Joy

Joy to the World?

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

I don’t know if you see what I see, but there it is every time I use the bathroom, wipe a bottom that doesn’t belong to me, or just sit on the lid for a few minutes to pray without the clamor of little hands touching me.

It stares at me like a dare, a little scribble (In permanent marker), that conspicuously looks like “joy,” Apparently toddler height aligns perfectly with my eyes if I’m sitting on the toilet.

The scribbled “joy” demands my attention beckoning me to stop and assess my heart. More than once I’ve stared blankly at it asking “Where is joy today? What does it look like?”

As a 20 something, single, longing for a husband and children (while seemingly everyone else received those gifts), sometimes finding joy was a fight.

As a 30 something, reeling after the death of a husband finding joy was an all out war.

As 40 something, thick in the hands full days of sticky floors and yogurt spills, of endless needs to meet, of constant sibling squabbles, of rocking a sobbing three year old who desperately wants his red pants (but Mommy can’t give him what’s down in the laundry), sometimes joy is a battle.

My life is full of good gifts. Gifts that I’ve prayed long for, gifts I enjoy immensely. But they are also gifts that demand extensive time and energy. They are gifts with their own minds and emotions. They are gifts that are sometimes agents of destruction. They are gifts who all need me at the same time. A sage friend aptly described the little years as “sweet and suffocating.”

There isn’t a life altering crisis in our lives right now, but this Christmas season joy has been illusive, trying to slip through my fingers like water. Stress upon stress leaves me feeling like I’m bailing out a sinking ship with a bucket that has holes in it. I’m using a broom to push the ocean away from the shore.

I haven’t struggled for joy at Christmas this deeply since the immediate years following Jon’s death. That’s saying something.

We’ve done all the Christmas things- lights and hot chocolate, made ornaments and cookies, decorated the tree, watched the movies. Our book basket overflows with all my favorite Christmas books. These usher happiness for a time. But it’s like smoke against the deeper struggle. Anyone else notice the immense pressure and emphasis our culture puts on “Christmas magic?” Don’t get me wrong. I love all the special things. But this year they brought only fleeting joy.

So I find myself crying out, “Lord fill my heart with joy. Burst onto the scene. Help my unbelief.”

I think we deceive ourselves that a day will come when we won’t have to fight for joy, when life is less hard. Or less overwhelming.

When I have children, I won’t have to fight for joy.
When I make more money, I won’t have to fight for joy.
When I’m understood…
When I am known…
When I lose twenty pounds…
When my house stays clean and tidy…

Feel free to fill in your own blank also.

But on this side of the new heavens and the new Earth, “hard” is a fact of life, and sometimes we must fight for joy because circumstances and emotions lob grenades at us. Of course, there are breezy days with oceans and gorgeous sunsets. Of course there are days when joy is accompanied by happiness, with light feelings and oxytocin.

But is joy separate from emotion? Can it endure even when I don’t feel particularly sparkly and bubbly? Can it endure even when I kneel on the floor tears flowing, sobs forming, panic brewing?

Yes, I think it can.

I have experientially learned this to be true in other seasons. Now I recall it to be true in this season.

Joy is a confident, settled attitude of the heart that blossoms from trust and rest in God. It’s not dependent on circumstances or emotions. It’s deeper than happiness.

I want this so badly. I want the state of mind that knows, “all will be well” because I know God is good. And I want joy’s close cousins—peace that passes understanding, and hope, the confident expectation that God will do what he says he will do.

So what can we do when emotions shout otherwise? When we want happiness and joy to coincide but they don’t?

Seek it. Pray for it. Ask God to fill your heart with it. Recall your blessings. Repeat truth even when emotions scream the opposite. Remember what has gone before.

I heard another wise friend tell her seven year old, “Your emotions are real, but they aren’t always honest.”

Fight.

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people! For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord!” (Luke 2)

Great joy! It’s there. It’s possible to know it. Maybe, just maybe if we keep recalling truth, our emotions will eventually catch up.

