Past Decembers have always been full. Once Thanksgiving has come and gone, the Christmas season is ushered in quickly with blowout sales, catchy tunes, school projects, peppermint and parties. This past December however looked a little bit different from years past. It was a simple 4 weeks, bereft of all the glitter and glam of holidays past. December of 2014 brimmed with a new and different fullness and what my squad and I lacked in extravagance, we made up for in joy, service, and love.
We arrived in Swaziland on December 3 at El Shaddai Ministry, our ministry contact for the month of December. El Shaddai is one of the favored World Race contacts and understandably so. Resting between two mountains and overlooking a valley and winding river, it is easily the most peaceful place I’ve ever been before and one of the most beautiful. It is home to 49 abandoned and orphaned children ages 8 and up, all of whom are incredibly kind, gentle, and hilarious. As a squad, we spent most mornings tending to a garden and leveling a field. In the afternoons we hung out with the kids who were on their winter break from school. We watched movies, hung in hammocks, played cards, did crafts, played soccer, and led chapel. We cleaned for one another and prepared meals for each other, embracing a fairly simple lifestyle for a month.
The silence at El Shaddai was deafening at first. Having previously spent three months in the busyness of Manila, Philippines, the much slower change of pace was an adjustment for me. I began to sense early on that this was a month for me to be still and listen to what the Lord had for me. It was a month for him to woo me and remind me just how much he loves me. Love me and woo me, he did.
God reminded me last month that though his voice is quiet and gentle, his divinity is boldly and intricately woven throughout the sights and sounds, smells and tastes of day-to-day life. I heard him in the deep belly laughs of my teammates and echoing whistle of the wind that bounced over the valley. I saw him in the all-consuming landscape and in the kids’ eyes as they opened their gifts Christmas morning. I smelled him in our evening bonfires and the morning dew and the bacon wrapped chicken we had for Christmas dinner. I tasted him in the countless avocados I received as “because I know you love them” gifts from teammates and the hot chocolate drank late into the night while inside our sleeping bags on the kitchen floor.
I learned last month that God doesn’t ask much of us besides that we enjoy his creation and rest in his presence. We live out our faith well when we express our gratitude for the little things and when we take a few extra seconds to admire the sky. We bring pleasure to Jesus when we dance hard and love harder. When we sing loud and laugh louder.
Last month I discovered, for what felt like the first time again, the simple truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
And that truth is this: we serve a God that pursues us deeply. Madly. Fiercely. A God that despite our constant deviation welcomes us home again and again with loving arms. A faithful God that fulfills his promises. That put eternity into a man, tore the veil, and lives within us now. A God that has empowered us with the ability to bring heaven to earth and build kingdom here and now.
Through all the sights and sounds and smells and tastes of Christmas I was reminded of the gift we are given each day on account of the blood shed on our behalf. We serve a gracious, loving, and merciful God that each morning, as the sun unfolds a ribbon a time, gives us the choice to pursue joy, wonder, hope, and freedom. Because 2000 years ago he sent his only son into the world so that we could have such a choice. That’s the simple truth that December is about. That’s what the New Year is about. That’s what I long for my every breath to be about.
So may we live fully and purposefully and whimsically. May we be an open invitation, welcoming others into the freedom that comes in the company of God’s faithfulness in life’s little things. And may we savor our avocados, linger a little while longer after dinner, and hold hands a little tighter. For those are the holy moments tucked ever so quietly into our days.
