Babbled Wisdom

Winter 2019

“The Word of God became flesh and dwelled among us. We have seen the glory of God, the glory of the only Son who came to us from the Father, full of grace and truth.” - John 1:14

Once again, I have good intentions for slowing down and finding a different pace during the season of Advent. I’m sure I could slap an Instagram filter on a few chill moments and convince everyone I’ve got it figured out. But the truth is, the deep quiet of December makes me nervous. I’d rather stay frazzled with too many balls in the air, my foot on the gas until Christmas. 

I have a hard time being present in the moment and receiving what already is. Perhaps that’s why God gave me Jasper. My oldest child has always been a little resistant to transitions. He would rather stay put and continue doing what he’s already doing. When he reads or builds or plays, he is completely and totally right there. 

This does not surprise me about his character because his first word was meno. Okay, it’s not an English word. Some would say it doesn’t count, but that’s because they don’t know what it means in ancient Greek! Meno is a verb used more than 120 times in the New Testament. It means to stay, to abide, to endure, to dwell, to wait, to be fully present, to last or to live. Little Jasper babbled this word before all other words, at me and often. I would it while making dinner, folding laundry, paying bills, and bustling around the house. 

He was always right. I needed those invitations to stay and still and slow my body nearer to his. I needed to brave the nerves that would come from being an over-caffeinated and anxious person gathered into the deep quiet of a pre-verbal toddler’s presence. I needed to remember that there are other ways to be in this world, that the here and now is a sacred gift my whirlwind style was taking for granted.

He’s almost nine years old now and Jasper still embodies meno, all its wisdom, beauty, and holy contentment. He reminds me that Advent is not only a story about something that happened long ago or the promise of what still lies ahead. It is also proclaiming a God who chooses the here and now, who loves this generation, who is alive in the dark beauty of these winter nights, who meets us in the flurry of this season with a little voice, a gentle invitation, a present moment in which to stay. 

I will need rituals to help me meno this season. Worship will remind me what’s possible. It can hold space for the grief and stress of the season. Holy stories will be declared by children and strangers. Shopping for neighbors in need, donating to causes I value, and hosting others in my home will stretch my sense of community and wonder. I will light candles and sing Silent Night in the cozy glow of faith shared. 

You see, it takes a village to meno, to celebrate what’s true this very instant. If you’re like me, it might feel awkward or surprise you with unrequited feelings. You’ll drop a few balls and have to lean into grace. But, for a moment or a season, you’ll know the holy wonder of being enough, completely and totally right here. Just like meno intends. Just like God.