Wonder

Waking early for time with God means waking before the sun.  For many of the winter months waking this early is jarring and my warm bed is hard to leave.  But not this December.

This year, as I wake in the early morning hours I remember what is waiting for me outside my bedroom door.  Leaving my room, I can see the glow of light emanating from around the corner.  Turning, I feel joy at the beauty of what I see: my Christmas mantle. 95CCCEE6-2990-4BCB-8ADE-EC641F4CD4EA

I love everything about this season: the food, the music, giving and getting gifts but I especially love the decor .  I love sitting in our house with all of the lights off except for those on our Christmas tree.  I even love driving my kids to and from all of our various commitments because we get to see houses decked out with colorful lights.

This is a season that celebrates light in the darkness.

This Advent there is one story about light in the darkness has been sticking with me.  I’m sure that you’ve heard it before, but humor me and take a moment to savor this piece of the Christmas story.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

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Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

I’ve been wondering what it must have been like that night; trying to imagine the scene. Shepherds, charged with keeping watch over the sheep, sitting out in the fields.  No one else is around.  They’re protective of their sheep.  Watchful even.  The world around them is rather dark.  There weren’t exactly street lights or house lights to add a glow to the horizon. I imagine that there were a lot of stars visible that night.  Maybe the shepherds took turns staying awake through the night…or maybe they were all staying up late talking in the darkness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that darkness. Did it feel cold and lonely?  Or was it a comfortable darkness.  One that felt familiar?

But then the darkness was suddenly and unexpectedly disrupted by light.  Quiet disrupted by an angel and a message and singing.  It was a mundane night disrupted by amazing news.  News that changed everything for those shepherds.

Did you catch that when you read the story?  Did you feel the wonder of the shepherds?  Did you consider what the angels looked and sounded like?

Sometimes when I read the story, it seems kind of anticlimatic.  An angel appears with a message, then more angels appear, start singing and then they just return to heaven.  And then the shepherds just say to one another “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

Do you think they just said it nonchalantly?  I bet their voices were shaking and their eyes were wide.  I bet they were wondering if they were crazy.

But then they found Jesus and Joseph and Mary and everything was just as the angel said.  And they were left with no choice but to share what they had seen and heard because it changed them.

Somehow in previous Christmases I lost the wonder and the excitement of the shepherds.  The story didn’t amaze me or bring me to tears and it certainly didn’t inspire me to share about it.

As my kids grew and our calendar filled with concerts and sports and parties, the wonder of the season was forgotten underneath all of the wrapping of Christmas.  The lists and tasks took over and before I knew it, Christmas Day was here and I’d missed experiencing the good stuff.  I was a shepherd in the darkness who MISSED the message and the singing.  I was so busy preparing for Christmas that I forgot to celebrate it.

This season has been different.  I’ve been aware of the darkness and I’ve been looking for the light.  Waiting with anticipation.  And this year the story moves me.  The shepherds, the angels, the scene at the manger…all of it brings me to tears when I think about it.

It moves me because the news of the angels changes everything for us too, if we let it. The idea that Christ came down and took human form causes me to weep because I am aware of my darkness and my need for light.  Jesus voluntarily became that light because I couldn’t be it for myself.  I hope I never lose the feeling of wonder that news brings.

Where are you this season?  Do you experience wonder at the thought of God incarnate? Does imagining the scene with Mary and her little baby move you? Do you sit and imagine what the shepherds thought and felt that night in the darkness?  Where are you sitting this season that needs disruption? Is there a part of your life that feels dark?  Are you wishing there was a way to recapture the wonder that you felt as a child? Wishing there was more joy this time of year?

If you’re anything like me this season always feels hectic and crazy.  It’s hard to catch a breath.  It can be challenging to find that moment to experience joy and wonder. If I may, I’d like to offer a few suggestions to help you reclaim the wonder of the season and what it means for you.

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                    • If you light a candle, take a breath.  Invite God into that singular moment.  Just acknowledge him. Ask him to meet you there.
                    • Take that moment in the pick up line at school, or in the checkout line at the grocery store.  Don’t check your phone.  Don’t turn on music.  Instead, take just a few minutes and breathe deep.  Imagine the shepherds in the field and a glorious host of angels coming out of nowhere. Imagine the light in the darkness.
                    • As you prepare to go to bed at night, turn off all of the lights except for those on the Christmas tree.  Put away your phone and then take a seat in front of the tree or twinkly lights somewhere in your home or even just light a candle. Take a moment to sit.

