Hebrew Bible and Christian Scriptures

So, in light of my post yesterday about knowing both sides of every story, I present to you this article on Pastor Ted Haggard, found in GQ and written by the guy who wrote this.

I want to say up front that I am not a fan of Haggard’s for any number of reasons, including some comments he made to the general assembly of NYWC this past November. I find his theology to be far away from mine and his orthopraxy to be wanting. I join some of his congregants in registering their skepticism that his honesty is true.

All that being said, I swore to know both sides of stories and here’s a great opportunity to hear Haggard’s.

There are sensational things in here about his sexual proclivities that is being buzzed about on the internet – what he did with whom and so on and so forth – but I am not interested in those. I am interested in how he talked about his church. I quote:

Ted’s true sore spot, the thing that drains the life from his voice, is the way he and Gayle were treated by their church in the wake of the scandal. “Here I was, feeling like I’d wasted my life,” Ted says. “And they just sent me away.”When Ted resigned from New Life, a board of church-appointed overseers presented him with a separation agreement that required him to cut off all contact with members of the church, stay away from the media, perform no ministry-related work, and move his family out of Colorado. As severance, the church would provide fourteen months’ salary for him and Gayle (about $200,000) and assorted other benefits. Ted obediently signed the agreement, but he now believes it was excessively harsh treatment for a family in the midst of a major crisis—especially since, well, isn’t providing mercy for sinners sort of the entire point of Christianity?

As Roose rightly points out in the following paragraph, this has been Haggard’s party line since the incident. Many congregants at New Life – including acquaintances of mine – have been interviewed saying they took the only action they knew how to heal from the abuses he bestowed upon them. I do not want to take away from that reality or the fact that those people felt completely betrayed by their spiritual leader. And perhaps that monologue is just as two-faced as his critics believe. Or perhaps it’s not that simple. I have no idea.

Having multiple sides of the story does not mean that any situation is black and white. There is hurt on both sides and pain on all sides and deep damage. I felt my heart go out to Haggard’s family – especially his children – and his wife as I read this article. There are no guidebooks to surviving public disgrace and I deeply hope they had and have community around them to help them reconstruct.

I don’t have any grand conclusions from this different than my last post. It’s also not the only event which has happened in my life recently to remind me that all sides of stories deserve their due, regardless of how angry or nauseous or indignant any particular side makes me. So I offer this example of potential dissonance to you, my readers. Do with it what you will.

(this is possibly the final entry in my guest series on christmas, advent and other such things. if you still want to write, please comment below. i’ll post it whenever you send it.)

cara jane – or ceej – loves bangles. and riding on camels. and abbreviations. and coffee. and being martin luther. and auburn. she really loves auburn. a fellow india traveler, cara jane has a deep and abiding love for the Kingdom and scripture and how their interplay is key for the future of the Church. her relationship with both constantly remind me i should be intentional with my own. her writings are completely worth your time and found at these are my thoughts.

I’ve noticed recently that I hate waiting. If my fancy drink at Starbucks takes longer than 2 minutes to make, I’m wondering why I didn’t just get brewed coffee. If I pull up to a yellow light and the car in front of me chooses to stop instead of hurry through it, I’m frustrated that I’m being forced to endure the red light. Check-out lines at grocery stores, drive-thru lanes at restaurants, ticket lines at movies… so much waiting!!

I’m not a big fan of spiritual waiting either. When I pray, I want to know the outcome immediately. When thinking about my future, I want to know now how God is eventually going to use the gifts he’s given me, the desires he’s instilled in me, the education I’ve received. When walking through seasons of grief or suffering, I want to know what is on the other side (if there is an other side?), to understand the purpose, to see the bigger picture rather than the miserable snapshot.

I think the reason waiting is so hard is that it involves a lack of control. If I had any control at all in the situation, I certainly wouldn’t be waiting. When I’m waiting, however, whether it be in the line at Starbucks or in the pain of grief, I find myself with ZERO control.

Advent is about waiting—but not the anxious, annoying type of waiting. Advent is about the eager, expecting type of waiting. It’s about HOPE. It’s about sitting on the edge of your seat to see what God is going to do. Like other times of waiting, though, it’s a time that requires a realization of my lack of control and a recognition of the one from whom and through whom and to whom are all things (Romans 11.36), the one who is before all things and in whom all things hold together (Colossians 1.17).

