Christmas is less than a week away and many of us are in the thick of Advent celebrations as we eagerly wait. The season of Christmas is nostalgic for many. So much of Christmas is often celebrated surrounded by those we love, with family who are dear to us. Memories are made that can be looked back upon fondly as we gather. Yet for me, this was not always the case. Family can be complicated. Those forged memories are not always relished, but rather framework for hard work, processing, and healing. As I stare at the twinkling lights of our own tree and smile at the eager anticipation of my children as they impatiently wait for Christmas to arrive, I’m reminded there is more to advent hope than eager anticipation. There is also present a keen awareness that not all is right in the here and now. We anticipate because there is longing for something better, something that will right the wrong we know is prevalent in the world around us. Essentially, that longing is for Christ.

When I was twelve, I was just beginning to understand this longing, this deep need for more—for Christ.

Shortly after my sixth-grade year began, as I sat working on math homework in my parent’s living room, there was a knock on our door that forever changed the trajectory of my life. My parents were not believers. Life had dealt them so many blows that it’s hard to say they were really living life at all. Much of my early growing up years were spent in physical and emotional neglect. This had become a glaring red flag to personnel in the grade school I attended. All the turmoil that was brewing inside my home culminated in social services’ need to intervene. As I responded to the knock on our front door, I was greeted by two police officers with a warrant to remove me from my home. I did what came natural and went into a state of panicked flight. For some reason I thought it was reasonable to think a twelve-year old could outrun two fully-grown officers. My escape plan was short-lived. As the police officers escorted me back into the house, I was given five minutes to pack up what I could. In that moment, all I could think to grab was my pink back-pack and math book from the living room floor. As I was escorted out the front door and seated in the back of the patrol car, I didn’t realize that it was the last time I would ever share a roof with my biological parents. In an instant, everything I had ever known, though it had not been easy, was ripped from me. As a little girl I had lost all sense of direction and bearing; I had lost my sense of belonging.

But God.

We were driven across town and escorted into one of the most beautiful homes I had ever stepped foot into—or so it seemed given what I had just been taken from. Introductions were made, directions given, but not much resonated. Trauma had muffled all sense of hearing and understanding. The one thing that did stick out to me was my foster parent’s one rule that I was to attend church with them on Sundays. That first night in a home that was not my own, in a room that was foreign and empty of familiarity, I prayed my first prayer, “Lord, let me go home.” This was the one prayer I knew to pray from a heart choked with grief. It was the prayer I would pray over and over again until God invaded my life. Slowly, as the days dragged into weeks and weeks into months, I learned to become guarded and staunchly independent. At church I heard about a God who loved us and Christ who died for us. There was so much need in my life, but a deeper need was stirring. It was not until I attended an overnight youth event and heard the full Gospel presented through another’s testimony that I knew I couldn’t live my life alone any longer. That evening God invaded my heart and began to change my life—from the inside out. Life circumstances did not change, but everything about my life did. For the first time in a long time, I had hope—hope that could not be snatched from me. Coming to belief in Christ did not deliver me from the foster system. My prayer to “go home” was not answered in the way I thought it would be. I was not adopted physically. Through my growing-up years I circulated through a series of three homes (a small number compared to some in the system) and at eighteen I “aged-out” of the foster system altogether. Many who age-out sadly become statistics of poverty and abuse, but God prevented me from becoming a statistic. All because God invaded my life, I was given the opportunity to serve internationally, go to college, hold-down jobs, get married, adopt my own son, and have my own family. God has been so faithful. All the time God is good, and God is good all the time—even through the hard times.

“But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.” ~ Galatians 4:4-7

Today I look back and remember a twelve-year-old little girl celebrating her first Christmas newly orphaned. I also remember fondly the immense hope I had as one newly adopted into God’s family. As a believer, I am grafted into God’s family—into Gospel Hope. I have been given all the rights of a daughter of the King. Christ came and invaded humanity in the flesh. Christ came, lived, died and rose and for this reason alone I have hope—eternal hope. In the now this gift is embraced and joyously celebrated. Yet we live in the not-yet. We live in a world broken with imperfect families, sin, and pain. Advent Hope is not just a month we celebrate as believers—it’s a life we live eagerly anticipating the promise that Christ will come again—this time as a warring King who will right all that is so horribly wrong with this world. Advent is full of hope—brim-full of waiting. Hard waiting. Yet we who wait do so with HOPE.

Children need reminded of this hope. They need pointed to unshakeable hope only Christ can provide. Christmas is more than gifts, food, and fellowship. Christmas is a reminder that while we celebrate hope, we wait for Christ, who will usher in all that is better, all that is good, all that is eternal. As parents we can model eager hope—a kind of “well” waiting that points to Jesus. How? Here are a few suggestions:

Celebrate Advent at Christmas reading God’s Word together, lighting the candles, and discussing the hope we have in Christ.

Serve! Not long ago my two sons had the opportunity to help deliver donations to a local children’s home. My adopted son knows some of my own testimony and commented on how sad it was that these kids had little to call their own. His mind couldn’t imagine how hard that had been for me to grow-up in a similar way. I told him it was hard, yes, but Jesus found me and saved me in the hard things, giving me everything I needed. My son, always keeping me on my toes, thought silently for a few moments, then commented, “Mom, He did, and He gave you a family in us. I want to do that someday.” Parents, point your kiddos to Jesus in every-day moments and conversations.

Don’t stop anticipating and waiting once Christmas is over. Keep reading God’s Word together, keep discussing, keep praying, keep praising and looking to Jesus together.

Don’t be afraid to share the hard parts of your life as parents with your children. Let them see how God invades and refines you through difficult seasons and brings you out on the other side.

Advent hope is cause for celebration. Christ came, died, rose again, and is now interceding for us. Christ is coming again! This we wait for with longing hope, deep need, and eager anticipation.

As one of my favorite prayers in the Valley of Vision states:

“Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,

Thou has brought me to the valley of vision,

Where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;

Hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox

That the way down is the way up,

That to be low is to be high,

That the broken heart is the healed heart,

That the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,

That the repenting soul is the victorious soul,

That to have nothing is to possess all,

That to bear the cross is to wear the crown,

That to give is to receive,

That the Valley is the place of vision.

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,

And the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;

Let me find thy light in my darkness,

Thy joy in my sorrow,

They grace in my sin,

Thy riches in my poverty

Thy glory in my valley.”

Bennett, Arthur. The Valley of Vision : A Collection of Puritan Prayers & Devotions. Edinburgh, Banner Of Truth Trust, 2002.

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Advent Hope