Rachel Allord

The Good Towels

Life has felt all churned up lately and I haven’t blogged all summer and every time I think about sitting down to work on something new my mind circles a seemingly random, humble subject: my bathroom towels. The good towels. As in don’t use those towels to wipe the floor or dry off the dog and don’t take them camping.

Except they’re not so good anymore, these towels. They’re tattered, tired, fuzz-less towels that—get this—will be twenty years old come next Wednesday. They were a wedding gift back in the day when every wedding showcased maroon, forest green, and/or navy. (Can I get an amen from the mid-nineties brides?) Anyway, I’ve bought other towels over the years but for some reason my brain can’t let go of the notion that these maroon ones are the good ones even though they’re shredding and need to be relegated to the basement or the dog crate.

That’s what happens to things over time. They fall into ruin. Disrepair. De-volve. Houses. Gardens. People. Relationships. No newsflash here… left on their own, things fall apart.

After twenty years of living with these towels, and my husband, I hardly feel like a marriage expert. Neither does he. But we do know this: If ignored, marriage goes south. With attention and care, marriage endures. Even flourishes. It can, even after twenty years, take you by surprise… in good ways. Of course it takes work. Or prayer. Both, really.

This past week, we, our family, watched our dear, dear friends drive off in their U-Haul to some (practically) foreign land. I could go on and on about the significance of this friendship but I’ll summarize it like this: our friendship is older than my good towels and just as comfortingly familiar.

And this sweet friendship, although filled with laughter and trips and great talks and memories, required work, communication, careful times of unraveling hurt feelings and working through misunderstandings. Long-lasting friendships aren’t easy-peasy, but they are worth it.

Things fall apart but they can be mended. The old and broken-down will one day be made new. Goodbyes are unavoidable but they’re not eternal, and missing your friends so much it aches is a gift, proof of the love that held you together.

Enough platitudes. This post is probably more therapy than anything, which is probably where all writing starts, so thank you, Dear Reader, for sticking with me this far.

Guess I’ve got some towels to pitch. Old towels can be tossed and replaced. Old friends, never.

Often It Comes Down to This

I like my smart phone. I like Facebook. I like texts and emails. I’m warming up to Pinterest and Twitter. (Slowly) I like these things… and yet often they seem like clambering puppies. Before kids, I worked with infants in a daycare one summer and I don’t know why but when 4 o’clock in the afternoon rolled around all of the babies wanted my attention at the same time: Me me! Pick up me! Spend time with me!

Sometimes, this is how social media comes across: Frantic. Desperate. Demanding. Coffee in hand, I often give in to them because they’re just so loud, causing certain thoughts in my head to become so loud, thoughts like, Oh horror! I never texted so and so back! Or, I need to post that pic to so and so’s wall like I promised! Yet once I start responding I only feel further sucked into the social media vortex and my what-I-should-be-doing and where-I-could-be-going and even what-I’m-missing-out-on lists grows. Pinterest, to me, feels like a never-ending to-do list. Gosh, there’s so much I could be doing with those mason jars and leftover bits of fabric.

And there sits my Bible. Quietly. Not waving its hands around, so it doesn’t seem as urgent. Sometimes, when I sit down with it, it offers instantaneous crystal clear answers to my specific problems, but more often it calls me to transformation, opens me up, pierces me like a sword. Pinpoints areas that need changing. Spotlights grace. Makes God bigger, which makes me smaller, which surprisingly, makes me happier.

Joyful are those who obey his laws and search for him with all their hearts (Psalm 119:2)

Yeah. That’s what I want.

This isn’t a guilt post—or at least it’s not meant to be. (Although conviction can be disguised as guilt we can too easily shake off.) I’m not trying to wag my finger at you; if anything I’m wagging it at me. Because even though I almost always feel more at peace, more centered, more content when I sit at the feet of Christ and “choose the better thing” (Luke 10:42) I still struggle to do it. But the more I reach for my Bible, the less I struggle, and the less I feel pulled in twenty different directions, and the better my day seems to go.

I don’t reach for my Bible because I’m good; I reach for my Bible because God is good and I need his help. Today, this morning, I need help. I need help loving. Need help handling this, responding to that, making sense of that other thing. Need help seeing my blindside, my own shortcomings. Need help discovering who God is, who I am, who he made me to be.

I need help and contrary to what my iphone wants me to think, Siri doesn’t have all the answers.

