at last

Christmas is here ❤️

The counting, the waiting, the hoping, the watching ... it's all come down to this: little baby Jesus, laid in a manger, God with us.

A gift for all the world to discover.

Thanks for walking along with me this advent, my friends. Merry Christmas.

Xo.

Us

Vava turned the living room into a sleepover haven tonight. I'm writing this while we lie in the dim light of the tree, with quiet giggles echoing around the room.

Probably sometime in the night I'll make my way up to my room because my bed is comfier than the couch, but for now it's bliss to lie here with all the ones I love.

When I was very little, I remember sleeping with my sisters under the Christmas tree. As I got older, my room was often used for company at Christmas time, and I would get a happy nostalgic feeling from sleeping on the couch by the Christmas tree. So it didn't take much convincing when Vava asked for a sleepover with Mama and Aunt Jenny ❤️. 

Sleeping is one of those necessary boringnesses that my kids endure. But together? Together it becomes something magic and so much better. 

I was struck by a tiny little word in this verse: 

‭Isaiah‬ ‭9:6‬ For a child is born to us, a son is given to us. The government will rest on his shoulders. And he will be called: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Us.

Us.

A child is born to us, a son is given to us. Not just to Mary and Joseph, not just to Bethlehem or ancient Israel. To us.

To my kids sleeping under the Christmas tree, and to their kids too. To you and yours. To the whole waiting world. 

May your heart rest in his peace, dear friends. 

Xo.

So we know he knows

The other day at work I accidentally made some students cry. 

They were playing with their toys and I had asked them several times to put on their boots and jackets to go home, but they were too distracted.

So I popped their toys in their backpacks and they freaked out. "Why do you hate me?" cried one. "That is SO UNFAIR!" stormed another.

And I was truly confused, because to me, it was nothing. I wasn't trying to be unfair or hateful, just trying to get them to the bus before it left the yard. I hadn't confiscated their toys, just put them away into their own bags.

I mentioned it to another adult and she gave me some context for their reactions. 

Ohhhh.

I felt the lightbulb go on.

Yeah.

If I'd had their experiences, I'd have reacted that way too. If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken their toys out of their hands. Perspective changes everything.

It's one of my favourite things about Jesus. He didn't just teach us, and tell us he knew us.

He got right into our story.

He came to live it with us.

Immanuel.

God with us.

And sometimes our stories are hard and sad and cause us to react differently than those around us expect. Sometimes we might seem mad. To people who don't know, we are wildly irrational.

But all our hopes and fears, all our hurts and scars, all our ptsd and generational trauma and tempestuous coping mechanisms...

All of these are known by the God who was born into humanity.

He carries our griefs.

Our scars are his scars, and his wounds bring ours healing.

It's why he came right into our story. So we know he knows.

Joy to the world, friends.

Xo.

To family, traveling at Christmas

The wise men would probably follow a GPS, like you are, tomorrow.

Mary and Joseph would probably drive to Bethlehem, like you are, tomorrow.

The angels would still show up in the middle of the night, like you are, tomorrow.

And God would bring joy to the world, like you are, to us, tomorrow.

Godspeed.

Xo.

That's it, that's the Christmas

The best part of Christmas is the people you spend it with.

It's why God sent Jesus,

Immanuel, God with us.

No matter the presents or no presents.

No matter what's on the table.

No matter.

He came.

For us.

At Christmas.

That's it, that's the story.

The simple, beautiful, whole story.

Wherever and whoever and however we are, He came for us.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo

Jesus was a Wordle

Jesus was a Wordle
A puzzle, a hurdle
Five letters like darts
Thrown at random on the wall.
The grey answers surprise us most of all.

All I Want for Christmas...

I don't know who made this, but it makes me laugh every time.

Xo 

Welcome to the Party

I went to a Christmas show tonight. Our town boasts a very fantastic little theatre, and an enormously talented singer-songwriter.

"I've been doing this forever. Like - forever. Since I was two," she laughed, making fun of herself, gently, for being old (she's not old), "and for the last five years I've been doing it right here. Welcome to the party."

And that last little four-word phrase is the whole secret to her magnetic personality.  She's a one-woman party, wherever she goes.

"Use your outdoor voices!" she encourages kids when they come to her house for her kids' birthday parties, "be silly! Have fun!"

As a socially awkward, weirdly religious, sensitive and quiet kid, I definitely felt like I belonged on the outside of things. If there was a party, I was standing outside. If I was at the party, I was only there because my sisters were invited. Other kids eagerly jumped into games and taking part; I watched. I remember in junior high, a guy who lived around the corner had a party when his parents weren't home. I walked by, and saw kids on the deck, kids in the garage, kids inside.

I kicked stones all the way home.

I saw lots of parties, but I never felt like I belonged in one. I couldn't even imagine how I ever would. I felt a strong connection to the prodigal son's sulky older brother - lurking outside, waiting to be noticed and coaxed into joining.

Watching my friend welcome everyone to the perpetual party that she is, my heart stirred. 

Jesus welcomes everyone to the party that he is. He puts his best clothes on his beloveds, and gives us his best food and gifts. He even comes outside and invites those who don't feel like they belong. 

And maybe you love being at parties. Maybe you love joining in freely and gladly, pulling up a chair and bringing your favourite jokes out to play. "Welcome to the party," he says.

Or maybe you don't know how to join in or be part of the crew. Maybe you feel like you don't belong, awkward, possibly unwanted. Maybe you, like me, stand around on the edges in an agony of awkwardness. God sent him out looking for us, standing on the curb kicking stones. He comes all the way outside and looks right into your face. "Welcome to the party," he says.

He came for us all.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

The kingdom of heaven is a like a king who prepared a feast for his son (my paraphrase) ... Matthew chapter 22 verse 2

Buzzprints

I took a long walk with Eevee tonight, and we ended up at Buzz's favourite place.  I let Eevee prowl and I sat down on the rocks and cried.

"I'm sorry, Buzz," I said.

