Bow

Patrick took Sam to the store today to pick out something with his Christmas gift card.  I'm glad it wasn't me.

Buying things for Sam is seriously fun.  He receives presents as if it were an Olympic sport.  His eyes grow huge, his grin is enormous, and his gratitude? Adorable.

But buying things with Sam?

He forgets what he loves, what he has been asking for, what he can actually do with the toys in front of him.  All he sees are the pictures on the package.  He wants the toy with the most amazing picture.  Some part of him truly believes he will be dirtbiking through a mud puddle if he buys the cheap plastic toy bike with a really action-packed picture on the package.  And the lamest toys seem to have the most wildly promising pictures.  Patrick and I try to steer him toward the things we know he loves, like the lego train set he's been dreaming of, but once he's captivated by an empty-promise picture, it's like he's blind to everything else.  He refuses to see the other toys - his eyes close and he just says, "no no no no no!  Stop it! I want this one!"  And - since it's his purchase - we don't override his decision.  He gleefully grabs his choice and clasps it as tight as he can all the way to the checkout, eyes bright and heart pounding with anticipation.  He surrenders it just long enough for the scan before fishing his beloved treasure out of the bag.  He hugs it the whole way home, then races inside, kicks off his boots, opens it and ... deflates.

No mud puddle.  No motocross course.  No actual dirtbike.  Just a flimsy scrap of plastic and a torn package.

Hello, mirror.  Hello, me.

As frustrated and sorry as I am to see Sam's decision making process, I can't blame him.  He's three.  I'm thirty-two, and I do the same thing.

I'm not as easily fooled at the store (although sometimes, yep, still get drawn in by a sale sticker and celebrity endorsement), but when the stakes are higher?  Drawn in like a sucker.
I struggle with knowing my own mind.  I struggle with choosing what I actually want:, the things that bring me deep-down joy or the things that other people tell me will give me joy.

And God doesn't always step in and override my decisions.  He lets me choose.  But He does try to nudge me in the right direction.  "This," He says, pressing my heart toward path A, "is a good and satisfying path.  You will love it."  But I shake my head.  I don't believe Him, not really.  Oooh Path B, now that would be the logical choice.  That's what my friend chose in similar circumstances.

And I try to figure it out, with my limited understanding of the future and my even more limited understanding of myself and the plans God has for me.  I'm Sam, standing in the aisle dazzled by packages, somehow sure that my parents are telling me to choose the lamest toy possible.

Every time Sam listens to us (and we're only telling him to choose the ones that we know he most deeply wants), he loves his purchases.  These are the toys he plays with again and again, the ones that bring him the most joy.  But most often, he doesn't listen to us.  The glitz and marketing fool him into believing that we want him to be less happy, to make a boring purchase and miss out on a really great toy.  Oh - silly, toddler Sam.

We are always looking out for his best interests.  When he's toy-shopping, we want him to have the best toys, the ones that will bring him the most fun ... because we love him.

God is pressing this into my heart and I pray it stays seared like a brand.

When His choice and my choice collide, let me always choose His!!! He knows me and my fickle heart better than I do, and His choices - oh, they will bring me the deepest joy, the most lasting gladness.  Me? I'm fooled by shades of understanding that barely scratch the surface.  I somehow think that the tempting path, the one He didn't suggest, will suit me better ...

Let me throw my own decisions to the wind, and cling hard to His.  Let me submit to His great will, and walk free in His Best path.

Whenever I have, I've never regretted it.

You know, when I was looking into 2015, I wanted a word that captured the feeling of this.  I'd settled on brave, because I want to be brave to say YES to whatever God suggests.  But really, there's nothing brave about it.  It's the most safe, the most sensible course.  I'm renaming it, my word for 2015.  I'm choosing instead the word bow - to remind myself to bow to God's will gladly, fearlessly, with anticipation.

Because He loves me, and He knows me
More than I, more than I.

Happy New Year, friends.
xo.

No Crib For A Bed

Emmanuel.  God with us.  Yes.  He arrived.

The baby Jesus, long awaited, much anticipated, greeted with angelsong and starlit glory, was born, and they laid Him in ... a manger?

The first few weeks after he was born, Kachi's bed was adorably unorthodox.  He slept at the foot of our bed, cozily swaddled in a blanket, lying in a drawer.  I'd bought him a Moses-basket, but he was so long when he was born that he filled it, head to toe.  So we turned a drawer into his bed - lined it with blankets made by his grandmothers, wrapped him warm, kissed his head, and tucked him in.  He slept soft and comfy, and it made no difference to him at all that the drawer wasn't built for that purpose.