Why should I esteem him in such a way? How can I willingly admit my lack of control and trust him to be over all things well? Because this same one “made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2.7). He humbled himself, entered the human situation, and experienced sorrow, grief, pain, loneliness, temptation, suffering.

We celebrate and are grateful for his first coming while patiently, eagerly, expectantly waiting for his second. Come, Lord Jesus.

(part of my series on advent, christmas and other such things. i’ll continue to post these as people send them, so if you still want to contribute, don’t hesitate)

carl and i attended truett together, although carl graduated ahead of me. my first conversation with carl was about how he was teaching himself middle persian. i loved that it was specifically ‘middle’ persian.  one of the most brilliant people i’ve ever encountered, carl currently lives his life as a sustainable farmer in central texas. besides offering much wisdom on issues of theology and missiology, carl blogs about how both relate with ecology at song of hibernia.

Advent, as we often hear, is a time of hope.  To hope some the themes of peace, joy, and love, but the dominant theme is hope.  Hope can mean many things.  The advertisements that I see and hear during this season suggest that our greatest hope is that we may receive a particular gift.  The worst of these ads suggest that peace and joy, and perhaps even love, depend on the fulfillment of this hope.  Hope can also be a type of escape from overwhelming circumstances.  This is hope against hope.  It is found in those who manage to survive by pretending that things will get better, though all the evidence says otherwise.  One of these types of hope is confined to our circumstances and our own ability to control them.  The other is an attempt to escape our circumstances entirely.  The hope of Advent is something altogether different.

This type of hope is most clearly seen in what J.R.R. Tolkien called the eucatastrophe, a term he coined for what he said lies at the heart of the fairy story.  In an essay developed from a lecture on the topic of fairy stories he lamented that they are relegated to the nursery on the grounds that they are not serious and do not reflect real life.  Fairy stories, like much of Tolkien’s own work, have been maligned as escapist, but Tolkien contended that they hit reality head-on.  Like more “realist” literature, which tends toward tragedy, fairy stories put their heroes through trials and have them suffer.  By way of events outside the heroes’ control and despite their best efforts, both the tragedy and the fairy story lead to catastrophic defeat.  That is where the tragedy ends.  There may be something positive to take away, perhaps a lesson learned by those in the story who witness the tragedy, but these are like crumbs that fall from the table.  In the fairy story the moment of catastrophe is averted by an unexpected grace.  This is the eucatastrophe (using the Greek prefix eu-, meaning good).  It is not a cheat, not a deus ex machina (though it may be that in a badly-written fairy story).  It is not an escape from the harsh realities of life.  The grace only works because it is unexpected.  It is not the way things normally work.  That is what makes it a moment of grace.  If the tragedy tells us how bad life can get, the fairy story tells us that it does not always end that way.  The fairy story is a story of hope that is neither escapist nor self-reliant.

This aspect of the fairy story is illustrated perfectly by one of this year’s holiday film releases, Disney’s Tangled.  (Warning:  this paragraph contains spoilers.)  At the climax Flynn lies dying, and Rapunzel has the power to save him with her magic hair.  The only way she can get the witch to allow it is to pledge to be her willing slave forever.  Flynn does not want his life bought with such a price.  He is willing to give up his life for her chance of freedom, but it would be freedom in a world without him.  She is willing to give up her freedom forever to keep him alive with no chance of them ever being together.  It appears to be a classic tragedy.  Flynn manages to alter the situation slightly by cutting off Rapunzel’s hair, freeing her from the witch’s control, but assures his own death in the process.  What would have been tragedy is turned to the eucatastrophe of the fairy story by the grace of the power of healing.  It had been lost in the cutting of the hair, but makes an unexpected appearance in the shedding of a tear.  The use of the tear as a vehicle of grace is most appropriate.  Rather than being escapist, and fixing the problem as if it had never happened, grace appears in the midst of suffering and grief.  Rapunzel does not emerge unscathed, either.  Her hair does not magically grow back to restore everything to the way that it was.  With the one exception of the special moment of grace, her gift of healing is lost forever.

