What are we giving Jesus for his birthday?

At some point during the Christmas season, we take our kids shopping for each other, or maybe for a friend. It's a good chance for some one-on-one time, and for a chance to talk through the process of buying a gift for someone else. It always starts out the same way: they find something they want for themselves, and then start to do a little math - if they spend less on the gift, can they afford to get themselves something? 

And with a little - or a lot - of reminding that Christmas is about thinking of others, they finally let go of their own wish and start to think about what the recipient might love.

Yesterday, Vava started singing happy birthday to Jesus while we were hanging out in the kitchen. When she left, Pascal asked me what we're giving Jesus for his birthday. I told him that Jesus counts all the kindnesses we do for others as if we had given them to him, especially the giving we do in secret and when the recipients can't give to us in return.

These are the words of Jesus:

Matthew 25:35-40 ESV

[35] For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, [36] I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ [37] Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? [38] And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? [39] And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ [40] And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’

Matthew 6:19-21 ESV

[19] “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, [20] but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. [21] For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Every evening from December1-24, I sit and rummage through the thoughts and experiences of my day, looking for love and looking for Jesus. Thank you for seeking him alongside me. I hope you've found him, right there in the hands receiving your bounty, right there where your heart is. If your heart is broken, I pray for you healing. If your heart is lonely, I pray for you comfort. If your heart is glad, I pray for you to be able to share it.

May God bless you with the chance to both give and receive his love this Christmas, my friends.

Xo

Let brotherly love continue

Today was a busy day, where I had to take 3 of my kids shopping, one at a time, to buy for their siblings.

One of them was stumped. "I don't know what to get Sam," they said as we pulled into the parking lot. "I feel like I don't know him as well as his friends do now."

While acknowledging that that's a normal and developmentally appropriate state of affairs, I also told them that I think they maybe knew him better than they thought they did.

"Let's look at some pictures to see if anything comes to mind," I suggested, and I pulled out my phone and we started flicking through albums. Before long, we were laughing over old memories, revisiting moments long forgotten, and appreciating things about being siblings that we hadn't considered in years.

Twenty minutes later, we were hopping out of the car with the perfect gift in mind, and tonight, the two of them are laughing and playing games together like besties. I should have sent them to bed hours ago, but this friendship is too precious to take for granted.

I love that Jesus calls himself our brother. He came to be one of us, know us, love us, care for us, protect us, and take us home.

Every Christmas, we look back through that album and remember - 

May you find yourself laughing and staying up late and to enjoy his presence this Christmas, my friends.

Xo.

Adventavit Asinus

I was shopping with friends today. We were in a clothing store and one of my friends wanted a sweater that was hanging out of reach.

"I'll ask an employee to get it," I said, and I found a tall man sorting coats and asked him to reach it. 

He seemed puzzled over which I wanted, so I waved over my friend.

"Est-ce que tu parles français?" he asked her.

Our french-speaking friend was also there, so she stepped up to clarify which particular sweater was wanted.

It was too high for the tall employee to reach, so he went looking for a pole. He prowled the store from front to back while another employee took the coats he'd been sorting and put them in their places. We waited, and finally he came back and told us he couldn't find a pole to reach the sweaters. Then the other employee offered to get it, and he turned, bewildered, to find the coats he had been trying to purchase all put away.

This lovely, helpful man was not an employee 😂 He was not sorting coats ... he was buying coats. And now he had to go through them all again.

We apologized and laughed and apologized some more. When we parted, he waved and warmly wished us goodnight (this was right after lunch, which I am only pointing out so that you will see how dear he was to try again in English). 

Sometimes at Christmas I feel like Mary, bearing the precious child. Sometimes I feel like the shepherds, seeking the Christ. Sometimes I feel like the wise men, worshiping the king. And sometimes I feel like the ass. A festive ass, but still an ass.

May your Christmas shopping bring you kind encounters and lots of laughs, friends. 

Xo.

All I Want for Christmas is a Millstone

I love that Jesus came to us as a baby. I feel like it shows us the dearest, sweetest, funniest side of God's heart - he came to us as a squishy, helpless, precious, hilarious, stinky, wonder-filled, sleepy darling. 

With the arrival of each of our precious lambs, I was struck by the enormity of work involved in keeping a tiny human alive; hearts and schedules and bodies bending around the basic needs and unarticulated demands of an utterly incapable, indescribably sweet baby. What does it show about his longing for us, that God would risk placing himself at our fallible mercy?

