Category: Series (Page 3 of 9)

15 Hours, part 1

April 14, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, chapter 3

Travel Journal, 118

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

The weeklong medical campaign along the Las Piedras River near Puerto Maldonado did not begin with clinic setups or patient registrations. Before any other that could happen, the team had to get where it was going. The medical team, along with support staff, loaded onto a long, long boat and traveled many hours up the river. The first day consisted of about six hours on the boat. We landed at a small village, hosted our first clinic (40 patients), and stayed the night.

But further up the river lay the settlement of Monte Salvado. Getting to this place is not easy or quick. The second day of our journey would require us to log some major boat time. The boat crew thought it might take 12 hours. My handwritten journal for that day simply says, “Long boat trip, 14.75 hours.” It might sound boring—and it was sometimes. But I’d like to fill in those gaps. So, to give you an idea of what it’s like to sit on a wooden bench on a long boat on a river in the jungle for a really long time, I give you:

Fifteen Hours…

Hour 1: The day started early. Tough to recall what time. But the run rose around 6:15 and we were loading the boat in the dark. I slept well, albeit not enough. The fog hung around like a humid ghost haunting our morning. Armed with fog-fighting cups of coffee, we struck our tents and began the process of loading the boat. Our sturdy vessel rested against the muddy banks. The boat driver laid a board from the shore to the boat. And on this we carried plastic cases, backpacks, and camping gear. Already the temp rose. And with all the effort of loading the boat, it was all to easy to break a sweat. There’s a trick to loading up. All the clinic gear should be loaded together, separated from the personal gear. But it all comes together in the end. We load our boat and find our seats in less than half-an-hour. The sun still hasn’t shown itself.

Hour 2: The buzz of the 75 horse boat motor lulls the mind. I’m reminded of ultrarunning athlete Scott Jurek’s description of the Appalachian Trail. He calls it the Green Tunnel. We’re in a green tunnel on the brown river highway. The jungle is beautiful—but monotonous. Everybody’s a bit drowsy. I feel the same. But it’s a kind of excited drowsy that won’t let you sleep. We’ll sleep off and on all day.

Hour 3: A discussion starts. One of the guys on this boat is a music teacher back in the States. Music is a hot topic in evangelical Christian circles. I argue about jazz. I love it. Jazz speaks to nuance and creativity of life. It rarely resolves the way you think it will. Jazz is life. The music teacher takes my side.

Hour 4: Snacks get passed around. The amount of work that goes into this trip boggles the mind. Simply loading the clinic gear onto the boat takes all the muscle we have. We have made, and will continue to make dozens of trips back and forth to the boat. We’re burning calories. When the bundle of chip packets gets to me; I rifle through it. I’m looking for the plain chips with a packet of mayonnaise inside. You heard me right. For some reason, Peruvians like mayo on their chips. And this brand has a packet of mayo inside the bang. Extra calories.

Hour 5: Ah, lunch. Since we’re traveling by boat all the food we require for the week must be brought along. No refrigeration here. The kitchen crew made rice before we got on the boat. We’re supping on rice, canned mackerel, fried plantains, and some cookies for dessert.

Hour 6: The river becomes the center of discussion. Peru is in the rainy season. And the river is higher and faster than usual. It’s higher than the last time I was here. We talk about the water. Somebody suggests that the muddy water weighs more than clean water. Some disagree. The sediment adds to the weight. No, it displaces the water. Who knows? We’re clearly bored.

Hour 7: Now might be a good time to mention the bathroom situation. No, we have not stopped. And we are trying not to. Today will be a full day on the boat. For the guys, the solution lay before them in the river. Simply go to the back of the boat, and let ‘er fly. For the lasses, I give you the Hoop of Hope. It is of original design: a chemical camp toilet with a shower curtain hanging around a hula hoop. Most of the problem is solved. Here’s to hoping nobody has any…er…solid needs.

Hour 8: Lo, someone has brought a guitar. I play the only song that I can think of right now.

“I cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis, pumped a lot of ‘pane down in New Orleans, But I never saw the good side of the city, ’til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen.

Big wheel keep on turnin’,
Proud Mary keep on burnin’,
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.” ¹

…part 2 next week

anthony forrest

Check out the other stories in this series:

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

Meeting Him in the Wild

April 4, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Whether desert or jungle or lost upon

a range of mountains,

where there is no clean water or fountain

(or anything at all),

those places most forgotten or barren

and filled with the wild things of this life,

rife with beauty

and trees

and seas

all lonely and wonderful;

here, in the quietness, is found the works of the maker

(every bit savored).