Tolkien wrote of the Incarnation as the eucatastrophe of human existence.  It is a moment of wild, unexpected grace that diverts humanity from our reckless tumble toward a tragic fate.  Rather than promising an escape from our circumstances, God enters our world and shares our existence.  While most fairy stories are signposts that remind us that grace is a possibility even in the darkest of circumstances, there is nothing in them to assure us that our situation will not be one of those tragedies.  The Incarnation is different.  Here it is the Creator of the universe writing the fairy story directly into history.  This is our own story; not simply the story of humanity, but the story of all creation.  No matter how bad our story may look, in the end hope has the final word.

We begin Advent looking toward the return of the very embodiment of that hope:  the one who has conquered death, and still bears bears the marks of his suffering, his refusal to take the easy way out.  We go through Advent hearing about swords being beaten into ploughshares, wolves and lambs eating together, deserts being turned into lush paradises, arriving finally at the act of God taking on flesh and entering into our predicament.  He enters in abject poverty, in a family far from home.  He begins life as a refugee, fleeing from a powerful man who kills even his own sons to protect his position, and thinks nothing of wiping out all the children of a small village.  The promise has been made, but even in our own time the lambs still have to flee the wolves.  Ploughshares are still being beaten into swords.  Fertile land is being turned into deserts.  The world around us appears to be heading for a tragic end.  But that baby in the feed trough in the stable is the thing we least expect.  This is the grace that changes the way the story will end from catastrophe into a happily-ever-after.  And so we hope.

(this is part of my guest series on christmas, advent and other such things. if you’d like to contribute – even if you send it after christmas – let me know in the comments below.)

i met dustin about a year ago in class, but got to know him while we were teammates in india. the universe decided we should be friends, so it saw fit to have us sit next to each other on every single flight and then for both of us to get pneumonia in jaipur. for once, i am thankful for the universe’s meddling. i can honestly say that dustin is my polar opposite in about a thousand ways, but also one of my favorite people at truett. he blogs at a fire in my bones.

Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and even the days we lost loved ones.  Spring cleaning, fall festivals.  There is something about the yearly cycle that means something to us.  Every year seems like the right interval to celebrate and recollect, to discuss what has happened over the year and be thankful for it, or to resolve something new for the year (or in actually, the week) to come.  When it starts to get colder, I’m reminded of how much I love pajamas and sweaters and hot chocolate and movies.  When Spring rolls around and it starts getting warmer I remember how much I love the outdoors, and how much I want to play Ultimate Frisbee with the folks from college, or else get back on the volleyball court with seminarians.   As summer starts I remember being on a lifeguard stand,  considering what to do that evening, and having absolutely no responsibility.  When it gets hot—like so hot your face melts off—I remember Kuwait, and I remember a different life-stage altogether.  When it gets hot and humid next year and I sweat my soul out of my pores, I’m sure I will think of India and what it means to encounter a whole new culture.  The annual cycle, the year means something to us.

A few years back, as Easter was approaching, I started thinking about other traditions have this whole week where they consider the resurrection, and I started to wonder about the first of its kind.  What it must have been like from Friday through Sunday morning.  And now I do that kind of thinking annually.

I once heard a preacher, for whom I have a great deal of respect, say that Christmas was important almost entirely because it paves the way for Easter.  I think he’s completely wrong.  There is something about the Incarnation that cannot be subsumed into the Easter story.  The coming of God With Us cannot be reduced to a preposition in the sentence of the life of Christ.  Something changes in the Incarnation; something is made new.  Christ’s life is not simply summarized in his death and resurrection—that just makes him the best zombie story of all time.  No, there is more to his life, his concern for the physically crippled, the fiscally impoverished, the psychologically suffering.  His taking on of flesh is a pivotal event in the history of the κοσμος.

So what would it be like to remember the Advent for Advent’s sake.  Christ had not yet come.  The people existed under a system of oppression by a military power, and many gave their lives in futile attempts to throw off the dominating power, but to no avail.  That something was broken was apparent.  They were waiting even if they didn’t know for what, or until when.  The signs were vague, and the descriptions were translucent at best.  They did not even know that the time was upon them, that their day was pregnant with meaning,  so they waited… and waited… and waited.  This year I’m practicing waiting.  They waited for the first coming, and we wait for the second.  But I am practicing waiting like they did so I can know how to wait like I should.

