Actually, let me clarify-I like surprising other people, but unexpected interruptions in the rhythms of my life make me uncomfortable.
I’m the one who likes to sit in the front seat of the rollercoaster so I can anticipate what’s coming next. Chalk it up to birth order, personality, life experiences … I like to have a sense of what lies ahead.
I’ve been learning to trust God more in this area. But, as you know, you don’t recognize progress until you encounter circumstances that test it.
Several years ago, my husband found out he was going to lose his job. Right before Christmas.
How do you prepare for that kind of news? We prayed, talked, and waited. And just as he thought, it happened.
My mind had not forgotten the prophetic nudge I had received randomly at a stoplight a year earlier. The Target sign advertising seasonal hiring had drawn my eyes and, for some reason, it resonated with me. As the light turned to green, the thought was packed into the back of my mind and I proceeded down the road and onto my day.
Until a year later, when we faced with my husband’s job loss. Questions loomed. Working at Target would entail nights at work and sleep during the day. How does one do that with a two year old? What about getting my older kids off to school? Would I have to work on Christmas?
God spoke into our lives in a way we had hoped but could not have imagined.
My husband’s company did not have a current space for him to work, so they gave him the opportunity to work from home until January, which was something he had always longed to do. I did end up working on Christmas, but the blessings in that season of waiting came packaged in ways I never anticipated.
Scriptural narratives consistently bear witness to a God of surprises. The packaging of the Messiah was no exception.
Of course, the Jews were well familiar with the prophecies including:
Isaiah 9 :6-7: For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders;
and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His authority shall grow continually,
and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time onward and forevermore.
Micah 5:2 But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah,
who are one of the little clans of Judah,
from you shall come forth for me
one who is to rule in Israel,
whose origin is from of old,
from ancient days.
The anticipation of his arrival was passed down through generations. Hope wove through the retelling of how God’s hand guided, intervened and never abandoned them. The Torah spoke of the repeated acts of redemption on behalf of the Israelites. And now, as a fractured people, the promise of permanent restoration appeared to be close to reality.
But how do you reconcile all that was hoped for in a Messiah with the reality that he arrived as an infant? Not a seemingly powerful king. Not a savvy political figure. Not even an adult.
God spoke into their lives in a way they had hoped, but could not have imagined.
Yet, truthfully, what had been pictured was not what transpired … at least not from a human perspective. Since fear and despair can quickly clutch us as we wait, how can we let hope and joy liberate us in the midst?
We remember the narratives which speak of God’s character throughout history. We, like, the Israelites, cling to the ancient truths which speak to present circumstances.
“and again Isaiah says,
“The root of Jesse shall come,
the one who rises to rule the Gentiles;
in him the Gentiles shall hope.” Romans 15:12
God speaks into our lives in ways we hope, but cannot imagine-even when our blessings look differently than expected.
About Stephanie:
Stephanie is an ordained pastor, speaker, writer and mental health advocate. She writes about sensing the voice of God and encountering the Holy Spirit in the midst of our everyday routines. In addition, the themes of parenting and mental illness find themselves woven into some of her posts. She is a member of the Redbud Writers’ Guild, and her pieces have appeared at Altarwork, Amity Coalition, Her View From Home, The Mighty, and The Mudroom blog. Stephanie lives in the suburbs of Chicago with her husband and three teens. She blogs at stephaniejthompson.com. Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.
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While in grad school I spent some time in India with fellow students. After dinner one night, our host led us through some of the city’s streets until we ended up in Dharavi, which I would later learn was one of the largest slums in Asia, covering more than five acres in the heart of the city and home to as many as100,000 people. Dharavi was like nothing I had ever seen or experienced. We walked single file down the narrow alleys, the streets of Dharavi, following our guide closely, minding his instruction to keep close.
It was getting dark and it was a busy time of night. There were people everywhere. It felt as though I was pushing my way through a crowded train car. Our guide told us to avoid stepping in the water. With no proper waste system, the water running down the walkways was sewage. There were slabs of meat hanging from open windows. There were tiny shops. There was corrugated metal, cardboard and wood, all pieced together to build homes and businesses, a community. I was overwhelmed in every sense of the word. How do they all fit? How do they not get sick? How do children not get lost? When we finally emerged from the narrow alleys of Dharavi we were led up five flights of stairs to the roof of a neighboring building and told to look down.
