Mock

He mocks proud mockers

but gives grace to the humble.

-Proverbs 3:34

I have got to get a grip on this. Comparing myself to others to find worth is just not worth it. Not worth the pride and temporary ego boost if I consider myself to come out on top; not worth the self-defeat and worthlessness that results from finding myself sub-par. Either way it is so totally ungraceful. And grace is something I'm in great need of. I'm not always aware of it. But God, here I am, back in the market. Because it is exhausting to be so unfulfilled--unfulfilled when I meet people's standards and unfulfilling when I don't. Chuck Swindoll says I can anticipate four things as I get a firmer grasp on grace:

1. To gain a greater appreciation for God's gifts to you and others

2. To spend less time and energy critical of and concerned about others' choices

3. To be more tolerant and less judgmental

4. To take a giant step toward maturity

... wouldn't it be nice?

Molding

It takes a lot of work. Especially when the playdoh is dry and crusty. It tears easily, is hard to flatten, and a nuisance to work with. As I watched the two year old I babysit work with his temperamental dough, I thought about how frustrating I must be to God. He's got a specific purpose for me. I know it. It's not just some song or a good feeling; it is a promise. One that so many people around the world have realized and been so content in finding. And God's got like the motherload of all playdoh kits. It's not like we're divided up star-circle-rectangle-square-triangle-heart, the end. He's got all sorts of shapes and sizes and personalities and accents and missions and purposes. People just weren't meant to be the same. On one level, yes. We all should have the same basic rights and respects. But on another level we are so different. It's one of the best things about His craft-- each and every one has a unique purpose and gift to live it out. 

Unlike playdoh, though, we aren't mindless colorful dough sitting around, waiting to be made pretty and perfect.  We have brains and choices. We have to chose to be moldable. And when we aren't actively making that choice, we get crusty. We're so very resistant to being flattened out, humbled, if you will. We say we've got it together, we like how we are just fine. A blob. Still a pretty color, sometimes on our way to looking good because He's had us for a little bit. Then we put up a fight and He puts us down. Not abandoned, just to the side because we kicked and screamed and He's waiting. And we dry out. All the sudden when I do decide to ask for His help, I find myself backtracked a bit. Because I could already be a beautiful, purposeful design. But right now I'm a hardened piece of dough that needs the warmth of His hands and the power of his knead to once again be moldable. It's a place of frustration in knowing that I can't do it myself, but a place of satisfaction in knowing that He can work on me. I'm not doomed to be a dried up ball of playdoh, but I've got to call on His hands to work. Lord, I'm asking you to work. Reach into your motherload of a collection of shapes and tools and begin again with me. 

Nothing

Take these hands and lift them up
For I have not the strength to praise You near enough
For I have nothing, I have nothing without You

-Bebo Norman

"For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline."

-2 Timothy 1:7

I am a benefit of the doubt type person. It sometimes comes in handy. Like when I can throw caution to the wind and have a movie date with a best friend at 11 p.m. when I have to babysit at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Like when I meet someone new, my mind isn't thinking about how that person might end up hurting me. Like when I have two friends fighting, I don't take a side easily. I like to hear both and point out the flaws in both arguments. And help people be friends again. 

Sometimes it is one of the things I like least about myself, and for good reason. Because it also says "so I haven't talked to this person all break long, they know I love them." "So that came out wrong, she knows I still love her." It simultaneously makes me a people pleaser and a people hurter. A person who works hard to see both sides, even when she is one of the sides, and ends up compromising something to make a person feel better, or more important, or taken care of. A person who assumes other people will give her the benefit of the doubt when she doesn't come up with the best words, or is too loud some nights or irritating on others. Who some days works too hard to make others happy and others, not near hard enough. A person who is constantly trying to find the balance. 

A person with not all of the answers, but who would love to have them. A person who often thinks she does have them and is sorely mistaken. A flawed person. Not always bad, not always good. Flawed. A personality that can and should be worked on. 

I am an apologetic person. But I should not be timid. In the face of confrontation I have been timid. It's part of the personality. A part I don't necessarily care for. A part that I don't have the power or discipline to change in a loving way. But You're there. Ready and willing if I would ask. I've tried for a week now. And I have nothing. 