Think about that very first Christmas, Christ coming down and all of the angels from heaven needing to declare the wonder of it to a field of shepherds.  Invite God to sit with you.  Invite him into the darkness and ask him to be the light.

If you’re someone who isn’t sure about the Christmas story; isn’t sure about Jesus and the shepherds and the angels, but you are looking for wonder, would you consider trying one of the suggestions above?  I believe that God meets us exactly where we are with what we need.  He will meet you there, in that moment, if you’ll invite him in.

May this season bring back your joy and wonder.

I’ll be emailing out Advent thoughts all season! I’d love to send you my new posts as I write them. Sign up below to receive an email each week.

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Thanksgiving

The alarm chirps to wake me from my slumber.  As my arm slinks out from under the covers to flip the switch, I ponder “groaning or gratitude?” Resent the disruption to my rest or rejoice for in the day ahead?  It’s all in my perspective.  What I choose will determine the mindset for my day.  The choice is mine to make.

Today is Thanksgiving.  A day to thank God for all of the wonderful things he has done in my life.  A day to proclaim “How great our God!” As I walk this journey I’m beginning to understand that being grateful for the good things in life is a lot easier than it is to thank him for the hardships and the challenges.  It’s easier to proclaim that God is good when my life is good.

God has been teaching me to see the good in the hard things; to look for the lesson.  I’m starting to see his provision when he says “no” to my prayers.  I’ve caught glimpses of his mercy in the “not yet.” This is not to say that I am living a life in complete gratitude to God and thankful for the troubles.  I’m certainly not there yet.  But I’m learning BIG lessons of gratitude each day.

Today, will I be thankful to see my breath as I walk knowing that I have a warm home in which to retreat or will I grumble in the cold?  I hope that I’ll see the beauty of the freshly fallen snow; the white wonderland it creates.

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Photo by Jens Johnsson on Pexels.com

Can I be grateful for sinus pressure, a stuffy nose and tickly throat, knowing that soon enough my health will return? This minor cold has reminded me to slow down and rest.  Can I be grateful for this gift?

When I’m short with my son, will I be thankful for the reminder that I’m broken or will I heap shame upon my own head for my bad parenting? Can I accept an opportunity to ask for forgiveness that could be a teaching moment for both of us?

A pile of dishes in the sink means that I have a family to feed and enough food to fill their bellies.  Will I choose gratitude or grumbling at the work that lies ahead?

Laundry piled high means that we have more than enough clothes to wear each day. Will I consider those who do not have this luxury or will I focus on the disruption to my day?

Changing my perspective changes my heart.  Seeing the potential good instead of focusing on what disappoints me is within my control.  Small choices have big outcomes when it comes to matters of the heart.  Will I choose to see the light or will I focus on the darkness?  Can I live a life of gratitude for the good and the bad or will I only see God’s goodness when “good” things happen?

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Meals to make means that I have food in my fridge.

Bills to pay means that I have heat, and electricity and entertaining TV.

Annoying political ads mean that I live in a free country.

A full calendar means that I have purpose to my day.

Missing someone means that I’ve loved greatly.

Being let down by others means that I have expectations and hope and not a hard heart filled with cynicism.  Being hurt drives me to the arms of the One who never disappoints and deepens my relationship with Him.  Can I remember this?

Our Creator loves us greatly.  He wants us to see ALL of His good gifts.  It only takes a shift in focus.  May we wake each day and choose our perspective wisely.

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Feeling Forgotten

I’m an Enneagram 8, which is really the worst of the Enneagrams. People have told me they were frightened of me when we first met.  Or that I was intimidating.   Enneagram 8s are often seen as TOO MUCH.  We have big personalities, big opinions and sometimes we have big egos.

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People are afraid of 8s.  We’re seen as aggressive and unkind.  As bulldozers.  Sometimes those things are true.  I’ve worked for an unhealthy 8.  It didn’t go well.

