The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the stable

There was no place to rest

 - not even a table.

Mary lay on the hay

And she looked awfully sick

As the baby inside her

He kicked! 

kicked! 

kicked!

kicked!

The baby was coming

But there was no crib;

No teddies or bottles,

Not even a bib!

Joseph was worried

And pulling his beard

- a baby from God?

It was good! (it was weird!)

Then over his shoulder

A huge star unfurled:

The Messiah had come,

The Light of the World!

The wise men, they saw it,

And set out to travel,

A new star in the sky,

A new truth to unravel!

The Lord's angels sang out,

In awe shepherds huddled.

And Mary?

And Joseph?

And baby?

 - they cuddled.

Merry Christmas, friends! 

Thanks so much for reading along with me for another year.

God bless you & yours.

xo.

Night-shift Field-hands

Know what I want to know?

Why shepherds?

Of all the people around Bethlehem that night (and there were lots of people, crowding in for a Caesar's census), why did the angel of the Lord announce Jesus' birth to shepherds?

God was writing this story, so it could have been a little foreshadowing of the fact that Jesus had come to be the Good Shepherd, to give his life for His people, His sheep.

It could have been a nice balance, a nice juxtaposition with the kings who came bearing gifts - the recorded visitors being the night-shift field-hands and the wise men, to show that Jesus had come to all of us, rich and poor.

It could have been one of many reasons, but the one that makes sense to this tired mama is in Luke chapter 2, verse 8: "And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night."  They were there, and they were awake ... so he gave them this special treasure.

Being awake when the whole world sleeps is hard.

A few nights ago, Vava came into our room at 3am and wimped and whined and started to cry.  I was so tired.  I couldn't figure out what she was saying.  Kachi had already made his way into our bed around 1, and I was worried Vava would wake him up, so I took her back to her room and cuddled into her bed.  She finally cried out that she was too worried about bugs (we'd had a lice-letter from school, and I had checked everyone's hair carefully before bed).  I asked her what would help, and she told me she wanted me to check her head again.  So we tiptoed downstairs and sprayed her hair and went through it with a fine-toothed comb.  It was clear.

So we tiptoed back upstairs and snuggled back into her bed.  She laid her head on my shoulder and nestled into my arms and fell asleep.

There's magic in that, even when you're beyond exhausted.
There's something heartbreakingly sweet in comforting a fretting heart to sleep.

I have good sleepers, I do, but there are four of them and even if each of them only needs me twice in a week, that's eight wakeful nights out of seven :).  But there are treasures on the wrong side of the clock - extra snuggles, extra conversations, extra closeness.  Sometimes I don't have a chance during the day to whisper "fear not" over a particular child's secret worry, but at night - it's just us.  We can whisper, snuggle down, and I can hold them close and pray with them until their fears cease and they sleep in my arms.

I love that the angel of the Lord appeared to those who were keeping watch over their flocks.
He came with good news - great joy - in the middle of the night.

If you're up in the night this Christmas, I hope you find treasures and unexpected joy there.  Even if you have to break out the nit-comb at 3am ;).

"Fear not, 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 Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

For the Middle of the Night

I'm a mom, so I can almost always sleep.  I'm so sleep-deprived that I lie down in that soft bed and it doesn't require any effort at all - I just drift off to dreamland.

Also: I'm a mom, so I can't always sleep.  Once I plunge into the glorious depths of cozy dreamland, there's no guarantee I can stay there until morning.  Someone might be lonely, or have a bad dream, or need a fear aired and calmed.  Someone might sleepwalk or remember something funny or absolutely definitely right now need different pyjamas.  Someone might need a drink and have forgotten how cups and taps work.

And then there's the rare night that I lie in bed and yucky things from the news niggle in my mind and I worry about the future and what my kids will have to face and -

and I can't sleep until I remember what the angel of the Lord told the shepherds, who were also up, keeping watch in the middle of the night.

"Fear not, 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 Savior, who is Christ the Lord." (Luke 2:10-11)

Fear not.
The good news: Jesus is with us.

And I don't know what kinds of flocks you're watching over, friends, but I pray that the good news will meet you where you are.

Fear not. Jesus is with us.
xo.

Hunting for Presents

Sam has been hunting for presents for a solid week.

There are only a few under the tree, and he knows I bought more, so he's been prowling around the house, trying to unearth them.

Last Saturday, Patrick and I took the kids out to buy presents for each other.  Doing errands with four kids in Christmas crowds - well, a bit taxing.  By the time we got home, I wanted to hide in our room for a while, or better yet, jump in the car and just drive.  Patrick read my mind.  "Why don't you run up to the city and go to Costco?" he suggested. "I'll give the kids supper and have them ready for bed by the time you come home."