And if they don’t, perhaps in the season of Advent, the struggle for joy is entirely appropriate. Before that very first Christmas, the world full of gloom, groaning, waiting. God had been silent for 500 years. But finally Jesus came, right in the middle of the mess and muck. When his cry rang out, the Light of the World pierced the darkness changing the world and the course of history forever.

But you know what, the world didn’t know it yet. The immediate darkness didn’t change yet.

Mary was still a woman with a very real recovery after giving birth. There was still blood upon blood and pain upon pain. There were still cracked, bleeding, sore nipples as she learned to nurse her son. There was still a wound the size of a dinner plate in her uterus.

She and Joseph were still far from home. Perhaps Mary was attended to by Joseph’s relatives or Bethlehem’s midwives, but her own mother wasn’t there.

And 40 days after giving birth, they took a little jaunt over to Jerusalem to present Jesus at the temple. But their finances hadn’t changed. They still had to give a pauper’s sacrifice, two turtle doves instead of a lamb.

She gave birth to the one who was Great High Priest and perfect lamb, but she still had to offer a sacrifice! The veil had not yet been torn, and she was still far removed from God.

And then there’s Herod. Perhaps the threat was not yet there on the night Jesus was born, but at some point in his infancy or toddlerhood, Herod started murdering little boys. At some point Mary and Joseph fled with their child. Imagine that stress and trauma.

Mary and Joseph experienced utter delight at the birth of their new son. Great joy had indeed entered the world—I know that delight. I know experientially that the utter joy of new life makes the physical agony of childbirth fade to the background, forgotten as it were. Moments before birth, my body was on fire. But as soon as that first marvelous cry echoed, and the baby placed on my chest, excruciating pain gave way to glowing, radiant happiness.

Soon, however, amid the rapture and utter happiness real life came back.

When look around and see physical chaos around me, emotional chaos in my heart, worries and fears that creep in, the stress that threatens to drown me—I recall, this is what Jesus came for.

He came down right in middle of the mess and muck. He came for the days you don’t feel sparkly, bubbly, or radiant with happiness.

So friend, fight for joy. You can’t be passive. We can’t expect temporal pleasures to give us what’s of an eternal nature- lasting, permanent joy.

But I know the author of permanent joy.

“But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope, the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3)

Our confident expectation is in the God who created us, pursued us, purchased us back, and won us through the blood of his Son.

I remember the joy and delight of intimacy with God. I “shall again praise Him.” Delight will come again. I remember that He is the Rock, the stability when waves toss me about.

I change. He changes not.

I remember who He is. By grace He enables the impossible—“Rejoice always.” But for grace through the accomplished work of Christ, that would be a crushing command. (I Thess 5:16-18)

I don’t rejoice always. I don’t always have an abiding attitude of trust, or take pleasure that all things in my life are according to God’s will.

But these things don’t depend on me. Jesus accomplished what I cannot. He rejoiced always. He gave thanks in all things. He prayed without ceasing. His performance is the standard, but it is also my standing.

Because I know the good news of Christmas, of Jesus himself, is real, I can rejoice. I can live with overflowing thankfulness and unceasing dependence.

When the Christmas season feels weighty, when sorrow mingles, when joy tries to slip away, remember what is true.

Jesus did indeed burst on the scene. He did indeed change the world. He did indeed change me.

So I quiet my noisy soul. I glance at a toddler’s scribble, “Yes, Lord. You are joy.”

Joy“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with joy by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)

For My Young Friends (And maybe the not so young ones also)

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

From my vantage point at the back, I noticed her radiant smile and his hand raised in worship. Two worshipers juxtaposed across my line of vision. These teens unashamedly and joyfully responded to God, their faith in Jesus on display, and it brought me to tears.

