Public confession Numero Dos: I find it very difficult to ask for or to receive help. This is for a number of reasons: 1) I am just socially awkward enough that having to explain whatever it is I need help with is often not worth the effort. 2) I don’t want to be a bother […]
I live daily nestled between the beginnings of an existentialist crisis and the precipice of a nihilistic void. That’s not a cry for help, just a statement of fact.
I shudder to think about how much of our time in life is spent with labels. I think it must be human nature to attempt, in some way, to categorize things in order to make sense of them. But in doing so, we attach such blanket generalities to things that what we end up doing is exactly the opposite. We confuse the issue. We make it all harder to sort out and make sense of, not easier.
The wise men who visited a young Jesus and His family were drawn to their famously long journey because, upon seeing the star, they were filled with joy! Experiencing the mystery of a yet-to-be-discovered King of Kings filled them with a longing to go and see Him with their own eyes.
And so, with the entry of sin into the world, our shalom- our peace- is threatened and disrupted. We are no longer whole.
They continue, “We had hoped he was the Messiah who had come to rescue Israel. This all happened three days ago.” (Luke 24.21). Three days ago. Because depression focuses on the past. Hope screams “three days later”.
I dislike Christmas. But this year, I’m writing a series of Advent posts. Irony? Maybe. Adventure? Certainly.