Love Came Down

I was abnormally grumpy at work today. I had absolutely no reason to be, really, but I was. I was in a foul mood all day. As I was driving home I finally started to figure out at least part of the reason- I was coming down from the mountain. I had an incredible weekend full of so much joy and bliss and sweetness. It was a weekend full of the divine, and I think I had a little bit of trouble adjusting back to what can be at times (if I in my humanness allow it to be) secular and mundane.

I've been struggling lately with writing. I used to use this blog as a sounding board and a way to process. I feel like I haven't been doing that as much lately. Part of that's because I've just been so busy- even tonight it was really tempting not to write, yet I knew I needed to. Maybe part of the reason I don't write as much anymore is because I've been so much less melancholy in the past year or so, and much more, well, happy. And I feel less compelled to write when I'm happy than I do when I'm sad. But I think the biggest reason is because, sadly, I don't have the words. There is so much going on in my head and in my heart on a regular basis that I want to communicate in a genuine way, but when I try to do so it just comes out sappy. And then I get frustrated that I don't know how to share this sense of beauty, this wonderment that I feel. In college, one of my English professors, Jim McKean, once said that if a memory is really important to you, you shouldn't write about it. The process can ruin the moment. I see how that could happen.

But still I want to try. I needed this weekend so very much. I've been feeling so busy and overwhelmed lately. Busy at work, busy at home. I've been enjoying getting ready for Christmas- the decorating and the shopping and the celebration. But I've also been tired and frustrated by an often too busy schedule. So this weekend finally helped put a stop (or at least a pause!) to all of the hustle and bustle and allowed me to breathe the Spirit in deeply.

On Friday night, Matthew, Liz and I met Charlotte and some of her friends in Lincoln for the Andrew Peterson "Behold the Lamb of God" concert. I know I say this every year, but I love this evening of music so much. I love the sense of community and beauty that it creates. I love the telling of the Story of a people in bondage to their own humanity and the God who came down and rescued them- who continues to rescue us to this day. It is beautiful, and I believe it to be true with every fiber of my being.

The first half of the concert, the "in the round" part, is really my favorite because every year it's different. Andrew Peterson sang a song about marriage and how good the hard things are. Jill Phillips sang an old Christmas hymn about Jesus coming down in such an unexpected way. Andrew Osenga sang about how he struggles with knowing that he can never quite become the man he wants to be on this side of Heaven, but how in that he still trusts that someday all will be redeemed. Andy Gullahorn sang about how Christmas is really about God passionately pursuing the hearts of the ones He loves. Ben Shive played some new songs that were intriguing and beautiful. As I told Liz, I love the Ben Shive. His album just hits me at my deepest core and makes me want to weep (in a good way) every time I listen to it. And Jason Gray, who was new to the tour this year, explained how the Hebrew word for the Lord, Yahweh, isn't so much an audible name as it is a series of unpronounceable syllables so that to breathe is to say His name.

I loved the very end of the show, when we all sang "O Come All Ye Faithful" together. It was a beautiful evening, and a lot of fun, too. At the merchandise table after the show, Andy Osenga was nearby and I pointed him out to Liz. Next thing you know, she said, "Excuse me sir, but this young lady likes your music a lot and would very much like to meet you." He was nice- not fake nice or tired nice or "I'm obligated to make small talk with random strangers" nice- but genuinely nice.

And that was only the beginning. On Friday, Matthew received an email from Blood:Water Mission looking for last-minute volunteers to work at their table at a Jars of Clay concert in Omaha on Saturday night. I didn't even know they were going to be in town, so I was very excited when Matt told me we were going! I was excited even despite the nasty weather- and we made the trek just fine. The woman who coordinated the volunteers was delightful. Her name was Jude and she was British. Awesome. At the end of the night I learned she's married to one of the Jars of Clay guys!

Blood:Water Mission is an organization Jars of Clay started to drill wells and provide clean water in parts of Africa where children ordinarily have to walk miles every to day to collect filthy, diseased water. $1 can provide clean water for an African for an entire year. This is absolutely mind-blowing when I think about how easily (and usually foolishly) I spend my dollars. So our job was to work at the table and sell Christmas ornaments that were made by HIV positive women in northern Kenya. And we sold a lot. And people gave so generously. It was a beautiful thing to see and be a part of.

And I was able to catch most of the concert, which was great fun. It was yet another evening of great music that brought Christ back to the forefront where He should be. I never really paid attention to the lyrics of "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" until I got this Jars album a few years back:

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.

I can get so discouraged not just by the state of our fallen world, but by the state of my sinful heart. Last week I was just knee-deep in my own muck. I'm selfish and lazy and mean-spirited in my heart so much more often that I want to be. But it's true. I'm so very broken. But God is so very good. He has redeemed me and He walks with me through my muck. He is not dead, nor does He sleep.

And on Sunday morning we celebrated Christ's coming in one of the most joyful and wonderful Christmas church services I've been to in a very long time. Since Saturday night church was canceled because of the weather, everyone gathered up at Prairie Wind and it was wonderful. The kids did an adorable Christmas program, Gary preached about the faith of Mary, and London led that band in some awesome worship. Their rockin' rendition of "O Holy Night" gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes. This community of believers breathed new life into a song which, though beautiful, I take for granted because I've heard it so much. But I could just tell that every single person in that gym believed every line of that song with all that they have. It was worship at its best.

The band's closing was a bit unusual- not with a Christ-based Christmas hymn but with a whimsical "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". We all sang along with smiles on our faces and got into the cheesiness by locking arms and holding hands and singing loudly. It was just fun, plain and simple.

So this was how this past weekend saved Christmas for me. It reinvigorated joy and life and beauty into this season and into my heart. I felt the truth of the Story in my spirit again. I know I was grumpy today, and that wasn't how it should've been. Further proof of my need for God's mercies each and every morning, not just on Christmas but each and every day...