In the Road Back to You, Ian Morgan Cron suggests that Enneagram 8s developed their protection mechanisms because something happened in their childhood that caused them to grow up quickly and develop self preservation habits.

This is very true of me.

It would seem that I have a thing about feeling forgotten.  Overlooked.  Unwanted.

Lest you think I had a terrible childhood, it really wasn’t.  My parents love me.  They did their best as they were raising me.  But things happen.  In my case, I was forgotten or overlooked in three instances that are seared in my memory.

When I was three years old, my oldest brother swung a bat that connected with the head of my middle brother.  They both came racing home with blood trailing behind them.  It was determined that my middle brother required stitches.  The babysitter rushed them both to the hospital.  She only forgot one thing.  Three year old me.  I don’t know what I did home alone.  Probably played with dolls.  But it left an impression.

A few years later when my aunt and uncle came to visit there was a miscommunication between the families on the way home from church that Sunday.  My parents thought I was in the other car and my aunt and uncle assumed I’d gone home with my parents.  I was left at church with our very kind pastor and his wife.  I recall eating cookies and drinking tea in their living room.  This too left an impression.

The final story isn’t from my childhood.  In my late 20s, early 30s, my parents were still married and both serving in various capacities in the larger church ministry.  My two brothers had chosen to become pastors.   Our family had been noticed by our larger extended family.  Relatives circulated a newsletter to all of the descendants from a family tree connecting back to the Netherlands.   The editor had decided to write a story about this amazing ministry family.  Unfortunately for me, I was a stay at home mom and didn’t fit the narrative. There was no mention that my parents had a daughter.

I can still remember the feeling that washed over me as I read that newsletter. My heart raced. I could hear it beating in my temples.  I was awash in hurt, shame and embarrassment.  And then anger and the desire to never let this happen again.

These days, as soon as something happens that remotely makes me feel overlooked, this feeling resurfaces and I go into full self protection mode.  It isn’t pretty.

I don’t tell you this story to drum up pity for poor 3 year old, or 6 year old Sarah.  Though 30 year old Sarah could probably use a hug…

No, I tell you this story because I know this is the mantra that cycles through my head when I am unhealthy.  I look for ways that I’ve been forgotten and overlooked in my current life.  I nurse my wounds. And it starts to get in the way of my real life.

I draw painful experiences in close to my heart, and let them take over all of the other feelings.  I give small things a megaphone to pronounce lies over how the world sees me, how my co-workers see me, how my friends see me.

Because of the old wounds, I give the lies power.

I build walls around my heart to keep out anything that could possibly hurt me.  The isolation is lonely and can feel pretty dark.  One feeling can spiral into more hurt feelings and pretty quickly I have a view of myself that is so far from the truth.

I’m tired of this cycle.  Of listening to the lies.  Of creating little worlds of isolation.

The best way that I know to combat these feelings is to bring the lies into the light.  To identify the things that I’ve given power and label them for what they are.  To humbly raise my hands in surrender to God.  Turn over the hurt to him; let go of my grip of self protection and allow myself to be vulnerable to being hurt again KNOWING that he has promised to protect me.

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Doing this is a constant cycle of surrender.  I acknowledge my feelings to God, turn them over to him and listen to his words of affirmation.

I am a child of God, chosen and dearly loved.  Never forgotten or overlooked.  Precious.  

It involves risk.  Risking that I can be hurt again.  Sadly, when something new happens, the cycle begins again.

I’m getting quicker at recognizing when I’m in an unhealthy place.  At flailing for help from those closest to me.  I just wish I could fall on my face a little more gracefully and a little less like a train-wreck.

If I never fully let go of the old wounds, I’ll never fully be able to deal with my present life without seeing it through a lens of pain.  I just don’t want that anymore.

I can’t forget what happened to me years ago.  But I can choose how much it determines my present reactions.  My hope is that by writing this down, making it a part of my public story, it will sink in that I can’t protect myself from ever being hurt again.

This is me, making an effort to trust God with the pain and allowing him to transform it into something healthy. I’m holding myself accountable for listening to the lies.

How about you?  What patterns are in your life where you’d like to transform the narrative?  When you are at your most unhealthy, what story from your past is just beneath the surface?