Let Earth Receive Her King

The clock is ticking its measured cadence. And the tinsel dances softly: the house is falling asleep.  We sang songs tonight about His coming.  About the stillness, the quiet, the divine, the holy, no noise He makes.  But my heart isn't quiet, it doesn't feel holy or sacred, my soul is restless, and the babies cry.

And we watch the same clip for the third time and I'm starting to wonder what He is trying to say to me.  Three times He has to tell me, I must be missing it. I stop singing and start listening, trying to take it all in, trying to breathe it in, to feel the holiness in the air, I feel like I'm grasping at straws. And then it comes like a punch in the face:
"Joy to the world, the Lord is come.
LET EARTH RECEIVE HER KING,
let every heart prepare Him room."

Receive.  Receive. That word that makes my chest tighten, that makes my heart beat faster, that makes my fists clench.  The word that sends me into frantic, restless furry attempting to run away and hide. I feel my body's alarms going off, like lasers and lock,s millions of them closing me off making me incapable of receiving.  Tense in fear, fear of not being enough, fear of being disappointed, fear of always having the almost and never the real deal... I want to receive, I want to take the risk but the fear is so strong.

And then, then I feel Him soften me.  He reminds me of how He came as a baby. And I reflect on my experience the day before of walking into an old childhood friend's house and being handed a new baby.  And I remember opening my hands and receiving him, of snuggling him close, looking at his tiny little eyes and fingers.  I remember snuggling him any way he wanted it didn't even matter.  And my arms grew tired but I rocked him and he snuggled right in. And I reflect on the weird experience of shopping with him and the ease and openness with which strangers just talk to him and asked about him. And I'm hit with a tiny morsel of understanding. And I realize how the baby Christ child strips us of our fears, of our intimidation and aids us in receiving Him.

And I feel my fists unclenching and my arms unfolding in a position appropriate to receive Him, I want to snuggle him in close and rock him any way He wants until my arms are so beyond tired.  And I think of the chaos and the mess of the world and I think of the ease we respond to babies and I am awestruck by the risk of this miracle again.

And I feel a little braver, and a little stiller, because God isn't asking me to be that vulnerable.  He isn't asking me to give up heaven and be reduced to the size of an infant, He is asking me to receive Him.  And isn't that what we've been doing all along in this advent season? Preparing Him room, getting ready for His arrival.  Making more space so that the King of Heaven can break into our hurts, our inadequacies, our questions, our mess of lives? Because if you ask me the earth was probably just as messy and chaotic, and Mary probably screamed when she birthed Him, and regardless of what we sing in "Away in a Manger" Jesus probably did cry and scream and maybe even have the colic that makes you stay up all night...and Mary and Joseph probably had fights, and worried about the future and the mess of it all....

and yet, everything changed.

And yes people still scream when pushing out babies, and people fight, and have affairs, and sometimes it seems like there is no peace on earth.

And yet everything has changed.

Because faithfully everything terrible is coming untrue, and where there was no hope there can be hope, and where there was no peace there can be peace, and where there was fear there can be love and truth....but only has much as I/we choose to receive it....

Lord, help me to receive you, break into my castle of alarms and locks and destroy my patterns of rejection.  Help me to receive you and all that you give me, regardless of the risk....may I open my arms to all that you have for me, but mostly, Lord, may I open my arms to You...that human and divine parcel of joy and love.

 And the clock strikes twelve and the music plays and you enter in and my heart feels fuller and more alive...cause You're here, and we've been waiting for You!

And this is my attempt, my way of shouting it on the mountain top that Christ is born....let earth receive Her king!

The 3rd "Wednesday" of Advent

I came here yesterday and started writing.  My thoughts just feel so disorganized and unrelated, but I know they are intrinsically connected, I just haven't made the connection yet.  So here we go again. I'll sit, I'll try, I'll see what comes out.

I haven't gotten around to reading my liturgy yet, and at church we listened to children belt out their thanks to God, and drum their drums so we didn't light a candle...with all that being said, maybe the candle in my heart should be lit for grace, but instead I light it for love. 

Not for the skipping around the room, butterflies in your stomach kind of love, but for the deep rooted love that somehow continues to keep on loving in the face of the chaos and mess of this world.  The kind of love that came in all swaddled up in cloths, the kind of love that no one minus a little stable seemed to have room for.  The kind of love that chose to leave the comfort of heaven, to leave the comfort of the womb and break into our messy, cold and unwelcoming earth. The love that offers me grace upon grace.  That calls me back every time I run away.  The love that makes me lie down, it makes me be still. Its the love that changes everything. It changes all of my paradigms, all of my systems, all of my natural inclinations.  It changes me...but only as much as I will receive it. Like water slowly eroding the rough edges of a rock.