Midnight Clear

I've waited for this moment for pretty much a whole semester. Not just heading to bed knowing the presents that will await me in the morning, but being in the house with all 5 of my family members, quiet in my living room, pondering the birth of Christ, free from assignments and business. I do have to say it feels pretty good. And it has already been so fun. We are a spoiled bunch of people, us Smith's. I mean, we aren't (or do not intend to be) bratty or pompous. But we do have so much. I'm in fun pajamas (our traditional Christmas Eve gift) looking up at our new Wii (a family Christmas Eve gift) on display and only minutes have passed since sharing laughter with my siblings. All 3 of them ;). They've now gone to bed and I have my quiet time to think. I love the fun we've been having, but I want to understand and comprehend better what it is we're celebrating. Every year I go through all of the festivities and church services truly believing what I'm singing and weighing what I'm hearing and then I get to Christmas Eve and it's like I've lost insight into the significance of Jesus' birth and resign myself to the surface level unwrapping of gifts. It's not so much a lack of Christmas spirit in the least. It's more a lack of the Spirit. 

I ask that You intervene tonight. With all that has been going on in my mind, as I reflect on this year and what it has meant in all different arenas-- what impact this year will have on the goings-on of 2009--, I ask that You make the reality of the life of Christ real to me. As I wake up (from sleeping in in the morning!), as we descend the stairs, as we open gifts and make lunch and take naps. Find moments to bring me back to what it's about. Keep me aware that not everyone has a family to love, regardless of what holiday they are or aren't celebrating. That some will go hungry tomorrow. Some will die. Some will grieve. Some will hurt. Many, actually, will hurt. Because that is just life.

 And life, alas, doesn't put itself on hold for idealist holiday celebration. Good thing that is not what Christmas is meant to be at all. Life was anything but put on hold the night Jesus humbled himself to this earth. And He didn't come to give us a reason to get presents once a year. He doesn't say the cookies have to taste just right and the dinner be on the table right on time, or the lights have to be set up perfectly outside, or the stockings hung neatly, or the house have to be clean. He doesn't say we have to decorate at all. He doesn't say stop hurting. Stop crying. Stop feeling anything other than cheerful. He came to give us life, that we might have it abundantly. He acknowledges the pain of living-- He knows it-- and He offers to do something about it. So many people are depressed this time of year because they hate that they don't fit the cookie-cutter mold of a happy, cheerful, blessed, gift-receiving, gift-giving person. They're spent. And the last thing God asks is for us to act like we've got it under control. His point is that we don't. Still, I know I like to act like I have all the answers. That I somehow have it figured out. That life is overwhelmingly happy for four weeks in December. 

Last night, friends, was anything but "put together." Tensions were high in the Smith home. Mom and dad bickering, mom extremely stressed out, my lazy self not on top of the chores I should have finished. Attitudes out of control. The Smith's were strugglin'. We don't have it together. Our house is prettily decorated, we are in no want for presents, the food has been fabulous, but at the heart of it all we're screwed up people. And can't none of us act like we have the Christian thing mastered. Or that we have the Christmas thing mastered. There is always a way to be more thankful, to be more graceful, to act more lovingly, to be more Christ-like. And to act like I'm there would be so wrong. So I admit tonight that I'm not close. I have everything I could want or need around me now but so much of it comes a goes. None of it is promised to me. All of it could be taken away in an instant. My hope and my joy cannot depend on these things. I know that, but I'm still not sure I'm there. If it were all gone, would I find joy in knowing that Jesus came to give me hope no matter the circumstance? Could I ever be so detached from my stuff? It's my goal. Not only to know that hope and that joy but to show it, as well. Not just to blog about it but to live it. So that my example lives up to my words.  

Christmas is still applicable. It's not just an idealist celebration (though I see how it could come across as such, I'm sure I add to this interpretation more than I care to admit), it is a real promise. It's God saying that life is going to happen but here's what I can do to help. It was a glorious revelation to everyday shepherds, which I believe applies still today.  

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men
From heavens all gracious King!"
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled;
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world:
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds
The blessed angels sing.

O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When the new heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace, their King,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

God I ask that you be as clear to me as I seek Christ as you were to the Shepherds that night. Show me the true glory of Christmas day. Help me to understand why it is such a big deal. I want to know it for myself. Right here, right now as I stare out into my own midnight clear, I thank you for what I already do know about the birth of your Son and for what He means to my life. Thank you for an eternal Friend born on this day. Be enough for me today. 

And with this Christmas wish is missed
The point I could convey
If only I could find the words to say to let You know how much You've touched my life
Because here is where You're finding me, in the exact same place as New Year's eve
And from a lack of my persistency
We're less than half as close as I want to be

And the first time
That You opened Your eyes did You realize that You would be my Savior
And the first breath that left Your lips
Did You know that it would change this world forever

And so this Christmas I'll compare the things I felt in prior years
To what this midnight made so clear
That You have come to meet me here

To look back and think that
This baby would one day save me
In the hope that what You did
That you were born so I might live
To look back and think that
This baby would one day save me

And I, I celebrate the day
That You were born to die
So I could one day pray for You to save my life

(Relient K- I Celebrate the Day)

Who do you say I am?

Have yourself a merry little Christmas has lost a little of its joy tonight. God, I don't know why this has rocked me like it has. I feel convicted but I don't even know what of. Like I have something to apologize for, but not. So, so happy it's Christmas, but struggling to really understand its depth in a secularized, glossed over time. Just torn. Like I've been hit in the gut. And it doesn't feel like the comment of one friend that's gotten me. It's like an overwhelming conviction that for all you've shown me this semester, I'm sitting here comfortable on my couch feeling defeated. That I am still not acting in accordance to what you've given me. I feel surrounded by guilt and disdain and hatefulness.

"If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,'

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is as light to you."

I can't see for all that's spinning in my head right now. And I hate that because, like Simon Peter, I want to know that you are Christ. That the Son of the Living God is working in this. Not because any one person said something or because I have a church full of people singing about you around me. But because you, the Father in Heaven, are really revealing bits of yourself to me. Shine in this, God. If you are using this guilt to convict me and mold me, bring it. But if this is just a comment that is keeping me from rejoicing this Christmas, I ask that you restore to me the joy of your salvation. Whatever the case, God, create in me a pure heart.

"But what about you?" he asked. "Who do you say I am?"

Simon Peter answered, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."

Jesus replied, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven. 

-Matthew 16:15-17

A wonderful life, indeed

Thursday was my dad's birthday (51, but you didn't hear it from me). 

51 really isn't anything to write home about, you know. It's just a year over half a century. And you know, once you're at half a century it's like one more year until death. No longer is one working up to having it all, he is resigning himself to the fact that he wont. It's the resolution phase of life, where one has to decide how to retire from the glory years and make peace with how they were spent. It's like the chance to do something really big has passed and there's nothing to do about it. At least, that's how the pessimist sees it, and my Daddy is not one of those. 

No, instead my Dad chooses to focus on the good his average life has done. Not out of selfish glorification. Just personal reflection. He stays away from vain, woe is me language and chooses instead to focus on how his life has been gratifying. He focuses on the good and asks God to use it to outweigh the bad. He would rather see the impact he's had on people than the debt that has accumulated from med school to raising three children and supporting a wife. He's not a complainer, my dad. He spends his days offering advice to the parents of ailing children, and working to improve the system he works within. He sincerely enjoys knowing and helping people. He's a relationship builder. A truth-seeker. A whole hearted worshipper. Integrity-filled. He has cared enough to not only keep a vow to my mother, but remain her best friend. With tiffs here and there, yes. But best friend, nonetheless. He openly admits it is not a power of his own that has kept this family together--that it is God who has blessed us beyond measure. Who provides. Who gives the strength for us to love one another when we aren't even big fans of ourselves. Who leads, if it means away from each other. Who challenges us to serve, and says even at 51, with most of life behind you, no matter how bad the history looks, service is still possible. Dad's right, he hasn't had the power to get us where we are. But he has had the choice, as head of the household, of who to seek and serve. It is the greatest blessing I have that he has chosen Jesus Christ. 

