Presents. Presents. Presents. I don’t always like shopping but I do love  finding the perfect present.  Especially for that hard-to-buy-for person, like my husband.

But, can the pursuit of the perfect present overshadow the perfect gift? Are we side-lining Jesus and forgetting God is with us? John tells us in chapter three of his gospel that God so loves us, He gave His presence to the world.

At the time of Jesus’ advent, the world was tumultuous and violent. He came to a discouraged people living in a messed up society. They were oppressed and over-taxed by a brutal Roman government. Children were sacrificed to false gods, burned alive in raging fires. Vicious ethnic divides over religion, culture, and tradition were fueled by hatred, ignorance and legalism. Sound a tad familiar?

I know this is gloomy talk so close to Christmas, but Christ’s arrival is a real story for real people in real trouble. Though Jesus came as a sweet babe, He was born to be a rebel. The news of his birth began a war in the human heart. Herod, already seeing Jesus as a threat to his throne, tried to kill Him by ordering the mass murder of babies and toddlers. Fear makes things really ugly, really fast.

Religious leaders were also threatened by Jesus’ birth and his prophesied future. During His three-year earthly ministry, Jesus declared war on religious leaders and bigots. He got angry and spoke up to defend the voiceless. He fought not for power nor to revolutionize governments but to rescue human hearts from sin, fear, pride, and despair.

 In John’s gospel we read, “For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him.”  Jesus gives us life even after our last breath.

In chapter ten, John recorded Jesus’ words, “The thief’s purpose is to steal, kill and destroy. My purpose is to give life in all its fullness.” Jesus also offers abundant life, here and now, but there’s this thief ~our soul’s enemy. Call him a devil, Satan, or just plain evil. If you doubt his existence, you needn’t look far. Like a friend told me, in her sweet southern drawl, “He’s as real as you and me sittin’ here.” His aim is to distract us with bitterness or apathy or even good and shiny comforts until we forget what’s most important: Our personal relationships with God and people. All people.

I’m not gonna lie. I love UPS deliveries and those cheesy, classic songs from Bing, Nat, and Dean. But over all, I choose Jesus. He is my steady hope and perfect peace.

This may not be a typical Christmas story but Jesus isn’t a typical man. His arrival split history and started a revolution. His life, death, and words are still controversial. He’s unconventional but He is our beautiful Immanuel, God with us.

Will you let Him rescue your heart? May your pursuit of the perfect gift stop here. Find joy, freedom, and purpose in God’s presence, my friend.

 

 

 

It was the kind of weather that freezes your nose hairs. The wind hit my face as I stepped onto the icy porch. Steadying my pregnant self, I saw what almost tripped me as three-year-old Justin tugged on my shirt. “Mommy, what is it?” Ice crunched and scraped under the box as we shimmied it into our apartment.

Both of us wide-eyed and smiling, we dropped to the floor and lifted out each item: a roasting chicken, corn bread and gravy mixes, potatoes, and canned corn. Giggling, Justin grabbed a bag of ribbon candy. The kind I used to find, sticky and covered in red fuzz, at the bottom of my Christmas stocking, next to the orange.

The bag crinkled between us as I hugged him and cried. The candy wasn’t an essential for Christmas dinner. It was an added treat for my little boy.

Jeff was fresh out of the Army and not at his job long enough to have insurance for our third baby’s birth. Money was tight but we lived within our means. Our finances weren’t the source of my struggle.

After our baby girl’s death two years earlier, I learned grief is often subtle. You catch yourself staring into the kitchen cabinet for five minutes, deciding corn or green beans for supper. As a young mom, I didn’t know how to express it or that it was vital to do so. Besides, if I tried, could anyone really understand?

Grief is often a lonely walk. We want others to see our pain and fix it. But, they can’t.

From ages fourteen to twenty-six, my pain relief was weekend alcohol binges. Anything we use to shove grief under the surface—food, anger, shopping—only makes it fester and poison everything. Our words, our actions, our family. It tells us to remain a victim. It hides our strengths, our purpose, and robs us of joy and peace. It becomes our identity.

That’s where I was that winter morning when I almost tumbled over the box. I needed someone to see my struggle. That day, I believe Someone did.

The box on my porch told me I wasn’t alone. I started to think maybe my anger toward God was misplaced. Maybe He wasn’t mean and distant. Maybe I didn’t have to stay stuck in my pain.

It took five more years, but that stranger’s generosity was a stepping stone to find the One who sees, understands, and soothes my grief. He fills the places in my heart that no one or nothing else can.

What a wonderful God we have—he is the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of every mercy, and the one who so wonderfully comforts and strengthens us in our hardships and trials. And why does he do this? So that when others are troubled, needing our sympathy and encouragement, we can pass on to them this same help and comfort God has given us.” 2 Cor 1:3-4.

We don’t have to let grief define us or defeat us. It’s simply a part of our journey that empowers us to live out our faith and our life to its fullest. When we choose God’s comfort, we’ll see Him make beauty from ashes. Be amazed, my friends.

 

 

Photo from pixabay.com

I was given a gift. A three-hour lunch with Faith.

A little spitfire of a lady, her walker supported a back bent by osteoporosis. But it didn’t slow her down. In fact, it made her faster. My grandchildren grinned big when she gave them walker rides in our church lobby.

Where there was Faith, there was giggling. Her joy bubbled out. Sitting at White Street Café, we laughed and talked about the funny parts of life’s challenges. We talked about Facebook and how she reminded people to be kind because “they forgot what they learned in kindergarten.”

Faith, a teacher for fifty years, didn’t really like to read. But she did it so she could learn.  She read my newspaper column and reminded me often, “Your writing’s getting better.”

She admired writers, like her late husband. After Ray had several strokes, she took care of him, converting their bedroom into a hospital room to sleep near him. When Faith spoke, her eyes still sparkled but I also saw her sadness.

We talked a little about grief and other common journeys. Like how our adult kids moved back home. The challenges, the blessings, the funny stuff. Her son and his family moved in after her husband’s passing and she said it was perfect timing. Adjusting to them and planning the 100-year anniversary celebration for our church, it was good to be busy.

Faith told me she was diagnosed with Celiac’s when she was seventy-seven years old. She stood in the middle of a grocery store crying, overwhelmed and wondering, “What can I eat?” Again, there were tears and smiles. “Can you see me, an old lady, standing there crying like a baby?” And, of course, we laughed.

Faith asked about my challenges. I told her I struggled. To love well, to not be cynical, to not go back to old habits. She smiled and nodded, “Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her eyes and that smile said:  I see your struggle. I hear your pain. Don’t quit. As my tears rolled, she pulled something from her purse. A brown resin cross, a bit twisted and off-kilter. She put it in my palm and wrapped my fingers around it. “It’s a Clinging Cross.”

Faith’s hands covered mine and we held it. Leaning in, her smiling eyes locked on mine, “Always cling to the cross. It’s a reminder of the Hope you have in Jesus.” We sat for about ten minutes, her hands wrapped around mine, wrapped around that cross. Such closeness for me is usually uncomfortable. But not that day. I stayed and savored the healing of Faith’s hands.

We agreed, the cross is everything. Our peace, our freedom, our pain-taker, and our life-changer.

Faith, my encourager with those permanent laugh lines, leaves behind her gifts. She not only shared her strength and her struggle, but her source of Hope. She teaches us: Don’t just choose joy, let it bubble out. Live life to the fullest. Don’t quit. Keep going and growing. Be an encourager. And always, always, always cling to the cross.

 

In memory of my friend, Faith B. McInturff, 9/12/29~11/01/16.

                     “Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, healing to the bones.”

                                                                           ~Proverbs 16:24~

 

 

Monday almost got us. It was day five babysitting our delightful one-year-old, Luna Sophia. Delightful, until she and eight-month-old Alex woke at 5 a.m. Wet sheets, crying, snot. You get the picture. Too much, before coffee. While I am an early riser, I prefer quiet, low-lighting, and no demands or conversation.

In our pre-coffee stupor, Hannah and I sat like two bumps on a log waiting for our brains to fire-up. We avoided eye contact with the babies gated into the living room.

That’s when I heard the LIAR, the Loud Imaginings Appearing Real. “I can’t do this. This is gonna be a bad day.” For weeks prior, that tug to give in to anxiety and whining was strong.

It’s easier to be cynical and grumpy~to give in to our darker side. But it keeps us hidden in half-living.

Do you ever get tired of digging deep? Of figuring out life and relationships and how to do them well? Of taking the high road when the low one says to settle? We all have those moments, days, weeks when the effort to live above our feelings seems too hard.

That’s where I was Monday morning with my thoughts wallowing in the mud of my old victim mindset. Then a moment of clarity broke through. Decades ago, a doctor told my dad, “You know, Mr. Bradshaw, each morning you choose your attitude for the day.”

So, I got stubborn and whispered, “God, help me.” I fought my attitude and my self-talk changed. “Own this day. They’re just helpless, smelly little humans. You can do this.”

I looked at Hannah. “We’re gonna own this Monday. It’s not gonna beat us. Let’s go get breakfast at Peppermill.” We wiped the babies’ butts and noses and restarted our day.

My friends, we won’t always feel strong. We won’t always feel capable. That’s okay. But remember we don’t have to live by feelings. We can live by faith in the One who made us. Because of Him, we have courage. And joy and patience and strength and kindness and self-control. We have all the compassion that Jesus demonstrates in the Gospels. We gotta dig deep even when we don’t feel it.

Let’s not throw away our days. When we go to bed tonight, let’s have the moxie to ask ourselves, “Did I really have a bad day or a bad five minutes that I milked all day?” (Paraphrased, unknown author.) A victim mindset does not fit a child of God. It doesn’t help to blame or complain. If we want a healthy mind and abundant life, we can’t listen to the LIAR, the enemy of our soul.

God says, “Don’t give up. I made you for more. Choose Me.” He’s here in the midst of all your gloomy Mondays.

Strength for your journey, my friends.