Below was Dharavi, the community we had just walked through. All I could see were rooftops pieced together, the alleyways not visible from the view above. Then looked up and out. The rooftops kept going. Dharavi kept going. It was bigger than I could have ever imagined. We had only covered a block. There was so much more. Stretching out before me were the lives of thousands of people … women, men and children living and breathing, working and cleaning, preparing food for their families, bathing their babies, caring for those who were sick. Suffering and celebrating. Laughing and crying. Dying and being born.
In Ignatian Spirituality, St. Ignatius of Loyola invites us to contemplate the incarnation in two parts. In the first part we are asked to imagine what the Trinity sees when looking out upon the earth before making the decision to enter into it in human form.
For me, when I pray this first part of the contemplation I always see Dharavi.
I see the expanse of metal rooftops going on for miles, seemingly without end, and it astounds me every time that somehow God sees all of this and is, at the same time, still acutely aware of the individual moaning and exultation of each person. We don’t just get lost in the mix and that to me is astonishing. God can both see the broad view of the whole world (the rooftops of Dharavi view) and at the same time can see, feel, and hear the inner workings of each and every single person … all 7.5 billion of us. God sees all of this and then decides to enter into it, right into the middle of all our pain and all of our mess.
But first, Mary had to say yes.
For the second part of the contemplation on the incarnation, Ignatius invites us to imagine what that moment must have been like for Mary. However we might describe what Mary’s life was like in her time and day, it’s safe to assume it wasn’t easy. She most assuredly had dirt under her fingernails on the regular. But when presented with what must have seemed a crazy proposition, she said yes, and in doing so, made a very clear statement about her life’s orientation. Advent invites us to orient our lives just the same.
This is what Advent boils down to for me.
Advent … a time of hopeful anticipation, a time of inviting God in, a time of recognizing where we need God, and a time of re-orienting our lifetowards that which matters most.
My family and friends know that I love Christmas. I love all the cheesy romanticmovies. I love the lights and the photo cards that come in the mail. I treasure buying presents for the people I love. But I don’t think I could love Christmas the way I do without Advent.
Advent is when I am reminded that, just as Mary had to say yes, I too have to say yes. Not a one time yes but an ongoing, day-by-day and year-by-year yes. I have to make a decision about the direction I want my life to be heading. I have to open myself up to the God who wants to make a home in me. Advent gives us time to decide (maybe for the first time or maybe again), towards what or whom is our life oriented.
Then we might see more clearly the incarnation. We might more joyously participate in the lights, and music and gifts of Christmas because Advent will have prepared us well.
The seemingly secular Christmas hype won’t concern us because instead it will serve as a reminder that the Trinity looked at the world and upon seeing the destruction and the suffering, responded out of compassion and mercy, deciding to incarnate God’s very self into the world in order to heal it. But that’s not all (as if that wasn’t enough). Advent reminds us that God gazes at each one of us in the very same way, with compassion and mercy, wanting to heal us, wanting to re-orient our lives. We just have to make the space. We just have to say yes.
About Kim:
As a wife and mom to four young children, Kim Baldwin is happiest when spending time with family and friends, enjoying the gorgeous Arizona sunshine, watching a little HGTV and volunteering with organizations doing good in the world. Professionally, she spends her days working with awesome undergrads in the Next Generation Service Corps at Arizona State University who are committed to creating change. This is where her passions lie and where her heart is most drawn. Kim looks forward to connecting with you as you too discover and share how you have been called to love and to impact change as you carve out estuary moments in your everyday life. Read more from her at http://www.ignatianmama.com.
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For December, the theme on the blog is “The Other Side of Advent.” Let me know if you’re still interested in guest posting (I’m usually willing to extend deadlines)! Check submission guidelines here.
Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:
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My children tore into the Christmas boxes yesterday, leaving books, toys, ornaments, lights and wrapping paper strewn about the living room. They arranged the Fischer Price toy manger in bizarre configurations and started in on their own versions of the Christmas story. A week ago for movie night, we watched the kids’ movie, The Star (complete with Oprah, Tyler Perry and Kelly Clarkson as voice actors) on Netflix and I wondered how much of the plot to critique with my children, age six and under.
Should I tell them there wasn’t a man in armor sent to kill Mary and Joseph—or a talking donkey? Or that Jesus wasn’t born in a barn? Should I point out that while the characters in the film looked more Middle Eastern than most adaptations of the nativity (apart from the blue-eyed Mary), their speech and mannerisms were decidedly “Western”? Was it even worth pushing against a story that has morphed into a romanticized version unlike what actually happened two thousand years ago …?
