Shannan Martin’s words have been speaking truth to my heart, lately. (*Excellent podcast, here, or put The Ministry of Ordinary Places on your hold list at the library), because she has this compelling way of making the truly mundane, shine with the light of the Incarnation and I need someone like that speaking this truth into my ear. Maybe you do, too.
Because I can feel that desire welling up inside of me as Advent approaches, as we plan to go and chop down our Christmas tree this weekend, that I want it to sparkle, to shine–to offer a peaceful place of respite. These desires are good on the whole. And yet, they fool me into thinking that I might have some semblance of control in this thing called life…Jesus himself didn’t wait for a time when the world was finally sparkly and ready; he simply entered the human story. He was born into the mess and beauty of it, which I suspect, is exactly where I am meant to spend my days.
As the images from the conflict at the border roll in, and we see more and more individuals and families seeking a place of safety and welcome while we’re on the lookout for the Christ child, I am humbled by the thought that my home should provide anything but an open door; Humbled by the privilege to hope for anything more than peace.
Simple gift
I’m trying to see this mundane week (the way Shannan describes) for what it is—for what God is inviting me into, for the privilege that it is, and the occasions that seemed unwelcome, but turned out to be gift.
-My daughter and I biffed it while holding hands (and missing the curb) on the way to the store—we have matching skinned knees and I’ve wrecked my second pair of jeans for the week—after my first one was painted the same color as my daughters’ pre-baby shower primping on Saturday.
I was still able to pull the wagon all the way to pre-school, despite my skinned up knee & we now have matching band aids.
-While hosting a family dinner, my daughter asked why our table is always so crowded–a characteristic I don’t always appreciate for the gift that it is. *To be fair, “always” is a stretch, but it does show signs of improvement.
-I made a trip to pick up something across town, only to realize when I got home, half of the contents were missing…and they’re being held for me until I can get back.
-On the way to first grade (after noticing my gas tank was on empty), I smelled something foul in the car, only to realize that the contents of our very rank, very full compost bin dripped down my pant leg while I took it outside.
-Another mom and I accidentally have meshed our volunteer days rather than alternating Tuesday math groups, and we keep showing up again for the same shift. And teachers got double help that day.
-The Kirby man, “needs to put food on the table,” so I sit through yet another demonstration of the latest model in my (apparently dusty) living room.
-I am now, sitting idle for hours while our car gets worked on—forcing me to write—stinky pants and all (*I’m hoping against hope that I don’t get dubbed ‘the stinky mom’ in my daughter’s class).
The car work is under warranty and my children are fed, and in school today. So, at the end of the day, all will be well. These have been hiccups in an overall comical week.
Lofty expectations
The Bible study I’m in right now is working through the Gospel of John, and it has been striking how even in the first six chapters, the theme of expectation has been so prevalent. Over and over the crowd seeks to question–even kill Jesus, because he doesn’t meet their expectations of the Messiah.
…Can anything good come from Nazareth? –John 1: 43
…How can a person once grown old be born again? –John 3:4
…How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?… Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his children and his flock? –John 4:9
…Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph? Do we not know his father and mother? Then how can he say, ‘I have come down from heaven?’ –John 6: 42
It’s been a weekly reminder that there’s a long list of beliefs that I, too, have held with a white-knuckled grip, about the ways God ‘should’ behave, how I expect God to show up, or the acceptable places for God to enter into my life. Over and over this misguided understanding has been shattered by the God who is Mystery.
So, thank you Shannan for your words. Thank you to artists like Bro. Mickey McGrath, Heather Sleightholm, Michael Adams, for your images of the modern day Holy Family. Thank you God, for days that leave me laughing at myself and the desires I grip so tightly about how things should go. Thank you for the gift of being dropped into the middle of this imperfect place, armed with enough grace to match my own short-sightedness, and a sense of humor! Here’s to an Advent season with its peace and spirit of welcome, that leaves us in the wake of smoldering expectations.
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Bringing Light
“There is no “right” way to enter into the season of Advent. It remains an opportunity to be on the lookout for the shimmering light of Christ, like the Magi, even when it feels far-off. It is one of the few practices of waiting we afford ourselves at this point in time. Yet it can be cause for so much impatience when we look ahead to the celebration just around the corner. How do we contain ourselves?”
You can read the rest I shared on preparing for Advent (which starts Sunday!) over at Blessed Is She. ..