Seized By Hope

Advent 2

Waiting.

Advent is about waiting for the arrival...of Jesus.

When I think of waiting I think first of "waiting rooms".  I've sat in quite a few waiting rooms.  I can remember waiting with a family as their father underwent heart surgery, not knowing if he would come out alive.  I sat waiting to hear about whether a tumor being removed from a friend was cancerous.  I waited with my family while my uncle underwent surgery, and then I waited with his children for his brain stem to die following a massive stroke after that surgery.  I've waited for babies to arrive, mine and other people's. 

Mark had surgery on his back about 11 years ago.  We had only lived here for a year.  My closest friends were helping to watch our children, so I expected to sit in the waiting room alone at 5:30AM that day.  I remember the sight of our worship Pastor coming through the door to pray with Mark and sit with me, it was unexpected and left me feeling loved and less alone.  I hadn't even hoped for someone to come sit with me, I'd resigned myself to the reality that I would have to wait alone.

I sat with friends recently and we were talking about a pattern of waiting for one of my friends.  Waiting for her husband to want more in their relationship, more than what has become the comfortable status quo.  She was sitting in a place of resignation as we talked.  Resigned to the idea that nothing will change, he will not change.  She taken steps to murder her hope and exit the waiting room.  My other friend and I offered to wait with her, and asked her to consider what hope might look like for herself even if he doesn't change.

Waiting and hope go hand in hand.  If you are waiting you must face the reality of hope, the question becomes what will you do with your hope?

Waiting with hope feels risky in some situations.  The longer I live the more aware I am of the risks associated with hoping. 

When I was young I hadn't experienced enough tragedy yet to be plagued with the nagging "what if's" that come to taunt me in my hope.  What if something goes wrong in the process of the baby being born.  What if the surgery isn't successful?  What if the diagnosis is cancer?  What if he never changes?  What if my spouse is unfaithful?  What if my child never succeeds academically?  What if I lose my job?  What if my loved one dies?

All the what if's invite me to kill my hope, and then I am left in the waiting room sitting in despair.  Most often despair leads to deadness, and then I don't have to wait.  Most often all of this happens in isolation.  If others are in my waiting room with me it is harder for me to kill my hope.  The faces of friends bring life and encouragement to me as I wait.  They are a visible reminder of what I long for most, the presence of Jesus with me....when I don't feel Him having people nearby helps me keep my hope alive that Jesus is coming for me.

Hope can't be based on my earthly circumstances turning out like I want, and hope is ravaged by the memory of things not turning out like I want.  To hope in God, to hope in Jesus...who often just feel so intangible, is hard when what is tangible has brought deep disappointment.

Today as I sit in the waiting room, literally and figuratively, I have to chose to engage my memory of the places where the unexpected showing up brought goodness, joy and tangible evidence of God's faithfulness to me.  I have to engage those memories because I no longer live in a place numbed resignation, of platitudinous Christianity marked by phrases and quips that hide the reality of my uncomfortable feelings. 

There are things I am waiting for today, places where I am hoping, places where it feels risky and I am not sure what the outcome will be....I am reminded today of the importance of inviting people into my waiting room, and being willing to wait with others.

Advent 1

"May this season of thanksgiving and advent speak deeply to your heart.  Greet your wife for me."

Words sent to my husband in an email from a man of influence and impact in our lives.  I read his words in the email Mark forwarded to me and was struck my his choice of the word "advent". 

Advent, speak deeply to my heart.  What would that mean?  What would that look like?  Advent has been reduced to a calendar with little pop open windows containing chocolates for my kids or clever messages about Christmas.  I have an advent box some friends gave us, it has messages for each day leading up to Christmas, messages they chose specifically for us.  Ironically, the message for today is missing.....like so many other things in my house that go missing most often at the hands of sweet E, who is only three.  There are also advent wreaths, greenery with 4 candles each symbolizing an aspect of advent. 

I looked up advent in Websters:

Main Entry: Ad·vent

Pronunciation: \ˈad-ˌvent, chiefly British -vənt\

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English, from Medieval Latin adventus, from Latin, arrival, from advenire

Date: 12th century

1 : the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas and observed by some Christians as a season of prayer and fasting
2 a : the coming of Christ at the Incarnation b : second coming
3 not capitalized : a coming into being or use <the advent of spring> <the advent of pasteurization> <the advent of personal computers>

From the Latin, arrival. 

Advent is about anticipation, and about remembrance.  It is about looking forward and looking back.  We remember the coming of Jesus as a baby, we anticipate the coming of Jesus a second time to take home those who have put their trust in Him.  It is also about "a coming into being".  Being.  That seems important to notice as well.

Gabriel Marcel called hope a "memory of the future".  That feels like a place to start from as I ponder advent.  Advent is about Hope.  Advent is about remembering and imagining.

I noticed that Webster's said some Christians observe advent as a season of prayer and fasting.  On Sunday the pastor at our church spoke on fasting.  He is encouraging a church-wide fast in January.  He quickly told everyone January, noting the difficulty that would come in trying to fast during the Christmas season, during Advent.

I sat for a bit this morning and thought about that.  It would be difficult.  It would be sacrificial.  It would leave me hungering and aware of what I was missing out on.  It would leave me anticipating the arrival of December 25th.

I am going to be writing about advent for the next 23 days.  I am going to hope that things will be stirring deeply in my heart. 

Was It Too Much?

Yesterday morning I headed for the airport with K, A, S, L and E all buckled into the Expedition.  The music was playing in the back of the truck, A was frustrated at the lack of communication about the plan for the morning and S was wanting L to stop repeating the same phrase over and over again.

K looked over at me and said, "So, how was the week for you Mom?  Was it too much?"

Loaded question.

Suffice it to say that there were moments where 5 kids, varying desires and expectations, feeding nearly 20 people Thanksgiving dinner, decorating for Christmas and trying to have an occasional thought of my own felt like too much.  And, it was all filled with life and laughter and goodness at multiple levels.

Here's a little movie from Thanksgiving Day....  (And I just want to add that we did ROAST a turkey as well, which the original three affectionately named George, he was a British turkey)

Bearing One Anothers Burdens

I was unloading groceries in the kitchen yesterday when the phone rang.  I looked at the caller ID and saw our friends name, I knew the call was coming from somewhere on the road between here and Virginia.  "Hello, what have you heard?" was my question as I picked up the receiver.  My friend began to tell me the report from the neuro-surgeon, what they know and what they don't know. 

I listened and in my mind I pictured this couple, our age, driving across country to be with their oldest daughter, her husband and their baby.  I thought about sitting with them less than a week ago laughing and sharing stories over food and drinks.  I thought about the similarities in the structure of our families, older kids and younger one's.  I thought about the places of connection we share with them.  I thought about a meeting I had with their daughter nearly 7 years ago and how eyes her sparkled and about her hopes for the future.

Today I will be baking pies, making jalapeno corn, green bean casserole, and stuffing.  I will be laughing with my kids and preparing for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Today my friends will complete their three day drive to be with their daughter.  They will be anxiously waiting for their cell phones to ring with the report from the detailed CT scan on how involved the tumor is with the blood vessels in her brain.  They will be talking to their other kids still at home with family members.

Today I will make my way through the hours of the day aware of what I am thankful for and aware of what feels heavy.  The temptation is to cheapen what it is to "bear one another's burdens" by simply focusing on how thankful I am that what is a tragedy in someone else's life isn't the tragedy in mine. 

I am thinking about Ephesians 4

" ¹As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. ²Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. ³Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. ⁴There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called— ⁵one Lord, one faith, one baptism; ⁶one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

We are one body, we share one hope. 

I wish this were the only tragedy, the only heavy burden I was aware of today...but it is not.  We have other friends who lost their son last week and are mourning his death, our neighbor's cancer is leaving him barely able to walk across the room, we have friends on the brink of divorce, others who believe this is the last Thanksgiving for their mother to be alive.  The stories go on an on.

I want to enter into the celebration of Thanksgiving with my whole heart, and experience the beauty of God's presence in the midst of all my feelings....my gratitude and my concern and everything that lays in between.  I want to bear my friends burden with them. 

Dear God Jesus

Friday was "Feast Day" for the little girls.  Both girls had Thanksgiving Feasts at school.  E's classroom was set up with paper plates, chicken nuggets, veggies, chips and juice boxes.  Her teacher was wearing an Indian costume.  The room was filled with native music.  The kids were all having a great time. 

E seemed to understand the concept of thankfulness more and more as they talked about it at school all month.

Last night we sat down at the table for dinner and she announced her desire to pray for the food.  Her prayer went like this...

"Dear God Jesus thank you for the food.  Thank you for Mommy, for Daddy, for K, for A, for S, for L. Thank you."

Dear God Jesus.

Perfect.

Almost home...

K posted a status on her Face-book that said, "K is almost home".  Her plane will arrive in 9 hours.  When I walked into L and E's room this morning to wake them up the first words out of their mouths were, "Today is the day K comes home!"  The activities of the day are now just part of a countdown until we leave to pick her up at the airport.

She is ready to come home.

At the Strong Women Soft Hearts retreat Paula spoke about each of us holding a longing for "home".  It is deeper than the experience we have when we visit a house that represents "home", for that is just a taste of what we are really made to enjoy.

I was thinking this week that I don't refer to my parents house as "home" anymore.  Actually, I don't even think of Phoenix as "home".  I thought about when that changed, when I stopped referring to trips to Phoenix as going home.  I believe it was about 12 years ago.  After we had lived in San Antonio for a year and experienced something very special at the church we were attending.  People had embraced us in ways we hand't really known before, and our family had become a part of something that tasted sweet.  That church and our life in San Antonio felt like home.  Trips to visit my mom and dad became trips to Phoenix, not trips "home".

