Clinging to the Promise

It’s been a rough season. This year has tested us in ways we could never have imagined. We are likely sliding into the final days exhausted and overwhelmed.

When I reach the place where I am undone, I reach for what I know to be true and look to examples of those who survived much bigger blows and harder seasons than mine. Then I pay attention to what they did, how they fought, and where their stories took them.

This time of year, the example I love best is the obvious choice. Her name is Mary, and she was an ordinary woman who said yes to an extraordinary destiny.

The angel’s words to Mary were, “You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; is kingdom will never end” (Luke 1: 31-33, NIV).

There’s not a single statement about her in that little monologue. There was no guarantee that she’d make it past childbirth and naming her son. The passage is all about Jesus and his destiny, not hers. She had no idea how it would play out or where she would be at the end of it all.

Yet she powered through, clinging to the promise.

She knew the history of her people, the tales of the main characters from its annals. All the stories of people who were chosen by God, singled out for a very specific and important purpose. None with easy tales to tell. Our girl knew not to rest easy.

The truth of the empty tomb and the knowledge of what that meant did not make Mary miss her son any less. While the believer in her rejoiced with the proclamations, “He is risen! He is risen indeed!” her mama’s heart was still shattered at his death. The joy of what was coming did not diminish the pain of her loss, and the pain of her loss did not minimize the miracle the world was given.

If she had known, if she could have seen the road and the end, would she still have said yes? That’s not a question we get to ask. It’s not the point, anyway. There’s a reason we don’t see the whole picture.

When I look at my hard seasons, the worst things I’ve walked through in my life, and I realize that I had no idea what I was in for, I have to say thank you. Because I may not know Mary’s answer, but I know mine. If I had been given a glimpse ahead into the challenges to come, I likely would have collapsed. It might have crushed me. As it was, I just had to put one foot in front of the other, face one challenge at a time, breathe in and out, and survive.

That’s all we can do some seasons–survive. The big picture is the victory waiting at the end of it all. We have to know this deep down. We have to believe it’s true.

Paul addresses this when he says, “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Cor. 4: 17-18 NIV).”

This verse fills me with conflicting emotions. It’s meant to be encouraging, but part of me feels like saying, “Hey, Paul! This past year has felt neither light nor momentary. It’s been heavy and long. I’m exhausted. Just thought you should know that.”

I know the things of the world will fade away. But pain is never fun, and our frail human hearts break with alarming regularity. It’s hard to raise our eyes to the hills, to look beyond the beatdowns into the face of the Divine. Knowing what is to come doesn’t take away the pain of walking out hard seasons. It doesn’t lessen the intensity or the level of difficulty. It doesn’t minimize the impact on our hearts and souls.

It does, however, give us hope.

That’s why this time of year is so magical and so important.

It’s our reminder of the time when the Word became flesh, the intangible became tangible, and the divine walked among us. When our human senses got to experience God in a personal, palpable way. When Jesus showed up, right in front of our faces, and showed us that humanity is a gift, even when it doesn’t feel like it. He was not above partaking in every aspect of it, because he loves us. Even when we don’t love ourselves or each other.

Christmas is the season of hope, of remembering the joy that is to come. We celebrate the God who walked among us, who spent time as one of us, who knows the extent of human suffering to the extreme and endured it to show us it can be done.

This season attests that the highs will be higher than we ever thought we could soar and the lows, however hard they may be, will not kill us.

There is a joy and a peace coming that will surpass all the earthly junk.

We can live in a way that reflects the home we long for as opposed to the world we live in. We can celebrate with a world that sings in harmony, even if just for a little while. It’s a glimpse of what’s coming, the point behind everything we do and say and experience in this life. It’s the season we all long for.

Rebecca Greebon is a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and child of the One True King. She has a passion for sharing with others how amazing they are, how much they are loved, and how blessed every day is, even when we are lost or distracted or completely over ourselves and the world. Rebecca blogs at theriverchick.com.

Photograph © Anuja Mary Tilj, used with permission