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A couple years ago I spent ten months teaching English on an island in the Middle East.  Since I was American, and the country was friendlier towards non-Muslims than many of the countries over there, I got to attend church on a regular basis.  I will never ever forget the Friday (the Islamic holy day is Friday, so the weekend was Friday and Saturday, with church services and mosque services – or whatever you call them – on Friday) when the Nativity came to life for me for the very first time.

Don’t get me wrong, I had grown up in a Christian household.  I knew the Nativity story front and back.  I even had a giant-sized coloring book of the story.  But it wasn’t anything more to me than that – a cool story that was SUPPOSED to mean a lot to me, but instead it was the reason for the biggest holiday of the year and lots of presents.  At least, that’s how I saw it.

And then God shook things up and laughed.

That Advent season in the Middle East was like nothing I had ever experienced before.  The Sunday before Christmas, the Children’s Ministry did their traditional re-enactment of the Christmas story.  And somehow, those kids brought the story to life for me.  Maybe it was because I was in the same area of the world as Jesus had been when he was born.  But I think it was the fact that not all the kids were white, and the shepherds didn’t wear bathrobes, and the wisemen wore thobes (the white robe-like thing that you see men from the Middle East wearing in pictures), and Mary was Indian.  Somehow it was just more real and relevant to me than ever before.  And I got it!  I finally understood why Christmas was such a big deal!

I understood that Christmas is the culmination of thousands of years of yearning and heartache and faith that the Messiah would come.  I understood that Christmas was just a precursor to the real show – Easter, when the entire WORLD would be healed.  And that’s a wonderful thing.

So this Christmas, as you sit in church and dream about the presents under the tree, or the meal, or whatever it is you’re looking forward to this season, ask God to make the Nativity real for you.  Ask Him to bring it to life for you in a way that it never before has.  Maybe you need to look a homeless man in the eyes as you smile at him.  Maybe you need to do something nice for a family member.  Maybe something else completely.  But ask.  For once you grasp the Nativity, you begin to grasp the importance and beauty of the Story.  And then you can let it shape you.

May your Christmas be Merry and full of Light!

Sorry I’m late with this post.  I really DO intend to post every Friday.  This Friday just got a bit busy, and I hadn’t written it early.

I’m pretty sure at some point growing up I asked my mother why we gave each other gifts at Christmas.  And her response was probably “Because God gave us Jesus and it’s a way to remember that,” or something along those lines.  I say, “was probably” because I don’t actually remember the conversation and until a couple days ago, this is what I would have said and definitely believed.  And really, I bet if you ask most Christian families, they’d probably give you a similar answer.  If you asked someone who didn’t know the Christmas story (or, at least didn’t know the story that involved a baby and a manger and where Santa was nowhere in sight) they’d probably say something along the lines of, “because it’s Christmas”.

Because really, why DO we give gifts?  To show friends and family that we love them?  Because someone gave us a gift last year and so we want to make sure we return the favor this year?  Because it’s the thing to do?  Because it makes us look good?  WHY? I mean, there are lots of reasons; all of what I’ve said and more!

But, why, as Christians, is it important that we give gifts at Christmastime?  Why is it important that we walk that fine line between gift-giving and giving into commercialism and materialism?  Because it’s important, that’s why!

Do you remember as a young kid (and maybe still, I know I’m sometimes still this way!) thinking and dreaming about opening your presents Christmas morning?  On the rare occasion that Mom got the presents wrapped before Christmas morning, I’d sit and stare at each perfectly packaged present, trying to figure out what was in each one. But the typical Christmas at my house was even better because we WOULDN’T get to see the presents until Christmas morning, and I could let my mind go wild with imagination of what my parents might’ve bought me.  When I was in elementary school I dreamed of owning my own tiara.  In middle school, the much-desired purity ring.  In high school, I dreamed my parents got me a brand-new Volkswagon Bug (it was my dream car at the time).  I’m good at dreaming.  I LOVE anticipating things – the good things that is.