Living overseas and studying culture in graduate school taught me that I often view the world through Western lenses, forming incorrect assumptions as I read the Bible. Yes, the Reformation brought the freedom to study the Bible on our own, but with that comes the mighty weight of responsibility to research the culture behind the text. We can’t just take the Bible at face value and expect to get it right.
As I researched for my book about hospitality from a cross-cultural perspective this past year, I racked up late fines for a book I checked out of the library three times (and finally bought this week). Kenneth E. Bailey spent forty years living and teaching New Testament in Egypt, Lebanon, Jerusalem and Cyprus. The book, called Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes peels away the lenses we’ve used to read the nativity story, confronting our assumptions with truths about Eastern culture.
He says the misinterpretations of the nativity began when an anonymous Christian wrote a “novel” two hundred years after the birth of Jesus. It’s the first fictional account suggesting that Jesus’ birth occurred the very night Mary and Joseph entered Bethlehem. Bailey describes it as “full of imaginative details.” Along with this fictional account, we’ve managed to invent plenty of myths on our own. Here are some I hope to eventually debunk for my children (and myself) as we lug out our Christmas paraphernalia year after year:
Myth 1: No Room at the Inn
Our nativity stories usually involve a dejected Joseph and Mary finally bedding down in the straw of a barn because there was no room for them in the inn. But Bailey writes that “if Luke expected his readers to think Joseph was turned away from an ‘inn’ he would have used the word pandocheion, which clearly meant a commercial inn. But in Luke 2:7 it is katalyma that is crowded …literally, a katalyma is simply ‘a place to stay’… if at the end of Luke’s Gospel, the word katalyma means a guest room attached to a private home (22:11), why would it not have the same meaning near the beginning of this Gospel?”(32, 33)
Bailey points out that most Middle Eastern homes for the past 3,000 years were made of two rooms—one a guest room, and one for the family and their animals. Joseph had likely already arranged to stay at the home of a friend (he knew Mary would be giving birth around then, so of course he would plan ahead–perhaps he’s not as inept as we imagine …). Rather than a story of rejection, the birth of Jesus was, in fact, one of grand hospitality—a family gave up their own room to make space for the holy family.
As proof that Jesus wasn’t born in squalor, Bailey points out that in the spirit of Middle Eastern hospitality, the shepherds would have whisked Mary away to their homes had their accommodations been unacceptable for a baby. As it was, they left them there, deeming the lodging fit for royalty, and raced off to spread the incredible news.
Myth 2: Feminine Angels
For whatever reason, this misinterpretation of the Christmas story really irks me. In the Bible, angels were feared. They were warriors who inspired trepidation and trembling, not cuddling and cooling. Perpetuating the myth of an anemic angel lowers the bar on God’s unnerving power. Every single angel in the Bible is described as male, and most immediately say, “Fear not”—because they were terrifying.
Myth 3: White Jesus
Last year, I rounded up all the toys and pictures of baby Jesus I could find in my home. Most of them revealed a Caucasian, white-looking Jesus. While every culture has depictions of a Jesus who looks like they do, it’s still important to acknowledge that Jesus was born in the Middle East, therefore he most likely had brown skin, brown eyes and dark hair.
Why does this matter? In an article for Christianity Today, author and speaker Christena Cleveland writes, “Not only is white Jesus inaccurate, he also can inhibit our ability to honor the image of God in people who aren’t white.” (While you’re at it, you should follow her on Instagram because her posts lately have been amazing.) Deifying whiteness deadens the broad brush of a God who pigmented all skin and called it “good.”
Images matter. The more we surround ourselves with images of a white Jesus, the more we begin to believe that he was white. (That said, it is very difficult to find nativity sets with a brown Jesus–the Fischer price one we have has only one brown-skinned figure–the shepherd. But I have a few options at the end of this post.)
Myth 4: The Timeline
In our carved wooden nativity set, shepherds, donkeys, wise men and sheep crowd around baby Jesus. Most people know about this myth, but Richards and O’Brien in Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes note that, “When the wise men arrived, they went to a house where the toddler Jesus and his parents were living (Mt. 2:11)” (144). The visitation of the wise men occurred years after the birth of Christ, not on the night of his birth. While it’s not wrong to compress the Christmas story for the sake of a play or pageant, it still bears acknowledging that events have been tampered with in our retelling.
