The God Who is With Us

A rule-following, small-town church girl gets pregnant. She’s not married, and the baby isn’t even her fiancé’s. By law, she could be killed for a scandal like this.⠀
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But she hasn’t done anything wrong.⠀
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The guy who loves her is a good man. He decides they’ll break up quietly, and hopefully her life will be saved. ⠀
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But then he has a dream. A messenger from Heaven tells him the baby belongs to God. Many wouldn’t believe this, but he still trusts.⠀
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With so much stacked against them, the couple follows the governor’s orders and travels out of town for a census. ⠀
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Everything’s crowded. As he realizes there’s nowhere to stay, she realizes time’s up: the baby is on his way. ⠀
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They find a barn. It’s drafty and smells like sour hay, but it’s dry and off the busy streets.⠀
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Far from home and everything familiar, the girl cries, “I need my mom,” as she delivers her baby in a barn. ⠀
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The man is a construction worker. He’s used to wood and bricks. But with torn nails and calloused palms, he clumsily swaddles the baby in strips of cloth. ⠀
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He looks down at the newborn whimpering in his trembling hands. The answer to everyone’s questions weighs less than ten pounds.⠀
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As tears trail down his sun-baked cheeks, he whispers, “Of all the ways to save the world…”⠀
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***⠀
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Everything is upside-down this year. Maybe you’re far from home or separated from the people you love. ⠀
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So what do we do when Christmas cheer seems out of reach? We remember.⠀
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We remember how our Rescuer entered into a world of chaos. He didn’t show up when people wanted him to, and He didn’t come like everyone expected. Instead, God became a man. He arrived like all of us do—helpless and small. Unable to speak or care for Himself or even hold up His own head. Fully dependent on his parents.⠀
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And He called Himself this: Emmanuel. God Who is With Us.⠀
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The story doesn’t end with a baby’s birth—it’s only part of the greatest rescue mission the world will ever know—but it reminds us that, no matter how much chaos swirls around us, God always makes a way. He is still Emmanuel. He is still with us.⠀
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Back in the first century, and now in 2020.⠀
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Do not be afraid.

Merry Christmas,
Anna

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Let There Be Light

It was my last chance to change my mind. I didn’t have to do this; no one was making me.

Even the dark, gray sky seemed anxious. Clouds hung low and the air was cold and drizzly.

The part of me that craves safety and comfort told me to take the easier route and avoid this all together. But the part of me with the adventurous streak that loves once-in-a-lifetime experiences fought back a little stronger.

So I zipped my rain jacket. Rolled my jeans as far up over my knees as I could. Pulled my flashlight out of my pocket. Took a deep breath.

And stepped down beneath the city.

Down, down, down. Farther and farther away from fresh air and light and the chance to turn around. As we descended farther beneath the Middle Eastern city, the air grew more damp and musty. The thick rock walls surrounding us grew colder to the touch. Eventually, we reached water.

And then darkness. Complete darkness.

As I stepped into the water, I clicked on my flashlight. Without it, I couldn’t even have seen my own hand in front of my face, much less the person in front of me or the water that swished around my legs.

I’m not naturally claustrophobic, but something about being so far beneath the ground of a foreign country—surrounded by rock with no way to turn back, no way to escape, no way to get help if needed—got to me.

Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving became the mantra I chanted to myself as my group trudged single-file through the tunnel. In some places, the water only reached mid-calf, while in others, it swelled above my knees. Sometimes the tunnel widened, while at other times, it became so narrow I had to turn sideways.

I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t. A few times, panic started to rise in my throat, and I prayed for help. To distract myself, I thought about all of the history contained within that tunnel—history I’d grown up reading about in the Bible. In 8^thcentury B.C., King Hezekiah ordered the construction of the tunnel as a way to protect the city’s water source from siege:

^“When Hezekiah saw that Sennacherib had come and that he intended to wage war against Jerusalem,  he consulted with his officials and military staff about blocking off the water from the springs outside the city, and they helped him.^”– 2 Chronicles 32:2-3

I kept my flashlight trained on the water so that I could follow the footsteps of the person in front of me, thinking about how, nearly three thousand years ago, two teams started at opposite ends of the wall and carved out the tunnel until they met in the middle. I marveled at how this crew could accomplish such a feat without the help of modern tools, communication devices, or light sources.

We trudged along for 1,750 feet. Cold and wet. Surrounded by darkness. As fascinating as it all was, I longed for dry cloths, fresh air, and most of all, daylight.

Eventually, we reached the mouth of the tunnel. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I stepped out of the darkness and into the ancient City of David.

Not all that far from where I stood, a carpenter searched for a place to stay and found a stable. A girl delivered a baby on a bed of hay, wrapped him in strips of cloth, and laid him in a feeding trough.

Then angels appeared to frightened shepherds, announcing the location of this unbelievable event:

“Today in the City of David a Savior has been born to you…” (Luke 2:11).

The City of David. The place prophets had talked about. The place where God Himself entered history on a rescue mission.

The place where light broke through the darkness.

“The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.” – Isaiah 9:2

When I stepped out of Hezekiah’s tunnel, I found myself at the remains of the Pool of Siloam, the place where the Light of the World rescued a man held captive by darkness.

“As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’

 ^‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.’

After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. ‘Go,’ he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing. ” – John 9:1-7.

Color and dimension and hope overwhelmed the senses of a man who only knew darkness. A beggar received a priceless treasure.

And two thousand years later, a girl wearing water shoes and clutching a flashlight stood in the place where Light flooded the earth. Over 6,000 miles from where she lived, and yet somehow home.

Maybe you feel like you’re trudging through a dark tunnel with no end in sight. Maybe you feel surrounded or trapped. Maybe you’re hurting or scared or just wondering when the darkness will end. If that’s you, look to the One darkness cannot overcome.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5

This Christmas, look to the One whose birth changed the course of history. Look to the One who gave sight to the blind and opened our eyes to experience His love. Look to the One who is with you in darkest tunnel.

Look to the Light of the World.