And if you hold very still,

He will come to you like a breeze—

and meet you in that jungle of trees.

anthony forrest

Boring Adventure Stories

March 31, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part two

Travel Journal, 117

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

A detriment to foreign missions is the romance of it all.

I grew up with tales of the intrepid missionary selling all, gathering his or her things into a small leather case, kissing loved ones goodbye, and stepping out into the void, never to be heard from again. Their ship sails to a foreign land, where they disappear into the jungle, or the depths of the Chinese interior. Thousands hear the Good News of Jesus. And wiz! bang! the rest is church history. And some of it is fairly recent history. The story of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Ed McCully, and Roger Youderian gripped me as a child. They left the States (with their wives who would later finish their work) and ventured into the darkness of Ecuador with the goal of reaching an uncontacted people group. The same group of men landed a plane on a beach and were later speared to death by the same tribe they sought to reach. That was 1956.

More recently, missionary John Chau attempted to reach the Sentinelese people on an island in the middle of the Bay of Bengal. Though his attempt to make contact and spread the Good News to this people is disputed and highly controversial, the fact remains that people like the Sentinelese do exist.

One of these groups is found in Peru, the Mashco Piro. These people live very close to where we held our second clinic during my recent trip to Peru. According to some of the local folks, this tribe of yet-uncontacted people occasionally attack their homes, raiding food stores and even killing residents. In the past couple of years, I have had the chance to stand on the shore of the Las Piedras River and gaze into the jungle, imagining what it would be like to see one of these people.

It’s all so romantic, isn’t it?

The far-off places, jungles, boats, planes, tribal people, high-risk situations, it all scratches the itch of romantic adventure and Indiana Jones-esque longing that we all have.

Have you ever heard of a boring adventure story? They don’t exist. It’s hard to write a boring account of someone risking it all and going to a land far away.

But maybe that’s what we need.

Maybe we need to read about the boring missionary stuff.

A missionary couple go to language class for 6 hours a day, four days a week. But the train ride there is an hour-and-a-half. So they have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to make it to class. Finding a baby sitter that can come that early is murder.

Another missionary spends 10 hours a week prepping for an upcoming class he’s teaching on a book of the Bible.

Yet another goes to the city to finish some visa paperwork for his wife and kids. He stands in line for three hours only to find out that he doesn’t have the right form. There’s a new one that he didn’t know about. That’s another trip to this dingy office he wasn’t counting on.

A knock on the door comes during dinner. It’s a man from church. He’s crying. His wife is about to leave him. He’s invited in and stays until 10.

Nightly Bible studies, weekly counseling sessions, trips to nearby towns to meet with people interested in the Bible, and stopping for diapers along the way makes up their time.

It’s not all spears and canoes. Nor should it be.

Because the adventure and romance of it all pales in the light of the real reason a missionary goes to a foreign field. People need to hear about a loving Savior who came to this earth to die for you and me. Missionaries are real people who have real needs. They go to the places we can’t go to reach the people who don’t live where we live.

The romance wears off fast in the immigration office. But the Good News of Jesus lasts forever, and it’s certainly a far better adventure story than anything I can write.

anthony forrest

Check out the other stories in this series:

Shaving in the Jungle

A Narnia Reference

March 28, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

“Further up and further in!” Lewis instructed—

So we begin:

Steadily and readily

We go

And bring hope

Of God

To a people who know nothing of Lewis…

anthony forrest

Shaving in the Jungle

March 24, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part one

Travel Journal, 116

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here are a few tales.

Shave Number One

Our travels up the Las Piedras River in the jungles of Peru had taken us hours upon hours. Each day brought us farther and farther from the luxury of a clean bathroom and sink. We’d made it to the furthest point of our week—a settlement deep in the heart of the Amazon basin. The medical team I traveled with spent 6 hours on a motorized 70-foot, flat-back-canoe on the first day alone. But that was nothing compared to the next day: 15 hours of boat travel. In one long day, the boat had become our refuge, our bed, our dining room, our bathroom. And now there we were on day two, trekking back toward our original start point of Puerto Maldonado.

Every day reached 90 degrees Fahrenheit. The humidity stifled us non-Peruvians. I broke out in a heat rash immediately. But that’s okay, the sunburn made it hardly noticeable. Ratty hair abounded. Clothes became rags. Try drying off after bathing. You’re still wet and now your only towel is too. Most us had become…unkempt.

