do this” moments. After sawing away with my dull kitchen knives, I eventually took them to a local hardware store to get them professionally sharpened. The difference is remarkable! Now I can easily slice through a tomato just like on those old Ginsu knife commercials . (I haven’t tried out the knives on a tin can. Seems a bit excessive.)   There’s an axiom amongst chefs that may seem counterintuitive at first, but I can attest to its accuracy. They say that a dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one. This is due to the increased chance of slipping and cutting yourself with a knife which requires more force as you saw back and forth to get the job done. A sharp knife will slide right through whatever needs slicing or dicing, leaving your fingers free from cuts.   As I was chopping up ingredients to make salsa with my newly sharpened knives, I thought about Hebrews 4:12. It says “For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.”   God’s word operates similarly to my kitchen knives in this way. What I’m able to read in the Bible—the stories, the commands, the teachings—often cuts me, and I’m laid bare by the gross complicity of my sin. But God doesn’t bludgeon me with a dull sword. He uses surgical precision to cut away the diseased parts to promote healing. He even goes so far as to attack the hidden things that no one else sees. Like we read in the next verse, “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered.”   This kind of surgery isn’t meant to frighten us. Instead, it’s a testament to God’s love. One of my favorite Timothy Keller quotes is “The gospel says you are simultaneously more sinful and flawed than you ever dared believe, yet more loved and accepted than you ever dared hope.” God sees that nasty, infected part, and He is willing to remove it. All while loving us more than we could ever imagine.   For this type of heart surgery to be most effective, I need a pliable spirit. I need a soft heart. Ezekiel 11:19 says, “I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.” With my knives at their very sharpest, they would still have a hard time slicing up rocks. Sure, God is able to do that kind of miraculous cutting, but if I can approach his throne with humility, acknowledging my need for his mercy and grace, I can make this process less painful for myself.   Thank you, Lord, for your Word—alive and active—which is unlike any other book!

“We are so busy!” That’s the general consensus amongst the people I spend time with the most. If you ask how they’re doing, you may get “Fine!” or “Boy, these allergies are killing me!” but a frequently repeated refrain is about how hectic their schedules are. Work, kids, and other obligations so often keep us hopping. Some, maybe even most, of what creates these busy lifestyles are legitimate responsibilities, but I can’t help but wonder if my inability to slow down is because I’ve created a monster, a Must Keep Moving Monster.   It’s like I’m the human equivalent of a concrete truck. If you’ve ever watched that drum mixer constantly rotating as the truck makes its way to a job site, then you know what I mean. Enroute to the destination, the spiral blades inside the drum churn the still-liquid mixture so that it stays the consistency of a chunky milkshake. Then when the truck arrives at the home or business in need of concrete, the blades are reversed so that the mixture gets sent down the chute. If the drum were to stop rotating too soon, the workers would have a difficult job cleaning out the hardened mess.   While that’s an ingenious way to pour a foundation, it’s not a healthy way for me to live. Just like I wouldn’t survive long inside that drum mixer, my body, mind, and soul need to seek out opportunities when I can just stop moving from time to time. This Monster which I’ve created has convinced me that if I dare to pause I’ll be confronted with a nightmarish mess.   There’s a word we see 74 times in the Bible, and 37 of those instances are found in writings from King David. To be honest, it’s a word I usually just skip over with no notice when I’m reading through the Psalms. It’s the word Selah . There’s some confusion about what this word means. Is it instruction for the singers, like forte or crescendo? Is it meant to divide sections of the text, to prepare the listeners for a transition in the emotions? When it comes at the end of a text, is it like our word Amen —a final “let it be so” we whisper at the close of a string of laments and petitions and praises? The answer to all these questions seems to be yes . This busy, little word does all of those things in our psalms, but Selah also encourages us to pause and listen. It reminds us to lift up the words of the psalms that we’re singing.   As we enter into this new season, a time of beauty and growth, let’s get out of our routines of constant motion and instead prioritize rest. I’m trying to be aware of how I spend my minutes, not because I need to be more efficient with my time, but because I need to slow down. I need to stop feeling the need to be entertained (I’m looking at you, cellphone!), and spend a few glorious moments each day basking in mindless boredom. Now that I think about it, that’s usually when the epiphanies come to me. My A-ha ’s usually coincide with my Ho-hum ’s.   If you want to try this, too, here’s a good starting spot to get your brain in the Selah mode. Psalm 143:5-6 says, “I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.  Selah. ”

I have this memory from when I was little of holding a heavy rectangular paperweight in my hand, staring through the thick slab of wavy glass to read these words beneath: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I don’t know why that memory keeps popping into my mind or where that paperweight is or, come to think of it, why paperweights are a thing in the first place. I mean, who’s doing paperwork in such windy places that they need a pound of glass to hold their piles of paper in place anyway?   But thinking of that paperweight and that verse makes me think of my mom. While her mind continues to weaken from the effects of Alzheimer’s disease, she shows me a strength I wasn’t expecting. Last week, we sat in her living room and performed her favorite activity—singing from the hymn book. Though she can’t remember who I am and she can no longer read, she can recall the words to at least the first verse and chorus of so many sacred songs.   Her wholehearted singing is enthusiastic when she spreads her hands palms-up and sings, “He is my everything/He is my all/He is my everything/Both great and small.” Her voice is plaintive and serious when she sings, “Abide with me: fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”   Though we hate that her mind is slowly subtracting her from us, we try to look on the bright side. We’re grateful that for the most part, the disease hasn’t made her angry or scared. She’s pleasant and happy to see anyone who stops by for a visit (this includes birds at the backyard bird feeder). She’s sees beauty everywhere, often colors and shapes swirling around just beyond her reach that we can’t see but bring her such joy.   When I’m at her house, she compliments me nonstop—my appearance, my singing, and any other thing I say or do. (To be honest, I did do a really good job setting her glass of orange juice on the TV tray, so her effusive praise of that act makes perfect sense.) She doesn’t remember about war or crime or taxes, so she doesn’t seem to have a worry in the world. She has little appetite, so she’s not thinking about her next meal. She’s unconcerned about her appearance, positively delighted to wear one of my dad’s polo shirts as if it were her Sunday best. The one thing she asks for is usually to go to bed once it gets dark.   In some ways, it’s as if all of her thoughts have been boiled down into one concentrated thing—loving on the person in front of her right now. It’s like that paperweight and the distortion caused by the glass when I looked through it. So many things were in the way of really reading that truth, but for her, at least in this one way at this specific time, the glass has been shattered.   When the Apostle Paul wrote those words about finding strength through his faith in Philippians 4, he wasn’t talking about something from the Marvel Universe. This wasn’t Captain America or the Hulk saying, “I have super powers! I can do ALL things!” The key to this verse is in the previous verses where Paul said he knew the secret of being content, whether in times of need or in times of plenty. That secret is relying on Christ. In tough times, I can also cling to this same time-worn promise: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”

A friend of mine told me about an interesting thought experiment at dinner recently. She said to imagine I was holding a fresh lemon in my hand. She encouraged me to think about the texture and the weight of the fruit. Then she instructed me to imagine the process of cutting the lemon into fourths, smelling its sharp sourness and feeling the juice splash up onto my fingers. Next, I was told to pick up an imaginary piece of the lemon and taste it. When the experiment is done correctly, the subject often begins to salivate and finds that she can actually taste the lemon juice, even though it’s not there.   From a psychological aspect, this experiment demonstrates the power of our minds, specifically how internal imagery can affect our physical reality. This idea of internal and external imagery is a popular notion, especially amongst athletes who struggle with perfecting a particular skill in their sports. Famed golfer Jack Nicklaus has used this method to improve his game. He said,  “I never hit a shot, not even in practice, without having a very sharp, in-focus picture of it in my head. First I see the ball where I want it to finish, nice and white and sitting up high on the bright green grass. Then the scene quickly changes, and I see the ball going there; its path, trajectory, and shape, even its behavior on landing. Then there is a sort of fade-out, and the next scene shows me making the kind of swing that will turn the previous images into reality.”   