In addition to attempting to ski in 2 degrees and attempting to cook the Chinese food we traditionally ate in the south on Christmas Eve, I took a trip down memory lane this weekend. This consisted of me cramming myself into the tiny closet beneath the stairs, “the book nook,” which houses all of my old Instagram posts in sweet little hardcovers.
Glass of wine in hand, I read through every December dating back to 2010, and discovered a few thematic elements in my writing. First, I have always treasured this day more than Christmas itself. Second, I have typically selected a great nail color for the holiday season. Third, I have consistently carried heavy and complicated feelings due to some sort of rough season I’d survived in the months leading up to the holiday.
As hard as I’ve tried to dismantle and deconstruct my faith over the years, I cannot shake the character of God, nor the life of Jesus. While I often fail to recognize and represent both in the everyday chaos around me, the character of God and the story of Jesus read plain and true to me in the Scriptures. They are my firm foundation, in a world that often leaves me feeling cracked and crumbling.
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