Home for me has always been wherever my mother is. As a child, this was underneath the shade of a Georgia pine in a neighborhood appropriately named 'Sherwood Forest'. Some of my favorite memories come out of that house with the red front door.
Bedtime, hard as it may have been to get me to settle down, was one of my favorite rituals. I would climb into my mother's bed, wrap myself in her canary yellow comforter, and wait for her to come and tuck me in. The room would be completely quiet, except for the comforting sound of our yellow lab breathing in and out. My mother would come and climb into bed and my head would find itself resting on her chest. As she gently stroked my hair, she would begin to sing. Although she would disagree, I have always believed that my mother has the most beautiful voice. It's full of emotion that could soften even the hardest heart. And as she would sing songs to Jesus, I knew everything would be okay. A familiar peace would flood my chest as she sang 'I Surrender All' or 'As the Deer'. In that moment, it was just my Mama and the Holy Spirit rocking me to sleep.
Now, over a decade has past. I'm twenty-one years old, sitting in a hammock in Swaziland. Everywhere I look, I see rolling hills and trees that look very little like a Georgia pine. My mother is thousands of miles away. But when I look back at this past week, she feels closer than ever.
My team spent every day last week going to a hospital for terminally ill patients. On day two, I brought my guitar. There was one man that I was particularly excited to see. We call him 'Uncle'. He is in his eighties, but in his prime he was a very famous professional soccer player. He has the kindest eyes that perfectly match his kind heart. His lung cancer has caused him great pain, and talking hurts him. So, when we told him the day before that I would bring my guitar and sing for him, he grinned ear to ear in excitement. As I sat in his room playing 'I Surrender All', that familiar peace swept over me again. I opened my eyes to find Uncle with his hands raised, head bowed. And I knew he felt the peace too. "We used to sing this song when I was a boy," he said. I nodded, tears filling my eyes.
Because that peace we felt was Emmanuel, God with us. He is the peace that transcends age. He is the peace that comforted my five year old heart and He is the peace that floods a man nearing the close of His life. He is the peace that closes around my homesickness and the peace that restores my anxiety. He is the peace that reminds me I'm spending Christmas entirely in His will. He is the peace that restores my joy when I'm not sure how I will go on. He is peace. He is peace. He is peace.
My prayer for you, dear one, is that this Christmas you will know the peace of God that passes all understanding. My prayer is that you would believe whole-heartedly that Christ is all you need. Because yesterday, today, and tomorrow, He is with you. And He is your peace.
Merry Christmas.
And to my mother, thank you. Thank you for showering me with the Gospel in whatever form you could. Songs, stories, love. I am so grateful to you. I believe that every ounce of compassion I inherited came straight from your heart. I miss you so much this Christmas and always. But I hope this blog is a further reminder to you that I carry you everywhere God sets my feet.
