Joy: God with Us

My sister said it best.

Click here to hear her message about Advent Joy: God with us.

Dear To Us

Last year was our first year at the kids' new school.
Whenever I would go to the school, I would see other parents talking together, saying hello, asking after each other's families.
I didn't know anyone, so just stood awkwardly trying not to let my stroller be too much in anybody's way.

Today was concert day - kindergarten concert in the morning, and big kid concert in the afternoon. We decided to make a lazy morning of it, and sleep in a bit, have pancakes, and so I drove the kids to school instead of putting them on the bus.

I met friends at drop off, met friends at the kinder concert, met friends at the big kid concert, and met friends when I popped into the office to drop off Christmas presents for the teachers.  Bright spots all over the place, quick hellos and beautiful faces. Hugs and how's-it-goings. Friends.

When Mary was pregnant with Jesus, she went to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who was pregnant with John (the forerunner, the baptizer, the one who would prepare repentant hearts to receive their king). When they drew near, John leapt for joy in Elizabeth's womb - rejoicing with that oneness in the Spirit, that deep, truest sort of friendship.

I love that God doesn't just give us eyes that remember each other - he gives us hearts that recognize one another, hearts that leap for joy, and spirits that resound with His.  He gives us this great gift in our wild and lonely world - not under our Christmas tree, but hopefully around it: friends.

I hope your Christmas season is warmed with the presence of those you love and know, dear friends.
Xo.

On Dressing -

I went to a Nordic spa this weekend for my friend's bachelorette party. Saunas, rock pools, salt scrubs, repeat. It was glorious.  The day was filled with laughs and good food and drink and genuine heart-healing love as we celebrated our friend's touch in all our lives.

The day before, though, I was stressing about having to spend a whole day in my bathing suit.

As usual, I turned to my siblings for help and my sister gave me some wonderful advice.
'The only person who will be worried about your body,' she said, 'is you.'

My sisters are pretty much always right but this was so mind-blowingly right (and obvious! Why didn't I think of this 30 years ago?), it just set me free.

And once I determined not to worry about my body in a bathing suit, I enjoyed myself completely.  The grand total of people worrying about my bathing suit body: 0.

If you can't find the right thing to wear this Christmas - parties, services, concerts, dinners, whatever - don't worry.  The One whose birthday we're celebrating was wrapped up in swaddling clothes.

And he doesn't look on our outward appearance, but on the hearts He came to redeem and fill and make lovely.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

The Neighbourhood

We were so blessed with our neighbours in Thunder Bay.

When we first moved to Heron St, people were like "eep! Not that neighbourhood!"  We were warned of violence, hookers, theft.

Guys.

It was an amazing neighbourhood.
We had neighbours all around us who loved us, cared for us, blessed us, watched out for us, baked for us, and spent time with us.

There were front porch conversations and back-fence plate-passings.  There were secret snow-shovelings and help with putting out the garbage.  One neighbour saw us struggling with a dying battery in our truck, and he brought us an amazing battery (it's still going strong in our lumbering beast of a truck).  There were special treats for our kids at birthdays, Hallowe'en, Christmas, Easter. I didn't make my own cakes the entire time we lived there, thanks to our sweet Ywetta. No, I can't imagine ever having neighbours as lovely as the ones we had on Heron St.

I don't think you can know a neighbourhood until you live in it.  What seemed like a rough part of town was actually a warm and loving street full of kindness and care.  And sometimes a quiet, upscale neighbourhood can be the coldest place in the world.

So when I read the very brief Christmas story in John's gospel in the Message, I just loved it so much.

The Word became flesh and blood, 

and moved into the neighbourhood. 

We saw the glory with our own eyes, 

the one-of-a-kind glory, 

like Father, like Son, 

generous inside and out, 

true from start to finish. 

(John chapter 1, verse 14)

Jesus moved into the neighbourhood.  He moved right in. Right here.  Got to know us. Became one of us.  Knows our hurts, our struggles, our lives from the inside out.

God sent His own lovely Son into our neighbourhood.
To know us.
To show us love.
To teach us wisdom.
To forgive our sins.
And to reveal God to us, up close and personal.

Merry Christmas, dear friends - to you and your neighbours :).
xo.

Wait With Us

This morning, like every morning this month, my kids fly downstairs as soon as they wake up. "Is it Christmas yet?" And they consult their Advent calendars. The little door flaps open, offering a chocolate to count their waiting. One day closer. One day closer.

Today we were driving through Ottawa and went past a church with a message board on its outside wall.

"Wait with us through the Advent season," it read.

Waiting isn't a terribly popular activity.
We want to get to the thing. We like doing, we like achieving, we like a clear and tidy ending.

