Tag: dread

Happy New Year!

Today is New Year’s Day. And for most of us, nothing is really that much different than yesterday. Some of us have the day off from work; others don’t. Some of us will begin new ventures this year; others won’t. But we face January first with expectation and hope. Why?

There is something about looking forward. Sometimes, it can fill us with dread– especially if we imagine the worst or have some reason to expect a dire outcome or consequence for one of our past actions. But most of the time, we look forward to a new year with some level of confidence and even eagerness. We make plans, promises, and resolutions. We fill in calendar pages and make appointments in our planners. We dream about goals and accomplishments we hope to fulfill by this time “next” year. And hope makes us happy.

What makes you happy and gives you hope today? Is it your career? Your family? The savings you have in the bank? Is it your ability to make things happen? Or your past success in planning for the future?

What if 2025 brings disaster– to you personally, or to the world around you? What if the economy fails? What if war comes to your town (if it hasn’t already!) What if this is the year you face Cancer? Can you still have hope? Can I still wish you a “Happy New Year?”

We don’t know what this year will bring. But we CAN know the timeless and eternal Hope that is in Jesus Christ. Even if we face uncertainty, grief, struggles, pain, loss, injustice, or misery. We may not find “happiness” in this year, but we can find joy and peace that surpass all understanding (see Philippians 4:7).

How can we do this? The Apostle Paul tells us in the very same passage to “be careful for nothing.” (see v. 6) That doesn’t mean to be careless, but rather not to try to control all the variables and circumstances in our life. Instead, we are to take everything–EVERYTHING– to God in prayer. So every day of 2025, we can offer up the day, the night, and all that happens within them to a loving God who KNOWS our future. He not only knows what will happen TO us; He knows what can happen THROUGH us, AROUND us, FOR us, and WITHIN us! He knows what resources we will need, and how those resources can be made available. He knows what is truly best for our growth, fulfillment, and joy. That doesn’t mean that we won’t have to suffer or that we won’t have questions and even some doubts. And it doesn’t mean that we sit back and do nothing. But we can do our best to step out in Faith, knowing that God can redeem even our mistakes– if we let Him.

There is one other part of the Apostle Paul’s directive–Gratitude. We can be thankful, even in the midst of pain and suffering, frustration and grief. Not because we are suffering, but because we are NEVER alone, and NEVER forgotten. God’s plans may involve suffering, but they never end there. Just as we turned the page on 2024, God will one day make ALL THINGS NEW.

Someday– and it could happen in 2025 for all we know– we will be ushered into something completely new. Not a new year, a new decade, a new millennium, a new epoch, a new age, or a new phase, but a completely new Heaven and Earth.

And THAT’S a Happy New worth hoping for, waiting for, and being thankful for. Right now, and every day of 2025!

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Praying From the Basement

I grew up in a rambling, pre-1860s farmhouse in rural southwestern Michigan. We had a “Michigan basement”,” “– unfinished dirt floors, walls made of fieldstone and rocks, crudely cemented together, exposed floorboards and joists from the ground floor providing a ceiling. A rickety wooden stairway ended in a small cemented landing. It was a haven for dust and cobwebs, and everything in the basement had a grimy film of dust mixed with the residue of an old oil-burning furnace. It was littered with “dead” things– a rusted-out bicycle frame from the 1940s; a long-forgotten set of rattan patio furniture with mildewed pads and broken wicker bits sticking out underneath; a broken rake; and, in one corner, what looked like the skeleton of a small rodent. There was an old cabinet, formerly with two doors, now standing with one door hanging askew, and the other one missing all but half a hinge piece. Inside were old Mason jars, rimmed with lime deposits, holding nails, screws, nuts and bolts, and other odds and ends, and more Mason jars holding home-canned tomatoes from a garden of unknown vintage. There was a single 40-watt incandescent light bulb screwed into an ancient ceramic socket and mounted on one of the overhead floorboards, which did little to diminish the general sense of gloom and decay. There were four small windows–but they had long ago succumbed to grime and dirt from inside and out. It was the stuff of childhood nightmares.

Last week, we had a tornado warning, and one of my friends from church spoke of taking her children to the basement to wait out the weather. It reminded me of my own mother, gathering my sister and I– sometimes pulling us from our beds– and taking us to shelter in the basement until a storm had passed. My father often worked the night shift, and so the job was left to Mom to herd us into the southwest corner of the basement, being sure to bring a blanket and a flashlight, and make sure we were wearing slippers or shoes. She also had an old portable AM/FM radio, so we could listen to the weather bulletins amidst the gloom and dust and damp of the basement.

And yet–

My memories of going to the basement during a storm are not memories that inspire terror or disgust. I never wanted to visit the basement any other time, but during a storm, it was our “safe” place. The winds and rain and hail might rage outside, but we were warm and snug (sometimes too warm!) in our little corner. And no matter how frightened my mom may have been, she always reassured us that we would be safe together in that place. And then, she would lead us in prayer. We prayed that Dad would be safe at work. We prayed for anyone who was in the path of the storm. We prayed that God would protect our house. We prayed for those who were on the road, and for those who would have to go out after the storm to fix electric lines or rescue others. And we thanked God for our basement!

Sometimes, God uses grubby basements to be our “safe” place. What otherwise may seem like a scary situation can become a cause for praise and celebration when we remember that God is with us!

