SACRED Everyday: Christmas Bonus Joy (Issue 2)

ve in ust ull d r e gh ear y ly t. or all our hard nights. .

Waiting can feel far harder than working.

Working is often about how we can do this hard thing. Waiting, though, is often about how only God can do this impossible thing

And it’s the the wise men & women who know how God calls us to not wait to do the work that we can while waiting on God to do the work that only He can.

And in this hallowed and sacred place of waiting and working that we find the relief of JOY!

The bonus joy of glimpses of light still, even during the darkest days!

The bonus joy of these moments, still, of a holy hush, even when life keeps howling hard

The bonus joy of waiting … yes, the joy of even waiting

Waiting for the story to turn a page, waiting for the prodigal hopes to come home, waiting for the glorious impossible to become our miraculous reality.

Bonus Joy!

Even in the endless waiting…there can still be endless joy because all of our time of waiting on God gives us more time with God. And withness is always the way to joyfulness. The snow is falling quiet in the orchard on these long days of Advent, us all waiting in our hard and dark, for Christmas and the rescue of Christ.

And as I catch one of my good ewes, Huldah, reaching up to eat an apple hanging like a Christmas ornament on these snow sugared trees, I throw my head back and laugh!

Bonus joy!

Even here: It’s always the withness of God that unfolds into joyfulness of heart.

Still, even, especially here and now, in the long, hard wait.

And I sit with the sheep, all gathering close in the soundless falling of snow.

All’s grace,

by Ann Voskamp

Byxbe

by Allison Byxbe

by Chloe Wofford

by Tracy Wilson, Shelly Calcagno, and Stephanie Armstrong, by Emilee Kurt and Reagan Keck by Ann Voskamp

Slowly Savoring Him this Season

This is the work at the very heart of Christmas: simply rest.

Here is holy. The wonder of all this is God looks at you at your lowest and loves you all the way up to the sky.

~The Greatest Gift

01LIGHT THE FIRE

When night falls early and the snow lies late, we light candles, we light the fire, we light hearts, with the flickering flame. The season of Advent is about waiting and watching for the coming Light. A candle, a match simple, inexpensive, unobtrusive and we turn out the lights on the day's creative mess and we light a light to see the light that dawns on those living in the land of the shadow of death. Each night of Advent, we light the fire and answer Isaiah's invitation to Come Behold, He who Comes.

Three Simple Practices

By Ann Voskamp

02GATHER FOR WARMTH

In a circle, in a halo of light, in a moment of quiet, we gather together around the lit flame, around the hearth, and the bodies press close and our breathing slows and we who are cold are kindled. Even if only for a handful of moments, to light the fire, the candles, and collect each other close, like shepherds out on the hills gathered together in community, keeping watch over the flock by night. The warmth is in the gathering, in the waiting together.

03STEP INTO THE LIGHT

The humble wick lit and the day's wanderers simply gathered close on laps and rocking chairs and pillows, we step into the Light the Light of a few verses of Scripture; the Light of a few notes of song; the Light of a few words of prayer. Choose one; choose all. Simply keep it simple: peaceful and without burden. Before bed, before the flame, before each other, we step into the Coming Light.

For Christmas isn't the making of a product; Christmas is the meeting of a Person. Each evening of Advent - in candle light, in love's light, in Jesus Lightwe peacefully rest, for we have no Christmas to make or buy. We have only a Christmas to find. And we simply - joyfully - find Christmas in Christ.

In Love’s light, we rest peacefully

DECK THE HALLS

Printable Art

I didn't know the waiting would be a gift until...

by Deborah Flora

I want to see the baby in the manger, yes, I do,

I want to gaze upon him with a child’s eyes and view,

I want to see him all wrapped up in his swaddling clothes, I want to gaze upon his little fingers and his toes,

I want to smooth his hair, all downy, soft, and fuzzy, I want to hold him close to me, all snug, and oh so cuddly, I want to kiss his cheek, so soft and sweet and smooth, I want to watch him yawn and blink and watch him stretch and move, I want to pat his little back and smell his baby smell, I want to see the baby who doeth all things well.

