With Us…Forevermore
Advent is over.
The presents have been opened.
Some of us have already taken down the tree, packed away the ornaments, and swept up the pine needles. Others still have Christmas gatherings ahead, lingering lights glowing a little longer in the windows.
And every year, I find myself in the same strange place—the Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s. It feels like a no man’s land. The anticipation is behind us, but the promise of the new year hasn’t quite arrived. Enough turkey and treats have been consumed that I’m not even sure what day it is anymore.
There’s a quiet question hanging in the air:
Now what?
Throughout Advent, we waited. We hoped. We lit candles in the dark and named our longing for hope, peace, joy, and love. We reminded one another that to us a child would be born, that God would come near—Immanuel, God with us.
And on Christmas Eve, we celebrated the miracle.
The Word became flesh.
God moved into the neighborhood.
So now what?
God With Us—Still
The temptation after Christmas is to move on. To pack away the truth we’ve been holding onto and let it fade into the background as life speeds back up.
But what if Advent was never meant to end?
What if “God with us” isn’t just a Christmas truth—but a forever promise?
We didn’t just celebrate that God came. We celebrated that God stays.
John tells us that Jesus didn’t simply visit humanity—He dwelt among us. He pitched His tent. He settled in. God didn’t parachute into history for a moment and disappear again. He entered fully, vulnerably, permanently.
The incarnation wasn’t a brief interruption in human history. It was the beginning of something eternal.
Presence That Brings Peace
Earlier in Advent, we reflected on the story of a little girl standing frozen in a dark hallway after the power goes out during a storm. Fear grips her—until her father appears with a candle. When he wraps her in his arms, the storm doesn’t stop, but something inside her does.
Peace enters the space—not because circumstances change, but because presence remains.
Now imagine if her father calmed her down and then walked away again. That wouldn’t bring peace. What brought peace was staying.
This is the story of the Gospel.
God didn’t come close just long enough to calm us down and then retreat back into heaven. God came to stay.
With Us—Now and Forever
Jesus promised His disciples that though He would go away, He would not leave them as orphans. The Holy Spirit would come and be with them—and in them—forever. God with us did not end at the manger. It continued through the Spirit’s presence, guiding, comforting, teaching, and reminding us of truth.
And Jesus made another promise:
“I will come back and take you to be with me.”
The first Advent points us forward to the final Advent.
We look back—to Bethlehem.
And we look forward—to glory.
The same God who kept His promise to come once will keep His promise to come again.
Living in the In-Between
Until that day, we live in the in-between.
Between candlelight and full sunrise.
Between promise fulfilled and promise completed.
We still experience storms.
We still walk through dark hallways.
We still grieve, wait, and struggle.
But we do not do it alone.
God is with us in suffering and joy, in despair and hope, in pain and healing. And one day, He will be with us face to face. Scripture promises a day when every tear will be wiped away, when death and pain will be no more, when God’s dwelling will be fully and forever with His people.
What began in a manger will be completed in a renewed creation.
Now… and Forevermore
So what does this mean as we step into a new year?
It means your pain is not pointless.
Your waiting is not wasted.
Your story is not finished.
Whatever you’re carrying forward—grief, uncertainty, exhaustion, or hope mixed with fear—Jesus is not standing at a distance.
He is with you.
And He is not going anywhere.
Advent may be over—but hope is not.
Peace is not.
Joy is not.
Love is not.
Because Immanuel is not seasonal.
He is eternal.
God with us.
God in us.
God coming back for us.
With us—now and forevermore.