I imagine that the baby, Jesus, knew no discomfort in a bed of sweet hay, warm and well-fed and wrapped for sleep.  But it kind of stabs at the heart, doesn't it, and at first glance makes me think that His arrival was so eagerly anticipated but so inadequately prepared for.  I guess I always attributed it to the fact that Mary was in Bethlehem when He came, not in her own home, nowhere near the comforts and conveniences she might have planned for Him.

But God knew exactly where He would be born.  So why not have a soft cradle nearby?  Why a manger?

I think the symbol is awesome.

It's said that the stables of Bethlehem were used for the keeping of temple sheep.  So the manger where Jesus was laid?  That was where the flock found their food.  Where God's sheep were nourished.

Oh.
Yes.

It's no wonder God sent shepherds to find Him that night.  I picture His tender heart yearning over them as they crowded into the stable to worship the babe.  Who better to understand the message?  The Shepherd had come to feed His flock.  

He came as our Hero, our Saviour, our King.  But He came to be the bread of life - to lay down His life - for the sheep.  His body, His life, laid down for our blessing.

The gnawing emptiness that aches, the dullness of prolonged hunger, it can tear at a heart as well as a belly.  We were made to contain more, and greater, than anything we can find here.

You know it deep and true, don't you - there are some hungers that a meal won't satisfy.   There are some longings that can never be met by the gifts under the tree. But Jesus? He is the nourishment that fills and satisfies the soul.  Here He is, the heart of Christmas: behold the babe, lying in a manger.

This Christmas, I pray you will find yourself worshiping the Newborn King - feasting and satisfied and filled with joy in His presence.

God bless you, friend.
xo.

Clever Princess Vava

Lately, Vava hasn't been calling me mama.  Instead, she calls me Rider. Sam is Chase, Patrick is Rubble, and Kachi is Zuma.  We call her Marshall.

They're all characters from her fave show, Paw Patrol.  It's about a team of talking pups who help people in trouble and save the day.

She pretends all day long.  It's really precious.  This morning she spent more than half an hour standing on the back of the couch reaching up the wall, imagining she was on her firetruck ladder, rescuing kitten after kitten stuck in a tree (a LOT of kittens).  When she woke up from her nap this afternoon, the first thing she asked was "where's Chase? Zuma?"

She and Sam have also created an imaginary family, closely based on reality, made up of Dragon Mama, Dragon Papa, Stinky Kachi, Brave Sam, and Clever Princess Vava.  One of her favourite bedtime stories is the one where Clever Princess Vava and Brave Sam rescue Monkey and Zebra from having fallen in a hole.  (They use her necklace as a rope to lift them out.)

She loves being a hero.  It's really sweet hearing her soft voice asking "you okay?" when one of us gets hurt.  I absolutely adore her brave and tender heart, and I love that she sees herself as the rescuer.

She walks in the truth of that beautiful story - the story of the Baby, the Hero, who came a long way down to save the world.

It's built right in, isn't it? 

His bright goodness is always going to captivate our hearts.  The story of our Rescuer pierces dark history, plants hope in eager soil, blossoms wild and bright.  It's what we love about Christmas - wise men venturing long; old prophets clinging; heartbroken husband trusting; brave girl daring to say yes; Son of God seeking the lost ...

May your heart beat brave this Christmas, friends: our Rescuer has come! 

xo.

So Loved

Tonight I took my precious niece to the airport. I waited and watched as she did the security rigamarole.  She was standing there all alone, stylish and slim and so beautiful and still.  There were clumps of people milling around her: a glamourous woman with a tiny dog, a chatty security screener, a tall man who blushed when he had to remove his belt.

My darling girl stood there with her peculiarly perfect posture and graceful bones, a duffel bag swinging from one shoulder, completely alone.  Her self-possession and independence startled me.  She responded sweetly to the chatty screener, and helped the glamourous woman with one of her purses, and I felt a little bit like the mama duck saying quack quack quack, watching her swim off so perfectly, so effortlessly, through the airport.

She's intelligent and kind and private and vulnerable and well-read.  She is bright and open and talented and funny.  She has always had the most curious, gentle mind.

It was really scary to send her out into the wide world alone, back across this wide country to her mama.  Not because she can't handle herself (she so can), but because I want everyone to know how special she is and to treat her with exceptional care.