His process is particularly remarkable considering that Nicklaus contracted polio when he was 13. Doctors initially thought he had the flu, but his rapid weight loss and achy joints led them to the conclusion that he, along with his younger sister, had the disease which parents across the world at that time feared most. His sister lost the ability to walk for about a year, but he mostly recovered after a few weeks, though he has said, “ My whole career, my joints have gotten awfully sore at times.” Eighteen professional major championships and 73 PGA Tour victories later, his methods and dedication to hard work have paid off. You could argue that his early setbacks coupled with his strong ability to imagine his success has led to his actual triumphs.   Believe it or not, the Apostle Paul had similar advice when he wrote to the Christians in Philippi. He said, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Thousands of years before Jack Nicklaus picked up a golf club, Paul was underlining the power of our thoughts to affect our actions.   Of course, Paul wasn’t advising them on their backswing. He was telling them how to achieve what he had instructed a few verses earlier in Philippians 4. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”   Paul was telling them to do something much more difficult than taste an imaginary lemon. He was saying that despite our difficulties, we should rejoice. He was telling them to be gentle and not riddled with anxiousness. (A tall order for anyone but especially for a marginalized, persecuted community like this church in the Roman colony of Philippi.) That’s why we have to “think about such things,” not to ignore the injustices of the world, but to spend considerable brain energy on the people we can only be with God’s help through His Spirit. Then, as we read at the end of verse 9, we can “put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.”

Back in 2019, there was a battle you won’t read about in any American history textbooks. It was the battle of the best chicken sandwich. The fast food restaurant, Popeyes, introduced a chicken sandwich to rival Chick-Fil-A and other similar fast food establishments. (Side note: I just found out that there’s no apostrophe in the name Popeyes . According to my research, restaurant founder Alvin Copeland said he was too poor to afford that little punctuation mark to make the name possessive. I think he was kidding. I also found out that the name originally didn’t have anything to do with the cartoon muscle-man Popeye the Sailor Man. I guess that tracks since I don’t remember canned spinach on their menu, and we all know that was Popeye’s secret weapon.)   With a well-placed tweet campaign, the chicken sandwich went viral, leading Popeyes to boast an increase of 103% in traffic in the days after the sandwich was first advertised. Many locations would sell out before all of the customers in the long lines could receive their orders. There was even a report about a man in Maryland who was stabbed to death in an altercation about line-cutting in those crazy late summer, chicken sandwich days of 2019.   Driving down Memorial Boulevard back then, I witnessed those long lines for the Popeyes drive-thru, but I was too cynical to believe a sandwich was worth that kind of wait, so I drove on. I’m not saying that makes me smarter than the customers who waited for the chicken, but I am less fun in that respect. I’m assuming they were probably just hopping onto a mostly harmless viral trend. I doubt any of them were really expecting that sandwich to change their lives. Years later, we’ve all moved on to other fads and celebrity influencers, and there will be more to come in the future, but I start to wonder if I’m willing to pursue anything with that type of dogged enthusiasm. Where am I going to plant my feet and stick my flag in the ground, saying This is of utmost importance to me ?   The word seek is used 143 times in the NIV Bible, such as in Psalm 34:14, “Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.” That sounds like my call to action, but how do I know which way to go? With Isaiah 5:20-21 rolling around in my head, I know I can’t just go running in any old direction following any fool with the loudest voice and best soundbites. The Lord told Isaiah, “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes and clever in their own sight.” And to balance out all that running around, we see that wait is mentioned 129 times, like Psalm 27:14, “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”   So how can I be sure what I’m pursuing and waiting for is really worth it? Wealth, attention, comforts, my physical body—all of this will fade away. Although the temporary pleasures of this world can be a blessing, my #1 pursuit should last longer than a chicken sandwich. Isaiah 40 tells us: “All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field…The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.” This is it! Something that lasts forever and comes from a Father who puts the apostrophe- s before my name.