“And God said, ‘Let there be light. And there was light.” – Genesis 1:3

Even Me

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This wasn’t what she dreamed about as a little girl. She was supposed to get married and quickly start a family.

It’s how it happened for her sisters. For her friends.

She had a husband—a good, strong, faithful man—but her dream of having a baby hadn’t come true.

By now, she could’ve wished upon a thousand stars. Could’ve dreamed a new dream. Could’ve walked away from the God who was supposed to hear her prayers.

But she stayed. Kept hoping. Kept waiting.

Until it was too late.

All of her siblings and neighbors had children and grandchildren. Their homes were filled to the brim with laughter, their voices spilling across the street to her quiet house.

But her home—and her womb—remained empty.

Months of disappointment turned into years. Years turned into decades. At some point along the way, Elizabeth stopped counting. It hurt too much.

Everyone in town knew, too. When she walked through the market, she could see the other women’s mouths droop in sympathy. She watched them exchange glances with one another, their eyes seeming to say, “Oh, Elizabeth. That poor, barren woman. She couldn’t give her husband a child.”

She never stopped hoping, never stopped praying for God to answer her prayers. But God didn’t answer. Actually, God hadn’t answered anyone in a long time. Four hundred years had passed since He had last given words to His messengers.

Elizabeth and her husband were old now. Even if there wasn’t something wrong with her, she was well past the timeframe where she could become a mother.

One afternoon, she stood in a crowd of people outside of the temple, praying and waiting for her husband. Zechariah was a priest, and he had been chosen to go into the temple and burn incense. It was a sacred, serious honor. A role not to be taken lightly. Elizabeth was eager to hear about it. She looked in the direction of the temple’s entrance, shading her eyes with a wrinkled hand. What was taking him so long? The crowd was growing restless.

Suddenly, the crowd gasped and Elizabeth craned her neck to see what was happening.

“Zechariah! What is it? What did you see?” a man in the crowd called out.

Elizabeth pushed her way through the mass of people until she reached her husband. When she spoke his name, he turned to face her. Though his eyes were on hers, it was like he wasn’t even seeing her. Like he was mesmerized by something invisible.

Elizabeth reached for his arm, took it in her hands. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes searched his pale, bearded face.

He opened his mouth to reply, then brought a hand to his throat. His eyes widened, taking on a manic sheen. He opened his mouth again, but no words emerged. Instead, he began wildly gesturing behind him, to the entrance where the altar of incense was kept.

“A vision!” Another priest spoke up. “He’s seen a vision in the temple!”

Elizabeth gulped. A vision? Of what? She clutched her husband’s arm tighter to steady herself. Had God actually spoken after all this time? What was going to happen?

Through gestures and writing, Zechariah explained some of what had happened that day at the temple. An angel appeared to him, telling him God had heard their prayers for a child. They would have a little boy, and they were supposed to name him John. He would grow up to tell people to get ready because the Rescuer was coming. Many people would get to know God because of him.

Zechariah hadn’t believed the angel. After all, he and Elizabeth were old and had never been able to have a baby. Because of Zechariah’s doubt, the angel took his ability to speak but promised it would come back once everything God had promised happened.

It was such a wild story. Elizabeth didn’t blame Zechariah for questioning the plan. And to think, God had broken the centuries-long silence with a message about Elizabeth, an old, barren woman? It was incredible!

Six months had passed since that day at the temple. Half a year of living with a mute husband. Twenty-six weeks of watching a miracle unfold.

It started with headaches and nausea, followed by back pains. And then, gradually, incredibly, miraculously, her abdomen began to grow.

Elizabeth the barren was having a baby!

Now, Elizabeth stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the small of her aching back, her eyes intently watching the street for signs of her cousin. They had so much to catch up on during their visit.

A young woman rounded the corner, and Elizabeth stepped outside. She raised her hand to catch the girl’s attention.

The girl’s face split into a grin as she began to run. “Elizabeth!” she called.

Suddenly, something flipped within Elizabeth, like her stomach had somersaulted into her rib cage. She stumbled and reached out to steady herself against the doorframe. Laughter bubbled from her mouth as Mary threw herself into Elizabeth’s arms.

“How blessed you are, Mary!” Elizabeth cried, holding her cousin as closely against her as she could. “And how blessed is this baby you’re carrying!” She took the girl by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. Tears ran down Elizabeth’s weathered face as she said, “Who am I to have the honor of a visit from the mother of my Savior? When I heard you call my name, the baby in my womb jumped for joy! You’re so blessed because you believed God would do everything He said!”

She took Mary’s hand and pressed it against her stomach, where the baby still kicked in excitement. Mary reached for Elizabeth’s hand and pressed it against her own abdomen, still flat beneath her clothes.

“This is really happening!” Mary said, her voice shaking. “We’re having babies!”

It was true, even though Elizabeth was too old to have a baby and was supposedly barren. And then sweet Mary—not only was she too young to be a mother, but she was a virgin.

And yet, life swelled within them. Two miracles in the making.

Three months later, Elizabeth delivered a son. She choked on a sob as the baby was placed on her chest.

The baby drew in a shaky first breath, filling brand-new lungs with air. He opened his mouth and cried out into the night.

As he cried, the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah rang in Elizabeth’s ears: “Listen! It’s the voice of someone crying in the wilderness: ‘Get ready for our God! Make a path through the desert for Him!’”

Beside her, Mary looked as if she’d seen a ghost. She slowly reached out, ran one trembling hand over the baby’s hair and rested the other against her own abdomen.

Elizabeth smiled at Mary—the girl who would give birth to the promised Rescuer in just a few months. He was the One her own son had been announcing since before he was even born.

Eight days later, Elizabeth and Zechariah made their way back to the temple where it all started. But this time, Elizabeth cradled a swaddled newborn baby against her chest. The whole town—all of Elizabeth’s relatives and neighbors—celebrated with them as they approached the place where they would dedicate the baby to God.

“You’re naming him Zechariah, right?” one of the neighbors asked. They weren’t wrong to assume that’s what they would name the baby. Under normal circumstances, they would name a firstborn son after his father. But these circumstances were the opposite of normal.

