In the quiet of the morning I take my coffee and park, as I have since I can remember, on the stairs overlooking the living room. Red and green light flashes softly from the scraggly tree in the corner, illuminating the two dozen snowflakes that hover over the room, suspended in their fall by navy blue thread.
To be honest, Christmas crept up on me this year—what with new pandemic regulations restricting many of the traditions I usually use to mark our progress through the season. (Particularly missing Streets of Bethlehem: a live nativity-meets-market that tells the Christmas story with costumed vendors inviting guests to make their own spice blends, spin wool, eat flatbread, and watch a teenage Mary and Joseph try to find a place to stay. It’s amazing.)
Not only that, but the flurry of Dead Week and Finals, moving from in-person classes to Zoom right before breaking for Christmas was NUTS. I don’t think I’ve ever had more emails in my inbox at a time.
And yet, there’s this shining moment of peace with my coffee and my cat and at least a few more minutes of dark before I make myself go out and run.
You don’t need me to tell you that this year has been a trip right from the start. My own pandemic experience was unique in that I went through my first breakup just days before lockdown, which was honestly great timing because no one really questioned why I was staying home! God was so gentle with me in those months, bringing so much hope and healing with the promise of something new.
My chicken coop was very symbolic of that period. The old coop we used as a foundation was a lost cause. And yet, we took something pretty beat up and made it into something beautiful. Even the timing of it was symbolic. It took months to build, and by the time I was finishing up with the paint, the sweet boy who fixed my computer and helped me hand out groceries to the needy was calling me on the phone. We spent those early months talking books and travel and about our faith and really becoming friends. In the year that everyone is calling “lost,” I found him—the kindest heart I have ever known. I’m sure glad those moments weren’t lost on me.
Then there was finishing my Master’s, which was no small feat. To all of you who have spent the last 6 months complaining about Zoom school, try doing 15 grad classes with zero lectures, a million books to read, oh! And each class is five weeks long with no breaks in between. I didn’t have the Colorado mountain-graduation I was expecting, but I did walk away with a sense of accomplishment I was afraid I’d miss out on by doing school online.
Studying the Bible in depth deepened both my appreciation for the scriptures as well as my faith. That wasn’t lost on me.
Then there was teaching English for the first time, which honestly felt like running on a treadmill that’s floating down a river on a pallet. Four grades, three courses, a million and one lessons learned. I’m so grateful for the opportunity, not only to teach works I’ve studied and loved, but also to connect with students in a year they’ll remember forever: a year people will try to tell them didn’t matter. It’s been encouraging me to tell them with all the joy and conviction in my heart that this moment DOES matter because God is still working when they can’t see it. That was not lost on me.
Neither was praying with students at youth group after we discussed their very hard, very real questions—nor was the opportunity to even be meeting IN PERSON with students every week, playing, encouraging, and worshipping alongside them.
Nor was dancing in the light of the Intern House Christmas tree after my love put together a day of cheesy Christmas things I’ll remember forever.
Nor is sitting at the table with my grandparents eating French toast.
Each year presents an equal opportunity to get lost, or to get lost in God. Six years ago I started reading Genesis with the knowledge that the same God who guided Abraham into the wilderness could also walk with me into the unknowns of January, and each January after that. I haven’t been the same since.
I’m not naturally good at living in the moment, but perhaps this slower year has taught me how. I think it starts with acknowledging God’s character: his steadfastness, his mercy when we’re hardheaded, his ability to counsel, comfort, and guide and bless beyond what we could ever dream. That knowledge gives way to gratitude, which I’m realizing is the real secret to contentment even in a crap year. I can *actually* stand with Paul and be content, not on my own strength but in the strength of the Lord:
“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”
Philippians 4:12-13
In 2020, and even in 2021, we’re not lost when His many gifts are not lost on us.
Merry Christmas and wishing you the blessing of a deeper relationship with Him in the New Year,
Kayley
Kayley Chartier 