Poverty of Spirit

[I was commissioned to write a little thought about Christmas for one of our church's social media outlets, which I'm re-posting here. Thanks, Kathi, for forcing my hand to write what God's been teaching me in this season!]

This time of year, we give a lot of mental energy to gifts. We make lists of things to buy for family, drop subtle hints about things we may like to receive, stalk Pinterest for cute teacher gifts, make generous financial gifts to worthy nonprofits, and generally drain our bank accounts trying to make sure everyone in our world feels loved. To be clear, I love the exchange of presents - there is nothing like the perfect gift to make you feel known and treasured, supported and seen.
And, if spirituality is part of your normal life, you probably turn your attention to the precious gift we were given on Christmas. God's very son, wrapped in humility, was given to us. There is no gift quite like it - both universally appealing and perfectly personal. The Incarnation, Divinity gifted into our very human experience, is surely worth extra mediation during this season.
This year, however, a lot of my thoughts and prayers have been centered around the gifts that I bring to the cradle. Every  Christmas Eve, we bake a birthday cake, light a candle and gather in the quiet to sing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. It is a sweet, small way to celebrate the baby who right-sized the world. I want to honor this newborn King with precious, lavish, beautiful gifts - like the wise men, I want to approach Christ with gifts fit for royalty.
But, if I'm being quite honest, I don't feel like I have much to offer. I can be overwhelmingly selfish, impatient, controlling and distant. And even when my sinfulness relents, the fruit in my life still seems too meager to present to a King.
But my Emmanuel keeps reminding me of this truth:

"For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
    you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." Psalm 51

The only gift Christ desires is me ... just as I am. He doesn't want a magnificently orchestrated holiday or a giant donation or perfect patience with my kids. He doesn't want me to muster up holiness or to strive for success - my brokenness and desperation for His presence are the perfect gift. This truth has me crying every time I listen to 'Little Drummer Boy,' because I feel insufficient in the same way, approaching Jesus with only a (metaphorical) drum and not much skill. But, miraculously, my smallness and poverty of spirit are a gift that makes Him smile.

So gift yourself to Jesus afresh today. Set down the piping bag, drive home from the mall, turn off Mariah Carey. Bring your entirety, both sinner and saint, to the cradle. Your empty hands and expectant heart are the greatest gift you can give this Christmas.

My Christmas Babies

December 24, 2010 - I took a pregnancy test that turned out positive
December 23, 2013 - We got the call that Jordan had chosen us as adoptive parents

If you think you are sentitmental about your kids at Christmastime, you have no idea.
I very much believe that God was intentional in timing the news of my coming children - their hearts were gifted to me in the same season that God gifted Jesus to the world.

When I was pregnant with Phoenix, I needed to know that God was orchestrating something larger in my life, and Mary's story rung hope-bells in my heart. I wrote this a couple years ago about the night we found out:

During the Christmas Eve service, I was (understandly) a litte absentminded. The weightiness of my pregnancy hadn't hit, but I knew on some basic level that my whole life has just changed. I was already starting to worry about what this meant for my life, and was desperate for a word from God. And then, during one song, it occurred to me: my Christmas gift was not unlike Mary's. Granted, there were some significant differences - I was married, I wasn't especially saintly or surrenderd in obedience, there was no immaculate conception, and my baby was certainly not divine. But the unplanned, life-altering pregnancies? Mary and I most certainly had that in common.

That night, during that service, I distinctly felt myself a part of God's metanarrative. The story that began with Genesis included me and my unborn child. The character of God, as revealed in scripture, was being disclosed to me, and God's working in the world felt remarkably consistent. I felt an incredible kinship with Mary, and it was strangely comforting to know that the whole unplanned-pregnancy-thing had worked out well for her. Not that it was easy, but she was a part of God's redemptive plan.

When we were waiting for Jericho, I needed a very different word. Instead of being desperately afraid of having a child, my whole personhood ached to welcome another baby to the world. And, as I wrote last year, God used the Christmas season to re-fix my eyes on Christ, and to remind me that God does not withhold the greatest gifts from his children.

