So, I took a day off from posting yesterday because Liv and I kept my niece overnight. Rather than scramble for words, I opted to chase some kiddos. It was fun. And now I return.

Something about this Christmas has me remembering holiday memories from way back. Things like…

…Saturday-after-Thanksgiving trips to Schilling’s Christmas Tree Farm. Real trees. Real saws. Real tractors.

…Decorating the tree and listening to Amy Grant’s Christmas album and Tennessee Ernie Ford’s The Story of Christmas. We would unpack the ornaments and I loved looking for my favorites – the ornament from my first Christmas, the white plastic wreaths with our pictures in them, and Mom’s collection of Snoopy ornaments.

…Watching Chip ‘n’ Dale Christmas shorts. That’s the cartoon, folks. The cartoon chipmunks.

…The year that Mom and Dad got me the coat I really wanted. I thought it was so incredibly trendy. I think I screamed when I opened it. Fashion’s always been a thing…

…Family gatherings at Aunt Susie and Uncle Ronnie’s house. I loved seeing her tree…and seeing which of the cousins was brave enough to slide down their fire pole. That’s right. They had a fire pole. Totally awesome.

…Waiting for my turn to open the Advent calendar in December and knowing that Mom would have put something super cool in there.

…My freshman year of college, feeling sad and lonely about being away from home around the holidays. One Sunday, Mom called and told me to meet her in Newport. She drove up with a tiny Christmas tree and music-themed ornaments for my dorm room.

…Spending the night at Nana and Grandpa’s on Christmas Eve and watching Little Women by the fire.

…Monogrammed bath towels from Mimi. She always got me peach or pink. How I wish I still had at least one of them.

There are some newer memories…

…Mom handing the Advent calendar down to me, completely refurbished and fully stocked when Livi was one year old.

…Friday nights and cheesy Christmas movie marathons on the Hallmark channel with Dad and Kelly.

…The Christmas cookie bake-off. The sisters. The mother. The grandmother. The children and, if they’re brave, the men. We bake. We decorate. We graze. Fun is had by all. This year, my younger sister Holly hosts. She is the first of the sisters to claim that rite of passage. It’s a big deal.

…Christmas Eve in pajamas at Mom and Charlie’s and how, with each passing year, Liv becomes more aware of the excitement that’s coming in the morning.

It’s not always been a ‘picture print by Currier & Ives.’ Every family’s story has some pain in it, some heartbreak, both collective and individual. Every family’s story has some mess. But there is a Redeemer who put on flesh and was born into a lineage with its own share of checkered chapters, in a setting that was least likely to be regal or picturesque. And, to paraphrase Beth Moore, He redeemed the entire line. So I can look back over my history and my family’s history, and I can still find joy hiding out in those unlikely places. Because I can see how He has already healed so many broken things. Given so much beauty for ashes. Poured out the oil of gladness instead of mourning. And I know He’s not done with us yet.

“Is there any God like you, forgiving iniquity, passing over transgressions by the survivors who are your heritage?” Micah 7:18

No. There is absolutely no one like You.

In keeping with my desire to properly frame Christmas for my daughter, I asked her last night what we should get Jesus for His birthday. I’m trying to teach her that Christmas is not about getting presents. Christmas is about giving, sacrificially, the way that Jesus gave. So I asked her what Jesus might want, and she responded:

“Gold. And Frankenstein. And…um…a tree? Does he need a tree?”

I mean, seriously. What in the world made us laugh before we had children? I loved her response, not just because it was funny, but because it shows me that she’s learning the story. And that’s the thing I’m desperate for – that she’ll learn the story.

Tonight, she wandered into the living room, AWOL from bedtime, and snuggled up next to me on the couch. I’ve had one of those days on the heels of several more like it where you stay too busy to stop and pray and read and commune, and I was feeling it in my bones. I needed to be still, so that’s what I was doing. She asked me about the book on my lap, and I tried to explain that I was reading and praying and spending time with God. I told her that people can do that alone, or they can do it as a family, the way that we had earlier tonight when we read the Christmas story and talked (some more) about what Jesus might want for His birthday. She asked if we could pray together. Delighted, I began. I prayed for every family member I could think of, thanked Him for our morning, our night and everything in between, and I prayed that we would celebrate Jesus’ birthday in a way that pleases Him. The whole time I was conscious of how I was praying, thinking about the hefty responsibility I have as her mother – the responsibility of teaching her how to pray. Then it was her turn.

“Dear God, I hope you have a good birthday. I hope you get lots of good presents. And that you get everything you want. So. Happy birthday! I love you very much!”

And now, here it is, the answer to this question that I was sure I already knew the answer to. I’ve been quizzing her all week, trying to teach her what it is that Jesus wants for His birthday, and in seven words, she nails it: and that you get everything you want.

He wants what He came here for: the world saved. His kingdom come. I look down and think: that’s a tall order for these two hands. But it’s not for the hands that flung the stars into the heavens. My five year-old knows it’s possible. Her hands are tinier than mine. Still she believes.

Dear God,
Our Father, who art in heaven,
I hope you have a good birthday.
hallowed be Thy name.
I hope you get lots of good presents.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
And that you get everything you want.
on Earth as it is in heaven.  

Needing to stop today, be still, and meditate on this…

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.
(Isaiah 9:2-7 ESV)

Last week I read about being anxious when we perceive that something is lacking in our lives. As I was writing about that, I asked myself what, if anything, I considered to be lacking during this season of my life. The very first thing that came to mind, pitched a tent and stayed there, was this: TIME. I constantly feel like I don’t have enough time to get everything done. I constantly feel like I’m failing because my house isn’t perfect, my car is cluttered, my kid hasn’t bathed in two days, and I haven’t stopped to pray since I can’t remember when.

These things I need to be doing that I can’t quite seem to mark off the list follow me around all the live-long day until I feel absolutely defeated, like I haven’t accomplished a single thing of value. Like I’ve just been treading water until it’s time to go to sleep, wake up and do it all over again.

Is anybody relating to this? Anybody?

In the middle of all of this thinking about my time, I’ve also been thinking about two other things. The first is that Nancy Leigh DeMoss says we have exactly as much time as we need. That God has given us, down to the minute, enough time to do everything that He has for us in a given day. The other thing on my mind is the Sabbath. I know it’s no accident that we have a God-ordained day of rest. I’m pretty sure He wasn’t actually tired from creating the world. But I do think He wanted to rest, for at least two reasons. One: to enjoy what He had just created, to sit back and take a look and say, again: This is good. Two: to let us know that we need to take an ever-loving break sometimes.

So, just to recap, here’s what I’m learning:
1. Don’t be anxious about not having enough time to get things done because
2. You actually have all the time you need to get things done, it’s really just a matter of priorities and
3. Speaking of priorities, you need to schedule yourself some regular rest.

It really does all come down to scheduling and priorities. But for a girl like me, that can be a huge challenge. I walk in the door of my house, and I see every single mess, every single thing that needs attention, and I feel all of it calling my name. Clean the kitchen, straighten the dining room, finish the sewing project, put away the laundry, fold the blanket, wash the sheets, scrub the bathtub, vacuum the floors, sweep the floors, mop the floors…until I’m basically paralyzed. It’s just perfectionism rearing its ugly head, trying to chomp down on that big ol’ elephant because if anyone thinks she can eat a six-ton mammal in a single bite, it’s a girl with a perfectionism problem.

You know what, though? I am sick and tired of being angry with myself for not being able to do something that is literally impossible. So tonight I asked myself: what do I need to do to get the house in basic order before I go to bed? That’s easy. Clean the kitchen, put away the laundry, straighten my bedroom. They’re simple things, and I didn’t do them perfectly, but they’re done. And because they’re done, I will be able to rest.

See what happened there?

I do. I took a bite out of the elephant. And tomorrow, I’ll take a couple more.

Most of us, in one way or another, fight with the holidays. We get stressed, we get cranky, we get lonely, we get sad, we get too busy, we get too tired. I’m no exception.

Except that this year, He is putting a new song in my heart. And I am listening hard for all of its refrain.

Tonight, I played the piano while Mom and Charlie sat in the living room, all the lights off except for the Christmas tree. Livi danced around the room to Away in a Manger and Silent Night and O Come, O Come Immanuel. That last one’s my favorite. His name: Immanuel, and its meaning: God with us…they speak such comfort, such hope.

In the middle of Silent Night, just as I was thinking that this was one of life’s perfect moments, it began to rain. Perhaps not significant to some. To me, though, it is incredibly meaningful. Rain always reminds me of God’s nearness and protection. Some think of rain as cleansing and healing. And those are both wonderful. But for me it carries a singular message: I am near to you.

Immanuel. God with us.

And so there we were. In the glow of the Christmas lights. Livi dancing, Mom and Charlie resting, music playing and my God being near.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Heaven’s love reaching down, to save the world
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Son of God, Servant King,
Here with us.
You’re here with us…

-Here With Us, Joy Williams

It’s Friday and I can’t stop thinking about His favor. Time for a simple list of just a few of this week’s gifts.

– 4 years with my agency, and all the crazy huge blessings that have come with it
– Godly people who are there to speak truth and wisdom when I need more of both
– Lovely ladies who email grace, grace and more grace
– Big hugs from Livi and the reminder of how important she is to me, that no matter how many places I’m trying to be a blessing, I have to be building her up first…
– Fresh mistletoe cut from a tree at the office and not giving a rip that it will go unused at my house this year (unless you count Livi kisses)
– Finding joy in sacrifice
– A little girl who always wants to put money in the red bucket outside the store
– Glowy lights behind reds, greens, golds and glitter
– Comfy pajamas, comfy couch, comfy blanket
– Being made new…knowing that He is bringing me closer to being the woman I’ve always wanted to be…

And so, with that, I say good night. Happy weekend to all!

Do you ever just wake up stressed?

It usually starts with some sort of alarm clock annoyance. Or an annoyance at yourself for not listening to the alarm clock the first time.

Then you move on to something else. Your hair won’t lay just so. Your eye makeup looks funny. Those shoes don’t go with those pants and that jacket is going to need some serious ironing before you wear it out in public.

Your head hurts. Your glands feel swollen. Your Diet Coke isn’t cold enough and your purse is too heavy.

You’ve been thinking it’s Thursday since Tuesday and now that it’s actually Thursday you just want it to be Friday.

I could go on. But you get the point.

This morning, I was letting my scrolling marquee of complaints play in my head, and I knew exactly why I was annoyed at the entire world. I had a lunch meeting that I was stressed about. I’ve been the president on the board of a non-profit this year, and it has been a difficult year of service. We’ve had your normal set of challenges, some major shifts on the national level and even what I would call a mid-year leadership crisis. Today is our last meeting for 2012 and I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t wake up thinking: Eight. More. Hours.

I hate seeing that in black and white, but it’s true…and I promised honesty. So there you go. So this morning I just needed a good dose of simple Truth. And here’s what I got:

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. – Colossians 3:23

So I grabbed some Ibuprofen, threw my Diet Coke back in the fridge and dug in. Because honestly, there are just going to be times when we’re weary. When we feel like the work we’ve done has been in vain, or that we’ve somehow fallen short in our duty. When it’s hard to keep going with a willing heart because we just want it all to be over. For when that’s what we want, but it’s not what we’ll get, we have this solution: see it as service to the Lord. See it as ministry. When we allow that vision to inform our actions, we find that He gives us the power and endurance that we need to finish the task at hand.

That’s just what He did for me today. And I am so grateful.

This is an excerpt from one of my January 2012 posts. It deals with something my sister and I talked about last night (on our super fun sister-date to Brave New!) that I think is particularly relevant for women. I’ve posted a few follow-up thoughts at the end…

Peace vs. Understanding

Philippians 4:6-7 tells us not to be anxious about anything, but to approach God in prayer and thanksgiving, to let Him know our needs. The promise is that if we do this, His peace, which surpasses all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. I’ve always taken that last part, you know, the peace that passes understanding, and figured that was just referring to a peace so amazing, so profound, that it couldn’t be understood. But is that what it really means? What exactly is a peace that surpasses understanding? What does it mean to ‘surpass’ something? Webster defines it as this:

sur·pass  1: to become better, greater, or stronger than

It’s that ‘to become better’ that grabs me. And I wonder: is the worth of this peace perhaps not that it is so profound it can’t be understood, but that it actually replaces our need to understand, this untamed craving to know and have all of our questions answered? Think about it. The peace of God, a peace that is capable of guarding your heart and mind in Christ, is far more valuable than being able to understand whatever it is you’re going through. Having all the answers won’t guard my heart, won’t protect my mind. If anything, having the answers will only lead me to more questions. I know full well that the only power capable of guarding my heart and mind is the power of God’s peace. And yes, I would rather have that peace than a detailed explanation of how my future will play out.

I was actually in a situation not long ago where the outcome, or at least the next step or series of steps, was revealed to me. It brought me zero peace. And then it raised about fifty more questions. So yeah. I’m thinking heart-guarding peace of God is a much better option. It’s hard to shift our focus from the outcomes to the Truth, though. But when we stop and really look at that Truth – that the One who plans every outcome is not only all-knowing, all-wise and all-powerful, He is full of love and grace and mercy and He eagerly desires to bless His children, to show them compassion – our hunger for answers seems to subside. Because the answer our souls are really after? It’s just that: God loves us. He plans good things for us. He always works everything together for our good. 

Always.

Today’s post will be brief, partly because this thought can cover such a wide spectrum, and partly because I’m blogging from my iPhone while a puny little girl snoozes all snuggled up next to me on the couch.

I read this today, and I found so much truth in it. From Made to Crave by Lysa Terkheurst (give me grace if I’ve misspelled her name?), here it is:

“We must be aware that desperation breeds degradation. In other words, when what is lacking in life goes from being an annoyance to an anxiety we run the risk of compromising in ways we never thought we would.”

That’s something, huh? On a day that I was particularly cranky, I needed to remember this. I think this all stems from how we perceive and subsequently receive our portions from the Lord. The simple truth is: God is sufficient. When we belong to Jesus, our lives know no shortage that He is unable to satisfy. It’s the trusting Him to satisfy our needs with what He sees fit that we tend to have a hard time with. But when our efforts to complete our own lives fail and we finally say uncle and choose to truly trust Him? Joy. Peace. And we find what we were looking for all along.

It’s Him. We are always and ever looking for Him.

So I’m 3 days into my write-everyday-challenge when I realize that I threw down the gauntlet at myself during the busiest month of the entire year. I tend to aim a bit high…

Part of approaching the Christmas season with a five year-old is trying to figure out ways of teaching said five year-old about Jesus and gratitude and giving and joy and…dare I say…Santa Claus. Disclaimer: if you are under the age of ten, or you are older than ten but still believe in Santa Claus, stop reading NOW.

I’m serious. You continue at your own peril.

I never believed in Santa. Mom and Dad told us from the get-go that he was a big fat myth, that presents came from parents, and Christmas was about Jesus. Period. Usually when I tell people the bit about Santa, they look a little sad for me…but we’re good. Promise. Those same sad-lookers are always relieved to know that we were under strict instructions to never tell our friends that Santa was a farce. So it’s not like we ran around terrorizing the neighbor children. (Not about Santa Claus anyway.)

Naturally, as I parent my own child, I’m confronted with the Santa question. And I have to tell you, if Liv ever wants me to shut up, she just has to say the words ‘Santa Claus’. I completely freeze up. What do I say?? Confirming or denying Santa’s existence is life-altering stuff. Isn’t it?

Yeah…it’s not. But the thing is, I have this wonderfully imaginative little girl who can dream up stories and places and people that I was never able to dream up, even as a child. So I’ve worried that shattering the Santa myth would put a dent in her talent for wonderment. That I would somehow be limiting her ability to be amazed. If only we spent as much time fostering their gifts as we do agonizing over whether or not we’re scarring them for life…

How misplaced this whole debate has been in my mind. It’s not a question of how I handle the Santa discussion. It’s a question of how I handle the Jesus discussion. And maybe that’s why I’ve been wringing my hands over jolly old Saint Nick – it’s so much easier to tell a kid that something’s not real than it is to talk about the very real things that are the stuff of this season, things like sin and redemption and sacrifice and joy and obedience and a love that was so, so very real that He who was boundless bound Himself in flesh. He who was ageless wrapped Himself in days. And He who knew no sin took on our sin. And that this, this one magical beautiful Bethlehem night that we celebrate with lights and ribbon and gifts and extravagance and merriment, it was really the beginning of His march to the cross. How do I tell her that?

How?

I’m desperate for her to understand, and I so wish I could take everything that’s in my heart and just transplant it right into hers, but I can’t. And I, the girl who loves words and can’t seem to spit enough of them out every day, can’t figure out a way to tell the story…because I’m trying to tell the whole story. I’m trying to take a few decades worth of firsthand experience, wrap it up with the deepest mystery man has ever known, and sum it up into a few sentences a five year-old can comprehend and consequently build a lifelong system of faith upon.

Like I said before, I aim high.

A dear friend told me not too long ago to keep it simple where Olivia and Jesus are concerned. She talked about how her own kids would ask these galaxy-big questions and she finally learned that the simple Truth, short and sweet, was enough for them. So that’s my goal for this season.

We were in trouble. God loves us a whole lot, so He sent Jesus to save us. And this is the day He was born. So we celebrate. Because He has saved us. Because He has made us glad.

Because He is wonderful. Counselor. Almighty God, the everlasting Father. The Prince of Peace.

Hallelujah.