But nothing can spruce up the weary jungle traveler like a nice shave.

Ah, the glories of a good shave. I hadn’t shaved for days and it was noticeable. At one point, our doctor literally offered to share his razor (he giggled, but he might have been serious).

I turned him down, laughed, and walked away. But then I saw Eric with his shave kit.

“You shaving, Eric?”

“I think so,” he said.

Eric is a different generation than me. He’s the dad of one of our nurses.

A thin, but study hand at the outdoors, capable of all and smiles throughout, this was Eric’s first trip to Peru. He managed nicely.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, caving to the peer pressure. If every other guy on this trip was going to clean up, I’d better fall in line. But we both knew what a shave meant. We would both need to go to the river and shave over the side of the boat. I went to grab my stuff.

“Bring your cell phone,” I cried over my shoulder. He had a blank stare in his eyes. But I got my kit and met him at the river.

I set up my cell phone with the camera facing me and started the process:

Wet face with brown river water.

Lather up with tiny hotel soap.

Rinse razor.

Shave face.

Don’t cut face.

Continue until camera shuts off automatically.

Turn it back on.

Repeat.

I was shaving, leaning over the side of the boat and balancing all of my accoutrements when my shaving companion looked up.

“Oh, I see what you meant!” Eric said laughing. “Well, here’s where the old meets the young. I’ve got a few tricks myself.”

He unfolding his shave kit and got set up.

“First,” he instructed, “Chapstick. Rub it on your face before the soap.” He did so and I watched.

“It’ll make the razor glide nicely.”

I held my razor midair, stupefied.

“Then I use this,” continued my Sensei. He held up a tiny mirror that looked like a shining silver dollar. He was operating in another dimension.

“It’s one of my wife’s broken compacts.”

Here I thought I had skills. Sure, my camera worked great. But this guy came loaded for bear, wielding lip balm like a samurai sword. I was playing checkers and he was playing 3D chess. Sure, we both learned something about shaving in the jungle.

But I think I got the better lesson.

Shave Number Two

“Do you want to get a haircut?”

The question came up at the end of our trip. We’d made it back to Puerto Maldonado after a long week in the jungle. With only one day left, somebody another team member mentioned a haircut before heading back to the States. It sounded like a good idea. And there’s something fairly romantic about doing the mundane, every day things, in a foreign country. Going for groceries is a trip to an outdoor market—a bazaar of goodies and flourishes. Getting a refreshing drink is a stop by a juice stand where the lady fresh squeezes oranges (one free refill). Knowing when to tip is a puzzle worthy of Will Shortz.

And a haircut, something so personal, feels riskier than taking a giant canoe up a jungle river. What happens if it’s not good? What will my family say? Do Peruvians know what cool sideburns look like? All great questions.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I will get a haircut,” I hesitantly decided. Others had and returned already. And they looked sharp, and dare I say, Peruvian.

But I wasn’t going alone.

“Eric,” I turned a sideways glance to my new friend, “how ‘bout you? Are you going?”

He put his hands on his hips and gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, Forrest, I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” It was settled. In no more than 15 minutes, we both sat, side by side, in little roller chairs at a little salon along a side street. It was a corner shop, two of its sides opened up to the street with roll-top doors. We were on display, two gringos in the hands of Peruvian stylists.

I don’t care where you go in this world. Whether Minnesota, North Carolina, or a jungle-town in Peru, hair dressers are the same the world over. They chatted rapidly over the music blaring in the background; our two gals wore fingernails and a few strands of brightly colored gaudy hair done up over-the-top. They went to work on us with rapid fervor.

My hair dresser paused only long enough to ask questions about my sideburns. After a little translation and explanation, she whipped out a plastic handle and began fidgeting with it.

She turned around and produced a straight razor.

“Have you ever seen a straight razor?” asked our translator. I had, but it had been a long, long time. She was using it to trim my neck and sideburns.

“Can I also get a shave?” I asked.

Of course I could.

“Eric,” I hollered without turning my head. “Are you getting a shave?”

“Forrest…I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” came the reply.

We hooked Eric up with the works.

But my laughter dimmed to through-the-teeth-breathing when the razor came to my face. All of the sudden, the river shave seemed safe and easy.