Like most people, I love a good story. The drama, the conflict, the resolution, the self-questioning of “what would I do in that situation?” And there’s no better place to look for good stories than in the Bible. It’s got everything—romance and betrayal, good guys and bad guys, peaceful leaders and blood-stained battlefields and mind-blowing miracles. Another thing the Bible has a lot of is people. There are more than 3,000 unique names in the Bible, with just somewhere around 200 of those names belonging to women.   That’s one of the reasons why the names mentioned in Exodus 1 are so very interesting. Allow me to set the scene: The Israelite people have been in Egypt for 430 years, originally as Pharaoh’s invited guests, but eventually as cruelly treated slaves. Those in power saw that the Israelite population was growing so they made their lives even harder, forcing them to join massive labor forces to construct building projects which benefitted only Egyptian society’s most elite as they honored gods and pharaohs. Verse 12 says, “But the more the Israelites were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread; so the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites and worked them ruthlessly.”    So Pharaoh sent for the Hebrew midwives, two women named Shiphrah and Puah, and gave them a specific directive. He told them, “When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.”    Undoubtedly, Shiphrah and Puah were afraid when they went before the king of Egypt, the highest representative of the land. They could’ve obeyed this evil command and killed the babies they were charged to protect and nurture, but then their names would’ve been lost to us forever. There would have been no reason to record their story. Instead, they feared God more than anything Pharaoh could do to them.   When Pharaoh called the women back and asked them why they had let the baby boys live, Shiphrah and Puah did something that is normally frowned upon in Scripture. They lied. They said, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.” These midwives applied what they knew of God, their compassionate Creator who values life, and used that lens to interpret how to proceed, even if that meant going against what Pharoah had demanded them to do. Their decision to disobey Pharaoh came from a desire to obey God. And we know that God agreed with their choice because verses 20-21 say, “So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own.”   There’s been extra focus lately on how strictly believers should follow the commands set out by our earthly leaders, how much we’re allowed to question our government. Regardless of which side we might choose to vote in an election, if we claim to daily take up our cross and follow Jesus, we have to choose compassion. The world is watching.   So let’s remember Shiphrah and Puah as we meditate on the psalmist’s words: “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?”

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cain_and_Abel,_15th_century.jpg Reading through the Bible every year for several years in a row, you’d think I’d retain more of what’s written in this all-important book, but this practice never fails to reveal something new. For instance, a few weeks ago we read the story of Cain and Abel in Genesis 4. In the story, Cain kills his brother Abel out of jealousy after Abel brings the better offering to God. God sees what happened and calls to Cain, asking him a question which He already knows the answer to, “Cain, where is your brother?”   Cain replies in a defensive, guilty way, “I don’t know. What am I, my brother’s keeper?” (Really smooth, Cain, not suspicious at all, buddy.) Then the Lord explains Cain’s punishment. He says, “ Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”   Considering that this is the first murder in the Bible, I feel like having to do yard work is a very lenient and merciful price to pay, but what really stood out to me on this pass through Scripture was Cain’s response. He’s not so much worried about the hard labor, but the hard labor away from the Lord’s presence. He says to God, “My punishment is more than I can bear. Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.” Cain knew for a fact that his everything—his abundance, his safety, his peace—came from the Lord, and now he doesn’t know how to survive away from God. He just assumes that outside of God’s presence, he would face life-threatening danger.   But the Lord had a contingency plan for Cain’s would-be attackers. He told Cain that anyone who tries to kills him would suffer greatly, seven times greater than what they had meted out on him. Then God did something that has baffled generations. Verse 15 says, “Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him.” We don’t know what this mark was or how it communicated so effectively that Cain’s life was out of bounds, but since God did it, we know it worked.   