I've had some funny encounters with the little drummer boy song this year.  To be honest I've never really given much thought to the lyrics.  So one evening while baking cookies a friend and I paraded and danced around the house with marching wooden spoons in hand...only to be caught by some friends walking in at the front door...so much laughter, it was wonderful.  And then this past Sunday at church the service started off in the dark to the drummer boy. A group of boys dressed in black just drummed their hearts out.  And as the drumming built the lyrics appeared on the screen...."I have no gift to offer him...parumpapapum, that's fit to give a king parumpapapum".  And slowly the tears fill my eyes. And the desire to give Him something in return for His unfailing love and all that He has given me is so strong. But even stronger is the realization that I have nothing to give Him. And an overwhelming sadness mixed with joy fills my heart...because all is grace.  I am deeply indebted to Him and feel so completely and utterly unworthy.  I don't even want to make eye contact because how I can I ever repay such generosity and grace. "But I have nothing to give you" I mutter. and He laughs at me and says "I know, let's dance". And my mind struggles to comprehend this kind of love, it feels too good to be true.  And I feel myself receive more of Him and more of His love as I acknowledge once again that all is grace.  And I reflect on my previous experience of parading around the house in giggles, wooden spoons held high in the air. And my heart is full because it feels that thanksgiving and dancing is the only appropriate response to this kind of love.

And so I pray to be overwhelmed once again by His love, that is so reckless and insistent and I pray that He would grant us the grace to receive more of Him this Christmas season. Let love break in.

Second Advent: Joy

When I decided to write about advent this season I thought I would feel more inspired than I do.  Sitting here this morning is more of an act discipline than of inspiration.  But I'm here, and yes, its Thursday--much closer to the third Sunday of advent than the second. But I'm here. Somehow I made it.

In church we lit the candle for love, in my liturgy I read about hope, and in my heart I lit the candle for Joy. 

I recently read a book (1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp) that is teaching me to change my thinking.  It's about thankfulness. In response to the book I've set out making a list of 1000 things I'm thankful for.  Time is really important to me, thus my list has become a collection of moments.  Moments that I've been having for years, I was just never awake to them before.

But like every other person to walk this earth I still have moments filled with anxiety, worry and fear. For some reason the last week and half has felt fuller of the poison than of the grace.  And then yesterday, when my mind was going a million miles a minute listening to the lies, I hear His strong quiet voice whisper: "count with me, lets count" and so we begin: "I'm thankful for the droplets of rain on the trees, I'm thankful for fresh air, for coffee with extra shots in it, for that grumpy man who comes into my work who I crack a smile out of after some sarcastic banter..." and slowly the joy begins to build. And once again I'm cloaked in His grace. And the more I count the easier it gets and the truer His faithful love feels.

count with me, lets count....

1st Sunday of Advent: Peace

Yesterday was one of those perfect days where time just seems to stand still.  I marvel at the irony of how quickly our time fills up as we enter the season of advent, the season of making room, of getting ready, of preparing the way for the Christ Child. 

 It frustrates me to no end that there is no "very official advent candle order" list. It seems like each person has their own personal order and each year it changes and each church lights each candle to represent a different theme at a different time.  People don't even seem to use the same four themes.  Quite frankly I wish there was one right order that was universal.  So at church we lit the candle for hope, while we learned about love and this morning the liturgy I read was about peace.  And as I reflect on my perfect first Sunday of advent I think that peace sums it up perfectly.

In the morning we celebrated communion representing peace with Christ and peace with each other. The afternoon was spent in the unhurried trance of decorating the Christmas tree, icing cookies, reconciling with a friend, working on a puzzle, drawing names for a gift exchange and all the laughter of good friends who have become family. And quietly, all bundled up in blankets, sipping hot tea Linus reminds us what Christmas is all about..."Peace on Earth".  That wonderful mystery peace that changed everything. That now we are no longer foreigners and strangers, but adopted children into the family of God, which is an invitation for all people everywhere.  That now we no longer have to live in isolation or alone-ness, but now through Christ, who is our peace, we are made alive in the family of God....together.  I feel an overwhelming sense of joy as I taste the peace Christ offers me. 

He is my peace. He is your peace. He is our peace. And may we be filled with peace of Christ which surpasses all of our understanding.