And really, for me, the anticipation is what makes something extra-special.  If I have to wait for what seems like FOR-EV-ER for something, when I finally get it, I treasure it so much more.  I remember that moment so much better.

And I can only imagine what it must be like to anticipate, to dream of, to want something for thousands of years – like the Hebrews did with the Messiah.  Thousands of years before Jesus walked the Earth, God promised the Hebrews a Messiah, someone who would come save them.  And from that moment on, their souls yearned for Him.  Thousands of years!  I mean, I thought my three years of waiting for my purity ring was hard.  The five years of waiting for a car of my very own wasn’t a walk in the park.  I’m currently thinking twenty-some years of waiting for Mr.GodPickedForMe is difficult.  But none of that, no matter how much MY soul yearns for those things and experiences comes anywhere close to what the Israelites went through, what the world, really went through while waiting for a Savior.

So when staring at the gifts under the tree this year; when you get to the point where you are SO sure you can’t wait a moment longer to open them up and know what’s inside, wait.  And remember that God sent His son, and that the Hebrews had waited thousands of years for Him.  And that sometimes, in fact, often, waiting, makes you value a thing just that more.  Waiting makes receiving that much more special.

My prayer for you this week is that you yearn with anticipation for His second coming, for that is what we are waiting for now.  Anticipate.  Dream.  Prepare!

Sunday night, as I walked out of church, a large, fluffy snowflake brushed my cheek as it whirled through the air, nearing the end of its pell-mell tumble from the clouds far above me.  And I smiled.

My parents have owned Angie for something like ten years now.  They weren’t looking to get another dog; they had just gone for a walk with their two little lap-sized poodles one Sunday morning and were followed home by a black dog whose nose came to their knees.  They weren’t sure at first if they were going to keep her, and even called the pound.  But the pound didn’t have a place for her, and was actually sad to hear about her escape, since she had just been adopted a day or so before.  So, after a day or two of getting to know her, and a couple weeks of the pound not calling with news of the owners wanting their dog back, we adopted her.

She’s the perfect dog.  Rarely barks – only softly “woofs” when the mailman comes to the door.  She’s gentle, sweet, and quiet.  She doesn’t bark to be let in; she scratches the plastic with her front paw.  Angie doesn’t even push her bowl around when she gets hungry.  In fact, sometimes the only way my parents know she’s hungry is when her stomach growls.  She never asks for anything – except for walks.

Angie loves to take walks around the neighborhood.  There is nothing as exciting to her as when her leash is pulled off its hook and snapped onto her red collar.  In the winter, as coats are put on, she bounds from one person to the next, daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, her favorite pastime is going to happen.  On the nights that her treat doesn’t happen, she doesn’t mop or complain; she’ll just watch your every move with those big, pleading, gentle brown eyes of hers.  During the winter, when Mom is home and hard at work grading her students’ papers, Angie will, oh every fifteen minutes or so, walk up to Mom and place her long, black-with-now-gray nose on Mom’s knee and just look at her for a minute or two.  Silently letting Mom know that she’s hoping.  She’s not begging; she’s almost ashamed to ask; she’s mostly hoping.   And the moment Mom goes to put her tennis shoes on, oh the joy!  Running from one side of the house to the other to see if any of the other family members are coming.  Running behind Mom to make sure she’s going in the direction of the wonderful lead.

And I wonder.  I wonder if maybe we, when approaching God, shouldn’t be more like Angie.  Not constantly barking our demands, or warnings of approaching danger.  Not insistently reminding God that He needs to feed us; He’ll remember – BEFORE our stomachs rumble too loudly.  But gently, quietly, reverently, knowing full well that He has every right to say “no”, or “not now”; knowing that He’s a very busy guy, being the creator and judge of the universe and all.  But still, daring to enter His office with eyes full of hope and ask if maybe, just possibly, He’d be willing to take us for a romp around the neighborhood, or through life.  And you know what, when you enter His presence, completely surrendered to His will (because it does so little good to demand your own way anyway), I’m pretty sure His heart melts.  Hope, because He created it is a pretty powerful thing.

