Lingering Lessons

the Light is here

Among other lessons, Ruby teaches me how to linger.

One of my favorite stories about Jesus is his visit to the Temple in Jerusalem when he was 12 years old. The plot unfolds like the script of Home Alone with Mary and Joseph not realizing they’ve left Jesus behind until they are almost back to Nazareth.

His worried parents go back in search of him. Finding him three days later in the Temple with a group of teachers. What amazes me most is that Jesus felt comfortable lingering about in the Temple.

My last Advent serving in a church was filled with lessons on lingering, but I didn’t really understand what I was learning until long after I’d left.

The main role of my position was (re)developing a children’s ministry. The plan was to slowly build a foundation and increase as we grew. By Advent we’d gone from 4-5 children to an average of 15. The children wanted to be there. Arriving early and staying late. I struggled to have enough volunteers, snacks, supplies, and space. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

For Advent that year we designed hands on intergenerational activities for worship each Sunday. I spent Fridays setting up these stations. It was a lot of work and it offered quiet time to breathe and linger in the midst of all the hustle and bustle.

One of those Fridays, I heard horrible groans coming from outside the sanctuary. The moans turned to screams. With help from a colleague, I discovered a man actively overdosing on the restroom floor. I’ll never forget the EMTs taking him out or lingering in the lobby after the area was cleared. Or fumbling through the rest of Advent feeling profoundly sad and unqualified for the work before me. I just wanted the season to be over and my vacation to start.

On Christmas Eve a group arrived from a local mosque. Years before, when this mosque received threats from protestors, the church reached out in solidarity. A beautiful relationship was formed and from that time on, every Christmas Eve a group came bearing gifts.

They brought three enormous perfectly wrapped cardboard boxes filled with individually wrapped gifts for children. Every child received a gift. Every adult told, if you know a child that needs a gift take one with you. At the end of the night, I pulled the remaining presents into the nursery. I’d deal with them after vacation.

A few gifts under my tree this year.

Christmas impacts me differently each year. This year, in the midst of such great collective human suffering, political dysfunction, famine, war, violence, and natural disasters, I find myself wanting to stay a little longer. As I continue reshaping my relationship with Christianity and the church, and re-imagining my calling, I want to hang around the candles for a while taking it all in. I imagine baby Jesus and 12-year-old Jesus enticing us to lollygag, as my great-grandpa used to say, in the miracles and possibilities before us.

The miracles of Christmas aren’t only for Christians. The possibilities don’t end with a birth, they only begin. Light has come. Some are able to grab hold of these gifts immediately. Others need time and space to open them.

Those two boxes of gifts left in the nursery on Christmas Eve, were waiting for me upon my return to work. Unwrapping them I found toys, building blocks, puzzles, games, books, superhero figures, dolls. Basketballs, footballs, and tennis racquets. Craft supplies, crayons, markers, paints, paper, scissors, glue, ribbons, and glitter. All things I needed for Sunday School and didn’t have the budget to buy. There were clothes, shoes, boots, coats, and diapers.

Sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper and bows in mid-January, overwhelmed by the lingering physical and spiritual gifts of Christmas, I noticed the receptionist wavering me over. A young father was in the lobby, holding a tiny baby girl that needed a diaper change and dry clothing. While he went to see his social worker, we cared for the baby. In the gifts from the mosque we found diapers and a onesie in her size. Holding her in my arms, I looked up to see the man who had overdosed before the holidays getting off the elevator.

The Christmas story is full of surprises and unexpected twists. It is everything the world says cannot be. And yet it is. Mary, a young maiden birthing a baby in a mundane manger. Joseph agreeing to be part of this risky untraditional family. An innkeeper, willing to open the door and make room for strangers. Shepherds, social outcasts, bearing witness. Muslims, like the wise ones, bringing gifts to the children of the church on Christmas Eve.

My candle at the Christmas Eve service. I kept it burning as long as possible.

Currently, the world feels more messy than miraculous, more unjust than joyful. And the Light is here. Goodness is with us waiting to be unwrapped. Calling us to dwell in a different story than the one told by empire and controlled by the powerful. Asking us to stick around awhile. Inviting us to linger.

Have you ever just hung around after an event or gathering? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to leave? What happened when you stayed?

It’s the last day of 2025. What will you hold onto from this year? What will you release? Where will you linger?

With Lingering Light,
Rebecca & 10CAMELS

Thank you for being part of Wednesdays at the Well and part of an exciting year for 10CAMELS. We’ve got new things on the way for 2026, including our second book being released in March. Next week, we’ll reveal the cover and start sharing the story behind it all.

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