While Advent is a season of anticipation and hushed excitement, Lent feels heavier, more thoughtful. Through Advent, we wait longingly on His birth; through Lent, we anticipate the weight of the Cross.

I love Advent. Its gentle sparkle and shine, a quietness barely containing the excitement of the coming Birth. I struggle with Lent. I feel the weight of my sin deeply. The sin that sent our Savior to the Tree. The sin that led him to Calvary, a willing sacrifice in love. I struggle with Lent because I struggle with sin. It’s easy to get caught up in the day to day and forget the cost of our sin. It’s easy to let some sins slide or relax in repentance. But Lent doesn’t let you do that. Lent calls us to deeper reflection and deeper reminders of our need of the Cross, our need of grace upon grace, our need of a Savior who tore the veil between us and His Father. Lent reminds us that the cost of our sin is death, death on the cross by a Savior who loves us deeply and willingly said yes to this plan of radical redemption. Lent reminds us that our sins are not to be taken lightly and not to be swept under the rug with a dismissive #hotmess hashtag. Lent reminds us of our desperate need and His never-ending grace.

But, underneath this heaviness, this deep sorrow for the cost of our sins, there should be joy bubbling up within us. Joy, that because of the Cross, we can run to our Father like the prodigal son, ashamed and repentant of what we’ve done and where we’ve been, and be scooped up in His rejoicing arms. Joy, that because of the Cross, we are not our past choices-the things that we’ve done, the people we’ve hurt, the words we’ve spoken, the choices we regret- but that we are forgiven for these as far as the East is from the West. Joy, that because of the Cross, our scars become His scars and the very things He uses to redeem our stories. Joy, that because of the Cross, we are FREE from the weight of our sin because Jesus is carrying it. Joy, that because of the Cross, we are His. Broken, imperfect, messy, loved, redeemed, forgiven. His. And this is where we find the deep well of joy through this heavy Lent. In the love of the Savior that knows every unmentionable, shame-filled sin and still holds out His arms with joy at our return, and still held out His arms on the Cross, and still holds our hearts back together.

Brave, cherished boy,

I’m always a mess after your doctor appointments but they don’t faze you at all, which isn’t a surprise. Not much fazes you and I love that about you. As we meet new doctor after doctor, they all tell us the same thing: they’ve never seen a heart like yours. And while they literally mean your heart is unique, I can’t help but agree with them. Because I know your real heart, and it is so special and unique. You have faced so much in your 3 years of life, and much of it without your family by your side. And I would totally understand if you were scared, suspicious, timid, and shut down. But you aren’t. You are bold, confident, reckless, and bursting with love. The more we know you, the more we marvel at you. And so does every new person you meet. You charm every nurse and doctor with your sweet, helpful heart; you charm every teacher with your quick laugh and joyful smile; you charm your whole family with your fiery loyalty and arms-wide-open love. And I rest in the fact that you will face any challenge head on, with a mischievous smile and deep trust in those around you. Because I’m sure you’ll face challenges throughout your life, and I’m sure there are many tough roads we will have to blaze together.

And this is what I want you to know: don’t lose your reckless brave. Don’t lose your open-ended joy. Don’t lose your ability to love without holding back. Don’t lose your ability to walk into any room and make people feel a little glimmer of hope and sunshine. Because that’s what you do. You walked into our lives and gave us your heart, that crazy heart that’s like no other, and you showed us what hope looks like in any circumstance. You showed us what it looks like to meet any situation head on, with a big smile and a joke in your eyes. You showed us what it means to choose to trust the people in your life. And I’m so thankful for the things you’ve shown us. Because I know that as we walk this path together, I’ll need a lot of brave, a lot of trust, a lot of love, and I’ll definitely need a lot of laughs. And I know that I’ll have them.

Thank you, little wild man, for sharing your brave, special heart with us. I love how God made you, and I love that He literally gave you a unique heart that matches how special you are. We are so thankful we get to love you and fight for your heart.

