Especially at Christmas

Today I made such a rookie mistake. 

It was as if I thought I had no children, and had never gone shopping before.

At 430 this afternoon, I "popped into the grocery store" to "pick up a few things" before getting Patrick from work at 5.

Riiiight.

Ten days before Christmas with a cart full of kids.

It was a madhouse. It actually took us 20 minutes to weave our way around the carts and displays to grab the four  essentials on our list (and a few things we bumped into and couldn't pass up). 

Then the lineups to pay were enormous.

And Sam was beyond tired.

And after finally wrestling everything back into the cart, we were walking out at 5:05 (I'm sorry darling!) straight into a maelstrom of rushing and bad manners.

The woman in front of us drove her cart into the back of an old lady who was walking with a walker. She rolled her eyes as the old lady's husband stopped to help her, blocking the exit.

I was appalled, and wanted to stop to help, when I noticed Sam shrieking "Mama mama mama I want money!" He loves to donate to the Salvation Army Christmas kettle, but this time, as I explained to him, I didn't have any cash.

Instead of walking past and saying Merry Christmas, Sam ran up to the kettle staffer and put up his hand like a stop sign. "We don't have any money," he yelled, shaking his head, "Mama has no money left!"

I managed to get Sam out of the baffled volunteer's face and out of the store while someone else tended to the older couple ... and I had to bite my tongue as we went by cart-bully lady.

I was frazzled, angry, embarrassed, and late.

I packed the groceries and kids into the truck with more speed than grace, and proceeded to rant at every careless driver from intercity to the south end.

And God knocked on my heart and reminded me that it's Christmas.

Oh yes, I agreed, and you'd think that people would spread a little kindness and good cheer! You'd think they'd show some grace and patience at this time of year especially!

Yes, he agreed, especially those who love the manger, with its gift of outrageous mercy, of unfathomable grace.

Oh.

Yes.

Quite.

You'd think I would.

I'd been the clangiest of cymbals. The emptiest rage. My heart was jostled and ugliness spilled out. Self-righteousness, self-preservation, and selfishness were pumping out full-blast.

The manger matters. The selflessness, the extraordinary lengths to which Love went for me needs to affect my response in a late - afternoon mob. The fact that I am loved all the way from heaven to earth needs to set my feet in a quiet place of gratitude, so that when I see cruelty or thoughtlessness I can choose to give the benefit of the doubt. God's infinite care for us must remind me that I am free to care for others, to be considerate, gentle, even when I'm cut off or trapped behind slowness. It must matter in the ugliness of rush hour if it matters at all.

Especially at Christmas.
Especially to those who love the God who came into this world as a helpless baby.
Especially to road-ragey late mamas like me.
Especially at Christmas.

I'm glad it's not over yet. :)

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

The Thing with Feathers

I've always loved birds in a Christmas tree.

Our first ornament as a couple was a bird that a friend made - turquoise and red, with a long plume of a tail and a pert little beak.  It seemed springish and hopeful and just right for our tree.

It's rather the worse for wear. The kids love it, and in spite of their efforts to be gentle, its tail is frayed and its beak is plain gone.

Tonight I bought six new birds to join it.  There were lots of different ones to choose from - hanging feathered silhouettes, plump purple ones with feet that cling and claw around the branch - but I finally settled on small sparkly nestlers that almost hide in the tree.

I don't really know why I love Christmas birds - it certainly doesn't come from a love of partridge, in or out of a pear tree, nor any number of french hens - but I always get a sense of lightness and hope when I see birds.

I probably owe that to Emily Dickinson: hope is the thing with feathers - that perches in the soul ...

And Christmas is a time of hope beyond reason.  Christmas movies, Christmas miracles, Christmas romances ... all testify to the fact that our weary hearts hope, and hope, persist in hope.  Who can look at that God-filled manger, and not feel a swell of hope?  We are part of a bigger story. We are not all there is. Our hearts beat like determined wings.

In hope.