"I'm sorry that our best wasn't good enough for you. I'm sorry that your life started out rough, and ended so soon. I'm sorry we didn't find you a home."

I watched the river eddy and curl around the rocks. I looked out across the water, where just last week he chased his last flock of geese. There were none.

It was too cloudy tonight for seeing stars.

Eevee ran past me, and I called her back. "Come, Eevee! Come!" She'll never come, I thought, and then I cried again, because Buzz would have. He was such a good boy, as long as nobody came near me. Eevee never listens.

And then she turned and loped back to me, her tail like a waving plume.

She came.

Maybe Buzz left more than his collar behind after all. 

I laughed, a wobbly almost-cry sort of laugh.

Before Buzz came, we always said that Eevee didn't know she was a dog. She slept on the couch, sat up in the car, and hugged with her forelegs as if they were arms. But after Buzz came, she began to sometimes sleep on the floor. She sometimes curled up in the car. She sometimes squirmed around for a belly rub instead of a humanish hug.

Do you remember when Jesus told his disciples what God wants from people? To love your neighbour as yourself, and to love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength (my paraphrase).

Forgive me if the comparison hurts you; I mean it with so much love and reverence. But, like Buzz, Jesus didn't come for long either. He had a tough start too. And He didn't have a home here either. But every time we love our neighbours as ourselves - every time we love God with all we've got - it's a little trace of his having come, a little proof that he was here. We're better humans for his having come that starry Bethlehem night.

Eevee's dogginess and obedience are little proofs of Buzz's having been here.

Love - deep and determined love - love is proof of Jesus having been here.

I see it everywhere.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

Buzz and Eevee in his favourite place on his last night.

John 13:35 - by this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.

Victory, Protector, the Beautiful

Kachi had a tough day.

The bad feelings bled out of school and stained his walk home and tracked right into suppertime. 

He could not hold.

But he went to bed in much brighter spirits, and when I was going to bed myself I realized why.

He had written himself a note, with the meanings of his names on it.

Victory.

Protector.

Beautiful.

It's a very good strategy.

When something is wrong, remembering who we are is restorative.

Our Creator calls us

Beloved.

I will wrap myself in that like a blanket.

Sweet dreams, friends.

and Merry Christmas,

xo.

"I Can't Hold"

When Kachi was really small, he used to put something down that he was supposed to be carrying, and tell us, in a voice with true distress, "I can't hold!" This would usually happen when it was time to tidy up, or help set the table, or do something that he wasn't already wanting to do.

Because he was such an early talker, sometimes we forgot that he wasn't always able to express himself with precision. So when he told us "I can't hold!" the first few times, we wondered - is it something physiological? Neurological? Is his grip not as strong as it should be?

We tested it out the next time he panicked. 

"I can't hold!"

"Can you hold a chocolate?"

"Of co'se!" And he would happily, easily hold a chocolate. Grip is fine, physical function is fine. So then we thought maybe he was trying to get out of the chores - can't hold, pfft. But that theory didn't fit well with his eager character, his helpful happy demeanour. He was usually proud to help. Plus, he was obviously upset.

It took a while before we realized that "I can't hold" was his tiny tot way of telling us that he was maxed out. "I can't take it anymore!" his grandmother might have sighed when feeling the same way; "I can't even!" his mom might have said with exasperation.

And lately his expression has been echoing in my head. Life is a busy whirl. The news - globally, and right next door - makes my head hurt and heart ache. And I try to make a difference and I try to help - globally, and right next door - but sometimes I can feel my fingers slip. 

"I can't hold," I cry.

And sometimes God comforts me with chocolate.

And sometimes he sends me love through the deep kindness of my friends.

And sometimes he just reminds me that I don't have to. I don't have to fix the world or even my neighbourhood. I can let go, and anything that falls will fall into his hands.

It has been there all along anyway.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

‭‭Deuteronomy 33:27

The eternal God is your refuge, and his everlasting arms are under you.

So Merry, Gentlemen

God rest ye merry, gentlemen, 

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Saviour 

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from Satan's pow'r

When we were gone astray

O tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joy

O tidings of comfort and

JOY! Joy joy joy joy joy joy joy

Down in my heart 

I've got the love of Jesus in my heart

And I'm so merry, gentlemen,

Nothing you dismay

For Christ our Saviour born 

In my heart

Comfort and joy

O tidings of comfort and joy 

On Christmas Day.

I'm so sorry if I just ruined both songs for you lol but I just got out of the shower and if you are not creating song mashups in the shower, what exactly do you do with your time in there? Pay attention to your cleaning routine? Pffft.

;) Merry Christmas, friends!

Xo.

Some of my Christmas Playlist

I love Nsync's version of this carol. Especially the line "the weary world rejoices." I once worked with a man who found God in washing dishes, because he spent his days making dirty things clean. "I get to be just like Jesus." The weary world rejoicing in Jesus is my favourite. Who isn't weary? Who doesn't want to rejoice?

This strange song got stuck in my heart the first time I heard it. The rhythm, the slow rise, the elegant fall in such a heartachey minor key - the singable oooohs - and the mysterious lyrics? I was following the pack / all swaddled in their coats / with scarves of red tied around their throats / and I'd turn round and there you'd go / and Michael you would fall / and turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime. According to Rolling Stone, it was written by Robin Pecknold about his experience of being left behind in Middle School. It's not a Christmas song but it mentions snow so I guess it's Christmassy enough for Pentatonix ... and me lol :)

I wish this song by Boney M got as much air time as Wham's Last Christmas (arguably the worst Christmas song ever ... right?). It's so danceable and fun. (They also do the irresistible Rivers of Babylon and Ra-Ra-Rasputin.)

This entire album makes me happy. I don't remember a Christmas without it. I love Kenny and Dolly.

And I love this carol mashup by Hound + Fox. It's a pretty good antidote to the gimmes - remembering that Jesus came to us by plunging straight into poverty, sharing our sorrows and hunger. He won't let me celebrate Christmas without giving to the hungry. He remembers what that feels like. (Oh, thank God. He remembers what it feels like to be us.) 