And tonight we can let out the breath we’ve been holding-holding in our hopes, our anticipation, our hurts, our loneliness this Advent- and let our tears of joy wash away our deep longing . . . His birth is finally near.

And as Mary did, we can bravely say yes, your Servant is faithful and willing through our fears and disbelief.

And as Joseph did, we can let go of doubt and lean into unrelenting faithfulness.

And as the angels did, we can proclaim Your glory, in the darkest of nights, to a land that hungers for You amidst so much silence.

And as the shepherds did, we can humble our hearts before You, awestruck at the lowly sinners You choose in Your story.

And no matter what darkest of night we might be walking through, no matter how deep this winter season is inside of us; tonight is the night we can surrender to the Joy of Emmanuel coming. We can join the collective nativity in choosing to worship You in the midst of the night. Tonight is the night we can lift our hearts and faces towards the Bethlehem Star, the babe in a manger, who came to earth on Christmas morn to be our Emmanuel, our Always with Us. Tonight is the night our hearts are nearly bursting with the Expected and our doubts can give up and rest in His coming, in His never leaving. Tonight is the night we can lay down this Advent’s failures and heartaches and gaze to the manger, where You wait for us, a sweet baby, born in the still of night, to an unexpected mother, in an unknown stable, in a way nobody anticipated; and we can rejoice in whatever brought us here. We can sing Joy to the World and let it ring out from our hearts because tonight, our weary hearts rejoice. Because tonight, the thrill of Hope bubbles within us and Christmas morning is before us. And as we let out our breath, the breath we’ve held in glorious anticipation this advent, the breath that maybe held us together this advent season; we can make room in our hearts to receive the King. JOY TO THE WORLD.

This season, I long to keep my gaze fixed on the manger.  And it’s so hard.  My days are not hushed or expectant; they are filled with chaos, noise, and a determined grit to hang my hopes on new morning mercies each day.  Adding our sweet boy to our family has made this advent sweeter and full of celebration, but it has also made it a season full of many transitions and hard emotions.  So while we rejoice, we are hurting and scared and full of questions too.

And I can only imagine that maybe Mary felt this way too, on that first Christmas, and I draw comfort and grace from that.  Rejoicing that the Promised Messiah was finally here, incredulous she was called to mother him, but I’m sure full of questions and sorrow too at what this Messiah-life lived out as a man would be.  And yet she kept her mother-eyes, full of faith, on the manger.  A scared teenage mother, hurriedly and in a hushed manner married to her betrothed, exhausted after a long journey to Bethlehem and birthing the Messiah; yet in that moment that she saw Him in the manger, clinging to the Hope of a babe come down from His throne through her, a humble young girl who said yes to God.

And all I can do this advent season is the same- humble myself enough to keep my mother-eyes on the manger.  Humble myself enough to admit my fears and failures.  Humble myself enough to admit my desperate need of His grace to say yes to His call this season, and every other one . . . And exalt Him.  Exalt Him for His deep mercy in my life.  Exalt Him for His unrelenting love throughout my days.  Exalt Him for sending His son, as a precious, lowly baby in a manger.  Cherished Son becoming Mary’s son.  The Lion coming down like a Lamb.  The Word birthed as flesh.  The Prince of Peace born in a stable in Bethlehem.  The Bright and Morning Star, underneath the star, that led them all to Him.

And because of these truths, I can say, as Mary did “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”  And I cling to that through the questions, through the chaos, through the days that hurt and the days that rejoice.  I can sing my praise through my fears, like Mary, and humbly submit my doubts and questions to His unrelenting faithfulness.  And I can keep my gaze fixed to the manger, fixed on the one who brought Mercy down, the literal Emmanuel- God with us and among us forever.  And this advent season, despite its fast pace and hurts, I will find my rest in His presence in the manger and in my heart.  And I will let Him fill me with His love come down this Christmas.

Lord this advent season, as every other one, there is brokenness crying out to you.

Broken hearts, broken bodies, broken spirits longing to find an answer to their cries,

Longing to find that sweet expectant-ness that they’ve heard whisper of,

Longing to rest in that Peace that passes all understanding that they’ve read of,

Lord, longing to feel Your Presence amidst the presents and know Your stillness in the midst of the hectic bustle.

Lord, we desperately seek You against all odds, against all hurts and pain that make us want to turn away from You.

We stubbornly refuse to let go of that still small Hope that burns within us, that refuses to let go of what we know to be true.

The broken parts of this world weigh heavier this Advent season, a season of hushed excitement that just feels empty when faced with babies with no families and kids with literal broken hearts.

How do we reconcile the Hope of the season with the brokenness that surrounds us? How do we continue to press on in Joy when our hearts ache with the troubles of this world?

Perhaps the answer is this: the brokenness is what leads us to the manger. The brokenness is what fills our hearts with such deep longing, that only a Savior babe in a humble manger can fill.

Perhaps the brokenness can give us an even deeper excitement at the Messiah’s coming.

Perhaps these broken Advent seasons can even more lead us to press into the Christmas Story where we can curl up by the Manger and be held in the presence of the Holy One come down from His throne to serve the world.

Perhaps the light from the Star can fill our faces and hearts with a brightness that shines out more than a tree.

Perhaps this Advent season we can let go and fall into the arms of the babe in the manger who ended up on the Tree, His love on display to a world that desperately needed Him.

‘Twas the first night of advent and all through the earth, every heart was expectant awaiting His birth.

Eyes deep with longing, and whispers of heavenly Stranger; who’d soon leave His home to lay in a manger.

Our hearts await through this long advent season, excited, anticipating, the bursting forth of the Reason.

We enter into it, our faces towards You, hushed and ready, Lord, make our hearts renewed!

Keep our pace slow, intentional, pining; reflecting on the babe under Bethlehem-star shining

This first day of advent, our thoughts are on our Savior; the humble King who answered long uttered prayers.

Let us pause often to reflect on Your Glory and cling to the Hope of the real Christmas story.

My budding young writer really wanted to try her hand at blogging so here is her first post 🙂

Mom and me love to have tee time.

I love tee time . o tee tee tee time . tee time is so grate with mommy. I love it my mommy dus to. I love my mommy . I love all the grat thigs we can do . it is so fun.mommy is the best I love her . I hart her. I love my cat to but not as much as my mommy.       I love tee time. It is so much fun win you have a mommy like myn. She is the best!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At the beginning of our adoption journey, Adam and I prayed a lot. We knew that China was only a special needs program and we had to pray and consider what special needs we felt capable of parenting. It was really hard. As we checked our “No’s,” I knew that other people would check the same no’s and my heart hurt so bad. But I thought I was just being honest with my limitations. I know myself, and I know my heart, and I know that grief and pain crack me wide open. I thought I was being honest about what kind of child I could be the best mother to. We were open to mild to moderate needs, either completely repairable, or those needing ongoing treatment. When we read our son’s file, he was a perfect match for us. We prayed about it, A LOT, and knew God wanted us to say yes to being his family. And then, we brought him home, head over heels for our fast and furious little boy, and my world and heart were shattered. Because God put me in a role that I never would have put myself in. God threw me right in the middle of a situation that I normally would have run fast and far from. And I didn’t know if I could bear it. The crazy thing? If I knew everything I know now, I would say YES a million times over to Isaiah. I would run for him, with wide open arms and a terrified heart. And most days, I rest on that. But tonight, I’m scared. Scared of what the future holds. Scared I won’t be the mom he needs me to be. Scared that God put me on a path that my heart can’t handle. But you know what?

