The Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Except When It Isn't)

What do you do when it's ten days before Christmas, and you're just not feeling it?

It's hard to admit.

Everyone smiles for Facebook. Pictures with Santa. Photos of Christmas lights. Baking cookies, sending holiday cards, lighting candles at church.

But you're not feeling it.

Or maybe I should say, I'm not feeling it.

There are moments of genuine joy. There is laughter. There are excursions downtown and breakfasts with Santa. There are smiles and jokes and gifts and bows striped with red and white.

Our house looks happy. But my heart tells a different story.

My Ethiopian son texted me yesterday and asked how I am. I replied, "I'm trying to be happy." He asked what was wrong, and I didn't have an answer. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine. There is money in the bank, food in the refrigerator, children and a husband who love me. We are all healthy.

It's my anxiety. Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I hate it. So much. It interferes with my life. I'm embarrassed by it. I try to pray it away. I recite Bible verses. I try to control my disordered brain with my thinking. I talk to a therapist. I take medication. I use essential oils and breathing techniques.

But sometimes, sometimes it's all too much. So I force a smile and I take a pill. I hug my husband and try to let him absorb some of my fears by osmosis. I go to church and pray for relief. I listen to music, and that is often my salvation.

Music reminds me that I am loved, that I'm carried by the Father, that my future is in His control. Lauren Daigle is my current go-to.

(If music helps you, here are a few of my favorites:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYR0xP1j4PY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IV9-nhOoTw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0JsU-f0JoU )

Someone told me a year or so ago that I am the strongest person she knows. Gosh I loved that. I think about it all the time. I want to be strong, confident, able to overcome anything life throws my way. To laugh with abandon at the future.

Or at the very least, I would like to be perceived that way. Because our society, our culture...we favor and praise the strong. We pity the weak.

But I know that's not God's way. He delights in helping the weak. He wants to be our Rescuer, and if everything is perfect, what on earth would we need to be rescued from?

Sometimes I imagine God saying, "Blessed are the strong, for they are my favorites. Blessed are the confident, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the healthy, for they shall prosper. Blessed are the moneymakers, for they will rule the world."

But alas, He doesn't. God's kingdom is such an upside-down way of thinking, of living. He says, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, because theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, because they will be comforted. Blessed are the gentle, because they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, because they will be filled..."

Blessed? Blessed to be the meek, the mild, and the mourning? I don't pretend to understand. So I just breathe and receive. Breathe and believe. I choose to believe, even when my brain betrays me and emotions spill out of eyes, my hands shake, and my breaths are shallow.

In Mark Chapter 9, a father asked Jesus to heal his son. He declared to Jesus, "I believe! Help my unbelief!"

That right there is probably the truest, most human words uttered in Scripture. I believe. Help my unbelief. I want to be well, but I know it's in my weakness that He is able to be strong. I want to be free from anxiety, but without it, how would I know the comfort of the Comforter?

So this, this anxiety, is my Achilles heel. The chink in my armor. My area of vulnerability.

Maybe yours is different: lack of confidence, jealousy, depression, financial difficulty, family instability, toxic relationships.

Are you willing to share what it is? And if so, how do you deal with it, especially during the "most wonderful time of the year"?

3 Things That Make Me Happy

1. Christmas cards.
I love checking my mailbox in December. Truth be known, I'm not normally fond of weeding through mail. It tends to pile up on the kitchen counter until I just can't take it anymore, and I spend a couple hours going through it. Usually while watching TV.
But December is different. There is so much mail from family and loved ones. Carefully posed Christmas photos, creatively worded Christmas letters, and thoughtfully chosen Christmas cards. This one, from my cousin, makes me extra happy because ... coffee and cookies. You can never go wrong with that combo.

2. Acknowledgement.
Not everybody is going to think of us as a family of 6. And that's OK. Legally we are a family of 3. At dinnertime there are three plates and three cups on the table. Our minivan only has 3 seats that are typically occupied. And laundry--(let me just say that I pray for all of you with a billion kids living in your home)--is a lot easier as a family unit of 3 rather than a family of 6.
But in our hearts, we are a family of 6. And when that is acknowledged, I smile. It makes the past 7 years feel like it was worth it.