Elizabeth looked down at the baby, his eyes closed, his breaths deep, his small fist nestled against his face.

“No, he will be called John.” She smiled up at the people around her. Immediately, they turned to Zechariah, who stood at her side.

“Write down his name,” they told him. “The name you want him to be called.”

Someone handed Zechariah a tablet, and he wrote in clear, bold letters: His name is John.

 Then he coughed. Coughed again. And with the voice of a man awakening from deep sleep, quiet at first then increasing in volume, he said: “Praise God! He has come to His people and is bringing us a Rescuer, just like he promised through the prophets long ago. This baby belongs to Him. John will get everyone ready for the One who will forgive their sins and give them a brand-new life!”

He looked over at Elizabeth and smiled, his eyes shining with amazement and tears of joy just waiting for their chance to escape.

Elizabeth hugged the baby closer to her. John, whose name meant God is gracious, was proof that God heard the longing of her heart. God did not forget Elizabeth, and God did not forget His people. In the waiting, God was working. His rescue mission was unfolding.

“Thank you, Father God,” Elizabeth whispered. “I’m not worthy to be a part of this story, but still you chose me. You truly do love your people. Even me.”

Dear friends,

If this Christmas find you you in a season of waiting, longing, or grieving, I pray you’ll find hope in Elizabeth’s story. I used my imagination to retell it, but you can read the real account in Luke 1.

The Bible tells us that God came to earth for the barren, the lonely, the broken, the outcast. For me. For you. He shows His goodness in the most unexpected ways. He is the joy of every longing heart.

One day, He will come back and make everything brand-new. There will be no more tears, no more pain, no more wondering.

But in the meantime, remember that He has never, ever broken one of His promises. Even when He seems silent, He is still working. He sent a Rescuer for you because He loves you. And He isn’t finished with your story.

In His love,
Anna

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even Now

This past May, I sent out resumes by the handful as I raced toward seminary graduation. I networked, made calls, and sent emails, but didn’t get any responses. A month before graduation, I had to submit a move-out notice for my apartment, since I lived in campus housing. My on-campus job was going to end the last week of the semester, and at the same time, I would age off of my parents’ health insurance policy. Life was about to get really expensive really quickly, so I made the decision to move in with my parents back home while I continued to send out my resume.

I asked the women in my small group to pray for me – that I would handle this situation in the opposite way I usually do. Rather than stressing out and trying to fix everything on my own, I desperately wanted to trust that God was working behind the scenes.

Though I had zero proof that God was working, I somehow had a peace in my heart that He wouldn’t decide He’d had enough and abandon me.

The week before graduation – my birthday week – my brother-in-law told me about a job opportunity on campus. I mentioned it to a staff member on campus whom I greatly respect. I asked if she thought I’d be a good fit for the position, even though I knew next to nothing about it. The next day, she told me she’d submitted my resume.

I didn’t hear anything else.

Then my sister who works on campus happened to run into the woman in charge of interviews.

In the bathroom, of all places.

My sister called me as I was walking into a doctor’s appointment (I was stacking appointments like crazy before I rolled off that insurance plan), and asked if I’d heard back about the job. I told her no. She told me I should’ve received an email and I needed to reach out as soon as possible.

So I made a phone call right there in the doctor’s office parking lot.

I didn’t have days to pray about whether or not I was making the right decision. Everything had to happen super quickly. So I prayed in a way I don’t do too often. I told God if I was offered the job, I’d take it as a sign that I was supposed to accept it. And if I wasn’t offered the job, I would know I was supposed to move home.

I didn’t have time to think or process or weigh pros and cons. I was just trying to survive finals and graduation and saying goodbye to the place and people I’d come to love.

Mom texted me one day and asked how I was doing, and in reply, I sent a picture of my bedroom floor, completely covered by about a foot of laundry.

I was running on empty and emotionally maxed-out.

Through a crazy series of events where just the right people were in just the right places at just the right times, I applied for the job. A couple of days later, exactly one week before graduation, I interviewed for the position. Later that same afternoon, I interviewed again.

Then nothing. I didn’t hear anything at all. I was so overwhelmed with everything else going on in my life that I didn’t let myself worry. I poured my focus into studying, taking final exams, and steaming my graduation robe. I collected boxes to pack my stuff, my parents rented a U-Haul, and I invited my friends over to celebrate my birthday and to tell them goodbye.

On May 9, 2018, I walked across the chapel stage and received my Master of Arts in Ministry to Women. Still jobless. Still moving back to my parents’ house the next day.

I left the chapel and met up with my family for pictures. Then a member of faculty and his wife stepped over to congratulate me on my graduation. And to offer me the job.

Right there in the middle of graduation excitement, while I was still riding the did-I-really-just-get-my-Masters?! adrenaline high and clutching my degree in my clammy hands, I was offered the job.

I pulled my mom over and said, “Dr. L, this is my mom. Mom, Dr. L just offered me the job.”

I cried, my mom cried. It was a whole lot of emotion all at once.

When we left campus for lunch, I had about an hour before the housing office closed for the weekend. So I quickly called Housing and asked if I could retract my move out notice. I prayed they hadn’t already filled my spot.

Guess what? They hadn’t. I got to stay. Which, admittedly, was super convenient because I hadn’t even had time to start packing yet. I think my sisters were the most excited about not attending my packing party later that night.

All of that happened on Friday. On Monday, I started training. I’m now seven months into my full-time job.

photo credit: Alexa Mahan

One of the pieces of the Christmas story that strikes me every year is the waiting. Not just the generations of Israelites longing for the promised Rescuer to come. Not just the four hundred years of silence between the prophets of old and the second half of the Bible.

But the time between Gabriel appearing to Mary and the birth of Jesus.

Can you imagine? What was it like for Mary to have the angel’s announcement still ringing in her ears, yet no proof that she was pregnant? Those early weeks before any signs of a new life inside her began. She believed everything had changed, but she couldn’t tell yet. She just had to wait and trust that God was even now knitting Redemption together in her womb.

