Hope Was Born…For you. For 2020.

December reflections for a holiday like no other

“Every perfect gift is from God.” -James 1:17

If ever there was a time that our Christmas lists would look a little different, it seems this would be the year. When so much has been stripped away—the security of jobs, the simple pleasantries of dinners out, the elusive guarantee of good health, uncomplicated holiday plans—we are all reevaluating what matters to us. Not what matters most, just what matters at all.

It’s a family joke that my Dad is admittedly never short on gift ideas for his own big day or for Christmas (really, it’s helpful!), but he recently reposted the below tear-jerker, with a simple resounding “yea”:

When your otherwise humorous and thoughtfully reserved Dad gets openly sappy, there are so many amusing ways to respond: something like, “What were all those Christmas and birthday lists for then?” or “Rant about life’s problems? How much time you got?” 

Nevertheless, the sentiments expressed in my father’s repost are not uncommon in the year 2020. Another friend on Facebook similarly posted:

I know this to be true, but there’s simultaneously something else at play: Holidays mark traditions and traditions invoke habitual responses within our core being. Sometimes, I can just feel that it’s time to do something. My body just feels that it’s about that time of year to hop in a massive line at Target and get my Black Friday shopping on (don’t worry, I resisted the urge and spent an hour or two with the little red and white circle app instead).

Similarly, something ignites in my brain and tells me I’m craving the peppermint milkshake from Chick-fil-a that seems to magically debut earlier and earlier each November…thank you, CFA. I can almost hear “it’s my pleasure” ringing in my ears at the thought of the creamy-meets-crunchy candy cane pink milkshake in the Styrofoam cup getting passed through the drive-thru or curbside window. Ok, so maybe we can work on the environmental-friendliness, but otherwise, it’s a match made in…well, you know. I digress.

What I’m saying is, it’s easy to feel a push and pull between trying to do all the things we always do, and intentionally doing things differently because times have changed, and well, those times have changed us. How do we “take on” the holidays that come up every year, when the year we are in has been a year like no other?  We know something in us has changed (it’s the beauty of God’s refining in the fire). But how do we reflect those inward changes in our outward responses?

 How do we “take on” the holidays that come up every year, when the year we are in has been a year like no other?

The kicker is this: We must continually steward the shift of our hearts all while the scene and the season transform around us.

The kids and I started a new devotional book on our way to school this morning called “Every Day a Blessing: A Year of God’s Love.” (You may have heard about our 12-minute car ride devotionals on the way to school if you’re on my email list.) Nevertheless, as we drove toward the downtown corridor of our quaint city, I took in the sight of houses and businesses lining our idyllic main street with “perfectly” hung Christmas lights. As my daughter read the first page, the words reverberated from the back row, up to the driver’s seat. One particular sentence began ministering to my conflicted spirit:

“God cares so much for you that He went before you and placed blessings all through your life.” -Every Day a Blessing devotional

She’s saying this as I’m taking in the scene ahead: those Christmas lights sprawled out on the path before me…a string of white bulbs here. A cluster of more randomly placed colorful flickers bunched up in a tree over there. Each one, a separate scene before me, on one continuous path toward our destination.

As we drive further, we stumble closer upon the house that appears to have called in the professionals to erect their holiday display: Forming a uniform line atop the stately roof, the large white bulbs each individually face upward, like soldiers standing at attention. Just down the road, a house with a single baby tree dons a strand of multi-colored lights. We’ll say the dwelling has “character.” It’s not fancy, but there is something childlike and nostalgic about the display. Next to the tree are a couple of blow-up characters, currently slumped over in the early morning hours.

I’ve been thinking a lot about sadness this week and the losses experienced by those around me. We have all experienced loss this year in one way or another, and for some, in several, compounded ways.

Sometimes life can be all wrapped up in a big shiny bow, and things are going exceptionally well. Other times, life is not quite so perfected around the edges. It’s often downright messy or bittersweet, and like those slumped over characters, can lead to disappointment.