Waiting is not passive.  It is not a mere resignation that something might happen… eventually.  Waiting and hoping in Scripture are inseparably joined.  And so as Zechariah did, as Mary did, as my friends-recently-turned-fathers did, we wait.  We wait expectantly, and expect hopefully, for this adventure we are assigned is pregnant with promise.

Since at least 1948, the cultural answer for conflict in Colombia has been violence. The guerrillas want power, the cartels want power, the government wants power. The only way to achieve it is to kill anyone standing in your way. In similar stories to thousands of others in conflict countries – there are few other lives provided to the citizens of Colombia than to participate in the cycle. So the question – which I pose as a social worker and a person of faith – is where is hope? How can things ever change?

During my weeks in Colombia this summer, I had the privilege of spending time with inmates in two of the prisons in Medellin. After a morning in Bellavista, I scribbled down some thoughts that I haven’t known how to share. As we move towards the new year, I want to process the events of my year. The one which I have processed the least is my time in Colombia, so the trend should start there. After several failed attempts of crafting my scribbles into something larger, I am simply going to offer them in their entirety.

Upon entering Bellavista and after being fingerprinted and patted down, we walked past the soccer field. That field is where they used to play futbol with other inmate’s heads. Bellavista, you see, was once the most dangerous prison in the world. The stories I heard that day of its ‘heyday’ would turn anyone’s stomach. Now, however, it’s controlled. My friend Weimar tells me the most dangerous now is in Venezuela. Anyway, we walked through the courtyard and up the stairs, being jubilantly greeting by prisoners and guards alike. I was even invited to play chess! We were lead up a narrow flight of stairs to a room full of school chairs. Discarded clothes laid neatly upon them – the men had changed their for their upcoming baptisms.

I stood in a room reserved for reconciliation counseling and restorative justice and drank in the juxtapositions of healing, freedom and barbed wire.

After being offered coffee – yes, hospitality is holy even in prison – we were lead into the ‘temple’. Built and maintained by the prisoners, their church building is a bright room with plastic chairs and proclamations of their faith painted on the walls. I should explain here – the churhces in Bellavista are organized by patio (cell block). We met the pastor of this particular patio, a gentleman named Carlos. He was serving time for homicide, but like so many others found a new life while in prison. He explained that 15 men would be baptized that morning. Each had been led to faith by a fellow prisoner and each had been through a class before being allowed to make the confession.

The worship service was already happening – deeply off tune but achingly passionate singing filled the temple. I could actually feel their need to tell God how much they loved him and who he was to them; tangible joy overwhelmed me.

A baby pool was brought in filled with water. One by one the men were called forward. In white robes, they loudly confessed their faith in the living Christ. The pastor proclaimed that they were burried in Christ and raised by the Spirit as two staff members of the prison ministry dunked them under the water. And with that simple action, they demonstrated a change that had already begun.

We talk a lot in faith circles about change which must come with confession. I’ve rarely seen it demonstrated as strongly as I did that morning. Those men who were sentenced for heinous crimes stood up and rejected the plan for life their culture provided. They chose no to perpetual violence and yes to mercy and grace. They chose no to the cycle that runs through Colombia like a disease run amok and chose yes to reconciled life. It was possibly the holiest thing I’ve witnessed.

(this post is part of my guest series on advent, christmas, tradition and the like. if you’d like to contribute, comment below!)

joell and i met on a moving sidewalk in heathrow airport about five years ago. we had a casual friendship until about six months later when one day i stood in front of her desk at work and demanded to be her friend. i am a treasure, eh? but it worked and we haven’t really looked back since. sometime, make sure to ask me about my fear of ostriches, how we almost died in the back of a van in rwanda and how joell feels about london at christmas. she blogs at from cynicism to hope

I grew up in a family that is big on Christmas traditions.  Every December 4th my sister and I would slip our shoes out on the front porch (Christmas list tucked neatly inside) and wait in breathless anticipation for the sound of the bell, the sound of the arrival of St. Nicholas.  St. Nicholas was the bringer of my favorite candies and the one who would deliver my wish list to the Christ child.  Every child who follows this tradition knows that St. Nicholas brings candy (or fruit) for those who’ve been good or sticks and coal for the naughty.  Now one might think that eating candy out of a recently used shoe would be disgusting, but this was Christmas for me…and it tasted o’ so good.

