Truly Advent

Waiting is not an unfamiliar concept to me, despite the trend of instant gratification in our culture. This year has been one of waiting to hear the voice of God, to know what might be next in my personal and vocational journey, or even to experience what Jesus promises is the peace that passes all understanding. We all wait for something; I am not alone in my waiting. Maybe we wait for the grass to get greener, like on the other side of the fence. Perhaps we are waiting for the darkness to lift in our weary souls or for oppression to cease and God’s mercy to redeem. Whatever the waiting, having patience and hope in our world’s broken state is the hardest part.

Waiting was not unfamiliar to the people of God in Scripture. The Israelites were accustomed to waiting, and grew wounded, tired, ungrateful, and impatient in doing so. They were promised a redeemer, one born of a virgin, to come with healing in His wings, or in the original Hebrew language, the “corners” of his garment. He would lift them out of their oppression, brokenness, and place them on top of the world, in a bright shining city on a hill. He would save their lives through His grace, giving salvation and redemption to a world weary of waiting, losing hope.

Sometimes in my waiting, I forget to see the gifts in front of my face, like the first-world, lavish conditions I live in. I forget that I eat three meals a day and have more left for another. I have family and friends that love, understand, and truly know me. I can read, write, and express myself without fear of losing my life for speaking what I believe to be true. Sometimes, when the waiting is almost unbearable, I even forget that regardless of the world around me, there is One who loves me unconditionally, and offered the gift of His Son that I might know eternity with Him in Heaven. Somehow, the weariness of my soul wins, and I find myself identifying with Israel in their waiting. Impatient for my Redeemer to be done healing my broken heart or mending the ways I see pain in the world.

This Christmas, I suppose it is important for me to have seen darkness, to know pain in the world or brokenness in my soul. To become familiar with the struggle and tension of waiting for the Israelites is only half of the story. Identifying with the pain and suffering of Christ paints a new picture for me of what He did becoming the “light of the world”. At Christmas I get to remember the waiting of the Israelites and be reminded that we will continue to wait for the return of Christ to us, honestly hoping for Heaven. Just like the weary world rejoiced as Christ came once long ago, He will come again. Just as He brought the law of love, and the Gospel of peace, He will come again to bring completion to the redemption of the world, and even my soul.

His light, in Christ, is what we see now on that city on the hill and what we will see made new in us as we allow Him to change our hearts. The light He brings asks nothing of us to earn it, but invites us to “taste and see” its goodness even now. Will you join me in celebrating the gift of God’s light in a dark world through Christ this Christmas? And will you remind me to continue hoping for heaven when I seem to forget that the best gift has already been given?

Gratefully,

Emily

Had to include this because she's so darn cute!!

The Potter and His Clay

My neighbor and I went on a walk about a month ago and I have been thinking about something she said ever since. We were talking about the healing and redeeming God does in our lives. Sometimes “rebuilding” seems to be a better word for it. She said something along the lines of, “God’s redemption of our lives takes the whole lifetime.” He’s constantly in the business of rebuilding, renovation, and recreating.

I have been spending a lot of time holding my newborn niece these days. She is fragile, tiny, with miniature fingers and toes, making sweet sounds, and is vulnerable in this life stage. It reminds me of my own soul’s fragile and vulnerable nature, and the ease with which it is broken or shattered. I’ve prayed that God would break my heart for what breaks His. I just didn’t realize it was my broken heart that needed tending to.

Sometimes when I am in a broken place, I see the Lord at His potter’s wheel. He has picked up the pieces of my soul named anger and pride, the ones with sharp edges and jagged sides. He lingers over the pieces with gutted insides, named insecurity and rejection. He picked up those pieces scattered about that I thought He had long since forgotten, hurtful words and lies I have believed. He gathered those dried out and sharp shards, and begins to see something new. Collecting much needed moisture from my tears of sadness and grief, He begins to turn the mixture into malleable clay.

Sitting before that potter’s wheel, the One who sees acknowledges each detail and knows the perfect place for each piece as He begins to rebuild. With gentleness and grace He leans His hands into my clay soul’s sides, with perfect pressure at each point. He spends hours shaping, more so, perfecting.

With indignation I ask Him why He made my clay soul so fragile, so easily breakable. Why not make a concrete disposition or one not so quick to fret with life’s shifting sands. He coolly speaks the truth that if He did, I would have no need for Him altogether. It’s that moment of the conversation I’m having with the great potter that He tells me He’s a good and trustworthy artist. Duly humbled, I acknowledge that this potter works with care, purpose, and trustworthy goodness. This potter, after all, is the great comforter, wonderful counselor, almighty God, everlasting Father, the prince of peace.

So then, in this lifetime of being rebuilt, re-crafted, newly shaped, my prayer becomes:

Lord, let my soul be breakable enough in the places it needs, but not so fragile that the shattered pieces cannot be picked back up once more.

2 Cor. 4:7-10; 16-18

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.

We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. Through suffering, our bodies continue to share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies.

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.