It doesn’t matter what kind of a mom I think I am or who I think I was created to be; God knit me together and knows me more deeply than I could ever know myself. And for some reason, this is the path He put me on. I don’t understand it and it’s so full of unknowns. I’m terrified. But I’m desperately clinging to His promises and my knowledge that He is steadfast and faithful. There are times, like tonight, when MY faith wavers, but I continue to put my hope in HIS faithfulness, not mine. And cry out to Him, tired and full of sorrow and fear, and ask Him to redeem this broken faith, this broken heart, in this moment. And ask Him to hold our sweet boy with strong arms when I falter. And ask Him for the grace to walk this path He’s put me on in the way that He wants me to. Tonight, all I have is a broken, weary hallelujah, but sing it I will. I will sing His praises even when my arms fall and my tears overflow. Even when my voice cracks and I can’t quite finish. And I will rest in His faithfulness and trust that He holds us so mightily in the moments that we can’t hold on anymore.

Sweet, brave boy, I watched you as you slept last night, peaceful little angel face curled up in your footed pj’s because you always get cold at night. I’m so glad that I’m starting to know these little things about you, these things that only a mama would know. While I watched you, I kept thinking that tonight is the night before your first birthday with a family, the last night you’ll ever have as a 2 year old, and the closing of the last year ever that we weren’t your family. Today is your first birthday with us and we will always be your family. You have changed our lives so much in a short amount of time. You have fit so seamlessly into our family, it feels like you’ve been our son forever. If you were scared, timid, distrustful, and reserved, I wouldn’t blame you a bit. But you’re not. You stormed into our family full of laughter, and fun, and you love us all so big and without holding back. It amazes me.

On today, I can’t help but think of your first 2 birthdays without us and wonder what they were like. Were you celebrated? Was it a special day? My heart is heavy with unknowns that will never be known, questions that will never have answers, and 2 1/2 years that will forever be lost to us.

And I’m thinking of your very first birthday ever, the day you were born, and your birth parents, the mother who carried you for 9 months and gave you life. I’m so so grateful that they did. And I wonder if they think of you every year on your birthday. I wish they could know that you’re with us on your birthday this year. And that you will always be with us on your birthdays. And that you are so loved and so cherished, and that our family is better with you in it. I wish they knew how full of life and love you are, and that we will do anything for you. But I know that they can’t.

So on this day, this day that we celebrate YOU, my heart is overflowing with sadness and joy. Sadness at what you’ve lost, sadness at the years we’ve lost; but so so much more joy. Joy that you were born. Joy that you are our son. Joy that we get to celebrate you not just today, but every day.

We love you so much little man.

If I’m honest, most days I feel like I’ve failed in some ways- the house wasn’t clean enough, I wasn’t present enough, I snapped at someone, my heart didn’t feel like serving . . . A lot of days, I can tend to wallow in it. Lament at my lack of discipline, grace, patience. But what if I didn’t do that? What if I welcomed these moments as a reminder of how much I NEED God’s presence daily? What if I used these moments to lean harder into His empowering grace? What if I embraced these moments as reminders that I CANNOT DO THIS ALONE? I will never be enough. I’m a (redeemed) sinner and I’m reminded of that daily. But my days don’t have to end there. My days don’t have to end in my sinful failing. I can instead look to the Lord who graciously LAVISHES us with His presence and doesn’t leave us at sinful failure. He refreshes us with His Word when we lean into Him; He fills our gaps when we acknowledge our inability to “measure” up; He lifts us up on wings like eagles when we are honest about our fatigue and rundown heart. He didn’t just save us then leave us. He is with us daily. In the hidden moments, the shameful moments, and the moments we choose to turn back to our need for Him.

What if today we choose to say “Lord I need You. I need Your presence. I need Your grace. And I need Your strength. Because without You, my heart fails at these every time.” What if today we used our shortcomings as a reminder of our deep need for His daily grace in our lives? What if today we gladly acknowledged our weaknesses as moments that His glory shone through?

I want my kids to know that I can’t do anything alone but only with Christ who strengthens me and holds me close and is ever present in my shortcomings. I want my kids to know that though I most certainly fail them sometimes, He never will. And I want them to know that He will exceed every expectation they have because He is faithful and His promises are true.

Thank you lord for new mercies every morning, strength throughout each day, and grace afresh every night. May I rely on these, and not myself, every day; and may I rejoice that my life can be a daily witness to Your strength over my failings.