Advent: Week Three

Tomorrow is the third Sunday of Advent. Our second-week candle stands rather tall tonight by that cold glass window. It betrays the week we have just finished.

We didn't get around to lighting the candles every night. Like Tuesday night when we hired a babysitter to have some much-needed adult time in our community group. Or Wednesday night when we ate a hurried breakfast-for-dinner before Seth and the boys shuffled out the door for The Caring People. Or Thursday night when we ate dinner early at Chick-Fil-A before Santa night at school. 

And we didn't always read our devotional. Or some night I just skimmed. Or that one night I slammed the book shut in frustration at the incessant interruptions.

We are still hanging up our ornaments. We are faithful in the tiny things. It is starting to fill out. God's story is still taking place in the midst of our hang-ups and chaos and mistakes. And, like the stories will tell you, that's the way it's always been.

This week I'm listening to Every Valley (It's Hard To Wait) by Rain for Roots. 

"There is gonna be a day

Every low valley he will raise."

I keep thinking about the valleys of our lives. The voids. The gaping holes. The brokenness, the emptiness. And how we cannot be filled unless there is room. 

I keep thinking about the already/not-yet Kingdom and how we wait. Like stockings waiting to be filled.

I keep thinking about that day when every low valley will be raised.

But until...

Until then I pray that our valleys are filled with hope instead of scoffing laughter like Sarah. That our valleys are filled with belief instead of skepticism like Zechariah. I pray our voids are filled up with reminders of God's faithfulness and that we have eyes to see.

Tuesday night at 3:30 a.m. I woke up to Zimrie screaming, "Help! Help!" I went into his bedroom, and Jonah sat up, wild-eyed, wailing. Zimrie was lying in an enormous puddle of diarrhea, soaking blankets and sheets. Diarrhea from his shoulder blades to his knees. This was the second time that week.

Seth took Jonah and comforted him, and Asher helped me get new pajamas for Zimrie, and I knelt in the bathroom and wiped poop off of Zim's little-boy legs while he cried and asked, "Why does this keep happening?" My body was shaking like it does sometimes when I'm woken up abruptly.  

I tucked Zim back into bed and started a load of laundry. Hot wash. Extra rinse.

Morning came too soon. 

But as we were driving to school, late, we listened to the song I mentioned above. It's hard to wait, It's so hard to wait. There's gonna be a day, but it's hard to wait.  

And speeding and frustrated in that minivan, I got to witness a holy moment. Zimrie asked, "Asher, is it sometimes hard to wait for Jesus?" 

"Yes. It's always hard to wait for Jesus. But we don't have to be sad while we are waiting. There's lots of things we can do to celebrate while we wait. And on Christmas he's here! And Jesus is always hugging us. He's like a shield."

I wiped away the tears and pulled into the drop-off line at school. The helpers were already walking inside, but they saw us round the corner and waited, saving me the walk of pajama shame into the office to sign in a tardy student. 

Tuesday at our Mom's Group we finished up our Bible study, and we ended up praying for mercy. Mercy, mercy, mercy. Sometimes there is Just. So. Much. Sometimes we call out for help. Enough! Please! Remember us! 

In this moment it was as if God remembered me, and like he whispered, "I'm still working in their little hearts in spite of you!" Haha.

This week I got out my watercolors and painted for the first time in years. And I can't wait to do it again. 

My idea for my next project is rolling green hills on the horizon with a valley up close. It is very low, very empty, but it is being filled up with bright, fresh rain.

Filled with "goodness, poured from the sky."

Too Proud is another song on constant repeat at my house and in my head. 

I’m too proud to ask, too broke to eat, too weak to bow, too strong to bleed.

Can you sing over me with words of comfort?
Can you satisfy me with sweet honey?
Can you break through me with your strong hands?
Can you undo me enough to heal me?

You take the weight from my shoulders.
My hands were clinched now they're opened.
I’ll take your goodness poured from the sky.
Food from the ravens, water from the dry well.

This week I'm reading the book of Joel and Psalm 28.