I had spent the worship service much like I spend it every week— passing out paper and markers, rummaging for other quiet activities to keep little hands busy and little voices quiet, hearing bits and pieces of the sermon, bouncing a baby on my hip, whispering variations of “Shh time to stop talking, Pastor Shayne is praying.”—in short, doing every thing I could to keep my children from distracting others. 

Our small church doesn’t have a children’s ministry, so everyone is together. I love much about this arrangement. My children experience all the aspects of church together. They can tell you what the communion elements mean and why we celebrate it every week. They see adults pray and sing.They get to see Daddy play the guitar and preach sometimes. But I’d be a liar if I said it is easy. Sometimes I’m bone tired, weary, and wish I could listen to the sermon without my four little “distractions” in tow. Sometimes I hand out markers with an overwhelmed, grudging heart. And more than once I’ve wished I could send them along to their own classes and call it a day.

So it was at the end of another such service when I noticed two teenagers simply, humbly, worshiping. Neither was putting on a show or drawing attention to themselves. Several thoughts intersected in my mind—

“Is it even worth it?” I’ve asked myself. “Are they taking in anything? Am I teaching them they can worship too, or to just be quiet so the adults can concentrate?” 

First, the teens’ sincerity deeply encouraged me and spurred my own heart to respond. The worship service was not about me or whether I was inconvenienced. It wasn’t about being able to sit with rapt attention in the front with a notebook and pen in hand. Worship is about God. And my heart needed to remember I can worship even when it’s not easy and doesn’t look the way I long for it to look. And how does my attitude seep through to my children? What are the messages I’m sending? My self-focus almost missed something beautiful—the heartfelt responses of others around me, and the opportunity to bow my own heart to God.

The body of Christ is such a marvelous gift. They probably had no idea anyone was watching, but I needed the testimonies of these young ones— their radiant smiles and raised hands. I needed them to encourage and convict. 

The teenagers at our church are fantastic, and not just these two. All of them seek ways to help and serve. I see their willingness to use their gifts and desire to grow in their faith. They participate in community group and add thoughtful comments to the discussion. They give me so much hope for the next generation.

They give me hope that my small people see them also. 

And they do. “When I’m a teenager I’m going to sing and play the guitar at church!” sweet voices proclaim. 

Secondly, I breathed a prayer, “Oh that I would get to see my own children worshiping with joy and zeal! Lord let the Word fall on good ground. Let its roots grow deep. Let it produce fruit one hundred fold.” In the soil cultivating, seed planting days we pray for rain. Harvest seems so far away.

Yet these teens are not so far removed from their childhood—and God is clearly at work. My children not only see adults who love Jesus, but they also get to observe some who are closer in age. These young friends are seed planters also, and they may not even know it. 

And I remind myself that all these hours gathering with the church are not wasted. God is using this time. Small people begin to understand Jesus is not just a word, but a real, living person, the Savior whose body was broken and whose blood was poured out for them. They see he’s worth the center, the focus of our affections. 

Finally, I also knew a moment of grief for another teenage girl, exuberant, “on fire” for Jesus with faith largely untested who knew God could move mountains. She was the girl serving any way she could, eager to go on mission trips, work at camp, and change the world. She dreamed of doing “big things for God.” Limitations? Nah. God could do whatever he wanted. I was that girl. At fourteen my life had turned a 180 and I’d never looked back. 

“Take my life and let it be consecrated Lord to thee,” I prayed upon many a church stair. 

So I grieved the girl with fewer scars and big expectations, the girl with a fresh face, not yet battle worn. For a moment I missed the days when the Christian life seemed limitless. Big things were on the horizon. Opportunities abounded. I couldn’t wait to see what this wild and wonderful life held.

I also missed the freedom of young adult days, when limits and responsibilities still were few, when I could give myself to the ways I wanted to serve God. Life has a way of looking nothing like one expects, however. Even the things we long for, pray for, and dearly love feel lack luster some days. Answered prayer may be a delight, but the life we craved more difficult than we knew. We sing “Father use my ransomed life in any way you choose,” and mean it. But sometimes we wonder if what he chooses truly is best.

