Advent: Week Four
This past week I took that personality test that's been floating around Facebook. I saw my friends post their results that concluded that they were composed of 75% Gregariousness or 80% Sensitivity.
You know what I got?
98% Anxiety.
I didn't share those results because who wants to be seen as a fearful mess of nerves? Maybe if I had been 92% Friendliness I would have posted.
But truthfully, that test is accurate. Fear is my tendency, my first reaction, my natural disposition. Anxiety does plague a lot of my life. Thoughts of "what ifs" and imagined scenarios of disasters and worry for what will happen if we get sick. Wondering if I said the right thing or how I'm going to accomplish my to-do list or if I will drown in my own selfish conceit.
I read this sentence in Sunday School today. "Advent is an earthquake at dawn."
Am I shook up? Do I feel the ground shift beneath my feet? Do I see that it is not the ground at all that holds me? It's the hands of grace.
I know I am no Mary. If Gabriel came to me with news, I would probably have PTSD for the rest of my life and my soul would not magnify the Lord. If someone told me that my future would involve suffering, that people would whisper continually behind my back, that I would have a hard road, probably the most holy response I could muster on my own strength would be to pout.
Yet, that's exactly what is in store for me. Jesus promises suffering. Jesus tells us, without doubts, that we are to die to ourselves, we are to fall to the ground like a kernel of wheat, crack open, die, before we produce fruit.
Jesus promises us other things.
That he is always with us.
That his strength is made perfect in weakness.
That his perfect love casts out fear.
That he does not leave us as orphans.
That we can abide in him and he in us.
That he is coming again to make all things right.
That We Will Feast in the House of Zion.
Advent is hard. Waiting is hard. There's so much potential for pain in the meantime. So many opportunities for me to hurt. The discipline is looking for the flip side. There's so much potential for experiencing comfort. There's so many opportunities for me to know God's peace, his faithfulness.
It is my hope that I always say, "Yes, Lord. Yes, and always yes."
To suffering. To joy. To pain. To humility. To blessings. To sorrow. To waiting. To hope. To love.
You know what I got?
98% Anxiety.
I didn't share those results because who wants to be seen as a fearful mess of nerves? Maybe if I had been 92% Friendliness I would have posted.
But truthfully, that test is accurate. Fear is my tendency, my first reaction, my natural disposition. Anxiety does plague a lot of my life. Thoughts of "what ifs" and imagined scenarios of disasters and worry for what will happen if we get sick. Wondering if I said the right thing or how I'm going to accomplish my to-do list or if I will drown in my own selfish conceit.
I read this sentence in Sunday School today. "Advent is an earthquake at dawn."
Am I shook up? Do I feel the ground shift beneath my feet? Do I see that it is not the ground at all that holds me? It's the hands of grace.
I know I am no Mary. If Gabriel came to me with news, I would probably have PTSD for the rest of my life and my soul would not magnify the Lord. If someone told me that my future would involve suffering, that people would whisper continually behind my back, that I would have a hard road, probably the most holy response I could muster on my own strength would be to pout.
Yet, that's exactly what is in store for me. Jesus promises suffering. Jesus tells us, without doubts, that we are to die to ourselves, we are to fall to the ground like a kernel of wheat, crack open, die, before we produce fruit.
Jesus promises us other things.
That he is always with us.
That his strength is made perfect in weakness.
That his perfect love casts out fear.
That he does not leave us as orphans.
That we can abide in him and he in us.
That he is coming again to make all things right.
That We Will Feast in the House of Zion.
Advent is hard. Waiting is hard. There's so much potential for pain in the meantime. So many opportunities for me to hurt. The discipline is looking for the flip side. There's so much potential for experiencing comfort. There's so many opportunities for me to know God's peace, his faithfulness.
It is my hope that I always say, "Yes, Lord. Yes, and always yes."
To suffering. To joy. To pain. To humility. To blessings. To sorrow. To waiting. To hope. To love.
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