when Christmas is dark

This year, I’ve had a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit. While in previous years, I worked hard to make my own decorations, even if it meant a Christmas tree made out of t-shirts, this year my house isn’t even decorated for Christmas. My stocking hangs from my door, but it’s not even bright red or green, it’s a dull grey and brown. The only other hint of Christmas is two ornaments hanging above my bed; the one is a cinnamon-scented blue and silver ornament, and the other is a sparkly penguin in a Santa hat. But considering they’ve been hanging there since I moved in at the end of August, they do little to signal the arrival of Christmas.

Every year I’ve spent Christmas away from home, it’s been hard. The first year I spent Christmas away from home, I cried many nights as Christmas approached. Some nights I cried because I wouldn’t be home for Christmas, but many other nights I cried because I was caring for children who would never go home for Christmas. Children who had been abused, abandoned, mistreated by their parents, the very people who should love them most. Tonight, I again feel the weight of sin instead of the joy this season is supposed to bring. At first, I was angry because I have to work tomorrow even though I’m so sick I can no longer speak. To top it off, my boss subtly accused me of lying about being sick when he has no reason to believe that I would lie. Then I received a text from a friend. She’s staying with relatives for Christmas and a man four times her age is hitting on her, and not subtly either. My heart grew heavy when I heard that.

Why can I feel so poignantly the injustices of the world at a time when I should most see the hope of the world? Why must sin continue? Why can’t Jesus just come back and make this all better? Why are there creepy old men who hit on girls a fourth their age? Why are there evil parents who abuse there children? Why are there uncaring bosses who make you work when you’re sick? Why isn’t Jesus here?

As I wondered over these things, angry at the injustice of it all, I began to rebuke myself, saying that we are all sinners and we don’t deserve better. But before my rebuttal had even finished being formed, I stopped myself. What a lie if ever there was one! God never approves of sin, even if a sinner will receive the consequences. All sin is an abomination to him, from the relatively small injustice of me working when I’m sick to the hugely atrocious sin of abuse. Sin is sin, and God hates all of it. God did not roll his eyes when I cried tonight because I would have to work tomorrow. He felt the weight too.

So why, then, does it continue? Didn’t Jesus come to right all of this? Where is my hope today?

I only have answers to some of my questions because God has not given me the insight to know all. Tonight, God told me where my hope lies. My hope lies in Christmas. But not in the holly jolly, bright red and green Christmas so familiar to us all. My hope lies in a dull grey and brown manger. Christmas was not an end to suffering; it was the beginning of lifelong suffering for my Savior. My hope lies in the one injustice that God ever approved: Jesus suffered and died for all sin once and for all on the cross and rose again. That is the truest injustice because Jesus never sinned. He endured unjust treatment, but not once did he return the evil. Because he died in my place without sin, I can draw near to God.

And that injustice gives me hope. If God committed the most egregious injustice for my good to give me hope, I can only assume that any smaller injustice he allows is working toward the same purpose. My boss’ mistreatment of me has not gone unnoticed by him. The harassment my friend is enduring is not unforeseen. The scars left on those children by their parents are not irredeemable. It seems crazy to say, impossible to believe. But if God can conquer the grave, the ultimate symbol of sin, then he can conquer sin. If God is powerful enough to conquer sin, then he is powerful enough to dominate sin and use it for his purposes. If God is good enough to make his purpose saving a sinner like me, then he is good enough to care for a sinner like me, day in and day out. That’s my hope.

Jesus suffered to end my suffering. My suffering hasn’t ended, but it’s been changed. Before Jesus saved me, I suffered because sin brought me suffering. Today, Jesus asks me to suffer so that I might proclaim Jesus’ suffering through mine so that others like me might have their suffering transformed so that the world may know the good news of Jesus’ suffering. And one day, one beautiful day when God has accomplished his purposes, God will end all suffering.

The angels sang because Jesus would suffer and by suffering bring healing to the world. I guess, then, it is appropriate that God would let me feel the weight of sin at this time of year. Without the weight of sin, Christmas has no meaning. True Christmas spirit is not the end of pain; it is the use of pain for everlasting glory.

musings on moving

            Several piles of random items scatter my floor right now as I sit on the one unoccupied corner of my bed. Two packed suitcases are shoved by the wall and half-packed boxes sit on my floor. In four days, I’m moving. I’m about to leave the hardest, sweetest two years of my life and move on to who knows what. My emotions are all jumbled; I’m reeling in pain from leaving forty-some kids that I’ve grown to love so much, but I’m cautiously excited about my new life in the city.