When Jesus was born, Mary and Joseph took him to the temple on the 8th day.

There they met Simeon and Anna, two righteous and devout worshipers who were waiting for the Messiah.  They had been waiting their whole lives - and they were what Sam would call "very elderly."

They waited.
And waited.
And waited.

And when the fullness of time had come, on this particular day, they finally received their Christ.

All of that waiting, wondering "is this the day? Is this the day? Maybe this will be the day?"

And Jesus came.
Precious baby, Holy Messiah, light for all the world.

They had been waiting for him like my kids count down til Christmas. Their hearts were looking for him, their hopes were pinned on seeing him.

And every year I count through my own Advent, waiting for him. Looking for him.  "You will find me," he said, "when you seek me with all your heart."

And in the slowing of myself to wait for Advent to move through the calendar, I find stillness.  I find space. I find depth. And I find hope in waiting for the truest Christmas - when I, like Anna and Simeon, will see the Lord's Christ.

Merry Christmas friends.
Xo.

In Case We Missed it the First Time

I was hunting through my blog for a certain post I wrote a while ago, and came across some old Christmas posts. I read one where I had written about the angel telling Joseph not to be afraid.  So tonight, when I was reading through Luke 1 and 2, that was in the back of my mind, and I noticed something.

Guys.

I have been writing these posts for years.
I have been reading the Christmas story all Advent long for years.
And somehow I missed it.

There are four times angels appear in the Christmas story.
To Zechariah.
To Mary.
To Joseph.
To the shepherds.

And at every single appearance, they start by saying the same thing.
(Every single one!)

Do not be afraid.
Do not be afraid.
Do not fear.
Fear not.

That is why God sent Jesus.
To sing, to shout, to declare, to whisper: fear not.  I will save my people from their sins.

And fear can choke out freedom. Fear can smother and inhibit and stunt our hearts from loving, seeing, trusting.  Fear can send us reeling with doubt, and, like Zechariah, we could hear God's declaration of new life and still look an angel in the face and, fearful, say "Do you expect me to believe this?"  Fear has kept us hiding since the day Adam and Eve took cover in Eden. Long lay the world, in sin and error pining - 

And God sent Jesus.
And God said

Fear not.
Do not fear.
Do not be afraid.
Do not be afraid.

For behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

What Child is This?

At bedtime tonight, Pascal picked this really simple little Bible story book.  He wanted to see fishes, so we read about Jonah, and then turned to this page.

"Who's that?" I asked him, pointing to the baby, before reading anything.
He smiled, "Christmas."

Ohh baby, you don't know how right you are.

God's Christ, given for all the world.

This, this is Christmas.

xo.

(PS check out this spectacular version of What Child Is This.)

A Thrill of Hope

It is so nice outside right now - Pascal and I are playing at the beach and there's a whole flock of birds having a bath in the river and while the air is cold, the sun is shining warm. We played tag under evergreens and birches, threw rocks and sticks into the water, and Pascal is currently jumping off of a big flat rock onto snow-dusted grass. It feels like a promise, a thrill of hope that there's still summer in the world, and at some point it will come back to us. 

Four little freckles have just appeared on Pascal's nose and I'm dying over the cuteness of it. I hadn't expected him to be freckly, and it's adorable. 

Wishing you a Christmas as easy and merry and bright as this day, lovely friends. 
Xo.

A Can of Worms

At bedtime tonight, I was snuggled up with Vava in the dark, saying her prayers.  Across the room, Pascal was whispering her words to himself.  "Dear God," he echoed, "thank you for my fun day at school." And Vava giggled quietly.  "I love my little brother; he's so cute!" she sighed.  "Do you remember when you were so angry because God sent you a brother instead of a little sister?" I asked (unwisely - I try not to open cans of worms at bedtime).  "I really really really really want one still," she cried, "please can I have a little sister?"  I reminded her that we can't have any more babies, and she said, "we can adopt one!"  And I tried to appeal to her selfish side with, "but then I won't be able to have a favourite daughter."  And she triumphed with a fierce "you can have TWO!"

Vava's heart, like God's heart, has lots of room for loving.

That's why He sent Jesus to this world, that manger, that starry night in Bethlehem - to bring us home, adopted, sons and daughters in His family.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Pebbles

Today, Scally and I bundled up in our snow gear and went for a walk. We saw chickadees and squirrels, woodpeckers and seagulls.  This past fall, we spent most of our time throwing pebbles in a gorgeous little brook.  We haven't gone down that path much since the snow came, but it was mostly clear today, so we ventured down.  There was a little crust of ice and snow at the bank, but the water burbled toward us, down a little waterfall, to the culvert where we stood.  Pascal grabbed a handful of pebbles with his mittens, and threw them - and they slid across the top of the water.  It astonished us both, and I laughed.