The Biting Truth About Transitions

When I was in labor, fourteen years ago, I almost bit my husband’s neck. We were trying that “dancing” technique that sounds so sweet in Lamaze class—my arms around his shoulders, his arms around my giant waist, rocking back and forth. But I involuntarily added another move: my teeth were bared and slowly sinking into his neck. He still thanks me for not actually biting down, but I was this close. I was in transition—that in between time when you go from pain to HELLO PAIN!

Transition. Such a nice word to describe agony.

Life is full of transitions—moving, changing jobs, going from unmarried to married, married to single, kids in the nest to kids out of the nest—lots of transitions. Some big. Some small. Some that seem insurmountable.

So this past week I was kind of cranky. I’m trying to finish my latest novel manuscript and as much as I love writing, writing is work. My husband mentioned I hadn’t blogged in awhile. I should blog, he said. I didn’t respond very nicely, but I didn’t bite his neck either. He kept bugging me to turn over my manuscript so he can read it. I know this is all good, his being supportive and kind of wonderful actually, but this encouraging from the sidelines reminded me of being in labor. The other day I blurted out, “I’m the one who’s doing the work! You’re not the one doing the work so just be quiet and let me do the work!”

And then it hit me. I’m in transition. With my story. It’s almost done, but not quite. Symbolism is surfacing, slowly, but… not quite. I feel like all my energy is focused on finishing and I can’t get my head out of the story. I sleep fitfully and wake up realizing that saunter on page 167 should be meander. And even though I’m nearing the finish line (I think. At least the first finish line…) the whole thing suddenly seems impossible and self-doubt is thick and pervasive and poised to sabotage.

Ah, transition.

Maybe you’re smack dab in the middle of your own life change or overwhelming project. Maybe you’re thinking what in the world have I gotten myself into? Maybe it’s just (ha ha “just”…) transition.

To quote from Frozen, hang in there, Joan. Or whatever your name may be. Persevere. Push through. And try not to bite the necks of those you love.

The Design of Things

Remember “double rainbow man”? The guy who glimpsed a double rainbow, captured it on film, and shared it with the world on youtube? His video went viral due to his unbridled euphoria. He even wept at one point. He’s garnered his share of ridicule and prompted a lot of people to say “What is wrong with him?” I confess. I rolled my eyes the first time I watched his barrage of emotion.

And then he got me thinking. What if?

What if the world is standing on its head? Why is screaming and jumping over a football game or a U2 concert accepted yet this guy’s genuine reaction to nature is not?

I don’t know double rainbow man, don’t know what he believes about anything, but here’s a break down of the scene:

Man sees double rainbow. Man is moved. Man utters Oh my God multiple times. Man weeps. Man asks, what does this mean? several times. Creation prompts man to consider that there’s more to life than himself. There’s more.

Beauty does that. Creationist or evolutionist, we’ve all been swept away by something in nature—the ocean, the stars, the thunder—and had similar thoughts as Double rainbow man. Maybe we were just a tad less vocal about it. The world is full of artistry. Chock full and running over and all the scientific debate in the world can’t smother out the design of things all around us.

Here are a few of my favorites.

Snowflakes. Yeah, I’m sick of them too and I’m so glad they’re finally disappearing. But pretend you’ve never seen them before, at least not this close up, and look:

No one has ever assumed that the artwork in my house, whether it’s the kids’ stuff on the fridge or the Pissaro over the piano, just came about. Over time. So how could a snowflake, a microscopic sculpture devoid of intelligence and consciousness? How could it possibly create itself in such perfect way? And why don’t they fall as little, random blobs? What purpose does their beauty serve? What purpose does beauty ever serve?

The giraffe. Once I understood this it kind of blew me away. The giraffe has a big heart and a little pea head. Which means that when he bends to drink he should pass out due to the lack of blood flow from heart to head. Really, he should be passing out all the time, or his brain should explode from the pressure. But ta da! He has these one of a kind, one way valves in his neck that enable the blood to travel from his heart to head. Could this have evolved? Not likely because while waiting for these intricate valves to develop the poor creature would have expired from dehydration or, yeah, his head would have exploded.

The Human Eye. More complex than the telescope, our little peepers are wonders all in themselves. A scientist once said, “To suppose that the eye with all its inimitable contrivances for adjusting the focus to different distances, for admitting different amounts of light, and for the correction of spherical and chromatic aberration, could have been formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest sense.” That was Charles Darwin, by the way in his book The Origin of the Species (1859, p. 170).