I pray this Christmas finds you with an inexplicable thing-with-feathers perched in your soul. I pray that the weight of winter might be displaced with a dart of bright-winged hope.  I pray for the wild sweetness of spring, winging its way to your heart.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

God Rest Ye Merry

This evening we went out for supper.
As a family.
Of five.
To the house of a family from church. (Feel the pressure mounting?  We don't take our human tornadoes out much yet ;) )

They greeted us with boxes of the best-loved toys. They laughed at Kachi's table-drumming during dinner. And they only laughed more when Vava literally held her nose because she didn't want to smell the luscious lasagne. (!!!!)

And then their grown daughters took our kids downstairs so we could enjoy dessert and a chat in peace.

It was like a vacation.
It was wonderful.
It was kindness with skin on.

Now, it's just a hunch, but I'm betting they don't greet every guest with an introduction to their favourite old toys. I imagine they don't usually bring out highchairs and bright plastic cups.  I am pretty confident that they put thought into meeting our specific needs and carefully planned for our family's pleasure.

They didn't welcome us into their home so we could worry about serving them. They welcomed and served us in love: giving us joy brought gladness to their own hearts.

I love that we have a God who delights to welcome us, serve us, and plans ahead for our pleasure. 

He didn't send Jesus as a king for us to pamper and spoil.  He didn't send Jesus as a conqueror to terrorize and defeat us. No ... He sent Him low, to serve us in love.

We needed a Saviour.
A humble Saviour, full of compassion and welcome.
And being welcomed, though undeserving, we too have the privilege to welcome others.  To plan for their pleasure. To serve them in love, for the joy of it.

His hospitable heart shines bright in the faces of his children.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Come, Jesus

Our little Vava got sick tonight.

I was out when Patrick texted me she was sick, and on my way home, my heart repeated one of her own tiny urgent prayers. 

"Come, Jesus! Help, Jesus!"

The cry of every longing heart.

This beautiful carol says it best.

And the answer: he did come, and when he left, he sent the Comforter.

We are so blessed.  When we suffer, it is not without hope.  When we cry out, we are heard.  When we weep, we are not alone.  Whatever sorrow we endure, it will accomplish his purpose and it will end.

Because God is with us.
(God! With us! Rejoice -- rejoice!)

However you are suffering, however you cry out, I pray for  His comfort in your heart.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Dear Refugees

Dear Refugees:

I love seeing the pictures of you arriving. Some of you are carrying more,  some carrying less. You are all carrying in yourselves your own stock of talents and failures, shocks and sorrows, and countless astonishing stories.  You are finally here, and the sight of you is beautiful.

I am so grateful that our nation is doing for you what I'd pray it would do for me, if our situations were reversed. 

When I first heard about your treacherous journeys, I wept. My small son asked why I was crying, and I explained as simply as I could that bad guys chased you away, and now you had no safe home. He cried and said you should come here, that he wanted to share his house with you. He has remembered to pray for you, unprompted, almost every day since (he prays for you, for parents who don't have children, and for ducks).  I told him that some of you arrived today and he wants to go meet you. As soon as some of you trickle north, we'll find you and bring you warm presents.

Because ... well, want to apologize, Canadian - style, for the very cold cold.  I'm so sorry that you are arriving in winter. I hope you are given warm clothes and blankets and soup from now til May. 
But while I'm sorry you're arriving in winter, I'm so very glad you are coming at Christmas time.  My favourite Christmas Story is the one of a Middle Eastern family seeking refuge.

I pray the faces you meet are wreathed with welcoming smiles. I pray the hands that stretch toward you are filled with helpful gifts. And I pray that you find peace, at Christmas time and all year long.

Merry Christmas, friends.
God bless you.
Xo.

The Jesus Story

At bedtime tonight, Sam had a meltdown.  He'd had a full day, with his Christmas concert, a friend over, and a trip to the store on top of his everyday busyness. 

After a good snack and some one-on-one time reading with Patrick, Sam wanted one more story.

"I want the Jesus story!" he shrieked, then burst into loud, unreasonable sobs. When he finally came tearfully into their room, Vava hopped out of bed and ran to comfort him. He pushed her down.  "Leave me alone," he snarled, then demanded of Patrick again, "read me the Jesus story!"

