It Seems I Will Have to Settle for Hope: An Advent Meditation

I am primarily a melancholy-tempered girl. And I always seem to feel a little more melancholy than usual during Christmastime. I don’t know if it’s the short, dark days or the sugary sweet effervescence of hollow “Christmas cheer” that makes me feel like I just drank a gallon of Kool-Aid and my body is shutting down. Call me a Scrooge if you’d like but it just leaves me feeling like there has got to be more than this. This year especially. 2016 has been quite the year (to be honest, since November 8^th everything is a blur…)  For me personally, and for the collective world community. The volatility of “life as we know it” is terrifying. The next day, the next moment, our health, prosperity, and peace—as we’ve narrowly defined them—can be altered in truly wonderful or incredibly tragic ways. These things are not promised. This year more than ever that reality has become all too clear. Instances of happiness are met just that quickly with awful moments. I find myself wrestling with this. I don’t like having a false sense of security and control that is so easily shattered. I'm uncomfortable (understatement) with a world where new life and pure goodness can coexist in the same moment as death and inconceivable evil---where one person can experience a great triumph on the same day that another experiences deep loss. It feels so unfair. So unjust. Almost unnatural. This unexpected juxtaposition of light and dark is unnerving.  The emotional whiplash. 

How does one's soul and spirit not get overtaken by the weight of it all? Sadly, for me I realize just how stubbornly I’ve taken up residence in the House of Fear and self-preservation.

 But Advent. My longing, the anguish of my seeming lack, my heartbreak over all that is broken and just not right in this world are channeled into the expectant hoping for a Savior. Because I believe we in fact were created for more. This is not all there is. There is much more. Beyond what we could ever hope for or imagine.

And isn't that just this life-- it's a dance and dirge. We somehow, someway find the strength to hold joy and sorrow together. In the midst of all the moments that make up this beautiful tragic life, the Lord just as He has promised is with us always. And will continue to be with us even to the end of the age when we will *finally* be joined with him face to face. We have been given the promise and reality of this Great Love. That came, that is come, and that will come. This is my joy. This is my peace. This is my hope. And this hope is not just for some future reality but it is for now. Right now. In this moment. In the darkness and despair. Or in the joy. In all of it.

How should this promise change our present reality? In light of this truth, I am being changed. I am freed to live fully in every moment—even as it takes me from my carefully erected safe houses, off the shore and out into risky territory. But it is so worth it. We are freed and empowered to weep with those who mourn. Dance and sing with those who rejoice. Advocate for those who are oppressed. Walk alongside those who have fallen by the wayside. To see our neighbors. To love them. Radically. We can confidently and whole-heartedly do this because we are fully secure in love and significance. There is no threat to us. 

My hope for you dear friends this holiday season is of course for peace and health and prosperity. But I know the reality of this life. So my hope is that you would know Peace in all that you face, for spiritual health and a true sense of your security and significance, and that you would prosper in ways that do not depend on the stability of your circumstances. 

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For your continued contemplation: Philippians 4:12-13 | John 1:14-18 | Isaiah 11:1-10 | Psalm 56:3-4 | Psalm 40: 1-3 | Psalm 94:19