The Greatest of These

Today being December 22, and Christmas being December 25, I've come to realize that I haven't even thought much about Christmas this year.

No, my life's been too "full" of other things to worry and complain about that I think, subconsciously, I refused to take the time to rejoice in the one thing I've always had.

As some of you may know, my life has been (or at least has seemed to be) a never slowing, ever-steepening, always moving roller coaster since this August.  And every time I think I've finally found my footing again, some new change occurs and I find myself thrown into another swirling storm of change.

Change.

Nothing ever seems constant to me anymore.

And as I came to realize that I haven't rejoiced in a while, I also realized why.
My heart has become so hardened.
Hardened because of change.
Hardened because things haven't turned out the way I wanted them too.
People have disappointed me.
I have disappointed myself.

But I guess the truth is that nothing in this world is constant, and never will be.  We can't keep searching for some source of hope, some perfect love, or some fulfilling peace.  Because nothing in this world can ever grant us that.

And even though these past four months, to put it frankly, have sucked, I think God's point in all of it - not saying I've enjoyed any part of it or have been anywhere near gracious about anything - was that He, and ONLY He, is constant.

He is our source of hope, our perfect love, our fulfilled AND fulfilling peace.

And if I'm being honest, I've been no where near the type of person I know God made me to be in far, far too long.

So if there's anything you take from this messy rambling from a messy, rambling heart I hope that it's this:

"Now these three remain; faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love."

1 Corinthians 13:13

Let this time of year remind us, even though we should always be reminded of this, of the love God has for us.  So much love that He would give us His only son.  That a human woman would bear him.  That He would live among us.  That He would walk this Earth.  That He would live. That He would die.  

It's about time this old heart of mine came to face these facts again.  To accept His love.  And to hold onto Him as my One and Only and True constant in this ever-changing, ever-disappointing world that never ceases to fill me with holes I can never repair on my own.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and pray that even as you and your family eat and drink and open presents, you will find 

the hope

and the joy

and the peace

and the love

that God,

our Constant,

gave,

and gives,

freely.

...Love, Anna...

In the Morning

I've been thinking about this lately.  Thinking, wondering, hoping, I suppose.

Thinking that maybe I will find joy in the morning.

Wondering what exactly "finding joy" means.

Hoping to someday find it.

Reading this verse, I can't help but feel a little cynical.  Because, honestly, I don't feel joyful in the morning. In fact, most mornings I mutter some nasty words in the direction of my alarm as it beeps me to consciousness, stumble into the bathroom, and hope that by some magical mixture of caffeine and Psalm-reading I'll suddenly be "joyful".

But digging deeper into this verse I find that though it promises joy, it's really telling us to have hope.  

It's saying that the sun will rise again, the trees will have leaves again, the night will come again, but the stars will shine again. 

"In the morning" may not literally be when you wake up every day.  "The morning" could take weeks, months, years to find.  The point of the verse is not about how easy "the night" is going to be.  It's not saying it's all going to be just fine, it's not saying what you're going through is fun or good or right. 

All it's trying to say it that, once you're through to the other side - to the light, the newness, the hope of the morning, there will be joy.  

Sometimes I think we're all living like this.  Somewhere right beneath the surface - wanting to come up for air and light - but some tiny bit of us still dragging us under, keeping us just inches away from the joy we would find above the surface.

We are all in this state at some point in our lives, whether we know it or not.  We're never fully on shore, and we're never completely drowning.  But if we hold on to that little glimmer just above us - that hope, that light that morning brings - we have been promised that we will find joy.

...Love, Anna...