I Believe in Christmas

Who knew? I mean, really, who totally saw this coming??

A virgin married to a simple carpenter.
A nondescript town full of tired travelers . . . who were also pretty fed up with their government.
A stable.
A manger of straw.

Who really expected that?

I suppose Mary and Joseph, devout Jews, had read the ancient predictions of the prophets:
He would be born of a virgin.
He would be born in Bethlehem.
They may have understood in their hearts the magnitude of this Holy Night.

The magi seemed to have an inkling that something momentous was at hand. Their studies of astronomy led them to follow the strange star.

The shepherds on the Bethlehem hillside, tending their flock of sacrificial Passover sheep, were astounded . . . perhaps terrified . . . by the appearance of angels in the night sky. But they willingly obeyed the heavenly command to visit the stable. And they bowed in reverence before their tiny, swaddled king.

Even King Herod believed that a royal birth occurred. He killed thousands of Hebrew infants and toddlers to try to prevent this King from taking His throne.

I guess mankind should have completely expected the humble entrance of their Messiah King. 20-20 hindsight makes it clear that all the signs were there. Ancient prophecies were perfectly fulfilled. Supernatural signs announced His advent. The gates of hell mobilized to prevent His reign.

But I am thinking that not much has changed in more than 2,000 years. God still comes quietly and humbly and, often, secretly. He still places His presence in the hands of every-day people. He still performs miracles and signs and wonders that pretty much go unacknowledged and unappreciated. And the gates of hell still mobilize to prevent His reign in the lives and hearts of mankind.

And we, somehow, still often manage to miss it.

Or misunderstand it.
Or twist it to fit our own agendas and our own satisfaction and our own benefit.
Or ignore it all together.
Or even join the forces of hell to extinguish its light on the earth.

My hope and my prayer this Christmas Eve, is that you . . . that we . . . will not miss Him this year.

May we see Him . . .
even if His coming it is very humble . . .
even if He contradicts our preconceived ideas . . .
even if He interrupts our well-intentioned plans . . .
even if He costs us dearly . . .
even if His benefits don’t seem lofty and grand enough . . .
even if the gates of hell are aligned in battle against Him.

May we live this next year in awe of our Messiah’s intimacy instead of boasting of His favor.
And may be become more like Him in every way.

Even if that means our lives are hidden in Him.
Even if that means we will carry a cross.

"If anyone wishes to come after Me,

 he must deny himself,

and take up his cross and follow Me.

 For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it;

but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.

For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world

and forfeits his soul?

Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?"
Matthew 16:24-26

Belief is not an intellectual act; belief is a moral act whereby I deliberately commit myself.

—My Utmost For His Highest Oswald Chambers

I believe in Christmas.

Do you?

Surprises Instead of Agendas

If I was writing a Christmas List this year, I would put Surprises at the top of my list. I love a really good surprise. The kind that stops you in your tracks . . . leaves you speechless . . . standing in the middle of suspended reality for an unbelievable moment.



I find it interesting and very satisfying, however, that real surprises are nothing like the ones depicted in all of the popular holiday movies. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching holiday movies. I plan to sit in front of our stone fireplace tonight . . . wrapped in my favorite blanket . . . in the company of my husband of 27 years . . . cuddling three small, fluffy poodles . . . sipping hot apple cider . . . and watch a couple of heart-warming Christmas movies. But real-life surprises are so much better than movie ones. Mostly because they are real.


Agendas, I believe, are the evil Archenemy of surprises. Agendas are too predictable. Too explainable and planned. They crowd out serendipity and leave no room for pure, unexpected amazement. They lurk secretly in the dark recesses of our psyche, adding their own twist to everything we do. Agendas insist they are right. They are cocky and overly assertive. They crave conformity. They demand control. Agendas feed off of the praises and discipleship of devoted underlings. And they can be very, very vengeful if they are threatened.


I am not saying that I have no schedules or lists of chores in my life. I live on a farm and we run a family business. There are always things that need to be done and lists of chores that need to be checked off. I am also not saying that I have no dreams or hopes in my life. There are still lots of things I want to learn. Places I would love to visit. Things I would love to do.


I am just saying that I don’t like the lurking menace of agendas. They tend to set up secret idolatries in our hearts that completely squelch the fresh, surprising, unexpected Life of God.


When you have an agenda . . .
a pet belief
or a particularly beloved revelation
or a self-proclaimed system
or a well-orchestrated plan . . .
it inevitably shrinks God.

The agenda requires God to fit a special set of rules. He must comply with certain expectations and He must work within a circumscribed set of parameters. Agendas interpret Biblical Truth in “special” ways that enslave God’s Word to man’s direction and will. Eventually, agendas enslave people too.

I don’t like things that make God small.
God is bigger.
And God is more.
He is bigger than any agenda and more than any religious system.


I want to live an agenda-less life.


I want to wake up every morning and know that my God is so vast that I will never plump beyond the depths of His love nor ascend past the heights of His faithfulness.