I get emotional whenever I think about the song of praise Mary sang to God as soon as the angel left. She praised God for all He was going to do, even though she hadn’t seen any of it happen yet. Morning sickness hadn’t set in, little feet hadn’t kicked, and her arms hadn’t cradled a baby. Yet she believed.

And nine months later, she wrapped the Promised One in swaddling clothes and looked into the face of God Himself.

All of those childhood years of hearing a Savior would come. All of those weeks of waiting without any sign. All of those months of carrying this child, now answered in the Word made Flesh resting in her arms.

Even when she couldn’t see God working, He was. His plan was unfolding behind the scenes and, at just the right time, the Light of the World entered the darkness.

Everyone’s story doesn’t happen like mine. Believe me, I don’t take the craziness of it all for granted. And our stories certainly don’t look like Mary’s. But all of us, in one way or another, are aching for something. Many of us are begging God to intervene in our situation. Many of us just want a sign – some hope to cling to.

What is your heart longing for this Christmas? A job? A mended relationship? A husband? A baby? A friend?

I don’t know what God has planned for your life or mine, but I know He is already carrying out those plans. Though we aren’t promised everything we want, we’re promised everything we need: His Presence. And the assurance that everything will ultimately work together for our good and His glory.

Trust Him this Christmas. Trust that He is working behind the scenes, even when you don’t feel Him, hear Him, or see Him.

Even now.

“The Mighty One has done great things for me—holy is His name.”
– from Mary’s Song, Luke 1:49

This Holy Ground

She bent down to pick up a stalk of grain the reapers had left behind, her fingers brushing the cool ground. She tucked the stalk into the front of her cloak she used to collect the pieces, then pressed her free hand to her tired back, stretching. Wanting the day to end, but needing to gather more grain to take home to her mother-in-law.

Her weary, sad eyes scanned the fields to see how much ground she still had to cover.

She never would’ve imagined ending up here: A widow, far from home, living with a grieving mother-in-law who had also lost her own husband.

Though this was her mother-in-law Naomi’s hometown, it was unfamiliar to Ruth. She didn’t know the streets or the people…or the God so many of them worshipped.

Ruth was a Moabite, and from the whispers she’d heard, the God of the Israelites had declared none of His people were to live in Moab or intermarry with Moabites. They called her a pagan. Her family worshipped carved gods, rather than the invisible God her mother-in-law believed in.

But then a famine hit Ruth’s husband’s homeland, and they relocated. There he met Ruth and took her as his wife. He, his brother, and his father never made it out of Moab.

The tragedies were not far behind her, but Ruth knew she needed to begin a new life here in Bethlehem with Naomi. She’d promised to stay with her, learn her customs, get to know her family, and believe in her God.

Only, on days like today, when the sun beat hot and her back ached from the work, she wondered if this new God she chose to follow would really care for her.

As she bent again, she heard footsteps. Sandals appeared in front of her, and she slowly looked up, shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quickly standing and shoving the grain into her cloak. “I was just about to leave.”

“No, don’t. Stay here. Stay close to the other women. Get some of our water when you need a drink. No one will bother you. And if you need anything, let me know. I’m Boaz.” The man smiled at her.

Ruth tentatively smiled back, then dipped her head. “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”

She didn’t know it in that moment, but she had just met Naomi’s relative, a man who would be the one who would redeem her tragedies by marrying her, providing a home, giving her children, and continuing Naomi’s family line. Her kinsman redeemer.

The barley harvest and the kind landowner’s generation was long gone. The fields were no longer used for crops, but for sheep. In place of reapers, shepherds worked on the land. Poor and rugged and not easily accepted into society.

They’d worked long hours already that day and were settling into the night watch. Tired and aching from another day of work to earn just enough to survive, but fully aware of the dangers the darkness brought for their flocks.

The sun set, the air cooled, and everything went still and quiet.

Until light. Brilliant, blazing light. And sounds. Shouts. A declaration of “Do not be afraid!”

How could they not be afraid? Thousands and thousands of glowing figures filled the sky, exclaiming, “Gloria in excelsis Deo! Glory to God in the highest!”

The shepherds shook in fear. Staffs fell to the ground, hands covered faces, knees quaked and buckled.

The figures in the sky told them a baby had been born just up the hill in the town of Bethlehem. He was wrapped in strips of cloth, lying in a feeding trough.

The shepherds turned to each other. “Let’s go see what’s happening!”

As they ran up the hill and ducked their heads to enter the cave, they found the baby just like the angels had said. And as they reverently bowed in front of the swaddled newborn, they met their Kinsman Redeemer.

A year ago, I sat in a cold, damp cave over six thousand miles away from home. Fellow travelers surrounded me, and I fought the claustrophobia threatening to interrupt the moment.

Around me, voices filled the cave. Rich bass and smooth tenor and soft soprano soaked into the stone walls, burst through the cave’s entrance, and filled the skies.

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem!
Come, and behold Him, born the King of angels!

O come, let us adore Him;
O come, let us adore Him;
O come, let us adore Him, Christ, the Lord!

As our voices mingled in praise to the one born King of angels, tears filled my eyes. I looked up to clear my vision, and noticed a light shone from a star carved out of the cave’s ceiling.  A reminder of that night long ago, when a star led the way to the manger nearby.

Exactly one week before this awe-filled moment, I sat by the Christmas tree with my family, wearing pajamas and unwrapping gifts. And now, on a rainy day just outside of Bethlehem, I sat in a cave once used by shepherds for shelter while they kept watch over their flocks by night.

Sing, choirs of angels; sing in exultation;
sing, all ye citizens of heav’n above!
Glory to God, all glory in the highest!

We left the cave, stepping over mosaic tiles spelling out Gloria in excelis Deo – Glory to
God in the highest. I looked out over this ancient land, the rocks and hills and shrubs and grass. Just over two thousand years ago, in that very same field where I now stood, a group of poor, rugged, weary sheep herders heard the news about the birth of the ultimate, once-and-for-all Redeemer. The One who came to bring humanity into the family of God. Who came to redeem us with the price of His own life.