I read this (written by William Willimon) in my advent book a couple of weeks ago, and it seems an appropriate expression of how those two pajama-clad babies have wrecked and made my world.

"This is often the way God loves us: with gifts we thought we didn't need, which transform us into people we don't necessarily want to be. With our advanced degrees, armies, government programs, material comforts,  and self-fulfillment techniques, we assume that religion is about giving a little of our power in order to confirm to ourselves that we are indeed as self-sufficient as we claim.

Then this stranger comes to us, blesses us with a gift, and calls us to see ourselves as we are -- empty-handed recipients of a gracious God, who, rather that leave us to our own devices, gave us a baby."

Merry Christmas, friends.

Born to Us the Hope of the World

Hope has been, and continues to be, the greatest challenge set before me by God in this season of my life.

Just last year, my greatest temptation was to despair. Everything about the adoption process had worn at my soul, and only tiny filaments of faith held me together. After our failed adoption match, it took every ounce of my energy to keep my head above water. I couldn't see a way out of my pain and into the promises of God.

God, with a protective and preemptive heart, prompted me to pen some words about hope just days before we lost the chance to parent that sweet baby girl.

Hope is expectation tethered safely to present contentment. It is not a flighty, breathless thing, but decidedly deep and intentional. Hope does not neglect the moment at hand; quite the opposite, really. Hope recognizes that the present moment provides a firm foundation for the envisioned future. To hope means to work diligently, whole-heartedly, for a beautiful dream. Unconcerned with whether or not it's in her power to build that dream, the one who pursues hope leaps with great faith, knowing (even in a free-fall) that God is greatly kind.

I have returned to those words again and again and again when God asks for fresh hope in some arena of my life. 

Today, again, I return. 

Despair, like a predator, stalks me when wounded. In this season, loneliness is the most raw ache of my heart. And where I would be tempted to dwell on what everyone else is doing without me, God is asking me again to dwell on the promised Coming. Asking me to take those pangs of hurt for relationship and turn to Emmanuel for connection and love. Asking me to believe promises of friendship and community.

Last-year-me would be astounded at the fulfilled promises that adorn my life. Most specifically, my Jericho baby and our financial freedom. I could not have imagined how God would move me from longing and bondage -- but that mystery, the unconnected dots are the playground of Hope. 

Some of the artists at our church put out a CD for Christmas (listen HERE) that has been my soundtrack for the last couple weeks. Most specifically, I've had "Born to Us" on repeat - it's a beautiful declaration of the hope that saturates this season.

So where your world feels engulfed in darkness, there is a glimmer of light on the horizon. Yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Born to us is the hope of the world. 

Still Sanctuary

"What if on Christmas Eve people came and sat in the dim pews, and someone stood up and said, "Something happened here while we were all out at the malls, while we were baking cookies and fretting about whether we bought our brother-in-law the right gift: Christ was born. God is here."? We wouldn't need the glorious choruses and the harp and the bell choir and the organ. We wouldn't need the tree strung with lights. We wouldn't have to deny that painful dissonance between the promise and hope of Christmas and a world wracked with sin and evil. ... And no one would have to preach sermons to work up our belief.

All of that would seem gaudy and shallow in comparison to the sanctity of that still sanctuary. And we, hushed and awed by something greater and wiser and kinder than we, would kneel of one accord in the stillness." - Loretta Ross-Gotta 

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I read this passage in my advent book a few days ago, and its been haunting me ever since. For the last few months I've been musing about how to create a magical Christmas season for my children, and all that mental energy afforded some carefully laid plans. Work, miscommunications, circumstances and forgetfulness have already laid waste to several of those well-intentioned plans. I want this time of year to be a treasure for my children - not because of treasures they accumulate, but because of the treasured Christ-child given to them and for them. And because the Incarnation declared with finality that families are a preferred weapon of God in the war for this world, I want our little family to function out of that love and power.

But the advent candles still haven't been lit. We didn't go on the hayride at Santa's Wonderland. St. Nicholas' Feast Day went totally uncelebrated. I still haven't gotten a picture of them in their matching Christmas pajamas. The gingerbread house remains a daunting project. I know we still have a couple weeks, and I still want to prioritize the fun and the traditions and the togetherness and the plans.

