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I bought the wooden sign in the clearance aisle at Home Goods, red with white lettering that spelled the word, JOY. Rustic in its simplicity, behold, a visceral sign to remind me of what I must prioritize more than anything this holiday season. I took it home and displayed it on the dining table, next to the wooden Nutcracker and ceramic Santa Clauses.
Can I be honest? Lately I feel more fear than joy.
The holidays are supposed to be filled with joy. I mean just look around everywhere you go, you’ll see it in bright shiny letters or hear it when you turn on the radio. It feels superficial as though joy is something that can be defined by a dictionary or a song. I have a confession. I haven’t felt joy—true authentic joy, the kind that can’t be written or sung about—for some time.
Now that I’m a mom, Christmas has a different kind of vibe, and I’m not sure I’d quite call it magic. The busyness isn’t so much joyful as it is chaotic. The programs and parties and gatherings (manifesting in the constant scramble for the last minute for potluck dishes and white elephant gifts)…
I wondered, if we can’t make peace here now, how will ALL the people EVERYWHERE accomplish it? Such a great need for peace and the idea that world peace could somehow begin with me was crippling. I was a great line leader (according to my elementary teachers at the time), but I didn’t think I could lead such a line for the world.
This Advent I continue to wait for the return of Jesus; however, while I wait, I also look to our community to lead by being an example of unconditional love for all people in a way I believe Jesus would like us to . . .