I grabbed the grocery bags and took off.  A Christmas shopping trip, alone!  I turned on the radio and sped off through the sunshine to Costco.

The store was busy.  I didn't have to take anyone to the bathroom when we got there.  I shopped in a blissful haze of kidlessness. I filled up my cart and then loaded it into the truck.  It was full.  Every carseat had something buckled into it - I was astonished to notice that I actually had a truck full of groceries.

There was a time not too long ago when Patrick and I were poor students, getting by on leftovers that we brought home from work.  We certainly didn't have a truck or groceries to put in it.  And suddenly I realized that this wasn't a truck full of errands.  So much more than mere groceries.  It was jam-packed with gifts.

Just like Sam's presents in our bedroom, in the front closet.  He can't find his presents because they don't look like presents.  I haven't wrapped them. They're sitting meekly in wrinkled plastic bags or brown Amazon boxes. They look like groceries.  Like errands.  He pushes past them every time, expecting something that looks different -

Sometimes God cleverly disguises gifts as groceries.
Errands.
A few minutes to myself.
A thoughtful husband.

And I miss them, walk right on by, worried that He might forget me.
And the gifts actually are all around -

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

A Chance to Give

Sam and Vava's school does the sweetest little fundraiser with the kids in grades K-2.

In December, the school asks parents for donations of gently-used or small, new items. Then, in the last week before Christmas break, they set up a store where the kids can bring in small change ($.25 - $2), and shop for two presents from the donated items.

The parents get surprise gifts, the school raises funds, and the kids get an opportunity to give.

Sure, every year we take our kids out one at a time, give them a little budget, and help them choose presents for their siblings.  But it's always with us. 

This is pure them.

Sam and Vava climbed off the bus today with gift bags swinging importantly from their hands.  They're usually falling all over each other trying to dump their backpacks on the stroller, but they weren't too tired to carry these - this was special.

They warned each other not to tell me what they bought for me - but they couldn't wait to tell me what they bought for Patrick.  As soon as Patrick came home, they dashed to tell him they bought surprises (and showed him what they chose for me).

They tucked their presents under the tree and grinned. 

I remember the first year that it occurred to me that I could give presents too - not just receive them.  I was way older than these guys.  And my gifts were always really lame - ahhh they still are.  Gift-giving is my least-fluent love language - I'm so grateful for Sam and Vava's teachers helping them to learn the joy of speaking it early.

(Teachers deserve huge presents always, but especially this time of year!)

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

The Weary Mama Rejoices

This morning started in classic Janelle style - dashing like mad to the school bus stop, standing there for ages, winded from running the stroller through shortbread-dough-snow, before a kind mom drove by and rolled down her window and told me the school buses were canceled today.

I had to take Pascal to an appointment on the opposite side of town, so there was no way I could walk the big kids to school and then turn around and walk all the way to the appointment.  So we turned around and headed home.

I was trying to figure out what to do.  Taking all four on a trek through slush and then keeping them quiet through Pascal's vaccines - I wasn't really sure I could manage it. After having strep twice in a month I am not feeling terribly strong and I was already wiped from the morning bus-dash.  My heart cried please help, Jesus! And then my phone buzzed and my brother was texting to ask if I needed any help today.

Just like that.

Some people really are gifts from God.

So they drove all the way down and took us out to Pascal's appointment and the only effort I had to exert was climbing into the van.

I was so tired and overwhelmed and God heard my prayers and sent someone to extend His sweet kindness -

A thrill of hope, the weary mama rejoices!

The gospel is so beautiful, wherever it echoes, and today it rang loud in my tired-out heart.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Also Ordinary Days

When the kids come home from school, they sit up at the counter and have a snack while I prep supper. 

I make sure to have a snack all laid out before we leave to meet them at the bus stop, so they can go straight from boots-off to bar-stool.  Everyday I imagine them racing in the door, climbing up at the counter and laughing together about the funny moments in their day, including Kachi and Pascal in their conversation.

The real post-school-apocalypse is more like they fight over who won on the way home (because everything is a race), complain, demand additional snacks, and share absolutely zero details of their day. 

My kids are normal little humans who just busted their butts all day doing their best and need a little down time.  After being around people, Vava always craves solitude. Like her mama, she is a frustrating mash of introvert and extrovert.  Sam doesn't have much to say about his friends or class until the last ten minutes of his day, when we're snuggled in his bunk, whispering so we don't wake up Pascal.  That's so fine.  My kids are fine.

But my expectations are in serious need of adjustment.

