It’s Christmas Eve night, and I’m sure you’ve all been celebrating accordingly. Candlelight services, cookie making, family dinners, gift wrapping. All the beautiful things that make up one of our favorite days of the year. In a way, I love Christmas Eve almost more than I love Christmas Day. Christmas Eve is like one collective breath, held in anticipation and wonder at what is to come. We don’t sleep well, because we’re waiting. We laugh, we wish, we wait, barely breathing because we might miss the magic of Christmas if we do. We wait 365 days for December 25th, but it’s December 24th that makes it all possible.

Every year there seems to be this hour every Christmas Eve night, where I look into my living room with Christmas lights, ornaments, and stockings, and I feel like the world stands still. I feel like the whole world is frozen in this life-like postcard that sums up Christmas perfectly. And I can’t help but think, it’s the most perfect metaphor.

As a writer, my favorite Christmas Carol will always be, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” There is something breathtaking in the lyrics that makes me think of Christmas Eve and all it means to me.

“O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie.

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,

The silent stars go by.”

I imagine the whole world, sleeping, exhausted from the census, just trying to catch a break. Yet. Somewhere on this dreamless night, Bethlehem is finally lying still. Anticipation, expectation, wonder. The whole world is holding its breath. Angels are holding their breath. God himself is making His entrance into the darkest night.

“Yet in the dark street shineth,

The everlasting light.

The hopes and fears of all the years,

Are met in thee tonight.”

Every hope, every fear, everything in life has culminated to this moment in history. This moment when Jesus Christ was born into a little town that no one thought about, to a little family that no one knew about, in a little stable no one cared about. The whole world had waited for this moment since the moment the possibility of redemption was in Genesis. The Messiah that humanity was anticipating, was being born in a stable. And so many people missed it. So many people are still missing it.

I guess I like to think of Jesus being born on Christmas Eve. And please, don’t lecture me on how Christmas is some pagan holiday that just got chosen at random as the date we celebrate Jesus’ birth and he was probably born at some completely other time of the year… I know. I’m not saying he WAS born on Christmas Eve. I’m saying I like the symbolism. Christmas Eve, we’re holding our breath, we’re anticipating with every tick of the clock, we’re waiting on these gifts promised and hoped for since the beginning. And Christmas morning dawns clear and bright, and the wait is over. We have finally received all that was promised to us.

But Christmas Eve is where my heart will always be. My heart will always be in that little town of Bethlehem, dreamlessly sleeping, anticipating something I can’t even comprehend. I can’t even comprehend that my Savior would choose to come to a filthy, dirty world, and save a filthy, dirty people. But oh, how glad I am He did. Christmas morning is beautiful, and as Christians, it’s where we should live, rejoicing in the gift that has been given to us. But Christmas Eve is where we find it, where we see it, where all of history led to and began from.

So tonight, feel the spirit of Christmas, anticipating all the beautiful blessings Christ has given you. Most of all, think of that blessing that will forever be the culmination of everything that’s ever been, ever will be, and ever was. Don’t miss it. Don’t be like those at the first Christmas. Jesus Christ came down to the earth to redeem us. The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in thee tonight.

I never actually thought I’d write a blog post on Miley Cyrus. The thought has honestly never even entered my mind. This chick gets enough attention, positive and negative, that I don’t really need to be saying anything about her. But I recently discovered something about her that struck me. And as always when I am struck by something, I find purpose in writing that striking thought down. So here I am, writing the post about Miley Cyrus.

I recently read a newspaper article (yes I read the newspaper…), and it made an amazing point about Miley Cyrus, just after her infamous performance with Robin Thicke on the VMA’s. The article said although what Miley did was horrifying and completely filthy, she wasn’t the only one to blame. We also shared in the blame. We, the world, watched Miley’s show and commenced to tweeting and sharing our thoughts, again both positive and negative, about the event for the next few weeks. Even if we said that the performance was a vile, lurid show, we were still giving it attention. And frankly, I don’t think it deserved even the least little bit of attention. After all, wasn’t Miley after the shock value? Wasn’t she thinking of the “no publicity is bad publicity” mantra? Miley claims you can love her or hate her but you can’t deny her. And I think in the past year of her career, she has set out to prove just that. Miley’s career has been one shock or scandal after another. But hey, she’s getting attention, right? What was that lovely line she warbled on her new album? “Forget the haters cause somebody loves ya?”

Honestly, I don’t hate Miley Cyrus. I don’t condone her actions in any way shape or form. And I completely disagree with her entire lifestyle. Most of the time I feel ashamed that our culture has stooped to a place of worship over someone who so defiles every principle I stand on. Nevertheless, I don’t hate Miley Cyrus. I feel like if she’s to blame, so is our entire culture. We are all to blame because we are all full of sin. Miley upsets me, because I’m reminded of how many things we as humans do to fill our lives without Jesus. And in the end, I just feel sorry for her.