I want to see the baby, I want Him to dwell in me, I want to see the baby for He has set me free, I want to see the baby and be lost in child-like love, I can’t wait to see the baby and live with Him above!

Connect with Deborah on Instagram or her website

I didn't know the waiting would be a gift until

by Favour Emeakama

I didn’t know the waiting would be a gift until I saw the colors of the flowers of hope it’d bud in the eyes of the virgin mother That she’d grow within herself, this promised gift In the heavy months of waiting, holding her anticipating breath That she’d out of her body, eject this child of hope The gift of the world The gift to the world We are here with our steady awed eyes Collecting the flurries as they gracefully fall Calming the buzzing jingles into a quiet reflection Containing our joy as the born Light shifts darkness into a fall We’ve been waiting with an ache A sober calm that the wounded world can now heal

As the virgin mother evens the chipped fingernails of the manger laid Savior the gifts pour in by His side from the far East and as we still to steal a gaze at this miraculous sight we realize that this child IS the Gift It's all playing out as the prophets foretold

Here in our waiting In our needing of nearness That the Christ Child is born The promise of God with us is now here, Emmanuel And the eloquence of our needs stutters in surrender Because our messiah is here

Connect with Favour on Instagram or her podcast

I didn't know the waiting would be a gift until

I didn’t know waiting was a gift until I saw it as the catalyst for trust making and cruciform shaping into the image of Christ. When waiting I recall how Jesus also waited to start his ministry, for his disciples to gain understanding. He waited as he warred against deceit in the wilderness over his identity. He waited in a garden for a cup to pass. He waited in his suffering on a cross.

When I wait, I unfurl my hands with tight fisted demands and curl my fingers around the hand of God. Imagine God gives us seeds. What if in our impatience and hunger we devour what He wants to grow in us, with us? We would miss the life and beauty that was to come for a short term gain that could create more pain.

In a world with a rushing and crushing pace, waiting is a subversive act of faith where we say no to screaming immediacy. Waiting is not a waste of time. We are not deprived of an opportunity when we abide with God. It provides immunity from our own pride and self indulgent timeline. When we wait on God, we practice releasing our right now striving.

Connect with Terri on Instagram

I didn't know the waiting would be a gift until by Terri Fullerton

DIGITAL HOPE

Intentional Gaze Transforms Days

Christmas LOCK SCREENS

CHRISTMAS LIGHT Family Scavenger Hunt!

print the adventure!

vent Deliverance

by Ann Voskamp

ailer can’t make working in this ells the news to e tractor engine. I ck pull away rawl down the icy be another truck er’s down and ntil this one undersized feed truck makes the round trip from here, twenty minutes due north to the home farm, unload haul of corn into dryer bin, then twenty minutes return trip. By that time, combine bin, grain buggy bin will both be heaped and waiting. It will take the feed truck hours of hauling.

The grain buggy will wait hours. The combine will wait hours. And the longer we’re forced to wait in between loads, the stronger that sun burns. The stronger the sun, the packier the snow. And packy, sticky snow wads that combine into a plugged standstill. And that combine’s all we’ve got to free corn imprisoned in leaden white. My ears fill with chorus of leaves crackling and rustling their

The still cold strips coats thin, slips down bare necks. Children and I huddle close, eyes on combine grunting through. I glance up at that determined sun rising higher, pull collar up over nape of neck, rub gloved hands together. I’ll take that glacial air. Levi pulls at my sleeve. “Can I ask Dad if I can have the combine ride now? Pleease?”

Who can resist that toothy smile? Frigid air seems to darken those freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose, those rose nipped cheeks. He’s got that cap of his pulled low, the one heralding “8” to the world and the new age he claims today. “I might never have another birthday in my whole life when I can!”

