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In her book, Little Women, Louisa May Alcott describes a scene in chapter fifteen, where a “telegraph” is received by Mrs. March regarding her husband, who has been fighting in the Civil War. Its contents inform her of his great illness and that she should come at once. Her four daughters surround her, feeling the fears and concerns of what might have happened to the beloved husband and father. After a brief moment of sorrow, the women all jump into action to prepare Mrs. March for the journey to the hospital in Washington, where her injured husband awaits.

Jo, the unconventional and daring daughter, is sent to request money from their Aunt March, who is very well-to-do. When Jo reappears some time later, she hands her mother twenty-five dollars. Today, this would be equivalent to $700, or up to $1,000. In fact, twenty-five dollars in the mid-to-late eighteen hundreds was the average salary for a schoolteacher. So, when Mrs. March and all those present see Jo plopping twenty-five dollars into her mother’s hands, all are rightfully shocked. Where and how did she get that kind of money?

When she takes off her bonnet, the answer is clear. She had cut her hair and sold it, and the responses to her short hair are numerous.

“Your hair! Your beautiful hair!” “O Jo, how could you? Your one beauty.” “She doesn’t look like my Jo anymore, but I love her dearly for it!”[1]

Later that night, when everyone is in bed, Meg hears crying. Thinking that Jo is distraught over the news of their father, she comes to comfort her sister. She asks if she is crying over father. Jo’s reply is honest and sincere, “No, not now.” When Meg follows up with “What then?” Jo bursts out, “My—my hair!”[2]

Even our wonderful and creative character, Jo, could feel the weight of vanity.

Beauty.

From century to century, decade to decade, beauty standards evolve, either shaping culture or being shaped by culture, the pursuit of which stares back at us from the reflection in the mirror. We are bombarded on repeat with messages of what is beautiful, what is not beautiful, how to attain beauty, and what is hindering us from being beautiful.

In 1868, when Little Women was first published, long hair on women was considered beautiful. And in the case of Jo, it was, sadly, her one beauty. Unbeknownst to these little women, in less than fifty years, women would be chopping their hair off into what was eventually known as the flapper bob.

Beauty has forever been complex and hard to nail down. And even if we think we’ve hit the mark, we quickly discover the goal post has been moved. Beauty standards created by our culture are impossible.

In ninth grade, by far the most unpleasant year of my academic life, a girl shouted the worst insult I could have imagined from across the din of noisy teenagers, “Parrot-nose Hayburn!” I died.

In the late eighties, I had a nose that did not fit the beauty standards of the day. It probably still doesn’t, but I reached a point in my second decade of life when I decided to accept the nose God gave me. Still, in ninth grade, I had yet to reach that level of maturity, and I absolutely did not accept my nose. And apparently, no one else did either. I lived feeling ugly and less than for years. All on account of my nose.

In high school, I dreamed of the day when I would most certainly have lots of money and I would get a nose job—oh, bless my heart, if she could see me now (I do not have lots of money). I was determined to fix the flaw and find true happiness and contentment. In this, I would be beautiful.

What I discovered in my twenties was the futility of chasing after beauty. It changes constantly, and it will eventually fade completely.

I was at the grocery store yesterday. I have been going to this particular shop since we moved to Umhlanga almost six years ago. Most of the ladies who work there are familiar to me, and I to them. We smile and chat at the checkout lane. I am a regular customer. Yesterday, however, I had a new experience during checkout. After the young lady scanned my groceries, she looked at me and asked me if I got “the pensioner’s discount.” I was stunned.

To qualify for the pensioner’s discount, one would have to be sixty years old. Sixty. I am nowhere near sixty (not that there is anything wrong with being sixty). I chuckled and replied, “No.” I paid, and I left, feeling a little self-conscious as I walked to my car.

The reality of age and aging hit me pretty hard. And I think that, perhaps, there are other middle-aged women out there who might feel similar feelings.

My dermatologist was telling me about a procedure that can lift my eyelids and open my eyes to give my face a brighter look. I didn’t ask for my eyes to be lifted or how to give my face a brighter look. I didn’t realize I needed that. But clearly, I’m at an age where skin is sagging into my eyes, and my cheeks are sliding down toward my neck. And there are procedures to fix this. And, if I were to be one hundred percent honest with you, I can’t say I am completely opposed to the idea of brightening any part of my face by any means necessary. But, once again, such things will have to wait until I have lots of money.

We worship youth as if it were the fourth member of the Trinity. We discount gray hairs and roll our eyes at wrinkly hands—ours and others alike. We tuck women with the greatest wisdom and life experience out of sight and then platform smooth-skinned beauties who lack the weight of experience in their words. Age becomes a red flag on a resume, a perceived impediment toward progress. The unspoken message is, “the older you get, the less value you hold.”

But age is a gift! Where I am today, and the fact that my body is strong and capable and my mind is alert (minus the occasional brain fog), is an absolute gift from God. And the same goes for you. Just because you took a left turn into your forties or fifties or sixties and beyond, does not suddenly disqualify you because you don’t enter the room with the same youthful glow and firm body you had thirty years ago. You are more qualified now than you ever were!

Beauty is fleeting. It loves you today and will walk out on you tomorrow. The belief that you can only be loved, eligible, and accepted if the world deems you pretty enough or young enough is a conviction that will lead you to despair over and over again. There are no happy endings for those lost in the ever-elusive search for inimitable beauty.

But what if beauty was a who and not a what?

What if beauty were the rare and precious person sitting in your skin right now? That’s right, the person inside your skin!

The book of Proverbs gives us a couple of hints about the measure of beauty in God’s eyes.

Proverbs, chapter 31, verses 30 and 31 say, “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.”

Proverbs, chapter 16, verses 21 and 31 say, “The wise in heart are called discerning, and gracious words promote instruction. Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness.”

