Road Construction, Preparing the Way of the Lord

The voice of one crying in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.'
Luke 3:4-6

 The day after Christmas I took a walk down a twisting little dirt path near my home. The path winds through an open field where tall grass grows and the Colorado foothills and high mountain peaks frame a magnificent view to the west. As I walked, I listened to my favorite jazz/gospel version of The Messiah. As I listened to the triumphant sounds of the song about a voice crying in the wilderness my soul filled with gratitude. 

"Wilderness" and "desert" are my favorite metaphors for difficult seasons in life. We all have them. No one exits this world without experiencing some pain. Though difficult, seasons of life spent in the wilderness can be gifts in disguise. 

As I walked and sang along with The Messiah I realized that for me, time in the wilderness prepared the way of the Lord for me.  God has done so much road construction in me. He chose to prepare the way for himself through the desolate wilderness of divorce and single parenting, and the rough places of step-parenting. And I am so grateful that he has. Even if given the chance, I wouldn't trade the gift of intimacy with him he gives me in the wilderness for the easy life I had planned for myself.

I wish that "every valley shall be filled and ... the rough places shall become level" meant removing all the pain and difficulty from my life. Unfortunately, I don't think that is what it means. That would contradict much other teaching in scripture. But he doesn't leave any of us desolate in the wilderness forever.  He speaks tenderly to us there. He plants vineyards and makes fountains and turns the wilderness into a oasis of hope.

As I walked along I couldn't help contrasting this Christmas to Christmases that have come before. I have spent many lonely Christmases, having kissed my kids goodbye on Christmas morning so that they could go celebrate with their dad. This year when my kids and step-kids were with their other parents, I treasured quiet moments with a handsome husband who loves me. For years, divorce seemed to have robbed me of the traditions that once made the holidays bright. This year, I celebrated with newer traditions my family and I have developed over the years. After my remarriage, the first holidays as a new blending family together were tense, we weren't all comfortable with the tremendous changes that followed putting two broken families together. This year, there was a lot of laughter and ease instead.

There is still have far to go, and I know that there will be more desert times along my path, but God is with me. He is so good to me. He speaks tenderly to me, and gives me vineyards in the desert and makes my valley of trouble a door of hope (from Hosea 2:15).

When Holidays Feel Like War...

During my travel down the long road of separation and divorce, facing the holidays felt like marching into battle. I hated having to share my kids with my wuzband (I like that term better than "ex"). I hated the TV commercials of happy two parent families sitting down with all of the kids for a big turkey dinner, because I hated being reminded of everything my family wasn't and never would be again. I hated the loneliness of showing up at church services and family gatherings as a one instead of a two. "Celebrating the holiday" sounded like an oxymoron to me.

Holidays are still a challenge with my new blended family. Not only do we have differing traditions and expectations to maneuver, we also have the difficulty inherent in making plans in a step family. As we try to make plans, my husband and I have to coordinate with my parents, my grown children, his parents, and both extended families. This, I suppose, is normal. But, we also have to negotiate with my wuzband, and his wuzwife, and their plans for our children. This often means that my nieces' and nephews' holiday could be altered because of their aunt's husband's wuzwife's brother-in-law's plans. Confused? Me too. That's my point.

A holiday can feel like another battle in a long war, and I don't always come out unscathed. My holidays don't always feel triumphant. That is why I was struck anew by 2 Corinthians 2:14 yesterday.

But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. 2 Corinthians 2:14

Always leads us in triumphal procession?

In ancient Rome when an emperor or general won a great victory he was awarded a triumphal procession by the senate.  He would march into Rome preceded by the spoils he'd won in battle and followed by the conquered enemy warriors and then his own troops.

The idea here is that though we battle and fight an enemy, Christ has won the ultimate victory. No matter that the battle still rages. The ultimate outcome is already determined. The enemy is defeated. Christ is "triumphator". The struggle is not pointless even though it sometimes feels that way.

When I was separated from my first husband, I was given a wise piece of advice from an older woman. She said, "Your mate is not your enemy. Your mate has been taken captive by your enemy." Whenever my messy family life begins to feel like a war, it behooves me to remember who my enemy is, and isn't. And, to remember that Christ is leading me in triumphal procession, celebrating the victory over the real enemy.

Our suffering, even suffering highlighted by holidays, is not in vain. No matter how messy the battle feels at the moment, we have a place in the victory parade.