Myth 5: The Omission of Infanticide
Image from The Advent Book.
This isn’t so much of a misconception as an omission in the story we tell our wee ones. I’m not suggesting we go into this as we light our Advent wreathes and eat cookies as a family, but like so many of our Bible stories, I think we’re in danger of desensitizing ourselves and our little ones to violence when we gloss over murder, rape, genocide, torture, and abuse in our common Sunday School Bible stories. Amazon offers a startling disclaimer for the children’s Adventure Bible: “As with any full Bible, in the context of Scripture there is frank mention of drunkenness, nudity, and sex that parents may not expect to see in a children’s edition.”
As adults, we grow so used to the familiar tales that we forget to be shocked, horrified or to even to acknowledge the sickening violence. The story of the birth of Jesus is no different, as Herod slaughtered innocent children in his rage at the coming king. Bailey says “there appears to be a conspiracy of silence which refuses to notice the massacre. Why then does Matthew include it?” (58) He suggests that “if the Gospel can flourish in a world that produces the slaughter of the innocents and the cross, the Gospel can flourish anywhere” (59). Perhaps as adults we need to meditate on the violence and allow ourselves to absorb the horror as a way of recognizing God’s presence in suffering.
Myth 6: Mary Was an Unwed Mother
Most Americans read “betrothed” and incorrectly assume it means the same thing as “engaged.” In reality, under Jewish law, Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem as fully married couple who had not yet consummated their marriage. The Middle Eastern view of betrothal bears little resemblance to our conception of engagement in the West.
Myth 7: Mary and Joseph Were All Alone
My Chinese students could never understand why I wanted to be alone–because they never were. In fact, most non-Western cultures are collectivist and can’t understand the individualism of those of us in the United States and parts of Europe. Our Saudi international student said even her 12 year old sister still slept in her parents’ room, an example that holds true in many Middle Eastern cultures. Why would Mary and Joseph have been any different?
As they were traveling back to Bethlehem to register, Bailey points out that most homes would have been available to Joseph, who was of the royal lineage of David. To reject someone of that heritage would bring shame and humiliation to the community. Mary, too, had relatives in the area and had just been visiting her cousin Elizabeth not far away in the “hill country of Judea.” Bethlehem was in the center of Judea. They were not friendless in Bethlehem.
The birth in the family room of a friend’s home would have been attended by other women and midwives as tradition dictated. Far from alone, Mary and Joseph would have been surrounded by more help than they needed. (My friend, Sarah Quezada, is sharing more about what she’s calling “the Advent caravan” the next three Sundays, you can sign up for that here.)
Myth 8: The Boot-Strapping Holy Family
In America at least, many of us love the Cinderella stories of the underdog rising to power. The United States lauds those who pull themselves up by their bootstraps, forge ahead without the blessing or need of others and make something of themselves. I wonder if this love of independence and individualism has seeped into our telling and retelling of our beloved nativity story. We love the idea that an unwed family left home and made something of themselves in spite of rejection. Not needing anyone else, they gave birth alone in a barn to the audience of only animals.
But what if we changed the narrative to reflect the culture in which it was written? A culture that valued hospitality, relationship, togetherness and family? How would this alter our tale?
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Why does all this matter? The more I learn about other cultures, the more I realize how much of my own culture I project onto my personal reading of the Bible. Understanding the nuances of stories in the Bible from the perspective of the culture in which it was written fills in the gaps of our shallow, faulty understanding.
I know there are resources out there that offer a more accurate nativity story. In our family, we use the Advent book and the Jesus Storybook Bible to share the Christmas story with our little ones, though these also fall short.
The Jesus Storybook Bible has a brown-skinned Jesus.
The Jesus Storybook Bible also has a more accurate timeline.
The Advent Book is straight from the Bible, and we open a door each night leading up to Christmas.
I want my children to peel away the heroics and white-washed Bible stories to see the God behind the myths. Mostly, I want my kids to know the many dazzling facets of God they’re missing when they settle for a Western god made in their own image.
For December, the theme on the blog is “The Other Side of Advent.” Let me know if you’re still interested in guest posting (I’m usually willing to extend deadlines)! Check submission guidelines here.
Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:
Follow me on Instagram @scrapingraisins–I frequently give away books and products I love!
