I Love DC Metro Church Because…

Can you remember back to when you believed in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and other fanciful creatures, and the magic that surrounded them? The fervor you had to seek after, set traps for, and any number of other hair brained ideas in an attempt to catch of glimpse of the real deal? I loved that part of my childhood. My mom did an amazing job setting the stage for us. Helping us put the cookie plates together for Santa, with carrots for Rudolf, helping us write our letters of thanks to be placed by the fire place. Then at some time in the DEAD of night, knowing she would be waken by screaming children mere hours… maybe minutes… later, she managed to stage the living room in a way that left little doubt the big guy had REALLY been there. We had a hand written note from him detailing which wrapping paper went with which daughter, in scrawl that certainly wasn’t my mom’s, foot prints of enormous boot size right at the base of the fireplace, and half eaten treats from our plate strewn about. It was magical. It was a mystery. I simply believed, and I was happier for it.

Burjassot Do you remember when you found out the magic wasn’t real? The disappointment you felt, yet hid to preserve your pride, and you quickly joined the ranks of others declaring “believing is for babies”, so you wouldn’t be the outcast. I don’t know about you, but I can say I was quite a bit happier in my belief. I gained nothing when I realized the handwritten note from Santa, was just mom’s left handed writing, that the footprints from snow, were nothing more than Dad’s boots dipped in flour, that the treats strewn about were just part of the act. I gained nothing, but a healthy dose of cynicism at having been ‘duped’, and somewhere around that time was when protecting my pride became more important than believing in what I couldn’t see or do.

Malīhābād At some point along my journey into adulthood, I lumped a few other things into the category of make believe. Miracles. Prophesy. Speaking in Tongues. No one else I knew believed in these things, outside of the occasional horror story of a church that only spoke in tongues, and if you couldn’t, then YOU were NOT a believer, because of course all believers could. I didn’t want to be an outcast, so I joined ranks and scoffed at their existence along with the rest.

So…. knowing then, that your life had been happier with the magic of believing, what would you do when given the option to believe once again? Would you embrace it with an open mind, letting go of your pride for the chance to catch a glimpse of the Real Deal… enjoying the adventure into the unknown, or would you continue to scoff, protecting your pride, standing on your lofty perch of righteousness, feeling better about yourself as you declare all others mis-guided at best.

Enough of my blog posts over the last year that we’ve been here (I can’t believe its been a year… CRAZY) have detailed different reasons why I think its awesome, but given the title of the series, I couldn’t help but add one more to the list.

I Love DC Metro Church Because…. they’ve brought magic back into my life. Except where before the source of magic was rooted in a character, one I would truly never get the chance to encounter, now its rooted in my faith that if I look hard enough I can have encounters with God. The thing I’m still learning is it takes the fervor I had as a child to do it. I still have to search out places that he would be, and then not fall asleep (or get distracted with any number of things) while scouting him out. A few weeks ago my searching/scouting out/and believing paid off and I got to witness a miracle in the healing of a 3 year old little girl. Cynicism would chalk it up to good Dr’s and time… but if you weren’t there scouting it out and looking for it, if you weren’t believing, you wouldn’t have had the chance to see and feel what I did. It’s not the same magic as childhood, where something comes from nothing… poof! It’s better.

Does this kind of story happen everyday? Maybe not… but go back with me to Christmas morning again…. some years you would ask and ask and ask for that one special gift, and the day would come and go, and it wouldn’t be under your tree. Was there dissapointment, sure, but it didn’t end your life, and you looked at all the gifts you had surrounding you and found joy in those as well, and most importantly… you didn’t stop believing. Then there was the year it WAS there, and the unspeakable joy that went with that moment of discovering he’d heard you, Wasn’t it worth it, holding on to the belief despite past disappointments? I think so.