A Merry {Stinking} Christmas

Christmas morning has come, and we welcomed it in our quiet home, as we sat squeezed together on this old couch, us four, and read ancient words from this new book, a gift.

And our Christmas was full of wonder, because its easy to come by when you’re two and five, and these little ones brimming over with their child-faith, they draw me right in to it. I think about last Christmas, a year ago, and the healing that has transpired here, and I am hushed by His goodness in it all.

But mixed in with the wonder and the meditations, our Christmas was not without the stench that no doubt marked the stable that first holy night. Only the foul festering here was not so much malodorous, but rather a soul stench emanating from within me: the creeping up of fear and control, of pungent sarcasm and defensiveness, the stink of an old self and the ache of this broken world with its bruised relationships.

And as long as I have breath I will wrestle with this stench. But Christmas, it doesn’t hide the stink of the stable, Christmas celebrates His coming right smack into the dark ugly of it. And I am indebted to those who walk this road with me, and point me back to the One who forgives and makes new, who came to give life, and who offers it today.

And in our little church, I am discovering the beauty of liturgy and the rhythm of the church calendar, and I am surprised to learn that Advent is the beginning of the church calendar. And isn’t this how we begin a new year: with hope, full of expectation, and yes, waiting on the One who writes our stories and numbers our days? And why would I, why do I start anywhere else but here: raw anticipation, deep hope and expectation that Jesus will come right here – into the mess and frailty of this broken life, of this weary heart, of this very moment?

And this is my prayer for this new year, that a cadence and rhythm would develop in these days, that I would learn to daily quiet this heart and hear His voice, His coming in the midst of stench and wonder unfurling altogether here.

I am so thankful for each of you who journey with me and read these words and share your hearts, in email and in comments.  I pray that as you look to the new year, His peace & grace, His rest and very Presence will fill your hearts, your homes. Merry Christmas, friends, and Happy New Year!

On Empty Mangers and Finding Jesus

The first Christmas we are married, my parents give us Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus.  These little unbreakable people, abiding quietly in a woodsy creche (that looks little like what historians tell us that first stable resembled), these were the playthings of my childhood Christmas memories.

Each year my parents add a piece – a shepherd, the wisemen, their camels, an angel, then the camels again when their wiry legs melt in the unbearable heat of a summer attic... (click here to continue reading)

Merry Christmas, friends! I’m guest posting over at Momma Day By Day.  Won’t you join us?

The Quieting in the Coming

We rise through the clouds and my heart takes flight.  Soaring at 30,000 feet, and I am relieved at our departure: life has been crazy here.  Tiny fingers wrap around mine, and we sit together, quiet.  This little one, she has thoughts, and there are days when they pound out like firecrackers, erupting steadily, each bang and burst somehow still surprising.  And then there are days like this, quiet ones, hold-my-hand-mama ones, where she just is, and we just are together.

And I am amazed at how these children grow, how this life that once formed inside my womb now grows out here in the wild, utterly unpredictable and outside my control.  And to this heart, it causes wild wonder and ferocious fear, deep comfort some days, and harrowing trepidation others.  And my children, they are not even old enough to tie their shoes, but I have seen the weary wonder on the faces of mothers of teenagers, and I have seen my own parents and my husband’s, and I know this is an endurance race, and these tensions will only grow larger.

And this is the wild place we live – in the story of a kingdom coming, the hope of a promise, and the sin and brokenness tearing and deceiving all that is good and pure and lovely- this is the backdrop of our story, the setting of our lives.

And there are days that I live shouting aloud, and days that I simply lean in and quiet.  And as my baby’s lashes fall heavy and rest overcomes her tired little body, I remember another mother holding another baby, and I think of the way that baby, grown and living in the tension of this broken world, thundering out the kingdom come and retreating to be still and listen, how that baby expressed the Father’s heart for His Holy City.

And I think of David, and wonder if he held a sleeping toddler when he penned these lyrics.

And as we wait for Christmas and celebrate, with expectancy, the coming this advent, as we join in the waiting and hoping, may our hearts be stilled and quieted, before the King who came, small and vulnerable in a manger, and who comes to us today, in our flights and messes, in the midst of laundry and grocery stores, heartache and deep joy, firecrackery diapered wonders bouncing on dining room chairs and all.

Joining Emily P. Freeman, at Chatting at the Sky, to look close into a little moment, and unwrap the gift of the wild beauty all around, this Tuesday. Join us?

And linking up a day late to count thanks with Ann & others today.  Join us!

– For a week with Mimi and Papa, our first visit to their beautiful new home, and the sweetness of being together
– For lunch and later tea with a dear friend, who lives out thanks-living and challenges me
– For the compassionate airline representatives who saw a sick baby and put us on a direct flight, free of charge
– For a car waiting, already warmed up when we landed last night, in the middle of the night
– For neighbors who check mail and turn the heat on, thank you!
– For a four pound nephew breathing strong and learning to take a tiny bottle, and my sister and brother in law getting to hold their tiny baby now.
– For a house barely ready for Christmas, filled with little hearts full of hope and wonder
– For friends and sisters who make me laugh and keep me grounded

On Advent and Empty Days

Twas the night before advent… and the procrastinator who lives in this house was up past midnight, stapling twine to broken frame, creating something out of the random supplies that cause drawers to jam and husband eyebrows to escalate in equal parts confusion and wonder.

And the stapler that’s traveled to college and classroom and found a home now on the counter in the mudroom spits its last staple on the last piece of yarn: just enough, no more, no less.

The past few years we’ve incorporated a beautiful tradition from my husband’s family.  For each of the four Sundays preceding Christmas, we gather in the evening, light a candle and read scripture, a Christmas story, sing quiet hymns and carols that tell of the God who formed the world being formed in a womb, the Word made flesh.

As our kids grow (and perhaps, more honestly, as I grasp for something centered, quiet here in the midst of much noise) I long to make each day fixed on this beautiful story.  So this year, inspired by Tsh’s calendar, and the scripture and corresponding crafts and ideas from Amanda, I make this, out of found paper and last staples.

And the printer’s not working, and it’s late, and they only open one day at a time – so I draw the candle – a clue to today’s sweet reflection, and hang 24 empty days.

And perhaps that’s just it.  That we need have only just enough, that we move forward, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. And I’m pretty sure we won’t make all 24 crafts, but we are beginning, and today little eyes grew wide at the beauty of light coming to darkness.

And tonight, this grown-up heart, full of darkness – of fear and frustration and worry and judgement, was quieted by the light burning steady, exposing the deep dark of brokenness and selfish center of it all.  Quietly, without fancy or fanfare, the empty dark is filled by light, in this heart, this home, this world.  So I light a candle, and scribble out day 2, and move on to laundry, this first day.