So. Much. Human.

One evening, during our fall family beach trip, two of our gargantuan sons leaped up after their team scored in a rousing game of Catch Phrase. They were fist bumping, then dancing, then belly-bumping. We were roaring with laughter when our third son jumped in with them and yelled: "So much human!" And while I'm sitting here, still chuckling about the image and hilarity of that night, I'm also thinking about how overwhelming is the weight of our humanness. Maybe it's the panoply of the last two years or the reality of the effects of gravity on my last few decades, but some days it seems like too much. In the naivete of my youth, I thought I'd get better and better, and that old age would just be a resting phase before glory. Little did I know that the real (and in truth, noble) challenges would come when strength ebbed and the burgeoning weight of reality became plainer. It was easier to muster through when muscles were thick and spry, when waking up wasn't a marathon unto itself. I know now that trusting God is harder when you've seen the dark side of hardships on every side. 

I believe that this is the way it's supposed to be. This life is not all there is. And for those who believe that it is, I do not see how they can have hope in their old age or through difficulties. The manifest picture of the new + old testaments is that we need saving, that we are not adequate in and of ourselves, and that there is a Redeemer who pays the price for that redemption. This last Sunday, the heart of the sermon in our church was about when the Israelites were slaves under the thumb of a wicked Pharoah. It's a long story, so I'd highly recommend reading it yourself, even if you know it. After many trials, the final solution that leads to their escape was the death of a lamb, with its blood applied to the doorposts and lintel of each house. The angel of death passed over each home that was under the covering of that blood, leading to their salvation and subsequent exodus out of Egypt. It's a gruesome history, full of death, blood, and grisly details. But it's also a picture of what Christ, the ultimate sacrifice, accomplished in His death and resurrection. It's a beautiful truth, weaving in and out of the scriptures, beginning in the garden with Adam and Eve and ending with the great revelation. 

And here it's Christmastime, with all the insanity and rushing about. Here's to an orange and some brazil nuts in the stockings, because we've gone way overboard (me especially). Last week, when I was melting down over all the overcommitting I have done, I laid my head on my desk and asked God what in the world. Why do we have to fill up every minute? And why do we make more of Christmas than of Easter? And why is it so hard to make the notes work on my flute? I have two concert commitments in the next week, and I keep thinking, "After that, I'll stop and breathe." Life gets like that, where we're just hankering for the next thing to be over, so we can get back to "normal." Truth is, there is no normal, there is no stopping the life train from happening. There is always the next hill. If I only keep hoping for the hill to be done with, I'm never going to find serenity in the here and now. How many folks have we seen, who keep saying that "when I retire..." and then they drop dead in six months, or become terribly ill and never get to enjoy it? No. I'm not going to wait until next week, next year, to relax and drink in what is right in front of me. I'm not going to listen to the siren song of the urgent today. I'm going to noodle on my flute with some joy (not despairing of the notes I apparently am incapable of hitting); I'm going to dandle my new grandbaby on my lap; I'm going to blow raspberries on another grandbaby's cheeks when he gets here in an hour; I'm going to squeeze my grandson and granddaughter who just moved in with us (along with their parents, thank God); I'm going to FaceTime the other three grandchildren who I'm missing terribly; and I'm going to kiss my husband full on the mouth when he walks in, just for fun. No more ba humbug!