You'd think I'd have adjusted them already.  This isn't the first week of school.  But here I go, day after day, planning on a smooth and blissful afternoon reunion that happens so rarely-

Actually, it happened today.
Today Sam climbed up on his stool (after complaining about it not being his favourite one), and picked up a paper-doll that Vava had made and left on the counter.
"Vava, did you make this?" he asked, waving it at her over Kachi's head.  She nodded, her mouth full of popcorn. "Vivian is so good at drawing and art," he told me, "I love all the things she makes."  And two stools over, two blue eyes were wide and two cheeks were flushed with joy.  Then she responded in kind.
"I love all the things Sam makes with Lego and on Minecraft," she told me, "he's really good at building."
And I was standing by the sink, eyes flooding with tears because this was magic.

But it is definitely rare.

I don't know if we'll keep on doing counter-snack after school.  They need to eat and I love seeing all their faces together after hours apart.  But whether we keep that up or find a different way to welcome them home, I know that expecting those golden moments every day is silly.  I need to plan for the reality that my kids are tired and hungry and will likely be rude to each other, forget their manners, and need some alone time.  Not that I shouldn't correct misbehaviours when I see them, but if my seeing them also includes disappointment of my absurd expectations, that's a lot harder for all four of them to bear.

And I get that way about the 25th.  I have so many happy golden memories from Christmas day that I start to expect the day to unfold in a feel-good montage of flawless ease.  (HA! It's like I forget I'm a parent!)

On her birthday, Vava lost her temper in the hugest way over a small incident.  On her way upstairs for a serious timeout, she let slip the reason why: "everything is supposed to be perfect on your birthday!"  And her outrage over the difference between her expectation and the reality made for a cranky and frustrating afternoon.  I sat down on her bed and assured her that her birthday is not a perfect day.  It's special because we're celebrating, there will be presents, and special company, but it's still a normal day where things might go wrong and we'll probably feel bored or sad or angry at some point and that's okay too.

And as Christmas approaches, God keeps using my kids to remind me of that, reminding me to adjust my expectations, to plan for reality.  Special days are also ordinary days.

Even Christmas days.

Merry (mostly) Christmas, friends!
xo.

A Teeny Tiny Christmas Prayer

In Sunday School today Sam and Vava made little ornaments, paper-plate Jesuses with swaddling clothes. 

Vava carried hers around with her all day and tucked it into her bed at night.

She gave it a kiss and closed her eyes and said, "thank you for being Jesus, God."

Which is much as I imagine Mary might have tucked him in, that first trembly night. 

And it's the way I prayed when I first realized Jesus died for me.

Thank you for being Jesus, God.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

A Reminder from Sad-Janelle

Know what?

I didn't always love Christmas. 

It used to be the loneliest and most awful.

Once they got their licenses, my big sisters would always be off doing stuff with their friends, and I'd be stuck at home like a little kid (I was a little kid) with my brother (who I hadn't yet come to adore).  And then they got boyfriends and got engaged and got married and were gorgeous and happy and grown up and amazing and I was too ugly and never had a boyfriend and was 99% sure that nobody would ever love me or want to marry me ever ever ever and I stared down the long decades of miserable Christmas solitude with bitter tears.

So okay, I was hilariously melodramatic, but it didn't feel hilarious then, you know?  It felt so so so sad, and lonely, and everybody else was merry&bright and gushing about Christmas when all I wanted to do was bury myself in my room with stacks of books and jars of dill pickles ... which I did, lots.  And it's pretty easy for me to make fun of sad-Janelle and dismiss her (groundless, thank you Patrick) fears now.  But she taught me some really important things.

Not everyone is happy at Christmas.

Sometimes I think I almost might forget that now.  We get together with friends, and yeah, everyone is telling each other to be of good cheer! it's the most wonderful time of the year!  And there are lots of laughs and generous presents and kindness and goodness and - as Vava told me today - it's easy to see that the meaning of Christmas is love.

And there's no sadness in sight.

But I think there should be sadness in sight.

Did you ever walk into a room and realize that you were the only one who looked like you, so you felt uncomfortable for a few moments and then left?
Did you ever show up somewhere and realize that there was a tacit dress code that nobody had spelled out for you, so you felt uncomfortable until you could leave?
I have.  When I feel out of place, I leave.  Goombye, please!

Sometimes when I'm around a group of beautiful, slender, fashionable friends, silently longing to be less freckled, less enormous, and less frizzy, God whispers to my heart that maybe someone else will come along who is also big and freckly and frizzy and she will feel comfortable here because there is someone else who looks like her.

And so if you are struggling with the Merry&Bright part of Christmas this year, will you remember sad-Janelle and just be yourself? Just go to that Christmas thing you're dreading and cry if you need to.  Or make wry comments to yourself in the corner.  Or high-tail it to the kitchen and find a jar of dill-pickles.