I want to look into a manger and see a King.

I want to look at a crown and see a servant.

I want to kneel in submission with a heart that soars on wings of freedom.

I want to succumb to the awe and reverence of a life that has nothing to prove and heaven to gain.

I want to rejoice in the surprise and celebration that comes from simple, daily fellowship with the God that is more than I can ever fully grasp.


Without an agenda, I can be an empty vessel.
Fashioned by the Master Potter.
Filled by the overflowing of a Father’s Heart.
Poured out by the compassionate ministry of nail-scarred Hands.


An agenda-less life is a surprised life.


Perhaps that’s what God had in mind when He sent His son . . . King of Kings and Lord of Lords . . . to be born in the small town of Bethlehem. To a virgin. Into the family of a simple carpenter. Cradled in a bed of straw. Among stable animals. Beneath a brilliant, starry night. Worshipped by shepherds and non-Hebrew magi.


The Treasure of eternity swaddled in commonness.


Surprise indeed.

Concerning Chickens and God and Bold Adventures

Chickens love bananas. At least MY chickens do. And how did I gain this precious pearl of wisdom? I got it in a moment of inspiration in my kitchen. Then I walked up to the barn and fed them a banana. And they loved it!



Kirkhaven chickens love bananas so much that they will run across the meadow when they see me coming. Have you ever seen a chicken run? It is either hilarious or endearing or a scientific anomaly, depending upon your perspective. Neck stuck waaay out front to enhance the forward motion . . . feet pedaling frantically behind for traction . . . wings poised for flutter-flapping if extra momentum is needed. And if I call them with my patented “chicken call” . . . chick-CHICK-eeeeees (short pause) COME ON . . . they burst into supersonic scurry. It makes me laugh. Every time.


I feel quite sure that if I Googled “chicken treats,” bananas would top the list. Of course, other keepers of farm fowl might surely express other opinions about the chicken palate. And there would probably be some old farmer who would insist that chickens don’t even need treats. But I could, without a doubt, copy and paste some kind of “chickens love bananas” quote from a totally respected source into any intellectual essay I would write about chicken living.


I can state that chickens love bananas with complete confidence. And I can be assured that I am right because others agree with me. And my own life experiences totally back up such a truth. Chickens love bananas. Yours should too. All good farmers feed their chickens bananas.


THIS, my friends, is how heretical teachings creep into the Christian community.


First there is the moment of inspiration . . . revelation.
Then comes the experiential confirmation.
Next the “truth” is sealed with corroborating evidence such as the opinions and experiences of others.
And finally, people are subtly lulled into revelation discipleship by morphing it into a moral imperative.


It happens so very easily. People are looking for inspiration. People are drawn to a supportive, loving community where they can find like-mindedness and like-heartedness. And in a world where tragedy is all too common, people need leaders who are strong and have answers and are passionate.


That’s how cults are born. And that’s how well-meaning churches can get off on a religious tangent. And that’s how precious believers can become confused about Christian living.


The other day I asked my husband, “Exactly what did Jesus purchase for believers at the cross? What does salvation mean for us on a day-to-day basis, here on earth, before the “going to heaven” thing?” This wasn’t a flippant question. I was not looking for a pat answer.


My husband paused for a minute. He knew where the question had come from. A dear friend of ours had just lost their daughter to cancer . . . after years of praying for her healing. Another friend of ours had a daughter who had recently attempted suicide . . . a precious, sweet child who loved the Lord and served Him wholeheartedly. Our own household has been broken and torn from estranged relationships with family members who reject us.


He could have given me an easy answer:
God purchased our freedom from demonic oppression
or our forgiveness of sins
or our health of body, soul, and spirit
or the prosperity to meet all of our physical and financial needs
or the ability to receive revelations into the glories of His grace
or all of the above.


But my husband didn’t say any of that.


He simply said, “God purchased me. All of me. The good and the bad. I belong to Him now. Whatever He wants in my life . . . whatever that looks like . . . that’s what I want. ‘Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.’ “ (scripture reference: Romans 12:1-2)


No need to start a new movement.
No need to revive an old one.
No need for any deeper revelation.
God bought me.
Now I am His.
His Biblical Truth is my truth.


This is servitude in its richest definition and exaltation in its realest form.

To live in
and with
and by
the mercies and grace and lovingkindness and supernatural enablement
of God.


It is a life that is both unfathomable and utterly simple.
It is a life that can only be pursued by faith as it is completely upheld by God Himself.
It is a life that requires the courage and the tenacity of a bold adventurer . . . and the humility and obedience of a faithful bond-slave.


All God.
And all of me.


I know that when I walk up to the barn this afternoon to bring my chickens their banana treat, they will come running. Would your chickens do the same?? I truly have no idea.


Forget about the bananas.
And the revelations of men.

What really matters is this:
Who owns you?
At what price have you been bought?

I love You, O LORD, my strength.

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,

My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge;

My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,

And I am saved from my enemies.

Psalm 18:1-3

Beautiful Savior indeed.