Another evolutionist, Robert Jastrow, wrote: “The eye is a marvelous instrument, resembling a telescope of the highest quality, with a lens, an adjustable focus, a variable diaphragm for controlling the amount of light, and optical corrections for spherical and chromatic aberration. The eye appears to have been designed; no designer of telescopes could have done better. How could this marvelous instrument have evolved by chance, through a succession of random events?”

How indeed? But, I guess for consistency’s sake, we should teach the children that all the telescopes in the world simply came to be all on their own. Over a long period of time, under the right conditions.

Survival of the fittest/natural selection. Stay with me. If we go with the natural selection/survival of the fittest: (not to be confused with speciation) Things develop and change to get what they need to survive. (Strange they never mutate.. but we’ll press on.) Certain species survive and thrive while others die out and it’s all part of nature’s course. So then why do we interfere? Why do we try to save the Red Panda or starving children for that matter? I suppose you could argue that it’s because we humans have polluted the world and really messed things up so in many ways it’s our fault. But in terms of survival of the fittest, we’re at the top. Why do we care about anything else? Rainforests? Endangered animals? Human rights? Why not let the people in parts of the world that don’t have enough food, starve? Isn’t that letting nature take it’s course, survival of the fittest?

Because we were designed with a soul, a conscience, a that’s not right trigger.

Believe or not, I’m not against evolution being presented in school, as a theory. Problem is, it’s typically not presented as a theory. Just yesterday I came across this from livescience.com: “The scientific evidence is clear: The Earth is about 4.5 billion years old, and all life evolved from primitive, single-celled organisms.”

Close your minds folks, no need to investigate any further. Don’t argue, don’t think, just swallow. Never mind that evolutionists such Darwin and Jastrow themselves recognized gaping holes and unanswerable questions or that there is no scientific way to prove the above statement.

Renowned British physicist Lord Kelvin once wrote: “Overwhelming strong proofs of intelligent and benevolent design lie around us … The atheistic idea is so nonsensical that I cannot put it into words.”

So why does evolution hog the spotlight in public shool and college textbooks while intelligent design hardly gets mentioned? (but does get an eye roll) The answer is pretty simple, and certainly not new with me:

It’s easier.

Or at least it appears to be.

The very thought of intelligent design naturally leads to more questions. Weighty, rock-your-world questions like: who is this designer and what does he want? In a way, it’s just easier to remain unaccountable and smother the bigger questions and keep your mind off snowflakes and stars and ocean tides and how the hummingbird can fly and why the the sun is positioned just so.

Grappling with the design of things is just the beginning, a prologue to a much bigger story. But this post has grown long-winded so I’ll pick up where I’ve left off for next time. The sun is melting millions of those beautiful little sculptures that have covered my yard for too long and right now I want to bask in that.

Screen Door

Remember when a screen was just a screen? A cluster of grey mesh squares that let the breeze in and kept the bugs out? Did your house have a screen door you’d let slam? Did fresh air sweep in through the screens of your windows while you slept? Bees brushed up against it in daytime and crickets sang through it at night and the wind flowed in and out, as did friends.

Remember that screen? That uncomplicated, no-need-to-monitor screen? Maybe I’m merely pining for summer, but I miss (sort of) when that defined screen.

We have many screens in our house, many different sizes and brands. I’m staring at one right now, watching my words pass from my fingertips to the screen, and it’s truly amazing… I can’t fathom even how that works. So I can’t say I am anti- screen. Because I have them and use them and appreciate them and can’t imagine life without them.

But they sure do require a lot of effort and self-control. Sure, they make life easier (I guess. Sort of. In a way…) but the other screen, the one with the tiny holes, doesn’t need as much monitoring. You don’t have to wonder how much is too much, (That’s enough fresh air for you Johnny. Close the screen!) or convince your whatever-year-old they don’t need that particular one yet. You don’t have to change the channel, employ net nanny, worry about auto correct turning your pick up the kids into pickle the kids. You don’t have to guard that screen door quite as diligently; when you’re done for the night, you shut the door and lock it. That’s that. You don’t have to worry so much about who might be lurking, trying to “connect” with your kids.

It seems that everyone, (over the age of twenty-one) including myself, has developed a love/hate relationship with screens. The love part: Convenience. Safety. Being able to get a hold of your spouse/kids. Preserving sanity on long trips. What would life be without email or allrecipies or Hotwire or Pandora or Amazon…. ? Hard to imagine.

But.

Sometimes.

(and now I feel older than my years)

Screens just seem to suck the life right out of you.

Now I’m staring at my other screen, the mesh one on my front window, wishing I could take off the storm and feel a life-giving breath of fresh air.

It’s probably just January talking. Probably just the cold and grey and snow, but I kind of miss when a screen was just a screen. One that keeps bugs out, one that lets the people you want in.

The 12 blogs of Christmas #12: Packing up Jesus

It’s that time of year again. Time to put Jesus in a box. Pluck him off the shelf and swaddle him in tissue paper and stash him in the basement until next year.

Christmas is over, right? And this final blog post is kinda late, right?

Reason #1: I had the stomach flu.

Reason #2: I meant it to be “late”.

If the 25^th marks the day we celebrate Jesus’ birth, he’s a whopping 4 days old and now it’s kind of like… party’s over. Thanks for coming. Now everyone go home.

Here’s the thing: babies grow. And grow and keep growing and walk and talk and go on to do amazing things and if you’re a parent, you know that you don ‘t stop marveling at your baby when they hit the four day mark. Hardly. The newborn stage with my sweet little son years ago is a bit of a blur; it got better and better from there.

It’s great to celebrate Jesus’ birth. But now that Christmas is over, and it was a good Christmas (stomach flu notwithstanding) and we had lots of fun and saw lots of family and I intentionally sought His presence in the midst of the craziness, I still feel that little let down thing. Nothing major. Only that vague… ho hum…. sigh… ‘cuz it’s all over and now I have to undecorate the tree and unhang the stockings. Sigh.

It’s wonderful to celebrate the birth of Christ. Truly. But if we stop there, if we leave him as a baby, we’ve missed it. Missed Him. He didn’t come merely to be a sweet little baby; he came to do his Father’s will. Even to death. Even to resurrection. So don’t leave him lying in the manger; he grew. Grow with him. Stay with Him.

So. Keep pondering. Things like this, when he’s twelve:
Meanwhile, Jesus kept on growing wiser and more mature, and in favor with God and his fellow man. (NSV Luke 2: 52)

And this:

Jesus: “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. ²⁸And I give them eternal life, and they will never perish; neither will anyone snatch them out of My hand. ²⁹My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father’s hand. ³⁰I and My Father are one.” (John 10)

And this:

“When Jesus saw the large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick…” (Matthew 14:14)

There’s much to ponder. So don’t pack Him in a box. Keep Him out in the open, before your eyes . See what he did. Listen to what he said. Keep your mind open and your heart soft. Because his birth—as marvelous as it is—is just the beginning.

The 12 blogs of Christmas #11: Welcome

We step into a house with a newborn like we’re stepping into a bubble, in breathless wonder. Babies are so easy to welcome. So disarming, so nonthreatening.

1482812_771563492869564_1968824718_n — My sweet little nephew Matthew

So unifying, because we all started out like that—as a trembling, mewling newborn. Utterly, almost frighteningly, dependent.All of us: President Obama. The artist/athlete/superstar you like. That guy from Duck Dynasty. The person who drives you nuts. At the start we’re the same, same, same. Human.

Only a human gets another human. My dog doesn’t totally get me. My Christmas tree doesn’t get me, neither do the glorious stars or a sunset or the birds flying overhead.

Only humanity can empathize with humanity.

And so God came down.

Entered like everyone else. He got hungry. He got hurt. He was tempted. He got weary. He wept. He laughed. He mourned. He became (righteously) angry.
God became human. While holding on to his God-ness. He was both.

This is very strange. This could only be driven by love.

Here is religion: Look at me! Over here, God! Look at what I can do! Look at how much I give! Pray! Am I good enough? Does the good on my scale out weigh the bad? Am I following the right rules? Am I saying the right words? I’m trying, I’ll keep trying.. to reach you… I’ll keep hoping I’m doing enough….

Here is Jesus: I will come to you. Out of everything I made, I love you best of all. And I know you can’t reach me on your own. All that stuff, that bad stuff, that mess you and the rest of the world made and will continue to make, I’ll take care of that. That stands in the way of you and God. So I’ll clean it up once and for all. I’ll step in and be the bridge in the form of a cross the leads to my death that leads to your life. That brings us back together. You and me. We’ll be reconciled. So stop trying, I’ve done the work. Rest in the work I’ve done and let me do a work in you.

You know when you’re really sick and someone brings a meal? or takes your kids? or cleans your kitchen? You know that feeling you get inside, you kind of crumple in gratitude, because someone has stepped in and helped and you sigh and realize it is going to be okay?

That’s the feeling I hope you get this Christmas. That sigh of relief and gratitude, that Oh hooray! He’s here! You saw the mess, God. The need, and you stepped in because we needed saving. I hope that swells up inside of you and you enjoy the presents and the food and the coffee and the friends all the more. And if your Christmas isn’t marked by presents/food/coffee/friends/warm fuzzy moments, I hope His presence is more than enough and you can say Welcome, Savior. Welcome.

The 12 Blogs of Christmas #10: Old Eyes

She is old. She is weathered. Life has not been easy. She spends her days and nights in the temple. She understands prayer, she’s familiar with fasting, and she is waiting for something big.

She is Anna. Anna the prophetess. One of the most (to me) obscure, intriguing characters in the account of Christ’s birth.

Little baby boys were carried in and out of the temple all the time, to undergo a ceremony according to the law of Moses. Anna must have had seen hundreds of babies pass through the temple doors.

But when her eyes fall on this baby she immediately knows. This is it. HE is it. He’s in the arms of Simeon, who’s been waiting waiting waiting to see the Messiah as God promised him and this guy… he is beyond overjoyed.

She approaches the baby, in the arms of his mother or father, thanks God, and then wastes no time. She immediately begins speaking “about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.” (Luke 2:28)

This is too good to keep inside; so she tells those who would be interested, those who are waiting for rescue too.

Too have old eyes like Anna; to see God when he’s before us.

I am aware, as I write these Christmas blogs, that not everyone thinks as I do, not everyone views Jesus as I do. You may read my blog (or the mere title) and say/think, she’s nuts. (and if you do and you’re reading, I’m honored. Truly.)

So it may seem to you that I’m getting nuttier. Because I’m dragging out a word that we usually only hear in Lord of the Rings or Star Wars: Prophecy.

Believe them or not, here they are, the prophecies concerning Jesus’ birth, written at least four hundred years before his birth. (There are a lot more concerning his life/death/resurrection.) It’s easy to skim the list and think, yeah yeah, heard it all before, but take in the specifics, note the details. (Taken from http://theresurgence.com/2012/12/24/10-prophecies-about-jesus-birth)

1. Jesus will come from the line of Abraham. Prophecy: Genesis 12:3. Fulfilled: Matthew 1:1.

2. Jesus’ mother will be a virgin. Prophecy: Isaiah 7:14. Fulfilled: Matthew 1:18–23.

3. Jesus will be a descendent of Isaac and Jacob. Prophecy: Genesis 17:19 and Numbers 24:17. Fulfilled: Matthew 1:2.

4. Jesus will be born in the town Bethlehem. Prophecy: Micah 5:2. Fulfilled: Luke 2:1–7.

5. Jesus will be called out of Egypt. Prophecy: Hosea 11:1. Fulfilled: Matthew 2:13–15.

6. Jesus will be a member of the tribe of Judah. Prophecy: Genesis 49:10. Fulfilled: Luke 3:33.

7. Jesus will enter the temple. This is important because the temple was destroyed in A.D. 70 and was never rebuilt. Prophecy: Malachi 3:1. Fulfilled: Luke 2:25–27.

8. Jesus will be from the lineage of King David. Prophecy: Jeremiah 23:5. Fulfilled: Matthew 1:6.

9. Jesus’ birth will be accompanied with great suffering and sorrow. Prophecy: Jeremiah 31:15. Fulfilled: Matthew 2:16.

10. Jesus will live a perfect life, die by crucifixion, resurrect from death, ascend into heaven, and sit at the right hand of God. Prophecies: Psalm 22:16; Psalm 16:10; Isaiah 53:10–11; Psalm 68:18; Psalm 110:1. Fulfilled: 1 Peter 2:21–22; Luke 23:33; Acts 2:25–32; Acts 1:9; Hebrews 1:3.

St. Anna the Prophetess by Rembrandt Van Rijn

The 12 Blogs of Christmas #9: Disillusionment

Disappointment has a sister and her name is disillusionment. Mary certainly doesn’t come across as disappointed with the unexpected direction her life abruptly took (“My soul glorifies the Lord!”) but as a girl turned mother turned wife, I wonder if she was a wee bit disillusioned. Maybe there’s a better word for my life isn’t going how I thought it would. Interrupted? Pushed off course?