He’s got me there. Never in my lifetime do I hope to see a combine straining through several feet of winter-thickened water to bring in the harvest on December 11th. But if we have to… yes, we’d again, we’d always, attempt The Wild Rescue. “Yes, Levi.” He’s already running “You may ask Dad!” I laugh the words after him and the cold carries them away. The boy’s in his bliss and his mama smiles

Coming down the field, plow snow, the bin of the combine Kernels saved, gathered in. W much again and I’m grateful. toes up in my boots.

When grain buggy and comb overflowing, we wait for the Husband scoops up chilled C right through, Loamy Lou?” H her hat framed face, rubs he Shalom can’t speak, only stiff

And now we wait. Wait in the cold. Wait in corners of less cold. Wait for the small bin of that feed truck. Wait to get the remaining bands of corn whispering lament in wind. Hang on, corn. We’re coming I pull gloves together, blow warm lung air down tunnel between, and think of the waiting weeks of Advent.

The waiting for the Christ Coming, waiting for the Wild Rescue. When He will wrench us free from the leaden prison of our strangling fears, release us from our cutting guilt, emancipate us from our chaining sins

Advent Deliverance

In the waiting weeks of Advent, we too rustle in the winds of this world, quiet cries for SomeOne to finally enter our frozen hearts, break us free, gather us Home The anticipation and expectation that sings on every street corner, on every tongue, through the weeks of December is the hope, the refrain, of freedom coming. Freedom coming down. I look down the rows of corn still shackled in snow

“Do you want to be delivered? That is the one great question Advent puts to us,” writes Dietrich Bonhoeffer. “Does even a vestige of longing burn in us? If not, what do we want from Advent, what do we want from Christmas?”

Farmer Husban buggy, back int snow. I want to praying and do as that combin I watch him fill. glee, watch him down the field almost noon an

The snow's drifted deep into those outside eight rows of corn, those outside rows catching the most of winter. Combine’s treaded wheels spin out, grip again, spin out. That blue wisp of engine work deepens to growling black. “Come on, come on.” I whisper Advent’s prayer.

The corn stands in a December freeze waiting for deliverance. So do I. I nodded when a friend says it: Jesus is not the reason for the season. The deliverance of this sin bound, aching world is. And something rumbles down the road. I turn.

Children turn. And chilled faces break into happy cheers, frozen toes into happy

And combine grasps and clutches and grips and seizes stalk after stalk and wrests down the field. I think I can almost see that mile wide smile of birthday boy Levi from combine cab, there beside Farmer Husband’s brother, Uncle John. I’m smiling right back at him. We’re close now. A bit more, and I can see light through the stalks. Then, there, can it be? the last ears of corn feeding in. This family in the field hoots and hollers and brings down the house and I laugh wonder.

Combine cab door flings open and I can hear Uncle John, Levi, cheering wildly too. This happy morning rings with freedom’s loud, crazy song.

I stand at field corner The empty field’s corner. I walk the last track out and know we’ll have Christmas now. We’ll gather round the tree wrapped in that brown twist, paper twist that whispers like corn leaves and we’ll listen and we’ll hear the birthday song of Christmas, the one ringing in my ears even now as Christ comes: “Look up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

(Lk. 21:28)

It’s drawing near and I long to be delivered.

WRAPPED UP LOVE

A Chance to Be the Gift!

Jesus waiting Journaling Prompt

By Allison Byxbe

I invite you to close your eyes and begin to breathe deeply, filling your lungs through your nose and then slowly releasing your breath through your mouth. Breathe in this way two or three more times, allowing your body and mind and heart to release any tension.

With your eyes closed, gently bring to mind one of your favorite places. This is the place where you seek out quiet, stillness, solace. Over the next few moments, simply take in the beauty of this place that you love, noticing all of the lovely details that make this your safe and wonderful place.

Imagine that you haven't come to this space on your own, but rather, because Jesus has asked if the two of you can be together. To talk about what's pressing on your heart. To hear His gentle whisper that calms your inner striving.

Know that Jesus has all of the world's time to be with you in this place. He is always, always delighted to be with you. Stay here with Jesus, as long as you like. And when you're ready, open your eyes, move pen to paper, and journal about your time with Him.