Because maybe there's someone else who wants to join in but can't because there's no one who looks like them.  Nobody else with that broken heart, that ache, that loneliness.  Nobody else who isn't feeling particularly Christmasy.

I'm willing to bet there are a lot of people who will be blessed by your authenticity, who will laugh at your sarcastic jokes or cry with you in the cubby under the stairs.

And everyone who loves you will be glad to have sad-you around.
Even if you're too ugly and have never had a boyfriend and are 99% certain nobody will ever want to marry you ever ever ever.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

A Baby Too

Ohh my Pascal.
He is so heart-stealingly sweet.

I did my Christmas shopping online this morning, while he and Kachi amused themselves for an hour and a half. By the time I was done, they were both more than ready for some hands-on mama time. They're both big readers, so we cuddled on the couch with board books.  After we'd gone through all their favourites, some twice, Kachi was good to play some more. But Pascal threw himself into my arms and laid his head on my chest and just stayed there, quiet.

And I felt anew all the soft deep sweetness of being his mama, holding my darling, being exactly who he needed.  And in that time-foldy way parenting has, I was for a moment a baby too, remembering resting the same way on my mama, the way she was soft and strong and being in her arms was always just right.

And I wonder about Jesus, making the world, and I wonder if He knew that same feeling in reverse -- Cradling creation in His palms, knowing He would one day be cradled in their arms.  (Yes - all along knowing it. Because Christmas wasnt His backup plan: it was His good plan.)

I'm a lot dimmer than Pascal and I go a lot longer before I realize I need Him, but in the same way, when my heart is overwhelmed, nothing will comfort me like the presence of Jesus. I open His Word and seek His heartbeat, listen to His voice, rest in His strength.

And He knows.
He was a baby too.
He holds me close because He knows.

God with us.
Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Faith Does

I'm reading the book of James, which was written by Jesus' brother, and I notice something cool.

James writes in a proverbsy style, circling around from theme to theme, then back again. And one theme keeps me wondering if he's thinking about his Brother -

Because one idea that echoes and re-echoes is "be doers of the word, and not hearers only [...] faith apart from works is dead [...] by his good conduct let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom." (James 1:22, 2:26, 3:13)

My kids love hearing their birth stories. Sam's, weighted with giving and love; Vava's, scary and dramatic and triumphant; Kachi's, happy and easy; Pascal's, funny and horrid and fast. They love hearing about the days they each made their way into the world.

And if the book of James is any clue, I'd say that Jesus' family loved that too.  Because this book, like their big brother's Nativity story, is drenched with the idea that faith does.

Faith receives God's Word, like Mary, like Joseph. Faith goes far, like Jesus, like the wise men. Faith waits, like Simeon, like Anna. Faith rejoices, like the shepherds, the angels.  Faith does.

Christmastime? Christians everywhere, working hard to show more love, to give more generously, to pray with more diligence, worship with devoted hearts ... that potent mix of doing and believing.

Giving. Sharing. Serving. Loving. Worshiping. Waiting. Rejoicing.

It breaks my heart wide open, the way you live the Nativity every year, you beautiful ordinary, messy, crazy family.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Wise

Sam started sleeping upside down in his bed. He untucks his blankets and puts his pillow at the foot of his bed so his head is next to the window. He slides his curtain aside and looks out, looks up through the snapping cold.

In the summer, of course, he can't see them. Bedtime is too early. But in the long dark night of winter, bright bits of beauty sparkle and gleam in the sky.  He loves to lie in bed and look out through the dark to see the stars.

And I think we all follow stars.  We all chase after the lovely thing, the rare or precious sight or experience or feeling we want to keep, want to hold.

And at Christmastime?

I was shopping (briefly, amazingly alone!), when I felt a few moments of communal happiness. There really is no better word for that feeling of finding for just the right present than delight - just being caught up in anticipation, imagining the recipient's reaction, knowing you'll surprise them with a little sliver of gladness.  And all over the store, people were doing the same. Picking up something, pausing, considering if this would suit their loved ones, if maybe that might bring more joy, or even this one over here --

It was really cool to realize I was right in the middle of an eager flood of love and generosity and joy, a whole store full of people buying things to give away. I love that.

Gifts are good and important ways to show love, ways to say "you matter to me" and "I see you."

And it's crazy how easy it is to follow that so-beautiful star, to focus on its lovely glow -

But gifts aren't the star. No, Christmas isn't reserved only for people who can buy or make gifts, not just for those who have someone to give them presents or someone to receive their presents.

Lonely or swamped, rich or poor, near, far - we can all follow the star. It leads us to Jesus.  And we will never miss Christmas when we take time to turn our routine around, pull back its pages, and let the story of the Messiah shine into our hearts.