The man behind her in line wasn't watching where he was going and almost ran into her.  I felt myself shooting mental darts at him, hissing "don't you dare hurt my niece!"

I can't even fathom what it must have been like to look down through the stable roof that starry night. To look down and see Heaven's best as an utterly helpless newborn babe.  To see Him snuggled close in young arms and realize He could be dropped, handled roughly, even ignored or neglected.

I wonder if the angels' hearts yearned and shuddered, witnessing the weight of glory hidden, borne beautifully and lightly in His mother's arms.  What was it like for them to see Him in a squirming package of skin and bone, unbelievably fragile and tiny? 

Did they try to shoo away bleating lambs? Were they aghast at the sight of Him lying in a manger?  Did their hearts long to wing Him home, back to His glory and radiant might?

Ah, but ... 

God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. 
So loved.

So loved.

Suffering Produces ... Hope

This afternoon, Sam went to the potty.  When he was done, he demanded that Patrick pull up his underpants for him.  Patrick said no, that he would definitely help Sam, but he wouldn't do it all for him.

Enter WWIII.

"Pull them up NOW!" Sam demanded, "One ... two ... three ..."

It was kind of hard not to laugh.  Sam standing in the livingroom with his underwear around his ankles, insisting like a small tyrant that his papa pull up his pants.

The funny thing is, he's very capable of pulling up his pants.  It's not like we were asking him to try something new, a scary new skill that he wasn't sure he could handle.  We were expecting him to do something he does regularly, and he just decided he didn't want to do it.  

He's learning new skills all the time.  Testing his boundaries, trying to find where he fits and what his role is, what ours are.  His tantrum, I think, came from suddenly wanting to be a baby.  Wanting to have everything done for him, to cry and have his parents do everything they could to comfort him.  So he drew a line.

But as parents, we had a line too.  We had the heart-tugging line of wanting to comfort him, to assure him we care.  But we have a bigger goal, the goal of helping him become a capable, independent young man.  So we had to gently assure him we would help, but refuse his demands that we do everything for him.  We coached him through the steps, cheered him on at each success (over the knees! over the bum!), and saw his face light up with big-boy-joy when yes, he finally pulled up his own underpants.

It would have been so much easier to cave.  The screaming, demanding, sobbing little boy would have been quieted quickly ... but he would have learned that he gets his way when he yells orders at his papa.  He might have formed an expectation that he has the right to insist others do things for him simply because he doesn't want to do them.  He wouldn't be growing in maturity.

You know that saying "don't try to make a better world for the children; make better children for the world"?  It's a whole lot of hard work.

God did it that way.  

He could have sent Jesus the easy way - straight down on a bed of angel-wings, incarnate as a fully-grown man, his head glowing in a halo from a renaissance painting.

But He picked the hard road.  He picked the road with the most to teach us.  He picked the road that was hard on Mary, on Joseph, on Jesus.  The Bethlehem road, and the Calvary road.

Because He is building better children for the world.

Children who choose gentleness instead of harshness, like Joseph chose to love Mary.

Children who choose faithfulness instead of doubt, like Mary trusting God.

Children who choose to love others, instead of themselves ... like Jesus.

If you're going through a hard road, friend, and you just want someone else to pick you up and take care of everything for you, you're not alone.  We all crave easy.

But trust this: He didn't spare His Son, because He had His eyes on a bigger goal than Jesus' comfort.  

Cling to this good truth.  He won't spare us this necessary suffering - even when we throw tantrums, even when we demand to be relieved - because He has his eyes on a bigger goal: our blessing and His glory.

The ache and longing of Christmas reminds us that suffering brings hope.  The good news of Christmas is the truth that hope in Him does not disappoint.

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame ... (Romans 5).

Whatever you're hoping for, look to our Saviour.  The deep aches and heart cries and soul longings all find solace in Him.  He won't spare us the suffering, but He will use it to build us and give us His sure hope.  And He will help us, every step of the way.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Veiled in Flesh

Guys.