Time and trials refract our big dreams, bending them with changed perspectives. I can grieve that zealous, enthusiastic teenager, but also be thankful the Ami in her 40s looks radically different than her. And if I live long enough, the Ami I’ll be in my 80s will also be radically different than the me I am now. Life lived brings maturity, wisdom, and more shades of gray- not everything is black and white. Mercifully, sanctification is progressive.

Perhaps God doesn’t have big things for me to do right now. Perhaps I need to learn faithfulness in the small things. 

Limitations aren’t always a bad thing— The King of the universe limited himself. The limitless one took on limits, fences, boundaries. He put on skin that sweat, stank after a long day, and needed washing just like his brothers. He put on a body subject to fatigue and illness. He limited his understanding so his brain would develop like the other children around him. Ultimately he limited his power, and refused to rescue himself that we could be rescued. 

So maybe my limits are also good.

Maybe I need to remind myself. “Do small stuff for God. Despise not every day faithfulness.” In the upside down (or truly right side up) Kingdom of Christ, small things become big things.

I’m not here to be a cynic, or rob my young friends of zeal or big dreams. Please keep dreaming guys! For truly nothing is impossible for God. You could indeed be a William Carey or Amy Carmichael. Or for more modern references – a Jackie Hill Perry or David Platt. 

The Kingdom still needs dreamers, and the weary moms in the back need you.

But I’ll tell you, young friends, the plans God has for you probably look much different than the plans you have for yourself. The road will take unexpected turns. There will be more thorns and storms than you’d like to think. The valleys may be exceptionally deep. But, there will also be more fragrant flowers and more ravishing sunsets than you can imagine. 

God’s path is hard. But God’s path is worth it. There are indeed higher joys and deeper peace as we learn Christ.

We like to tell the young “God has a spectacular plan for you. He could use your life in mighty ways.” Young friends, we are not lying to you. But perhaps God’s spectacular plan, the mighty things he can do in and through you aren’t visible things. Maybe mighty isn’t always a public platform or large influence.

Maybe spectacular is a heart with bed rock, unshakeable faith. Maybe spectacular is one who gives the shirt off his back. Maybe spectacular is doing the unseen things, without commendation or applause. 

Also, I think we misunderstand spectacular’s time frame. What if we don’t see spectacular in this life? All we need do is step outside or glance at a headline to remember much in a fallen world is definitely not spectacular. So we orient our hearts to eternity, where there’s much we do not yet know. However, without doubt we do know it is there that “God has a spectacular plan for you” comes to its full and marvelous fruition. Look to Jesus—eternity will be beyond spectacular. 

So young friends, set your eyes on the cross. Since we know spectacular will come, you can confidently lay your dreams at his feet. He may shape them, mold them, ask for them, or strip them away. But if he does, know you have a Father who is always good. He might take your dream, remake it, and hand it right back to you when the time is right. Or he might replace it with a different dream. Either way, his plan is better. 

Better doesn’t mean easier, a life always marked by sunshine and cool breezes, but it does mean he is there. And it does mean he is sovereign. And it does mean he is always kind. And it does mean you can trust him. 

Keep on worshiping with a sincere heart. Keep outwardly responding. Hang on to your enthusiasm, and let God’s light shine through. There’s a weary mom at the back who needs you.

Red Nails

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

Perfectly manicured nails, red, wrapped around a warm mug its contents the color of caramel. Books and journals lay piled about. I took a picture, but didn’t post it. Was it really necessary to perfectly crop and Instagram it, after all?

It’s funny how memories work. Red, lovely nails came to mind this morning as I snatched a few minutes, Bible open before kids clamored down the hall.

Widowed, I had hours of quiet— reflecting, reading, writing. I became close friends with solitude. It was a beautiful, needed, and gracious gift of God as I worked through the depths, leaning into the pain. Somehow the only way out was through. I think I’m much better for it as a result.

