In Between

I feel so caught in the in between. Christmas is over, but the new year hasn’t started yet. I find myself standing with one foot in and one foot out. I’m not ready to take my tree down, but the Christmas clutter that litters my countertops has me feeling claustrophobic. And as sad as my heart is to see the holiday season come to a close, my head longs for a fresh start, a clean slate. And even still, deep down, a sense of trepidation at what the future could possibly hold. I used to have a plan. 

And so. These in between days when it’s popcorn for dinner and clothes that linger in the dryer cycle after cycle just begging to be folded each time I get them hot but undoubtedly forget. I think for a moment maybe this is how I should feel all the time. The longing, the waiting, the in between. Maybe expectation starts here. A heart made for heaven should long to go home. 

When the fanfare ends, when the bells stop ringing and all is still, what fills the quiet voids of my heart?

Peace

I didn’t realize I was settling. This idea of what peace should look like, what it meant, how it felt. I had reduced it to an absence of anxiety, one often inextricably tied to some fixed outcome that my heart and mind agreed was “good.” It’s the reason I watch Hallmark movies… the predictability, comfort, and ease. I thought peace came from this unshakeable sense that things would all work out the way I wanted them to. And so, in this advent season of waiting and anticipation I found myself doubting and questioning. I know the outcome- we all do, but the road from here and now to then and there suddenly became anything but predictable and I got scared. 

I made peace too small. 

“For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!”

It was never about a life without fear or confusion. Peace is knowing the war is over. From children of wrath destined for eternal damnation to beloved sons and daughters and co-heirs with Christ! This is peace! Reconciled to God through the precious blood of his Son. So when anxiety’s fiery fingers wrap themselves around my throat and chest in the middle of the night I can rest assured, peace has a name, and his name is Jesus. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like, but I know how eternity goes.

An often quoted line from the Grinch that reads, “What if Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!” What if peace isn’t about the years I spend on this earth, what if peace is about eternity instead. The sooner I accept that there was never a guarantee that my days would be easy and my burden light, the sooner I can live into my purpose and calling and the sooner I stop expecting this place to be heaven. 

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

I think about all these advent themes and the watered down versions I’ve reached for as a cheap substitute. I traded hope for desire. I replaced peace with calm. Joy was reduced to happiness. And instead of love I willingly settled for warm feelings of fondness or general affection. But God is so much bigger and so much greater than our finite minds can fathom, and he lovingly placed eternity within our hearts. We just have to take the time to reach for it. 

Turns out John Lennon was right. 

For further reading:

Romans 5:10
John 16:33
Romans 8:17
Ecclesiastes 3:11

1!

Crazy to think, one year ago today we made our way through pouring rain and rising floods to pick up the part of my heart I never knew was missing.

I could tell you the story of heartbreak, of hard days and lonely nights, a year of tough decisions, of struggle, of hardship. Aint it just like a dog? To turn my life upside down. The story of the past year looks so different now- such sweet mornings and belly laughs, new experiences, a love I longed for but failed to fathom.

I’ve said it a thousand times: he’s the best gift I’ve ever received. The reality though? So much more. He’s been such a promise of what’s to come, a down payment, proof of God’s faithfulness, the giver of all good gifts… Oh to think what else He has in store!

I can’t end without a thank you—To my amazing mom, who braved the (literal) storm and made the trek to Lynchburg with me to pick up my boy. To my sweet aunt (and uncle) who hosted us on the way home that first night, reassurning and kind, feeding us pizza and calming my nerves as I stressed about the possibility that he might pee on their rug (he didn’t!) To Q’s precious foster mom who opened her home (and her heart) during his transition. To countless friends and family who encouraged me along the way (and understood when I cancelled plans because I had left my dog home alone all day and couldn’t justify leaving him again.) Thank you doesn’t seem like enough, but please know that I am blessed because of you. 

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”

—Roger Caras

show me your glory

It’s a familiar path, this is home. I feel my body relax as soon as my feet hit these salt-stained, splintering boards. They lead me out into the water, closer to the deep. I know these waters; I’ve splashed in her brackish shallows on sunny days of seasons past. I’ve watched her rise, angrily battering these same weathered boards, leaving them warped and twisted, but better for it. Tonight, in the quiet stillness, she reflects the sinking sun, the daytime sky’s final dramatic act before the nighttime curtain call. She doubles the beauty that dances above and everything seems multiplied.

“Show me your glory!” Moses cried out to Creator God. A humble man’s bold request in a moment of passion. My plea echoes the same. Just a girl standing on the edge of the earth, peering up at the almost-night sky, “Show me, God. Teach me your ways, show me your glory.”

“I am loving and I am compassionate and I will show you. But there are things far too wonderful for you to see.”

So God placed Moses in the cleft of a rock, high enough and close enough to see his goodness, but hidden and protected and from the things too wonderful. The mighty hand that lovingly reached down to cover him on that hill is the same hand that curled around a mama’s finger in a stable somewhere in Bethlehem. And when those same hands grew strong and calloused, they climbed a different hill to do the only thing that would truly accomplish what they had set out to do since the beginning of time when they gathered dirt in a garden: to make us close to him.

That is the hope and the heart of this season, and the joy of this promise is what sustains us throughout the year. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Not to be close to us, but so we could be close to him. That is reconciliation, that is forgiveness, that is hope. 

I pause to take it all in, living in the cleft of this mountain is daunting and thrilling and scary, but the view is impossible to beat. When I’m overwhelmed by the wonder of it all, I can’t help but smile at the glorious unseen. The things too wonderful…

Someday.

For further reading:

Exodus 33:12-23

Ephesians 2:13

Romans 5:8

what a difference...

He picks us up.

Dollar plants, sitting parched in garden store bins.

Wilted and lifeless, He takes us home.

Easing us out of our plastic containers,

carefully tearing us from the things that hold us back.

He breaks up our roots; awakening, stirring...

pouring leftover soil into hand me down pots.

Chipped and tarnished: in broken vessels He places this:

hope.

Summer is rough.

Oppressive heat chokes the life out of us.

Torrential downpours leave us battered and bruised.

Deadly pestilence eating away...

But we are not destroyed.

All along- He is watering and feeding,

pruning and nurturing the life He sustains.

‘til one day you look and suddenly see:

growth.

What a difference a season makes.