And now, on a rainy day on the outskirts of Bethlehem generations later, I stood. A small-town girl from America, standing on this holy ground. Grass and dirt and rocks like anywhere else set the stage for the announcement that changed the world.

Here, Boaz redeemed Ruth and Naomi’s family and continued the line that led to the birth of King David, then eventually to the birth of Jesus Christ. The landowner redeeming a mourning widow, changing her world for the better. A foreshadowing of Jesus Christ redeeming the world for all eternity.

And just up the hill from where I stood in my rain coat and jeans, a baby was born to a teenage girl. Jesus. God in the flesh. The One who gave His life for my redemption, His Spirit now living in me.

Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, born this happy morning;
Jesus, to Thee be all glory giv’n!
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing!

O come, let us adore Him, Christ, the Lord!

(The stories referenced here can be found in Scripture in the book of Ruth and Luke 2)

With Us

A few nights ago, my mom and I settled onto the couch to watch The Nativity Story. It had been a few years since I’d seen it, so I decided we needed to see it again.

My seven-year-old sister saw the DVD case when I brought it downstairs. “Can I watch that?” she asked.

We’d planned to watch the movie after she went to bed (it’s easier to focus that way), so I told her I’d watch it again with her in the morning.

But then, as Mom and I watched the story unfold, I realized it might be a little much for a kid who plays with a Little People nativity set.

The movie pulls no punches. We see the Massacre of the Innocents – when Herod ordered his soldiers to kill every baby boy who could possibly be the Messiah. We also see bodies hanging on trees after being crucified. And we see childbirth pre-medicine.

So the next day I explained to Ellen that she might need to wait another year or two before watching the movie. Then I had a genius idea: I remembered a music video on YouTube that includes scenes from The Nativity. I gave her my phone and let her watch that.

A few minutes into the video, I remembered why I straight-up sob every time I watch it. Toward the end of the song, after the clips of Joseph and Mary and the newborn Jesus, and after the scene with the shepherds at the manger, it shows clips from The Passion. You know, the really realistic movie about Jesus’ crucifixion.

I quickly told Ellen what was about to happen and that she could stop the video, but she was already drawn into it.

I spared her a childbirth scene, but she saw a messy crucifixion instead. Go ahead and hand me the Big Sister of the Year Award.

Later that day, Ellen and I went out to the garage to look through the big freezer. Worried about her, I asked, “Are you okay? Did that video scare you?”

She thought about it for a minute, then shook her head. “It didn’t scare me,” she said softly, “I just didn’t realize it was all so serious.”

Abandoning the quest for the Pillsbury, I turned to her. “It was very serious. But it’s real. Jesus did all of that because He loves you, El.”

For the first time, she caught a glimpse of a manger scene that wasn’t cozy and warm.She saw Mary and Joseph as actual people, not little cherub-faced plastic figures. She saw a picture of a Savior not clothed in a white robe with a smiling face and children sitting on His lap, but stripped of His garments with a crown of thorns shoved onto his bleeding head. She saw the journey Mary and Joseph had to take and the life Jesus lived and the death He suffered because He loves us.

And while those scenes are just an interpretation of what it might have been like, they quite literally give flesh and blood to history.

They show us the reality that Jesus came to us as a human being, fully God yet fully man. And they remind us of how great the gift of Jesus really is.

Because without Jesus, mankind is separated from God.

When Moses asked to see God’s glory, God said,

“’You may not look directly at my face, for no one may see me and live…Look, stand near me on this rock. As my glorious presence passes by, I will hide you in the crevice of the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and let you see me from behind. But my face will not be seen.” – Exodus 33:18-23

God also dwelled in a place called The Holy of Holies – the most sacred place – where ordinary men and women were not allowed to go. God spoke through angels and prophets, but not face-to-face with His people.

To see God’s face equaled death because no one in their imperfection could stand before a perfect God and live.

Until one night, when a young girl and her betrothed welcomed a baby boy into the world.

Until the baby’s mother snuggled him warmly in strips of cloth and cradled Him in her arms.

Until she kissed His soft head…
ran a finger over His round cheeks…
…and looked directly into the eyes of God.

All at once, mankind could see God face-to-face. Experience His presence without hiding behind a rock or standing outside a temple curtain. Feel His nearness. Hear His voice.

Can you imagine? Bouncing the God of all creation on your shoulder to calm His tired cries? Counting the fingers that sculpted man from dust and made woman from man’s side?

Swaddling arms that would one day stretch out on a cross to rescue us?

It’s so easy to gloss over what it was like when God became a person. When the incarnation happened, it wasn’t squeaky clean and pretty. That’s what people were expecting.

Instead, A young virgin conceived. Her betrothed planned a divorce. The government ordered a census. A ruler murdered babies. The King of all kings and the Lord of all lords was born in the darkness and nestled in a feeding trough.

It’s the opposite of what we like to imagine, isn’t it? Completely upside-down.

But at the same time, there’s comfort in knowing that, whatever darkness we face, Emmanuel has been there. He’s felt our pain. He came to us as one of us so we could one day live with Him forever.

This Christmas, may you take time to step away from all of the wrapping paper and Christmas cookies and movies, and come close to Jesus, remembering how He came close to us.

May you reflect on the true story that changed the world. And may you let it touch your heart in a profound way, as you consider the reality of Christmas. The Savior stepped down into chaos and subjected Himself to a humble birth and a brutal death to be with us.

Because He loves us.

“All of this occurred to fulfill the Lord’s message through his prophet:
‘Look! The virgin will conceive a child!
She will give birth to a son,
and they will call him Immanuel,
which means, ‘God is with us.'”
– Matthew 1:22-23

Merry Christmas,
Anna

Every Longing Heart

God’s people waited for Him to answer the deepest desire of their hearts. They longed for rescue. But more than that, they desperately longed to hear Him say something – anything. 

Because God was silent.