I think of the prophet Jeremiah, who was arrested and thrown into a cistern–a place far worse than our basement– but God caused him to be rescued (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jeremiah%2038&version=NIV). He went from the mud-filled cistern to the palace of the King! And even though Jeremiah faced many other trials and griefs, Jeremiah was able to write: “

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
    the bitterness and the gall.
20 I well remember them,
    and my soul is downcast within me.
21 Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore I have hope:

22 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”
(Lamentations 3:19-24 NIV)

And I think of Paul and Silas in prison in Philippi (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts%2016:16-34&version=ESV ). They sang and prayed after having been beaten and unfairly arrested. And they were trapped in the prison when an earthquake hit! But the end result was not only their vindication and freedom, but salvation for the Philippian jailor and his family!

There are seasons when we are forced to go to the basement–literally and figuratively. There are times when we must sit and wait in the dark and damp, uncertain of where the storm will hit or how long it will last. But often, in those basement moments, we find ourselves closer to God than when we climb mountains! God sits with us in the gloom. God has the power to turn our fear and uncertainty into praise and worship. And God will bring those memories of His comfort and strength back to us in other times of trouble.

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Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence

Christmas is a time of joy and light. But the time of Advent is often a time of somber reflection. We remember a time we have never known– a time before the coming of Christ the Messiah– a time before the mysteries of Heaven were revealed and before the victory of Salvation was accomplished. Advent reminds us of the spiritual darkness that existed before God, in human form, in humble obedience, and in sacrificial love, became the Light of the World, and the Hope of All Nations.

Before the bells rang, and the angels sang; before the kings brought gold and the shepherds ran to tell the news; before there were Christmas Carols, Christmas decorations, or Christmas pageants– there was solemn silence, fear, dread, and waiting. God had been silent. The prophets had been silent. The world had grown hard and cold.

Jesus stepped out of the unfathomable glory of the Highest Heaven– surrounded by armies of angels all worshiping Him and ready to do His bidding. In an instant, He became a helpless fetus inside a helpless young woman, a subject of the Roman Empire, and at the mercy of her culture. Her fiance could have repudiated her; her parents could have disowned her; her community could have had her stoned to death, along with her unborn child. No one, even those who were anticipating the arrival of a Christ, was expecting this tiny baby growing inside the womb to change the course of history.

He was born in obscurity, in ignominious squalor. He was the Lord of All Creation, wrapped in rags and laid in a feeding trough in an overcrowded city at tax time. There were no bells or carolers, no glittering trees or festivals of lights, no sounds of joy and celebration– not in that manger in Bethlehem. Instead, there were strangers pushing and shoving, shouting, and snoring in the inns and houses and streets, being watched by soldiers and pickpockets alike, as they made their way through narrow, unfamiliar streets and tried to lock out the worry and danger and dread. There may have been silence in the fields and valleys outside of town, but not near the stable where Jesus was born. No. The “silence” we sing about during Advent is the silence inside our own hearts– a call to “be still,” and know that this baby we celebrate is God Incarnate. He is the One to whom every knee will one day bow, and every tongue confess that He is LORD.

In the stillness and silence of Advent, in the darkness lit only by candles and faint hope, we being to understand the contrast. We re-imagine what came before the joy and hope and eternal clouds of witnesses shouting, “Holy, Holy, Holy!” We remember the days and years before the angels sang, and the star danced across the night sky– before the shocking crucifixion and the glorious resurrection of this still unborn Savior.

Let us spend these days of Advent preparing our hearts for the true wonder of Christmas. It doesn’t come in the wrapped packages under a festive tree, or in the feasting with friends or family. It doesn’t come with sirens and parades, or speakers at the mall blaring out favorite tunes. It doesn’t come in the majesty of a Cathedral ringing with the voices of a choir and organ. It comes when the silence and darkness of our sin and dread are pierced with the overwhelming glory of God With Us– Emmanuel is coming! But for now, for these moments, Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence.

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Looking Beyond..

Have you ever tried to read through the Bible in a year? There are many programs that can help you do it–even Bibles divided into daily readings. Some are organized in segments–a short passage from the Old Testament; one from the New; a Psalm, and two or three verses from Proverbs. Mine is organized in bits from Genesis to Revelations– a few chapters or a short book each day, with every seventh day set aside for reflection.

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

It’s curious– the Bible is organized naturally in rough chronological order. In January, as we look ahead to a new year, we are challenged to look back and read about how the world began; in December, we read about the “end” of the world as we know it. But of course, Revelations isn’t about “the End.” It is about the new beginning– a New Heaven and a New Earth.

Photo by Bich Tran on Pexels.com

As this year closes, and we naturally look ahead to next year, Revelations challenges us– not just to look ahead, but to look beyond! We can’t see the future, even if we try to prepare for it, or even control it. We can’t know for certain even what will happen in the next days and weeks of next year. But God has given us a glimpse of what will be– in His time. If this year has left us complacent, we must look beyond that complacency to see God’s righteous judgment. If this year has us frustrated about injustice, we must look beyond to see God’s coming endless reign of Peace. If thoughts of next year leave us confused or worried, we must look beyond to see how God’s plan is from everlasting, and that He is Sovereign over time and circumstance.

On January 1st, many of us will “start over” reading the Bible, with the opening of Genesis 1– “In the Beginning, God created the heavens and the earth..”, reminding us again that God has been in control all along. The story is the same–Creation, the Fall, the Promise, the Incarnation, the Crucifixion and Resurrection, and the coming Return of Christ– just as God is the same, yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

We can look ahead– and hope that 2023 will bring goodness, adventures, triumphs, etc.. But we can look beyond, with a certain and sure hope that God has the future in His Mighty, Holy Hands!

Photo by Sunshine Caro on Pexels.com

Lord, Thank you for this past year. Thank you for giving us new opportunities in the coming year, whatever circumstances may bring. Thank you for your wisdom and sovereignty in all things– that we can have complete confidence in You! Help us to enter 2023 with that confidence, and honor You in the days ahead, and throughout eternity. Amen.

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