Advent Thoughts

"When we've fallen, and when we're lost, God comes with one question. Not the question, 'Why did you do that?' Not the question, 'What did you do wrong?' The very first God-question of the Old Testament, of the whole Bible, is a love question howling out of God's heart: 'Where are you?'.....
.......Sometimes you can almost feel it; when you fall, He comes and unwraps that lying, stealing snake from your feet and wraps His arms around you--and you unwrap the very greatest gift; a love that never, ever lets you go."

 -Ann Voscamp, Unrapping the Greatest Gift: A Family Celebration of Christmas

My Ellie and I have been going through this book in these past three days of advent. This quote struck a deep chord in me. The picture of the serpent enemy tangling up my feet, and then the great Love coming down and unfurling the grip; it just took my breath away. And I can see it happening here in my life. I can see the grip loosening, and hope being restored through the love of God. I can catch a glimpse of hope in the life of the woman who miscarried her baby just last week. It is happening in the life of the couple with a marriage so painful because of sin so deep. And I know that the Gospel Story is really intersecting lives; that it is a relevant source of hope in the midst of sin and suffering and brokenness.

When God asks, "Where are you," it releases the grip, because it shows that His ultimate heart is to be near to us. His first question doesn't shake a fist or isolate us. It draws us in. This example from Genesis is a faint glimpse of what God would ultimately do to be near to us, his broken people, through the person of Christ coming to dwell in a fleshly womb in a fleshly body. He would know our suffering to the point of death, and he would swallow it up in victory through the resurrection.

Sometimes I forget that my story is a part of His story. Right now, through all of us, he is telling His story of redemption in every day situations, huge sorrows, and physical brokenness. This advent season, for the Winklers, includes waiting for January 2, when Ellie will have her third corrective hand surgery. Ellie's journey with a genetic disorder and hand malformations has really been fairly smooth, all things considered. While she has been cleared by the cardiologist, is gaining excellent every day use of her hands, and doesn't skip a beat in the personality department, the brokenness is there. It is real. The brokenness can be covered up, but then, inevitably, it comes back out of the shadows and envelopes me in fear. It hooks me when I catch a glimpse of how she can't bend her thumb at the knuckle joint, or when I wonder what I will do if anyone at school ever says her hands look funny. It straight up socks me in the gut when I think about the 50% chance of her passing this down to her children, potentially with much more severity than she experiences. I'm afraid of the anesthesia. I'm afraid of losing her, or of hurting her. I'm afraid of helping her navigate it all as a teenager. I'm afraid of seeing her painfully decide whether or not to have children. I'm afraid of all of the brokenness.

But in this season, how can I be waiting for a very near Savior, and yet at the same time, be bolting out so far away to fear-town?

My running away in the fear of all of this is the exact same thing as Eve's disbelief in God's love for her at the tree...when she ate that fruit because she didn't believe God had the very, very best love for her. But do you know what? When I run from the Love, He asks, "Whitney, where are you?" And I am once again undone by his love. I am once again able to stand, to trust, and to move forward another day. The fear-filled, doubt-filled grip of the serpent's grasp unleashes, and gives way to the freedom of life lived with a Savior who has borne the weight already.

And then I walk into the operating room and wait expectantly. I wait to see the unveiling of the cast and I watch the staples fall out, and the skin come back together.  I sit with her at the counter all night long when she is 13 and tell her the truth about who she is. And  I pray and dream for her womanhood; that it would be one that honors and shouts the name of  Jesus above all else through this broken story. And my hope is anchored once again.