Not as an autonomous grown-up.
Not as a commanding military leader.
Not as an unapproachable deity.
 
But as a fragile baby. Utterly and completely dependent on human beings to care for Him.
 
Imagine being the God of glory, and going from being worshiped by angels 24/7 and supremely self-sufficient, to this.
 
Not only that but imagine learning how to walk and talk when you spoke the earth into existence.
 
Imagine submitting to sinful parents when you, yourself, are the embodiment of perfection.
 
Imagine being misunderstood, maligned, and mistreated by those who should have been the first to perceive and embrace you.
 
Imagine having the power to bypass not only the most excruciating death on earth, but the even-worse consequences of taking on the sin of the world: shame and separation.
 
Jesus did all of this.
 
This Christmas, I am struck by the beauty of the humility of Christ.
​He stooped low “…for the joy set before him…” (Heb. 12:2)
 
What joy?
 
The joy of “It is finished.”
The joy of complete restoration.
The joy of you and I, delighting in the infinite glory of His goodness.
 
As we transition into the throes of this holiday season, may we set our sights on this joy, and may our hearts overflow with praises to our God of glory.

I wonder if Lot asked the same way as he walked away from smoldering Sodom. I wonder if he reflected on the events that had left him wife-less and homeless.

How did this nephew of Abram (who had been rescued once before, by the way) end up in this situation where he barely escaped utter destruction?

​If we look closely at Lot’s journey, we can see a progression:
He encamped near Sodom (Gen 13:10-13).
He lived in Sodom (Gen 14:12).
He became a leader of Sodom (Gen 19:1).
 
I would wager that Lot wished he could go back and reverse his choice to live near the infamously wicked city of Sodom. At the time Lot had reasoned his decision— anyone in their right mind would choose a lush, well-watered plain over one that is rocky and arid.
 
If I look closely at my own journey, I recognize a similar pattern.​..
​

​We had all the energy in the world in those days. We spent hours body surfing, floating, and fighting the current until we were completely spent and insatiably hungry.

After lunch, we’d beg our parents to take us to the community pool— that was where the real fun was to be had. The water was clear and current-less. We played games, performed jumping contests, and practiced our handstands. Oh, to be young again.
 
Here’s one thing I know to be true: life is more like an ocean and less like a pool— especially when it comes to our faith. This isn’t new news, though. It’s exactly what the author of Hebrews cautioned nearly 2,000 years ago...

I feel like Jesus was a plant person, also. Countless times he used vivid gardening illustrations in His parables to explain the Kingdom of God to His followers. With these teachings in mind, nature becomes a constant visual of the Gospel. Every time I look out the window or walk down the road, God’s creation reminds me of who He is, and Who I am in Him.

Jesus’ vegetation verbiage was passed down and perpetuated by the early church apostles. I love how Paul exhorts the church at Colossae. In his letter to them he says, “So then, just as you have received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, being rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, and overflowing with gratitude.” (Colossians 2:6-7, CSB)

​When I read the words “rooted and built up... established,” my mind immediately goes to the forest behind my house. Unlike the succulents in my office that could easily be plucked from their soil, our Georgia pines can withstand the fiercest storms. They bend, but rarely break. Their roots go deep, and they draw nourishment from the soil. While my indoor plants need routine attention, I’ve never had to go out and water the towering trees in my yard.
 
Friend, this is what God desires of us...
​

My husband and I locked eyes, as our children’s arguing escalated in the backseat. They were at it again... Comparing. Contrasting. Complaining.
 
I’m not sure if your kids have reached this particular stage of childhood, where everything becomes a contest. There are a lot of delightful things about watching your babies become more self-aware and independent— but the perpetual rat race isn’t one of them. 
 
My children look at each others’ different personalities, gifts, and passions and see them as a threat. I look at my three children’s different personalities, strengths and passions and see them as an advantage. Oh, how I wish they could see themselves the way that I see them. Oh, how I wish they could yet grasp that they were each handcrafted by God (Ps. 139:14) to fulfill a specific purpose.

I imagine the Apostle Paul shared the same sentiment, as he wrote to the Corinthian church. Still (spiritually) young and immature, the believers struggled with comparison. To paint a mental picture for them, Paul likens the church to a body where Christ is the head and each believer a part: head, shoulders, knees, and toes...

As a mom, I can’t count the number of times I’ve felt like I have nothing else to give.

How many times have you been so exhausted that you’ve said, “I just can’t take one more thing!”
 
But, also, how many times have you said that only to have “one more thing” come up?
​

• Your child gets sick during the frantic weeks leading up to Christmas
• You’re facing a marital crisis, but your friend needs advice and encouragement
• Your family faces loss, after loss, after loss in a matter of weeks
• Your HVAC goes out... then your car breaks down... then a tree falls on your fence

 
Indeed, we all know how it feels to be exhausted and need a break.

This is the proverbial "boat" the disciples were in, when we read their story in Mark 6. For weeks upon weeks the apostles had been traveling with nothing to their name but an extra shirt and a staff (Mark 5:8). They visited nearby villages, driving out demons, healing the sick, and preaching that people should repent. When they gathered together again, they each gave a report, then Jesus said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a remote place and rest...”
 
Imagine how good that must have sounded. Mark tells us they were so bombarded with needy people, they “did not even have time to eat.” (Gosh, that sounds all too familiar.)
 
Yes, Jesus. I deserve this! The disciples were probably thinking. Then Mark tells us “they went away in the boat by themselves to a remote place.”
 
There was just one problem, to which I think we all can relate: “Many saw them leaving and recognized them, and they ran on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them.” (6:33)
 
“CAN’T I HAVE JUST ONE MINUTE TO MYSELF?!” I can imagine Peter lamenting. And all the Mamas say, “Amen” as a tiny hand slips under the bathroom door, again.

Did Jesus have mercy on them? Did He send the crowds away? No. He does something outrageous: He began to teach them. THEN, when dinner time came, He told the disciples to feed them.

Feed them? There were 5,000 men alone, let alone woman and children!
 
I can sense the tension in the disciples’ sassy response: “Should we go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread?"
 
Jesus patiently endures their sarcasm, then He simply asks, “How many loaves do you have?” The disciples report, as they hand the meager snack to Jesus... Their total inventory? Five loaves and two fish.

Jesus isn’t alarmed. He simply blesses the food and breaks it, then hands pieces to each disciple to give to pass on to the people.
 
Now, I imagine you’ve heard this story before, so you’re not surprised to hear everyone ate until they were full. Well, apparently the disciples weren’t surprised either. Not because they’d seen Jesus raise a dead girl and open the eyes of the blind. Mark reveals that they didn't even perceive the miracle that happened through their very own hands "because their hearts were hardened” (Mark 6:52) 
 
Hardened by what? Most likely disappointment and sheer exhaustion. They were zeroed in on the escape they thought they needed.
 
In the following verses we read what happened after the world's largest picnic. Jesus sends the disciples away to stall the people and give them a break. Later that night, Jesus is up on a mountain praying. He looks out and sees the disciples in their physical boat, straining. The wind blew so hard they were unable to continue crossing. Yet, here comes Jesus— out on the water, walking. Now, at THIS miracle, the disciples were “completely astounded, because they had not understood about the loaves. Instead their hearts were hardened.” (Mark 6:51-52)
 
The disciples had played a part in feeding probably 15,000 men, women, and children from 5 loaves and 2 fish! Yet not Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John share in their accounts that the disciples were ever “astonished.”
 
Maybe they were bitter that it seemed Jesus showed more compassion for the crowds than He did for them that day. But He wasn’t being heartless, instead He was trying to teach them an important lesson: