No Room in the Inn

The season of advent is always so enlightening to me.  Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but there are these weeks before that are dark and riddled with pain and inconveniences.  Mary traveled many miles on a donkey only to be told there was no room in the inn.  Can you imagine settling in for the night on your pillow of hay to give birth to a KING?  I’ve not been through child birth, but I know this had to suck.  No drugs, no cozy bed, no nurses.  How frightened she and Joseph must have been  - to feel so alone and helpless with this great responsibility of bringing a child in to the world and now raising whom they’ve been told will be the world’s Savior.  No pressure, guys.  Eventually some shepherds and wisemen came along bearing comfort and gifts.  This is the part most of us want and choose to think about – who wants to think about all that darkness?

A dark room is still used for most photo development.  The real picture, color, and story really comes through after an appropriate season of darkness.  It is not meant for harm.  It is for development.  Advent is like the period of darkness where we watch and wait for the full beautiful picture to unfold. And waiting in the dark is brutal for most of us.  Here’s our story. Go ahead and grab your coffee or Moscow mule and settle in…

We sold our house and had to be out on 11/23. We closed on our new house on 12/4, however, because of some repairs and painting, we will not move in until Wed 12/9.  So we will have been “homeless” just over 2 weeks.  And even though there was vacancy, it feels like there is no room in the Brentwood Residence Inn.  We are crammed in here with each other’s dysfunction just pouring out on each other.  We spent the first week visiting family out of town, so we checked in here already with some traveling scars – you know – the residual of those uncomfortable family interactions and avoidance, 11 + hours in a car each way, a barfing kid in the car after being in one spot in traffic for over an hour, almost hitting a 12 point buck just a few miles from home, and then wearing my husband’s underwear the next day because all my clothes got wet from the supposed waterproof luggage rack.  No, we didn’t ride a donkey here, and we’re not sleeping on hay, but I kind of get it.  It has been dark and uncomfortable – not what we planned.  And if feels like there is no room in this inn for hope, comfort, and joy of the season. I’m driving by houses with lights and Christmas trees and feeling a little displaced.  I’m still in the dark – waiting for the lights. So I bought this tiny poinsettia for our room. I’m bringing some Christmas joy up in here, dang it!

And my intent is not to complain.  We just bought a cute and cozy home in Williamson County, a beloved area and school district in our state.  So, “oh woe is me – I have to wait for painters to finish my happy home in cushy Franklin.” Right? I absolutely cringe when I think of people living on streets, hospitals, and orphanages.  So then I think “stop complaining, suck it up, you’re fine.”  And this also gets me in trouble.  This isn’t about a comparison. I can have compassion for them AND me.  Our dark is obviously different.  And I can still honor the darkness we each go through.  We are all in need of the Light.  I can only hold and know my own darkness and tell its story.  And it’s not about “I can’t get in my new house yet.”  It is the pain of transition.  It is the discomfort of waiting.  It is feeling displaced and alone.  It is my season of advent. But then someone will text and say, “hey I’m bringing your family some papa murphy’s pizza at the hotel.” Or a teacher from the boys’ school emails to say, “bring your boys over to play – we’ve been in your situation before and know you need space.” It’s another family taking our children in for a night so we can go on a long overdue date.   The shepherds and wisemen show up with comfort and gifts.  I take a lot of deep breaths to remind myself we won’t be in transition forever.  This is just a season. I am thankful for a Savior who came to this world as a human, fully feeling and experiencing life like the rest of us. His birth teaches me that all hope and growth starts in the dark.

THERE IS ALWAYS  HOPE. LIGHT COMES EVENTUALLY.  WAIT EXPECTANTLY,  DEAR FRIENDS.