I pray we all find ourselves kneeling before Him, worshiping, this Christmas.
Xo.

The Ghost of Christmas Future

I stepped outside to shovel the driveway this afternoon in the last few minutes of Pascal's nap. We got tons of snow today and I wanted it to be an easy return home for Patrick after his long day's work.

When I left, Vava was painting at the table, and Kachi and Sam were setting up a stuffed-animal army to face off against a Lego squad.

I'd shoveled about a third of the driveway when the door opened and a polite voice asked, "can I take care of that for you, mama?"

I paused.

The snow was swirling around in the exact same way, and I was wearing the same clothes, and the house hadn't changed a bit - but surely ten years had passed?

Five at least. 

Hadn't I left a boy playing with stuffies inside? Who - how -

And there he was, standing in the door, pulling on his boots and jacket. "You don't have to do any more," he called, "you can just leave your shovel there."

And that blessed boy still talks with that little-kid accent, or whatever a lisp is called when you can't manage Rs, but here he was being considerate and helpful and deliciously polite and sounding so much older than six.

And he thinks that his gift to me was his hard work, but the bigger gift was this glimpse of this wonderful young man, this flash-forward of a kind son I'm already so proud of.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Light For a Blue-Christmas Sort of Day

I had a super homesick day.

I think I've avoided homesickness since our move by just not thinking about it. Not thinking about the usual events and routines and happenings in Thunder Bay. Just burying my head in the sand I guess.

But then, hanging the ornaments with Sam brought on the tears and I haven't been far from them since.

And that homesickness, that ache for something missed, the longing for something loved and lost - it can get pretty fierce this time of year. There's something particularly painful in your first Christmas without.

I spent most of Pascal's naptime wallowing on Google earth, scrolling around the streets I miss.

But after I had a good cry, one of my wise friends pointed me hopeward today: "Imagine the fullness and the satisfaction of our souls when we finally go to our eternal home. Almost unfathomable to believe that all our longings and yearnings will be satiated forever. No more homesickness - One day!!!!!!"

The restlessness, that chafing in the soul, that deep weariness - all whisper that we're longing for our true home. We're not there yet - not yet.

I can't think of a better balm for the ache of a lonely Christmas than this: one day, we will go to our Father's house, to be with the One who traveled so far away from it to bring us safe home.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Haste, Haste to Bring Him Laud

Our kids love to fight over who gets to pray at mealtimes. (Sigh.)

Sam's prayer is quick and simple: Dear God, thank you for the food. Amen.

Vava's changes based on the season: Dear God, thank you for the food and Merry Christmas.

Kachi's is my favourite: Dear God, thank you for God. Amen.

And I think he's onto something. Because all our gifts come from God. All our food, all our comfort and family and joy, all our shelter and warmth and peace - all from God.

And at Christmastime, especially, when we remember that babe who traveled so far -

Thank You, God, for God.
It's a pretty good prayer after all :).

Merry Christmas friends.
Xo.

All This Took Place

This morning, the kids woke up at 6. (Sam was too excited about Saturday aka Minecraft day to sleep, and once one kid is up and twitching, it doesn't take long for the others to join.)

I got up with them, fed them breakfast, read Pascal stories, made coffee, unloaded the dishwasher, wiped the counter a hundred times, changed a stinky diaper, made a grocery list, mediated some fights, set out some more food for the big kids, turned on the tv, and finally Pascal was ready for nap. I tucked him in and tiptoed up to our room to slip back under the covers with Patrick for a few more minutes of sleep. 

I did all those things because they set everything up for me to enjoy some cozy rest with Patrick.

Matthew chapter 1.  It tells us that Mary is pregnant with a child from the Holy Spirit, and that Joseph was told by an angel in a dream to marry her anyway, because this baby was God's son, who would save his people from their sins.

Then -

'All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: "Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel" (which means, God with us).'

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken [...] which means, God with us.

All of this crazy stuff - the immaculate conception, the angel dream, the warning from God - means one thing: God with us.

God with us.

You know how it feels, that happiness that blooms when you go out of your way to be with people you love? You're probably thinking right now of a bunch of examples all more amazing than me getting the kids set up for some solo play while I cuddle with Patrick. Maybe you flew across the country for a family event. Maybe you planned and prepped and sweated hard over a dinner for ten of your favourite friends. Maybe you arranged to sit next to your sister on her flight when she had no idea you'd be traveling  too.  (Well I know some of you have done these things because I'm stealing your examples!)

And I don't know about you but it kind of takes my breath away.

It's beautiful.

God did all this -  to come down and be with us.