So enter His presence with big brown eyes full of hope, surrendered to His will, but asking, if maybe, just maybe, His will might include a walk around the neighborhood.

Yes, I braved the crowds of black Friday this morning.  Well, it was more like late-morning.  Around 10, to be exact.  I refuse to spend hours in line, waiting for deals, when I could be sleeping or spending time being with people I love, or doing some project that needs doing.  Mostly, I think I’m just rebelling against the culture that says I have to go crazy the day after Thanksgiving (or the hour after the Thanksgiving meal?  What’s up with that?) and go spend lots of money on stuff.

I find it ironic that after our National Day of Thanksgiving, when we say we’re focusing on all that we have, on all the many blessings God has given us, we turn around and spend, spend, spend on more stuff. Because we don’t have enough?  Because there’s something new and shiny we must have?  Something’s not quite right there, if you ask me.  I mean, sure, with the sales the way they are, you’re probably being a good steward of your money if you go buy something for $25 cheaper, than if you hadn’t waited for the sale.  But still….something’s not right.

I mean, if you’re truly thankful for what you do have, you probably aren’t out trying to get more, right?  At least, this is what my mind says.  Maybe I’m wrong; I’d love to know what you think.  But, in my wonderful little naïve world, I like to think that being thankful means that I take care of what I do have, that I treasure it, and don’t necessarily feel the urge to go buy more stuff.  Again, I could be cynical here.

And really, I’m a bit of a hypocrite when I say this.  For instance, there was a time when I didn’t like my body because I was too curvy (it still is, but I’m okay with it now). I should have been thankful that, curvy or not, my body was in full-functioning order.  I can run up and down the stairs at will.  I can walk whenever, however I want.  I can jump, squeal, eat, and sleep pretty much whenever I need to. God has blessed me greatly with such a gift.  There are people all over the world that would love to live in the body I do every day.  But, there I was with this amazing gift, and I wanted to change it, and I didn’t take care of it as well as I should have.

There are so many other examples of my lack of thankfulness.  I have a perfectly working car, but secretly (shhh, don’t tell Nautilus – my current car) I want a different one.  I’m surrounded by sweet friends, warm family, and wise mentors, and still I want a boyfriend.  Now, wanting a boyfriend is not a bad desire, but when I let that want overshadow my thankfulness of what I DO have, then comes the problem.  I want to live somewhere else, I want a couple of books (even though my bedroom is already full of them), I want a different camera so I can take better pictures, I want I want I want.

And yet, I’m doing fine.  I’m warm.  I’m not hungry, and am not likely to be anytime soon.  I have a closet full of clothes (Oh yeah, I want a shirt I saw at the store today), I can see, I can sing (sorta), I can dance (again – sorta).  In many cultures, I’d be considered a princess.  I need to remember that.

So, I guess after all this rambling, I would encourage you to look around you.  Realize that no matter what your house (or apartment, or shack) looks like, you’re probably wealthy.  If you have people that love you, a decently working body, and food around somewhere, you’re royalty.  So, what are you thankful for?  What SHOULD you be thankful for that maybe you’re not (little brothers and sisters?  Parents?  That 1982 beat-up Honda that lost its radio five years ago)?  What do you want so bad that it’s casting a shadow over what you’ve already been given?

Royalty, true royalty (as in, God’s royalty, not Disney or fairy tale) knows how to be thankful, and to get rid of the shadows. So, go dispel though shadows, Princess! Be thankful.

“Cadapiddar”. All I have to do is say my younger-self’s version of “caterpillar” to my father, and he smiles. As I child, I loved caterpillars. I was even given a “bug” house once – a beautiful little mesh-and-wood box that had a lace handle and a cute door on hinges – in order to keep the caterpillars I would occasionally capture and study. See, really, what I wanted to witness was a new-formed butterfly breaking out of her chrysalis. And I was a smart enough tyke that I knew I had to either find a chrysalis, or capture a “cadapiddar” and wait for its change.
The caterpillar-to-butterfly metamorphosis still fascinates me to this day. It’s one of those “every day” miracles that I find thrilling – like the smell of wood smoke or the millions of stars visible on a clear night deep in the Rockies. Rarely am I as encouraged in my journey as when I contemplate the journey a caterpillar has to take in order to become a butterfly.

I mean, have you ever thought about it? It starts out as this fuzzy, little worm (sometimes cute, sometimes absolutely disgusting) that inches along the ground, working its way from leaf to leaf, having to struggle to every place it goes. And then, one day, it clamps down tight onto a thin branch or leaf and starts spinning this incredible chrysalis out of silk. But once THAT demanding task is fulfilled, the caterpillar’s journey is just beginning. There is still SO much for it to do! Once the chrysalis is complete, the pudgy little wormy body of the caterpillar starts turning into mush. Really and truly! MUSH! Can you imagine your body turning into mush? Talk about scary! As its body continues to mush-ify, legs and wings start to develop. Scientists say that most of the mass of the caterpillar’s body is transformed into energy in order to form the delicate butterfly body. SO much work! And everything that poor little caterpillar knew – the dirt beneath its belly, the crunch of leaves in its mouth, the wide, open blue sky above it – is all gone.

And this is the part of the caterpillar’s journey that encourages me so much. This life – all my experiences, both the good and bad – are part of my journey to becoming the woman God is calling me to be. They’re my silk chrysalis (sometimes it feels more like concrete than silk, I’ll be the first to admit). But sometimes, in order to get rid of what He doesn’t want to be part of my newly-forming self, He has to put me through a “mush” period. The butterfly only has to live through it once. I’ve had to, and will have to, live through it multiple times. It’s always a painful experience – getting rid of addictions, of changing life-patterns (like fear), and of letting go of those things (or people or activities or dreams) that I hold most dear. In the middle of those emotion-ridden, lonely, heart-shattering times, I can’t say that I want to be there, or that I’m enjoying it. In fact, I often ask God how He’s going to get anything good out of this. However, all of the things during that time that He asks me to give up, or surrender, or to even have the courage to begin, have been preventing me from sprouting the wings and flying, as God originally intends for me.

Have you ever watched a butterfly hatch from its chrysalis? If you get the chance to watch, you should. The butterfly pushes herself out of the chrysalis, and then just hangs there, as if she doesn’t know what to do. She spreads her wings, needing to let them dry and stretch after being confined so long in the silken case. But she looks so awkward, just sitting there. She looks as if she doesn’t know what to do. Sometimes, when she first beats her wings, it’s almost as if she’s startled herself. To me, watching her awkwardly stretch her paper-thin wings, watching her beginning to figure out that she no longer has a furry worm body that must crawl everywhere, but now has the body of a dancer, and can go wherever the wind takes her, is one of the most beautifully awkward things a person can witness on earth.

But if she just sat there, stayed on the branch and didn’t use her wings at all, how sad would that be? It would be silly and incredibly heart-breaking. And not at all what God intended – for the now-butterfly, or for you. Once hatched, you’re not perfect; that’s not going to happen on this broken planet, but you’ve got your wings, and God has huge plans for those wings. So stretch them out – dry them out. Beat them once, twice, three times. Feel a slight breeze coming. Hold your breath, and let the gentle puff of air take you where He wants you to go. You’re going to feel uncoordinated at first, but that’s just fine. New things often make us feel slightly awkward. But you’re a butterfly, so whatever you do will look graceful to all the worms still bumping around on the ground. Listen carefully to His voice, spread your wings and fly.