And that on his 51st birthday he is anything but bitter. He's content with a small dinner at Luke and Stephanie's house. Maybe watch a movie or two together. A sincere card from each child. That's all he wants. But I have a mom as devoted to my dad as he is her, who can't pass up the opportunity to make his night as special as possible. 

For years It's a Wonderful Life has been my Dad's favorite movie. And for years, I have seen bits and pieces. Last year I fell asleep. The year before that we only sort of watched as we put up Christmas decorations. The year before that I was babysitting while he watched it by himself. All of this is to say that for all of the time I've known it's his favorite movie, I'd never once seen it all the way through or known the plotline beginning to end-- much less the moral of the story. Therefore, I've never known why it's my Dad's favorite. Well, Mom bought Dad and the rest of the family tickets to the Rep theatre special showing of It's a Wonderful Life for his birthday. Let's just say it's no necktie. And right after he found out we were going (it was a surprise) I told him I didn't even know really what it was about. His eyes lit up. There I was finally expressing interest in something so long important to him. And as he told me the story so intently, even tearing up when he reached the finale, I began to realize why the story, and it's protagonist George Bailey, mean so much to Dad. Because in many ways he is George Bailey. 

George is an important community member. He has a strong loyalty to his family--a loyalty that keeps him in the same town all his life. He does his best to make sure other people are taken care of. His patience is often tested by ordinary struggles. But when everything goes all wrong one Christmas Eve, he decides to go jump off the Bedford Falls bridge. He is met by an unlikely angel named Clarence, who takes the opportunity to show George what life would be like for the town if he had never lived. George is made to see how important his existence is, and finds a new desire to return to and live his ordinary life. 

Are there some things my dad would do differently if he could? Absolutely yes. Matter of a fact, he said the other day that most of his success has come because God chose to work in spite of Chris Smith. But I know Dad is sincere when he says he wouldn't give this life away for anything. It's a Wonderful Life reminds him of this every December. He has a chance to sympathize with George Bailey and also feel his joy in the end. Because if it's this life or nothing, he'll choose his life. 

The way it was

"This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." -Luke 2:12

Well, okay, she's not necessarily in cloths as so much an adorable outfit. Also, if by manger you mean laundry basket, then yes this is like the nativity. Also if she weren't a she, the scene would be perfect. Also if there was no central heating. And if she were hundreds of miles from home. Also, if she was Jesus this would be exactly like Christmas morning (hmm, this example is quickly losing its relevance!). Well, she's not Jesus (although really, really good!) and not a lot of these things. But essentially this is it, people. 

Take away the pomp and circumstance created over a good 2040 years and at the heart of it all is a 8 pound baby like the rest of 'em. Basic needs tended to by humans. God tended to by humans. Angels rejoiced about him in far off skies to some bewildered shepherds, but the praise heard in the stable came in the form of the small, quiet noises of a newborn. I've had the pleasure for the past 24 hours of hearing these same sweet sounds from Kinley. As I sung her back to sleep at 5 a.m. I was struck at the same time by both the majesty and humility of Jesus' birth. Here I am singing classic carols, beautiful medleys meant to celebrate the birth of king, while staring vulnerability in the face. A precious face. A helpless baby. That's all He was. 

I mean, it's not all He was. No, He was also the embodiment of prophecy and promise of eternity. He is the promise of eternity. He is God.  But that night, no matter what we know comes of later in his life and no matter the power of God that brought Him there, he was a baby. And a baby is a baby is a baby. He wasn't performing miracles that night, though we herald his birth, death, and resurrection as the greatest miracle. No doubt it was a miracle that He came to Earth. But he was blowing spit bubbles, screaming and pooping like the rest of them. In order to be fully man, He had to be fully baby. Vulnerable. Dependent. Weak. And don't you know he had to have been some kind of cute!

(this is, by the way, my niece-in-law. My sister-in-law's niece. The Smith family claims her as their own though, because we are particularly close inlaws. Matter of a fact, we've made a nickname for them, which they use right back at us: the Outlaws)