A woman who fears the Lord is going to approach the full-length mirror in her closet with respect and admiration. Instead of observing all that is wrong, according to current beauty standards, she will see the hands that have held her babies, written dissertations, performed surgeries, and fed the poor. She will see legs that have given her freedom to move and run and be active, a smile that warms rooms and hearts, the stretch marks and soft curves she has earned through childbearing, and the flaws that make her uniquely her and one hundred percent human.

Gray hair sitting atop the head of an older woman is her crown of splendor. She has earned it. She can embrace it because it proclaims to the world, “This woman has a story or two to share!” And her stories instruct us, caution us, guide us, and inspire us.

These mirror reflections may not win a beauty contest, but they come with grace. They have discovered their voice. They are lovely for simply being.

I get outside and go for a run five out of seven days a week.

I avoid sugar Monday through Friday, and I enjoy dessert on the weekends.

I get my roots touched up every six weeks.

I wear a red-tinted lip balm…always…even when I am running.

I like to wear dresses, and I feel my best when I’m wearing make-up and I’ve done my hair.

I love getting pedicures, although I’m never consistent in my efforts.

And I have a serious skincare regimen that I do religiously.

All of the above may make me sound like a hypocrite. I am a firm believer in learning to love and accept the fleshly shell God has given me, and as much as I am convinced that true beauty and worth are intrinsic qualities of every woman, I still like to feel beautiful.

I’m not a hard-nose when it comes to doing things that add beauty and confidence. But what concerns me today is the relentless overdrive—by young and old alike—to attain youthful perfection. As Solomon states often throughout Ecclesiastes, “All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind” Ecclesiastes 1:14, NIV).

Ladies, let’s face it: one face-brightening procedure will only lead to another one, because time is going to keep marching all across our faces. Chasing youth and beauty is like chasing the wind.

I wonder, can we finally accept the parrot-nose? Can we come to grips with the ticking clock and embrace the beauty of each fine line and wrinkle that represents all the seasons we’ve passed through? Can we drown out the barrage of messages the world is screaming at us and replace them with a grounded perspective of the beauty of life all around us? Can we appreciate the sounds of birds chirping in the trees and the ocean waves crashing on the shore, and just for a moment, find deep soul-refreshing peace in living?

I hope so. Because, my friend, God says we are “fearfully and wonderfully made!” (Psalm 139). And I absolutely believe that!

[2] Alcott, Louisa May. Little Women. United States of America, Barnes and Noble, 1994, pp. 191.

photo by mae mu on unsplash

They call us the “Sandwich Generation”, and I feel it.

Let’s break down this metaphor.

The first piece of bread: Our parents.

They are aging. Both sets of parents, mine and Joel’s. And while they are still active and living happily independent lives, we have observed the sands of time running more quickly through the hourglass. The biggest shift took place when they turned seventy. They are all in their mid-to-late seventies now, and it is like the hour hand on the clock of life ticked into a completely different time zone. Eighty is right around the corner. The aging process has accelerated.

And while I expect they will be around for a decent amount of time, the changes have been noticeable.

Noticeable enough to open up conversations with them and with our siblings about the future needs and care of our parents.

Noticeable enough that seeing them after being apart for a period of time causes an inner gasp at first glance.

Noticeable enough that we hear ourselves saying, “Mom and Dad have really aged.”

Noticeable enough that we feel a slight lump in our throats as we anticipate the changes that will take place between now and the next time we are together.

Noticeable enough that saying goodbye is becoming more difficult.

Living overseas compounds the heavy emotions. The gap between visits falls in the realm of years. Sometimes, one year, as in the case with my parents. We have been able to see them more frequently, which has given us more time to absorb the aging process. We saw Joel’s parents this past May at our daughter, Sydney’s, university graduation. It had been over two years. And we were taken aback. There have been all kinds of medical updates from both sets of parents regularly, but nothing could really prepare us to see the physical changes in real life.

Our parents are not at the point where they need us to be at arm’s length, paying bills, and ensuring they are being shuffled to and from appointments. Yet, we know that day is coming soon. Joel’s brother lives in the same area as their parents, and my sister, while not in the same city or state, is, at least, in the same country. We all know that when the day comes when my parents need more supervision and care, my sister will likely be the one moving close by. Joel and his brother have their own conversations about one day. And while I don’t see that day coming any time soon, wisdom tells us to be prepared.

The second piece of bread: Our children.

This piece of bread is not the same as the other (we are a very eclectic kind of sandwich). Where I would easily call our parents a nice slice of your run-of-the-mill white Wonder Bread™, our kids are more of a Dave’s Killer Bread™.

We have a twenty-three-year-old starting her career, a twenty-one-year-old in her final year of university and preparing to get married next year, a nineteen-year-old who is in his second year of university, and we have a ten-year-old gutting it out in grade five. We have nuts, seeds, grains, and all kinds of textures in this slice of bread.

Having older children who are beginning to enter the portal of independence has been more emotional than I expected. I am proud of them. Joel and I are their biggest cheerleaders. We believe in them, and we see greatness, even in its raw form, in each one of them. Parenting older children is rewarding in a totally different way. We have become their coaches. And while I love this season tremendously, I hate feeling so far away when life sideswipes them. I want to be there. I want to fix. I want to throw off my coach hat and jump into a helicopter so I can swoop down and rescue them.

I worked hard not to be a helicopter parent when they were young, but I find myself wanting to slip into that often. I think, in part, it is because their challenges are more complicated and grown-up. We are not talking about forgetting lunch boxes and permission slips. We are spectators of our children making big decisions, and praying they make them with wisdom and not with emotion. We try to be good listeners, but I know my opinion has overstepped, which has prompted a necessary apology.

