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A Christmas Advent Week 1: Jesus, THE Light of the World

Ear-piercing screaming, utter terror billowed down the long hallway and up the covers to my ears that were tucked warm and cozy under my white, down comforter. Truthfully, deep beneath the small amount of hope that tonight would be our "breakthrough" night, I was waiting for this to happen. After all, that night was no different than the past 3 months of nights leading up to it. Orphanage life did not make the transition to solo sleeping an easy one. The peaceful sound of the noise machine was not exactly similar to the sneezes, babbles, and cries coming from 12-15 always full cribs that shared the room with her. Those were the noises she was used to.


Vada, our daughter, adopted at 18 months of age, was scared. Terrified actually, every single night for months after we brought her home nearly 5 and a half years ago from Ethiopia. I don't mean she was a little bit scared as if there could have been a fuzzy, blue Monsters Inc. (ish) type creature hiding under her bed. The fear I am trying to describe is a gut-wrenching, heart-racing, full fight-or-flight terror that often left us both in tears and a little shaky. It was heart-wrenching to watch and it's difficult to think about, even now, several years later.


I know she is safe, I would think, as I flung back the covers to hurry to her room. She doesn't know that she is safe, though, I would try to remind myself. "Felt safety"is a term that the adoption agency had us read up on. The child must feel safe, even if you, the parent, know that she is perfectly safe."Felt safety" hits differently when you are putting patience and tenderness into action in the middle of the night. I walked into her room, turned on a lamp, and picked her up to hug her. "Shhhh, Shhhh, you are not alone, my darling." She takes a few minutes to calm down, but slowly she does. We rock. Night after night, month after month, this goes on. Many times I would hold hands through the rungs of the crib, me dozing on the floor until she could let her "high alert" guard down long enough to finally relax and drift off into a much-needed, deep toddler sleep. I would often think about the Lord, in such a tender way, on these sleepless nights. He was ministering to me as I was ministering to her.


"I came for you", He would whisper in my ear. Come he did.


The light coming on and my presence, two extraordinary comforts to her during these difficult months of transition. You and I are not light, but we can bring light. We can bring ourselves, but we can't stay, not like Jesus does.


Jesus is THE Light. He doesn't bring the light, He is the light! His presence and his light are inseparable.


He came to us. Therefore, THE Light came to us.


"The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.”

(Matthew 4:16)


He didn't leave us here, scared and alone and desperate. He came and, so, the light came too! The trees are lit up in our dens, the twinkling, glitter-filled snow globes sit on our kitchen islands, the sparkling wreaths hang brightly on our front doors -- they are all signifying THE Light, our one, true HOPE, that came for us!


He came for us. Therefore, THE Light came to us.





Our reality, as Christians, is invisible. Not untrue, just unseen. The lights twinkling on our tree are so much more than a cozy ambiance that makes us feel good for their simple beauty. They are a tangible reminder of a life-altering reality - THE Light Jesus Himself, God incarnate, that came on our behalf. He will, 33 years later, die on our behalf too... and the Earth will be the darkest it has ever been or ever will be in that hour.


“From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over the whole land”

(Matthew 27:45)


Darkness throughout Scripture is often associated with judgment. Jesus came for the sole purpose of taking the judgment we deserved, on himself, to make us right with God. He is THE Light. He is the bringer of true H O P E. Without Easter, there is no joy at Christmas.


Perhaps, this Christmas season, as we sit in the quiet, early hour of a sleeping household and admire the warm, twinkling lights flickering on the evergreen tree across the room with a much-needed, strong mug of hot coffee in one hand, and a love-worn Bible spread before us in the other, we will meditate freshly on Christ, THE Light of the world, who came to rescue us.


I am, like you, so deeply moved that he would sacrifice his life, of course, but even more perhaps, that he would leave the comforts of Heaven, breaking the communion he had always enjoyed with his Father to come and bring us hope in this broken world. The O N E Light that brings real hope. THE Light that does not ever dim or need a replacement bulb or get packed away in a box the first week of January.


An eternal Light...


On a personal and vulnerable note...


As I write this, my jet-lagged family is fast asleep in the bed of our hotel room and I am sitting in a chair with a cold tile floor under my fuzzy-sock-covered feet typing away, using the illuminated keyboard as my source of light as I contemplate THE Light. We are in Lusaka, the capital city of Zambia, planning to drive 8 or so hours into the bush tomorrow to the orphanage God has called us to serve at long term. We will return home in the next 2 weeks, but in 7-9 months this foreign place is where we will call home for at least 3 years.


I have been particularly meditative the last several months about Jesus' decision to leave the delight of Heaven to come to me, his needy child, as I consider what he is asking my family and me to do at this present hour. He has asked us to leave the comforts of home, to go to a foreign land, and to bring his hope to vulnerable children who come from devastating circumstances. If we follow Christ, as we claim, how can we say no after he brought us THE Light?


Can you, with me, say "yes, Lord" as precious Mary did, to whatever cross he is asking you to carry today? Stepping out in faith is scary, but the God of our faith is not."Mary responded, 'I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.' And then the angel left her." (Luke 1:38)


If we live yielded, as Mary and Christ did, we will bring THE Light of the world to darkness. I dare think, however, that the yielded one will experience THE Light of the world in a way we will be forever touched by. In other words, in surrendering we indeed bring the blessing of His Light (Him!) but, in his kindness, he ministers to the yielded in a way that blesses them with his divine intimacy. How kind and redemptive he is on all fronts. He is THE Light!


THE Light came, and he continues to illuminate the way for us so that we will never be left in the terror of the night again. Oh, how we must celebrate!


More Scriptures for meditation this Christmas season on Jesus, THE Light:


The LORD is my light and my salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1


I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life. John 8:12


As you have the light, believe in the light. Then the light will be within you, and shining through your lives. You'll be children of light. John 12:36


For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth. Ephesians 5:8-9


God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5


The sun shall be no more your light by day, nor for brightness shall the moon give you light; but the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory” Isaiah 60:19








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