Israel was a nation in distress. God called them His chosen people, but they found themselves living as slaves. Then they found themselves wandering around in the desert. They were oppressed and weary and waiting for rescue.

For years, the people heard God speak through the prophets, reminding them that He had not forgotten them.

“The people who walk in darkness
will see a great light.
For those who live in a land of deep darkness,
a light will shine.” 

The prophets promised a Rescuer would come from the line of King David.

“For a child is born to us,
a son is given to us.
The government will rest on his shoulders.
And he will be called:
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
His government and its peace
will never end.
He will rule with fairness and justice from the throne of his ancestor David
for all eternity.” – Isaiah 9:2-7

But then, the messages stopped.

Silence.

God no longer spoke through the prophets. He no longer reminded His people of what was coming.

For four centuries – many generations – God’s people heard nothing.

It looked like they were left in their longing.

***

Elizabeth longed for a baby. Just one baby. She desperately wanted to be a mother. Everyone wondered why she didn’t have a child. They whispered about her behind her back, and she knew it.

She didn’t understand. She was following God. She was faithful and had a pure heart. But still, God did nothing. She remained barren until it was too late to have a baby. It seemed like God had decided to ignore her deepest desires.

Then one day, her husband came home, his eyes wide.

“Zechariah, what happened?”

He waved his hands frantically, but didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?”

She knew he had gone into the temple to burn incense before the Lord while people prayed. It was a great honor. But why couldn’t he speak? Why was Zechariah silent?

She later learned that God had spoken to Zechariah through an angel. God spoke through an angel. After all these years of silence, an angel talked to Elizabeth’s husband.

“Don’t be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard your prayer. Your wife, Elizabeth, will give you a son, and you are to name him John.  You will have great joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the eyes of the Lord… He will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even before his birth. And he will turn many Israelites to the Lord their God… He will prepare the people for the coming of the Lord.” 

But Zechariah didn’t believe him. Why would he? They were decades too old to have a baby, so how could it happen now? Besides, God had been silent their whole lives. Why would He speak with this kind of announcement?

“‘How can I be sure this will happen? I’m an old man now, and my wife is also well along in years.’

Then the angel said, “’I am Gabriel! I stand in the very presence of God. It was he who sent me to bring you this good news! But now, since you didn’t believe what I said, you will be silent and unable to speak until the child is born.’” – Luke 1:13-20

Weeks went by, and nothing happened. But then, gradually, slowly, Elizabeth knew it was happening. She, a woman old enough to be a grandmother, felt a baby stretch and grow and kick. And nine months later, Zechariah announced the birth of John.

John, the one born to declare the coming of the Savior. A new kind of prophet. He was born to tell God’s people help was on the way. It wasn’t over for Israel. They weren’t left in their longing. They just had to wait a little longer.

***

Shortly after Elizabeth held her baby in her arms for the first time, another new mother welcomes her firstborn child into the world.

But this mother is much younger, and she never planned to have a baby now. Before this moment, she was preparing to marry a carpenter. Gathering her things to go live in his home and be his wife.

But then the angel spoke to her.

“’Don’t be afraid, Mary,’ the angel told her, ‘for you have found favor with God! You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David. And he will reign over Israel forever; his Kingdom will never end!’” – Luke 1:30-33

And now, in the corner of a room used to house animals, she gives birth to a Son.

The whole world holds its breath in the quietest, stillest moment in history.

Until the baby inhales for the very first time, filling His lungs with air.

Until He lets out His first, wobbly cry, shattering four hundred years of silence.

Though an angel had spoken to Zechariah, and though he’d also spoken to Mary, this moment marks the first time in centuries that we directly hear the voice of God.

And when we hear it, it’s not a loud charge or a command. It’s a Baby’s confused whimper.

Though His cry is frail, and though His chin quivers as His limbs are exposed to the chill of earth, it’s a declaration of love.

To every waiting heart: I have not forgotten you.
To every doubting heart: I keep my promises.
To every mourning heart: I am with you.
To every longing heart: I love you.

 To every heart, the Baby’s newborn cry is a love song.

A resounding reminder that God is with us.

 ***

What are you longing for?

What keeps you up at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if your prayers are really reaching heaven?

What makes your heart ache? What causes warm tears to drip down your cheeks and onto your pillow?

What fills your dreams? What do you find yourself thinking about in the middle of an ordinary day?

Maybe you’re deeply lonely. You long for a husband, a baby, or even a true friend. You long to be understood, to be truly known and yet still deeply loved. You long for a lost relationship, to take back wrong words you’ve said, to find restoration, to feel hope again.

You long for true joy.

And yet, maybe God seems silent. Maybe you haven’t heard from Him in years. Maybe you’re wondering if He’s even listening, much less if He’ll ever answer.

When heartache holds on tight this Christmas season, look to history. Look to His story. See how, though the night seemed endless for God’s people, at just the right time, the Light of the world entered into humanity. Not how we were expecting Him to come. Not loudly and forcefully. Not relieving every pain all at once, but providing His presence to be with us in our distress.

Soft, small, and quiet. Gentle, meek, and humble.

A promise kept, though the answer looked different than expected.

Jesus is our Comfort, our Hope, our Answer. He is with us. He is the joy of every longing heart.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy People free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

From the Beginning

Their mouths are still sticky from the fruit when God goes for a walk in the garden.

They hide behind leaves, leaving behind friendship with their Creator in exchange for deception.

What was good and pure and holy moments ago is now a source of shame.

“He’s coming! Hurry! Hide!”

“Adam, where are you?”

“Stay quiet. Maybe He won’t see us.”

“Adam, come out.”

They slowly step out from the maze of trees, the man made from dust and the woman made from his side. Space now between them.

“I heard you coming and I hid because I was afraid and naked.”

“Who told you that you were naked? Did you eat the fruit I told you not to touch?”

The man glances over at the one sculpted from his own flesh and bone. “This woman you gave me. She told me to eat it.”

She dips her head, letting her hair curtain her face.

God turns to her. “What did you do, Eve?”

“That serpent tricked me.”

