Part 1: How to Unwrap the Gift of Hope at Christmastime

The approach of Christmas was marked during my childhood by the smell of a snowmobile running warm in the cold of Minnesota winters. Every year my dad would ask who wanted to go with him to find a Christmas tree, and every year as the moment of pulling up the layers of wool socks and bundling up to the nose approached, one-by-one by siblings said no, and I again got to go. I would sit in front of my dad, my helmet bobbing against his chest as we shouted Christmas carols, and I savored the snow flying into my mouth.

The search for the tree was as memorable as the lifting of newspaper to unwrap each ornament and place it on the tree.

Unwrapping the first noel

But at Christmas we discover more than the perfect tree with snow to be brushed off before it’s taken in. We unwrap more than the ornaments, shiny and memory-laden. We unwrap Christ, discover Him over and again.

We are like the shepherds experiencing the first noel, discovering the wonder of one born babe who holds the whole world in His hands. I hold my own hands open, and the heart, it holds steady. I feel the weight, the glory, press gently into the palms, the outstretched fingers, and I know it: He is here.

According to a Crossway article, “reflecting the Latin root of birth, the English root of joyous noise of the arrival, while embracing the French meaning of news, the roots of Noel work together to proclaim the sounds of praise to the Lord.” He has come—the precious one born into the worn weary world—and I am undone.

Who can but praise when hope enters the scene? Who can see the star and with the wise men traveled from afar not “[celebrate] with unrestrained joy” (Matthew 2:10 TPT)?

Noel. A whisper of the heart as we look forward to Christmas. What good news—what joyous news—is this birth?!

An enough-perspective

And yet the world hinges on loss and lack and lament—especially now. How do we hold this tension—the unwrapping of joy in the midst of another wave of a pandemic? How do our hearts sing even now?

Is now-time bleaker than the days of that first noel? I read words from long ago penned by Christina Rossetti. The hymn, “In the Bleak of Midwinter,” was first a poem, and Rossetti titled her words “A Christmas Carole.” The first couple stanzas paint a cold picture—a scene of little hope:

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

A humble stable sufficed for the arrival of a King, and would I wish for more? Would I put more parameters on what can fill with joy? Rough-hewn wood meant to house only animals sufficed, was accepted as enough. As Rossetti would go on to say, the stable was “Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day . . . Enough for Him, whom angels fall before.”

Enough. Is this the answer lying right within grasp? How we can lift with joy even when all feels heavy? Might we trade the weight of the world for the weighty glory, and count it enough? See the present moment and all it holds, and count it as enough?

Could last month’s immersion in gratitude be preparing me for this? Thanks for even the hard so I can see through the hard to unwrap the true gift?

Perhaps the weight of 2020 doesn’t diminish the joy of celebrating the first noel. Perhaps—it amplifies it?

A nevertheless year

I wonder if King David didn’t see this when in the middle of insurmountable trial and grief, when it hardly seemed possible to see that God was yet present, yet good, he uttered these words:

Nevertheless, blessed be our God forever and ever. Amen. Faithful is our King!

Psalm 89:52 TPT

Nevertheless. I look it up in Merriam-Webster and see how it means “in spite of that: however.” There is a surety of heavy in the present. David’s praise is an overflow of gratitude in the middle of hard that is not just a possibility, but a reality.

His proclamation of devotion and gratitude comes mere lines after heart-wrenching questioning:

How long will you hide your love from me?
Have you left me for good?
How long will your anger continue to burn against me?
Remember, Lord, I am nothing but dust,
here today and so soon blown away.
Is this all you’ve created us for? For nothing but this?

Psalm 89:46-47 TPT

Here in 2020 we may be asking similar questions. “Is this all you’ve created us for? Nothing but this?” This ache, this void, this loss, this division, this unraveling at the core? Could the fissures in our hearts and nation run any deeper, leave more deeply-felt damage?

But if even David found the strength to utter nevertheless, perhaps you and I can too. It may be that, like David offering a life-time of gratitude, I can give my own thanks and have eyes to see the nevertheless.

The pivot

For David, the nevertheless marked a pivot. In the verse immediately following his proclamation that God is faithful even in the middle of the messy, his heart swells with more seeing, more praise. Gratitude can unwrap the gift beneath. He writes,

Lord, you have always been our eternal home,
our hiding place from generation to generation.
Long before you gave birth to the earth
and before the mountains were born,
you have been from everlasting to everlasting,
the one and only true God.

Psalm 90:1-2 TPT

I need my heart to pivot too, to see how the God of the first noel is still here, and despite the devastating lows of 2020, still good.

“Trust, it’s the antithesis of stress,” writes Ann Voskamp. Then this determination, and I want to echo her words with my own nodding yes:

“I’ve got to get this thing, what it means to trust, to gut-believe in the good touch of God towards me, because it’s true: I can’t fill with joy until I learn how to trust.”

Trust Him nevertheless. Give gratitude for the enough. This path before me is hard, but to walk it is to discover where it leads: to hope. To Him.

This Christmas season, I invite you to join me as we unwrap hope. I pray that a deep knowing that God is still here and still good will settle your heart and turn your gaze to Him so as you celebrate the first noel, the hope inside you will cause joy to overflow. In the overflow, in the ever-expanding ripples, is where we step into mission and illuminate Christ’s glory in our homes and neighborhoods.

Let’s end with one final verse. A promise, and a reminder that even in the nevertheless, our God loves us and never leaves us:

For here is what the Lord has spoken to me:
“Because you have delighted in me as my great lover,
I will greatly protect you.
I will set you in a high place, safe and secure before my face.
I will answer your cry for help every time you pray,
and you will find and feel my presence
even in your time of pressure and trouble.
I will be your glorious hero and give you a feast.
You will be satisfied with a full life and with all that I do for you.
For you will enjoy the fullness of my salvation!”

Psalm 91:14-16 TPT

Lord, draw us near so we may see You. May we see You so we can share You. Fill our hearts with hope so we can “find you and feel your presence even in [our] time of pressure and trouble.” Thank you that you “answer [our] cry for help every time [we] pray.” You are our “glorious hero,” and we love You. In Your precious and holy name, Jesus, we pray. Amen.

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