Phew. We made it.

Phew. We made it. Fist pump.

It’s the happiest time of the year - Christmas. It’s the longing for the King and His long expected arrival – Advent.

It’s the reflection on the last year and the optimism for the new year – Midnight starting the new year.

It’s the hustle and bustle. It’s the pressure. It’s the full calendar and the long to do lists. It’s the late nights wrapping presents and baking one last batch of cookies.

It’s the ache of a missing loved one. It’s the awareness of another year gone with important goals left unmet. It’s circumstances so broken there is no glue strong enough to hold it together this time of year.

He sends the rains and He dries the waters. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

It’s the smiling faces and glittering eyes surrounding me and the fake smile plastered between my cheeks. It’s the beaming faces of my children eager for me to make magic when my soul cries for relief from the pace my broken body can’t keep.

And, yet… we rise to the occasion. We go through the motions. We order on Amazon. We scotch tape the corners of our pretty paper tight. We move the elf. We sing the carols. We bake the gingerbread. We press forward with hopes that our hearts will rise to the occasion.

My heart rose a few times this past season that I survived. But mostly, I was crushed. The research hospital denied me, again. The specialist was the wrong person, again. The test results were perfect, again. The new angle suspect, again.

I scrambled to fit more tests in before my deductible started back over at $0 and I had to pay 100% again. I walked the tight rope of serving my health and my people. I ached for the emotional freedom of Christmases long ago. I texted my longest held friendship in agony as she spent day after day in the hospital with her daughter’s own mysterious illness.

I cowered before the maker of Heaven and Earth as I wondered about His goodness in the cage of my broken frame surrounded by “joy on earth” and “peace for all men.”

Phew. I made it.

You did too. Fist pump.

I was listening to the daily audio bible yesterday as a test run (I’d never heard of it before!).

The waters receded and the ark parked on Mt. Ararat. The dove was sent out. The dove came and went a few times with an olive branch of hope before it finally was free. Noah waited. He kept testing the waters (literally & figuratively, ha). This time, God? Now, God? When, God?

It’s the story of my life.

This time, God? Now, God? When, God?

My dove is another doctor appointment or test. The returned dove is “perfect” test results.  But… the olive branch of hope.

I’m parked here at this tip of human existence. My Mt. Ararat is my Tempur-pedic. I wait. I serve the physical needs of my crew and the beast living in me. I wish to “live” again. I wish to set a resolution and have confidence I could physically commit to such a notion. I wish to color in my dreams with the markers of reality.

I send out the feelers for God’s movement. No dry ground yet.

I dare not rock the boat.

He sends the rains and He dries the waters. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I wait.

What are you waiting on?

blessings,

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