The letting go phase is both amazing and messy. I love having young adult children to hang out with and talk to. They are fun, insightful, and truly enjoyable. The messy parts come with learning to keep my coach hat on and avoid the helicopter.

Had God not given us one of the most wonderful and precious surprises ten years ago, Joel and I would be empty nesters right now. But God knows me better than I know myself, and Lord knows, I am not ready to be an empty nester quite yet.

Part of that nutty, grain goodness of this second slice of bread is our son, Jasper. Having a ten-year-old in our fifties keeps us active and young at heart. Having a ten-year-old on the autism spectrum pushes us to keep learning and discovering all the unique facets of parenting.

Jasper still needs us in a very practical way, day in and day out. His siblings do not. Joel and I have one foot in the young adult world and one foot in grade school. Our parenting role is on a broad spectrum, which I would not trade for anything in the world.

The insides of the sandwich: Joel and me.

PB and J, a BLT, Turkey and Mayo, Philly Cheesesteak, Meatball and Mozzarella, you can take your pick on the insides of this sandwich. It really doesn’t matter. The point is, Joel and I are one or all of the above squeezed between these two pieces of bread.

And it’s not like our personal lives are perfectly sane and in order.

My hormones are in constant chaos. I’m perimenopausal—like, for real—with body changes I’m trying to come to grips with. My skin and my bones are betraying me, and I am the proud owner of an AM and PM weekly pill organizer (I have supplements and HRT [Hormone Replacement Therapy] to keep in order). When I’m not fighting brain fog, I’m asking myself big life questions, like “What do I want to be when I grow up?” One would assume I had already discovered the answer to that question a long time ago, but I’m still pondering. I think the crux of the issue here is not so much figuring out what I want to be as who I want to become. And how am I doing with all of that?

I honestly don’t have much time to sit around and think about big questions like this. There is too much to do in the twenty-four-hour day to gaze out of the window and ponder such things. Every now and then (like two o’clock in the morning), my brain will buzz with deep soul-searching questions, but then that train of thought quickly derails into the needs of our kids and the needs of our parents.

Joel and I are still young enough and have the physical and emotional margin to carry the responsibilities in our hands. While stretched from one piece of bread to the other in this sandwich of ours, we have capacity. While we are not youngins anymore, we are nowhere near retirement. We believe our greatest days are ahead of us, and we keep pushing forward.

I don’t have any answers or solutions to the “Sandwich Generation” dilemma. This is reality. This is the stuff many of us grapple with on an ongoing basis. We can’t rewrite the past to circumvent the present, and we can’t hide our heads in the sand either. We have to live in this moment…this day…this sandwich.

Because of this, gratitude is essential. Gratitude for time. Gratitude for presence. Gratitude for each and every phone call, WhatsApp message, school project, and opportunity, regardless of length, we get to spend with each part of this crazy sandwich. Because time, right now, is a gift. It is precious. It is fleeting. And it is the giver of moments we will cherish forever.

The sandwich may feel overwhelming at times. Balancing the emotional tug of war on the inside can become a lot, but remember…time. Time is the giver. God holds time in his hands. He is the giver of every moment we get. Let us not take for granted any of these best days of our lives.

Photo by Greyson Joralemon for Unsplash

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).

Love among us.

Christmas conjures up a myriad of thoughts, feelings, and responses.

Some people twirl through the season like the Nutcracker’s Sugarplum Princess, while others trudge along from November first to December twenty-fifth like Ebenezer Scrooge. There are, of course, those in between—fighting to grasp the joy of the season while simultaneously working through a never-ending and unrealistic to-do list.

Christmas holds pain and loss for some, miracles for others, and an earnest joy for those determined to hold on to the fundamental good that is Christmas.

But Christmas is more than a holiday of goodwill toward men. It is more than traditions and presents, cookies and pie. It is even more than the candles we light for Advent.

Christmas is the moment Love entered into humanity and determined to dwell among us.

Not only this, but it is also the instant where freedom to love and be loved by Love was born.

Isaiah prophesied that a day would come when a Savior would be born, who would sit on David’s throne and whose kingdom would have no end.[1]

The angels declared to the shepherds on the night of Jesus’ birth that a Messiah, the Savior, had been born.[2]

Long-awaited and anticipated, Immanuel—God with us—was here. Here on planet Earth. Here to live. Here to stay (through the Holy Spirit). Here to walk with us, abide with us, sit with us, lead and guide us. Here to love. And for those who determined to accept this Truth, His love has become a part of us.

And this Love did more than simply be with us.

This Love died for us.

All week long, I’ve been thinking about what I would write for today’s Advent post. To be honest, I was hoping that God would endue me with an extra measure of creativity and insight when I started writing. But nothing came.

In a conversation I was having with our older kids this morning at brunch, we started to share what love looks like to each of us. Sitting there, listening, it hit me how often I shift into autopilot when I recall the stories of Christmas and Easter.

Maybe you can relate?

We’ve heard them and told them so many times and in so many different ways that the depth and profundity of what God did gets lost in all of the clutter of the holidays.

God gave us His Son, Jesus—the most perfect and unblemished gift—on Christmas Day. Jesus was God incarnate, living among us, walking the streets, and rubbing shoulders with mankind. And then, Jesus died a horrendous death so that the wretchedness of humanity could have personal access to God. The payment of sin that we owed was reconciled through Christ’s sacrifice.

The resurrection that we celebrate on Easter is the exclamation point at the end of a long and dark sentence.

The waiting was finished.

That is the truest and most powerful love. No embellishment needed.

William Barclay described it this way: “God the judge has become God the lover of the souls of men.”[3]

Imagine that!

God is the lover of our souls. And this love spilled over the rim of heaven and met us here on Earth on Christmas Day.

Immanuel has not left us or abandoned us.