Yet another of our Christmas traditions landed on Sunday evenings, specifically the four Sunday evenings prior to Christmas.  After we got out of evening service (yes, they made me go to evening service), we would rush home to celebrate advent.  Mom would prepare our special snacks and Dad would pull out a bottle of Welch’s Sparkling Cider, purchased just for the occasion. It was always my favorite part to be honest and I must say that even to this day, I’m a little bitter that there’s not more in that giant bottle.  I digress.

When all the snacky snacks were gathered, we would sit down around the dining room table.  My dad would place his well-weathered Bible in front of him and flip to the back, to the greatest story ever told…the story of the Christ child.  Each week he would read a section of the story, leading us deeper and deeper into the reality of God made flesh.  We read about a census, an angel, a long journey…a birth.  We heard of shepherds and of wise men…and then it was our turn, our turn to journey, to announce his coming, to worship.

Every week we would light a candle on our advent wreath, one my grandmother painted for us with a giant angel bursting from the center.  We would hold hands and sing, one carol for each week leading up to his birth. We all had our favorites. Mine was always “Joy to the World.”  My mother’s, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”  I remember those days.  My dad’s deep bass voice leading the way, my mom’s soft hand in mine, her voice croaking out carol after carol.  You see, my mom’s not the best of singers.  She will tell you so herself…but the thing about my mom is that she’s sincere.  She means every word she sings, even if it isn’t pretty.

I remember those nights so clearly.  I remember the expectation, waiting for our advent celebration to begin.  I remember reading the story, eager to skip to the end…you know, the good part.  I remember lighting the candle, a symbol of remembrance, of hope, of peace, of expectation…of longing.  I remember these nights because I stand in a long line of people who have waited eagerly for God, who have waited for his coming.  And as I sit here writing this post, I am waiting once again.  For the God made flesh.  For the One who was promised.  For the bringer of hope.  For the One who will end all our pain.  I am waiting…

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s Strength and Consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

Come, Lord Jesus, come….

(this is part of my series on advent, christmas and other such things. if you’d like to contribute, please comment below)

several years ago, my life shifted dramatically. in the midst of the emotional debris from that shift, mike stepped in and offered hope; that hope has since taken the form of the onion. mike and his sweet family are key parts of my life here in waco and i cannot imagine it without them. the only one of my close favorites who is in full-time vocational ministry, mike always offers valuable insights from that section of his life which i am grateful for. he doesn’t blog, but after reading this entry, i am sure you will join me in encouraging him to!

The scene is more lowly than idyllic.  A child has been born and wrapped in cloth.  He lies in a manger because no guest room can be found.  We’ve heard the story so many times that we can miss the stark backwardness of it all.  The Son of God should have come in trappings of greatness.  He should have been born to privilege.  Yet he spends the first night of his human life lying in a feeding trough.

There is a scandal of lowliness in the nativity.

But the scandal goes deeper than this.  The child is born in low estate, but the true wonder of the nativity is found in the birth itself.  The One through whom and for whom all things were made has become a part of his creation.  The Infinite has taken on finite existence.  The One who sustains all things by his powerful word has come completely dependent on the sustenance of another.  God the Son has taken on human flesh and become the Son of man.  And on this night and many to follow, he lies helpless and dependent in the frail existence of a newborn child.

There is also a scandal of humanness to be found.

This is the force of the incarnation.  The great has become small.  The infinite finite.  The uncontainable contained.  The Apostle Paul put it like this: For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich. (2 Cor. 8:9, NIV)

Augustine waxed poetic on the same theme: He lies in a manger, but contains the world. He feeds at the breast, but also feeds the angels. He is wrapped in swaddling clothes, but vests us with immortality. He found no place in the inn, but makes for Himself a temple in the hearts of believers. In order that weakness might become strong, strength became weak. (Sermon 190 3, 4)

The rich has become poor.  The strong has become weak.  And all this that we might become rich and strong through him.

