What Is There To Look Forward To?

Last week, while procrastinating (which is pretty much how the roots of all my blog posts are planted), I stumbled on a tweet that said ‘What is there to look forward to anymore?’ and I thought ‘Wow, girl, come on. Get it together. Things are not that bad’. But then today happened, and I heard that the Christmas market won’t be coming to Belfast this year, and it seemingly pushed me over the edge. 

I kid you not, my eyes filled up. Despite the many restrictions that followed, it was the Christmas market that brought me to my knees. Yes, my pregnancy hormones are up the LEFT. Yes, it was totally irrational. And yes, that is how strongly I feel about bratwurst sausages.

But now, when I think of that stranger who took to twitter to pen her despair in 147 characters or less, I understand why the tweet went viral. Maybe it’s because I’ve become increasingly aware of everything that we’re grieving this year. So many lost moments and cancelled plans. So many ‘maybes’ and ‘you never knows’ that haven’t come to fruition. So much cancelled hope and trodden optimism. The massive griefs are obvious, and I don’t want to ignorantly diminish them with my insanity over sausages, but all the little griefs matter too.

Christmas isn’t the same without the market. Weekends aren’t the same without having people over. In fact, the problem with weekends is that they are the same - as EVERY OTHER DAY. Ikea isn’t the same without the pic n mix. Friendships aren’t the same without seeing each other and seeing the laughs, instead of just hearing them. Shopping isn’t the same without changing rooms (yes, this is my pregnant body speaking again and I’m definitely just traumatised from trying to find jeans to fit my ever-changing body). Half term isn’t the same without the cinema, or just any activities where you can sit down. And NOTHING is the same without hugs. Honestly, all I want right now is a hug from every older female in my church, partly because I feel fragile and need to be mothered, and partly because it bridges the awkward, stifled distance in social interactions, of which there are many because no one has anything to talk about.

This year we haven’t been able to look forward to those little moments and big events that promise a joyful break from the drudgery of every-day life; weddings, birthday parties, holidays to far-off-lands or not-so-far-off-lands that are still far off enough to make it a holiday, work ‘do’s’, weekends away (normally this one doesn’t apply to me but at this very moment I am refreshing Galgorm’s Facebook page to see if our gifted wedding stay will be postponed and things. are. getting. TENSE).

These little griefs all add up and they are heavy for our hearts to bear. And if I’m perfectly honest with you, my heart hasn’t been bearing them all that well. I’ve tried to be positive and thankful for the blessings I’ve experienced this year, and of course I really am thankful (hello handsome ginger husband and pending ginger baby) but the permanent uncertainty is exhausting. The constant cancellations are disappointing.

Living on this earth means constantly holding a tension between the joys and the sorrows. The undeserved blessings from a loving creator and the unwelcome curses from a corrupt creation. I don’t know about anyone else, but this particular covid-corruption has had a way of stripping away the masks I tend to wear, leaving my heart exposed and feeling a bit ‘nakey’. We know more than ever about wearing masks to protect ourselves and as I find myself face to face with the discontentment and disappointment of this year, I wonder I’m looking forward to all of these events or if I’m living for all of these events.

I don’t have to look at my ‘nakey’ self for too long to know that things probably aren’t as they ought to be. I can’t look at my ‘nakey’ heart without looking to Another. I need to look to the One who was the first to clothe the naked (Gen 3). The One who wraps the wounded in his strong arms of refuge. The One who actually stepped down to become a naked little baby in a human mothers arm. The One who hung naked on a cross, laying down his life in order to nurture our lives. The One who made this world his home so we can have a forever home.

With Jesus there is so much to look forward to. Forever with Him is the ultimate hope to come, but He also gives hope to every meaningless day in between. Life has not been put on pause until God’s ‘original’ plan resumes. We are not wasting time while we wait. Life does not have to be relentless without the ‘real’ stuff to look forward to. God brings meaning to our mundane and purpose to our daily drudgery. Maybe we need this lesson now, but I think I’ve always needed it.

When we bleach the depths of the microwave and fridge, repeat the mind-numbing commute to work when the sun has not yet risen, wash and fold laundry only to do it all again the next day, address the same discipline issue with our children for the 8376301743 time, we are stewarding the life God has given us, bleak as it may be. And that is a privilege. We are bringing order out of chaos, just as God brought order out of chaos at creation and continues to do so as he waters the earth with rain and provides our daily manna.

I used to cringe when I’d read cheesy, American mugs or prints that read something like, ‘Washing dishes is my worship blah blah blah’. I turned my nose up, telling myself I was destined for more and there was far more to life. I believed that the ordinary tasks of life just had to be done until I got to the ‘more’. But when ‘more’ isn’t on the horizon or better yet, when ‘more’ doesn’t exist, when all of the events are cancelled and life is stripped back to the bare bones, it brings me great comfort to know that in the midst of all the ordinary, unseen tasks of the day, God still sees me, notices me and is really quite fond of me.

In his book, ‘Ordinary’ which I would 10/10 recommend, Michael Horton quotes Tish Harrison Warren (10/10 recommend everything she writes too) who once yearned for a radical life on the mission field, serving Jesus in a war-torn African village as a 22 year old. Now, as a thirty-something mother of two, she writes, “I’ve come to the point where I’m not sure anymore just what God counts as radical. And I suspect that for me, getting up and doing the dishes when I’m short on sleep and patience is far more costly and necessitates more of a revolution in my heart than some of the more outwardly risky ways I’ve lived in the past”. Same, Tish, same.

While I sit in the grief of this year, I also want to step into the life of what’s right in front of me. And more than anything, I don’t want to miss what God is doing inside of me.

So if you feel like tweeting your sorrows or crying over the Christmas market, then join me - but please know that you were put on this earth for more than just living for the next event. When it’s all stripped away, there’s still hope. Hope for the future, and hope for now. Because God sees us, is working in us, and nothing he touches is meaningless.

And if that doesn’t float your boat, well, at least crocheted pumpkins exist.