He resides within us, and He is all around.

Love is among us.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
descend to us, we pray;
cast out our sin and enter in;
be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels,
the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
our Lord Emmanuel!

O Little Town of Bethlehem, written by Phillips Brooks in 1868

[2] Bible Gateway. “Isaiah 9 NIV – - Bible Gateway.” Www.biblegateway.com, www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah%209&version=NIV.

[3] Barclay, William. “Commentary on John 1″. “William Barclay’s Daily Study Bible”. https://www.studylight.org/commentaries/eng/dsb/john-1.html. 1956-1959.

Let every heart prepare him room.

Joy to the World, written by Isaac Watts (1719)

Our college kids will be home for Christmas soon!

Floors are being swept and mopped while beds are being made.

A menu has been prepared with much-loved home-cooked meals.

The fridge is stocked, and favorite snacks are in the cupboard.

Our home is being prepared for the arrival of three very special guests, and my heart can hardly handle the waiting.

Soon.

They will be home soon.

***

There is a meme circulating. Mary and Joseph have arrived in Bethlehem. Joseph is apologizing to Mary for not booking a reservation at any of the local inns. Mary is irritated but responds to Joseph with, “I’m fine!” And anyone reading the meme would know that Mary is definitely not fine.

Most of our traditional nativity stories imply that Mary and Joseph were unprepared for their stay in Bethlehem. But the reality was that due to the census, Joseph’s family home—where they intended to stay—was full. Rather than stay in one of the guest rooms, Joseph’s family relocated the couple to the stable, where the animals were kept.

Whether one chooses to believe the traditional story or abide by the more accurate explanation of how the nativity unfolded, one thing we can be very certain of is that the place and time of Christ’s birth were intentional.

The stable may seem awfully primitive for a King, but this setting was exactly the way God ordered the events of that night.

Humble.

Unassuming.

Away from the congested home where family members were bumping up against each other throughout the day.

A place to prepare and make space for a newborn baby.

And in this stable, amongst the animals and the smells and the hay and the braying, Immanuel, God with us, was born.

In the well-known hymn, Joy to the World, one of the lines in the first verse says, “Let every heart prepare him room.”

How are you preparing your heart this Advent season?

What would making room for Jesus look like for you?

As I am busy with all the preparations before our kids arrive for Christmas, I am also taking time to pull away from the noise and hustle, the online social media chaos, and the urgent to-do list, to give God a more attentive me.

Lighting the Advent candles on Sunday, taking turns reciting the Scriptures and responding, singing hymns, and praying as a family, draws our attention away from ourselves and onto the One whom we celebrate.

Each evening when we light the Advent candle and read the devotional for the day, we are setting aside time to abide with Christ as a family.

This is how we are making room.

Don’t miss out on the preciousness of this season.

Don’t let the clutter of Christmas crowd out the beauty and wonder and joy of Christ’s birth.

Open wide your heart and prepare a place for Him to stay.

Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.

Luke 3:4

Self-care in a season of chaos.

When we moved to South Africa, I had come out of a very challenging season in Malawi. It was hard on all fronts – from helping our children transition, to navigating life in a foreign country, the ever-precarious visa process, the insurgence of Covid-19, to understanding a new organization and all of the intricate policies, procedures, and bureaucracy. It was hard. But, like I have said before, we were able to find creative ways to establish stability.

Still, when we arrived in South Africa, I felt like I had run a marathon and was standing at the starting line of yet another marathon. The decision for our move was, primarily, to get help for Jasper. We knew he had some significant developmental issues, and South Africa provided the much-needed resources to help him.

As I sat in our Airbnb one afternoon, completely exhausted and weary, I remember thinking: “Can one lose resiliency? Is it possible that I am not able to bounce back from challenges like I used to?” A friend of mine called me. She and I have known each other since high school, and we are both Third Culture Kids. She said to me, as I was thinking out loud, that the question of resiliency cannot be answered when one is in the middle of transition. She encouraged me to walk slowly and take it one day at a time.

I was beginning to feel like, perhaps, God was disciplining me- that all of this hard stuff we were facing and working through was because I had, somehow, upset and disappointed God. I was stressed out trying to determine if my own frustration and anger at some of the things we had experience had been a result of me not being a good enough Christian, missionary, wife, mother, etc. While I was grateful- deeply grateful- that God had brought us to a place where we could help Jasper, and we had even found incredible resources for him, and for our family, I couldn’t shake this feeling that I was somehow responsible for how hard the past year had been. And I was worried that I might not bounce back from it.

A few months later, I was on a Zoom call with a mentor of mine, sharing with her my fears, my worries, and doubts, and she said to me, in the most empathetic and kind way, “Amy, I think you need to walk in God’s love. His yoke is easy, and his burden is light. He is not disciplining you. He wants you to know that he loves you, and he is with you.” I can’t begin to explain how the combination of my friend’s words and this mentor’s words spoke life to me. They still do. I have a small sign that I received as a gift from this mentor before we moved overseas. It says, “You are loved”, and it is a gentle reminder of this truth that I see each day when I sit at my desk.

Walk in God’s love.

Be gentle with yourself.

Breathe.

Release these burdens and cares and rest in God’s presence.

Take it one day at a time.

Transition in a season of chaos brings a kind of weariness that is difficult to describe. It overwhelms and saturates so much of our lives. Too often we brush it off, or we blame ourselves for not being strong enough or resilient enough to handle the chaos, rather than recognize that we have limits. And it is okay to have limits. It is okay to say, “I’ve reached my capacity.”