Every time the razor came down, a little more sweat pooled under my plastic cape. Eric’s nervous laugh came back. At one point I heard his dresser talk about his “sensitive skin.” I was nicked one time. I didn’t bleed to death. At the very point I thought doom was written for me, she set down the razor, and started moisturizing my face. I glanced over and saw Eric getting the same treatment.

We made it. The most nerve-wracking shave of my life.

And it was now time to pay the piper.

“How much?!” we balked.

We counted out the 10 Soles each. And gleefully we went on our merry, well-shaven in the heart of Peru.

The best $3 haircut and straight-razor shave we’d ever had.

anthony forrest

Steps

March 21, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

We never stop the steps forward

Crossing borders

To a place—meet a person—tell of a thing

A string

Of ideas

Of this truth held together

Like adhesive

We believe this

Good news of a Man who is God

Sent from abroad

And cross-ed His own border

To end strife

Bring life

To the unliving soul of the lost

And all it costs

Is a few steps

Forward

anthony forrest

Gift of Love

December 19, 2021 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Advent, Part Four

Travel Journal, 113

On a recent visit to Missouri (more of which you can read about here), I had the opportunity to talk with several retired missionaries. So many of these people had spent the entirety of their lives giving of themselves to God, caring for the people of this world.

When confronted with all the craziness that is the near-cultlike American Christmas Gift-Giving, I have found myself asking why?

Why do we spend so much time, effort, money, and mental strain on selecting or making the perfect gifts for our friends or family? I confess that my heart tends toward the cynical. My immediate reaction is that Americans are so obsessed with self-image, that even giving gifts is a form of social status marker. It feeds into a culture of reciprocity that turns into an ugly cycle. We spend money on stuff to give to others, which causes others to spend money on stuff to give to us, and so on it goes. We might as well all just keep our money and buy whatever we want and forgo the embarrassing clothing exchange at Kohls. No, you did not get my size right!

Of course, this is all hogwash. Sure it may be true to some degree and in some situations, but again, I’m far too cynical.

I heard a honking car outside. We had been visiting with a couple who had lived and served as missionaries in Russia, when we were interrupted. I slipped outside to find a gentleman who I met earlier that day waving me over to his silver Oldsmobile. He and I hit it off right away. He collects clocks. And I happen to really enjoy pocket watches. Smiling, he passed me a very old, silver pocket watch. He regaled me with information and stories about watches and railroad timekeeping.

Most people give gifts out of the kindness of their heart—for Love, which is this week’s Advent theme.

Humankind was formed to be the image of God (Gen. 1:27). This image refers to not only bodily form and the spiritual nature of God, but to the characteristics of God. And His prevailing characteristic is love. Christ’s tale of coming to Earth, living a self-less life, teaching and preaching, and saving Humankind culminates in a very special gift—the gift of self-sacrifice. Christ came to Earth. And that’s what we celebrate now, during Christmas. But He came for a reason, to die in our place.

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends (John 15). Self-sacrifice is the ultimate gift. What more in the name of love?

We remember probably the most famous verse in the whole Bible—that, God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).

anthony forrest

Follow along with the Advent tradition! Here are a few passages of Scripture for this week’s theme:

Love

And be sure to check out each one of this year’s Advent stories:

Advent, Part One on the Idyllic Christmas

Advent, Part Two on Real Peace

Advent, Part Three on Joy Found at Missionary Acres

Joy Found at Missionary Acres

December 12, 2021 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Advent, Part Three

Travel Journal, 112

He stood in front of me, tears in his eyes as he spoke of the men and women who served God faithfully.

Were these tears of sorrow? No, these were tears of Joy, which is this week’s Advent theme.

So many things give me joy. I have been accused of liking everything—every movie I see in the theater, every discussion topic, every hobby I learn, and every food I eat. You may think that this is a good thing, but I assure you, no. It just makes me want all the toys and things this life can offer. I want a telescope, a new bookshelf, a polaroid camera, new records, three more bookshelves, three-thousand more books, running shoes, a rowing machine, a kite, and an espresso machine for my birthday. This is not good. It just means that my joy is fleeting and then I’m on to the next thing.

But Ron spoke of a different joy. Stories full of real joy.

All the stories are the same, but they’re also so very different. The stories tell of so-and-so, down the lane, who lived and served on an island off the coast of Japan. There was Ms.________ who worked in the country of Chad (Africa) for 35 years. Oh, and don’t forget her neighbor; she was a single missionary and married later in life. They worked in both Scotland and Jamaica.