Sorry for her? Yes, sorry for her. And this is where my striking thought comes in. Recently, I stumbled across her twitter (and I don’t recommend a large examination of it). As I scrolled through her tweets, I found tweet after tweet laced with sad undertones. Oh sure, she sticks her tongue out and throws up a peace sign and says she loves her life. She has more money than anyone probably should ever have. And she really lacks for nothing. Yet… Time and again I scrolled through and found tweets about boredom, restlessness, and not being able to sleep. It might seem strange that I noticed that last one, but I have spent enough time around lost people to know that a characteristic of being without God’s peace and love is not being able to sleep well. Of course I’m not saying if you can’t sleep well, you’re lacking spiritually. And I’m pretty positive there are plenty of lost people in the world who lay their heads down at night without a care. Yet it struck me that this girl who likes to act like she has everything, this girl who seems to have no shame or code of morals, cannot sleep at night. You might think I’m reading into this too much, and maybe you’re right. But maybe not.

Because my next thought was, if Miley Cyrus is lying awake at night, what is she thinking about? What if she wishes she could start over? What if she cries herself to sleep, wondering if this is all there is to life? What if, deep down, she feels the regret of her actions? It wouldn’t take a deep look at Miley’s past to know not a decade ago she claimed to be a Christian. I think that’s the saddest thing of all. All of this from a girl who once seemed to know the truth. What if deep down she remembers that young girl who at least had head knowledge about a God who loved her? What if she wonders where all that went? And what if these thoughts keep her up at night? And what if she doesn’t even know who she is anymore? What if she feels defined by who she’s become? What if she hears one camp of people screaming she is filthy person, not suitable to live, and another camp of people screaming to do even more filthy things? What if she wonders if anyone really loves her?

I think as human beings, we are all susceptible to so much doubt and fear that Satan whispers to our hearts. And the only way we think we can survive it is to try and drown it out. Some people try to drown it out in empty relationships and broken promises. Some try to drown it out in drugs or alcohol. Some try to drown it out with money and success. And some try to drown it out with scandalous performances on national television.

You know what you’ve tried to drown in. Fill in the blank. But the truth is we’re all just drowning. Drowning and trying to catch our breath in a culture that has taken love and reduced it down to something to help you ignore the “haters.” The only thing that makes me different from Miley Cyrus is that I stopped drowning in my sin and fear and doubt. I was rescued by Jesus Christ, the only one capable of silencing Satan’s lies forever, and the only one who can truly show love.

I’m not saying we should all start praising Miley. Please do not misunderstand me. But I also wonder if there aren’t potential Mileys all around us. There’s someone you passed by today just as broken as Miley Cyrus, and someone wondering if they are loved. Don’t let their hope come from a pop singer with a distorted view of how to measure love. Don’t let them drown in a sea of fear and doubt. Probably none of us will ever get the chance to talk to Miley Cyrus. But you have that chance to change someone else’s life today through Jesus Christ’s love. Let that love rule in your heart, as you seek to refocus our culture on all the things that seem to have fallen away. The things that are pure, noble, good and right. This culture and future is ours as much as it is Miley Cyrus’. We have the ability to change it. We have the ability to love someone today. Miley Cyrus won’t ever find any peace in her life apart from Jesus Christ. And there are people in your life who are suffering from the same condition. So next time you see a post about what Miley wore, or said, or did, take a moment to pray for her, and pray for someone else who’s also hurting. We have the ability to tell someone about the hope we’ve found. Don’t waste it. And maybe, just maybe, someone will sleep a little better tonight.

A Thought to Think – Writers

I suppose one of the very worst things about being a writer, is that you automatically open yourself up to large amounts of criticism. In essence, writing was written to be criticized. Not everyone can say this about their profession.

For example, I cannot criticize an engineer’s ability to solve an equation. He can either do it, or he cannot. I cannot criticize an athlete’s ability to finish a race. She can either do it, or she cannot. But writing is subjective. Writing is not for the faint of heart, or the weak stomached. Writing is for those who have the courage to bear their souls on paper, and then give up their offering to be devoured by the lions of society. And it seems that’s the way it has always been. No matter the author, or the level of skill and success they author possessed, someone will always have a criticism. William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Earnest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, Homer… Every person who decided to undertake to share their thoughts on paper with the world, underwent criticism at some time in their life.

“Ah,” I think to myself. “If writing is so subjective, I shall simply give my writing to those who view things the same way I do. Then I shall always be a ‘good writer.'” What a horrible thought! How will I ever improve without criticism? How will I ever find my own aesthetic if I do not compare it to others?

Of course, it’s arguable that authors are their own worst critics. It’s true that if I waited for my work to sound perfect, I would never post again. I compare myself so horribly to others. I wince when I read something amazing, because instead of appreciating the talent and brilliance of what I have read, I see it beside mine and immediately dislike my own. The dark thoughts cloud my head, “if I am not the best at what I do, why should I at all?” What horrible, selfish thoughts! I have put myself in the forefront and I have done a disservice to myself, and to those around me. Why can I not simply write because I love it?

How did I, the girl who can stand no critique, the girl full of jealousy, the perfectionist, become a writer? I’d like to take a moment to indulge myself in my own silly clichés. “I didn’t choose writing, it chose me.” But how true that is for me. I have written since I was a young girl, barely old enough to spell. I wrote the story of how I bought my first stuffed animal. And the very reason I wrote that story was to capture the emotion I felt in that moment. The feelings whirled inside of me, excitement, anticipation, accomplishment. I knew the only way I could be content was to let those words out, to see them on paper, to perfect my feelings through my most beautiful possession, words. So I wrote. And I continued to write, and take pride in my work. I was always the best writer in my class. I realized in high school, that perhaps I would write forever, and make it my career. Of course I also learned in high school that I am not the only one who could write. I was never the prettiest girl, or the funniest girl, or the most popular girl. I was happy with who I was, but I was average. Writing seemed to be the only thing I could do better than most. I remember realizing “there will always be someone better, and there will always be someone worse.” Although I found no solace in the fact. Instead I continued to wish that I was the best. I continue to long for validation. Am I really so unhappy with myself, that I need everyone who reads my writing to validate my own confidence?

Until I realized, writing isn’t about validation, or being “the best.” It’s about doing what you love, for the hopeful betterment of someone else. Good writers write because they can only pray that their own lives on paper will help and bring pleasure to someone else. I have found this to be true. When I finish an amazing story like, The Glass Menagerie, The Fault In Our Stars, or Ethan Frome, I suddenly see the beauty in words, and I remind myself all over that I want desperately to do the same for someone else. Authors, men and women I have never met, bring me to tears and laughter and heartache through their writing. Words, little squiggles on paper, are touching my heart, and expanding my mind. They have created something from a mere thought! Writing is too beautiful for me to twist it to match my own agenda. Writing is too valuable, for me to use it simply to feed my own ego. Words are so valuable to me. I put a great emphasis on the words people have to say to me. When I get a compliment, I bask in its glow for longer than I should, and lock it away in a box of happiness, longer than I should. Wouldn’t my writing be better if I hoped to never get another compliment on it? Wouldn’t I use it for its true purpose? Instead of using my words for the intention of getting praise, I must write with the deep desire to benefit someone by it.

So like every time before, I force myself to click the enter key, and I publish my thoughts to a web page, open and ready for anyone with a computer to read and to criticize. Perhaps you will read it and hate it. Perhaps you will love it. Perhaps you will think nothing at all of it. Perhaps you will wonder why a girl you’ve never met thinks she has the right to share her thoughts and use the word “perhaps” all too often. I wonder the same thing.

But I cannot stop. I cannot stop. I love words a little too much to see past anything else. I will always love words because they gave me a home, a place where I felt I belonged. Maybe this is all one big test for me. A test of my ability not only to write, but a test of my ability to accept criticism, and the realization that I will never be good enough. Oh, please do not feel sorry for me when I say “not good enough.” “Not good enough” is beautiful, because it means I can continue to learn and grow. It means my writing can become more beautiful.

So if you read this, I thank you. You have spent your own valuable time on a girl with a bunch of selfish thoughts regarding her passion. If you disliked it, please tell me. You are serving me well. And if you liked it, I ask you not to compliment me, for I must grow not to love my own self-image quite so much. I ask instead that you simply smile, and say, “you’re getting better.” If nothing else, I ask for your complete honesty. That’s all I suppose in writer could ever want to hear. That’s all I suppose anybody ever wants to hear.

Have you ever thought about how beautiful the word “us” is? It’s a beautiful word. Two letters, smaller than “you”, bigger than “I”… A word that represents you and I, together. “Us” is a word that binds us to each other. It’s a word that is stronger than “I” by itself. “You” have to give up something so the other one can grow. But together, the word is unbreakable. “Us” can represent so many bonds. My best friend and I, she makes me stronger than I am alone and I love her dearly. Friends. My sister and I, we have a bond so deep that it is a mix of friend and family. Sisters. I’m not married yet but one day, my husband and I will be an “us.” This bond makes us one flesh, completely part of each other. Spouses. “Us” will never stand alone. As long as it’s “us” and not “I,” “you” have someone, stronger than yourself when you’re weak, and who can love you when you’re unlovable. You and I meet in the middle and give something up to gain something in the end. You can bring me farther than I can go alone. Like Jesus Christ does for us.

Jesus, I am brought to God by You, something I can’t do alone. You bring us before our Father. You are strong when I am weak. You love me when I am unlovable. You lowered yourself to my level. You came to me. You forged a bond between US.

And that’s…. A Thought to Think