You know when you're getting ready for a party and you have more food to prepare than table to put it on and your kids are in the tub and overflow it so much it leaks through the living room ceiling and rains dirty water all over your carpet?  And the whole day, cooking, whipping, chopping, cleaning, you have a sense of foreboding because your son is just getting the hang of potty training and you fear an impending accident?  And then you discover, when you're stealing the last five minutes to dress and make yourself pretty, that your foreboding was right?  So instead of fixing your hair and face you are wiping a (cute, if naughty) bum and praying the smell won't mingle with the scent of fresh cookies and sodden plaster.  So you answer the door in the first dress you found and without a lick of makeup on and did I brush my teeth today?  And somehow it doesn't matter, because God is teaching you something about hospitality.  And you're impossibly slow to learn, and you need this lesson over and over and over ...

Hospitality is not about having a perfect house and perfect food and cute dishes and a great outfit and flawless makeup when I open the door.  No.  That's a photoshoot.  Hospitality is about opening my door to friends and welcoming them in.  Making them comfortable, looking out for their benefit, creating circumstances for their joy, definitely yes.  But most of all?  Taking pleasure in their presence.

Enjoying them.

He made it really obvious, didn't He?  He came as selflessly as possible.  He was born in a stable.  He was poor.  And He didn't spend a single drop of ink describing what He looked like.  He veiled His glory.  He didn't come among us to inspire our admiration.

Why did He do it then?  Why did He choose to come to us?

For the joy that was set before Him.

What was that joy, exactly?  Yes, you know it ...

Us.

The whole journey, the whole point of Christmas, the whole reason He came - He takes joy in our presence.

Soak that in, friends.
xo.

Anticipation

I felt such a happy little spark as I was unloading groceries from the car tonight.  We're throwing a Christmas party tomorrow, and there's just something so exciting and happy about planning good things for others.  Will they feel loved as they bite into a white chocolate peanut butter cookie?  Will the twinkly lights and scented candles set festivity alight?  Will Christmas music and conversation make them glad?

I want to set the scene and provide the ingredients for a happy neighbourhood, good friendships.  I want to spread a little good cheer.  I want to soak up moments with my friends at their best, most sparkly with joy.

I think that the heart of God must have beat glad with anticipation.  Excitement that Mary would soon look on His face, kiss His soft head.  Glad joy at the prospect of shepherds receiving with awe the good news.  Triumph that He would fill the longing of everyone hungry for a Redeemer.  See the light dawn as we receive His best gift.

I love that God spreads out His arms and invites the whole world to Christmas.

xo.

Bad Dreams

Sam's been talking about bad dreams a lot lately.  Apparently, he had one where Spiderman took him (he's never seen Spiderman), and he called for me and called for me but I didn't come.

It kills me. 

I hold his little face and I look into his eyes and I promise him this: 

I will come for you.

I will always come for you.

I've had to repeat it a few times, because the fear from his dream comes back and grabs him and he tells me about it again.

I understand that kind of fear.

The news has been pretty awful lately.  Murdered children.  Missing women.  Torture.  Hate. Greed.  I try not to dwell on it and I hold my kids' hands tight.  The planet spins and the nausea rises and is there any waking from this nightmare?

And Christmas - 

That star that stabbed into the darkness and poured down on the Light of the World born in a stable - 

Christmas is nothing less than God taking our face in His hands, looking into our eyes and promising us

I will come for you.

I will always come for you.

All the way to a stable, all the way to the cross -

I will always come for you.

Hold your loved ones tight and celebrate because He came - at Christmas.

xo.

I Love You

This afternoon I gave the three kids a bath.  Vava adores baths, and Sam and Kachi enjoy them too.  When I tell Vava it's bathtime, she doesn't just hear those words ... she hears I love you.  Sometimes we have an idyllic hour, where the big littles laugh and play with bubbles while Kachi floats blissfully before being tucked, clean and sweet, into fresh jams.

Today was not that day.

I had washed Sam and Vava, and was peeling off Kachi's clothes so he could join them.  Vava started wailing, and wanted out.  Since my hands were as free as they'd be for ten minutes, I laid Kachi down, pulled Vava from the tub, and quickly began to dry & lotion her.  She didn't stop crying, and finally I could make out the words "back in."  I double checked, and yes - she wanted to keep bathing.  By this time, Kachi was beginning to cry for his bottle, and Sam was slowly but surely turning the bathroom floor into a river.  Lo and behold, as soon as Vava got into the tub, she wanted back out.  (Join the club, sister!  What happened to happy hour?)

We finished the bath with sobbing in stereo.  Kachi got a lick and a promise - maybe minus the lick - while the bathroom floor got a (definitely overdue) thorough cleaning.  