Connect with Allison on Instagram or her website

Today I will walk with Jesus

and pray for my eyes to do the most miraculous things: to turn everything inside out.

Let me see today, Lord: people care about the wrapping paper on the outside, but God cares about the gifts inside the heart, which can wrap like love around everyone.

~The Greatest Christmas

God With Us

by Allison Byxbe

The hot, humid air of the bathroom clings to my limp hair as I watch a droplet of bath water bead on the tip of my finger and soundlessly drip into the shallow water of the tub. My 10 month old son dips his whole hand in and out, fascinated by the effortless plunge into the surrounding water. He’s content, and I’m drowning.

Every moment but now is pulling on my heart. The exhaustion of last week’s undone tasks pushes me down. The reality of future unknowns shoves me forward. The nameless fear surrounding our son’s health sucker punches my heart.

We wait for results from the genetic test our pediatrician ordered because something is off, not right, with our son’s development. I’m exhausted living in the what ifs and what thens. I’ve tried numbing out through endless scrolling, but that only dulls right now. Do I really want to miss my very own life squinting into tiny squares of other people’s?

The Spirit interrupts: Push down into the moment This one? This one right here? This one I desperately want to rewrite right out of the lines of my story?

Yes, this one, He insists. Press all of you down into right here. All of your anxious thoughts. All of your balled up questions. All of your unnamed fears. Press them into me.

So I simply breathe in this moment. I watch my baby play in the bathtub, oblivious to impending test results and doctors’ concerns and hushed late night worries. Instead of entertaining questions about what if he never or how will we ever…I kneel and lean in towards his soft red hair, smitten with his playfulness and enthralled with the real life, right here, right now wonder that he is.

In the waiting moment, I shift my heart toward God. I'm learning, instead of praying help me, bless me, help me, bless me, to pray doxology. Thank You for this baby, for his ginger hair and big blue eyes, and for his beautiful smile. Thank you for teaching me to lean more into Grace. I pray with open hands. Lord, You can be trusted, that even when we seem to be up against all things, You are in and through all things.

When You create, You declare all is good, even (maybe especially?) little boys with unknown diagnoses. I pray with a surrendered heart. You are the God who sees me. You are the One writing this story with beautiful lines of Love and Rescue and Resurrection.

He meets me in my waiting.

Connect with Allison on Instagram or e

Poetry TUTORIAL

By Chloe Wofford

I n t r o d u c t i o n

I n a s e a s o n c e l e b r a t i n g t h e w a i t c o C h r i s t ’ s b i r t h , t h e r e i s i r o n i c a l l y a w o r l d t h a t p u s h e s t h e o p p o s i t e u p o

T h e p a r t i e s , c a n t a t a s , s e r v i c e s , k i d ’ p a r t i e s , a l l t h e f a m i l y g e t - t o - g a t h e r p l a n n e d a g a i n ) , a n d e v e n a s I t y p e t m i d d l e o f a s e a s o n f u l l t o t h e b r i m o f s e r v i c e f o r f a m i l y , c h u r c h , a n d c o m m u n i t y .

A n d t h i s i s g o o d . I t e l l m y s e l f t h i s i s g o o d .

B u t I f e e l m y s e l f r u g g e d . A n d i r r i t a t e d . A n d i n c a p a b l e o f j o y . A n d t h e v o i c e o f G o d s o f t , s l o w a s t h e f a i n t e s t w h i s p ,

T h i s b r i n g s M e g l o r y , o r i t d o e s n ’ t .

T h i s i s n o t a m a t t e r o f g o o d o r b a d . H e l p f u l o r u n h e l p f u l . I t i s o n l y t h i s : A r e y o u b r i n g i n g M e g l o r y i n y o u r s e l f f i r s t ?

A n d I r e p e n t b e c a u s e I a m n o t . B e c a u s e I a m r u s h i n g . B e c a u s e I a m b l i n d t o H i m a m o n g s t t h e d I f o r g e t t h a t , a s M a r y d e m o n s t r a t e d o o s e b e s t w h e n I c h o o s e H i m .