Some days I look back on those quiet times wistfully. But if I take off the rose colored glasses, loneliness was profound. 

The quiet was rich and sweet, a time of knowing Christ more intimately than I’d ever thought possible. But it was also a battle. I was surrounded by the best friends a girl could ask for in such a dark time. But loneliness clung like a heavy blanket. I had been part of two and now I was one. 

My days are no longer quiet. My nails no longer manicured or my hair beautifully colored. I don’t often get hours to sit and be quiet. Coffee cools down and then it lies forgotten in the microwave, cooling again.

But I am not lonely. 

Though days are exhausting and sometimes exasperating, they are rich. I prayed for these days for a long time. And they’re here. What lavish grace!

When sleep gets interrupted, when the day is a mundane slog of chores, or I deal with the hundredth sibling squabble, I tell myself “slow down.” See them. Remember, they are answers to prayer.

Sometimes the season feels long. “Even youths grow tired and weary,” (though one might argue I no longer get to claim youth). But don’t feel sorry for me. I adore these little ones close in age. 

I love seeing them reach new milestones, hearing the funny things they say, and watching their imaginations take full flight. I love being the one they run to when they are scared or hurt. There is joy in seeing them learn to clean up after themselves or put clothes in the hamper. I like teaching them life skills and watching them start to spread their wings. 

“Yes, you may pour your own milk.” 

Snuggling them on my lap book in hand; it’s one of our favorite places to be. I also love rocking my babies and even cuddling my 60 lb, gangly leg, tall 4 year old who stretches long across my body.

And I actually do like being home with my children. They’re pretty great people.

I taught kindergarten for awhile and later was a developmental therapist. Both were career paths I enjoyed, but I never saw myself doing them long term or continuing to climb the ranks.

But I always wanted to be mom. And it’s so good to remind myself. 

What a tremendous privilege to be entrusted with the shepherding of their souls, with the task of cultivating the soil of their hearts. 

And I am learning the joy of abiding, snatching time as it comes. Audio Bible in the shower, scripture songs in the car. I take advantage of nap times for reading. Index cards with truth line cabinet doors. Even the resources we use with our children stir my heart. Abiding doesn’t have to be hours of quiet with a leather bound journal in hand.

I do love to fill a good leather journal. But it’s not always what this season looks like. 

I don’t always abide well. Romans 7 barges in. But I press to know, press on to grow. I lean into Jesus. I run to find help from others when I can’t get truth into my own heart. I ask the Holy Spirit to guide my actions and words, filling me with “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.” (Galatians 5:22)

I painted Charlotte’s nails the other day; little finger nails seem much easier to paint than my own. I place the new memory beside the old. My hands alone. My hands holding hers. 

Red manicured nails and hours of quiet. It was good for a season. 

Pink nails on tiny hands. Snatches of quiet savored when I get it. Beauty in this season.

“For every thing there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Eccl 3:1

That’s going to come out of me?

~ Ami ~ 1 Comment

He was an irresistible week-old newborn, and it was his first Sunday at church. When his mom held him to her shoulder he bore the trademark “I’m just gonna mold completely to your body” newborn snuggle. Talk about baby fever right there!

And then I thought, “That is going to come out of me? That baby is huge!”

Now, it must be said that this little guy is a perfectly average, healthy baby. He wasn’t a 16 pounder.

Though you’ve likely read between the lines, (and noticed the picture) I should probably bring some of you up to speed. I suppose you can tell that I haven’t written in awhile. I guess there is less need for deep processing in the happy, hustling and bustling seasons. Well, I do write all the time these days, but technical reports for work don’t really seem to count.

Anyway, for those who don’t know me in real life or at least on Facebook, I am 5 1/2 months pregnant with our first child! Hooray!

And he’s a boy! We are so delighted to be having a son. He’s a gift long prayed for. The feeling of little kicks from the inside, hearing his heartbeat, seeing him move on ultrasound; these are among the best things I’ve ever experienced. We already know his name, but I’ll save that story for another day.