Ron and his wife, Joy, live in the backwoods village of Silva, Missouri where, nestled in the trees of the holler, lies the thriving community of Missionary Acres. Over the sprawling property sits a 25-acre park (complete with walkway and gazebo) and over 30 houses. When a missionary seeks retirement, a great option is to come here. This is no assisted living or nursing home. These are simply real houses, housing real people, who’ve done and continue to do God’s real work. Down each lane, you’ll find over 600 years of combined Christian service (yes, you heard that right). Missionaries from all over the world have moved here, seeking retirement and rest. And they may be retired, but these people know nothing of rest.

Ron told story after story that were the same, but different—same format, same style, same faithfulness. For almost 60 years, Missionary acres has given Missionaries, Pastors, and Christian school teachers and administrators a place to hang their hat in retirement.

I really hesitate to call this place a “retirement community.” This isn’t a place of shuffle board and bingo. God’s servants truly never retire. A Christian is called continually to show the love of Christ to the people around them. Age sets no boundary.

They care for people. They serve, just like they did when they were in Africa or Europe or the USA. The only think that’s changed for the retirees is their age. But the work is still the same—showing people the love and joy found in Christ.

Here live the heroes of the faith.

And they are people of a great joy. And when Christ was born, the angels spoke the same message that missionaries worldwide continue to speak. It is a message not of fear, but a good news of great joy for all people. (Luke 2)

In our current spiritual desert of a world, many people are comfortably content with the dry and sad joys that don’t last. But Christ makes the wilderness and the dry land glad. (Isaiah 35) Jesus Christ came to this earth bringing the only lasting joy that mankind will ever have. Toys and more bookshelves might make me fleetingly happy, but the true lasting joy of Christ is truly satisfying.

anthony forrest

Follow along with the Advent tradition! Here are a few passages of Scripture for this week’s theme:

Joy

And be sure to check out Advent, Part One on the Idyllic Christmas as well as Advent, Part Two on Real Peace

Real Peace

December 5, 2021 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Advent Part Two

Travel Journal, 111

We were attracted by a Christmas festival in Baltimore, Maryland. We flew into the good ol’ harbor town of Baltimore specifically to enjoy “The Authentic German Christmas Market” called the Christmas Village. Cozy winter visitors come from all around to take in warmth of this little Christmas scene.

Tiny cottage-like buildings dot the inner harbor at West Shore Park. Vendors sell their crafty goods. Heaps of giant pretzels stacked feet high can’t be missed. Carolers sing. And jolly bearded folk offer mulled wines and ciders to warm the heart and soul. Lights hang low, just above head. Don’t forget to ride the old fashions Christmas carousel. Handcrafted ornaments hang on candlelit trees, waiting to find their home in yours. When you walk away from the Christmas Village, even the most shrunken, Grinch-like heart will undoubtedly grow three sizes.

We walked the lovely little village, ciders in hand. Baltimore surprisingly delivers a wonderful Christmastime opportunity. But like all big cities, all is not calm. All is not bright.

The Second theme for Advent is Peace.

What does peace look like?

Without even looking up a definition, I tend to think of peace as the absence of conflict, suffering, and sorrow. But sometimes peace can be harder to define than simply the absence of certain things. While darkness is simply the absence of light, that does not mean that all light is better than the darkness—take a house fire at night, for example.

So when we walked along the harbor walkway after the Christmas Village and saw a man sleeping on a bench, my gut reaction was that he was simply asleep. But my second thought was that it was 15 degrees outside, he wasn’t wearing appropriate clothing for the weather, and he had several emptied bottles of booze nearby. The man may have had the appearance of peace, but he was far from at peace. He was barely breathing and would have no doubt died on that park bench. I described his situation to the 911 dispatcher and an ambulance arrived shortly thereafter.

The book of Isaiah tells us that unto us a Child is born. His name shall be called the Prince of Peace (among other wonderful things). (Is. 9) And when he did come to earth, a group of angels announced from the sky that this Child, Jesus, brought peace and goodwill to men. (Luke 2) Jesus didn’t just come to earth to ease conflict or dull the pain of existence. He came to earth and brought a real, lasting peace. The peace is Jesus himself. His salvation is not that he came and left. His salvation is that He came and the presence of God has not left. It is no longer dark. And the light is the warm glow of the Son of God.

