There is Advent on this blog. And there is Advent in my home.
Advent on the blog is, I like to think, serene. Advent at home? Less so.
Here is a confession: I have everything it takes to be a good mother. Unfortunately, those qualities consistently abandon me during the tired edges of the day. Which means I only have what it takes when ¾ of my children are at school, and the last little quarter is asleep in her crib.
Translation: I do not have what it takes.
So far, our family Advent observance has been … impressive. At least, I’ve been impressed. Most nights we have sat down together to light candles and read a devotion. I can’t take the credit. The whole thing is due entirely to the friend (angel, really) who gave us a complete Jesse Tree collection the first Sunday of Advent. We had everything handed to us: beautifully crafted ornaments for each day, a printout of Ann Voskamp’s family devotional (tied up in green silk ribbon), even a large glass vase. We supplied a bare branch from our yard, and we were in business.
But the wait for Christmas is long and heavy, and our observance has cracked a bit around the edges. Well, worse than that, really. I may have exploded one recent evening after yet another argument over who would hang the ornament. I may have called the whole thing off and sent them to bed. One of them crying those enormous, guilt-inducing crocodile tears.
And yet, Monday night somehow found us gathered, again, around our Jesse tree. I wasn’t optimistic. I was tired. When I glimpsed the evening’s reading – 2 ½ pages from the book of I Kings?! From an obscure story about idol worship?! – I panicked.
I was this close to shutting the book up again and announcing a change of plans. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t read the whole thing while children fought and pestered me with questions like Who is Baal? What is a prophet? They did what to the animals??
But a fight over who was or was not touching someone’s favorite ornament on the tree threatened to boil over so I did the only thing I could.
I started reading.
***
Do you know the story?
There is a showdown between Elijah and the prophets of Baal. Baal’s followers prepare an altar and a sacrifice. Then they spend hours calling on their god to set the thing on fire. They shout. They dance. They prophesy franticly. They even slash themselves until the blood flows.
Here is the eloquence of Scripture: “But there was no response, no one answered, no one paid attention.”
At this point in the reading, I had the full attention of my children. They sat mesmerized. It was as if we could see that frantic, bloody dancing. It was as if we could hear the deafening silence of heaven.
I kept reading.
Elijah sets up the stones and the wood for his own altar. He douses it in water. And more water. There is so much water, and the impossibility is doubled. Tripled.
Elijah prays: “Answer me, Lord, answer me, so these people will know that you, Lord, are God, and that you are turning their hearts back again.”
We sat – each of us – with eyes large and breath caught – until: the God of Fire came.
He heard. He came. And there was fire.
“The Lord – he is God! The Lord – he is God!”
***
***
Making space for God’s presence in my home feels about as back-breaking as hauling stones. My husband and I stack those stones while little people bicker around our ankles. Too often, their bickering is contagious.
I lose my temper. I can’t take even one more thing. Not one more mess. Not one more argument. Until, I have filled our home, our altar of stones, with so much water. An impossible flood of water.
Making space for God’s presence in my home is also a free gift. It is a beautiful and complete family advent collection handed to me by a friend.
It asks nothing of me. Requires nothing of me.
It is an impossible mess, and it is grace, and my children and I have seen fire.
Because God came.
Because God always will come.
Christie, this is so beautiful in its honesty. I admit I am relieved, that it isn’t just my house where these kinds of crazy, draining squabbles occur over the smallest things…and I love that story from Kings. I love the way God shows up and consumes all, even as it is soaking. Amazing. Astounding God. This post, it is worship and art. Love this–love you.
Thank you so much, Kris. I hadn’t planned to write about my squabbling children and my own awful responses – aren’t misbehaving kids at holiday time a cliche? And then I realized just how many times during the day I found myself wondering if anyone else’s children fight like my children. Then I knew I had to write it out … I’m so glad you found it encouraging.
Thank you for this. I am so this woman. I suspect most of us are. And then there is God. Sending moments. Stories of hope, brimming with his grace towards us. And suddenly, I don’t feel like such a bad mother. I feel greatly loved. Thank you.
Yes! And our children are greatly loved! It’s such a beautiful relief.
I, too, recognize myself in these words. This is a particularly beautiful post.
Thank you so much, Katy. Grateful for your encouragement.
There’s so much redemption in this picture-even as my own weaknesses dump buckets of water in our home, it’s never too much that God can’t set it aflame! Thanks for speaking to the broken places in all of our hearts and homes today with this reminder of God’s ever-present, fiery grace.
Thank you, Aimee. It makes my heart happy to know this blessed you.
This was lovely! Thanks for sharing! 🙂
You are welcome, Angel! So glad to have you here.
YES! And this is what grace is for. Eh?
This is worship. This, right here. The REAL of you. It’s beauty-filled.
You are a good Mom! Such a real, good Mom, with normal wonderful children ! So thankful that God is always in our midst whether we have young or grown up children….messes still happen.
This is great. Your honesty about family life and God and your great gift for storytelling is such a blessing. Kids are so forgiving, aren’t they? Sometimes when I lose it (like yesterday) and drop off my chid at school while his cheeks are still wet from crying, I feel ruined. And then when I pick him up, still feeling wrecked and guilty, he gets in the car and is all love and forgiveness and “are you still mad?” I can be such a grudge-holder and my kids are so quick to forgive. Like God, I guess. Anyway, thank you for this.
Ah! I was wondering if it was as hard at your house as it is in mine. Just this morning I said to my husband, “I have reached the end of my strength.” And I twist and writhe to make advent as interesting as “Just Dance” on the Wii. But last night it was as simple as the five candles on the table and a little liturgy I found online. It was as simple the other day as taking my son in a dark room and lighting a match so that he realized, with one little light, he could see the corners of the room. Come, Lord Jesus. Into our real lives, come.
Oh, yes, Hannah, I relate to everything you’ve shared. How freeing to recognize that whether we do it well (lighting a match in a dark room – such a good idea!) or badly, whether we feel strong or utterly exhausted, God will show up. He will.
oh, this is truth, and it is beautiful.
Amen, amen.
Thank you, Kathleen! The truth is so beautiful, isn’t it? I am always amazed by this.
That story has long been one of my favorites (we did, after all, name our oldest Elijah)–but I’ve never seen it in quite this way. An impossible flood of water–me, dumping buckets at our house every day. And yet He shows up. Thank you–beautiful.
Christy,this is so nice article sharing with us.God is still here in the form of people.