I remember one day when I was out walking with Sam in his stroller, and a stranger at a stoplight told me a racist joke. I was flooded with fury that those sounds, those intentions, were being shared in the same space as my tiny darling. "What makes you think we want your racism in our ears?" I demanded, then turned and walked away. I had never before experienced my hackles rising like my mama-bear-hackles rose that day.

I cannot even imagine the feelings that Mary must have felt when she knew that Herod was hunting and killing babies, trying to get to her son. The sorrow, and fear, and rage?

We, palely, bear the fingerprints of the Defender of the Weak. His Good-Shepherd hands shaped us, and we storm against injustice and cruelty because that is his character as well.

The blacked-out Epstein files are a slap in the face to every child who has ever had their innocence stolen and autonomy violated. They make a mockery of peace and justice.

Do you know, when he grew up, what Bethlehem's adored baby, what Mary's wise son, what the merciful Christ had to say about people who harm children? 

"It would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea." (Matthew 18:6, Mark 9:32, Luke 17:2)

For any child who was not protected, who was violated or abused

All I want for Christmas is a millstone.

Shakespeare's Puck

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the rink, and the heat lamps are the sun

And in their glow the waking crowd does gather

And watch with bated breath til th'game is done.

Two teams, both alike in dignity,

In the arena, where we lay our scene 

From recent grudge break into familiar mutiny 

Where civil blood may slip out from behind a mouthguard to make the ice unclean.

From forth the fatal benches of these équipes 

Two groups of stick-crossed players, lock'd in strife,

Within the bounds of twenty minutes, thrice,

Do chase the sliding glory, knife by knife.

Oh hockey, hockey, wherefore art thou hockey?

Thou hast no hock; deny thy pretense and be called puckey

Or if thou wilt not, be but honest about thine etymology:

Shepherds chased with hooks the sneaky, myst'rious sprite.

Eager crowds do mob the canteen stall

Press'd close from wall to door, from door to wall 

French fries are boundless as the sea

The slushie as deep

The more they make, the more the people buy

For both are infinite.

Let me not to the flirtations of two teenagers

Admit impediments

Hair is not hair 

Which is not tossed when it admiration finds

Or tucked behind an ear, with upward glance.

Oh no, it is an ever-fixèd sign

From the mall to the school to the rink 

Surer than a wink.

All the rink's a front porch

And all the crowds and players merely neighbours

They have their hellos and water bottles and coffee,

And all may play, or sit, and rest, and cheer.

(I know, I know; it's not even Christmassy, but we went to the game tonight and I was struck, as always, by the poetry and ritual and neighbourliness of the rink. It's truly the town's front porch, and I love it. Xo.)

Mini me

Today I was supervising the holiday dance when one of the kindergarteners ran up to me and asked, "are you Kachi's Mom?? You look just like him!" It made me so happy. I love that. 

And I love meeting my friends' parents, and seeing the dimple I so love dancing in the face it came from, the extra cowlick sticking up on his father's head too, the bridge of nose jutting in just the same elegant way.

Jesus' disciples knew Mary. They probably noticed the way his hair was the same colour as hers, how he had the same shape chin and the same easy smile.  

But who he really wanted to show them was his dad. "I'm just like him," he said, "if you know me, you know him." (Paraphrase mine)

John 14:1-9

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” 

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”   

Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us.”  Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father."

Jesus. Friend of sinners and healer of the sick, defender of the poor and oppressed. Feeding the hungry and welcoming the seeking. Hotly rebuking abusers, especially abusers of children. This is who God is. 

That little baby lying in the manger probably looked an awful lot like his mama. But he came to show us his dad.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

and dwelt among us

John 1:12-14 ESV

 But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. 

I love palindromes.

Wow.

Mom.

Taco cat.

Racecar.

A man, a plan, a canal: Panama!

Eva, can I stack cats in a cave?

And the scriptures are full of them. Not the wordplay ones so much (although wordplay's there too), but palindrome events. There are all sorts of little mirrors set up, where something happens and then the same thing happens again, but backwards.

Like this passage here, John 1:12-14, where people who believe become children of God, and where the child of God became a person, to help people believe.

And we mirror his giving again every year, giving gifts to show our love for him, just like he gave us Jesus to show his love for us.

Singing carols by candlelight, like angels sang the good news by starlight.

The child of the poor, who came to give us his incorruptible inheritance.

Forwards, backwards, forever and ever, the good news folds and unfolds again: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Christ Merrymas, friends.

Xo.

.            (among us! I couldn't resist)

As yourself

In the health lessons I've been doing with my grade 7&8 classes lately, we've been talking about how kindness to ourselves is a protective factor in good mental health. But as we grow out of childhood, being able to like ourselves is a weirdly hard task.

One of the assignments that has thrown my students for a loop is "A letter to a little you," where they imagine they get to sit next to the 4-year-old version of themselves, put an arm around their shoulder, and write that little kid a letter from a place of tenderness and kindness.

It's a hard ask ... but why? Somewhere between childhood and puberty it becomes easier to mock ourselves, or criticize ourselves, or ignore ourselves. But this isn't ideal. When God wants us to love people very very well, he asks us to love them as we love ourselves... the assumption being, of course, that we treat ourselves with kindness and care and integrity.

But I see kids in grade 7&8, and even younger, struggle to like themselves. They struggle to be kind to themselves, or protect themselves from harm.

I was shopping with this lamb last week and we walked by the clothes section. 

He scooted in to peek at himself in the mirror, and I heard him whisper appreciatively, "ooh yeah, I'm adorable."

It stopped my heart. He's been calling himself ugly and stupid and worthless lately, and yet here he was, taking a moment to observe himself and celebrate.

I snapped a picture because I wanted to remember how dear and sweet this was. It's so hard to look in the mirror and say something nice about me. It's so hard to be caring and kind to myself. But if a tempestuous and self-doubting 9-year-old can pause to give himself a compliment, can't I? Can't we?

This little bit of sweet self-kindness, my friends, is what I wish for you during this last week of Christmas.

During your comings and goings, when you catch a glimpse of yourself in a shop window or mirror, grin at that beautiful person and give yourself a compliment with joy. 

You're adorable.

Merry Christmas friends.

Xo

A Shadow in the Snow

The dog park was quiet and empty. Eevee spent her time sniffing the perimeter, running lightly and then pausing with intent concentration. As the sun went down, she blended in with the shadowy snow, white and dark, until I could no longer see her. 

One of my friends sent me a reel that said something like, "sometimes we get so wrapped up in being good moms and helping our kids grow up that we forget we're also still girls getting to live this stage in our lives for the first time ever."

And it hit me so hard. 

Watching my oldest two step into being teenagers, with all the First Times, aching along with them at the difficulties and challenges, and celebrating as they delight in the abilities and opportunities they have now, I definitely feel the weight of wanting to guide and not press, to celebrate and not insist, and the push-pull of seeing them through the lens of my own experience. I care for them and worry about them and drive them around and make their appointments and remind them to do homework and brush their teeth and eat their vegetables and try to gently pass these skills on to them without being too annoying and ... Whew. Sometimes I blend in with the busyness of my kids' lives so much that I don't see myself there anymore - I become like Eevee, a shadow in the snow.

But dang.

I'm also someone I've never been before. I'm also new to being a mother of teenagers, new to working full time in this challenging, rewarding role. I'm learning and growing as a person, and holding new thoughts and perspectives. I'm continuing to listen to that still small voice and getting better at tuning out noise, usually. And yes, mostly I like who I'm growing into but it's not all good change - I'm regularly shocked at my middle-aged forgetfulness and baffled by some of the old-person things that come out of my own mouth. I still struggle with decision-making, and being firm (the downside, I think, of being able to see things from multiple perspectives), and I overthink small moments and interactions in a panic (I'm learning to ask questions and clarify, but it's still a challenge for me).

She looks like a middle aged lady on the outside, but really this Janelle is a teenager herself. She's still chatting on the phone with her besties (although now she uses her thumbs and not a land line cord stretched across the kitchen ). She's still worried about her skin (although it's more about the lines and droopy eyelids and less about acne). She still hopes the guy she has a crush on thinks she's cute (and she curls up in bed with him every night, much to her delight). She still dreams of being a teacher and a writer. She still never knows what to wear. She still stays up too late and regrets it in the morning. She'd still rather lie on the couch reading, with her legs dangling over the armrest, than do her chores.  She still thinks stuffing is the best part of Christmas dinner (although now she has to cook it). She still feels like she should ask someone before sneaking into the tin of Quality Street.

She's a girl, living her life for the first time.

And she's so lucky to get to.

In the midst of your busyness and making Christmas bright for others, I hope you have a minute (or a few!) to enjoy being you - a girl, or a boy, living your life for the first time.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo

In times like these

Tonight we sat around the table with our homemade menorah and lit another candle. 

We talked and laughed and ate supper while Patrick explained the history of the Maccabees. Sam and Kachi egged him on, feigning exaggerated interest in Alexander the Great's four sons, and Pascal told everyone that fifteen Jewish people were murdered on Bondi Beach. 

We've never observed Hanukkah before and we're definitely doing it wrong and in our own very Herdman-y way, but pausing together and lighting candles in the dark feels important and valuable in times like these.

Happy Hanukkah, friends.

Xo

God entrusted Mary

We went to church today, for the first time in a long time. It was the third advent Sunday: a time to think about the joy in waiting.

Our friend's niece and nephew did the advent reading and lit three of the four candles (to represent hope, and peace, and joy). They were confident and capable, and made the most dear and relatable mistake.

"Mary praised God," they read, "who entrusted her with a scared role. Great things God has done!"

I mean, absolutely yes! She would have been scared indeed. And there were so many things to keep on being scared about.

The angel's visit. Pregnancy. Telling Joseph. Telling everyone. The journey to Bethlehem. Birth. The threat from Herod. The journey into Egypt, and back again. The lost teenager. The threatened rabbi. The captured innocent. The crucified saviour. The buried son.

Scared.

And she did it anyway.

I've got my own scared role, and I imagine you have yours. Losses that you've already borne, risks you take and have to take again, the constant and heavy burden of knowing that other precious lives depend upon you taking your responsibility seriously and fulfilling it well.

And Mary handled the scared by embracing the sacred; waiting in joy to see God work.

When the shepherds came to see the Messiah, drenched in wonder from the angels' proclamation, she kept it all in her heart. (Luke 2:19)

When Elizabeth's baby leapt for joy when Mary came near, and Elizabeth knew that she was carrying the Saviour, Mary sang a song of joy. "He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy,  as he spoke to our fathers, to Abraham and to his offspring forever." (Luke 1:54-55)

As the calendar nears its end, I usually look back on the year that is almost over. What joy can I find? What tasks did I complete? What scared and sacred work has God entrusted to me?

God entrusted Mary with a scared role.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?

The juxtaposition here just blows my mind.

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, Luke 1:26.

The shift in expectations is dizzying. The angel Gabriel! Sent from God!

I feel like the next line should be something Fancy:

to the Great High Priest!

to the Temple!

to Caesar!

but it takes a sharp turn from glory to  backwater.

Nazareth's population in Jesus' time was less than 1000. Lots of shepherds. Farmers. Craftspeople. Poor people.

I can't help but feel a little kinship with Nazareth, here in Smiths Falls. 

We're not fancy. Our population isn't big. Lots of blue collar workers.  And just like Galilleeans used to say pfft, can anything good come out of Nazareth? the rest of Lanark County thinks the same thing about Smiths Falls.

I mean, they're not speaking without reason. There's a long history of poverty, addiction, crime, and challenges here. Many lives have been shaped by a lot of hard stories and difficult circumstances.

But it was where Jesus grew up. 

Where he cut his teeth and learned his alphabet. Where he dreamed and studied and made friends and gained critics. And ... it's why he came.

He didn't come to add dignity to the temple, the ruler, the wealthy citizens. He came to us.

He came to us.

To the metaphorical Nazareth in each of us which doesn't feel good enough to welcome him to. 

Contrary to our expectations, he didn't come to the most comfortable, beautiful, luxurious, accommodating of places.

He came to Nazareth.

Which makes me feel really relieved because I, too, am a Nazareth. A friend once learned that I am not the most disorganized in my family and she shook her head in disbelief. Nazareth. My carpets haven't been vacuumed since Sunday. Nazareth. I'm 43 years old and just starting back out in a career I trained for 16 years ago, when most teachers my age already have almost 20 years of classroom experience. Nazareth.

Well.

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth.

He came to Nazareth.

That Nazareth and this one, my Nazareth and yours.

He comes to our mess and meets us here. He settles in and touches one thing at a time.

And in the end, the answer to the mocking question, Can any good thing come out of Nazareth? will only ever be able to be a resounding yes.

Yes, the Christ.

Yes, the Christ.

Yes, the Christ came out of Nazareth.

Merry Christmas friends.

Xo.