W h e n t h e r e a r e p o t p i e s t o b e b a k e d s e n t s t o b e b o u g h t a n d o n m y l i s t ? w t o t h e m o m e n t s , f e e l y o u r s e l f g r o w m m e n s i t y w r a p p e d i n o u r s e l f f i l l t o t h e b r i m w i t h j o y a n d o w n

, t h e m a n o f w a r f d a r k w a r b e c a u s e L i g h t w a s f i r s t

P r o m p t

G r a b a b l a n k s h e e t , a c o m f o r t a b l e p e n . S e t i t d o w n . L o o k i t o v e r , t h e v a s t n e s s o f i t .

F e e l t h e i m m e n s e w e i g h t o f e n e r g y i t w o u l d t a k e t o f i l l i t . A n d t h i s t h i s b l a n k s p a c e i s y o u r c h a n c e t o c h o o s e .

T o c h o o s e t o p u t e n e r g y i n t o c h o o s i n g G o d T o s i t a n d b e f i l l e d w i t h H i s g l o r y .

A s k H i m . A s k H i m t o f i l l y o u , t o s h o w y o u .

A n d t h e n , g e t u p . G o d o s o m e t h i n g . T a k e a w a l k , f o l d t h e l a u n d r y , w r a p a g i f t —

b u t c h o o s e G o d i n i t . S e e h o w t h e l a n d s c a p e o f y o u r h e a r t a n d m i n d h a v e s h i f t e d .

A n d t h e n , w r i t e i t d o w n A l l o f i t P o u r i t i n t o t h e v a s t e m p t y .

L e a v e w h a t y o u ’ v e w r i t t e n f o r a d a y o r t w o . L e t i t s i t , s o a k i n t h e s o u l ’ s s u r r e n d e r t o G l o r y

C o m e b a c k t o i t w h p a s t , t h e m o m e n t i

A n d t h e n , c a r e f u l a b e g i n t o c r a f t y o u r

Poetry TUTORIAL

By Chloe Wofford

a p i c t u r e o f y o u r

Tag me with your shared poem! @chloerwofford

MOTHER MARY'S DREAM

b y C h l o e W o f f o r d

In the neurosis of sleep, I see You sometimes painted in a thin blue, sometimes a sheer satin sheet, my curtained Vestibule, my Holy of holies. And I am priest tied with rope and bell

I dare not enter, but I sing in red to you, Cardinal Child, Chief Cornerstone of my womb. And the sheath will slowly rise, like smoke, and sun will reveal the mortar tomb between and

I will wake and wail

by Tracy Wilson

When my now grown sons were little, I yearned for a Christmas tradition of our own that put the focus on Jesus in a way they could understand. That’s when I created “the baby cake.”

It begins with the nativity scene, always the first decoration to go up, except for the ceramic baby Jesus. Then, on Christmas Eve, I bake a favorite cake and secretly hide a tiny plastic baby inside, carefully positioned so I can’t miss serving it. The lucky recipient, typically one child or the other, then has the high honor of placing the ceramic baby Jesus in the nativity scene. It’s a big production with candles burning and "O Holy Night" playing during the procession and placement of the baby.

Every year, there are proclamations of grown kids being too old now, but still, the tradition continues, as much a part of Christmas as the baby Himself.

When You Can’t Find a Christmas Tradition That Feels Right, Create Your Own

Connect with Tracy on Instagram or her website

Mama’s Christmas Cookies

BY SHELLY CALCAGNO

Perfectly cut up in squares, a tin hidden away in the back of the freezer so tempted little mouths wouldn’t devour them all in one night. She called them Hello Dollies; we thought she invented them until we saw them in other places as grownups. But to us they will always be known as hers. And really, it’s not just a cookie. It’s tradition and memories Love and care Sweetness expressed through baking, that reflected her heart for family and Christmas.