Then there are those stretches where it seems nothing’s illuminated at all. Sometimes there are no words for the feeling of loss deep within our soul: loss of a loved one, loss of time with family, loss of a job. It can feel dark for days. Those stretches come in stark contrast to the light we were just experiencing. Those seasons of darkness are hard, but like those holiday displays, we find comfort in promise further down the road.

Amidst the feelings of loss surrounding my family, my friends, and me, those main street lights, and that simple devotional message sparked a flicker of hope in me this morning. I couldn’t help but think of the parallel: our lives are like that. If God has gone before me and placed the blessings, I can trust the path. Even in 2020.

Christmas still comes.

The other thing is that those lights seem like stability in a year when nothing has seemed stable. They show up every December as a sign of hope because Christmas comes. No matter how many events have been canceled this year, Christmas cannot be one of them. You can take away our shiny things and our big gatherings, but Christmas comes either way. It comes and it came. That first Christmas came in an outdoor stable— the closest thing that resembled trimmings and trappings there was the hay strewn about. The scent of cinnamon pine cones and cookies baking was more like the stench of manure and animal feed.

What’s more, Mary and Joseph were far away from home, from their family and friends—I could imagine they felt worlds apart like we do in our social distancing. Their small and humble gathering for the birth of the Christ Child pales in comparison to our modern expectations. No matter the circumstances, the silent night turned into a Holy night. It was a wonderful and scandalous plan Mary and Joseph could never have dreamt they would be a part of.

There in that stable some 2000 years ago, Christmas came and it’s been coming ever since. He came and He comes. 2,053 years ago, on the first Noel, Jesus unwrapped Himself under the light of the Bethlehem Star for all the ancient world to see. Through angels, God broke into our world and explained the meaning of this God-child. He brought meaning to unexpected gift of hope through light, and life, and words. His angel messengers came first to those most outcast, to those most broken, to those yearning for life-everlasting: to the shepherds taking care of the helpless, yet hopeless themselves.

On that Holy Night, Hope was born. For you. For me. Not only for then but for now. Jesus is alive today; He is an everlasting God who overcame death. Which means: Hope cannot die. It lives. Let us not worry about how we might “take on” the holiday in this very different year. Instead let the Person of Christ, the God-child that this holiday is all about take us on. Let Hope overcome us.

Just like my dad’s post, maybe it’s not about what worth we can conjure up with our shopping, our lists, and our striving. No? It’s not what we bring to the table, but how we enter the table: in humble submission, with our thanks and our presence. The Father just wants us.

I can’t tell you the best way to logistically celebrate your holiday: There are so many nuances that make what’s right for one family not for another.

But one thing I do know: the breaking of a rhythm makes way for a new rhythm. Whether 2020 has you, as Ann Voskamp in “The Greatest Gift” puts it, “careening mad and stressed” in a new pace you didn’t choose for yourself, or contrastingly you’ve woken to a new beautiful slow, you no longer have to rely on the way things have always been. Tucked at the edges of all the constricting restrictions brought on by our covid-stained life is a sort of odd freedom to break away from the way things always were, to evaluate if those old ways and patterns of this season weren’t upholding their thin promises of meaning and fulfillment.

Then, what will you do about it?

For me, it means stopping the late-night craze of Christmas shopping, putting the list down, trusting that what needs to get done will get done (the rest didn’t matter anyway). And instead spending that half hour before bed with my husband, taking that special moment with my child, seeing the person in need and walking intimately into the mess with them. It means being present in an Advent practice.

What about for you?

For starters, sign up for my hope-filled resources on how to hear the voice of God this Christmas.

Hey! Want to see what my pre-2020 Advent reflections were like a year ago?! It’s worthwhile to see how our perspectives were similar. How were they different?

POSTED BY

Jenna

Jenna Kruse is a teacher but not in a classroom. She loves to think outside the box and inside the Word and is daily in need of an attitude adjustment. She is a wife to Justin, a mother to three children ages 10, 8 and 5 and a mentor to teenagers and young adults. You can learn more about the heart behind her blog HERE.

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