Even If

Every one of us that's walked through the pain of a story you wouldn't have chosen knows how much it means when people stay. When they willingly step into your mess and stand by your side. When they remember the dates and say their names and sit in silence while you cry and lead the way through the dark. When they sacrifice their own desires for your survival and needs. And as I've read the Christmas story this year through the lens of my own weakness and longing and loss, here's what I'm struck by: Joseph stayed. God will us would have been enough. But Joseph was with her too.

Nothing about a newborn baby conjures up the image of peace. Especially a newborn baby born in a stable, during a census, and leads his family to flee for their lives. But calling a baby the Prince of Peace reminds us that peace doesn't always mean that our circumstances are calm or under control. It simply means we have access to it even when they aren't. Mary carried peace in her arms, but we carry it in our spirits. No matter what external circumstance we face.

If you're weary of waiting for things in your own life right now, Advent might seem like a backward thing to celebrate. Why would we embrace a season of waiting in our faith when we're doing everything we can to get out of one in our own lives? Because Advent reveals to us the "suddenly" movements of God where everything changes in a moment, no matter how long you've been waiting, He's been working, and we can get our hopes up in expectation of what He can do. If you're joining our Advent challenge to posture ourselves toward hope this week, share the ways God is increasing your expectation by using #evenifpodcast on Instagram.

Thanksgiving can be hard when we're carrying grief, and we're unsure if there's enough room for gratitude also. But gratitude and grief don't cancel each other out. You can carry both at the exact same time. If the holidays are hard for you, this Thanksgiving blessing might be exactly what you need.

I've grown up loving the church my whole life. I know that hasn't been everyone's story, but I care deeply for the local church and her role in the Christian faith. But when Imogen died, we were deeply disappointed in the way the church we were attending responded. It wasn't intentional, but the framework they built with their words and their lack of reaching out to us in our grief indicated that our pain wasn't welcome, our suffering wasn't seen, and our grief had to be handled alone. I share our story here, not to shame or criticize the church we were in, but to invite you to evaluate your own church community and whether or not you're making space for people in their grief. It might be the only time they show up.