It's a no fuss recipe, the best kind! So simple that as the years moved on, all the grandchildren have learned to make them too. “Gramma’s cookies” they call them now and it's an expression of her love baked in an ordinary square pan, being passed down. And isn’t that just the beautiful heart of family? That we gather all the things we love, and keep on sharing?

Give them a try, maybe they will become part of your Christmas story, too.

Itwouldn’tfeellikeChristmaswithoutMama’scookies.

Ingredients

1 box of Graham cracker crumbs

1 cup melted butter

1 bag milk chocolate chips

1 bag butterscotch chips

1 cup of shredded coconut

1 cup crushed walnuts (optional)

1 can sweetened condensed milk

Directions

Melt butter and mix with graham cracker crumbs in a bowl. Press firmly into the bottom of a square baking pan. Sprinkle the bag of chocolate chips evenly over the base of graham cracker crumbs, then do the same with the butterscotch chips. Add a light layer of coconut and walnuts. Then, gently drizzle the sweetened condensed milk on top of everything (and scrape that can out with a spoon for yourself, because it’s divine!)

Bake in the oven at 350 degrees, for 30 minutes – or until lightly brown on top.

Cool, cut and enjoy Mama’s love in a pan!

Connect with Shelly on Instagram or her website

Thing I’m loving: Freedom

by Stephanie Armstrong

The temptation, brutal The touch, alluring The outcome? Time we never get back Devices eat our time and log our rhythms The internet never forgets, tracking our steps Steps toward consumerism or communion Clicks to measure up or bow down Likes for self adoration or selflessness Trying, always, to capture more of our attention, more of us

And as the holiday lights twinkle, there’s already a lack in us to go around; a not enough ness as we try to fill, fill, and fill with things that don’t satisfy As Paul cautioned, although we know what is right, we find ourselves doing the exact opposite What if we tried the opposite of the opposite? Silence, the absence of hurry, the slow inhale and exhale (said no one’s December ever)

Until the development of an app to silence the tap, tap, tapping on screens, to help us focus on what truly matters and needs to get done Finally, Freedom, a website content distraction blocker [with 6 free sessions hot tip: wait for holiday savings before you invest] that shows no mercy to your wandering digits

There is hope to fight the cyber vacuum Instead, we can fill our time with the greatest Giver of them all

Connect with Stephanie on Instagram or her website

I will trust that no matter what intends to harm me today, God's arms have me.

Today, this Advent God is never absent, never impotent, never distant. I can never be undone.

If God can transfigure the greatest evil into the greatest Gift, then He intends to turn whatever I'm experiencing now into a gift.

~The Greatest Christmas

The books I love most of all tell a story of beauty and light in dark places, this magnetic attraction to Kingdom reality. In the midst of cultural turmoil, the people of God always rise. They find a Spiritdriven ability to persevere. This book rests on my “hall of fame” shelf. A stunning biography that dusts off preconceived notions and helps us envision what stands the test of time: the Word. Bonhoeffer includes music, theology, politics, travel, World War ll, death, romance, academics, ministry, family pressures, wealth, poverty, and most of all - resolved obedience. Read this book if you want to remember what stands the test of time. The story propels you with good company to live a life of faithful obedience.

Recommended by Emilee Kurt

The Greatest Gift

BY ANN VOSKAMP

Let every heart prepare Him room It’s a pat little line we sing at Christmas time. How do we actually prepare Him room? Every year I come back to this book. It marks my days by intentionally preparing Him room. From Creation to the Cross, The Greatest Gift pulls a scarlet thread through every story of the the Bible, pointing us to this: Jesus was always coming. His Advent is in every story we read. The message of Christmas is that our Emmanuel has come. The Greatest Gift continues to draw me into His story—making holidays—holy days—His days. This is how I prepare Him room, by remembering whose story is retold and that He was always coming to save us. Joy to the world, the Lord is come…let every heart prepare Him room

Recommended by Reagan Keck

The Light Gift and more for a meaningful Christmas

E Zine Created By

Ann Voskamp

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Sacred Everyday