And that's what all the fuss is about, all the nativity plays and carols and candlelit services and all the glimmering whirlwind of Christmas ... we're celebrating the peculiar holy gift of God-with-us.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Merry Christmas from a Sulky Prophet

I've been reading Jonah lately.

I love that book. It's organized like a palindrome, and I love palindromes.  And Jonah is just so contrary and selfish and emotional ... kind of like a certain person I see in the mirror everyday. I get Jonah. He's a familiar kind of exasperating for me.

Anyway, there's this part near the end where Jonah is sulking and ranting at God,

'And he prayed to the Lord and said, "O Lord , is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster."' (Jonah ch.4 v. 2)

Yes, you read that right. He's mad at God because God is gracious and merciful.

He didn't want to proclaim something that wouldn't happen. He didn't want to risk being misnamed a false prophet.  He was worried about his reputation, and not at all concerned with the lives that would be lost - or saved, by repentance.

He only went to Nineveh under duress (like, spat up by a huge fish sort of duress).

He had been angry that God sent him to preach repentance to Nineveh because he knew God would relent if the Ninevites repented ... and here he was, correct and sour and wishing God had wiped out the Ninevites after all.

But Jesus?

Jesus was the opposite.

God didn't have to kidnap him and make him come to us.  Jesus didn't think about His reputation or comfort.  He laid down His rights to flawless glory and embraced broken humanity in the flesh.

And God sent Jesus for the same reason He sent Jonah -

Yep. Kerneled right there in the stormy rant of the sulky prophet, we have foreshadowing of Christmas grace - You are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster -

Joy to the world, friends, He is :).
Merry Christmas.
Xo.

For Tbay, With Love

Sam and Vava helped me decorate the Christmas tree last night.  We didn't bring our Christmas balls when we moved, so we just had our one box of unbreakable ornaments - handmade ones, wooden ones, a bird or two - the really special ones that mean something.

Sam pulled out an ornament he'd made at Ogden, their old school. He held it for a minute, then looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "This makes me feel sad and happy at the same time," he choked. "Is that a feeling?"

Yeah.

That's a feeling.

It's the kind of thing you feel about something you love, something you've lost.
It's the kind of thing you might feel when you wrap up your baby, God's baby, and lay him in a manger.
It's the kind of thing you might feel when you give up your Son for the salvation of the whole world.
It's the kind of thing you feel when you move away from your friends, your precious friends.

I pulled him close and told him to treasure that feeling.
"That feeling, Sam?  It's love. And it hurts because you loved your friends so much."

He squeezed me tight and hung his ornament on the tree.

This Christmas hurts a little more than the others.
We miss you, Thunder Bay.
Merry Christmas.
xo.

Sam's Christmas List

After school on Tuesday, Sam sat down with his paper and pen and said, "I'm making my Christmas list and it's very important."

And he wrote the following (Ash is Sam's cousin and his all-time favourite person) -

-Play with Ash on Minecraft.
-Ash sleeps on atop my bunk. Yes or No?
-I hope that you like this idea. Yes or No.

And Sam might be only six years old and he might not be great at remembering to pack his lunch bag but he is excellent at knowing that spending time with people he loves is the best gift.

Just like Jesus.
God with us.
Came at Christmas to a lost and lonely world.
Comes into lost and lonely hearts every day.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Christmassy

I'm itching to get my decorations out.  I want those little lights and ornaments on the tree, I want to hang the stockings and see if they can survive being pawed by toddlers for another year.  I love all the scents and twinkles and ribbons that make a home feel - well, Christmassy.

The funny thing is, the first Christmas wasn't Christmassy at all.

It was more like a back-country baby shower with guest list problems.

The only stockings were Joseph and Mary's, and they sure weren't getting chocolates in the toes that morning.  There might have been a shepherd's crook propped up against the door, but it was no Christmas tree.  And the Christmas gift wasn't wrapped in thick paper and wire-lined ribbon - He was wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.

All the Christmas extras are fun (for me :) ) but they sure aren't Christmas.

Two people looked at me today and told me they were Grinches.  "We don't really like any of it," they said, "it's just a hassle." 

And they can say that, but they're crazy because they live Christmas like you wouldn't believe.

They're the kind of people who would still be friends with you if you showed up pregnant in the months before your marriage, still claiming to be a virgin.

They're the kind of people you'd want to be lying next to in a field of sheep, talking with and looking up at the stars. (And the kind who would race into town, looking for an angel-announced baby, wild with awe.)

They're the kind of people you'd want to run into if you were stuck on the side of the road with a pregnant wife and a tired donkey and not a single room in sight. 

They radiate mercy. They give generously. They travel far to show love.

If you visit them, you might not find yourself leaning up against a fir-decked mantle, sipping mulled wine, listening to Michael Buble's velvet holiday tunes.  But you will find yourself welcomed in the truest Christmas way - joyfully, loved, and helped along the way.

