After Thanksgiving, I committed to a cleanse to rid my body of built-up toxins. It’s a routine I have completed before, yet I always seem to forget the toll it takes—and how inconvenient the timing can be. This particular cleanse works by pushing impurities to the surface, manifesting as breakouts and painful sores on my face. With holiday events and gatherings in full swing, it was not exactly the most convenient time for my body to wear its detox on the outside.
This season has a way of catching me off guard every year. Deep down, I know there’s historical trauma tied to it, yet I cling to the hope that time will heal all wounds. In recovery, I have been told "if it's hysterical, then it's historical." And the truth is, some scars have a way of reopening without warning, reminding me that healing is an ongoing process and what I "resist will persist."
It’s inconvenient and far from pretty, but the real danger lies in avoiding the intentional work of "clearing out the toxins." When I neglect this process, the things getting stirred up within me have a way of spilling over, affecting those close to me in ways I never intended.
Sometimes, the right person asking the right question can draw out information I never intended to share. In the midst of my wandering thoughts and assumptions, I found myself having that exact experience—right in the middle of the grocery store. Of course! 🙄 This person's simple but piercing observation stopped me in my tracks: “Julie, that doesn’t sound like you at all.” Deep sigh. I realized I hadn’t lost myself completely. It was more like yanking out a stubborn weed, not overhauling the entire garden.
Holding the tension between the joy of the season and the grief of past
wounds is messy, but even in the discomfort, I can see God’s gentle kindness.
He uses this tension to bring healing—not just for me, but for my family as
well. The holidays, with all the cultural busyness and pressure to create
“magic,” offer me a choice: to join in the chaos and distraction OR to slow down and mirror nature’s Winter rhythm of
rest. When I’m gentle with myself, that gentleness naturally flows to others.
Through the traditions and reflections of Advent, I’m drawn back to the foundation of my faith. It’s a time of rediscovery, where light exposes what’s hidden and pruning shapes what’s fruitful. Luke 6:45 reminds me that “the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” This verse challenges me to examine what lies beneath the surface. Left unchecked, hidden wounds or unresolved struggles can erupt, causing others—and myself—to question the fortitude of my foundation. There may be cracks from neglect, but it can also simply reflect normal wear and tear that requires care and attention. How do I know the condition of my heart? By slowing way down and embracing stillness and quiet. Simple enough, and yet the most difficult for me. Hebrew 4:11 sums up my efforts "striving to enter that rest."
But the beauty of God’s work is in His discipline. While it doesn’t feel like love or progress in the moment, I am trying to see it as evidence of His active presence in my life. He has shown me, time and again, that even in the strangest of seasons, He is there—rescuing, refining, and resurrecting.
One of my favorite Advent readings is the story of Zechariah. His season of silence might look like punishment, but it’s a powerful display of God’s grace. That time wasn’t wasted; it was a space for reflection, growth, and the fulfillment of God’s promises. It reminds me that God’s light exposes and His pruning refines, drawing me closer to Him and preparing me for greater fruitfulness. 🙏
As this season of celebration and reflection unfolds, I’m choosing to slow down and remain open to the awakening it offers. God’s work in my life is steady and unwavering, even—and especially—when it feels uncomfortable. For that, I am profoundly grateful. Looking back at my written memories of Christmases past, even during the most turbulent times, I see a common thread: a miracle always arrived, in subtle and unique ways, but precisely in the way I needed it most.
