Not Perfect, But Right

I admit it. I become way too emotionally attached to inanimate objects.

The latest? My Christmas tree.

I knew I wanted it when I saw it. It was so skinny. It wasn't perfect. But it was adorable. When I brought it out of the dim light that the tree tent provided and into the real light, I could see that it had a bare spot on its side. In fact, it looked a little ragged. But I still wanted it. I wanted it even more because I knew that no one else would want it. I mean, I saw the other trees that people were picking--tall, sturdy, voluptuous trees--trees with no bare spots. I even heard someone say to a different customer, "good choice, you picked a great one--no holes in this one."

I saw my little tree standing in line, (okay, being held up by a person) waiting to be bagged in mesh-y stuff. It looked so tiny and frail--and I am telling you, I seriously felt protective of my tree. I was so glad that I was going to be able to take it home and give it a home. I wanted it to feel special. (I know I know, it doesn't have feelings. But can you really be sure..) I wanted to tell my tree that it would no longer be just another tree (and a scrawny one at that) in a tent of large, perfect, fluffy trees. I wanted to reassure it that it was going to have a real home. 

There are enough people who want the beautiful trees. I wanted the tree that no one else was going to pick.

Waiting (or, Way Too Many Commas Used) Part I

And so, here I am. Again. During this season of Advent--during this season of waiting.

I read this article at Relevant magazine (online) yesterday, about the season of Advent, and I just felt God speak to my heart in a way that he hasn't in a while--and thus was born this (long--and probably quite confusing) stream of consciousness. 

Now, before I say anything else, I want to say that this is going to be a little bit more serious (and 100x longer) than the other things I have written. But it is something that I need to write, if only for myself.

Advent. A season of waiting, of longing, of expectation...of preparation. Now, I am not a new Christian, but honestly, it wasn't until last year that I began to look past the simple act of lighting a candle each week in church and truly began understand the deeply personal nature of Advent, and its relevance today, in my life.

Last year at this time I was (tentatively) preparing to go to Italy for four months. And when I say tentatively, I mean tentatively. I honestly did not know if I would be able to go. I didn't know if God even wanted me to go. I was hoping, longing, waiting...and wondering. (Sorry for all the W's. I'm not trying to be all cutesy, I promise.) But I was wondering if this longing, this hope, this anticipation was all in vain. It was during this time last year that this season of Advent became deeply personal. (As you may or may not know, I did go to Italy)

And now I am back to another December. Another Advent, and perhaps not ironically, another season of waiting. Maybe it is no accident where I am emotionally, spiritually, and physically. The questions I ask myself during the times when my trust and my faith in God are being tested are not just  "do I really believe this? Do I really believe he is going to come through?" but, how deeply in my heart do I believe it. Do I decide to play it safe--to keep some of the cards in my hand just in case the whole "God thing" doesn't work out or just in case God doesn't come through this time...or do I believe him enough to lay all my cards on the table--and to risk my sanity in the process (sometimes trying to trust God feels so abstract and it confuses the heck out of me). Following Christ isn't something new to me, but I am feeling my faith in God being stretched in a deeper way than I have experienced before. And it is Uncomfortable. And hard. Maybe it is not so much if I believe in God, but to what extent am I going to believe him.

Going back to Advent... The longing. The hope. I feel afraid to hope. I am afraid these longings will never be fulfilled. I am feeling the pull of the drudgery of the mundane. I feel like I am hoping for something...waiting for something that is about to happen and then everything is going to be so clear. Then, all these feelings that have completely surrounded me this whole semester will make sense, when God comes and makes sense of it all. When he comes and pulls back the curtain and says, "see Lauren, I told you that you did not need to doubt me. I never left you. I am always with you...you just will not always see what is unfolding until it has unfolded." I think the cry of my heart is probably very similar to the cries from the hearts of the people waiting for their messiah to come, 2,000 years ago: When will he come?. Will he comes. We've been waiting so long...is his redemption actually coming? For us? For me. Here. Now. In the mundane that has been tugging on me. Is there a hope? Is there a Hope coming? Here? Now?

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known" (1 Cor. 13:12) Then I will see. Then I will understand. Then I won't doubt. Then I will believe. But right now I am at here. And I can't wait till I arrive at then, to believe that God is who he says he is and that he will do what he says he will do.

Waiting (or, Still Way too Many Commas Used) Part II

Advent means coming. This is the season of coming and also the season of arrival. A season where we recognize that Christ came and redeemed us not just from our sins by dying on the cross, but redeemed us, redeemed me from the drudgery of life that can overtake us at times. (This will all makes more sense if you read the article I talked about.) Have you have ever felt the pull of drudgery that can quietly snuff the real life out of your spirit? (Okay, that definitely sounded a tad dramatic...) Believe me, I love routine just as much as the next person--probably more. Routine is good for us as humans...it gives our lives a sense of rhythm and consistency. But the mundane is different from routine. The mundane is where your days begin to slide into one another and they all begin to feel the same. Then at some point, something will prick your memory about a time before you felt that way, and all the sudden you begin to wonder what happened to the joy you once had in simply living life. If you've never experienced that, then perhaps you've got it all together and you have no need of Christ. Personally, I am in absolute desperate need of a redeemer. I continually need God to prick me, spiritually.

I am feeling in need of this season of Advent in a place so deep in my spirit. Cynicism has begun to take root in my spirit. When you are disappointed enough...you begin to believe that everything will disappoint you. You begin to believe that nothing will be good and pure like you believed when you were a child.

So again this year I am waiting. Waiting for the redemption I need so desperately and wondering if it is going to come. I am longing for what I believe is just around the corner...yet I am afraid that once I get to that corner, there won't be anything there. I am afraid to hope. Afraid to be disappointed. Afraid, perhaps, that Christ won't do what he has promised. Afraid the promises will fall short. Afraid He won't deliver.

Again, the thing that strikes me about Advent is that the heart of my cry is the same as the cries throughout all of history. Will he come? When will he come? The Jewish people must have wondered if their hope was in vain. They all stood on one side of the promise. They believed in the promise of a savior. Yet many of them never lived to see the promise fulfilled. I, however, live on the other side of that promise. I have seen the fulfillment of the promise of a deliverer. 

But sometimes it feels like God keeps me out in the cold too long. He is with me in the cold...but it is still dang cold, you know? I am afraid one of these times I am going to let go. Going to give up. I can understand God not showing me his hand of cards. I understand this is a life of faith. I understand and expect my faith to be stretched. Yet...yet sometimes I wonder how far God plans to stretch me before assuring me in some tangible way that he is still moving in my life. The fact that God "won't give us more than we can handle" doesn't comfort me much. I have seen what God thinks people can handle--death, disease, destruction, desolation. It is not just an alliteration. It is what many face. I face none of those, in actuality. The point is, God apparently think/knows we can handle a butt load. And here I am complaining that God isn't doing what I want him to do.Typical American Christian.

Will I take God at his word, before I see the fulfillment of his promises?

Oh, and I told you I used an excessive amount of commas.You knew what you were getting into. (In to? Into? Should that be one word or two?)