Dark = Holy

This year I'm acutely aware of the duality of Christmas. I have some dear friends who are bringing home their LONG AWAITED adopted son tomorrow [!!!], and other friends who are filled with Christmas joy [new babies, marriages, relationships, or just a great year of life!]. I also have other friends who are experiencing their darkest holiday season: death, infertility, relationship destruction, away from those they love... This is the most dreaded time of the year...the song got it wrong for them. And they wish they could hibernate for 6 weeks until this season is over and the decorations have been put in storage. I'm living somewhere in between those worlds most days.

But there must be some hope and perspective in those dark places. C.S. Lewis says, "Why must holy places be dark places?" So darkness and holiness go together?!?! Apparently. They have for me and others I love. It's interesting that God's not afraid of the darkness. He's not adverse to it even. Stark contrast: dark places are holy, blameless, divine, sacred places to God.

My best childhood friend is mourning a miscarriage this Christmas, but her Christmas letter started with this verse: Psalm 118:5

"In my anguish I cried out to the Lord, and he answered by setting me free."

Freedom. Holiness. Those are descriptors of Christmas. So perhaps pain and Christmas have more in common with each other than a commercial Christmas leads us to believe!?!?

May you experience freedom and holiness in whatever place you are in this Christmas.
May your heart be tender toward those who are in dark places.
And may you find the ultimate Life this season.

Zechariah's Poem

Our friend, Craig Joseph, wrote this poem last Christmas partially in response to a bunch of friends [us included] struggling with infertility. This Christmas, I stumbled upon Zechariah & Elizabeth's story again [Luke 1]. It's a different perspective of Christmas, but for myself and our friends who struggle with Christmas spirit this year, may Zechariah's story nourish you...

"Zechariah"
My silence speaks volumes:
Speaks of hollow reverberations in an empty womb,
Of my beloved’s muffled cries, hopeless, late at night,
Of unbroached topics between man and wife,
Isolated in their grief.

Speaks of a mute God
Who would not stoop to answer
The cacophony of impotent noise made by the righteous,
Striving to keep his commandments.

All this – echoes of despair, lost faith, abandonment.

My silence is God’s silence.

The lack of sound then resounds:
With the rustle of angels’ wings,
The gentle roar of a majestic announcement,
The metallic ring of a sword drawn in anger
Upon a fearful gasp
(An inrush of air
That cloaked a more resounding unbelief:
Faith as barren as a womb).

My silence is God’s answer, disbelieved.

But now I, mute and wildly motioning,
Fill the air with your laughter and endless queries,
Hearing what you cannot be aware of –
That to which divinely-imposed silence has bent my ear:

A distant cry from the beginning of time – from Creation –
Declaring that God will make the hearts of his people fertile again.
Yelled through the prophets (though most were deaf to this meaning),
Hollering through my son (hear that, and do not scoff,
Lest you be considered, Like I,
the town clown),
To announce itself shortly in a Bethlehem stable,
Calling to God’s people in stereo-surround sound.

My silence, alas, is God’s provision
That will not be silent for long.

Copyright 2008 Craig Joseph

Useful Time

I didn't expect that getting on the wait list would actually be hard...really tough. For 2 1/2 years we've been actively working on expanding our family, and when we got on the wait list that was officially the end of our active work. Wait. Now we just wait. For maybe a year or more, wait.

I didn't expect the tsunami of emotion that came with what I thought would be good news. So, I called a friend. My dear friend, Erin, is on the same journey that we're on, but they've been dreaming of adoption for a decade and have been on a wait list for a year. She gets it. She gets me. Over tacos and sitting next to her 4 year old son playing Star Wars on PS2, Erin passionately, convincingly shared how she's committed to being on this wait list as "useful time". Nothing is wasted to God, especially waiting. Erin pointed me - as she has countless other times throughout our journey - back to truth. She reminded me that during her own waiting she has actively read, learned, prayed, talked with people, advocated for adoption/foster care, and served. She has not wasted this past year.

Erin also reminded me that sadness and growth can co-exist. Just because I'm missing my babies, lamenting our separation DOES NOT MEAN that I am not growing. Contrary, I am expanding daily. And I am committed to not get stuck in my sadness but to make the most of these days of waiting and absorb the good and the bad.

I don't know what I'd do without Erin and many other friends who've walked closely with me over the past 2 1/2 years. If it weren't for them, I fear how much time I would have wasted thus far. Thank you, dear friends.

I will use this time well.