ure, you can go straight ahead & light the the Advent candles, the Hope, Joy, Peace candles, but it can end up being mighty hard some days to scrounge up much peace when you’ve wrecked good and  holy things, crushed your precious people with expectations, been a hypocrite in more than a thousand wincing ways.

Ask me how I know.

It’d be kinda pious, if that was all humbly self-deprecating — instead of devastatingly honest. 

I don’t know who left out this devotional titled, “Still Point” but it beckons to me  during Advent, just after lighting the Peace candle

I just happen to open it to this unexpected excerpt from the Scarlet Letter, with the shame-ridden Reverend Dimmesdale stumbling through the night streets to climb the town’s public scaffold — the Puritans’ own rendition of Calvary. The tortured, self-loathing pastor’s desperate to somehow publicly pay his pound of flesh for all that relentlessly haunts.

He’s wild for his own scarlet letter — and yet can’t bear the shame.

I close the book, lay it on the bedroom windowsill. 

Who isn’t haunted by all kinds of inner thoughts — that you don’t want anyone to know? Who isn’t undone by all kinds of failures — that you’d never want on display?

Fave Advent Resource: 24 Candle Advent wreath

The snow soundlessly falls outside the window, burying the fields, all the woods, in white.

Hiding anything is an illusion — because can anything hide from God?

And maybe that’s the moment I start to dig out, start to find myself:

The pieces of us that we try to keep burying — is what keeps burying our peace.

When we hide pieces of ourselves — we never find peace.

Gusts of December cold air leak in around the edges of the window. I wonder if: What drives some of our anxiousness — is anxiousness to not be found out for all of who we are. Maybe if we were really known — we don’t know if anyone would really love us?

Maybe: There are things in our minds and hearts that we never want fully found out — because we’re terrified we’d find out that no one fully loves us.

Maybe: Our ache to be taken and accepted as we are — is what drives us to take and hide parts of ourselves we believe are unacceptable.

A blast of wind blows a skiff of snow off the back step.

Maybe the secret to peace — is to have no secrets.

I press my forehead against the clear glass. And maybe — there is actually no question at all:

God fully knows what you never want anyone to know — and He needs you to know, even now, that you are His Beloved.

What had my brother-in-law messaged last week?

“Hey — just following up on our conversation at church….” We’d all lingered long afterward the last prayer, kinda oblivious to the cold, standing there talking about how we are all called to carry each other’s brokenness — but we can’t do that if we’re all wearing masks of fake holiness.

“What if we really knew: There is nothing that has been said, done, or thought is so big that it requires it be paid for twice….He paid for it all….all the known and not known.”

That’s when his words started to swim a bit in a brimming grace. Yes:

If Christ didn’t pay for all the unspeakable things, the shameful things, the things only He knows — then our salvation isn’t the real thing.

If Christ doesn’t take all of us, in all of our judgement — then our salvation would actually be fraudulent.

What if — the judgement, the abandonment, the rejection you are anxious about in ways you try to ignore — doesn’t even exist?

What if — the peace you long for is yours right now because no matter what happens, ever — you always, miraculously, get to belong?

What if there is no maybe about it, ever:

“Therefore is now no condemnation… “Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you…” Romans 8 MSG.

A gust blows snow off the edge of the eave, like burdens can lift.

As I turn from the window, I just happen to glance down at my wrist — and it jolts me.

There it is.

I’m wearing my own scarlet letter.

Right there, a small cross, marked on my wrist.

Inked on my wrist forever one late summer afternoon Israel, not far from the actual Calvary, on a hushed back street of Jerusalem itself.

Permanently inked on my wrist by a man who introduced himself as Wassim Razzouk, whose family has been serving Christian pilgrims since the 1300s — more than 26 generations — inking proof for pilgrims of their pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Their pilgrimage to the Cross.

I’d sat in front of Wassim in that stillness of a stone-walled Jerusalem shop and traced how small I wanted that cross, that one symbol, right there on my wrist, and he’d drawn it slow and I’d nodded.


And there it is, etched right into me, my own Scarlet Letter, unashamedly right there under my fingertips, what pays the price for everything — and gives the greatest gift of peace through everything. That one Scarlet Letter?

That one Scarlet Letter Cross is
my penance,
my providence,
my path,
my protection,
my purpose,
my passion,
my peace —
my person.

That Scarlet Letter Cross — is my alpha and omega, my beginning and my end, my everything. Like learning that one letter by heart could transform my heart, I find myself tracing and retracing that Cross countless times a day, right there like peace speaking under fingertips.

Whatever love, provision, hope, acceptance, grace, restoration you need — will not run out — because Your God will never run out on you.

Whatever you fear, doesn’t actually exist — because your God exists. 

Whatever you can’t stand about yourself — Jesus stands closest to kiss that place with grace, and you can feel it come over you — that peace that passes all understanding.

There is a peace that passes all understanding because there is One who stands in your painful places — and takes that pain.

Fave Advent Resource: Star over the Manger

When I light the Peace Candle of the Advent wreath — I can read it there in the middle of our little Advent Wreath — etched in the side of the manger, the only gift we need: Emmanuel.

God with us.

Because God is with us — there is no room in any inn, any heart, any mind, any space for worry.

The Peace candle burns with a red hot love that brands even us as His — and all that doesn’t matter burns away.

* * * * * *

Come let Jesus touch your wounds & heal your hurt with His Peace. 

This Advent, Stay in the Story that the rest of your year, your family, will need.

3 Award-Winning books for the Whole Family

Peace leads us — and we have ourselves The Greatest little Christmas yet!