Me? I'm still going to hang my decorations (maybe tomorrow!?).  And you better believe I'm still going to dance to Christmas music in my kitchen until New Year's Day.  But I hope I can be really truly deep-in-the-soul as Christmassy as those glorious Grinches, every day of the year.

Merry Christmas, friends.

xo.

See the Lights and Gold and Gladness

I'm trying to raise kids who grow up to be kind, courageous, capable adults.

Usually that just makes me look at myself and laugh, or cry, because I am still working on that right in my own heart too.

This year, for Sam and Vava at least, I've been trying to keep my own voice out of their heads, and encourage them to think and plan ahead for themselves.  So while my instinct is to pack their lunch bags all tidily into their backpacks, I've been trying to pull back and ask them, "do you have everything you need to take today?" And that gets those little brains in gear and they start to remember their lunch bags, their reading reports, their library books.

This morning I was helping Vava with her ponytail when I asked Sam, "do you have everything you need for the day?"
"Yes," he. replied, stuffing his snowpants into his back pack.
"Stop and think about it -"
"I already put them in!"
 "Did you put your lunch bag in your backpack?"
"Uh - yes ..." he giggled, with that look of glee that sparks out only when he thinks he's pulling the wool over my eyes.
"I can see it on the counter," I called over my shoulder, chasing Pascal down the hall, wrestling him into his snowsuit.
"I mean the invisible one!" he hooted, winning.
"It's time to pack the visible one now," I ordered, helping Kachi into his socks.

And then one more time, just to be sure, as we were on our way to the bus stop.  "Did you pack your visible lunch?"
"Uh huh!"

But he's six and I should have checked the counter to be sure -

Because of course you know what I found when I got home.

So after a quick breakfast, I packed the kids back up into their snowsuits (the littles, and Vava too, because she was home sick today), and we made the trek to school to deliver Sam's lunch.

It wasn't a happy walk.  The kids were cranky.  We only had two stroller seats, so Pascal rode while Vava and Kachi took turns dawdling and complaining about the other person hogging the ride.  It took an hour and a half and it felt like three times that.

My perspective was nose-to-road, get-this-done, should-have-worn-a-warmer-jacket, move-those-boots-and-puhlease-stop-whining.

But if I'd just taken a step back, I would have seen something beautiful.

The kids weren't blaming Sam.  They were hoping to catch a glimpse of him, barely an hour after hugging him goodbye at the bus stop.

Instead of being cooped up inside, we were getting fresh air and exercise.

Most of the houses we passed had Christmas decorations up.

There isn't any snow right now, so we weren't fighting with ruts or ice on the sidewalks.

Objectively, I should have enjoyed myself.

But there I was, clomping along with boots and heart too heavy and dull.

I am unfailingly dumb.
I am so ready to plan and coach my kids along the paths they should walk, but I, too, forget to pack the things I need for the day.
Oh, I remember the visible ones for the most part.
But the invisible ones?

Hope.
Joy.
Rest.
Eyes to see all the things Jesus holds out, to trade for my weariness.

And I stagger along with my empty backpack and my teeth grinding down in a get-this-over grimace. 

I forget to lift my heart, to see the lights and gold and gladness.  Days can roll by, weeks, of nothing more than to-do-lists and endless laundry.

But Christmas - Christmas is this annual reminder that the Holy Story matters everyday if it matters at all. The gospel floods in with its story of glory and faith and no room in the inn and it brings the Good Gift, time and again, to fill up an empty manger and an empty backpack and an empty heart.

So tomorrow I will do it all again.  The lunches, the backpacks, the snowsuits, the bus stop -
and tomorrow I will stop, and I will fill up my own soul first.

I will open up those pages and I will sit with the King who was born in a manger until my eyes are ready to catch the glory in the ordinary.

And then I will run downstairs and kiss those faces and pack those lunches and walk those kids off to school.
With full backpacks.
And eyes wide open to all the good gifts.

Wishing you eyes to enjoy an ordinary, glorious, Merry Christmas, dear friends.
xo.

I Already Know That

A few weeks ago, Vava was having a hard time getting ready for school in the mornings.  With a little bit of prying, I found out why - she was afraid of the bus ride.

Their bus driver doesn't assign seats, and doesn't help the kids find seats.  They pile onto the bus and hope for the best.  Sometimes the big kids sit together, and sometimes they each take a seat, and refuse to let the younger kids share.  Sam helps Vava find a seat, but he told me that he had to sit on the floor because he couldn't find a spot for himself.  (Once I stopped shaking from fury, I called the bus company and the school and got that sorted out.)