But I digress. I met a sweet little newborn at church. He was adorable; thoughts of awe and terror simultaneously flitted across my mind.

“Wow God you are amazing!”

“But someone that big is going to come out of me?”

Being pregnant has produced its own set of fears. Fears about labor and delivery. Fears about parenting. Fear that something would happen to our baby—There I’ve said it out loud. It’s uncharted territory, a completely new avenue in which I am learning trust.

I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. It’s one of those desires that had to be stripped away for me to see what it had become. An idol. It was a dream I had begun to worship, something I thought I had to have to be happy. It was a good desire I had let turn into an ultimate desire.

You may remember that my first husband and I tried to get pregnant for a year and half before he died. God did a lot in my heart over that year and half. But the battle was real and intense. So often I prayed for a child. So often I tried to hold my hands open to the Lord.

And when Jon died, all the hopes and dreams of being a mom shattered also. I remember when I started my period about a week after he died: I crumpled on my bathroom floor and sobbed.

So here I am, turning 35 tomorrow and pregnant! They say I’m of “advanced maternal age.” That makes me smile.

And I am amazed at God’s goodness and grace. In the years of widowhood He taught me much about living with open hands. He was good when my hands were empty. And He is good now.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I again knelt on the floor, tears streaming. Y’all know I have a strong relationship with crying.

“Lord, even from the very beginning this baby is yours. I hold my hands open to you. Do what you want with this little life. I pray you would give us grace to point this baby to Jesus. ”

But sometimes open hands are hard.

We’re five and a half months down this path, and already we’re trying to make decisions for the good of our son.

Am I eating the right foods? Taking the right vitamins? Drinking enough water?

Do I go get a Tetanus shot because I cut my toe on a screw?

The flu. Severe dehydration. “I think we better go to the hospital.”

In all this I’m starting to understand that trusting God with our son is life long. We can try to make the best, most informed decisions but ultimately God is sovereign.

He is weaving this little one together in his mother’s womb. Our son is fearfully, and wonderfully made. How much richer are those words now! God will do what brings himself honor and glory.

We’re going to make mistakes. Sometimes we’re going to have no clue what we’re doing. Maybe a lot of times. I’ll probably freak out. Meltdowns will happen—both from me and the baby.

Sometimes we’ll even sin against him. What?! I’m not going to be a perfect parent?

I see your looks of incredulity, but yes friends it’s true.

Therefore, as I learned to preach the gospel to myself in marriage, widowhood, and marriage again, so must I learn it now.

I’m well aware that my highly sensitive heart and strong need for introspection can lead an internal dialogue of fear. We all have our sin tendencies. So I have to change the dialogue.

  • God is the perfect parent. Therefore I don’t have to be.
  • If God did not spare His own Son, will he spare any omnipotent effort to do good to me? (or to my son?)
  • The cross and resurrection prove that the Lord is trustworthy. He always does what he says he will. Because I have been made alive, new, redeemed I can trust God.
  • My Father has promised to sanctify me. He is committed to transforming into the image of his Son. Therefore, he will give grace to admit when I am wrong. Grace to say, “Mommy is sorry. Please forgive me.”
  • God loves our baby far more than we do.

It still feels surreal sometimes. In a few short months we’ll be responsible to keep a tiny human alive, to meet his needs, to instruct him, to protect, to shepherd him. We pray many things for our baby, but most of all we pray he would know Jesus.  Because who’s the real Shepherd? Who’s the real Provider and Protector? It certainly isn’t me.

That I think, is the sum of what God has called us to do—point him to the marvelous grace found in Christ alone. We are channels, channels only to the one who is the answer to all fears, to the one who fully satisfies.

On dancing. And elections.

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

It was late. I sat on our bed, eyes glued to my phone, unable to stop tracking the results of the national election. I readily admit I couldn’t vote for either of the top candidates, and trepidation crept in at the thought of either outcome.

He slid into the room like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, striking a goofy pose reserved only for me.