Self-care in a season of chaos, for me, looks like:

1.     Waking up in the morning and reminding myself that I am loved by God.

2.     Loving my husband.

3.     Prioritizing my family.

4.     Homecooked meals.

5.     Handing over the things that are out of my control to God.

6.     Laughter with my family.

7.     Reading books that help me understand the process I am working through.

8.     Regulating social media.

9.     Speaking kind words to myself.

10.  Letting go of guilt when saying “no” to something is the healthy thing to do.

Transition is a season. It is not a lifestyle. The missionary life tends to be more transitory in nature than a regular occupation, but constant transition is not the norm, even for missionary life. It is a season; these seasons pass.

It’s not so much that we’re afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it’s that place in between that we fear…It’s like being between trapezes. It’s Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There’s nothing to hold on to.

Marilyn Ferguson, American Futurist

Transition is the in-between. It’s the letting go and the reaching out with no clear sight of the new beginning. I would add to Marilyn Ferguson’s thought that we, as Christ followers, do have something – Someone – to hold on to. The season of transition breeds all kinds of internal restlessness, and it feels overwhelming when we are in the thick of it. However, we are not alone. As we learn to pivot in the chaos, we have someone in the storm keeping the boat from sinking. Jesus never leaves us. He promises that he has gone before us, and he is also in the middle of all the mess with us…standing strong.

Resting in his love and allowing his presence to carry us through the seas of the in-between, will give us the resilience we need to keep pressing on and moving forward.

It is okay to take care of yourself in these seasons of chaos. It is okay to hit “pause” and remind yourself that you are loved by God. Rather than try to figure out if you are doing it right, or doing it well, give yourself the gift of care – whatever that might look like for you. This is not a race…you don’t lose points for those moments you pause…stop…recalibrate. One of the greatest gifts you can give to yourself- and your family- through periods of transition is self-care. Eventually, you will find yourself on the other side of the trapeze.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

Isaiah 40:11

I’ve been a little obsessed with the animal kingdom lately. We were at a game reserve last year, and there seemed to have been a baby boom across the northeastern part of South Africa. We saw so many mamas and babies. What struck me, and what I have not been able to stop thinking about, was how naturally and instinctively these mamas watched over and protected their young, while simultaneously, the babies sought after and stayed within close proximity to their mamas.

Elephants are highly protective of their young. A mama elephant will charge anything that she perceives to be a threat to her baby. Elephants stick together in family units, and for increased security, they will join with other elephant families to form clans. Many of these family units and clans are comprised of females and their offspring. Lots of mamas protecting their little ones.

Touch is an important communication tool among elephants, especially between mother and calf. Wherever the calf and mother may be, they will be touching. And if the baby is behind the mama, she will reach out and touch her young with her tail. It is a beautiful picture of care, protection, and love.

On the other side of the size scale, sea otters are another fascinating creature! Because of their dense fur, they can sleep in the ocean floating on their backs, but they do not float alone. Sea otters will float in groups called rafts. These rafts can range from two sea otters up to hundreds of otters. They stay close, holding hands in order not to lose each other and to protect themselves from drifting away and becoming vulnerable to predators. Sea otter mamas hold their pups on their tummies and will spend hours fluffing their fur. This is more than just a fussy mom trait, but it is a necessary instinct they do in order to ensure the pup’s fur is prepped well for floating. A mama sea otter will carry her baby through rough waters and hostile environments in order to ensure the safety of the little one.

This picture, illustrated in living color, of intuitive care and motherly instinct is powerful.

Our older three children loved to be held when they were little. Sometimes, if they were feeling exceptionally affectionate, they would run and try to jump into my lap for a quick hug and kiss. Sometimes they would reach their hands up to the sky, a clear message to me to pick them up and hold them in my arms, simply because they wanted to be close to me. Even Jasper, who is not naturally an affectionate little guy, will lay his hand on my lap, or hold my hand close to his chest, when I am singing to him at bedtime. There is something very warm, comforting and affirming when we find ourselves being held by those we love, and who love us.

To be held.

There are so many images and Scriptures throughout the Bible that encourage us to hold on…persevere…cling to Jesus. We can find, in moments of exhaustion, mentally exhorting ourselves to just keep pressing on- and holding on to Jesus.

The challenge is that sometimes we wear out. We let go. Or we wander and get disoriented by the trials and heavy burdens we bear. Our intentions are good and pure…we are doing our best. We are holding on!

He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart…

Thankfully, the burden of our security and our preservation does not lie solely in our hands. Yes, we must hold on, but while we are holding – and in those moments when our grip releases – we are also being held.

We are held in Christ’s hands- gathered up in his strong and capable arms.

He holds us close to his heart.

Like a mother elephant, or the sea otter, he is always near…finding us…touching us with his presence…holding our hands so that we do not drift out to sea.

He will gather them in when they wander, gather them up when they fall, gather them together when they are dispersed, and gather them home to himself at last; and all this with his own arm, out of which none shall be able to pluck them. He will carry them in the bosom of his love and cherish them there. When they tire or are weary, are sick and faint, when they meet with foul ways, he will carry them on, and take care they are not left behind. He will gently lead them.

Matthew Henry’s Commentary

What a reminder of the constant care of God.

Our relationship with God is reciprocal. We reach out to Him and He is reaching out to us. It is not just us holding on to Him, holding His hand, reaching out to Him, but it is also Jesus holding us, leading us, finding us and carrying us. He keeps us safe in rough waters. He is ready to charge when predators come near.

We are safe.

We are loved.

We are His.

How comforting and encouraging.

Wherever we are, whatever we do…in our daily work or our evening rest…as we are holding on to Jesus, He is holding on to us.

Ordinary is highly under-rated.

It seems the sincere longing for significance has pushed past contentment in doing a job well done, to that of being a world changer…influencer…and platform-creator. It is not enough, anymore, to do the hard and consistent daily work of investing our lives into meaningful, yet oftentimes, ordinary endeavors. Today, we are driven to be seen…to be heard…to position ourselves for greater significance and greater influence. Ordinary is boring and old-school, and it certainly doesn’t illicit the kind of attention that so many of us are seeking today.