Anyway -
Even after she was getting a seat, Vava was still scared.  So I asked her if she'd like me to pray with her.  She nodded.

I wrapped my arms around her and began to pray.  "Dear God," I whispered, "please be with Vava on the bus - "
She interrupted me with a disgusted snort and a shake of her head.  "You don't have to pray that. He's always with me. I already know that. Just pray that He helps me to be brave."

Thus advised, I adjusted my prayer accordingly.  And she's been brave. And Sam still helps her find a seat.

But my favourite thing is the Christmas truth that rings deep in that scrappy little heart.

He's with her.
She knows it.
God sent Him.
Immanuel.  God with us.

And we've all been there. Frozen with fear that grabs us deep and saps our courage and keeps us shrinking back.

When that cold comes, I pray that you will find Him so very close.  And I pray that He will help you to be brave, as brave as my Vava facing those big bus steps day after day.

He's with us.

Merry Christmas, friends!
Xo.

I Love You, with Elbow Grease

My mom sent me a picture of my Nana today.  I burst into tears, right out in public. I just love her so much.  So much.

When I was little, I was kind of scared of her. She was brisk and busy and didn't have a lot of time to sit and read with me, or take me for walks, or listen to me tell endless stories.
That was Grampie's job, because he couldn't do much else. (Alzheimer's disease can steal you from your mind but it can also slow you right down to a toddler's speed and make her world almost heaven.)
And Nana juggled the world around him, keeping it spinning and orderly and warm and tasty and impeccably tidy.

Because there are some people who say I love you with words and cuddles and a listening ear, and there are some people who wash the floor and make your supper and clean your hands and keep the freezer stocked and make sure you don't get lost when parts of you start to wander.

And God didn't just send His words, His messages of repentance and outrageous mercy.

Not just words.
The Word, incarnate.

He came.
He came and He worked and He served and He fed and He healed and He died for the whole lost wandering world.

Because love shows up.
In a dark night, in a manger, ordinary and streaming with glory, Love showed up.

And He shows up and He shows up.

And my Nana's heart has been beating for ninety-three Christmases,  hard ones and joyful ones and lonely ones and full ones, and still she swells with tears of love and gratitude when she counts His mercies, counts all the ways He's shown her he loves her.

Wishing you an advent full of gratitude, friends.
Merry Christmas!
Xo.

Some I Love Yous

Pascal goes down for his daily nap right after he and Kachi share an early lunch. They're both good eaters in the first half of the day, so they sit and gobble quite a bit before he finally shakes his head and says "Na-naw" (which I think means all done).  Yesterday, after I had washed his hands and face and de-crumbed his lap, I lifted him out of his high chair.  He leaned past my shoulder and waved to Kachi, and said "I ya yo!"  It was definitely I love you - Kachi didn't even blink, just replied, "I yuv yoo, Pa'cal," and kept on eating. 

My heart! That's my boy.

I know every family is different and shows love in different ways.  Some people keep the phrase "I love you" for special occasions, relying on actions to display their feelings in the everyday moments in between.  But I grew up doing the exact opposite of that.

Heading out to the store? I love you!
Popping across the street to see a friend? I love you!
Dropping your mom off at work for the day? I love you!
Phoning to ask Dad for a ride home? I love you!
Heading up for a nap? I ya yo!

For us, it didn't mean less in the ordinary everyday because we said it so much.  It was the little assurance, the small whisper, you matter to me.  I still need those little whispers in my day.  I still need to hear and say I love you when Patrick leaves in the morning, or before the kids climb onto the bus.  It's just who I am.  I grew up in an I love you house.

Every Christmas, we'd wake up to find an envelope tucked in among the branches and decorations on the Christmas tree.  Dad would take the time to find a loooooong sappy card for mom, to tell her how much she meant to him, and sometime on Christmas Eve, he'd nestle it into the tree for her to find Christmas morning.

And that mattered too.

Everyday reminders sometimes grow dog-eared if they aren't buoyed up by something a little more special, a little more tangible.  We need them both.

The little, throw-over-your-shoulder I love yous, and the elegant embossed Hallmark ones. 

And now December is here and carols are ringing about a Saviour being born and lights shine out glorious in the dark and cold and Christmas is coming -
and Christmas is like that big fancy formal I love you.  It shows up every year and assures us: God loves us. God loves us. God loves us.

And there are a hundred different ways He whispers it, shouts it, sings it, laughs it, paints it, creates it, all through the year. It's there all along. But in case we forget, in case the heaviness of the ordinary everyday clouds our ears to His song, at the end of every year there's Christmas. 

When God sent His Love to us, a baby -
Have you heard, broken world?
I'm sending Jesus to save you - because I love you!

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.