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Wonder in the Ordinary

Tracey Dyck 22 Comments
[image via Pinterest; graphic mine]

I’ve been moving too fast to think much about Christmas–I mean really think about it, settle into the Scriptures, stare out the snowy window, and journal whatever comes to mind. I plan to make time for that soon. In the meantime, though, a single thought has nestled into my heart. A tiny thought. Not a new thought or flashy thought, just a true one. In fact, this little thought starts with a single word:

ordinary

After being repeated for millennia, the Christmas story is sometimes glossed over like a too-beautiful-to-touch trinket we bring out once a year to place on a shelf where we can admire it from afar. At times I forget how very humble, tangible, and imperfect it all was. How very ordinary.

Mary, an ordinary young woman. She was probably going about her wedding preparations like any other fiancée at the time would have done. Maybe she was planning the feast or washing dishes or sweeping the floor when an angel interrupted her ordinary day and dropped life-shattering news into her lap.

Joseph, an ordinary young man. Also preparing for his upcoming wedding. Startled by Mary’s news that she was pregnant, of all outrageous things. And then an ordinary night gave way to a decidedly extraordinary vision confirming Mary’s words.

A census. A dusty travel, uncomfortable and inconvenient. (Surely we’ve all been there? Road-weary and impatient and wanting nothing more than a meal and a familiar bed?)

A stable with ordinary animals, ordinary stink, ordinary cold. Nothing special about it at all, except for the baby born inside.

Shepherds–oh, the shepherds. I’ve always been fascinated by them most of all. These men weren’t all that high on the social ladder. I don’t imagine they made much money at their jobs. Just think–long hours out in the elements. Smelly, bleating sheep all around. Sore feet in worn sandals. Only the stars above their heads as they stared blearily into the darkness, trying to stay awake and watch for predators. I’m sure this particular nightly watch looked and felt and smelled much like any other, with the same old frustrations, little pleasures, and predictable routine. It was an ordinary night. Perhaps boring. Quite likely unremarkable.

That is, until the heavens exploded with light and song and the kind of news that drives you to your knees.

Emmanuel–God with us.

After half a millennia of utter silence between God and man, even the staunchest believer might have wondered if the faith of their history was little more than a fairy tale, or if God was ever planning to speak again. Maybe He’d moved on. Lost interest. Shut mankind out. Forgotten the rescue He promised.

But no, not even close. On this ordinary night, above an ordinary field, an indescribable army of angels sang of the long-awaited Answer.

I have to smile at what the first angel announcer said: “You will know you have found Him when you see a baby, wrapped in a blanket, lying in a feeding trough.” (Luke 2:12, the Voice)

He didn’t announce a king or conquering warrior. He didn’t point the way toward a coronation ceremony or a battlefield or a palace or even a busy corner of the city.

The angel sent the shepherds to look for an inconspicuous newborn, wrapped in a definitely not new blanket, sleeping in a rough-hewn, straw-filled feeding trough. A kid in a barn. That was Jesus: fresh from heaven, expelled into an ordinary, messed up world fighting to hold onto hope.

And that’s when the ordinary was never the same again.

This Christmas might not be anything special for you this year. It might look the same as it’s always been. Maybe it looks a little gloomy this time around. Maybe it’s good and happy. Whatever the case, chances are it’s a fairly ordinary Christmas. But keep your eyes open for a glimmer of the extraordinary–a glimpse of majesty, a flicker of awe-inspiring wonder–nestled in amongst the trimming of just another day.

Because the ordinary is exactly where you’re living right now, and it’s exactly where Jesus loves to meet you.


Merry Christmas, dear souls! He is God with us indeed.


P.S. Currently listening to Brandon Heath’s The Night Before Christmas, which fits pretty nicely. I won’t be active online for the next couple of days, but afterwards I’ll be back to reply to comments!

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Members of One Body

Tracey Dyck 12 Comments


They will know we are Christians by our love (John 13:35 paraphrased).

Huh. Right now, it seems they know we’re Christians by our judgmental comments, pointing fingers, and loud arguments—not only aimed at the world, but slung at each other. We arrange ourselves into factions, draw lines between them, and proceed to shout down everyone not in our group. We attack each other’s beliefs. Goodness, we attack each other. We give one another the cold shoulder. We look down our noses at those people who interpret the Bible that way, which is definitely incorrect because it doesn’t line up with our way.

And yet, last I checked, we’re reading the same Bible. We’re serving the same Jesus. We’re brothers and sisters! Sometimes I wonder what our family must look like to everyone else . . . this feuding family in which mother, father, sister, brother, all stake out their corner of the room and react viciously to anyone who suggests that another corner is better.

Baptist, Lutheran, Anglican, Catholic, Evangelical, Protestant, non-denominational. We cling to these titles almost as if they are our salvation. We have our church names, our slogans, our spiritual paraphernalia, and heaven help any who carry a different one.

I am sick and tired of the division. What’s more attractive: the family whose members bristle with discord and acidic comments, or the family who loves each other and sticks together through any disagreement? When I meet either kind of families in public, there is one I gravitate toward and one I do my utmost to stay away from. What do you think our denominational division looks like from the outside?

Look, my siblings and I do not always agree. We have our spats. We’re far from perfect. But in the end, we’re still in the same family; we share the same blood. We carry a common name.

And yes, I do realize that a lot of us don’t actually treat other denominations as badly as I’ve illustrated, but I’m painting this subject in vivid colors in an effort to drive home a point. Why should these differences be such a focus? Don’t we all share more common ground than not? Ultimately, if you believe Jesus is the Son of God, fully God and fully man, and that he walked the planet, showed us how to live, then died and came back to life in order to bring us back to himself . . . then what else is there? You and I are kin.

I’m not saying theology is unimportant, either. We should always continue to dig into Scripture and discover more about who Jesus is, who we are because of him, and what our purpose is here. Always. And I don’t deny that there are Christians out there who believe things I consider unscriptural. But if that belief will not affect their eternal destination, then it is not worth bashing them over it. Will that belief affect their life here on earth? Yep. But a lot of the things we argue about don’t actually shift anyone’s path from heaven to hell, or vice versa. There is a place and time for theological debates, but they are far fewer than we think.

This is all coming from a girl who is very passionate about truth, a girl able to debate a number of points when she wants to. And I wouldn’t believe what I do unless I thought it was right. But I do not, by any means, consider myself to have the full corner on truth. None of us know the entire big picture. I think we’ll all be surprised by something when we get to heaven.

So instead of fighting so adamantly over things that don’t carry much eternal significance, can’t we set our differences aside and love each other? Can we be known by our love? A deep, forgiving, transcendent, no holds barred kind of love? Can we make this our legacy, the reputation we carry?

I’m not suggesting we throw away this denominational thing entirely. It’s a beautiful thing that we can all find a church that worships and serves God in a way we connect with. Each one is gifted for a specific purpose. But it would be amazing if we could find it in ourselves to not care so much about labels.

A couple years ago, a friend of mine invited me to a multi-denominational worship event. I don’t know how many people attended, but we filled a sports stadium. Together we lifted our voices in praise. We crossed borders and stood as one, worshiping God. It didn’t matter which churches we came from. It didn’t matter if we had differing opinions on peripheral matters. We all followed Christ. That was the important thing. We had all been drenched in God’s reckless love, and we all loved him back.

From Him the whole body [the church, in all its various parts], joined and knitted firmly together by what every joint supplies, when each part is working properly, causes the body to grow and mature, building itself up in unselfish love. (Ephesians 4:16, Amplified) And the same verse in the New Living Translation: He makes the whole body fit together perfectly. As each part does its own special work, it helps the other parts grow, so that the whole body is healthy and growing and full of love.

It is a great tactic of Satan to distract us with infighting, to get us quibbling over passages of Scripture, so that we forget to actually live out that very Scripture. Our purpose is to populate heaven! Instead we are obsessed with populating our corner with more like-minded individuals. Though oft-quoted, this still holds true: A house divided against itself cannot stand.

Over and over, the Bible reminds us that we are all parts of one body. Each part is vital and has a different function. But we are one.

I appeal to you, dear brothers and sisters, by the authority of our Lord Jesus Christ, to live in harmony with each other. Let there be no divisions in the church. Rather, be of one mind, united in thought and purpose. (1 Corinthians 1:10, NLT)

Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Make every effort to keep yourselves united in the Spirit, binding yourselves together with peace. For there is one body and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future. There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father, who is over all and in all and living through all. (Ephesians 4:2-6, NLT)

Our Sunday mornings may look different. One sits on a pew and sings hymns. Another stands in an auditorium and sings songs written yesterday. One may come dressed in jeans, another in their utmost best. Your church building might sport a steeple that’s been there for a century, or church might be held in a converted grocery store. Maybe you’re a part of half a dozen people that come together in someone’s home, or maybe your congregation numbers in the thousands. Does it matter?

As long as you follow Jesus, no. It doesn’t. We’re family. Let’s act like it.

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To the Perfectionists

Tracey Dyck 20 Comments

Dear Perfectionist,

I have something to tell you, and by extension, something to tell myself. You have many faces and many forms, and so I write this to:

  • the neat-freak who cannot stand a molecule of dust out of place
  • the perfectionist in disguise whose desk is in chaos but whose personal standards are sky high
  • the one who puts in countless hours in an effort to achieve the perfect ____ (fill in the blank: musical skill, writing abilities, sports performance, test scores, etc.)
  • the one who expects everyone else to hold the same high standards
  • the one who extends grace to everyone but themselves
  • and the one who’s given up because they’ve failed too many times

You are a slave. You are chained to an ideal, a cruel master impossible to please. Day after day you strive to reach perfection. Or maybe you don’t even call it that. Maybe in your mind, Perfect is known as Better. Whatever its name, you chase it relentlessly, but somehow it always eludes you.

You likely don’t chase it in every area of life. Maybe you seek it in performance, but you’re perfectly all right with a messy room. Maybe you seek it in your outer world–everything in its place–but less so in your inner world, where you give yourself room for mistakes. And quite likely it’s an even more intricate paradox than that–your bookshelf might be organized alphabetically but your closet looks like a tornado hit it. You may hold strictly to an academic standard, yet not so much in physical fitness. There are infinite combinations, but if this letter is to you, there is at least one area in which you are enslaved.

Can I tell you something? I’m a perfectionist in disguise. My room is sometimes a group of little contained messes, with semi-organized piles of papers and books and things that belong together in some abstract way that only makes sense to me.

I think it should be cleaner.

When I sit down to write, I’m mostly okay with clumsy sentences, scrambled plots, and misbehaving characters in a first draft.

But I think I should write more, or faster.

Do I chase a state of perfection? Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know I chase progress. Because progress means movement towards perfection, or if not that, betterment. If I wake up intending to get some good writing done, and I go to bed at night having written nothing because life got in the way, I don’t like it. If I look at an area of my life and see no growth, it bothers me. Am I growing spiritually? Am I progressing as a writer? Am I getting better at my job? Are my relationships doing well? If the answer is ever no, that must mean “try harder.”

Those are the chains I struggle to break. Yours may look different.

This slavery is sneaky. It’s not constant misery. Sometimes you do achieve something you’re happy with (at least somewhat), and so there’s a measure of success, of satisfaction. It’s a carrot dangling in front of your nose, a taste of the glory you’ll feel when you finally reach that perfection in full. But when you stumble, your own whip comes whistling down to tear your back.

You could have done better.
You should have done more.
You shouldn’t have said that.
You failed.

Bleeding, you drag yourself up and try again. The worst part about this enslavement is that most of the time, you’re not aware. You don’t realize you hold the whip; you don’t know you’re bleeding out. You have moments of self-awareness, but those usually end up in more lashes, because goodness knows you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. (And down comes the whip again.)

What drives you? Why do you so badly desire that perfection? Do you know?

Like so many other things, the answer is rooted in fear.

Fear of failure, of rejection, of not being loved. Because if you’re good enough, they’ll love you, right? If you press on and work harder, do better, they’ll accept you. You’ll have a place in the ranks. You’ll mean something. You’ll be worthy.

If you do better, God will love you.

Is that the lie you’ve believed? Because trust me, though your mind may balk and say, “I know that’s not true, I know God loves me no matter what,” your heart might tell a different story. Mine has. And trust me when I say that your heart can hold so tightly to that belief, that it thickens and tightens and wraps a chain around your neck. And for the longest time, I had no idea that iron grip was there.

Breaking those bonds takes a journey. It’s a process of discarding the old and knowing the truth that sets you free. I wish the English language had another word for know. The kind I mean isn’t with your head–it’s with your heart. You may mentally acknowledge that you are loved, but do you know it? Do you completely and utterly believe it, to the point that you act like it? Is that truth so rooted in you that any word to the contrary can’t penetrate your heart because you know how very wrong it is?

If you’ve never heard it before, or if you’ve heard it a thousand times with deaf ears, listen now.

You. Are. Loved.

Did you know that if you stopped trying, if you let it all go to pot and let your life fall into shambles, that fact would not change one iota? I know you can hardly wrap your brain around that idea, so try instead to wrap your heart around it. Shut your brain up for just a moment. If you never did another thing for God or for anyone else, He would still love you just as much as He does right now. Your value to Him would remain unchanged. Can you see that? Can you start to?

Once you’re grounded in love, perfection isn’t necessary. Instead, you can strive for something much better: excellence. Do the best you can with what you have, and leave it at that. Keep going, keep improving–to stop is to stagnate–but don’t ever attach the pursuit to your identity. Give yourself grace. God does.

With love from:
A Recovering Perfectionist A Person of Excellence

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