“Dance with me, babe.”

I grinned, scrambled off the bed, and we enthusiastically imitated all our favorite Dancing With the Stars moves. (Not that David enjoys the show or anything— Ahem. Ahem.) We aren’t great dancers, but we both needed the moment of levity, laughing at our rhythmical ineptitude. Such a sweet time. In the words of Andrew Peterson, we went “dancing in the minefields.”

And we lay down in peace and slept. And the sun still rose. And God still reigns.

A song runs through my mind. We danced to it at our wedding reception.

Cause the only way to find your life
Is to lay your own life down
And I believe it’s an easy price
For the life that we have found

And we’re dancing in the minefields
We’re sailing in the storm
This is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that’s what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me
When I loose love’s chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith, till the end of all my days
When I forget my name, remind me
‘Cause we bear the light of the Son of Man

So there’s nothing left to fear
So I’ll walk with you in the shadowlands
Till the shadows disappear
‘Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos, baby,
I can dance with you

“In the face of this chaos, baby I can dance with you.”  The last few months have been a whirlwind. Now, that’s an understatement, if I’ve ever penned one. We planned a wedding, my Dad died, got married, wept with loved ones facing life-altering devastation, we moved me to where David is, and we began life together. Moving to a new city threw me much further out of my comfort zone than I thought it would. And all the while, the election cycle dragged on.

But there has been incredible sweetness in the whirlwind. There is beauty in the messy. David and I are learning to be one flesh. We have the joy of loving and being loved by the other. What great joy it is! We get to point each other to Jesus. We get serve each other. We get to remind each other who we are in Christ. There is grace in disagreements. He is learning to lead, and I am learning to follow. We get to remember our desperate need for God.

Life is so much better together.

“We bear the light of the Son of Man, so there’s nothing left to fear.” Therefore, this morning my heart links dancing in our bedroom with things like elections.

In the wake of personal whirlwind and national chaos, this I call to mind.

“Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10.

We get to dance with joy. God will be exalted.

He is sovereign over all. I can dance through minefields because my greatest need has already been met at the cross. I have lost my life and found it in Christ. Therefore,

I can be kind to those with whom I disagree.

I can respect authorities and pray for our leaders.

I can believe the best in others.

I can fight for life. All life— the unborn, the refugee, the downtrodden, the outcast.

I can rest in knowing God will accomplish His purposes.

I can love.

I can delight in a husband again, and we can gracefully dance through minefields together.

And I can remember that my highest calling is to bear the light of the Son of Man.

 

“Dancing in the Minefields” by Andrew Peterson

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Christmas, joy or misery?

~ Ami ~ 14 Comments

christmas cardLet’s talk about Christmas for a few minutes. I love Christmas. I mean I really LOVE Christmas. I think many people can relate… lights, traditions, cookies, decorating, songs, ornaments, presents, the whole nine. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, right?

Jon and I got to have 4 Christmases. One dating and the rest married. And over those brief seasons, we’d already established some family traditions and plans for Advent. New Christmas pjs. Coffee and cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. Opening one present on Christmas Eve. Reading Luke 2. Christmas cards to each other–that one was new to me! But one of Jon’s quirks was that he loved giving and receiving cards.

Incidentally, as we drove to our honeymoon cruise ship, I had to read each wedding card aloud to him! I admit, I was more interested in seeing the money or gift cards fall out. But I digress.

When it came to decorating our tree, I adored unwrapping each ornament and reliving the memory associated with it. A clay bride and groom. A little gold airplane from the National Air and Space Museum. Blown glass from Tennessee. A seashell from the Bahamas. A beluga whale from the Georgia Aquarium. A wooden owl from Galena. Our Christmas tree represented the fulness of life together.

Atkins family ornamentEvery year we rode the train into Chicago for Garrett’s popcorn, window displays on Michigan Avenue, lights, and the Cheesecake Factory (one piece to split–for the train home, of course) But my favorite part of our day was Christkindlmarket, a traditional German market set up in the heart of downtown.

