We are officially in the Advent season. I love that this is the traditional beginning of the Church’s year–the time we mark, waiting expectantly for Jesus. Living as we do so long after Him, we obviously know that He came…but we continue to pause and reflect and await Him, because we also know He is still coming.

And we pause and reflect and await Him just as Christians have been doing since His first coming. That, too, is a thing of beauty.

For the last two years, my family has been doing a daily devotional together that aims to bring together Christians from all walks of life, from all denominations, through the liturgy. One of the things the authors said in the introduction that had a huge impact on me was that the “magic” of the liturgy is that it links us, first, to Christians all around the world–because on this same day, Christians everywhere are praying this same prayer. Reading this same Scripture. Meditating on these same Truths. And that second, it links to every other Christian throughout history who has done or will do the same.

I don’t know about you, but as a historical writer and lover of history in general, this makes me go, “Whoa.” That’s just amazing, isn’t it? We know that the Church is to be one body…but I’d never paused to think of it as one eternal body. That, however, is exactly what it is–and what is must be, because we are partaking continually of Christ Himself, who we know is eternal.

Our brothers and sister are not just the men and woman beside us in the pews. They’re not just the ones celebrating Christ and worshiping him down the street or across town or even elsewhere in our country. They aren’t even just the Christians around the world who are being persecuted or martyred or enslaved. They are the people all throughout time who have loved the same Savior. Who have waited in ripe expectation for Him to come again. Who have believed in Him for healings, for intercession, for mercy, for grace.

What kind of Savior is this? What kind of king?

Other men have saved people–physically, yes. Other men have contributed to society in ways that are lasting. Other men have sacrificed themselves for a cause. But no other savior has given everything and still promised more, still promised eternity.

Other kings have reigned, have built kingdoms, have created systems of justice that inspire us still today. But no other King has ever created a kingdom incapable of crumbling, incapable of being torn apart. Christ is the Eternal King. And we, my friends, are His eternal co-heirs. We and every Christian who has come before. We and every Christian who will come after.

This year, I wait with an eager heart. I will celebrate Him with expectation as we count down the days until He first came. I will pray, standing ever amazed that others are praying the same prayer, praying their own prayer, praying His prayer right along with me. I will rejoice, knowing I am part of something so much bigger, so much longer, so much more than any earthly thing, any earthly king could ever be.

He is the coming and eternal One. And we have been given the most amazing gift in the world–we get to be His people.

“Why do I follow you? Because you are who you are, Lord, and because I rejoice in having been called by you. Let the swiftness of my feet in following you be my unceasing thanksgiving.” ~ Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word

When I read those words a few weeks ago, they resonated deep in my spirit. So often we view thanksgiving as something we have to pause to do, a state of mind that we have to work to get into. When Paul tells us to give thanks always, we think of it as something tending toward the impossible–at least if we’re not staying constantly conscious of it.

But I love this perspective, and it’s one I’m dwelling on this year as I celebrate our official Thanksgiving. That sometimes, the loudest praise is doing what God has called us to do. It’s abandoning our fishing nets and following after Him. It’s pouring our offering of perfume onto His feet. It’s rushing through the busy streets of life, just seeking the hem of His garment. It’s doing the work of the Kingdom. It isn’t a big meal or reflecting on all the “things” He’s given or even the people we love. Thanksgiving is about Him.

Obedience is thanksgiving. Honoring His call on our lives is thanksgiving. Rejoicing in the One whose path we follow is thanksgiving.

Lord, I thank you. I thank you with my lips. I thank you with my words. But I also thank you with my feet–may they be ever swift in chasing after you!

Those who are wise shall shine
Like the brightness of the firmament,
And those who turn many to righteousness
Like the stars forever and ever.
~ Daniel 12:3

Having not grown up in churches that strictly follow the Liturgy, I didn’t realize until recently that the Christian year actually begins with Advent–but how appropriate is it that we mark all our time by the coming of Christ? I love the beauty of this. And so, as this year draws to a close, I wanted to actually look at the liturgical reading for the week, quoted above. The old year ends and the new year begins with a focus on Christ’s return, before we shift our focus toward His first coming.