God loved Mary, clearly. Chose her to play one of the most significant roles in His-Story. And Mary’s response? Let it be done to me as you have said. Faith and obedience join hands. So for all of her obedience and faith shouldn’t God… I don’t know… made it easy? Couldn’t he have let her, a virgin, labor with her mom by her side? Or a midwife? Or in her home town? In a bed at least?

Nope. Mary dear, you oh very pregnant one, are to travel miles and miles.

That’s not all. Simeon, the prophet who has been waiting for the birth of Christ, takes the baby in his arms and after bubbling out joyous effusions, looks at Mary and says, And a sword shall pierce your heart, too. Yes, any mother who has lost a child knows the pain of the tip of that blade.

That’s not all. After the Magi visit little Jesus, she has to hightail it to Africa with her husband and little guy because—get this—this maniacal king is trying to kill her baby.

If God loved Mary, the very picture of faith and obedience, why did she have to go through all of that hardship?

[Insert easy answer here. Except I don’t have it.]

Sometimes I wonder, in twenty-first century America, if we tend to over quote Jeremiah 29:11 because we want safety, we desire ease; we want plans that prosper and not harm. Not to minimize the merit of that verse for us, but God did speak those words directly to Jeremiah, for a specific reason. And there are a lot of Christians who have not been spared from harm. Do we cling too tightly to this modern-day equation?

God loves me = so I will have a good life.

Depends on how you define good.

Good = Easy? Never promised. Quite the opposite actually.

Good = For His Ultimate Glory? That changes everything. And that means good can also be frightening if we’re honest.

Enough with the pseudo math. Back to Mary. Her path was not easy, but she was all wrapped up in the presence of God, probably more fully than any other time in her life. God the Father was with her in Spirit; God the Son was hidden within her, and then snuggled to her breast. Mary wasn’t after an easy life; Mary was after a life that pleased God. She was swept up in the current of a much bigger plan, a much bigger love; the love of God her father and God her son (huh, ponder that), and her circumstances didn’t alter that a bit.

It’s a bit of a mystery but sometimes the darkest, hardest places allow us to experience God’s presence the most. Sometimes disillusionment comes before illumination. Sometimes he needs to extinguish our expectations in order to light up our path.

The 12 Blogs of Christmas #8: Disappointment

Disappointment is unwrapping a package of underwear on Christmas morning. At least when you’re a kid. When you’re a grown up, disappointment becomes intangible, harder to trace to its source, more like a hollow, reverberating thud. And Christmastime, with all of its twinkle and shine, can make the untraceable emptiness worse because maybe your life does not resemble the front of a Christmas card. Maybe watching George and Mary Bailey and their pixie-faced children prompts you to chuck candy canes at the TV screen because maybe it turned out to be a Wonderful Life for them, but it certainly isn’t turning out that way for you.

Perhaps this is your first or second or fifth or tenth Christmas…

After the divorce

After the move

After the death of your loved one

Without a job

With your finances in a mess

With your family in turmoil

With a hidden hurt you can’t share with carolers or bell ringers or even friends.

But it’s the holidays. So you smile and call Merry Christmas and slide a couple of quarters into the kettle even as your insides crumple into a ball, like a wad of used of wrapping paper.

This is not a post about answers. Those in the pit don’t crave answers, they crave acknowledgement. They crave comfort. Joy may trail later, much later, but comfort most come first, both in song and action and offering. Before anything they yearn for someone to say, “Yes I see you down in the pit.” They need to be seen before they can be rescued.

So I hope this reads as comfort, not encouragement: Jesus is close to the broken hearted. He is close. To the brokenhearted. (Psalm 34:18)

If you’re heart is breaking, if spelling out the word DISAPPOINTMENT in socking hangers seems more feeting then lining your mantle with PEACE, know that someone sees you. This world is weary and so many of its inhabitants feel let down by life in so many ways. It’s not a very Christmasy thing to say but life is disappointing. And while you may want that ethereal thrill of hope* the old carol talks about, you might be trying to simply get through the day.

That’s okay. Even though it’s Christmas time and everyone else seems merry and bright, it’s okay if you’re not. It’s okay to have a broken heart at Christmas.

*The thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn….