Winter Warmth

It hadn't been snowing or very cold in Minneapolis when we left, headed home for Christmas break. But the closer we got to Iowa, the more trecherous the conditions became. The 80's Cavalier struggled to stay on the road, amidst the strong winds and the slippery roads. It was hard to see, so the rough-housing that Nathan and I were acccustomed to had to stop. No more teasing or half-arguing conversations.
He focused while we drove, each mile seeming to take longer than the last. "Are we going to your house or mine?" he asked. I was engaged to his brother, and hadn't seen him in four weeks, so I had no intentions of going home until I'd seen his face. "Your house," I said.
So Nathan decided he'd take the back way home. More direct, he'd said. Better roads, he'd said. I don't know what he meant by that, because it became clear that the back way wasn't better. We pushed through the drifts, the fingers of snow growing across each country highway with their ominous white claws. "We're not going to make it," I said.
"Shut up. We'll make it."
We were about one mile north of the farm, the warmth of the wood stove, the shelter from the wind, when I spotted a car in the ditch. Nathan spotted them too, only he didn't think they were in the ditch. He thought they were in the road. And so he veered toward them, solidly wedging that tiny car into a huge drift.
We pushed a little before he decided it was a lost cause. He got out to help the people in the ditch, who ended up being his dad and a neighbor girl.
After quick evalutation, it becae clear that there would be no pulling the cars clear tonight. We would walk.
I had my clothes for a month of break in the back of the car, so I added a pair of socks and pulled a pair of sweats over my pants. I bundled up in what winter gear I'd brought along, and then, the four of us stranded passengers headed toward home.
The wind had been so fierce, it had been hard to open the car door against it. Now, we walked through, completely exposed to the prairie wind, whipping across the fields.
We made it to a farm house, worried a little about frost bite and freezing, and we stepped onto the porch. This was before everyone carried cell phones, so the father sent me into the vacant house to search for a phone to call home. When I tried to call, nothing happened. And then, headlights in the driveway.
TThankfully, country neighbors are an understanding bunch. We got a ride home in their truck the rest of the way, and arrived at the farm, only partially frozen.
I'd pressed through it all, knowing I would see my love when we arrived. But he did not come to greet me like I'd expected. We came inside, and his mom told me that he had gone to my house in town to wait for me to get home. He'd have to stay the night there, and I'd stay the night at his house. Safe from the storm, but apart from each other.
I think about that night so often, when we arrive at my in-laws on wintery nights and find warmth in the fire. It's a vivid memory, every part of that night and the following day. The warmth of a home in the middle of winter, that welcoming feeling like you're home, even though it's not your home. That's something I want to offer to others. It's something I cherish, and even though we don't have to travel more than five minutes to get there anymore, it still feels like coming home to a long-lost friend when we go home to the farm

Hope. (or Why I don't Care about Duck Dynasty)

I don't care about Duck Dynasty right now, because my husband's out in the cold fixing a car for some people who are one month away from losing everything. Because my friend's husband lost his job unfairly and was unfairly denied unemployment and they don't know how they're going to pay for anything. Because my best friend wants to be wrapping up presents for children she hasn't been able to have.  Because there are Christians in Syria and Iraq and all over the world who are mourning the loss of their brothers and sisters who were brutally murdered for being Christians. Because there are orphans just wishing for a mom and dad. Because there are families that asked for snow boots and coats for their kids instead of toys.
I want Christmas to mean more than things. And I want us to not be distracted from what matters by worrying about what a TV network decides to do with a show that we were all surprised it ever even allowed to air.

Do you know why we put out lights at Christmas? I don't really know where the idea came from. But, in the bleakness of these cold days (sub-zero here), when darkness takes up most of our free time, and it's hard to go outside at all, we can drive at night and see these bright cheerful things shining out, telling us it's OK. It's not the end of the world, even though winter sometimes feels like it. There is hope.
The thing about hope, though, is that it's so closely linked with disappointment. We hope for these things that don't happen, for presents we don't get, for blessings we aren't blessed with.
But it isn't just a word that we put on an ornament. Hope is more than a feeling. When you're hoping for the right things. It's just that the way Christmas is these days, it's taught us to hope for things, for people or relationships, for brighter futures and for happiness. And it's not bad to hope for those things. It's different than completely setting your Hope in something.
I like lights at Christmas because they remind me about the Light of the World. Hope of glory. Hope for home. For heaven. For everything. Jesus is Hope. And if I can just wrap my mind around it, anchor myself there, instead of in things or people or dreams, then I can find real joy. Because hope in Jesus, is kind of like hoping for spring. The answers, the truth, the way we want it, might not always be right there, right when we want it. But we continue to hold on to Him because He will make things right. He will keep his promises. And spring always comes, even when it seems like it never will. It just does. That's the hope that doesn't disappoint. The light in the darkness and bleakness and hopelessness. The hope that makes joy possible. I want it for me so much. And I want it for my friends who are fighting with the darkness right now. I want it for you. Not just for Christmas, but for eternity.