“Then young women will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.”
Jeremiah 31:13
Laying on the couch. Sunk into the big, blue cushions with this new, plaid, Christmas blanket over me. The house. Mostly decorated. Lights twinkling in the dark room. The not-yet- hung green garland infused with white lights rising above the couch behind me. I breathe in the colors. Red. Gray. Browns and creams. Shadowed by the tiny lights.
And the carol. Begins to play in my mind.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy. Comfort and joy.
Comfort. This spot on the couch. Sinking into the cushions. New pillow behind. New blanket over. Comfortable. Comfort.
There are all sorts of comforts in this world. Physical comfort. Like this couch. A soft, warm bed. Our homes. Heated in the winter. Cooled in the summer. Heat-radiating fireplaces.
Mental comfort. Peace of mind. Sound mind. Knowing all is right in your world.
Spiritual comfort. This one. It’s a little more tricky. Resting in your salvation. You are held by the Creator of the universe. Or. Just maybe. This spiritual comfort. Could be a stagnant settling. Disguised as comfort.
I have lived all these comforts. Even. Even this stagnant spiritual comfort. If I am completely honest.
But tonight. Tonight this word is wrapped around me. In the form of worn, blue giant pillows and a soft, simple blanket.
Yet. There is more. The second part of the phrase. It is not just comfort. But. Comfort and joy. In this carol. In this verse written long ago by the prophet, Jeremiah. These words are intertwined. Together. God. Maker of our hearts. Healer of our wounds. Master at putting the pieces of our brokenness back together. Brings us His comfort. His joy. More satisfying than anything we can fashion or plan or control.
Now. Entering into a season. A season that can be marked by many different emotions and memories and passions and pain. A baby. Born so long ago. Carrying the weight of our hearts and wounds and brokenness. Brought with him. Tidings. Carried by angels. Spoken by lowly shepherds. A comfort and joy that nothing in this fallen world could match. A comfort and joy that we, in our humanness, could never mimic.
So. No matter what tidings you may hear. In this season. Stop and listen. Listen to the tidings of long ago. Whispering to your heart. Comfort and joy.
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