Merry Christmas from the Mission!

Last weekend I was traveling for a best friend’s wedding.  It was a short trip, only there just for a day.  Six different planes in a matter of hours, taking me from Colorado to Virginia.  It’s been a little while since I’ve flown, and all the feelings from years ago surfaced as I stepped into the airport.  I remember why I hated it so much… The stress inevitably gives me a blurry eyed headache, I get no sleep, the small seats make me cranky, and regardless of weather or experience I always feel sure I’m about to see the airplane break apart out my window and plummet to the ground and my death.  But as I was breathing deeply in the back of the jet on Friday, wishing I’d remembered my headphones because I’m certainly not an extrovert on a plane, I remembered a particularly stressful experience a few years ago…

It had been one of many journeys that had been riddled with chaos.  Until this year I have never gotten to my destination without delays.  During the mentioned trip, I was especially stressed, due to a series of events including several delays, an emergency landing, lighting hitting the airport, and a torrential downpour as I attempted to drive home, to name a few.  As I drove home from Durango, it was late, I was screaming obscenities, and I just wanted to get home.  I’ve been through severe storms via a car several times, and they undoubtedly have been some of the most terrifying experiences in my life, as I have been deeply intimidated by powerful storms since I was very young.  As I was creeping down the road from Durango, lighting struck along the road, about 15 feet from my car (or so my story-telling memory tells me).  And then, I got mad… real mad.  Why couldn’t God just throw me a bone and help me get home?!  At the same moment the thought crossed my mind, if was as if the car knew.  “Indescribable” was on the radio, and I heard Chris Tomlin remind me, “who has told every lightning bolt where is should go?”  Dang… God’s power became so personal during that drive.  God told that lightning bolt to hit the roadside as I drove by.  God told that storm to rage on as I cried.  God did.  As I cowered at the strength of the storms, a lifelong fear, I suddenly realized, they may be powerful, but they are simply commands of a much, much more powerful God.  A God who loves and takes care of me.  A God in my corner.  Filled with peace and love in the car that day, I felt so amazed at God’s powerful hand.

And that brings a new appreciation for the Christmas story.  What I love most about teaching kids here at the Mission is the opportunity to tell the Christmas story.  Their lives are different than our lives.  Monday, after I read the story, I set down my Bible.  You have to understand, almost every one of my students, though small, has had to watch sheep in their lifetime.  They understand shepherds.  They’ve all been in “mangers,” though they don’t call them that.  We’ve been working through the Old Testament, and we’ve talked a lot about how big God is.  Big enough to split the Red Sea, to send fire from Heaven, to help little David kill big Goliath… He’s so mighty.  The God who so easily could have come to the world with all the frills we could imagine, instead, came in a barn, in a undesirable town, through a misunderstood family line.  As I asked the children about mangers, they told me about theirs at home.  They are dirty and stinky.  They have animal food and droppings all over the floor.  When I asked if they’d eat in their manger, I heard “Ew! Nooo!”  Now I have to add, 4 of my 7 students have had a new sibling born in the last 2 months.  All 7 have younger siblings.  So when I asked them to imagine their new little baby brother or sister being born in a manger, and I told them that our Lord had chosen such a birthplace, I looked around and saw quiet, horrified faces. I don’t choke up often, nor am I often willing to shed a tear in the presence of even those close to me.  But as I told the kids of how their God loves them and wanted to be a part of their broken world, to understand them and come save them, I realized I was speaking to children who understand the pain of Jesus far more than I ever have. 

I don’t think that most of my students are saved.  And I don’t know if my words will ever make a difference to them.  But I do know that they need the love of Christ more than I completely understand.  And I know that deep in their little hearts, they know that’s true.  They know that their broken families aren’t how it’s supposed to be.  They know that medicine men don’t save them.  They know that alcohol isn’t the answer.  Because they’ve lived through it. 

I love Christmas.  Lights and presents and decorating and cookies are about my favorite things in the world.  But I pray that this year, you would join me in seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child not as fortunate as us.  Hear the story for the first time.  See the horror and somber reality, along with the immense hope in the Christmas story.  See the mind numbing, breathtaking love that is daily showered on you, and let the story of Christmas bring you to tears again.  And I ask that you would pray for the kids at the Mission and around the world, who are still wedged in a raging battle for their souls.  Pray that the love of the Gospel would stop them in their tracks, and heal wounds in their small hearts.  Pray for us who share that story with them, that we can be effective in our delivery, patient for the Holy Spirit in their lives, and ever in awe of God’s power and love.

Merry Christmas, friends!