We are used to speaking of the love that led Jesus to the cross.

Perhaps we should also speak of the love that led him to his birth.

In the nativity, God the Son has poured himself out and taken human form, and in this we see the nature of God on display.  Jesus, “Who being in very nature God, did not consider his equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” (Phil. 2:6-7, NIV)  It is in the nature of God to pour himself on behalf of others, and though it is scandalous to us, it is natural to him.  Such is the wonder of the God we serve.  Such is the splendor of a newborn baby who bears the weight of the world.  Such is the beauty of Christmas.

(this is part of my series of guest posts on advent, christmas and other such things. if you want to contribute, please comment below)

i have known emmy for a long time. as in, i used to babysit for her and her fantastic brother long time. over the years, i have had the privilege of watching her grow and journeying with her and she is legitimately one of my favorite people on earth. she is also always one of my favorite parts of visits to bucks county. we share a love of harry potter, helping people become healthy creatures and food. emmy also writes a great blog on beauty that i’ve talked about before on here, but here’s another link: a lady in love.

In Defense of Crafts: Handmade Christmas 2010

My boyfriend was sitting at his desk perusing online shopping websites when he called over to me while I was half asleep on his bed,

“Em, what does your brother want for Christmas?”

Without skipping a beat I whispered back:

“Justice.”

It’s true—if you were to ask my brother Peter what he most wanted for Christmas his answer would be something along the lines of “clean drinking water for all children,” “to free a slave,” “to ban Glenn Beck from public life”—oh wait that’s all I want for Christmas.  Anyway… the point is that my brother has a huge heart and is so much better than seeing the bigger picture than I am.

Inspired by my brother’s ability to see the bigger picture I have committed to celebrate Christmas in a healthier, more responsible way by making as many handmade gifts as possible.

I know that making a lot of your gifts sounds really intimidating especially during the super busy holiday season but let me try to convince you that making your gifts will make your holiday season more jolly.

Making your gifts keeps you away from the angry crowds. Of course it’s impossible to avoid all crowds—the shoppers in JoAnn’s, Michaels and Hobby Lobby can be just as unruly as the mom’s in JC Penny’s—but the craft stores usually aren’t as hustle & bustle-y.

Making your gifts fosters a spirit of thanksgiving.  Ironically handmade presents often cost more in the end than their assembled-in-China counterparts but I think that the important difference between the two is that taking time to hand make gifts gives you time to think about the person you are giving the gift to.  It’s impossible not to think about the time you Dad waited in line for 6 hours at Toys’R’Us to get you a Furbee when you are 3 hours into making him a snoopy ornament.  You’ll have plenty of time to think about all the wonderful things your significant other has done for you over the last year while assembling an awesome scrapbook.  And by the time you lay the last ceramic tile on that jewelry box you made your best friend you’ll have already thought about that time she was on the phone with you til 4 am listening to you cry over that guy who works at Starbucks and the time she picked you up when you had a flat tire.

Making your gifts ignites your creativity. It’s the most beautiful and inspirational time of the year but so many of us miss out on incorporating that beauty into our lives—crafting your gifts allows you to appreciate the beauty of the holiday as well as develop your creativity and skills.

Making your gifts gives you an outlet for holiday stress. It’s no secret that the holidays can be stressful—family gatherings, shopping, sleet, dark nights and cold mornings can often bring out the worst in people so finding a way to de-stress around this time of the year is essential.  Escaping is about as important a part of the holidays as Santa and plastic Jesus lawn ornaments so take some justifiable alone time to work on your handmade gifts—people can’t argue with your disappearance if they know you are working on a present for them  Also, I should point out that crafting is a cathartic experience for most (as long as they set do-able goals and crafting boundaries for themselves).  Cutting, gluing, sowing, stapling, and designing although sometimes tedious can restore a sense of calm and purpose which is what we are all striving for during the holidays!