Patrick turned down Sam's bed, and said quietly, "you already had a story,  and what you just did was not okay. You don't deserve the Jesus story."

And then we laughed - and let Sam have the Jesus story after all. Because ... none of us deserve the Jesus story, but we get it.

None of us deserve a God who would choose to identify Himself with the poor, weak, and helpless ... but He came, babe in the manger, for us.  None of us deserve a gospel of forgiveness, while He met justice on our behalf.

That Jesus story?
We don't deserve it.
But we get it anyway.

Joy to the world, friends!
Xo.

First Star I See Tonight

I have a confession to make.

I got so tired of reading and rereading Kachi's favourite book to him that I hid it. (Not to be mean or deprive him, but to allow myself a chance to enjoy it with him again sometime.)

And the good thing?  He brought me a new book on repeat today - a Christmas book :).

I love that God is an author, that Jesus is the Word, that the Holy Spirit breathed the scriptures through human scribes.  I love all the nerdy images and repetition and stories within stories. And I was struck afresh today by the rightness, the layers, the beauty, of the star imagery. 

In the beginning, He spoke the stars into fiery existence. 
At His birth, they testified of His deity.

A star led the wise men to Jesus.
(The light always leads to Jesus.)

The star, of course, shone bright in day and night, but it was only possible to see it in the dark.
Jesus' presence with us doesn't change ... but oh, how gladly we cling to His promised presence when darkness falls!

That star - that special star - was a radiant announcement of His life.

I saw a special star today, actually.  My heart-sister's Grandmother passed away today, and Facebook lit up like the night sky with stories and photos and memories of her. I've never met her, but I can see how beautiful and joyful and ready to laugh she was. Stars may or may not have announced her birth, but bright memories spark like fireworks in her passing.

And stars guide us home.
Home.
Where we are loved and valued and welcomed and held tight in God's arms.

Whether we're ancient wise men or modern wise women or just tired mamas longing to be wise ...

that star will guide us home.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Fake Trees and the Incarnation

I love the scent and uneven shape of a real Christmas tree.  We always had real trees when I was growing up - no plastic pretenders for us!

My one true love, on the other hand, has no sentimental attachment to a real tree. He dislikes the inevitable sap in our car, disposing of the tree come January, and finding needles in the house til summertime.

But he knows I love it, so he gives in.  Our first few years in our house, we bought real trees. Oh, the gorgeous, fresh, natural smells!

Last year he sent me out on tree duty and told me to bring home whatever one I wanted.  In a rare moment of holiday selflessness, I came home with a fake tree -- pre-lit and slim, perfect for its little corner.

Because when Patrick told me to get whatever I wanted, I saw that I could get a real tree and make only me happy ... or I could get a fake tree, and make him happy ... which, in turn, makes me a whole lot happier than the scent of fresh fir.

It's just a silly little tree, but it kind of reminds me of what Jesus did: why He came and why we even celebrate Christmas at all.

He left His perfect holy beautiful heaven, and came here, to be wrapped up in ordinary flesh; poor and lowly and mocked and crucified.  Not because the incarnation made Him happy ... but because it purchased our salvation and brings us as adopted children into the loving arms of our Father. And He considered the sacrifice worthwhile.  Coming here, to rescue us, made Him happy.

Merriest of Christmases, friends!
Jesus came for us. ♡
Xo.

Stretching my Grinch-Heart

Sam has the biggest heart.

One of his little friends often shows up at mealtime, and Sam's first reaction is always, "can he eat with us, mama?"

And you know what?  I don't always feel like saying yes. I miss Sam, now that so many of his waking hours are spent at school. My favourite evenings are homey ones with just the five of us, being cozy and usually silly, playing on the living room floor. I want to soak up Sam as much as I can because he is growing so quickly. Frankly, I'd rather not share. So I want to say no.

But more than that, I want Sam to be generous. I want to foster his welcoming spirit. I want to create space for him to be friendly and kind and inclusive.  So I say yes, and set another place at the table, and help his friend take off his coat.

I think Christmas traditions do the same thing for me. They train my actions, regardless of my mood or short-term perspective, and they stretch out my Grinchy preset.