It happens every December 25th. The buildup, the anticipation, the climax. The disappointment. I wish I were talking about something else–like a vacation, my birthday, (I’m NOT talking about sex) or even the sugar cookies I always burn. Because you’d think I should know better. (Yeah, about the cookies–parchment paper …)
But at the end of the day, every ounce of adrenaline that surged through my veins the past four weeks has completely dried up and is replaced by dirty dishes, shredded wrapping paper, and an empty feeling in the pit of my soul. Once again, I realize nothing about Christmas has exceeded, or even met, my expectations. Disappointment sets in, so I reach for another burnt cookie.
It’s taken me nearly 40 years to realize the problem lies with my expectations. Stay with me while I go deeper.
Starting November 1st, Hallmark Channel Christmas movies are my default. My husband thinks I’ve gone to the dark side. He smirks every time he catches me in the act. He wonders what I see in their formulaic plots that go something like this:
Opening: Upbeat Christmas music, with (usually New York) city skyline.
Main Character: Good-looking, likable, but overworked person, who has forgotten what Christmas is all about.
Plot thickens: Protagonist somehow finds self transported to a rural setting, complete with small-town charms and fake snow. There is some important task to accomplish here. All the while, our hero encounters townspeople who have chosen the tranquil, meaningful life over big city buzz.
Protagonist gets reluctantly paired with a charming counterpart of the opposite sex, where there is simultaneously relationship chemistry AND animosity. This counterpart is ALWAYS involved in helping underprivileged children in the community.
The two, despite their differences, manage to get coffee, fall in love, and complete the important task (that usually involves the children mentioned above) in 10-12 minutes.
Next, an old flame–a lesser romantic interest with flawed character traits, usually materialism– surfaces, because, there isn’t enough Christmas drama yet, but …
True love eventually prevails, and all of the deep, previously unmet Christmas dreams are realized, as the smiling, needy children exclaim, “This is the greatest Christmas ever!”
Cue digital snow and a winking, bell-ringing Santa.
Christmas, happily ever after, with only a few incontinence commercials thrown in.
I think I’ve figured it out. I crave these movies because of their predictably happy endings: all hopes realized, all dreams fulfilled. The best, most beautiful Christmas ever. And shouldn’t it always be that way?
After all, wasn’t this how it happened that first night? Beautiful angels, dazzling the skies, with shepherds and sheep marveling. A star, camel-riding kings from the East bearing the first extravagant Christmas gifts. A stable, snug and warm with accommodating animals gently looking on, as a baby is born “silently” because “no crying He makes”. Joseph huddles around Mary as she holds a glowing child, possibly with a halo. “All is calm, all is bright.” Unsurpassable beauty is the backdrop to tranquility, warmth, and deep, personal fulfillment.
That’s how I’ve always pictured it.
But as I crack open my Bible this December, I am experiencing some cognitive dissonance. Here, I see brutal reality, pain, confusion, and a million untied loose ends:
Terrified shepherds are paid a visit. (Think powerful, mighty messengers of God instead of winged ballerinas with tights.) (Luke 2:9)
Ancient astrologers, tracking a star they hoped would lead them to the political King of the Jews. This is no easy journey, with no certain destination. Along the way, they meet, and later avert, a power-hungry, murderous king. (Luke 2:1-12)
A previously disgraced, single mom gives birth to a baby, and lays him in a feeding trough. (Luke 2:7). It’s not written here, but I’m just guessing (and any mom who’s delivered can confirm) this birth was NOT “silent.” And since He was born alive, we can safely conclude, some “crying He makes.” No halo on record.
It turns out a King did come that day. But it wasn’t the arrival anyone expected.
Maybe it’s just years and years of staring at elegant nativity sets and beautifully illustrated picture books. Or my viewing of countless, adorable Christmas pageants. Or maybe it’s just something inside of me wants my expectations met. I want beautiful predictability, not this story. THIS story makes me uneasy. I’ll take the Hallmark version instead.
I was born into a “my” society. So were you, if you are alive right now, and are a card-carrying member of the American middle-class. This is NOT to say that life is easy. I’m just saying that by growing up here, you inherit a me-centric, consumer- driven mentality. It’s almost unavoidable.
Have you noticed that, here in America, we’ve made just about every calendar holiday about us? (Ok, maybe not Arbor Day, not yet.)
This is especially true of me at Christmas. Somewhere, among all of those Christmas’s past, I’ve managed to turn a celebration of the “Dawn of Redeeming Grace” into, well, my own birthday, because Christmas morning I still wake up wondering, “Where are my presents, my celebratory decorations, my delicious desserts?”
