When Advent meets Emmanuel and cries Maranatha

The Christmas of 1986 will always be my foundation of faith. I can’t ever remember not believing in God as a child. My grandmother made sure I was in the pews in her arms. I was a member of the youth group, went to a Christian college, married a strong Christian man and by December of 1986 had two beautiful babies and a third on the way. Life was really good and in hindsight going to change into something I could have never dreamed. The church I attended did not celebrate Advent but I know now it was my season of waiting. I would soon meet Emmanuel and feel his presence like I never had before. Provisions were being made to sustain me that I never conceived of.

I was raised by a godly grandmother because my parents had serious substance abuse issues. When she passed, I lived with my mom and dad in a housing project. Life was not rosy or good or calm. I always felt her stabilizing influence kept me on the right path. My folks were good people but they could not fight their own demons and raise me.

When I was 16, I began dating a member of the church and was baptized. The minister began studying with my parents and in less than a month, they were baptized. Fifty or so years of substance abuse was gone and for the first time in my life, I had my parents. Years of trying on their own to beat it was naught until the Lord stepped in mightily. For the next ten years, I had everything I dreamed of. It was an Advent season for me. Emmanuel was coming.

Momma and Daddy drove 45 minutes to Searcy to take my children Christmas shopping while Bob and I went to the dentist on December 22, 1986. We were to meet them later in Little Rock. I got the phone call that we all dread. A wreck with an 18 wheeler, a child in traction for four weeks and then a body cast for four months, ICUs, ventilators, DNRs…

Spending Christmas in a hospital changes your perspective.

A week before, my Dad had scoured Target for the Hulk Hogan that Jarod had desperately wanted for Christmas and now he was unresponsive in ICU. Bob brought my parent’s gifts to the hospital and we opened them. Jarod clung to his good old wrestler while I rocked his sister with tears. Daddy had been so proud to find the gift at the top of Jarod’s list. A nurse came down and told me my Dad opened his eyes and I should go see him.

He was trapped down with tubes and such but he took all his strength to touch my stomach. I realized he was worried about me and the baby I was carrying. I assured him the baby and I were fine and he would be too. He shook his head. He woke a week later and wrote a note for me, “going to my mother and father”, and Love you”. Those were the last two gifts he would ever give me.  I will share more on other blogs.

“God is with us”, Emmanuel became truth for me. I look back and know for certain HE carried me. So many spiritual gifts came in the next few months and years to affirm that HE was present in this event. I look back and smile (and cry) when I realize the enormity of what GOD has done for me. The pain was still there but HE calmed me and gave me a sense of eternity that I cherish.

Maranatha was the cry of the early church and it resides deep in my heart.

“Lord come quickly” has become more pressing each year with having nine grandchildren. I pray I can gift them a legacy of faith as I have been given. May I always be the grandparent that searches for Hulk Hogan. May I be the parent and grandparent who leaves memories that point to the ONE that holds our souls. My Father is presenting me with good gifts each day. They mean the world to us from the ONE who is bringing us home.  Maranatha, Jayme