The serpent lurks in the shadows, his eyes gleaming.

God sees him and says, “Because you did this, you are more cursed than any other creature. For as long as you live, you will slide on the ground, eating dust. I’m putting hostility between you and the woman, between your offspring and hers. He will strike your head, and you will strike his heel.”

***

The first chapter of the true story of the world is beautiful. Breathe deeply and you can smell the sweetness of the flowers. Listen carefully and you can hear a brook trickling through the garden. Tilt your head and feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on your face. Taste the pure, clean air.

Then turn the page. Feel the chill race down your spine as the serpent wraps himself around the tree. Let your nose burn as you inhale the aroma of the freshly-bitten fruit. Feel your eyes open wide as you realize your humanity. Feel shame flood your face as you realize God is coming.

The story is now stained with sin. Darkened by deception. Hiding and lies are a part of the plot, and the earth is cursed.

But notice.

Even in the curse, there is a promise.

“He will strike your head, and you will strike his heel.”

It’s called the Protoevangelium: The First Gospel. The first time we learn that rescue will come.

Eve’s offspring will crush Satan. It will be a painful, long journey, but He will come to overcome evil. Thousands of years will drag on as the consequences of that garden choice spiral deeper and deeper into darkness.

But then, after centuries of prophets declaring this is not the end, Eve’s consequence is lived out in the body of a young woman. With great pain, a baby is born.

In a small town, in a room where animals sleep, the Offspring breathes for the first time. His tiny heart beats wildly and color fills His face as His skin meets the chill of the outside world.

They wrap him tightly in strips of cloth and they lay him in a feeding trough because there’s nowhere clean for them to go.

The baby gradually falls asleep.

The enemy lurks in the shadows, but the promise will not be broken.

Every scraped knee the baby will feel as he grows, every bloody nose, every time a bully taunts, the promise remains.

And then one day, it will look like the curse wins, like the serpent’s offspring has crushed the woman’s offspring for good.

They strike him and spit on him. They strip his clothes from him, and a crown of thorns crushes his head.

“If you were really God, he would save Yourself!”

“Let’s see what kind of King you are now!”

“Don’t you have angels who could come down to help you?”

Then they stretch his arms across wooden beams and drive nails into His hands to hold Him in place.

They raise the cross.

His heart breaks.

He dies.

For 3 days, He is lifeless. Cold. Unmoving.

Then…

Life pumps through His veins, His heart beats, and He crushes the enemy’s head.

The promise wins.

Way back in the garden, we had a taste of what would come.

Now death, shame, and fear are defeated.

Through one man, death entered into the world. Through another, life.

Through one woman, pain entered the world. Through another, the promise.

His name is Jesus.

Come out of hiding and come to the One who paid the price your sin demanded. He gave His life so we would never have to experience death or be forever separated from Him.

^“When Adam sinned, sin entered the world. Adam’s sin brought death, so death spread to everyone, for everyone sinned…Now Adam is a symbol, a representation of Christ, who was yet to come.

But there is a great difference between Adam’s sin and God’s gracious gift. For the sin of this one man, Adam, brought death to many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of forgiveness to many through this other man, Jesus Christ.

And the result of God’s gracious gift is very different from the result of that one man’s sin. For Adam’s sin led to condemnation, but God’s free gift leads to our being made right with God, even though we are guilty of many sins.

For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ.

Yes, Adam’s one sin brings condemnation for everyone, but Christ’s one act of righteousness brings a right relationship with God and new life for everyone. Because one person disobeyed God, many became sinners. But because one other person obeyed God, many will be made righteous.” – Romans 5:12-19

This was the promise from the beginning.

For the Wonderer

He was old and frail, but wiser than men twice his age. He was a man of steadfast faith, choosing to spend his time in deep prayer and service to the Lord.

He knew the words of the prophets by heart. The ones who had prophesied about deliverance more than four hundred years ago. Before God went silent. He knew the Messiah would come to free mankind, though he did not know when. Every day he wondered when the Promise would be fulfilled.

He knew the stiffness of his joints and the thinning white hair on his head and beard. He knew the ache in his back each morning when he woke up, and he knew the fatigue he felt by the end of each day. He knew he didn’t have many more days. But he also had a special promise, a knowing he clung to deep within his soul:

He would not see death until he had seen the Savior.

And so, with sturdy faith and secure conviction, Simeon waited.

***

He hadn’t planned to come to the temple so early, but he had been unable to sleep the night before. He’d tossed and turned on his mat before finally lying on his back and praying toward the roof until the first sliver of light from the sun. He ate breakfast, all the while feeling something compelling him to go to the house of worship.

He had just arrived at the temple for the day when he saw them: a man and a woman stepping into the courtyard. The man held a staff and the woman held a baby. He watched the young mother tuck the blanket under the chin of her sleeping child.

Simeon saw this often: first-time parents bringing their son to the temple on his eighth day of life. He knew the couple was presenting their baby to the Lord and offering a sacrifice, according to the Law.

The man rested his hand gently on the woman’s back – she was barely more than a young girl – and gently led her forward. The young woman looked up, and her eyes met Simeon’s.

Instantly, he knew. Deep within the depths of his soul, he heard the Spirit whisper: I Am here.

Trembling, Simeon walked to meet the couple. The man wrapped a protective arm around his wife, and she snuggled the baby closer to her chest.

Simeon reached the man and woman and slowly stretched out his shaking hands. The young mother carefully placed the infant in his arms.

The child was so small, so helpless. Simeon held him close. The baby slowly opened his sleepy eyes and held Simeon’s gaze.

With tears streaming down the creases of his weathered cheeks and into his beard, Simeon raised the baby up in the air, careful to support his neck and keep the blanket wrapped around him.

“Lord,” he whispered, his voice wobbling, “I can now go in peace, just like you promised.” His voice grew in strength until it was steady and strong. “I have seen your salvation with my own eyes, who you have brought for everyone. He is a light so the Gentiles can know who you are, and He is the glory of your people Israel!”