Making your gifts makes you a more mindful consumer. When I decided to make most of my presents this year I felt a bit… guilty.  I thought that everyone would resent my handmade gifts or think that I was cheap but then I asked myself “What would a handmade gift mean to me?  Would I be happy accepting a handmade present?”  and the answer was “YES!” and a resounding “YES!” The more I thought about it the more I came to realize that I have everything I could ever really need from a consumer’s standpoint—most of us do.  So rather than racking my brain trying to figure out what to get a person who already has everything I decided it was ok to give them something that only I could ever give them-something I handmade.

Anyway, I hope that you have a holiday filled with inspiration, thanksgiving and joy!

xo

Em

(this is part of my advent series of guest posts. if you’d like to participate, please comment below)

tiffani and i met on the second floor of the harris house when we both worked for baylor university’s department of spiritual life (then called ‘university ministries’). after adventuring through kenya and a subequent year in waco, tiff moved to LA to work on a PhD at UCLA. so clearly, she’s got some game. tiff is a fellow pop-culture enthusiast who shares my passion for developing students into the best version of themselves. she blogs at tiff’s life now.

“Advent is about anticipating the birth of Christ. It’s about longing, desire, that which is yet to come. That which isn’t here yet. And so we wait, expectantly. Together. With an ache. Because all is not right. Something is missing.” Rob Bell

When I was younger, I was an optimist. Most of the time, I still am. But let’s face it, if I were to be honest, sometimes it’s really hard to have hope. I don’t mean the easy kind of “I hope it snows,” “I hope I pass this class,” or “I hope I make it to the party on-time.” I mean the hard kind of hope, the “I hope this treatment works,” “I hope that this is the year I meet my husband,” or “I hope this time I can carry this baby full-term” kind of hope. The hope that after a while feels foolish and futile.

At least it is hard for me.

Most of the year, I spend my prayer time with my face screwed up in concentration, wrestling with God for these hopes I have – for myself and for my friends and family, and often for people I’ve never met. I can acknowledge that in the last three years, I’ve tried to will the Lord to do things by force of will, rather than trusting in His faithfulness.

I guess that is why I look so forward to Advent. Most of the year, I am battling against the cynicism of the world. (cue Jerry Maguire quote in brain) The world says that my hopes don’t really matter much in the big scheme of things. The world says that God is too busy to care about my little hopes. The world shouts loudly that if God doesn’t care enough to establish peace in the Middle East or Korea, or doesn’t end the genocide in the Sudan, then he certainly doesn’t care enough to intervene in the paltry little needs of my life.

And most of the people in the world who are shouting these things have been disappointed along the way – they have felt the sting of un-met, unfulfilled hope. I can so totally relate. That is why Advent is so important to me.

Each December, I get a reminder that God has not forgotten, that God does care, that God did work in the past and will work in the future – and is working now. Each December, the binding that squeezes my heart as I think about being 36 and single and childless loosens a bit, and I can breathe as I remember that God is faithful, that God loves. Each December, I remember that my hope is not futile, but expectant, that I wait – despite the ache in my heart – for God to enter in, knowing He will.

Rob Bell says that Advent whispers to us in the darkness of the world, “The not yet will be worth it.”

Each Advent season, I remember that there will be an answer for the hopes of my heart. I remember that the God of the Universe (and beyond!) entered into this world, because he cared. I remember that this God did not enter in the way that was expected by anyone, and thus in my expectant hope, I can release my expectations for the ways in which he will care for me – I can prepare to be surprised. Each advent, I am renewed in my hopes for myself, my family, my friends, and those far and wide who I have never met (nor ever will meet).

It is this renewal, during the Advent season, which helps me to hope during the rest of the year. It is this remembering that causes me to get from December to December – with the same hopes in my heart – even after only having gone on one date this year. It is the confidence in God’s caring, regained during Advent, that allows me to remember that no matter where I am or what life stage I’m in, God has not forgotten me and I can be fully present and full of joy in that place – despite the fact that something is missing.

Finally, during Advent, the longings of my heart, which are pushed down and aside to make way for the rest of my life all through the year, these longings are let loose and I can rest in them, despite the ache, rest in expectant excitement of what is going to come. And in knowing that whatever it is – it is going to be good.