Hope in Darkness

Though we tend to paint a golden halo around everyone in the Christmas story, I’m glad they were normal human beings who messed things up on a regular basis. John the Baptist was one of those of guys, though he had a radical job description. He would prepare the world for the King of their hearts, as found in his very own cousin, Jesus.

Later in life when John was in jail, he began to have doubts about his value and purpose. He sends his followers to Jesus to ask him, “Are you the one who was to come or should we expect someone else?” (Matthew 11:3 NIV).

John is basically asking, “I was born to prepare the way for the Savior of Israel. Did I get it all wrong? Did I peg the wrong guy? Was my life a waste?”

Why would John ask this? He was so sure that Jesus was the Lamb of God when he baptized Him and yet now he’s second-guessing Jesus’ identity. I can’t blame him. Here’s John at the end of an exciting career in a deep dark pit awaiting his death.

When I go through times of darkness I question too. I land in a pit of depression occasionally and begin to doubt as well. I push Jesus away and try to manage depression on my own.   

But John did the right thing. He asked questions like, “Are you really who you said you were? Are you really our Savior?”

That’s a lesson for me. Jesus never turns us away when we ask. He wants us to seek Him out, to question who He is, and to struggle through the mystery of His identity.

If I would go to Jesus with my doubts and pester him with my second-guessing, I would receive this same answer from Him as He gave to John:

“The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised and the good news is preached to the poor” (Matthew 11:5).

Jesus did not rescue John. He was still be-headed in prison, but as the shadows of death fell on him he was reassured that his life had value, and that he had not wasted it.  

John had spent his entire life preparing for the right Person; he had poured all his energy into affirming the deity of Christ and it turns out that Jesus really was God our Savior.  

My life has value too and it’s all wrapped up in Jesus’ identity. He is faithful. He is still the Man of Miracles. He rose up out of that dark tomb and because of that, I can rise too.

Affirming Jesus’ identity gives me strength when I feel weak, and pours light into my cistern.  

I’m thankful that John the Baptist had the courage to doubt, along with enough foolishness to question. His example encourages me to do the same when I’m in a dark place.   

Pamela Mytroen

Advent Reality by Sharon Espseth

“Prepare the way. A Saviour is coming. Prepare the way . . .”

I sing as I clean and decorate the house and do my Christmas shopping. The words are the opening lines of a carol our choir will sing for Christmas Eve Mass.

December for most of us becomes a bustle of busyness. Frustrated, I realize my plans once more exceed the time I have to pull my bright ideas, plus traditional expectations, together. The lighting of another candle on the Advent wreath becomes a further reminder that Jesus and Christmas are coming.” Ready or not, here they come.

I practice another tune singing in melody with a little memorized alto thrown in. For another choir number, we chant in soft but urgent voices, “Jesus is coming.” The song swells to a crescendo as Christmas and the end of the song draw near. “Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming,” becomes louder and more insistent. The last notes of the arrangement are staccato and forte. “Prepare!” we almost shout in four-part harmony.

During the first two weeks of Advent, Scripture readings remind us of the prophecy of end times and the second coming of Christ. His coming again is the second meaning of the words, “Jesus is coming.” For that great event also, we need to get ready.

That is what I need to do—prepare my head and my heart for what Christmas is all about. When I do that, I am operating with peace, love, joy, and hope in my heart and mind. Plans of perfection must be put aside. A few jobs that are unrealistic or too demanding need to be tabled for another year. Priorities, as well as the dinner table, need to be set.

Even if my house is far from perfect, Christmas will still come. All of our family will be home and we will enjoy being together. We will read the Christmas story and share love and gifts and interaction. At St. Anne’s on Christmas Eve, I will sing the customary Christmas carols and the new compositions I also love. We will offer a prayer of thanksgiving and we will know we are loved and blessed by God who sent His Son.

As I re-set the agenda, God’s grace is slowly spreading in my heart. My thoughts and prayers go out to others for whom Christmas may not seem that simple or blessed. I pray that my actions will reflect God’s love for others. If the second coming of Jesus happened tomorrow, what would be most important in my getting-ready-for-Christmas list? How shall I prepare?



God’s Grace Begun by Sharon Espeseth

Like Martha, I wanted things perfect
so I rushed from one thing to the next.
Getting nothing accomplished,
I became increasingly vexed.

I stopped in my tracks and I offered
my frustration up to the Lord.M
He said, “Child, you know that I love you.
You don’t need to achieve an award.”