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo

Scaracles

I was talking to my parents on the phone tonight. My dad was telling me about all the cars he's fixed this week - my mom's, my sister's, and two of my nieces'. 

He had a heart attack this summer, and since the doctor placed the stent in, he's feeling better than he's felt in a very long time. 

"I gotta say - I think I endured a miracle," he said, and I laughed, because isn't that a delightful turn of phrase? 

And I knew exactly what he meant.

Growth and goodness and forward motion don't always start out looking like something joyful. Obstacles and one way streets are scary, and taxing, and scary.  When my Dad was lying in the hospital bed, I did not think he was experiencing a miracle. It was a heart attack, and knowing he'd had one left me greyer and wrinklier than before. But the care he received from the heart attack has improved and blessed his life - he's stronger, and healthier, and not taking his fitness for granted. My dad loves to work, and he's able to work hard again. Yeah - it's a miracle.

But it was a scary miracle (a scaracle?).

I know Mary thought the same thing that first Christmas.

And Joseph. 

And the shepherds.

Its why all the angels said, "fear not." Because they knew we'd be scared. 

New things, strange things, enormous things - they're scary. We don't know how they'll play out. Pregnancies, illnesses, new relationships, moving house, new jobs ... 

I'm starting a new position at work tomorrow. I'm scared. It's new. I'll have more responsibility and I'll probably make more mistakes than I'm happy with and I dislike the feeling of not knowing what I'm supposed to be doing until I found out I've done it the wrong way (which is, like, 90% of learning, so I'm in for a ride). 

But it's Christmas and I've got a soft spot in my heart for miracles at Christmas. Even ones that make my heart shake. 

Fear not.
Fear not.
Fear not.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

(my beautiful parents enjoying their precious time together.)

Inside Out

You know in the cartoon Inside Out, when Riley learns the value of sadness - 

She discovers that her sorrows provide opportunities for others to gather around her in comfort. 

I keep finding out the same thing. 

Sorrows bring comforters, like you - my friends.

Sadness brings people together, pulling the kind and caring ones out of the quiet and into our consciousness. Cynics might say Misery loves company, but I don't think it does. I think Misery wants other people to be miserable, but I think Sorrow loves company.

Inside Out is such a clever title, because we get the story from the inside out, but also - the truth of joy and sadness is inside out. Riley thought only joy was good - only joy could make her happy. But she learned the inside out truth that the warm and deep feelings of comfort, sympathy, compassion, only come when sadness is present. And those feelings are good and rich and bind us together.

I think Christmas is full of upside down and inside out truth too.

The king in the manger.

A baby in danger.

A virgin with child.

A God, meek and mild.

John 1:5 says -

The Light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness did not understand it or overpower it or appropriate it or absorb it [and is unreceptive to it].

(Amplified version).

The darkness of saying goodbye to Buzz made your comfort so bright and warm, dear friends. The heavy sorrow we carry is lightened by your kindnesses and warmth. 

Thank you for lighting candles for us in all your multiple ways.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

Xo.

TW: death of dog, grief

Buzz was put down today. We'd known it was coming for a long time - he'd been rescued from a kill shelter (where he'd been sent for aggression), then lived with a trainer for several months before we adopted him. We knew there was a risk of him reoffending, but saw no sign of it for the first few months. Then he attacked two of our kids' friends, and we started looking for a new home for him.  We found nobody. Then he started guarding me, protecting me from my own kids and Eevee, and it was too dangerous to wait any longer. But we still waited, and he grew more and more aggressive.

This week he really ramped up the guarding and lunging and we knew it was too risky to wait any longer. I spoke with the vet and we decided today would be the day.  I kept the kids home from school so we could have one last glorious truly happy day with him.

We fed him meatballs for breakfast, and Vava and Pascal and I bundled up to take him and Eevee for a walk in their favourite woods. After that, we planned go come home, get the other 2 kids, and take the dogs to the drive thru for puppaccinos, before giving Buzz his chill meds, having one final cuddle, and taking him to the vet.

The woods were so beautiful it hurt. We found a clearing and unleashed the dogs to romp. I took pictures of the kids. The dogs ran in and out of our sight, but stayed nearby.

Then Eevee came back, and Buzz didn't. He kept barking an urgent call, three short loud barks followed by a higher pitched yelp. It didn't sound like pain, exactly, but something was off. I shook the treats in vain - nothing was luring that dog away from wherever he was. 

So we braved the branches and got as close as we could, and saw that he had treed something - something biggish, and trembling - and then we saw Buzz's face.

He hadn't just treed the porcupine, he had taken a bite of it too. He looked like some sort of horror movie monster, forepaw and muzzle all a-snarl with quills.

He did not want to leave his porcupine, but when he saw us coming after him he limped in our direction. I tried to carry him but it just made him overflow with fear. So I called the vet, who told us to bring him in and they would move up his euthanasia.

He did so well, walking to the van. He didn't cry or howl, just wobbled along on three paws and occasionally stopped to paw at the quills.

We video-called Sam and Kachi so they could say goodbye, and then we drove to the vet. The kids stayed in the van with Eevee while I took Buzz in. 

I held him while he received his injections, and he laid his head in my lap while his heartbeat slowed and then stopped. His body remained, but he was gone.

I went outside and asked the kids if they wanted to say goodbye, and they did, and we brought Eevee with us too. We all trooped in and they asked me questions while Eevee walked around the room and sniffed. 

And then we went outside to discover that Pascal had been playing with the van's locks and the keys were locked inside.

The porcupine, the euthanasia, and now the locked van. We cried while we waited for the tow truck.

It was a grey and tearful afternoon.

Tonight, though, when we were going out for groceries, Vava and I ran into her teacher.

"I'm going home to light a candle on my -" he prompted.

"Menorah!" Vava filled in. And she told me about Hanukkah as we loaded the groceries into the van and drove home.

And on this sad and hard day, it was very strengthening to be reminded of the miracle of light: one day's worth of oil that burned for eight days. Hope, and comfort, and God's care. 

