A Word for the Weary this Christmas

It’s been almost exactly a year since I last shared in this space and although much has happened since then, I’m ashamed to confess that it’s Christmas time yet again and your girl is in anything but the Christmas spirit. It’s all happening too quickly, I think.

A romantic at heart, I desperately want to feel the wonder of Christ’s birth afresh each and every year. As the weather turns cold, I want my heart to be warmed by the richness of Christmas hymns like Angels We Have Heard on High and O, Little Town of Bethlehem (Nat King Cole version only please and thank you.) By the time the very first Christmas lights go up, I want to be fully immersed in the worship and wonder that comes with the Advent season and reminded again of God’s great love for me and for His world.

This year, however, I feel tired and dry. 2022 wore me all the way out, and I think I’m just ready for it to be over. Amen, anyone?

I know I’m not alone. In the words of the culture, sometimes “life be lifing.” The burdens we all carry weigh heavy on us for no reason other than the fact that we are fallen creatures living in a fallen world. At times, fractured relationships, seasons of suffering and the unsatisfied longings of our souls add unexpected sorrow with seemingly no expiration date. Financial hardships, unemployment and work stressors often arrive without notice, bringing with them unanticipated overwhelm and anxiety. Death reminds us of those we have lost, and grief becomes an unwelcome friend. In one way or another, life comes for us all.

The older I get, the more I recognize the pattern: life’s highs get surprisingly higher and sweeter, even as the lows get shockingly lower and more bitter. Every mountaintop season renews our confidence in God’s goodness, while each valley experience tempts us to withdraw from Him and distrust His good plans for our lives. Worse still, there is no Google Calendar invite that shows up to announce when the hard days are coming. One day, you look up and realize you’ve been in a valley season for days or weeks or months, and sometimes, you’ve pitched your tent in the hard places for years. 

It is a strange thing to know the truth while experiencing life circumstances that challenge you to believe the exact opposite, and yet this is the tension we live in as Christ-followers. I know that God is omnipotent like I know my name and my birthday. I believe that He is all-satisfying and the only answer for my tired, restless soul. I’ve memorized the Scriptures that remind me of His nearness, His goodness and His love. 

And yet, sometimes the weariness wins.

In fact, just last night, as we were putting ornaments on our Christmas tree, a family tradition I look forward to every year, I reached the very end of my patience with our boys, who were so thrilled by even the thought of Christmas that they could hardly keep their feet on the ground (and no, that’s not a metaphor.) Instead of the peaceful, joyful evening I envisioned, utter chaos and all-out anarchy ensued. Fragile decorations were carelessly dropped. Our furniture became a playground. Arguing and whining drowned out my perfectly curated Christmas playlist. In short, our kids were … well, kids. And being the saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost mother I am, I, in turn, fumed, lectured and sent them to bed without pie. It was a disaster, and hopefully not a core memory. I was too tired to be a grace-filled parent in those moments. I had nothing left to give.

The end of the evening found me beside my bed in a heap of tears, unable to verbalize anything other than the burning question in my soul:

“God, do you see me here? Do you even care?” 

It certainly would not be the first time I reached the end of my physical, emotional and spiritual strength this year. I was weary, again. In need of comfort, again. Struggling to believe, again. 

As I sat with my tears in the silence, a melody came to mind from a hymn I’ve known since childhood titled, It Is Well With My Soul. Internally, I scoffed. It was far from well with my soul in those emotionally charged moments. In fact, that was without a doubt the very last song I wanted to think about. But surprisingly, it was not the well-loved chorus that was impressed on me, but rather this verse: 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed His own blood for my soul.

Do you see it? Christ has regarded my helpless estate! Right there on the floor in the middle of my fatigue and obvious shortcomings, God reminded me that my helplessness is not hidden from Him. He is not a stranger to my weariness. But what’s more, He went to the ends of himself to do something about it. He is far from a casual observer of my suffering. No, He endured a public execution so that I could have the comfort of Emmanuel – God with me – in this moment. He became weak, so that I could experience His sufficient grace – His power made perfect in my weakness.

Listen, if you’re struggling to feel the wonder of the manger this Christmas, may I suggest you look to the cross? Christmas is the story of the incarnation – a beautiful, wondrous mystery (Christ was born for us) – made only more beautiful and sacred and scandalous by the reality of the cross (Christ was born to die for us). Imagine.

I can’t be the only one who needs a reminder that God is not surprised by my weariness this Christmas. If your soul resembles a wilderness more than a well-tended garden, know that God is not intimidated by the desolate places of your life. He is not wagging the finger at you or shaming you for feeling worn out. He’s not shaking His head because you failed to be Christian of the year.

Haven’t had a quiet time in weeks? He knows. Been preoccupied with your coping mechanism of choice? He sees. Can’t find the words to pray? He hears what you’re not saying. 

And you’re in good company. That very first Christmas, Israel was not a picture of resolute strength and unwavering hope in God. She was weary. Under Roman occupation, with no word from any prophet in centuries, God’s people had been in the valley for a long time, some their entire lifetime, and they were longing for liberation. To make matters worse, the religious leaders of the day embodied legalism, heaping up an encyclopedia worth of rules and regulations that seemingly pushed righteousness even farther out of reach. And in response, being the perfect, loving Heavenly Father He is, God came. 

It was in the weariness that hope was born.

And since we’re already talking Christmas hymns (I love me some hymns!), consider this one:

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” (Joy to the World)

If you’re like me this year, if you’re exhausted by the thought of buying the gifts and making the holidays yet again (I’m looking at you moms) … if you’re wearied by your life circumstances or the inner groanings of your soul, hear me. The true heart of Christmas is not a feeling, but this reality:

Christ came into a weary world, so a weary world could come into Him. 

At the height of His earthly ministry, Christ issued this invitation, which has long been my lifeline: 

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matthew 11:28-30).” 

To the weary soul, Christ offers rest. In exchange for our weakness, He offers His gentleness and humility. When our weariness pushes us into the arms of our perfect, Holy, loving Father, the weariness does not win. When our life circumstances force us to the end of ourselves so that we plunge into the limitless depths of His grace, we find the rest our souls are longing for. 

And the only prerequisite is that we come. 

Oh, that we would come this Christmas. And as we turn our eyes upon the Savior, may we delight to find that His eyes are indeed turned upon us.

When Christmas Brings Rain

“It’s supposed to rain on Sunday,” I tell Musa one otherwise ordinary evening.

He glances at me across the room and sighs heavily.

“What should we do?” I ask, worriedly.

He replies as I know he will, in his simple and ever-so-reasonable way: “What can we do?”

This particular weekend just so happens to be our very last opportunity to take Christmas photos. We’ve already purchased matching outfits and booked our favorite photographer (shameless plug for the brilliance that is Kelsey Herrera) who has already sold us on the perfect outdoor location.

And now, rain.

Sure, it rained last year too, but this is not a cute drizzle we’re anticipating. This is rain, rain, that threatens to ruin Christmas memories in the making.

“Light rain could be fun,” Kelsey assures me by text. “I’ve got a red umbrella …”

I wish I had her optimism.

Instead, I am tempted to cancel. But I can’t deny there’s something magical about documenting our family’s growth each and every year. There is something beautiful about rejoicing in the fact that we are still here, and that God is still sustaining us, leading us, carrying us. For all our bumps and bruises, these photos are proof positive that we’re still making it.

For no other reason than that we have no other choice, we decide to take the photos anyway.

Sunday morning comes and I feel absolutely ridiculous. There is a torrential downpour outside. We are crazy, I tell myself as we leave the house. How in the world are we going to be able to get even one good shot in this mess? The boys, on the other hand, are absolutely thrilled at the sight of rain. They beg to wear their rain boots and fight over the umbrella. They jump in more than one puddle on the way to the car (to my chagrin), and talk excitedly about seeing Ms. Kelsey after church.

To us, the rain is an inconvenience. To them, it is a field day.

I wish I had their perspective.

It was more than a little cold and wet, but we take the photos anyway. In the rain, Musa and I hold our family close under a huge umbrella and coax the boys into smiles. It did not feel pleasant at the time. It was freezing, actually, under dreary skies. We left damp and more than a little tired from a long day, but the result was more beautiful than we could have imagined. What felt like chaos turned into goodness as we reviewed the photo gallery in awe later that evening.

Life is like that sometimes. You plan something grand, coordinate down to the little details, and life brings rain. It can be hard to cope, hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other, hard to smile, hard to find the good in it all.

If I’m honest, the past few years have felt that way … like a perpetual monsoon on the life I’d planned for myself. By now, I was supposed to have accomplished more. I should be more sure and farther along. But here I am, accepting the life God has so lovingly given me instead of what I planned for myself. I’m holding my umbrella high, because even when life doesn’t feel good, God is good, and He’s promised to bring beauty out of my chaos.

I’m comforted, remembering that the very first Christmas was a lot like that. God was silent for centuries without a single prophet in Israel while His people waited in the rain hanging on to the hope of a promise. When the day of salvation finally came, it was not at all what they had planned. Jesus’ humble birth and gruesome death did not seem at all good.

But God was there all along, working out His plan, giving us beauty for our ashes, loving us even when we rejected Him time and time again. It did not seem good, but ohhh is it good!

It’s possible you’re experiencing a little rain of your own this Christmas. Life can be like that.

Loved ones die. Marriages end. Infertility persists. Unemployment comes. Injustice reigns. The pounds pile up. People get deployed. Loneliness and depression threaten.

Christmas can feel like just another reminder that the world is not as it should be. In this season where we’re all supposed to be happy and smiling, we can struggle, like Charles Schulz’s beloved Charlie Brown who lamented:

“I think there must be something wrong with me, Linus. Christmas is coming, but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel.” ~A Charlie Brown Christmas

Schulz was on to something. Indeed, there is something wrong in each of us. The sin in our hearts separates us from a good and loving God.

But then Christ came — and not to take away all the bad things in the world, not so that we would be happy — but so that we could have hope and unexplainable joy, even in the rain. In a world full of sinful people and the consequences thereof, Christ came to defeat sin once and for all. Amen, anyone? Except He left us in the rain so to speak, shielded from the storms of life under the umbrella of His grace, sufficient for us.

The best news? We’re not alone. Not for a moment.

He is God with us. God in us. God covering us. God leading us. God seeing and knowing us. God redeeming us.

He is holding out the umbrella of hope to you this Christmas, generously offering to orchestrate your good for His glory. He is the reason we have hope. He is why we can rejoice now and look forward to what comes next, even in the rain.

So if, by chance, it’s raining on you this Christmas, know this: if you’re in Christ, you will be okay even if you’re not okay this year. If you’re not feeling happy, that’s perfectly ok. If December brings with it tragedy, or anxiety, or reminders of what was and what is not to your doorstep, it’s ok to grieve the losses and the pain.

It is not happiness that will save us, but HOPE! In Christ, we have a beautiful, glorious hope that is unhindered by our emotions and the ups and downs of life. It might not feel good this Christmas, but He’s working it for your good.

So raise your umbrella high this Christmas and cling to the hope of His promise. He’s got you.

xoxo.

“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion— to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.” ~ Isaiah 61:1-3 (ESV)