3. And on a lighter note, incorrect test answers. Yes, incorrect test answers make me happy.
My 8-year-old had a test on inventors at school yesterday. He couldn't think of the answer to one of the questions, so he decided to be, well, inventive, and hoped he would get lucky.

Now you may be wondering, as I was, who is Bill Graymon? Jack says he made him up. But why "Bill Graymon"? No reason. Just a name he made up.

I feel like he should have gotten at least 1/2 a point for his creativity!

What has made you happy lately?

I didn't want to go to church yesterday. I was tired from a busy weekend, and I just wanted to relax. Maybe you've felt that way at times. Your "To Do" list is longer than a CVS receipt. Your baby woke you up multiple times in the night. You're not feeling 100 percent. Most of your clothes are in the dirty laundry basket, and the rest are wrinkled.

And yet. I felt the Still Small Voice telling me to go. And I knew from previous experience to listen and obey.

It was the first Sunday of Advent, the day when we light the candle of Hope.

Sometimes hope is hard-fought for, especially if you've experienced profound disappointment. It's hard to  hope again, isn't it? We look forward to a day of healing and wholeness, when Love incarnate will reign. But during the in-between time, we grasp at hope, watch it slip through our fingers, and try desperately to hold on.

I've experienced deep, bottomless disappointment. Grief over dreams not realized. Maybe you have, too. Hoping again means making yourself vulnerable, letting down your guard, knocking down the wall that surrounds and protects your heart. There's a chance your hope won't be realized this side of heaven. That's the reality.

But in that church service yesterday, when the first candle of Advent was lit, I felt the seeds of hope within my weary heart. 

Hope shines brightest in the darkest night of the soul.

An infant in the row behind me was squealing in distress until she found comfort at her mother's breast.  I imagine she sucked greedily, without fear, filling her empty stomach and calming her cries.

Hope.

When the pastor prayed his "pastoral prayer,"  he prayed for a physician in the church who specializes in mental health care, and he prayed for all of us who suffer from mental illness. No stigma, no condemnation, just love and comfort.

Hope.

Our Bible reading was from Matthew Chapter 1, the genealogy of Jesus. Listed among the line of Jesus are cheaters, liars, murderers, prostitutes, the poor, the destitute, the long-forgotten. "The Bible is honest enough to show us the failures of Christ's genealogy," the pastor said.

And there are women. Women weren't normally listed in genealogies. They weren't highly regarded.

But in the family of God, nobody is excluded. 

That gives me hope.

At the end of the service, my friends Heather and Rick were serving communion. When Heather gave me the bread, she said, "Luann, this is Christ's body, sacrificed for you."  I've taken communion hundreds of times, but something about hearing her say my name was startling and refreshing. And I believed what she said.

Hope.

I returned to my seat, and just as I had taken the bread, my 8-year-old slid into the seat next to me. He had been downstairs at children's church, but he told the teacher he wanted to leave early so he could take communion. Disappointed clouded his face when he realized we'd already gone forward to receive the bread and cup...but I had my cup, still full. I looked into his sweet face and let him drink from my cup. He drank greedily, shaking the little cup until he got every last drop. 

Hope.

Today my dear friend starts treatment for liver cancer. I have been fearful of cancer for as long as I can remember. But when I talk to this friend, I see and hear in his voice the graciousness of God. He was scared at first--terrified, but God has ministered to his heart in a way that I can't describe. He speaks of the goodness of God, the presence of God, the comfort of God, and I have hope. For him, as he fights this terrible disease, and for me, as I lay my fears at the altar.

Hope shines brightest in the darkest of nights. Our hope is Emmanuel--God with us. He shall disperse the gloomy clouds of night, and death's dark shadows put to flight. He will come to us and cheer our spirits, comfort our fears, and give us hope in His unfailing love and goodness.

Rejoice. Hope has come.