And yet, there is something extraordinary about the ordinary.

My days are not so impressive on the outside. In this season of life, I am in the throes of child-rearing, home-managing and integrating culture into the impressionable minds and hearts of our children. I grocery shop, do the laundry, plan meals for the week, cook, clean, pack lunches, help with homework, create schedules, maintain order, educate my children on the importance of table manners and etiquette (this is never-ending work!), balance the checkbook, keep the budget, go on coffee dates with Joel and the kids, and oversee the day-in/day-out lives of my family, while developing relationships and ongoing connections with the people in our sphere.  It’s not all that exciting.

It is very ordinary.

And while my calendar boasts of a very ordinary life, there is something quite extraordinary happening between the lines and the dates, the appointments and the pen strokes. The lives of our children are being shaped, formed, developed, and discipled. Within the ordinary, God is doing extraordinary work. It is tempting to want to create for myself a profile that makes me look special and significant, but in doing so, it minimizes the good work that is taking place within the constraints of the ordinary. Ordinary is highly under-rated. Ordinary invites the time and space for deeper relationships, honest conversations, and focused attention.

Maybe I am feeling inspired to write this because I need to remind myself of these timeless truths, and maybe there is someone out there that needs to read it too. Maybe we both need the gentle reminder that our significance is not written in the headlines, but rooted in the ordinary work we are doing right now…in this moment…at the dinner table…in the bedtime prayers…in the middle of the meltdown…during those car ride conversations and marathon Lego days…in the tone of that email…or the slow pace of the project we’ve been overseeing. We need that little voice pulling us out of the drive for external significance and back into the precious gift of these ordinary days.

While the world craves more hype, more incentives to participate, more flash, more enticements and rewards, my heart is craving a more quiet and ordinary life. The world is temperamental…it shifts too quickly and too impulsively. The world (and this includes the church/ministry world) is becoming more and more addicted to performance – lights, cameras, action. Trying to keep up with it all creates instability, insecurity and a frenetic pace that eventually leads to burn out. I am, quite bluntly, less impressed with all the hype, glam and glitz, and more drawn to the daily and consistent rhythms of the ordinary.

The world is saying, “Speed up!” and my heart is saying, “Slow down!”.

Christ’s life was, in many regards, ordinary. He talked to his followers, not about how to build a platform or create a movement, but about bearing the weight of the cross. His invitation was to pick up their cross and follow him, and through the New Testament Scriptures, we know where that path led them…not to fame, fortune or a flashy title, but to suffering, marginalization, and death. The ordinary means – producing extraordinary fruit – of walking with people, listening, daily discipleship and the cross of suffering was, and still is, the way of Christ.

Obedience to God’s ways of bringing about the kingdom is the only way, even when those ways seem small, obscure, and weak. Even when no one notices. Even when our kingdom work can’t be captured and packaged for a ready-made inspirational social media update. Someone earnestly desiring to do great things for God can have all the right motives but all the wrong mechanisms. Jesus’ obedience tells us that mechanisms matter – if godly ends are pursued by ungodly means, the whole project will be ruined.

– Katelyn Beaty, Celebrities for Jesus

I have thought a lot about the cost of obedience and the return to the ordinary.

Obedience is, in the very truest sense, letting go of our own will and surrendering it to Jesus. There is nothing very glamourous about that. We step off of platforms rather than hoist ourselves up to be seen.

There are men and women caught up in the fast running current of trying to find significance through extraordinary means. There are a great number, I can only imagine, that want to do great things for God, and wrestle with the ordinary days in which they are living. There is an altruistic desire to please God, while at the same time a fear that a hidden life in Christ will amount to being forgotten by the world.

And yet, if we really want to get down to it…to the reality of what following and serving Christ is all about it comes to this:

He must become greater; I must become less.

John 3:30

That statement: I must become less, is not a directive to become less than who God has created you to be; that somehow wallowing in the dirt and lowering oneself to nothingness is the key to pleasing God. But rather, becoming less is putting ourselves in the right order and right place with God. It is releasing the striving and driving towards worldly acceptance and acknowledgement into God’s hands, and taking the ordinary tasks that he gives us each day and carrying them out to the best of our ability so that God gets the glory…God gets the greatness…so that God is seen above our talents, gifts and charisma.

In my ordinary days I find such encouragement when I see that God is using me to disciple and shape our children to follow Christ. That’s a big deal. It’s not always visible to the outside world. This is a slow and weighty work.

Your ordinary will look different than mine, but it is incredibly significant. It is the means by which God will do extraordinary things. It may never make the headlines, and it may never evoke a rush on social media, but if your ordinary work points the world to Christ and brings Him glory, then it is extraordinary.

The significance of the ordinary is not how amazingly we can do it, or how creatively we can brand it; the significance is that this is how God chooses to do his most astounding work; His quiet, steady, and world-changing work. He uses you and me. He takes the materials in our hands, the season of our lives, our brokenness and all of our flaws, and says, “Follow me.”

Stop striving.

Slow down.

Let the God do the extraordinary through our ordinariness.

It is God who makes us significant, not all the kingdoms we create.

Rest in that.

And rest in the precious gift of these ordinary days.

As I watched the clock strike midnight, its hand leaving 2021 and tick-tock-ticking its way into 2022, I felt a wave of relief. Covid and transition left me feeling kind of empty. Rather than enter the new year with a bang, I mostly coasted in on fumes.

I came down with a fever on Christmas Day and spent the following week either in bed or on the couch. Sydney was with us for a very short period of time, and I desperately wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, in spite of the flu. By the time New Years’ Day arrived, my days were mush as I spent the first week of 2022 packing Christmas away and catching up on life.