I needed that.

I pray for the same for my kids as we grieve. For inexplicable light in the dark, and for God's comfort in sorrow, far beyond what we expect. 

And for you, too - may his light shine in your darkness, for days and days after your own has gone out.

Happy Hanukkah, friends. 

Xo.

PS did you know Jesus celebrated Hanukkah in Jerusalem? Check out John chapter 10, verse 22.

Ollie Ollie Oxen Free

Today at school I was helping a little boy put on his shoe. I can't even remember why it happened, because we have no Ollies in our class, but I said "Ollie Ollie" and he singsonged "Oxen Free!" in reply.

And while my body was a 41 year old teacher, for a moment I was a kid running through my neighbour's yard, playing hide and seek in the dark, shivers screaming down my spine as I tried to get Home without being tagged. It will surprise zero percent of you to know I was not a fast runner, not good at evading whoever was It. Once they spotted me, I was lost. My only hope was being a good hider, and hope that whoever was It didn't come close enough to hear my asthmatic accordion breathing.  The sweet call of Ollie Ollie Oxen Free was music to my ears.

We had lots of fun and old fashioned phrases in our family, but Ollie Ollie Oxen Free wasn't one of them. That one, we learned in the neighbourhood. Whoever was It would sing it out after they'd caught everyone they could find, and everyone who was still unfound could come Home.

I googled it, and wikipedia says it may be derived from "all ye, all ye, outs in free." Everyone who's still out there gets to come home free - no tags, no loss.

I love kids games. I love how they can be complicated or simple, packed with repetition, and so arbitrary and serious.

This week our kids have had a screen break. They had too much screentime last week, and so we made them entertain themselves elsewhere this week.

This week, they've played a lot of boggle, sequence, and Monopoly. They've made posters, books, calendars, cartoons, lists. They've made snowmen and helped cook and read books and invented games and played Mastermind. Honestly, it's been awesome. They've worn out a brand new pack of markers and are having a hoot together.

I woke up one morning to hear them counting down in unison, Three, Two, One ... and then a cacophony as they each shrieked a colour. If any of them happened to yell the same colour as another player, they won.

Tomorrow, we'll have to play hide and seek so I can teach them to call Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.

Christmas is kind of that same sort of cry. All ye, all ye outs in free! Jesus came for all the outs - not for the healthy, wealthy, and wise. He came to the lame, the poor, the helpless. He came for the wheezy kid who was no good at running, and for the kid who could run but was too shy to play. He came in for all the outs. For those with no home. For those with unsavoury ancestors. For those from small towns in the middle of nowhere (He came for Smiths Falls!). 

He came to invite us all home.

Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!

xo.

In a dream

When Joseph found out Mary was pregnant and he thought she had slept with another man, the Lord sent him an angel in his dreams.

When the wise men had found Jesus, the Lord sent them home via a different route, by warning them in a dream. 

When the wise men left, an angel of the Lord warned Joseph in a dream to take Jesus and Mary to Egypt, and to wait there until he told them to come back.

While they were gone, Herod executed an evil plan to kill any baby who was born around the time of the star's appearance. When Herod died, the angel told Joseph to return to Israel.

When they got back to Israel, he was warned again, not to go to Judea but to Nazareth, and so they settled in Nazareth.

Can you imagine the excitement? The way that would make you feel about sleep? "Gonna fall asleep later; might chat with the angel of the Lord, idk." 

Joseph and Mary weren't priests, they weren't prophets, but they received and accepted the word of the Lord.

And I just love that God soaked this story with examples of himself reaching out to people directly, without the aid of a priest or system. He met them in their dreams - so personally, so intimately. Because that's what he was showing us with Jesus, with His Word made flesh and dwelling among us: this is who He is, and we do not need any other priest when we have His Son who tore the veil away and gave us all intimate, personal access to God. 

Merry Christmas, friends. 

And sweet dreams :) xo.

Someday you will

And someday you will.

All the times you've squirmed with a sense of injustice and if only -

The way you've longed for a place you've never seen -

The moments when it seems so close and just out of reach, like the real world when you're trapped in a dream and you know it's not right - if you could just wake up -

And someday you will.

Like a child on a still-dark Christmas morning, you will wake up.

And you will step hesitantly onto the landing of forever. You will listen, and pause, awash with hope and so incredibly ready for joy.

And your heart will have reached its long home.

The medium is the message

One of my singer-songwriter friends recently shared one of her new songs with us. 

It's gorgeous.

The lyrics are about looking around, and looking inward, and then looking at oneself with compassion and grace and forgiveness.

The music starts out slow, then picks up speed, and then weaves multiple tunes over and under one another - the rhythm and tune evoke the feelings of rumination, of understanding, and then illumination. 

Marshall McLuhan would have loved it. "The medium," my favourite Canadian philosopher said, "is the message."  

I love that phrase because it's so deliciously true.

The medium
is the message.

And it's not just an alliterative, cutesy phrase - it really is the way we receive information, its the way we learn and make sense and categorize things in our heads. 

The medium matters because it IS the message.

When someone yells at you, the message you're receiving is that they think you deserve to be yelled at. No matter what they're saying, you get the message.

When someone offers you a kind compliment in a joyful, warm manner, the message you receive is the warmth that they're offering. If they said something positive about you in a curt tone or snide voice, you would receive the message loud and clear that they hold you in disdain. The medium - the way they convey their message - is the message. 

And tonight when I was awash in shivers at the gorgeous confluence of music and lyrics, I was asking myself - why is this so right? Why does this touch my soul so deeply? And it was exactly that: the medium matched its message exquisitely.

And Jesus - 

He is the medium, and the message. 

God said "I am with you."

And dwelt among us. 

My heart reverberates with the joy and the beauty of it.

God with us. God with us. God with us. 

Merry Christmas, dear friends.
xo.

Straw

The envy of kings

The starriest thing

The babe that sent wise men a-wandering

The one who was odd 

Born of a woman and God

And set prophets and priestesses pondering,

They laid his sweet head

In a haphazard bed

While a star shone afresh in the night sky.

He nestled in straw

Did they sleep? Did they aww?

Did his dad stay awake to shoo fruit flies?

Was there a line of onlookers

Or some Bethlehem hookers

Bringing his spent mom a hot plate?

Did she curl up on the floor

And sleep deeply and snore?

Or did she worry, and hover, and stay up late?

The only details the story gives us are these: 

She wrapped him snugly in strips of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no lodging available for them. (Luke 2:7)

If I was writing this, there are so many more things I'd want to include. Who helped at the birth? Was Mary terrified? Did Joseph faint like the dads in those 1930s movies, or was he helpful, or nowhere nearby at all?

Bethlehem was crowded, and there were probably lots of other people who couldn't find a place to sleep too. Did they get in the way? Did they share food? Did Mary tell any of them about the angel's visit and her cousin's baby?

 

But Luke, instead, just tells us this.

He was wrapped in strips of cloth, and he was laid in a manger.

When I am grasping at straws

It shifts something in me

To remember his first sleep

Was on a bed of straw.

The one who won't break a bent reed

Bent, himself, so low

To say lo, I am with you

(I am! with you!)

Always.

With Our Real Eyes

I've been feeling cranky and harried lately, rushed and scowly and looking at the sour side of things. I mentioned it to a friend and she sympathized. "I know that feeling," she said, "when you just need more Jesus." 

Every now and then, when we're talking about Jesus, Sam will sigh. "I just wish I could be one of the people that got to see him. Not with my heart" -- he adds quickly, knowing what his predictable mama might say -- "but with my actual eyes."

And if I'm smart, I don't say anything else at all.

I don't tell him that Jesus called us blessed (those of us who believe without seeing him).

I don't tell him that having the Comforter - unbound by flesh and blood and omnipresent, always - is better.

When I'm paying attention, I don't say anything at all.

That longing, this longing, this feeling of needing and wanting more, is universal. It's not satisfied by platitudes or metaphors or substitutions -

We live in a world that teems with life and glory. Just think of the softness of a newborn puppy.  The wonder of northern lights. The crash of an angry sea against sharp rocks, the purr of a rushing tide. The scent of wild violets, the smooth tumble of lupins against your palm. The slap of a beaver tail in the water, the papery rustle of old cattails in the breeze. The joy of loving and being loved, the fireworks in your heart after shared laughter, the sheer relief of fresh air when you step out of a stuffy room ...

The world is full of wonder and delight and awe, and yet - 

We long, we ache, we pine.

When I am at my best, I let him sit with that longing, because it's beautiful. It's the longing of generations. 

It's the longing that we remember every time we mark advent: the longing of a world waiting for Jesus.

From the first sigh that spilled out in sorrow, to Zechariah's song of hope*, we have longed for our Redeemer, our rescuer. 

We long for him still. We long to see him with our real eyes.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.

* the morning light from heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. (from the book of Luke, chapter 1, verses 78&79)

A Love Note

A little girl ran up to me and crushed a paper into my hand. "Read it," she begged, covering her eyes. "It's so inappropriate!"

I unfolded the looseleaf.

I was holding a real live love note. A billet doux. Blue ink scrawled across the top half of the page, boldly unveiling the raw depths of a beautiful heart.

Its enormity was not lost on me. It was breathtakingly sweet.

"How is this inappropriate?" I asked gently.

"I'm way too young for falling in loooove," she moaned, "and he is TWO GRADES ahead of me! And - just - ew!"

I offered to deliver her definite no in person, which gave her unsettled feelings relief.

He took it well, and, understanding that a coerced consent is no consent at all, did not bother her again.

As for me, it's one of the loveliest things I've ever read. It echoes in my heart often, and I repeat it to Patrick and the kids whenever my heart overflows.

Tonight, I learned that the writer of the note died today as the result of a car crash. He leaves behind a young wife and two small children. He leaves behind siblings and parents and family and friends whose hearts are flooded with grief and longing and loss.

And he leaves behind this beautiful line -

 

Your face is the sunshine to me.

I think he might also take it with him, and speak it aloud when He sees the son of God. 

Your face is the sunshine to me.

May your hearts be full, and may your lips be bold to speak the words you've been given, on earth and in heaven. 

Merry Christmas, my friends.

Xo.

For freedom

A gazillion years ago (or probably 16), our friend Dan recommended a series of books to Patrick. He started reading them, then I joined in halfway through the second book, and together we read through the series of thirteen books.

Recently it's been made into a show, and we've been watching the second season.

In the episode we watched tonight, several characters had some enormous realizations about themselves - about who they are. One tempest-tossed character had no memories of himself, of his actions, and walked in fear of what his inner qualities might be. Does he land on the side of good or ill? Is he a bad guy, or a good guy?  And, not knowing, he is scared to act and possibly wreak evil on the world.

And in tonight's episode, when his memory is restored, he realizes he has all along been good, and he is flooded with joy and purpose. He runs. He fights. He rescues.

It reminded me of that scene in Moana, where Moana and Te Ka realize that Te Ka is not actually a monster of fire and lava, but a creature flowing with life - only, her heart had been stolen and left her aching and raging. She isn't Te Ka at all, but Te Fiti. She needed to be restored to her true self.

I grew up believing worm theology - that I was bad and evil and full of rottenness, and I needed Jesus to give me His value so that I would be valued. But I now believe that was wrong.

I read a different story in the Scriptures.

We were created good. We were created with value. We were created to create and speak and sing and laugh and tell stories and listen. 

Sin steals our true hearts. It hides our memories and makes us afraid. It leaves us tempest-tossed and purposeless.

But Jesus came to restore all things. To restore. To redeem, to set right, to set free, to remind us of who we were created to be, and who we were created to be with. To replace hearts of stone with hearts of flesh - warm and caring and beautifully human. Whole.

So writer, write.

Singer, sing.

Worshiper, worship.

Listener, listen.

Caregiver, care.

He has set us free for freedom. 

Go, walk in it.

Xo.

A Little Extra

It was a busy evening where I had multiple commitments all stacked atop one another after a full day of work, and lots of heavy feelings weighing me down. I was so hungry for some solitude and a good cry.

But my girl messaged me.

She had come home from a happy time at a friend's house, and in the first 10 minutes of being home everything had gone wrong, and her kind Papa had asked if she was okay.

"Okay?! Okay?!" she texted, "no, I am NOT okay!"

I don't always get it right. (I usually say the wrong thing that sends her upstairs to punch her pillow and scrawl furiously in her journal.) But God must have given me the right words because in a few moments she was in the driveway in my arms, and we drove out to Dairy Queen for a blizzard. Night had fallen and driving in the dark, even with a mouthful of ice cream, makes for good conversation.

When we got home, I had to get to work. Unprompted, she apologized to Papa for her storms, then pulled her chair into my room and we did our work side by side at my teensy desk.

"You are so precious to me," she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

After a while, she went off to bed and I kept working. A few minutes ago I finally submitted my article, stood up, stretched, and noticed the two chairs at my desk. 

My heart overflowed.

My evening didn't go the way I'd expected, nor even the way I'd hoped.

It went, oddly, much better. 

I always crave ease or solitude when my heart hurts. But sometimes what it needs is a little shift of focus, a little extra tenderness, and a little extra ice cream.

Sweet dreams, friends.

A post in which I sympathize with a tree because I, too, like to be naked.

There's this one tree in the park that always changes colour in August, ages before we're ready to even think about the end of summer. 

It has always made me a little mad, to be honest - stop rushing into the sadness! I would think. The long bare winter will come soon enough; let's enjoy summer and fall a little longer, a little slower. Keep those beautiful leaves another month or two.

We're only midway through September and she's already half naked. But somehow instead of making me sad, it struck me that she was enjoying this.

You know that feeling you get when you're out at some glorious event, wearing your beautiful clothes? And it's wonderful and you're enjoying yourself so much, but also at the back of your mind is the knowledge that soon you will experience the delight of kicking off your pretty (but too squeezy) shoes. You will take off that dream of a dress and draw a breath of relief.

And it struck me that this tree might love losing her leaves in exactly the same way. 

Maybe she is stripping down and shaking free and kicking away her uncomfortable shoes in a glad little dance of bliss. Maybe she's glad to shake out those leaves like I pull out hairpins and let down my hair. 

Maybe she isn't sad that winter is coming - maybe she's looking forward to the brisk wind against bare branches, with nothing at all between her and the wide blue sky.  

And by this time of course I know I'm not thinking about leaves or a tree but myself, and maybe this is what I love about getting older, why I was so happy to hit 40 last fall --

Maybe as I'm older I'm glad to be a little more myself every year, to be a little less who I think other people expect me to be and a little more true to who I am. Maybe I'm kicking off the weight of expectations gladly, and maybe I, too, want to hold up my own undecorated branches just as they are in the light of the wide blue forever. 

Maybe stripping off the colours isn't sad at all. Maybe it's bliss. Maybe it's freedom.

I Saw Something New

I saw something new tonight,

Walking home at the end of a warm ramble.

A cool rain began to fall

And from the hot asphalt

Captured in the sweep of headlights passing

A thin and lacy steam rose slow and low

Like ghosts of mushrooms from the road 

An unexpected delight 

That I have never seen before.

Maybe it was just the right angle and

Just the right temperature of road and rain or

Maybe it's always been there and

Maybe I've always had my eyes closed

Dizzily inhaling petrichor,

But I would just like to write it down 

Against the times I am feeling like existence has grown stale,

And all its riches have worn thin, wrung out and been hung up to dry -

Right here on this street

With rain tunneling through my thick hair to kiss my head

With a wet dog panting and reeking beside me

With forty years streaming out behind me like a wrinkled cape 

With these same old eyes

I saw something new.

Telecommunion on a Monday evening

I felt a weariness, a slowness, 

A weakness in the spine

I cast about for strength 

(I had misplaced all of mine)

And you rang on the phone

And you talked to me of rest

Of hindsight-growth and forward-hoping

He always (always?) gives the best

(Even though it sometimes feels

Like His best is very strange,

Like five exams at once

-But on the fifth, a stronger range -)

It wasn't what you said, but rather

That you talked to me of Him -

And your words were like a breath of air

When the oxygen's grown thin.

And you didn't know I needed

You: 

Your words, your heart, your time

And to hear my heartbeat echoed back

From your end of the line.

Good Shepherd, Shepherd Me

When I care for my own comforts first and most

And quench the neighbourly 

Holy Ghost

Good Shepherd, shepherd me.

When I can't eat a gnat, but swallow a camel

In determined

Gullibility

Good Shepherd, shepherd me.

When I painstakingly tithe each leaf of mint

But hold the poor in 

Haughty contempt

Good Shepherd, shepherd me.

When my faith makes neither molehill

Nor mountain

Tilt into the sea

Good Shepherd, shepherd me.

When cavernous silence is the cry of my heart

And I can't even speak, or know 

Where to start

Good Shepherd, shepherd me.

Luna

We all try to capture her

At some point or another -

With lasso or paintbrush

Or ladder or camera or pen.

She rises silent and enormous

(A ghostly galleon 

Only if you have no idea what a galleon looks like.

Though sometimes clouds look like galleons, with great sails unfurled against a starry sky,

And she sits like an orb on the prow);

A lamp, slowly held aloft

By invisible and kindly giants;

A smaller, cooler, second sun;

One solemn, unblinking eye.

She arcs over us unnoticed

Haunts the day-sky pale

And bounds unremarkably from east to west

Folding and unfolding

Like pages of the calendar.

Until, laden with strawberries or wolves or blood or harvest,

She looms, full, into view,

And we stand slack

Heartstruck by her magnificence.

Jevver see such a moon?

-Never, we reply, gathering our weak snares.

And they fail, they fail, they have always failed

But, darn it, we're going to try.

In two weeks when she is laughable

- A lopsided grin, a skinny banana, a toenail -

We won't even notice her tucked in the corner of the sky. 

But tonight we linger over fence posts

Peer through branches

Race down the street to the end, for a better view

To hold her, to keep her, to make her stay. 

We all try to capture her,

At some point or another.

Hope hurts

Sitting here in the quiet morning sunshine, and my heart feels at peace. 

Not everything is set right, not everything is flawlessly lovely, but enough things are good that I can have hope again. 

Enough things are good that my heart can dare to entertain ideas of sheer goodness and gladness.

I couldn't before. I couldn't bear the weight of the possibility of joy, last year. It hurt my heart to reach that far. Our contractor had left our house ruined, but more than that, he had punched me right in the bright hope, right in the joy, and left it shattered.

I didn't realize how healing it would be, to move away from the space where that happened, and set our hearts free to remember that good things can happen and good dreams can come true.

It was a hard and humbling lesson, but a good one, I think, for a christian to learn. Sometimes hope is out of reach. Sometimes there is no strength to even lift my eyes to the hills. 

I can believe that God intends good toward me and at the same time, be utterly unable to feel it, let alone rest in it. Despair isn't a matter of not having the will or desire to see the goodness of God in the land of the living. 

I hadn't felt that for so long before. I didn't know it could last and last and leave me flat for weeks and months and years. I didn't know.

I didn't know it could be painful to hope.

If your loved ones are unable to reach out and take hold of hope, it is not because they don't want to. It isn't necessarily because their hearts are stubborn or hard. 

It just might be because hope can hurt too much.

(I read this verse this morning and my heart sang with the joy of hope. I was able to bear the weight of it again, the weight of yearning for things to be that good and true -

Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise. You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy! For your dew is a dew of light, and the earth will give birth to the dead.

Isaiah 26:19 ESV

And it felt so nice to hold it in my heart. ❤️)

A Lovestorm

Mom and Dad and Laurie have been working hard to make Vava's fairytale bedroom dreams come true.
She just came to me crying.
"I love it so much. I don't know how to thank them enough."
I feel the same.
Dad built us a fence, cut down dangerous branches, fixed a wonderful recycling bin in place under my sink, brought up this bed (and painted it) and repaired our bikes.

Mom baked bagels, cookies, and muffins, made lunches, cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, transplanted all the beautiful plants that were growing in Eevee's enclosure, and planted my herb garden.

Laurie played with the kids, took them biking and shopping, created art, and helped Vava beautify her room.

I feel like we've been showered in a lovestorm.

I don't know how to thank them enough.

To those kids in last place ...

I got to attend the kids' Track and Field day today. It was amazing and so much fun. Sam surprised everyone by being an absolute powerhouse runner. He used to hide his athletic ability because he didn't like being watched - this is one kid who does not enjoy being the centre of attention. But the boy can run.

But the kids who touched my heart the most were the kids coming in dead last. Why didn't they give up? Once they realized they were truly last, why didn't they just sit down on the grass and catch their breath? But they didn't.

Heat after heat, they persisted - making their way to the finish line long after the first runners had arrived.

I think they probably gained the most valuable exercise today. Fast runners have a golden gift that everyone cheers for. But the slowest kids? The practice of persisting works out a muscle that they'll use their whole lives long.

Persistence is power. 

To the slowest kids: I'm so proud of you.

Already Loved

I saw a rabbit on the road.

Dead;

Flattened against the asphalt 

With only

Two fuzzy ears

Perked straight up

As if, in his final moment,

He threw all of his might earward

Straining for one last word from God.

I, too, listen with all my might

And in the end

When I am dust

Perhaps my words will be left

Poking up for all the world like two ears

Listening and listening still 

For one more word from God.

(It will be what it always is:

You are already loved, already loved, already loved.)

Good Morning

I woke up.

I reached up to heaven.

God said good morning.

And I tumbled out of bed into his hammock

Into his arms

Into the eternal assurance 

That I am already loved.

How do words stick?

Stentorian: here's a thing I know

(When a voice is big and booming) So

How came I by this knowledge? Show 

Me where and when it came to grow.

Was it in a book I read and read

Until the phrase grooved in my head

And though I'd never heard it said

Or looked it up, it stayed. Or did

It filter in from magazines

A Reader's Digest, or Seventeen,

Or from the paper, smudging ink,

Or a cut-out pinned by the kitchen sink?

Words on words erumpent burst

From screens and passersby; at first

They flow and fill some inner thirst

And lie, dormant, for better or worse

Until circumstance calls one word 

The setting right, it must be heard

Vocabulary blooming, thick and fast

With words that stay, and stick, and last.

Something Just Like This

This morning, Pascal woke me up. I scooted over so he could crawl into our warm bed for a cuddle. "Snuggles with my precious mama!" he whispered in delight, "this is the best!"

When I came downstairs, Kachi called me over to tell me his dreams from last night. "Sometimes I know I'm dreaming because my brain is big enough to have the dream and know it too."

Sam interrupted then, eager to show me a funny reel he thought I'd laugh at, because his joys are always bigger when he sees them reflected in someone else's eyes.

As Vava came downstairs, she called out, "Janelle Labelle! I love you!"

Then Patrick came downstairs, ready to leave for work, but took a few minutes to smooch and hold me first.

And then I put on my headphones asked the internet for music while I made the kids breakfast, and this song came on:

Something Just Like This (click for a listen if you haven't heard it yet)

It couldn't have been more perfect.

I struggle with depression and often miss the deep goodness blooming wildly all around me. I know I am so lucky, and so loved, and I thank God for these goons every day. But some days the fog of constant demand is thick on my heart and I just can't feel it. 

Today I felt it.

Wishing you a free and fogless Wednesday with your eyes wide open to the love, dear friends.

Xo.

A Mostly-Silly Psalm

I wonder if

-when in possession of a tongue

That sings a glory note 

Upon tasting a nacho chip

Tangy with lime and cilantro-

Might it be a sin

To diet?

Maybe you feel God's pleasure when you run

And I feel His pleasure when

Butter meets fresh bread

And melts into alleluia.

Taste and see

Oh taste! Oh see!

That the Lord is good.

a soft ode to the snooze button

The long night's silence breaks with your alarm,

And the shifting of sky from black to navy

Lightens the edges of furniture in our room.

Today, we are tired.

We will take turns pressing snooze for another hour

Folded together like two pages of a love letter

Drifting in and out of mailboxes and carrier bags

Dreams and dreams opening up without

End or beginning.

I feel lucky

 Today was a busy day at school. On one of my trips whizzing through the hallways I glanced up and saw the kindergartners' St. Patrick's Day art on the walls. 

Each student had coloured in a poster with a shamrock in the centre, and the title read "I feel lucky!" The students had finished the sentences themselves.

"I feel lucky ... when my dad plays with me!"

"I feel lucky ... because I have food!"

"I feel lucky ... because I get hugs!"

"I feel lucky ... to have friends!"

"I feel lucky ... whenever I see my mom!"

And I had to stop reading because I was on my way back to class and did not want to arrive with a face full of tears. 

But my heart was split wide open.

And when I was zooming past that bulletin board, all the moms from the kinder class flashed through my head. Moms who seem to have it all together, and moms who seem a little more like me. Thin moms and fat moms, moms with chronic illnesses, addictions. Moms who roll up to the door in their pyjamas, still zipping up lunchbags. Moms with messy cars, moms with creaky strollers, moms with wagons, moms in boots. None of them are on the covers of magazines, none of them would make you look twice.

The kid who wrote "whenever I see my mom" isn't glad because their mom is perfect, flawless, radiant. They're glad because they love her. And they love their dad, and their friends, and food.

They count themselves lucky because they have eyes open to see their well-loved, delicious, ordinary luckynesses. 

Tonight I looked around. 

Yeah. I feel lucky too.

Erumpent

This morning, I learned that cattails have a gel inside them like aloe, and that their fluff was once used to prevent diaper rash, and that they can be turned into flour. Scraggly, ditchy cattails! I'd had no idea.

After work this afternoon I took Eevee for a walk. The sun was shining on snow, and the morning's sharp wind had died down. We were walking along a snow-covered pathway when she suddenly pounced, and nuzzled her long snout into a snow bank, then poked out one of her long paws and produced a mitten from deep down. She shook it back and forth, and then, distracted from her treasure by a chipmunk, pelted off down the path again.

Pigeons caught her attention next, swooping low over the water and flapping their wings loudly. Then a poodle on the far side of the river, and then the absolute delight of a freshly thawed and trickling stream. I wouldn't let her bound in, and after a while she let me draw her further up the path. She pawed at some old cattail husks, which sprang free of the snow and then lifted away altogether to reveal a strong and bright spring-green shoot. The yellowed stalk, papery and crumpled, had been hiding and protecting all that fresh, irresistible life.

It's minus sixteen with the windchill, and yet even here, hidden within the shell of last year's cattails, tender and strong plants are growing.

And in my heart an Easter spirit whispers, "life stepping out of death - fingerprint of God!"

And in my mind I'm listening again to an old podcast and hear Susie Dent explain erumpent (bursting forth, burgeoning with life).

The bright green stalk lies brilliantly against the snow.

And in my head Jeff Goldblum twinkles handsomely, "life, uh, finds a way."

A storm is coming tonight and I don't care. Winter might roar and shake his mane, but I saw spring today, and the ground is erumpent.

(Yes, I know silver doesn't turn into gold)

Gold

Sometimes when I see you bringing someone through the fire
Like, I mean really giving it to them -
Burdens and exhaustion and a really hard road
Without a single wheelbarrow in sight

I cry out
Dear Lord please stop their suffering --

And you say
No; I'm bringing them forth as gold.

And I ask
Can't they just be silver, God? Silver's nice. 

And you just keep working.
And you keep saying -
Gold.

And they grow rich and deep, warm and kind
Ready to listen, and quick to have compassion,
Slow to judge.

And they are beautiful.

Gold.

***

I was thinking about my friend Andrew tonight. He really went through the fire of suffering in the last few years of his life. It was amazing to watch him transform from an ordinary guy into a tender, compassionate man. I know he wasn't perfect - but I was so moved by the beautiful man he became as he carried the heavy burdens God put into his life. 

From the book of Job, chapter 23, verse 10 - [God] knows where I am going. And when he tests me, I will come out as pure as gold.

Inextricable

You know how it's impossible to slip out of the world without hurting those around you

Because our heartbeats and sinews are intertwined

Not just near each other

But part of each other?

And that means it hurts - it hurts so much - to lose a loved one, a dear one

Even just adjacent ones.

But it also means

We have purpose: staying:

Not wounding our loved ones,

Letting life flow through us-

Heart to vein to cell we are not

Isolated, we are not

Extricable.

We cannot step sideways into the sweet hereafter 

Without a tearing

We are flesh and blood

(Not only to our flesh and blood)

Our leaving 

Creates a wound

Our staying 

Prevents.

There is purpose in it, even when it feels empty.

There is value in it, even when a broken heart lies.

There is goodness in it, and love, and kindness

Just in staying

Just in not leaving

Just in existing

To prevent the wound.

Bone and flesh

We are each others'

Inextricably.

Stay.

On Pressing Snooze (or, Why I am Late)

There's a particular stage of tired

Where the alarm fails to rouse

But rather soothes like a lullaby

And the phone's dim vibrations against the mattress

Rock you back to sleep,

Back to sleep,

Back to sleep.

Like Plants

I'm sitting here scrolling through socials, oblivious to the world around me.

My leg is stretched out to Patrick, who is rubbing it.

Not because it's hurt (it's not) 

Not because I asked (I didn't)

Aimlessly, just because it's there and he loves me.

And it just struck me so 

How much we're like plants, stretching toward the sun

Arching toward love

Unconsciously turning our faces

Toward love, toward love, toward love.