First on the agenda, find an ornament. I guess that’s obvious, I suppose. Mission accomplished–hand painted, delicate, snowy scene on a glass teardrop. We loved milling through the booths hand-in-hand, sampling German food and admiring the hand-carved nativity sets, of which we planned to start our own this year. The idea was to buy Mary, Joseph and Jesus this Christmas and to add another figure each year. Another of the simple pleasures was mulled cider or hot chocolate in a boot. There’s something about a steaming beverage inside a ceramic boot that is pure delight.

city lightsAnd in all of our celebrating, we wanted to exalt Jesus. We desired to walk through the Christmas season with expectancy, rejoicing in Christ’s first Advent and joyfully anticipating His second! Jon led me well in enjoying the good things of Christmas, but focusing on the ultimate thing.

But, this year as “The holidays” approach I had some deciding to do. Should I run from them? Should I expect that they will always be hard and that’s just the way it is? Should I live November through January with a sense of miserable dread?

Several things could lead me there. Christmas symbolizes the final normal. It’s the last event in my memories of Jon not marred by illness or death. For his first trip to the ER was December 28th. Christmas seems like it will predicate memories of “the lasts”–the last month of Jon’s earthly life, our last date, the last dinner I cooked for him, the last movies we watched together (Ironically they were Steel Magnolias and P.S. I Love You. When he died shortly thereafter, those movies felt like a sick joke).

I can vividly picture many more lasts. Approaching Christmas also means I’m coming to the “last of the firsts.” You know, my first birthday without him, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first New Year’s and then we’ll be to the year anniversary of his death.

So, yeah there’s been a lot to consider.

Well, several weeks ago I heard someone say. “The holidays are always just so difficult for me. I just dread them because of the memories. Because of the loss.” I was moved with sorrow for this person and for myself.

But then I thought, “Ami you have a choice.” I can choose to run from the hard things, or I can choose to face them head-on as I have faced every other facet of grief. Some things will be challenging this Christmas season, but so will grace continue to be magnificent. I’m sure there will be tears, but there will also be overwhelming joy.

So, I choose to live. The tree is going up. Music is being played. Cookies are being baked. My heart is ridiculously excited! I’m in awe of God and all He’s doing. Grace is abundant. Some beautiful things are happening. Not deserved, only grace.

A lovely idea still taking shape is the desire to intertwine old memories with new. Perhaps the Chicago trip will have to include Hannah’s Bretzels. What in the world is a bretzel? I have no idea, but I hear they’re kind of amazing.

So with the choice before me, I remembered that Christmas isn’t really about me or Jon anyway. To be trapped, wallowing in misery during this season is to completely miss the point.

But here’s what is. God became man and dwelt among us. Jesus so thoroughly obeyed the will of the Father that He was willing to take on all the weaknesses and infirmities of human flesh. Still fully God, but also fully man. What a great mystery! Yet He became the very nature of a servant and obeyed even to the point of death.

Expect Jesus. That’s the reality of Christmas. My pastor said that. And one day he might sue me for plagiarism because I’ve probably stolen lots of his ideas. Nonetheless, expect Jesus in life right now. Expect His transforming work of grace. And expect Him to come again. As the Jews so longed for Messiah, so we long for Him to return!

Thinking on Jesus increases joy. My pastor said that too. But really, I think Isaiah said it first.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of darkness, on them has the light shined. You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy…” (Isaiah 9)

And as Isaiah thought on the coming Messiah, his joy overflowed.

Jesus was coming.

And he would be the Son of God.

He would be Wonderful.

Counselor.

Mighty God.

Everlasting Father.

Prince of Peace.

He would bring a kingdom that would never end.

And listen to this from Luke 1. “Because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

How then could I live in misery?

Jesus is light. Jesus is peace. Jesus is complete satisfaction.

And Jesus is JOY.

first christmas

she said yesChristmas morning