Ice had formed, obviously, but was so utterly clear it was indistinguishable from the water beneath.

Scally's curiosity was piqued, so we sat down by the culvert and threw pebbles for a while.

It was really fascinating - in some places, the pebbles looked as if they were hovering; in others, they slipped and plipped down through the water and landed on the riverbed, but from where we sat there was no clue, no giveaway as to what patch of water would hold the pebbles up, and which would splash.

After throwing lots and lots of pebbles, we were able to better see where the ice had formed, and differentiate it from the water.  Every time a stone punctured the ice and air bubbles were trapped under the ice, it grew slightly more opaque. 

But the frozen / not frozen water reminded me of grief.

Sorrow can look so much like normal sometimes that it's almost impossible to see.
And then one day someone throws a pebble and you can't even bear it, some small thing that would just pass right through an ordinary heart stops and lays on you.  You can't let one more thing in.  It's frozen here.

And I think it hurts most at the happy times; the celebrations and festivities that once brought joy stab more sharply in contrast.  After loss.  In grief.  In mourning.

My Nana, she passed along this trait to my mom, who shared it with my sisters and I: whenever something particularly heart-stabbing occurs, we instantly get red noses. This is a warning light that tears are about to flow. 

So if you see me Rudolphing it up, know that the dam is about to break.
Because at Christmas, I get a little overflowy.

Maybe especially on this, my first Christmas where I won't hear my Nana's voice.
Every year when I sing Christmas carols I can hear her singing too, see her head back and her eyes a-twinkle, hand tapping along on her armrest, and always that heart-picture has given me joy but this year it hurts, too -

So yeah.
I'll be red-nosed and blubbering my way through Walmart if O Holy Night comes on.

And if you are grieving too, as a person who has wept my way through many a candlelit carol, let me put my arms around you and squeeze you tight and tell you I need you.

I need to see you in your grief, so I can know I'm not alone in mine.
I need to learn how to love and be loved in all sorts of emotional seasons, frozen or slushy or clear as brook water.

Especially at this pebbly time of year.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Fasting, Feasting

I have amazing aunts.  When I am around them, I feel loved, and known, and understood, and special.  (And this is important for everyone, I think, but particularly for a fourth sister who has three very spectacular older sisters to live up to, and doesn't often feel special at all.)

But most of all, we laugh.
We laugh and laugh and cry and laugh some more.

One of my aunts posted this hilarious meme today:

And I died laughing because same and all year long.

But it also made me happy because it's true.
Having food in my cupboard is a gift.
There's a feast in there at any given time, and this amazes me.

When Patrick and I were newlywed students, we lived on the leftovers we brought home from working our jobs at a restaurant. Our cupboards were leaner then, and sometimes I shake my head when I realize how completely cared for we have always been.

And at this time of year, when the temperatures plunge and some people have to choose between paying for heating or eating, we're challenged by the One who became poor for our sake.  Whether our cupboards look like we're fasting or feasting, this is the standard to which christians are called:

Is not this the fast that I choose:

 to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry
   and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
    and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?

(Isaiah 58:6-7)

This is the fast He chooses. 

Because He wants to make us like Himself.  

Jesus came to loose the bonds of wickedness, to set us free from enslavement to sin. He sets us free from oppression and burdens that others place upon us. He is the bread of life, welcoming us into His house to feast in His presence, and He covers us in His glory. 

So.

(Always, but especially at Christmas:)

Because He is bread, we share our bread.

Because He is freedom, we pursue freedom for those who cannot set themselves free.

Because He covers us, we shelter others.

Because He came to us, we must go to meet others in need.

And that last bit - not to hide yourself from your own flesh?  Get thee to a family reunion ... and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll have an aunt or two like mine ;).

In fasting, and in feasting - Merry Christmas, friends.

xo.

Ready for Christmas

Our tree is up, and lights are twinkling around the door.
I have purchased a grand total of one present.
I do not yet know what our menu on Christmas day will be.

So I shouldn't exactly have said yes when our neighbour asked me if I was ready for Christmas.

But guys.

I am ready for Christmas.

I am ready for relaxing in my pjs.
I am ready to listen to happy music.
I am ready to eat chocolate and drink wine with good friends.
I am ready to watch the snow dance.
I am ready to help my kids pick out presents for each other.
I am ready to sing carols.
I am ready for Patrick to have a few extra days off.
I am ready to play boardgames and watch movies.
I am ready to laugh and listen to stories.
I am ready to thank God for sending Jesus.

I am SO ready for all of this.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.