And that verse from Daniel really spoke to me this week. It’s talking about the final judgment, when the dead shall rise into eternity, some to punishment and some to glory. Now read those words again. Those who are wise shall shine … those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever.

Does that speak to you like it does to me? Shine like the stars. That’s what we’re called to do–to be wise, to turn many to righteousness. This, my friends, whatever our jobs or our vocations, is our ultimate calling. We should be pointing others, always, to Him. We should be leading them to righteousness. Our words, our actions, our lives should be a testimony.

As Christians, we never get a day off. It isn’t just that people are always watching (though of course they are). It’s that God is always watching. We know this, of course, but I think far too often we hide behind the adage of “Well, I’m only human.” Obviously this is true, and we’re going to falter and stumble and get in bad moods and snap at people and grumble. But then what? Do we say, “Who cares, we all do it? I’m only human.”? Or do we apologize and seek to repair any damage we’ve done? Do we make people say, “Well if they’re a Christian, then no thanks” or do we lead them to Him?

As the Christmas season approaches, we’re all going to see stars everywhere–decorations, lights, on top of our trees. Those stars are a reminder of the one that led the wise men to Christ…but they should also be a reminder of how we are to lead others to Him today too.

May we be wise, may we guide people in righteousness. My friends, may we shine like the stars.

One year ago, I shared about “The Day That Changed Everything…and Nothing” — the day my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. That day that, had we lived in the eras I so love to write about it, he would have died. I know I’ve mentioned this new life a few other times since, but I try not to inundate you all, LOL.

However, it’s November, which means Diabetes Awareness month. It’s exactly one year since I shared that super-long, super-vulnerable post linked above. It’s been 13.5 months since that Day. I thought it would be a good day to invite all of us to pause and look at the quiet warriors among us. Those with invisible diseases that they fight every day. Every…day. Those who wage wars most of us would never dream. Those who fight with faith and hope under burdens so very heavy. I’m not just talking about T1Ds here, I’m talking about all those quiet warriors.

I remember years ago, my best friend was getting her son ready for Halloween. He had epilepsy, and they were on the crazy-intense medical keto diet to try to give his brain a chance to heal itself (and it worked, praise God!). She was telling me about how, all around the country, there were people who put out teal pumpkins–something she’d never paused to think about until it was her kid who needed it. Teal pumpkins, you see, are filled with non-candy treats in consideration of kids with extreme food allergies. And since part of the diet is absolutely NO sugar, this was imperative for her son–candy was an absolute NO. As they hunted through their neighborhoods for teal pumpkins, she was so, so touched that people cared enough about these kids who couldn’t have candy to do that. I also remember her lamenting how her son looked perfectly normal from the outside, so people didn’t know how dangerous life could be for him. That at any moment, he could have a seizure and topple from the playground equipment and seriously injure himself.

That was when I first began to appreciate these quiet warriors among us. Maybe they’re the kids sitting next to yours on the bus. Maybe it’s the woman three cubicles over who has that annoying alarm going off all the time. Maybe it’s the older gentleman holding the door open for you as you rush into the store.

You can’t tell to look at them. But they’re fighting. They’re fighting diseases that are trying to silence them forever, and they’re doing it with bravery, with hope, with strength of spirit. They’re accepting the fact that there are all these lists of things that are “cannot”s for them. For instance, my son:

• Cannot eat without giving himself an injection
• Cannot eat without counting all the carbs
• Cannot eat without measuring everything out exactly
• Cannot go to bed without taking his long-acting insulin
• Cannot leave the house without his “go-bag” of insulin and sugar-laden supplies to bring up low blood sugars
• Cannot enjoy swimming or other activities without either pre-loading himself with sugar and protein or checking every few minutes to make sure he’s not dropping too low (low blood sugars can make a diabetic pass out or have seizures or, in extreme cases, die)
• Cannot take a shower within 30 minutes of taking insulin

These are just a few of his “cannot”s. These are the limitations that come with his particular war. It’s different, of course, for others. But no less a battle. No less a challenge.

Here’s the thing I’ve witnessed, though, in this last year. These warriors don’t focus on the negatives–they focus on what they CAN do. My son is stronger than he has ever been–physically and emotionally and mentally. He may sigh in frustration, but he does what he needs to do. I can count on one hand the times in the last year he has complained about anything diabetes-related. He gets up every day, and he faces it. He forgives me when I forget something he needs, puts on that stiff upper lip, and just waits for us to get home so he can eat. He laughs with me when we have to make an 8 a.m. detour to three different pharmacies in a strange town to try to find the needles that I didn’t put back in his bag. He learns. He adapts. He takes care of himself. He does not, for one minute, let this disease define him.

And that is the same sort of fortitude I’ve seen not only in other Type 1 kids and adults, but in so many others who have learned to live with what seems to us to be “too much to bear.” They do bear it. And they bear it with strength that inspires me…that inspires me not only to be strong, but to be considerate.

Because I never know what invisible war that person beside me is fighting. I never know if I’m putting them at risk with my actions. I never know if my assumption that they are “normal” because they look “normal” is adding a burden to their battle. I can’t know.

But what I can know is that everyone has some battle they are fighting. Whether it’s chronic illness or disease or depression, whether it’s any one of a thousand different things, they are a warrior. YOU are a warrior. And as a mom of such a warrior, I don’t just salute you–I support you. I will ask myself how I can protect you. How I can make your life easier. How I can consider what you need instead of how those needs may inconvenience me.

As a Type 1 family, we are praying for a cure, and we are so encouraged by the medical advances and studies going on even now (like this, as one example). We pray that someday there will be a solution that will manage this disease for my son, so that all those “cannot”s don’t always rule his days. But we also know that even if that day never comes, he will be a champion.

How do we know? Because we see all the champions that have come before. That are walking this same road even now. We see all the quiet warriors, breaking through enemy lines and seizing the day, chasing their dreams, trusting that even in the worst, there’s Someone holding them.

To all you quiet warriors, I pray God’s strength upon you. And I thank you. Your example has gotten us through this last year. And I can only pray that my warrior’s example will do the same for others.

Fight on!

The JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) is the nation’s leader in fundraising for this cause. They not only support research all across the country, they also provide networking and community opportunities for those living with Type 1.

This begins in a rather silly place, but bear with me. When we went on vacation to the beach in September and I was slathering on the sunscreen and noting the amount of tan I was getting each day through walking and spending the morning at the water, I realized something. I’d grown up in a family with a pool and who took tanning seriously. It was something we did, goals we set. My mom and sister still sit out in the sun just to get a tan, as do my nieces. There’s nothing wrong with that (morally, I’m not talking about risks of skin cancer)…but it’s not something I do anymore. Which is fine.

But occasionally I feel like I have to apologize to them for it, or make excuses for why I don’t. I don’t have time… or My skin type is prone to skin cancer, I need to be careful.

But…WHY? Why do I feel that way? Maybe in part it’s because people will say “Oh, you look so nice with a little color in your cheeks!” or maybe it’s because sometimes people follow it up with, “You know, if you just spend 30 minutes outside a day, you could keep that tan all summer.” But I think mostly it’s because sometime in my childhood, I identified it as good. Which meant it was something to strive toward. Something to seek. Something…virtuous.

Of course, when I state it so baldly, it’s obviously not. Looking a certain way has nothing to do with virtue. Neither does having a beautifully decorated home or regularly washing your car or exercising daily or adhering to a particular diet. These things are perhaps vanity, perhaps pride, perhaps discipline, perhaps health-seeking. But they are not moral questions in and of themselves. They are not by nature virtuous or unvirtuous (though our pursuit of them could be). And because they’re silly examples, they’re the perfect entry point to asking myself a deeper question:

What else have I mistaken as a virtue that isn’t? What do I pursue, thinking it a Good, when it as best a “good,” but most likely just a thing? Where do I have my eyes fixed on the earthly where they should be fixed on the heavenly?

The whole tanning thing started the question, but some other “things” I’ve found are:

Reading. I love it, and I can get a lot of good out of it. But it does not make me better than non-readers, morally speaking. My son learns just as much from YouTube videos as I do from books. Being a book-lover is part of my identity…but it is not a virtue.

Being outdoorsy. We live in a beautiful area with lots of mountains and forests, and I spent a lot of time outside as a kid, as did my husband. But enjoying the outdoors is not a virtue. I am not sinning when I sit inside instead, even on beautiful days. I always appreciate the beauty of God’s world…but I can’t always be out in it. My work is almost entirely indoors.

Holding particular political views. In this divided climate, I hear so many people equating belonging to a particular political party or holding to a certain political view as “right” and “good” and even “Godly.” But the truth is that Jesus never once encouraged people to engage in politics or take political sides. He invites us to keep our eyes on the Kingdom of God instead of the kingdoms of men.

I’m sure there are many other places that I need to separate “enjoyable” or “worthwhile” from truly VIRTUOUS, and it’s something I’ve begun keeping an eye out for. Because plenty of things really are worthwhile and can enrich our lives and our faith…but if we apply that “virtuous” label to them, then we think they’re good for everyone, because virtues ARE. But these things are NOT on that level. They can be good, yes…but they are not required for all. They can be good without being virtuous.

Is there anything in your life that you’ve mistaken for a virtue when really it’s a simple lower-case-g good?

When a family is made up of a novelist wife and her publisher/filmmaker husband, there are a lot of conversations in the house about story–what makes them powerful, what makes them fail. What makes them lasting, what makes them forgettable.

A few weeks ago as David and I were chatting about some books and films we were reading and watching, we were musing about what the problem was with a certain one, and David said, “I think it’s that it just gives us the answer. The writers didn’t set out to explore a topic–they set out to give a canned answer. But that’s too easy, and ‘too easy’ doesn’t ever ring true. That’s why it’s a fail.”

Over the decades, I have heard Christian fiction called “preachy” soooooo many times–by fellow Christians. At first this puzzled me. I mean, I would get it if non-believers were turned off by any faith message and called it “preachy.” But fellow Christians? Why would they toss a book aside in disgust because it was “preachy”? They like preaching! They go every week for a dose of it, right? LOL.

Then I began to really pay attention to what stories earned that label and why. Sometimes it was that there were literally sermons in the novels that weren’t really necessary…but that was rare. Sometimes it was that a character seriously preached at another character…but that wasn’t always it.

Many times–perhaps even most times–it was exactly the thing my husband pointed out in our conversation. It was that the whole book seemed to be just handing us an answer–a pat, cliche, easy answer.

Life, faith, truth, though…those aren’t easy. They’re complicated. They’re involved. They’re DEEP. So shouldn’t our stories about them be too?

When I enrolled at St. John’s College (The Great Books School), I remember the first day of science lab. Our tutor (professor) said that the goal of the class was not to learn facts. The goal of the class was to learn how to ask good questions. In many ways this is the main goal of the entire St. John’s education. When it was put into words like that, though, I know very well I frowned and looked over at the students next to me. Learn how to ask questions? What was this guy talking about? We ALL know how to ask questions!

Half an hour later, I realized I didn’t. My education had never taught me that. My education had simply taught me how to absorb facts and spit them back out on a test. Not how to discover. Not how to explore a topic. The example from that first lab class was this: go outside. Sit in front of something growing. Now start describing it. We began with, “It’s a tree.” To which our tutor replied, “Is it? How do you know? How do you know it isn’t a bush instead? Or an herb?” And so on it went, not just in that class, but through four years of classes on all subjects. We learned that answers are only part of learning. Just as important, if not more important, are the questions that lead us there, and that lead us onward. To the next discovery. The next Truth. The next good question.

And the stories that really resonate do the same thing–they don’t just lay out a quick, easy answer to some topic that the author wanted to hammer on. No, no. Good stories–whether non- or fiction, book or film or article–ask questions. They make us ask questions. Good questions. DEEP questions. They invite us to ponder, to view a subject from a perspective we’ve never considered before. They make us sit back and go “Huh. Wow.” They open our minds and our hearts to new possibilities.

That’s the magic of story. More, it’s the importance of questions.

Try it in your own conversations or studies sometime, I dare you–it’s so much fun, and so enlightening! Instead of a Bible study being all about the presentation of facts, start with an “opening question,” like we did in each class at St. John’s. And then explore it. See where it takes you. See what amazing thing the Lord reveals through delving past the accepted and expected, past the pat and easy answers. See what depths you discover. And see how much closer you draw to Him and how much richer the world looks when you do.