This wasn't supposed to be my Christmas letter. I had intentions of writing about renewed hope. Miracles. Changed lives. But all I have to put on the altar this Advent is my weary soul and my frightened heart. We've commercialized Christmas into "the most wonderful day of the year" but I don't feel that festive. I've seen too much, watched children in affluent Denver be hungry, listened to little girls cry because they are scared to go home. These images haunt my mind. And yet somewhere, not to far from all this ache, a day at the end of December is weighed down with expensive expectations. Some people can afford it financially and emotionally, but most of us can't.

But it's those of us who can't get it all together - who are sad or lonely - we are the ones who really celebrate Christmas. We can relate to the week-long walk that Joseph and pregnant Mary had to make to be counted for a census that was simply the government flexing its muscles. We know what it's like to hope for the hotel room and get the barn. The Son of God's first crib was a feeding trough. Most of us cringe to watch our babies crawl through the dirt. And yet the Creator of the world came and laid himself in filth. This we can understand. This is Christmas at its heart…not the presents, not the family time, not even the joy…but simply God with us.

It was tiny Maricella who reminded me about the truth of Christmas. And her's is an Advent story for those who are lonely, away from home or simply weary. It's about the day God surprised us.

Maricella's tiny hand gripped mine as we walked from the church to my car. She softly called my name and I bent down so she could whisper in my ear.

"Is this really God's house?" she asked.

I nodded my head. "Yes it is."

"Well…" she paused and let out a long sigh, "When is he coming home?"

For generations the world wondered if God was home. At times they caught the faintest glimpse of him in Elijah's miracles or Ezekiel's prophetic words. They knew a little of his glory as they built the tabernacle to his exact measurements. They even felt a piece of his holiness as they struggled to keep all the laws that came from his divine lips. But they never saw his face. They simply knew the mystery and held to the hope that someday their king would come and be among them. And they waited…and waited.

History unfolded before their eyes and they began to doubt. They were supposed to be God's fist and justice, but they were nothing more than a handful of sturdy souls who had been in bondage for too many years. They began to wonder if God was able. They told back the stories and sang the songs of God splitting seas and raising dead boys back to life. He did it before…but could he do it again? They wondered if they had abandoned God or if God had abandoned them.

And I am not much different. My heart trusts God's intentions but doubts his power. The world is wincing in anguish and I make the upward suggestion of wondering where God is. Is he stronger than the things that destroy us? I fear that he's not big enough to put it all back together. That he's not strong enough to come back for us…for me. I gamble with the thought that God's not home. The world rocks back and forth in pain and I wonder if he is holding back, holding us or somehow held up. And I ask a scandalous question for someone who believes in Jesus. Who's in control here?

Generations ago the world was a dark place. The Israelites, God's chosen children, were no longer a nation, hardly a people. Some of them had lost faith…they had stopped waiting. Gave up hoping. The promised Redeemer seemed to be an ancient myth. The Jews feared that they had fallen from God's grace. But they hadn't. On the contrary, God was going to shower them with a storm of mercy that made the fire on Mt. Carmel look like a measly spark. God was on his way. Into this doubt, on the doorstep of this improbability, when the world expected it least…God came home.

The dark days are over. When we wince our eyes shut, afraid of the future, terrified of pain, we also forget the light. So open your eyes. Be not afraid. The light of the world has come. We are not alone.

At Christmas God broke into our world and stole the despair from our hearts. Hope was given root. The true light was making footprints in our sand. God came home. And he didn't do it with a show of splendor or a display of force. He came as a helpless baby so that we might know he has intimately shared in our weakness and wonder. God might have looked out of control as he squirmed in a peasant's arm…but he has never been off the throne. The world has never slipped from his grasp. His children have never fallen out of his care. He was still our king when he crawled into our lives through the womb of a young unassuming girl. He lived, he grew and he pointed his life in the singular directions of loving his children and obeying his father. He showed the face of God, spread his arms of healing and conquered the very fear and reality of death and sin. He taught us that power is not a show of force but on the contrary, true power is holiness and righteousness.

So if you're tired. If you doubt. If you live in darkness. Remember. Reacquaint your weary soul with Advent. Wrap your heart around the Christmas miracle. Let Jesus heal your uncertainty. God is home. He's not on his way. He's not five minutes down the road. He's not out for the evening. He is home.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2003