My word for 2022 was “Whole”. As a family, we were on a trajectory of healing…processing and working through some hard-to-articulate wounds from the past few years. Joel and I both sensed, individually, that God had a very personal work he wanted to do in us and in our family. And he did just that. While I can’t say it was all neat and orderly, God was very much at work. There were many moments throughout 2022 that I honestly wondered what in the world God was doing because his work did not look like healing or wholeness. Yet, as I reflect on the year past, I do see God’s hand, and his handiwork.

Miracles happened. Not the big and audacious kind that we love to talk about, but the small and internal kind that water deeper growth and spiritual resilience. The kind of miracles that don’t always elicit external awe.

Miracles are still happening. Healing is a process, and it is still in process. I wish I could boast of some grandiose moment of instantaneous healing, but that is not the way in which God has chosen to work. Rather, he is taking our lives, moment-by-moment, and awaking our hearts to not just find personal healing, but to have an awareness of the much-needed healing in the lives of others. His work is never just for “us”, but for his glory and the benefit of others. If my pain can be a catalyst for connection and healing of another, then this pain is worth it all.

And it is not just the heart wounds that God uses, but the physical deficiencies that plague our bodies. Jackson, as we have openly shared, deals with a genetic eye condition by which his optic nerve is slowly atrophying which has caused significant visual impairment. Because we believe that God is a God who heals, we have prayed for complete healing. This supernatural kind of healing has not come. This is not to indicate that I have lost faith in God’s capabilities, but it is our present reality. I still pray and believe for healing, but likewise, I am praying God’s will…his most perfect will to be done in the life of Jackson…whatever that may look like.

I’ve asked myself multiple times this past year: “What if…”

What if the miracle is not Jackson’s eyesight being restored, but rather the miracle is learning to trust God’s goodness regardless of the outcome of our prayers? What if the greatest miracle of all in Jackson’s story is spiritual insight and sensitivity rather than physical sight?

What if our current circumstances do not change, or – even worse – get harder, do I still believe and trust that God is good?

What if the hope of seeing our dreams unfold never materializes? Can I still hold on to Jesus and trust his plan? Is Jesus really enough for me? Is this the miracle we are waiting for…simply Jesus?

The awe and wonder this side of 2022 is that Jesus never left us; his hand was always in the middle of the process.

The miracle of “wholeness” was not the absence of disappointment.

The miracle of “wholeness” was God’s complete presence in the midst of a really hard year.

Perhaps the most audacious prayer we can pray is, “God, give me the grace to accept hard things, give me the strength to endure unmet expectations, and give me your joy in perseverance.”

The miracle is not all the big answers to prayers.

The miracle is God’s grace, strength and joy in spite of our circumstances. It is Christ’s character being formed in us, and in turn, conforming our desires to his desires.

This truly is a miracle.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Matthew 11:28-30

Christmas is here, and I find myself wondering: how did that happen? Did we really plow through twelve months of rainy seasons, dry seasons, cold seasons, heat, flooding, traffic jams, school days, sport events, haircuts, doctor’s appointments, and all the little things crammed into the open spaces of our calendars? How is that even possible?

And yet, here we are. Another year. Another Christmas.

In some ways, it has gone by very quickly; in other ways, it has felt incredibly slow and arduous.

I’m going to be honest. I am weary. I’ve been living in “weary” for quite some time. I need rest. My soul needs rest, and I am finding glimpses of freedom in acknowledging this. My defenses are down. I’m becoming comfortable with this reality.

While I’m not waving a flag of victory and dancing my way into Christmas- and the year ahead- I am consciously more settled in my soul – now more than ever – with the conviction that God is God, and I am not. The flag I am waving looks more like surrender. My role in this grand story is to live a life honoring and representing Christ in the best and most authentic way possible. And the way I can do this is to take his yoke upon myself – to learn from him the deeper practice of trust and resiliency – and to keep my gaze fixed on Christ.

I want my life marked, not by doing everything perfectly, or handling each challenging situation without flaw or with a track record of exceptional strength, but marked by working out my faith in weakness and humility, surrender to God, and never giving up. In the weariness, there is rest.

Jesus calls the weary to himself. He does not call the self-sufficient, nor those with the proper religious credentials or perfect, Instagram-able lives. He calls those exhausted from toil, from just getting through the day. He calls those burdened with heavy loads, those weighed down by sin and sorrow. It is these, not the confident and successful, to whom Jesus says, “Come to me.”

Prayer in the Night, by Tish Harrison Warren

It has been a year, and I need Immanuel. I need his closeness…his nearness.

Weary and worn, my hope…my peace…my joy and my heart are living in the childlike wonder that Immanuel is here – that his promise to never leave us is a promise kept, and that his invitation to “Come” has not expired.

Throughout this Advent season we’ve made space to reflect upon the hope we have in Christ’s promise, the peace that anchors us in a world of chaos and sin, the joy as we look to something – Someone – greater to come, and the delight in being so loved by our Savior. We’ve welcomed the anticipation and we’ve leaned in hard to the steadfast truth that holds us in our weariness.

Today is Christmas Day. The long-awaited Messiah has arrived. We no longer wait in suffering and silence but hold his promises close.

He says “Come” to the burned out, the broken, the tired, the hurt, the grieving and the hopeful. He is the Savior for the weary, the long-suffering and the lost. And he invites us to take his yoke…to learn and trust…to rest in his presence.

He is God with us.

Immanuel.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

John 3:16

For God so loved…

The word “so,” when used as an adverb, can have a few different meanings. It can express the degree or extent of something, or it can also declare something that is definite. For example: “The music is so loud,” or “The volume of the music must be just so.”

One statement is expressing the extremeness of the sound of music playing, while the other is declaring the absoluteness of what level the volume of the music must be.

In this Scripture, both meanings can be applied.

As a way of expressing the extent of God’s love, we can read it as “God loved so much – so intensely and so extremely – that he gave…” As a definitive statement, we can read it as, “There is no question about God’s love, it is just so, and therefore he gave…”

Either way, we recognize that God loved us extremely and most purposefully, and because of this intense and absolute love, he gave his most precious possession: his one and only Son.

Have you ever been loved like that? Maybe you have a person in your life that loves you so completely that they would be willing to give their most precious possession to you, or even further, they would die for you. If so, that is a gift. But would they be willing to give, or to die, for all? Is their love so expansive and perfect that they would lay down their own life for that of a stranger, a sinner, or someone they don’t particularly like? To be so loved by One who knows the faults and the sins of all of us is a love I don’t think any of us can begin to fathom. And not one single human being on this earth can honestly say we can so love in the same way.

It (John 3:16) tells us of the width of the love of God. It was the world that God so loved. It was not a nation; it was not the good people; it was not only the people who loved him; it was the world. The unlovable and the unlovely, the lonely who have no one else to love them, the man who loves God and the man who never thinks of him, the man who rests in the love of God and the man who spurns it–all are included in this vast inclusive love of God. As Augustine had it: “God loves each one of us as if there was only one of us to love.” William Barclay’s The Daily Study Bible Series, Revised Edition.

God so loved all.

This kind of love is beyond comprehension.

This kind of love causes our hearts to pound in our chests, especially when we begin grasp the enormity of it all.

This kind of love should move us…compel us…humble us…to shed our pride, our broken systems, and our preferences, and love sacrificially.

This kind of love should undo us…wreck us…change us.

Christmas is just the beginning of the love story between Christ and mankind. It was the spark that ignited a new era of love between God and his people. It was the fulfillment of prophecy and law. It was Immanuel. It was God with us. No longer far off and distant, this love came down, in the form of a human – a tiny, precious baby – and was among us. Flesh and bone, eye-to-eye, rubbing up alongside the world, feeling our feelings, carrying our sorrows and soothing our pain. He came because he so loved.

Christ’s arrival was the start of a journey that eventually led to the cross. His mission was set. There was no other way. Wrapped in swaddling clothes, the story of redemption made its way into our fractured world. Love was born. A love that had never been experienced on earth before invaded the darkness, stepped into our brokenness, and extended itself to any who would accept it and believe.

So loved.

I have been reflecting on this love for several weeks. How has being so loved by God changed me? What evidence is there in my life that reflects this kind of love? And what is my response?

To be so loved does demand a response. Not because this is a conditional kind of love, but because such an unconditional expression of love compels us.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.

John 3:17-18

When our hearts come face-to-face with this extravagant and unconditional love, they are required to make a choice: believe it or deny it. There really is no middle ground. We are either compelled to embrace this love with belief and obedience, or we choose not to accept this reality. This love demands a response, and there are only two options.

If, when a man is confronted with Jesus, his soul responds to that wonder and beauty, he is on the way to salvation. But if, when he is confronted with Jesus, he sees nothing lovely, he stands condemned. His reaction has condemned him. God sent Jesus in love. He sent him for that man’s salvation; but that which was sent in love has become a condemnation. It is not God who has condemned the man; God only loved him; the man has condemned himself. William Barclay’s The Daily Study Bible Series, Revised Edition.

Beyond believing and accepting the One who lavished this love on mankind, being so loved drives us to do something. We don’t do in order to receive God’s love. We do as a result of God’s love. So, what do we do? What are the actions that follow acceptance?

We obey.

We love.

We follow Christ.

We put on humility.

We give.

We die to self.

I think those of us who struggle to obey, love, follow, show humility, give sacrificially and die to our selfish nature are those of us who have not truly grasped the love that God gave us on Christmas. We may mentally take note of it, but our hearts have yet to  receive it. Because being so loved should leave us trembling and aware of the depths God went to in order to save us and redeem us and draw us back to himself. It is too powerful to not be transformed.

For Christ’s love compels us.

2 Corinthians 5:14

What about you? Are you wrestling to even accept and acknowledge Christ’s love for you? Have you yet to receive it, believe and enter into a relationship with Jesus Christ?

If so, what it holding you back? Are there fears or past hurts that seem to stand between you and redemption?

Maybe you have accepted this love, but you struggle to truly embrace its power and extravagance. You are carrying around a lot of fear and wounds, and it is hard to comprehend being so loved. And, in turn, it is difficult to express this unconditional love to others.

Without shame and without pressure, can I just encourage you to consider just how much God loves you right now – imperfect and flawed? Just take a moment to sit in that space…reflecting on how it feels to be so loved.

God didn’t send his son, Jesus, for a privileged few. He sent Jesus for all. God wasn’t, and still isn’t, looking for a perfect person upon whom he can lavish his undeserving love. Jesus came for the lovely and the unlovely. He came for the Abraham’s and the King David’s. He came for the Tamar’s and the Rahab’s. He came for the Jews and the Gentiles.

He came for the rest of us – for all of us.

And all he asks for are our hearts…our obedience…our trust…and our willingness to give his love to others in return.

Christmas is coming. In just a few short days we will gather with family, or attend a church service, and – perhaps – engage in traditions, old and new. As we anticipate the culmination of this season of Advent in the warmth and joy of Christmas Day, may our hearts be further challenged to receive and give this incredible gift of being so loved. Without pause, may we be quick to give our lives in obedience and embrace those who Christ also came to save. What a very different world this would be if we could simply live as so loved.

What can I give Him,

Poor as I am? –

If I were a Shepherd

I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man

I would do my part, -

Yet what I can I give Him, -

Give my heart.

Christina Rosetti (1872)