My.
And even if my (poor husband) manages to nail it, and get exactly what my heart desires, I’m good for about an hour. Because almost everything about “my” is temporary. It is, at best, a bottomless pit that I unsuccessfully try to fill. And I can’t. No matter how I try, I fall short.
I’m learning that “expectations” are not the problem. It’s when I add the “my” in front (literally and figuratively).
But what if I inserted “Great” here, instead?
As in “His Greatness,” realizing that this definition defies almost anything my 21st century, western paradigm can imagine.
Great exchanged the glories of heaven to become the dust of earth. Great emptied Himself, so we could be filled. Great chose death on a cross to give us life. Great failed to meet human expectations, but instead redeemed humanity.
This is infinitely greater than my version of great.
Embracing this great means shedding all of my preconceived notions about what great really is. It’s trusting them instead to the Great One, because in all of His greatness, He still chose to come near.
About Nikki:
Despite a deep desire to belong, Nikki Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins.
I think Mary must have been an introvert, listening and reflecting more than she spoke. After the shepherds stormed into the birthing room, marveling over the infant Jesus and (probably) loudly relating their story about the multitude of heavenly host that recently had them surrounded, everyone else in the room vehemently discussed the shepherds’ story and wondered what it meant.
But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart (Luke 2:19). She didn’t speak, just collected this news, mulling it over quietly. She already knew she was in the middle of a magical story that would include every essential element of a riveting plot: strong characters, conflict, and the triumph of good over evil.
This was one of those moments that Mary and God shared privately, because who could really understand?
Have you ever had any moments like this? Moments where life is a bottomless well of meaning? Moments where all you know to do is to place them in the treasure box of your heart and marvel? In her book Wonderstruck, Margaret Feinberg describes these moments as being “sprinkled with pixie dust.”
Have you ever held a profound secret that only you and God shared?
I have felt this way only a few times in my life. The first was when I decided to move to China. My roommates at the time were engulfed in life and death. One was in love and the other had a family member who was dying. And my impending move was not happy news for my parents, who hoped that God’s will for my life would lead me down the street, not across the world. So I celebrated in isolation, rejoicing that God had made His way clear. And I silently wondered how He would enable me to take this leap across the world as a single woman. I considered how He would use me and whether or not He would seem different to me in another country.
The second time was when I fell in love. Like being pulled along in a current where I couldn’t swim backwards if I tried or like a slide where you can’t fight gravity to get back to the top once you have begun to fall, love was more powerful than I had expected. But I was 10,000 miles from my love and all my friends and family, so God was my confidante. He alone held my questions, fears, and hopes as I stood in awe at the strength of a love that could propel me in directions I had never expected to go.
Years later, having a human being growing inside me was the ultimate secret. My husband and I didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant for weeks and though my husband knew, only God truly shared the incredible mystery with me. God knew my child’s name before I did and had chosen that egg and that sperm at that time to create the person He wanted to create. And when my son came skidding across the bed and was laid on my chest? Inexplicable love. Wordless wonder. The kind of moment where human fingers brush the clothes of the Divine and power leaks out.
I aspire to be more like Mary. To absorb more and pontificate less. To meditate rather than act thoughtlessly. To be a contemplative in a world that demands action. And I want her awareness of the presence of God in a normal, dusty stable that smelled of horse manure and chicken feed. I long for her peace when all around her screamed that she should fear the unknown and impossible.
I am not Mary. I will never give birth to the son of God. But I am a future character in the same story in which she is featured. Lines of sacred and secular sometimes blur into holy moments of recognition and are added to my heart treasure box just as Mary added them to hers. In these moments, all I can do is freeze in amazement because God, the author, is moving His divine story forward–whether I am aware of it or not.
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My children tore into the Christmas boxes yesterday, leaving books, toys, ornaments, lights and wrapping paper strewn about the living room. They arranged the Fischer Price toy manger in bizarre configurations and started in on their own versions of the Christmas story. A week ago for movie night, we watched the kids’ movie, The Star (complete with Oprah, Tyler Perry and Kelly Clarkson as voice actors) on Netflix and I wondered how much of the plot to critique with my children, age six and under.
For December, the theme on the blog is “The Other Side of Advent.” Let me know if you’re still interested in guest posting (I’m usually willing to extend deadlines)! Check 
Despite a deep desire to belong, Nikki Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins.