This week, the Sunday Community is being hosted by my friend, Laura Rath. She’s got the front door open and she’s saved a place at the table for you. H and I are in Pennsylvania, celebrating the holidays with family. I’ll be back here next week, for the first link up of the New Year. Praying God’s richest blessings on you for 2013.
Don’t forget to link up over here.
There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God’s angel stood among them and God’s glory blazed around them. They were terrified. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger.”
At once the angel was joined by a huge angelic choir singing God’s praises:
Glory to God in the heavenly heights,
Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.
As the angel choir withdrew into heaven, the sheepherders talked it over. “Let’s get over to Bethlehem as fast as we can and see for ourselves what God has revealed to us.” They left, running, and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. Seeing was believing. They told everyone they met what the angels had said about this child. All who heard the sheepherders were impressed.
Luke 2:8-18 (MSG)
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Thank you for linking up, or stopping by here every week. H calls this Sunday Community “Cyber Church” or “Electronic Church” and I have to admit I believe he’s onto something. It’s a gift to see you here each Sunday, and to know we’re sharing common space as we worship together, here on the internet. Thank you for encouraging one another with your pictures, words, and comments. I’m grateful for your prayers for this space as we move into 2013.
I’ll be away next Sunday, but the Sunday Community will continue. I’m grateful to my friend, Laura Rath, because she’s going to host the link-up at her blog, Journey in Faith. You’ll love it over there! Please be sure to link up and share the love, as you always do. I’ll be sure to leave a note here on the door to remind you, along with a link to Laura’s place.
Today you can go ahead and link up here as usual, with a photo and a few, brief words of inspiration. Then, use the link at the top of this page to pick up the Sunday Community button to post on your own site. That way, others know where to find us.
Grace and peace to you and yours as we celebrate the birthday of our King.
I thought I’d share a few happy things with you today. Click through when you feel the urge, or just keep reading and scrolling.
First Happy Thing: The Legacy Project is FULLY FUNDED! When the Help One Now bloggers got the word from on high (practicing my Advent terminology) that God wanted a real school built at the Yaveh Shemah home for children in Haiti, I honestly didn’t have any doubt it would get done. Not even when we realized God wanted the money raised by Christmas. I know the generosity of people like you, and it was a no-brainer. Still, however, seeing it actually happen was SO. MUCH. FUN! Yesterday, the final dollars came rolling in. It was like watching an auction in reverse — the balance due on the tally sheets kept getting smaller and smaller. Thank you! To those of you who gave, or prayed, or cheered us on! Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
Second Happy Thing: 26 Moments That Restored Our Faith In Humanity This Year. Thanks to Helen at A Work of Heart for linking to this the other day. I clicked through every single link and watched every single video and smiled for the rest of the day.
Third Happy Thing: SNOW!!! Isn’t it pretty? After the hottest summer ever and a full on drought, water on the ground in any form is a good thing. Of course, this snowfall required that I bake bread. From scratch. Yum. I also drank hot apple cider by the mug full. You’ve heard of chain smoking? Well, whatever that translates to with cider, that was me. I will be happy about this for about 48 more hours. Then, I’ll be ready for 80 degree weather again. I’m fickle like that. But for now, this makes me smile.
Fourth Happy Thing: Books! Books! Books! This week, I’ve read three spectacular books:
by Claudia Mair Burney. It’s a love story, and it’s tastefully sexy, and I didn’t feel as if I needed to hide the book inside a copy of Better Homes and Gardens while I read it in public.
by Jen Hatmaker. Have you read that book? Can I just tell you how funny it is? It’s also serious. I hung out with Jen in Haiti last October, and I can tell you first hand that she is truly THAT funny. And serious. And smart. When I think of Jen I hear her saying, “So dear.” It’s the term she uses to express her appreciation and I can honestly say that Jen herself is, indeed, so dear.
. I didn’t grow up with a tradition of observing the Church Calendar, but many of you have introduced me to the richness of the liturgical year. I can’t even believe I just typed “liturgical year.” That wasn’t even in my vocabulary a year ago. Anyway, Kimberlee wrote a book that unpacks the holy seasons of the church. I read it through once, and now I’m reading it again — like a daily devotional (only, not really daily).
Fifth Happy Thing: Online Communities! I am blessed to be part of two incredible online communities. I know that ultimately I have God to thank for my involvement as Managing Editor for TheHighCalling.org and monthly contributor for (in)courage, but in both cases, God used Ann Voskamp to open the door. She’s not the kind of person who goes for accolades and recognition. If she were here to see you nodding and smiling, she’d quickly redirect us all to God. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t let you know just how much she means to me, and what a big role she has played in my life these past few years. Through those two communities, and the community here at JumpingTandem, I’ve made some of the most incredible friendships, and that includes you! You make me smile.
Sixth Happy Thing: THIS version of the Christmas story. It never gets old:
Lest the members of my family think me mad…of COURSE they make me smile! They are my flesh and blood. We share the same, crazy DNA and a predisposition toward under-planning and overcompensating. My love for them cannot be counted on a list. They’re my favorites!
What are your happy things? Will you share them with us?
I heard my son’s keys unlock the back door early Friday evening. He’s twenty-four and in parenting years, that means six years old was just yesterday.
I hardly ever see him during the day. He’s got things to do, places to go, people to see. You know the drill. He’s grown. I haven’t read him a bedtime story in more than a decade; and then some. He’s not the hugging type, and when I send him text messages, he answers in one word. Or less…
Once each month, I get to share a few words at (in)courage. Have you been there? It’s the dream-come-true website which started as an idea Holley Gerth and Stephanie Bryant nurtured along until it became real. (in)courage is made up of a fabulous team of writers who share incredible words of encouragement, wisdom, humor, and insight. We don’t have all the answers, but we’d love it if you’d hang out with us anyway. Today at (in)courage, I’m sharing a short story about life in my house last Friday evening. Would you join me over there?
My favorite line in one of those Lord of the Rings movies is where that old, tall guy with the white beard is in that cave thing (clearly, I’m not all that up on all of the details of LOTR, but I do enjoy the movies). The tall guy is running away from the monster, along with his crew of brave and terrified adventurers (surely, you know what I’m talking about). He turns around, plants his walking stick firmly in front of him and says, “You shall not pass!” And everyone catches their breath and thinks it’s all going to be alright.
Only it isn’t.
The tall guy turns his back for a split second, and that monster uses his tail to grab the tall guy by the ankles and pull him into the abyss. We stare at the screen in horror and think it’s all over. That he’s done for. And much later we learn that’s not true, either. That old, tall guy — Gandalf! (H just told me his name) — shows up later in the film, and he’s fine (I hope I’m not giving too much away).
Gandalf was right, though. The monster didn’t pass. It was tough going for a bit there. And dark and dismal and lonely and…well…bad. Really bad. Okay. Let’s not fool ourselves. It was hell. And if we gave up hope and turned the movie off or walked out of the theater, we never would have known the truth.
Psalm 23 says we “walk through” the valley of the shadow of death and the valley of the shadow is a hideous place. As difficult as it is to believe, here on December 17, 2012, the promise is that we “walk through.” I’m not saying that like I know it’s going to all be okay this side of heaven. And I’m not trying to prophecy anything. I’m simply reminding myself that the monster doesn’t get to pass.
The enemy of our souls does not win.
On Friday afternoon, a gentleman asked on Facebook, “Where was God when such a being was needed.. No where (sic) off playing golf most likely!” He wasn’t the only one wondering. For a minute, I could feel myself headed down that slippery slope with the guy on Facebook, but then I remembered the whole thing about Emmanuel and how that means “God with us” and how Jesus promised — promised — He’d always be with us. Never leave us. Never forsake us. And yesterday, H told us Jesus was there when the first responders arrived and headed straight for the shooter, and when the principal lunged at the shooter while telling teachers to close their classroom doors and lock them from the inside. Jesus was there when teachers shielded their students and read them stories in the closets.
The shooting was no act of God. The shooting was evil. And it may have wrapped its ugly tail around our ankles and pulled us into the stinking abyss. But this is not the end of the story. The enemy of our souls does not win.
I don’t think we’re supposed to put up with this anymore. I don’t think we’re supposed to shake our heads and say it’s too hard to figure this out because of the politics and the differences of opinion, because I really don’t think we disagree one bit when it comes to evil. I think we’re supposed to plant our walking sticks firmly in the ground, stare evil down and proclaim in our best outside voices, “This is the end of the road for you! You shall not pass!” I think we’re supposed to raise our brave, quivering voices, stand strong on our trembling legs and take Jesus at His word. I think from here on out, we plant our walking sticks and never turn our backs.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
~Psalm 34:18 (NIV)
~~~
Welcome to The Sunday Community. Link up with a photo and just a few, brief words of inspiration – a favorite quote, a favorite line of words from the bible, a short poem, a small thought.
Not many words at all.
Then, extend a bit of hospitality to the others here. Take some time to visit with one another and share a bit of grace. Please grab the Sunday button from the link at the top of the page to post at your place, so others know where to find us.
(Today’s photo by Scott Wade. Used with permission.)
I find myself on the other side of the worst six years of my life. I’m not exaggerating, and I hope you’ll take my word for it, because there aren’t enough blog posts that will help it all make sense to you. In the middle of those six years, someone asked me how in the world I was surviving it all. We were standing next to my car, with the sun beating down on the crown of my head and the wind blowing hot through the alley. It was the perfect real life metaphor. I remember that I leaned my left hip against the car and said to her, “The thing that surprises me is that I haven’t lost my faith.”
It still surprises me.
An old and wise pastor once said, “You’re either in a storm, coming out of a storm, or headed into a storm.” When I first heard it, I got it. Theoretically.
That is to say, I thought I got it. Now, more that twenty years from nodding my head at the pastor’s wise words, I know for sure I didn’t get it at all. It’s not that I hadn’t had any tough times. I had. I definitely had. But none of them had felt as dark and depressing and lonely and confusing as the six years I’ve just come through. Six years is a long time.
During those six years, I whined, I shook my head at my circumstances and my fist at God. I repented over and over again for sins I’d committed when I was in kindergarten — for every sin I could think of. I surrendered multiple times. I cried. I prayed. I searched the bible for answers. I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I took a lot of steps backwards. I said I was fine when I was most definitely not. I went to counseling. I took anti-depressants. I begged God to get me out from under the darkness and I blamed God for putting me there.
You know those parts of the bible that talk about the heavens being shut and God being silent? I’m guessing that’s as close as the writer could get to describing the devastation they felt. It’s a desolate place to be.
I don’t underestimate the danger of writing this post, here on the other side of the desolation. If you’re in the dark place, my words could come across as an admonition to “Just hold on! Things will get better!” I don’t want to be that person to you; not if you’re in a place where it takes all you’ve got to just lift your head off the pillow. I don’t want to make your darkness small or your worries trite.
I’d rather reach my arm in through the darkness until my fingertips touch yours. Just so you know someone sees you there.
I remember the worst part was feeling like God didn’t see me anymore. But that wasn’t true. I know that now. There’s a story in the bible. It’s in the sixteenth chapter of Exodus. The Israelites were in the dessert. They’d been there for two months, and they were hungry. They were whining because they were frightened and they thought God couldn’t see them. They thought God had put them out, turned off the lights, and shut the door. But it wasn’t true. Not at all. And on this afternoon, in the sixteenth chapter of Exodus, God promises He’ll send them food. And do you know what the people did? They turned to face the wilderness. And, incredibly, that’s where they saw God. Right in the middle of the place they didn’t want to go, the place they didn’t want to see. That’s where God was. Turning darkness into light.
So, I’m not saying, “Just hold on!” All I’m saying is that I find myself on the other side of the worst six years of my life. I am not exaggerating, and I hope you’ll take my word for it.
On Sunday, we’ll light the pink Advent candle. The one that represents joy. Sometimes joy is difficult to find. Even at Christmas. I just wanted to acknowledge that today.
I’ve been moving baby Jesus around. Not a lot. Today, I moved him from one window sill to another. Behind the curtain. But peeking out just enough that — if you happened to be looking for him — you’d see him lying there in his ceramic manger filled with ceramic hay. I’ll probably move him again next week, after we’ve lit the third Advent candle in church. The pink one. The one that represents “Joy”.
During this season of Advent — the season of waiting — many people set up a nativity scene in their homes: Mary and Joseph. Sheep and donkeys. Some hay scattered on the floor of the creche. I have a wooden creche (handmade by a man in my parents’ church) and ceramic figurines. This year, for the first time, I’ve left the space empty between Mary and Joseph, and I’ve set the baby Jesus on the far side of the room. Not yet arrived.
Each week, I’ve been moving the figurine of the baby just a bit closer to that space between Mary and Joseph. Funny how having Jesus hidden behind the curtain makes the whole thing feel a bit more special.
Yesterday in church, H told us the story about Mary and Joseph losing Jesus on their way home from Jerusalem, where they’d been celebrating the Passover. It made me think about what it might mean for me to leave a big party without first checking to make sure my child was somewhere in the minivan and how it must have been some kind of party for me to let that happen. And it WAS a big party! Passover is no small thing! It’s the story of God sparing an entire people group a visit from the Angel of Death. That’s huge!
No wonder Mary and Joseph lost Jesus.
Of course, I am not unlike those parents of the Lord (except, of course, for the “parents of the Lord” part). When things are going well, and spirits are high, and everyone is talking at once, and I wake up every day with a smile on my face, and I’ve got my mind on something spectacular God has done, I can get a bit woozy — drunk, even — from all of the brouhaha, and in my glee, I lose my focus.
Sometimes, I even start to think the fabulous thing God just did is the extent of God’s greatness, and I set up camp right there where God did that last, great thing. I settle into my seat, rest my elbows on my knees, my chin on my palms, and think I’ve got Him figured out. I think He’s right behind the curtain, on the windowsill. I think He’s where I saw Him last.
Like my keys.
The truth, of course, is that I am not capable of figuring Jesus out. I mean, let’s take, for instance, the way I’ve mixed up the names God and Jesus in this one post as if I’m talking about one person. And, I am! In fact, there’s the Holy Spirit, a third person I haven’t even mentioned, who’s the same person as these other two. And, while I’m using the word “person”, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover even that’s not exactly accurate. See? God is way beyond me!
The minute I think I’ve figured Him out, I’ve lost Him. Sometimes it helps to go back to the place where I last saw Him, but not because that’s where He is. No. Most of the time, He’s moved on and He leaves a trail of bread crumbs — sometimes a passage of scripture, a hymn I’d forgotten, a blog post you write — to point me to where He went. Because He doesn’t want me settling in. He doesn’t want me holding steady. He’s got plans for me, you know. And for you.
~~~
Every Monday, I want to link up with Michelle, but it always takes me such a long time to process the sermons from the day before. I’m like that with most things when it comes to God. Slow. Anyway, I’m giving it a shot today. Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t have Him all figured out?
“He’s solid rock under my feet,
breathing room for my soul…”
~Psalm 62:2 (MSG)
~~~
Welcome to The Sunday Community. Link up with a photo and just a few, brief words of inspiration – a favorite quote, a favorite line of words from the bible, a short poem, a small thought.
Not many words at all.
Then, extend a bit of hospitality to the others here. Take some time to visit with one another and share a bit of grace. Please grab the Sunday button from the link at the top of the page to post at your place, so others know where to find us.
Barbara Brown Taylor and Shelly Miller are two of my favorite people. I admire Barbara from afar. I’m sure she is completely unaware of me, and I’m cool with that. If I ever were to meet Barbara Brown Taylor, I’d be completely starstruck, and I’d probably drool and gush at the same time. It would not be pretty, and she would not be impressed.
Shelly Miller is a dear friend, even though she knows the unimpressive sides of me. We spent some time together in Texas, in the canyon, beside the Frio River. In Texas, one afternoon, Shelly, Marcus, and I toured the Frio River, and the small town of Leakey (pronounced Lake-ee — the residents of the town would want you to know that). It was one of the highlights of that particular trip.
Shelly’s hosting an online book club, based on the book, “Leaving Church
by Barbara Brown Taylor. See? Two of my favorite people in one place. Today, I’m hanging out over there, writing about my own leaving church experience. Most of the time, I try to just write from where I am, and I’m not sure it always makes sense. This is one of those times. If you get a minute, I’d love to know what you think… Join me?
