In the Middle

You know what we rarely do? We rarely tell stories from the middle. Necessarily, stories have a beginning, a middle or crisis, and an end that, more often than not, resolves said conflict. But, we never write the story in the middle.

More often, people write from a perspective looking backward, having arrived. War-torn and battle-scarred, survivors gaze back over the trial and proclaim, “I made it.”  Stories are tied up with beautiful bows or moral lessons to be learned. All of the uncomfortable situations, mistakes or missteps are safely packaged up as past-tense. Though the story may contain a beginning, middle, and an end, it is always written once the enemy fire has ceased and the threat has passed.

Everyone loves a good redemption story. Everyone loves to hear of transformation and of victory over struggle. People are uncomfortable in the unresolved, in the middle.

It’s easier to write, “I used to struggle with trusting God,” because simply the way in which that is written connotes that the struggle no longer exists.  It’s more comfortable to sit back and read how someone “used to strive for perfection,” with the assumption being that they have now found a balance of grace over perfection. There seems to be a cognitive dissonance with stories that fail to resolve.

The hard thing about telling a story in the middle is the unknown. Because sometimes, the middle is the end. Our situation may not resolve, we may live in the uncomfortable middle for the entirety of our lives. And God is in that too (perhaps, especially) and He is up to something and every single day I need to breathe those truths to myself because a lot of the time I struggle to believe it.

It’s uncomfortable to read about the trenches and the dirty and the questioning of the goodness of the God who is Good. But here I am.  These trenches feel deep and this load feels heavy and God feels far. But this should not keep us from walking together in the trenches, so that we may shoulder each other’s burdens and point out the truths that God is, in fact, not far off  - rather, He is the God who pursues, the God who bent heaven to earth to be with us in the trenches. He is Emmanuel, God with us.

May we never let a lack of an ending keep us from telling the story.

Avoiding Christmas

Normally, I can't wait for Christmas. I love all things holiday. I love the soft, cozy feel of twinkle lights at night. I love the way they light the trees lining Main Street. I love the clean look of snow on the ground. I love the music and the food and the overall feeling of excitement in the air. I love our family traditions. I love wrapping gifts with a Christmas classic playing on the TV in the background. Everyone is a little warmer, everyone smiles a little more quickly. On the day after Thanksgiving every year, I'm ready to hit the ground running full boar into the Christmas season.

Not this year, though.

This year? Well, this year I think I would be okay skipping Christmas altogether. November is coming to a hurried end, and my heart is in no way ready to be met by the holiday spirit. When I think about Christmas coming, I dread living through the season with an empty womb. A holiday so focused on family feels as hollow as our spare bedroom.

I have no real explanation as to why Christmas looms so daunting to me. Mother's Day is understandable, but Christmas? Must infertility ruin Christmas for me too?  I want to hang a third stocking (and a fourth and fifth and....). I want to wrap a gift for Cole and write, "To Daddy," on the tag as though it is being given by our children. I want there to be more than just the two of us on Christmas morning.  There is something that feels so empty about a Christmas without children.

I want to skip Christmas this year.

But, the truth is, I need Christmas more this year than I ever have before. My arms physically ache for a baby, but the truth is, my hope can only be found in the baby who didn't stay in the manger. While I long to understand Mary's feelings upon the birth of her firstborn Son, it is more important that I understand the implications of that baby's birth, life, death, resurrection on the whole of humankind. I need Christmas this year. I need to be reminded that God incarnated himself to be with us in our grief, our sorrow.

His name will be called Emmanuel.

"What I desperately need is the Christ of Christmas. I need to know that my worries, my sorrow, my grief, and my fears of the evil of this world have all been taken care of by a baby born in a manger. It's the most unlikely tale the world will ever hear, this story of Christmas. It is the best news a weary woman could receive. And yet even Christians have romanticized Jesus' birth to the point that I wonder if we truly recognize the full wonder of it. The baby heralded by angels and greeted by shepherds changed the fate of the world." (Source)


And, because of that, I, along with the weary world, can rejoice.

"'But when the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, so that He might redeem those who were under the Law, that we might receive the adoption as sons. Because you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” Therefore you are no longer a slave, but a son; and if a son, then an heir through God.'
Galatians 4:4-7 (ESV)