It seemed to be a day like that - things just piling up on each other, and I would have had to be an octopus to have enough hands to deal with everything.  Why did I bother with a bath again? For my (now sobbing) Vava?  I just wanted to say I love you.

It gets that way at Christmas especially.  Trying to squeeze in a few extra ways to say I love you - buying presents, baking treats, planning parties, writing cards - can overflow the schedule.  It's busy.  But Christmas will pass all too quickly.  The good memories will shine bright, and the exhaustion will be forgotten.  The love we kindle, the friendships we affirm, the joy we nourish ... worth the busyness.

What we do for the least, Jesus counts as done for Him.  He hears I love you in the late-night gift-wrapping.  He hears I love you in the Christmas hamper you pack.  He hears I love you when you choose patience with the screeching toddler ...

I want Him to hear I love you.

And I fully intend to nap slack-jawed on the couch come January ;).

xo.

Let Every Heart

My lovely, wonderful, smart, gorgeous, amazing niece arrived today.

I haven't seen her for two years.  TWO YEARS!  She's here for almost a week, and it's better than a treeful of presents. 

I keep calling Vava by her name.  Seeing them together is kind of bending my mind a bit, because I remember adoring spending time with her when she was Vava's age - smart as a whip, and unbelievably cute - except now she's the age I was back then.  It's weird how time folds in on itself.

I got her room ready last night.  I put a zillion blankets on her bed, because our guest room is chilly.  I filled up the humidifier, emptied the garbage can, fluffed the pillows.  I found out what some of her favourite foods are and made sure to have them on hand. It made me so happy to get things ready for her.

And that's Advent, isn't it - preparing room for Him, getting my heart in order to celebrate and welcome His arrival. It reminds me to pause and ask if I'm preparing Him room every day.  Taking time to do what He loves - show mercy, generosity, hospitality?  Love my brothers and sisters?  Forgive, and seek forgiveness? 

I've got sparkly lights up all through my house, but what I really need to do is make sure His light is glowing in this corner of the dark world, for His glory and my blessing and the blessing of those around me.

And unlike my tree, that is the kind of Christmas decoration I want to leave up all year round ;). 

Sweet Little Jesus Boy

Kachi turned 2 months old today.  He's adorable.  He loves to coo and babble and try to imitate conversation.  Patrick and I are both sure he can say hi, and he has a fairly awesome fist-bump record.  He's a hulking 14 lbs, and as tough as Sam and Vava can make him.  He loves to be sung to, and he relaxes with evident bliss in the tub.

The most precious thing he does, though, is look up into my face, gaze right into my eyes, and break out into a winsome smile.  I don't know how he does it, but he manages to make a drooly, toothless grin the deepest joy of my day.  I love the sweet weight of him cuddling in close, the way his fingers curl around my collar, his lips moving as he dreams.

I think it reveals something spectacularly dear and lovable about God's character that He chose to come to us as a baby.  Sweet and small and snugglable.  How astonishingly kind, for Him to choose such tenderness.

Gift.  Every facet of His enterprise ... gift.

Ear-Noculars

Patrick and I started watching Community this week, and it's making us laugh.  It's not my favourite or anything, but tonight one of the episodes grabbed my heart a little bit.

One of the characters, Pierce, buys ear-noculars, and continually eavesdrops on distant conversations.  In the last moments of the show we see him sitting on a bench without them. His classmate, Jeff, asks him what happened to them.  Pierce says he got rid of them, and then explains that he thinks we were designed to hear whatever people are saying when they're close ... because the people who are close to us are the people we love. 

It made me think about what I say to the people who are close to me.  I hope they hear I love you.  

And it made me think of Jesus ... who came all the way here so that He could be close to us.  So we could hear Him - and He could hear us - up close and in person.

Sometimes I think my soundtrack is on a continuous loop - my alarm buzzing, spoon clinking in my coffee mug, kids saying hilarious things, whining, crying, microwave beeping, more spoon clinking, phone beeping, water running, kids laughing, patrick praying, quietness, snoring, repeat.  It's easy to get absorbed in the sounds of my life.  It's easy to ignore other sounds, keep them in the background, tell myself I'll pay attention to them later.

Christmas reminds me to look up from my busy days and listen close.  Listen close to the song that star sang over Bethlehem.  Listen close to the glory of angelsong in the night.  Listen close to the willing surrender and meekness.  Listen close to the Father who placed His most precious darling right here in our world and came all the way into human skin to say Merry Christmas.  To me.

Merry Christmas, friends.

xo.