The Foolishness of Wise Men

The Foolishness of Wise Men

A silent, brilliant beacon of hope pulses in the sky.

A King has come.

And His star draws wise men.

They simply can’t sit in their Persian palaces. They must get up and go. Gather their servants and horses and travel 1,000 miles.

It looks reckless. Extreme. Foolish.

Paul said, “We are fools for Christ.” 1 Corinthians 4:10

But the worship of the wise men was deliberate and planned.

They studied the prophecy , and they studied the star.

They chose their response.

They planned. They packed.

They traveled days. Maybe months.

They stuck to their plan.

Their worship was costly.

Such a journey required extravagant time and money.

But the human heart is made to love Him.

When we land on Jesus, our hearts thrill. “Finally. This is It. This is Who I’m made for.”

And we long to worship.

Not just superficially. Deeply. Calling up the best and most valuable.

In the tradition of King David who wanted to build an altar of worship on Araunah’s threshing floor. Araunah wanted to give his threshing floor for the altar.

But David wouldn’t budge.

“I will not give to the Lord that which costs me nothing.”

Oh to be a fool for Christ! The exhilarating freedom of living for an audience of One.

1,000 long, costly miles.

They worshiped Him.

Face to face.

Their knees and hearts bending in awe.

And they turned around and went home.

No regrets.

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A Christmas Letter to My Daughter

A Christmas Letter to My Daughter

My sweet little protégé,

I love Christmas, and so do you!

So I scurry and hurry, trying to make the best use of those 25 days in December.

So much I long to impart! The beauty, the joy, the solemnity, the fun, the surprise, the sacredness.

So we daily tick off our five Advent activities and brainstorm fun presents for people and make cookies and watch Christmas movies and drink eggnog and decorate the tree and drive to see Christmas lights with hot chocolate.

And it’s all so fun!!

But sometimes I get a little too zealous, and then I burn out a bit.

And the meals are often on the run, and if I thought I could keep up with the laundry before I know it’s totally hopeless now.

And in the middle of it all, I sometimes notice that I’m not enjoying it much. And that I may be giving you kids a weak version of real Christmas.

So, my daughter, I want you to have a little piece of peace as you grow up and “orchestrate” Christmas for your own family someday.

It’s okay to drop the ball.

It’s okay to not get it just right.

It’s okay to over-commit and realize that rather than adding to the joy of Christmas you’ve kinda taken it away.

It’s okay to start an Advent book and then not finish it.

It’s okay to only have cookies and eggnog and Advent candy for breakfast every morning in December.

It’s okay to forget the main present for one of your kids and write a coupon from Santa on Christmas morning to go to the store and get what you meant for him to have.

It’s okay to work really hard to make things special for your family!

It’s okay to take a mental health break on December 19th when you should be getting Christmas groceries and the remaining presents, but instead you go grab an eggnog latte at Starbucks with a good book.

And maybe in the end, on some cold and crazy morning when you are reading an Advent story with your family, hoping they settle down enough to actually hear some of it, maybe He will whisper. And you and your husband and your kids will hear Him.

And you will experience Christmas.

Overpowered for just a second that God became human.

Because He loves you.

Really, really overwhelmingly loves you.

And the chocolate and the tree and the lights and the presents recede.

And He is alive and real.

And you realize that it’s worth it!

December is crazy. But it’s worth it.

May you continue to love Christmas.

And when you mess up and disappoint. When you fail at the whole Christmas thing.

That is your opportunity to really embrace the point of Christmas.

I need Him. And He knew it. So He came. God-in-skin. Dripping with grace. And He covers me.

My beautiful daughter, may you pass down this convoluted, exhausting, halting Christmas tradition of remembering and celebrating that God came for us. Every December.

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