The traditions of decorating a tree, stringing up lights, listening to Christmas music make me inclined to celebrate with friends and neighbours, even when my heart is tired and a (discouragingly large) part of me just wants to nap, and sleep, and nap some more. 

The tradition of giving to those in less fortunate circumstances makes me remember the needy, and adjusts my eyesight to see all the blessed ways I can give all year long.

The tradition of singing Christmas carols pulls my thoughts out of my own life and sends my mind flying back to that starry night in Bethlehem, that enormous gift, that great Father-heart bursting with love for us.

I don't always feel like my thoughts are scintillating or new, but my own little Christmas tradition is to write a Christmas post daily from the 1st to the 24th of December. And maybe it's just another dumb post for people to scroll past and that's totally okay.  Because this is a tradition that trains my heart's eye away from its self-centered focus and upward to catch a glimpse of God's irresistible love.

The next time Sam asks to include his friend at supper time, I'm probably going to have the same argument in my heart: "Unnngh ... no ... but ... okay ... of course, yes."  And tomorrow night I'm going to sit down in front of my screen and think, "unngh ... this is lame ... I don't have anything new to say ... I should just delete my blog and link to Ann Voskamp instead ...." 

And then I'm going to keep writing anyway.

Because I want that glimpse, I want to stretch beyond myself, I want a heart that answers yes, a heart in the habit of loving.

Merry Christmas, friends.
Xo.

Apply to Skinned Knees, Etc.

Tonight we took the kids for groceries.

I think this was the first time Kachi rode in the cart alone - at Superstore, the carts have double seats, so he always has a buddy.  But both Sam and Vava have decided they are big enough to walk, and they enjoyed the freedom and chance to move a bit more.

As we left the store, Kachi was riding in the cart, Sam was pushing, and Vava was pulling.  (I bet you can see where this is going.)  Suddenly, Vava tripped, skinning her knee, and the cart ran right over her foot.  I scooped her up as she wailed, and tried to distract her.

"Look at the big black sky!" I pointed, "Look at the stars!"
She howled louder and pressed her face against my shoulder. "It's scary," she sobbed, "I don't like that big dark!"
"But do you know who made it?" I asked, "And who made the stars?"
"Jesus," she cried, reaching up, forgetting her injuries, "I want Him to come to me!"

And that's just it, isn't it - the whole gorgeous truth, the amazing story of Christmas - Emmanuel, God with us.  Jesus came to us.  So I told her that He really came, He was actually here, under the big dark sky He made, far away from the song of the stars.  He came to us, and He came to take us home with Him.

And when we're sad, or lonely, or scared, or crying in a parking lot with a skinned knee, that message is exactly what we need, exactly what settles the ache, exactly what gives us hope.

He came.
To us.
For us.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Christmas Present

Today, one of my very gifted friends hosted a fabulous ladies' brunch. From creamsicle punch to crispy bacon, beautiful decorations to sparkly napkins, everything was perfect.

It was such a happy morning - no kids, just beauty and yumminess and laughs.  Every single minute we enjoyed the results of her labour of love. She thought of all the ways to provide comfort and joy to her friends - the Christmasiest of kindnesses.

Another friend who was there had just hosted a neighbourhood Christmas party last night. She was all aglow as she talked about meeting her neighbours and having them in her home.

It's sweet and good, being on either side of the invitation. God's hospitable heart calls us to love ... and be loved.  To serve and be served. To labour and rest.  To give and receive. 

Wishing you His deepest joy this Christmas, dear friends!

Something Really Important

We were chatting, just about to start supper, when Vava scowled at us and said, "shh!  I've got something Really Important to say to Jesus!"

Then she focused herself - closing her eyes and opening them toward the sky, little arms aloft.

"Dear Jesus," she sighed, sinking into the moment as if she'd been waiting to say this all day, "I just love you so much."

It's my favourite prayer.

It's the minor key, the harmony to heaven's Christmas melody, when God stretched His arms down and sent His Son to us, for us, saying, "Dear World, I just love you so much."

Merry Christmas, friends!