With gentle words, my Lord spoke to me
about quietness, peace, joy, and love.
I needed to slow down and worship
the One given with love from above.

The decorating, cards, and shopping
will in due time and fashion get done.
Advent isn’t a contest or race,
but a season of God’s grace begun.


The above poem was previously published in Purpose Magazine
In December 2010. The devotional was published in Western 
Catholic Reporter in November 2011.

The Winter Season - Shirley S. Tye

There are good and bad aspects to winter.

On the good side; the blanket of snow makes everything look clean, fresh, and pure; sounds are muffled by snow creating a peaceful atmosphere in many neighbourhoods; the pine trees are beautifully dressed in gowns of white; sun rays glisten on the snow making the days brighter; roads are smoother because potholes are packed with snow; mosquitoes and flies aren’t biting; weeds are asleep; and outdoor sports can be enjoyed without sweat dripping down one’s face.

On the bad side; driving and walking are treacherous activities because of icy streets and sidewalks; the cold takes away one’s breath; snow shoveling is a back breaking chore; the few birds that bravely stay to wait out the winter sing little – perhaps their notes are frozen in the air; road salt eats vehicles – I think I can hear the salt pellets chewing on what’s remaining of the metal on my old car; muddy salty puddles mark floors where boots have stepped; and getting boots on and off is a grunting exercise and when the task is complete that’s when the bathroom calls one more time.

Each season brings a change in surroundings, temperature, activities, and thinking. For some, winter is a time to slow down and perhaps crawl into bed a little earlier; a time of waiting for warmer weather and adventure; a time to work indoors; and a time to plan for the next season. Others march on at the same pace quickly switching their activities and thinking; hardly noticing a change in their surroundings.

Winter can be good or winter can be bad. It just depends on the view one takes and the adjustments one is willing to make.

~ Shirley S. Tye

From the End of Winter - Lorrie Orr

Thank you, Lorrie, for joining InScribe Writers Online on Guest Post Day.


Winter arrived on a sunny May morning when my husband walked into the house at 11:00 am saying, “The unthinkable has happened. I’ve been fired.”

He worked as an executive in a Christian company and his firing was without cause, and utterly unexpected. At that moment, a chill began to settle around my heart which deepened as months of unemployment lengthened. Other events contributed to bewilderment that swirled like a blizzard around me: marriage problems within our extended family, a daughter’s infertility, a move when my husband found work after 10 months of looking, and a nephew’s fight with cancer that ended with his death at the age of 29.

All is not bleak in winter. Beauty comes, and joy –– the delight of welcoming a new son-in-law and our first grandchild. There is laughter and friendship. But in the quiet, when alone, winter settles deep into my bones with frigid intent.

What does a winter of the soul look like?

It is not depression. It is knowing, from years of faith, that God is present, yet feeling only his absence. Prayer seems futile, yet I pour out my heart in words, in tears, in writing, to a God whom I believe still cares for me although I no longer feel his love.

It is cynicism and judgment, an inability and unwillingness to trust others. It is a heart that aches for warmth, yet shuts itself behind doors of ice. It is hurt.

It is not lack of faith, or sin. It is a barren, windswept landscape of disorientation in which I long for direction. It is plodding, step by step, head down into the wind, without knowing my destination. It is clinging to promises of hope, and reading over and over God’s promise of never leaving me, all the while wondering how long this winter season will last.

It is bafflement. It is asking questions for which no answers come. It is an unfulfilled longing to trust God and to rest in his goodness. It is waiting.

It is an oddly comfortable cohabitation of faith and doubt in which I realize that God welcomes my questions and wants only me. What he will do with me, I do not know.

I write now from the end of winter. This long winter, over three years in duration, is losing its chilling grip. There is lightness in my being, and a warmth melting the clod of ice in my chest. I write now before winter ends because I do not want to forget. I want to mark this season and winter’s lessons. Compassion. Understanding. A gentling of my spirit. A hatred of lack of integrity and false living. A realization that hope is one of my most precious gifts from God. Knowing that one day winter will end and new life will emerge. My soul feels the unmistakeable warmth of God’s Spirit once again and I melt in gratitude.

© Lorrie Orr

Lorrie Orr writes to make sense of the constant stream of thoughts running rampant in her mind. Married to Tim, mother of 3 plus 3, Nana to two darling little girls. Blogs at Fabric Paper Thread.