Reading on, we see that Cain “went out from the Lord’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden.” He left the vicinity of relative safety (I mean, it wasn’t perfect. Abel was murdered there), and he went on to build a life in a place which means wandering .   Another interesting way to think about Cain’s punishment and this mysterious mark is to compare it with the preceding chapter and Cain’s parents’ sin. When God questioned them after they had eaten of the forbidden tree, God knew what had happened but He allowed the First Couple to spin their own version of events. As with Cain, God also punished them by kicking them out of the place where they felt most safe, this time the Garden of Eden. But He didn’t send them away without protection. Genesis 3:21 says, “The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.”   I was recently watching a documentary about the Revolutionary War. In it, they described the practice of branding a person’s right thumb to show they had been convicted of a crime when this had been their first offense. So if someone was caught stealing, and their thumb had a “T” seared into the skin, it could be assumed that this was a repeat crime. Whether they never stole again, they had been branded with a mark that would forever define them.   Ephesians 1 spells out a different kind of mark. Not one of shame or condemnation, but a mark of ownership. “When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession.” Or as The Message states it, “You found yourselves home free—signed, sealed, and delivered by the Holy Spirit. This down payment from God is the first installment on what’s coming, a reminder that we’ll get everything God has planned for us, a praising and glorious life.” Oh, I’m so grateful that God called dibs on my life and marked me as His own!

A  few weeks ago, my husband got us tickets to see a live Christmas show at the historic Ryman Theater. I’m a huge fan of Christmas music, making this a great gift. If you’re in Middle Tennessee, you can’t throw a steel guitar without hitting a super talented musician or two, so, as you might assume, this was a stage full of Music City pros.   Pretty quickly into the show, even with all that was happening on the crowded stage, my attention was nearly consumed by the half-a-dozen backup singers, harmonizing and swaying and snapping their fingers in unison behind the main act.   I’m not much of a bucket list kind of person, but I have to admit that were I to have such a list, “perform as a backup singer” would be near the top. I’m fascinated by them. I get sweaty just thinking about standing alone in the center of a spotlight, but I could easily visualize myself in that background role standing with other singers. Though I’m famously uncoordinated, I think I could—with some practice, mind you—get the snap , step , snap , step sequence down without completely embarrassing myself. They also often wear something black and slimming, so just another point in favor of the backup singer gig.   I’m not saying that the lead singer has an ego problem—everyone is gifted for something different—but as I was watching those background performers ooo and ahh to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” I started moralizing in my head about the backup singer mentality as an interesting philosophical question. (Needless to say, I’m a real fun concert date.)   Living with the mindset that you are ready and willing to encourage and be happy for others in their spotlight moments—those shining periods where they have something beautiful to celebrate—helps us follow part of Romans 12. “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another.” The compulsion to compete and compare instead of celebrate others’ good fortune will rob us of happily watching those we love fulfill their heart’s desires. It steals the joy we could be receiving if only we could set aside our own wishes and self-interest to live in harmony, that warm reverberation of sounds that happens when all the notes are swelling together in perfect agreement.   In his book Mere Christianity , C.S. Lewis gives this helpful advice: “As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”   Studying our national mood, I see a lot of disagreement and conflict. I see too many glaring spotlights and restricted stages for voices who only want to sow discord and deepen divisions. My prayer for this New Year is that we’ll see a rising trend toward promoting bridge-builders and peace-makers. I pray that “harmony” will be the word of the year, and people with real influence will endorse living selflessly, instead of giving tips for succeeding at the detriment of others.   Another quote from Mere Christianity haunts me with its clarity: “It is Pride which has been the chief cause of misery in every nation and every family since the world began.” Let’s choose to set aside our own pride and instead care about each other more. That would hit all the right notes to build a better community. I could ooo and aah to that tune every day!

Now that we’re in the middle of December, most of us are running around with long lists and busy plans and random dots of glitter speckling our cheeks which came from the many sparkly cards and ornaments lying around the house. It’s my favorite time of year, but with all the glittery rigamarole of the season, I have to remind myself of why I’m actually counting down the days until Christmas.   When I was growing up, my mother would hang up our Christmas stockings on December 1st. Ahead of time, she would fill each one with twenty-four items taped to twenty-four ribbons. Each ribbon was numbered 1-24, representing the days of December leading up to Christmas Day. We didn’t use the language of Advent, but that was kind of what we were doing. On December 1st, we would pull out the string with the number “one” on it. At the other end of the string, we would find a stick of gum, a tiny candy cane, a holiday pencil, a sticker, or a tube of chapstick. Even though the things we would pull out were fairly commonplace, we understood the effort and love behind the preparation. I knew exactly where she kept the sugar-free gum—in the basket by the microwave—and I could have chewed a piece whenever I wanted but knowing that my mom stayed up late November 30th to tape and cut and stuff made the whole experience special.   Now that I’m older, I understand more about this tradition of Advent, and how it goes deeper than just anticipating presents on Christmas morning. It’s about living a life of hopeful expectation. The word advent comes from Latin word meaning “coming” or “arrival.” We see a version of the word pop up in the New Testament and not just about the birth of Jesus, as glorious as that was. The Apostle Stephen talked about this predicted coming before he was stoned for his testimony. Jesus spoke about his own return and how he would arrive “as lightning that comes from the east is visible even in the west.” And Paul directed the believers to this promise of Christ’s arrival to encourage them in the dark days of their persecution.   Traditionally, the Advent season is divided into four weeks where we emphasize the themes of hope, peace, joy, and love—four gifts we can never give or get too much of. Living in a time between Christ’s comings—what some call the “Already and Not Yet”—it’s a time of waiting for something good, but it’s not supposed to be only a passive time. Though we have to live in a broken version of the creation God made for us, we aren’t meant to wallow in sorrow and despair. We’re given opportunities to joyfully help others, to show them love, to act as peacemakers, and to tell them our reason for hope, a hope which the prophet Isaiah described in this way: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.”

I’m just not very creative. This is the phrase I often hear from friends. They see some amazing drawing or watch a skit at church and they make comparisons to their own lacking skills. Since they’re not particularly gifted musically or artistically, they feel like they don’t have much to offer in the creativity area. But God, the authority when it comes to creativity (crediting Him as the Creator of the Northern Lights and the Giant Sequoias and the duck-billed platypus), made each of us with something to offer. He made us in His image so that we could be creative, too. So our job is to find those possibly dormant abilities, give them a little room to breathe, and see what can be done for His glory. Consider the natural phenomenon of frost flowers. My friend Annie works at a nature center and she explained them this way: “Crystallofolia is a more scientific name. They occur when woody stemmed forbs, like milkweed, have thin layers of water in the stem that freeze and break through. The patterns are just due to the natural crystalline structure water produces in its mineral stage (or ice).” This commonplace undergrowth is perfectly positioned in wooded areas where no one—except for maybe a few bees and butterflies—pays much attention to it. Then the temperature drops. The specialized milkshake inside freezes and bursts out, creating magnificent, cascading beauty for those fortunate enough to find it. These frost flowers are what I picture when I think of those who say they aren’t creative. They don’t appreciate the value and substance of what lies within. For instance, I have a friend who admires my daughter’s ability to do fancy lettering and calligraphy. She wishes to be creative, but she already is. My friend can take loads of confusing information and lay it out on a spreadsheet where it will flow and make sense. She can organize a group of people so that they all understand what’s expected of them and give them support. She creates unity and organization. I have another friend who looks at my crochet projects and bemoans her lack of creativity. But, in reality, she creates something—though intangible—infinitely more important than a crocheted scarf or hat. This friend is an architect of connections. She checks on you when you mention you have a head cold. She asks about sick and struggling relatives. She remembers. Her creations come directly from her heart. Galatians 6:4-5 ( The Message ) – Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life. Photo Credit: Annie Holt #creativity #talents