At this emotionally-charged crossroads, it’s so easy to wander down the what-if path. I think of what would have happened if I had never come, what would happen if I chose to move somewhere else, what would have happened if I had done things differently while in Mexico. As I wonder, I think about the different blessings found in each what-if, usually the relationships. What if I were still near my family? What if I were close to this friend? What if I had loved more selflessly?

All the while, a growing frustration builds up inside, waiting until full to dump its load. But even when I finally break down and talk about it or cry, the frustration isn’t satisfied. I still do not have what I’ve been longing for and I still am not content with my future. My heart searches for fulfillment in every imaginary alternate universe in which some of my wildest dreams come true and it comes up empty. Every what-if is an attempt to find satisfaction in something other than God’s perfect plan.

Deep down, I know that while I could have chosen any of the paths spread before me, I never would have. In all of my decisions, I acted completely in character.

Within every what-if, there are desired blessings coupled with natural consequences. If I had stayed with my family in Virginia, I never would have met nor loved E—, C—, G—, A—, and on the list goes with names and faces. If I had moved to a different city, I wouldn’t have the incredible privilege of being a bridge between two cultures. If I had loved more selflessly, my time here might not be up. On every side, I am required to sacrifice something.

When I investigate the what-ifs, I seek to find the least of all evils. My secret hope is that the current trajectory of my life will be the least painful, and therefore by default, the best. But loving something for being the least bad is no sort of love. It’s a dull resignation. It’s a gloomy fulfillment of duty. No wonder it doesn’t satisfy my frustrations.

If I’m to find any joy in my unchartered future, I need to love something, not least-hate something. As I survey my future, the only thing worth loving and pinning my hopes to is God. Every beautiful part of my new life has its joys and sorrows. Being in El Paso means not being in Mexico or Virginia. Being a bridge between two cultures means not belonging completely to either. Being in school means doing homework. Only in God does every undesirable trait find value. Being in El Paso means being part of the exciting advance of the gospel in that city. Being a bridge between two cultures means being Jesus’ radical love. Being in school means learning tools to continue God’s work. With the glorification of Christ as the outcome of every sacrifice, it all becomes worth it, because for so many innumerable reasons, Christ is worth it all.

Discontentment and just a grain of faith

These days come semi-frequently; the ones where I want so endlessly that there’s no motivation to do anything other than sit and want more.  Everything is subpar; everyone comes up lacking.  Gifts from God quickly become overshadowed by the gifts he didn’t give me.

Today, these were the thoughts God gave me to battle my discontentment:

“[The things I want] aren’t evil things, but as the idols of my heart, they are.  This, right here, right now, is my life.  [God is] asking me to obey here and now.  Obedience, in this case, isn’t an action, it’s a reaction.  [God is] asking me to have faith that Jesus is better than all those things that I want.  I have Jesus, but right now I don’t have faith.

“These answers feel so scripted; how can they be true?  How can Jesus become so alive to me, or rather, I to him, that I see my desires for what they really are: more sand in this vast desert?

“Some rehearsed answers are floating through my head: pray and read my Bible; but as I tap on them precociously to see if they’ll hold up, a high, hollow sound rings in my ears.

“And I just realized why: these are all me-based things.  ‘What can I do to be happier?’  But that question yields fruitless answers.  I’ve stopped looking for a reaction and started looking for an action.  If I truly understand the gospel, I know there’s nothing I can do.  I can pray and read my Bible, but those actions, devoid of faith, will leave me trusting that the air will hold me up and keep me from falling.  It just isn’t going to happen.

“Or I can put my miniscule grain of faith in God.  I can look my feelings up and down, and turn to look to God.  I can hope to feel better, or I can believe that God is better.  And the beauty of believing is that I don’t have to see it.  At this moment, I do not see how God is better.  But I can choose to count it as truth just as I count it as truth that Australia exists.

“The beauty of faith is its power.  I have been justified by faith (Rom. 5:1); I walk by faith (2 Cor. 5:7); I have been saved through faith (Eph. 2:8); I live by faith (Heb. 10:38); indeed, my faith has overcome the world (1 Jn. 5:4).  These are no trifling wonders performed through faith.  If I have faith that in Jesus all of my desires have been met and satisfied with even more to spare, I have no doubt that God will prove himself faithful to show me the wonders of his Son.

“Lord, if just a grain’s worth of faith can accomplish all that, give me more faith.”