But the passage above really right-sized my heart. My expectations shouldn't settle on experiences that I can craft, because Christ was born. God is here. If that old-and-deep magic fills my soul during Advent, it will naturally overflow into the hearts of my children. A heart in awe of holiness brings deeper and fuller joy to that table than a calendar full of activities. 

As always, I'm thankful that God shuts down everything I muster up. May you also be "hushed and awed by something greater and kinder and wiser" in the remaining Advent days.

Good Tidings of Great Joy

It's been a long year of waiting since I wrote about advent last year.
And a lot has changed. God has greatly grown and humbled me, and shifted my perspective.

This weekend, during the Christmas services at our church, I was haunted by a phrase I read in "Count of Monte Cristo" last week (side note -- that book is freakin' amazing. read it). 
Edmond Dantes is engaged to be married, and "various rumors were afloat to the effect that the owners of the Pharaon [the ship on which Dantes is employed] had promised to attend the nuptial feast; but all seemed unanimous in doubting that an act of such rare and exceeding condescension could possibly be intended."

Rare and exceeding condescension. Perfect turn of phrase to describe the incarnation.

While singing the familiar lyrics "Long lay the world in sin and error pining / 'til he appeared, and the soul felt it's worth," I was freshly overwhelmed by the love of God. The exceedingly great condescension of Jesus gifting himself to the world made me feel my worth.

This year, instead of focusing on the ache of waiting for our second child, God helped me to fix my heart-eyes on a child whose coming is sure. The Christ-child, my redeemer, my lover, my savior ... there is no question on when He will arrive. He has come.
So this weekend, I could honestly say that I was greatly contented with the gifts I've already received.

And then I got a phone call today.
The same pregnancy counselor that called to tell me H had changed her mind called to tell me that we've been chosen again.

This birth momma, Jordan, is due on January 1st ... that's next Wednesday, people. If all goes well, we will meet our second child in the next two weeks. And it's a surprise ... we don't know the gender!

I am so thankful for the great support that we were shown in the wake of H changing her mind, and that is why we've decided to share the news this time. So many people in our extended network have been on their knees for us, have provided generously for us, and have extended the most thoughtful expressions of care. If all goes well, we want to publically celebrate this work of God in our family. And if Jordan changes her mind, we will need you to hold us as we bleed.

Thank you for walking with us! What an amazing Christmas gift!

Advent

'Waiting patiently in expectation is the foundation of the spiritual life."
- Simone Weil

Waiting on our second child is lending such depth to my experience of advent this year. I am honestly not sure I even have words for it yet. I just know that waiting with anticipation is one of the more complicated spiritual lessons I have every learned. Oh the waiting is hard ... my heart is groaning the way Paul describes in Romans 8. And I acknowledge that our wait has barely begun - we may have years ahead of us. But I wait with victory assured, clinging to a promise. It is a strange thing to be sure of the end while totally unsure of how it will be accomplished.

I have just the tiniest taste of what Israel must have felt in waiting for the coming Messiah. They knew He was coming, just not when or how. And I'm sure they couldn't have been more surprised by the way in which God chose to keep His promises.

Simone Weil was wise to include the word 'patiently' in her aforementioned description of the spiritual life. God is sowing patience into our hearts as we walk this journey, and I am thankful for it. It would come naturally for me to grow in bitterness as the days pass, beginning to doubt God's faithfulness in orchestrating our family. But, if we allow those seeds of patience to blossom, we can "live with greater confidence even though nothing has changed" (Tripp).

I am hoping that remaining days leading up to Christmas will afford me many more opportunities to learn what it means to wait well. And I am exceedingly thankful that God is faithful to His word, both in gifting my Savior and bringing our child.

An important side note:
We have rescheduled our home visit for December 14th ... that's just over a week away! God has been so good in providing for us, both through some unexpected gifts and a lot of unexpected extra work. Pray that some checks we are expecting come promptly, so that we don't have to reschedule again.
Also, GET PUMPED ... we sure are! It will be so encouraging to get that milestone under our belts and to get our profile book into the hands of potential birthmothers!