When we left San Antonio two years later the ache was deeper than I had known in previous moves, and the people we'd come to love continued to pursue and care for us across the miles that separated us from them.  Our church home wanted us to stay connected, in fact they wanted us to come back, to come home again.  When we were invited to return and take a place of the staff at the church we felt an excitement and gratitude that filled up nearly every nook and cranny of our hearts.  That first sunday, a week after Thanksgiving in 2000 as I sat in the pews of the familiar sanctuary I felt a rest in my soul and a feeling that I was again "home".

"Home is where your heart is"

"Home is where your story begins"

Cliche words often found on wooden plaques at artsy little shops.  And, yet cliche or not filled with truth.

Home is not necessarily the house you grew up in, it may not be the town where you lived the longest, it isn't always where your extended family lives, and sadly it may not even be with the house you are living right now.

Home is a place where the emptiness that comes from living in a fallen world, separated from the God who loves us, is filled and the ache is relieved more than when you are in any other place.  Home is about warmth that touches your soul and washes over your heart and causes you to take a breath and exhale deeply.  Home is where you can curl up and be quiet and still be seen.  Home is where your laughter is known and enjoyed.  Home is where someone always has arms welcoming you, whatever your condition...clean, messy, angry, sad, joyful, content, angry, needy.  Home is where your arrival is anticipated and people are waiting to welcome you.

Home is something I have and something I long for all at the same time. 

Tea

A friend gave me a cup and a book and a box of tea.

A friend sent me a package with different types of tea.

A friend gave me a cd of songs she'd selected and titled it "Tracy's Tea"

Usually I drink coffee.  I drink it every morning, several cups.  I drink it at Starbuck's while I meet with people.  I like coffee.

I've discovered though, that when my heart is sitting in tender places, when I need to extra kind to myself, I drink tea.  People who know me and love me and been used by Jesus to invite me to drink tea.  I am thankful for them, so very thankful.

I've been drinking tea the past few days.  It leaves me a bit more quiet and my blog has reflected that.

If this couch could speak.

We lived the first 14 years of our married life on hand-me down furniture, save the purchase of a crib for K when she was born.  When we moved to San Antonio 9 years ago to begin ministry to young adults we made our first major furniture purchase.  Couches.  Two full size, one green and one floral. 

I remember the day they arrived and one of our young adults came over to help move them into the family room.  From that day forward these couches provided seating for literally hundreds of young adults, and family members and friends of our children.

Two weeks ago the floral sleeper sofa broke beyond repair.  We've been propping it up with cinder blocks for months now, but this last collapse made the need to replace it unavoidable.

If that floral sleeper sofa could speak it would have tales to tell.

It would recount hours of conversation.  Secrets that it has held for years and years.  Tears shed upon its pillows and laughter had on it's cushions.  It would tell of the time Darin sat on it and held L, just a tiny baby, finding his heart for his story of being adopted.  It would remember Forums with Lauren and Chelli and Debbie.  It would tell of a particular night when a precious woman wept over a child lost to abortion as she sat it's welcoming cushions.  It would recall hours of play with A and her sweet puppies romping all about on it.  It would speak of conversations with Josh that were life changing.  It would tell of Chuck and hours he spent sitting on it.  It would point to the spot that belongs to Dave on Christmas morning.  It would sing lyrics from all the rock band tunes played from upon it.  It would whisper the secrets Mark and I have shared while sitting slouched down on it's softness.  It would remember holding me as I wept the night Marnie died and the news reached my ears as I sat upon it.  It would describe its view of the christmas tree each year.  It would tell of opening itself up and the bed being pulled out to provide a place for Lory to sleep, for the five Johnson children to lay next to each other for the first time when E came home from the hospital.  It would definitely talk about Danny, Tim and Tom.  It would talk about salsa and chips with Mercy.  It would tell of Chris P and his laughter and joy.  It would remember the couples group with the Beaugh's, The Kurz's, The Paveglio's and The Cabell's.  It would remember the night Russ took a brave step in his story.  It would remember conversation after conversation after conversation from Guy's Night and Community Group.

If this couch could speak...........

Strong Women Soft Hearts Retreat

As I sat with my coffee this morning looking over the pictures from the retreat last weekend I found my heart filled with gratitude. 

Paula Rinehart was warm, inviting, inspiring, welcoming and wise.  Perhaps one of my favorite aspects of the weekend was how often she had us turn to one another and discuss what we'd written down in response to a question she'd asked us to ponder.  The sound of the womens voices conversing with each other was a reminder to me of how similar we all are, regardless of our life circumstances.

Her opening "prompt" for us to write about on Friday night was, "In this season of my life I feel a bit anxious about....."  The answers proved to set a course for where many of us would meet God during the rest of the weekend.

The details of the retreat all went seamlessly, and I could feel God's orchestrating presence affirming the beauty of the event and what He was accomplishing for the women attending.

It was all we had hoped and prayed for as a leadership team.  It was what I had hoped for as I prayed and pursued Paula coming last summer.

Here are some photo's from the weekend.

Enjoy!

Enjoy....

My daughter linked this "brilliant" (to quote her) video on her blog.  I've listened to it several times now this morning and it just made me smile.

So, enjoy.