A simple lack of conflict doesn’t cut it. Without the peace of Jesus, we might as well be drunk on a park bench in a t-shirt and jeans in the middle of winter. That kind of peace is artificial and deadly. A lack of conflict means nothing without the true Agent of Peace, the Prince of Peace. The presence of Jesus displaces conflict, war, sorrow, sadness, pain, and death.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. (Is. 9:2) For to us a child is born. His name shall be called Prince of Peace. (9:6)

anthony forrest

Follow along with the Advent tradition! Here are a few passages of Scripture for this week’s theme:

Peace

And be sure to check out Advent, Part One on the Idyllic Christmas

The Idyllic Christmas

November 28, 2021 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Advent, Part One

Travel Journal, 110

What makes the perfect Christmas? Could it be the anticipation of setting up the tree? Barely making it past Thanksgiving before it goes up? Could it be family traditions? How about the food, gift-giving, shopping, get-togethers, or the Grinch?

Is there a recipe for the idyllic Christmas?

My wife and I went looking for that answer one year. We packed a weekend bag, boarded a plane, then watched expectantly as we descended through the clouds, making our pilgrimage to the land of Christmastide. What better place to look than the one state whose very existence serves to fuel Christmas dream?

Ah, Vermont. Thou home of nearly every Hallmark movie. We had found a nice deal on a romantic backwoods’ inn in the quaint village of Chester, Vermont. I had scoured the depths of the internet to find a great place to spend an ideal Christmas weekend. The results astounded me. Every town in Vermont is an ideal place to spend Christmas. So I picked, at random, a little town with a little inn. Not a hotel. Not a motel. An inn. And I tell you, there’s a difference.

You stay at a hotel because you get to.

You stay at a motel because you have to.

But you stay at an inn because want to. An inn beckons people. Even Joseph and Mary wanted to stay in one (no room). Quaint inns dot Thomas Kinkade paintings and can be found in fantasy novels.

And the Fullerton Inn is the quaintest.

The lovely New England inn is nestled gently in the northern Appalachian Mountains. Each of the windows bore shutters. And the many railings displayed numerous wreaths. We walked in and immediately knew we were in the right place. The place was hung with green. A blaze roared inside the stone fireplace. But above all, the simply enormous Christmas tree caught our eye. As we walked through the entry ogling it, a small bustle of ladies scooted by and one of them stopped near us.

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse the mess,” she declared, “the whole town is getting ready for the Christmas festival!”

Literally, just like a Hallmark movie.

That week we saw carolers and Santas, ate gingerbread cookies, and drank hot chocolate. We’d never been so nostalgic about Christmas—never had such an idyllic and festive time. We talk about it every year.

But neither nostalgia nor Christmassy romance can fill the heart-sized void that all men and women feel. The traditional Christian celebration called Advent (Latin for the coming) begins on Sunday, November 28^th this year.

And the first week is all about hope.

I can’t speak for you, but the reason Christmas means so much to me is that I yearn for it. We’ve spent a full year building to something. All the other holidays are over. I’m looking into the next year, worried about whatever is to come. But as soon as I dig out my copy of A Christmas Carol and hear the Hallelujah chorus from Handel’s Messiah, I start to feel that draw. The nostalgia, warmth, expectation, longing, desire, and everything else I can’t put my finger on all comes crashing in on me. And that’s the way it should be. For the Christian, we use this time of Advent to focus on the One true gift of Jesus Christ—God Himself come to earth *to seek and to save that which was lost.

That feeling of longing and waiting is good. Use it. Watch your Hallmark movies (the Fullerton Inn was featured in this one). Drink that second cup of hot chocolate. String popcorn and cranberries (google it). And feel that draw. Something, Someone, good is coming.

The draw you feel this year; all that nostalgia and expectation weighing on you, I say, look to Jesus this Christmas season. Remember His coming. He makes each Christmas idyllic.

anthony forrest

Follow along with the Advent tradition! Here are a few passages of Scripture for this week’s theme:

Hope

Category: Series (Page 3 of 9)

15 Hours, part 1

'22 Peru, chapter 3

Travel Journal, 118

Meeting Him in the Wild

Boring Adventure Stories

'22 Peru, part two

Travel Journal, 117

A Narnia Reference

Shaving in the Jungle

'22 Peru, part one

Travel Journal, 116

Steps

Gift of Love

Advent, Part Four

Travel Journal, 113

Joy Found at Missionary Acres

Advent, Part Three

Travel Journal, 112

Real Peace

Advent Part Two

Travel Journal, 111

The Idyllic Christmas

Advent, Part One

Travel Journal, 110

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