Then Simeon pulled the baby back close to his heart, overcome that the Lord would allow him to hold the Promise in his hands. Aware God Himself was bundled in his arms.

The man and woman silently watched the moment unfold. The mother of the Messiah leaned slightly against the man, both of their eyes shining in wonder at what was taking place.

Simeon bent his neck and gently kissed the baby’s head before handing him back to his mother.

Behind Simeon, a prophetess, old and frail, stepped into the sacred moment. As a widow, she had known deep love and deep sorrow. She had known the joy of companionship and the throbbing ache of loneliness. She was a woman of steadfast faith, choosing to devote her days to fasting and praying in the temple.

When she saw what was taking place, she raised her hands in praise. While Simeon continued to bless the child and speak to the child’s mother, Anna whispered prayers of thanksgiving to the Lord.

The Savior had come.

***

Simeon and Anna are two of countless people who wondered when the Savior would arrive. They waited and prayed and fasted and sought to see God at work. They anticipated God’s answer to sin and shame. They knew with their whole hearts that He was coming, they just didn’t know when.

Just as Jesus came to Simeon and Anna in the temple, you don’t have to stumble around, aimlessly searching for Him because He has come to you.

Neither did the shepherds stumble into the stable on their own – they were invited. Moreover, they were chosen as the first to receive an invitation, and they were given the job of inviting others to come. To tell the world that He had come to save the world.

You are invited. You are chosen.

You aren’t chosen because of who you are, where you’ve been, or what you’ve done. Neither are you chosen in spite of who you are, where you’ve been, or what you’ve done.

You are chosen because you are loved, and He came to us as one of us to prove this is true.

There was a star over a stable. Now there is a Spirit stirring hearts. Both inviting, saying, come and behold Him.

For the one who wonders if the good news of Christmas is actually true….come and behold Him.

 For the one who wonders if God will come through before it’s too late…come and behold Him.

 For the one who wonders if it’s too late to follow the Lord and live for Him…come and behold Him.

For the one who wonders if God has forgotten him…come and behold Him.

 For the one who wonders if her dreams and desires even matter to God…come and behold Him.

For the one who wonders if the darkness of night will ever end…come and behold Him.

 For the prodigal, the wayward, the searcher, the lost…come and behold Him.

Simeon and Anna wondered, but they never wandered. They trusted in God’s promise, and they saw Him faithfully deliver. They beheld the answer to their prayers – the Hope of the world.

If you’re ever tempted to believe God has given up on you…

If you ever doubt He could really love you after all you’ve done…

If you ever wonder if you’re wanted…

Your king has come to you.   

For the wanderer…come home.

For the wonderer…you are known.

To those who wander, stand in wonder. Behold the One who calls you beloved.

The Savior has come.

“I have seen your salvation, which you have prepared for all people. He is a light to reveal God to the nations, and he is the glory of your people Israel!” – Luke 2:30-32

Merry Christmas,
Anna

 

 

 

The Waiting

Thousands of years of waiting for redemption, prophecies promising the coming of the King. Four hundred years of silence, wondering and longing and praying for a word from God.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus…

Then nine months.

Three quarters of a year between Mary learning she would bear a Son and the birth of the Savior.

Days and days before little limbs began to stretch and grow.

Weeks and weeks before the first felt flutter of life.

Months and months before the Savior could be seen.

Born to set thy people free…

Trusting in the promise, yet waiting weeks to know for sure.

Wondering what everyone would say, what she would do, where she would go.

 Knowing she was carrying the Messiah, yet patiently living daily life while a miracle was in the making.

Holding onto the hope of redemption, yet not holding Him in her arms.

Believing in the impossible, yet not understanding how.

Following in obedience, yet not seeing Him face-to-face.

From our sins and fears and sins release us…

Watching friends make choices about their futures, yet walking on a path she didn’t plan.

Waiting for God to speak to the heart of her betrothed, waiting for the accusations that were sure to come.

Traveling to an unfamiliar town. Looking for a place to stay. Praying for an end to agony. Longing for morning to dawn.

…Let us find our rest in Thee.

Then, after thousands of years of waiting for redemption, four hundred years of silence, and nine more months…

Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth Thou art…

 The waiting is over.

No more desperate praying for a word from God because the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us.

No more seeking signs, no more wondering, and no more longing because she gives birth to the Son.

Dear desire of every nation…

The Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Joy of every longing heart.

But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. – Galatians 4:4-5

When the right time came.

On a divine schedule.

In the perfect moment, the perfect, sinless solution to all of our shame and sorrow entered into the world.

Born Thy people to deliver…

 Emmanuel. God is with us.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.

The flesh-and-blood image of the invisible God lies in a manger. The firstborn of all creation is cradled by a first-time mother.

Born a child and yet a King…

 She waited nine months to hold the promise in her hands. But He was already there, though she couldn’t see Him.

Grace was growing. He was already on earth, forming in secret. Unseen, but very present.

Born to reign in us forever…

She couldn’t yet see Him face-to-face, but He was with her.

His plan was already forming. Hope was already infiltrating history.

Now thy gracious kingdom bring.

When you’re in a season of waiting, longing for what’s next, remember: He’s here. And He’s already working.

He’s behind the scenes, but He’s not silent.

He’s working within us, stirring inside us.

By Thine own eternal Spirit…

He’s here in the middle of the waiting.

When others are living the dreams you’ve dreamed…

When you’re faced with failure yet again…

When you felt sure you wouldn’t be spending yet another Christmas alone…

When you wonder if He has forgotten you…

In the waiting…

Emmanuel. God is with us. And at just the right time, He will provide light in the middle of the darkness.

 …rule in all our hearts alone.

 He’s unfolding a plan too precious to show us all at once.

He’s telling His story.

 In the silence. In the stillness. In the most fragile of faith.

Take heart.

Hold onto hope.

Wait in faith.

Rest in His redemption.

By Thine all sufficient merit, raise us to Thy glorious throne.

He is listening.

He is restoring.

He is speaking.

He is working in the waiting.

But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. – Galatians 4:4-5