On Spelling, and Loving (Advent Day 18)

Pascal is really into reading out all the letters we come across lately.  We meet a stop sign at every intersection, so he's suuuuuuper familiar with those ones ... but because his name starts with P, it's his favourite letter, and he's adamant that every stop sign is actually proclaiming POTS.

'P - O - T - S!' he reads, and then again at the next street, 'P - O - T - S!'

When he's happy that the kids are coming home, he spells out their names.
'S - A - M! V - A - V - A! K - A - C - H - I!'

And thanks to a brother who finds bathroom words hilarious, he can also spell butt.

When he's cranky or upset, he usually turns to that one. These days we go to more stores than usual ... if we're shopping and he wants to buy a toy and I've said no, out it comes: 'B - U - T - T!'

I tried to replace it by teaching him a new word.  A few weeks ago I said "can you spell love? L - O - V - E." And I spelled it for him a few times. He wasn't interested.

Today we were walking home from the bus stop and he was sad the kids had all gone to school. 'B - U - T - T,' he sulked.

"What about L - O - V - E?" I spelled.  I didn't expect him to remember, but I thought it might distract him from his bad habit.

'No,' he refused, shaking his head, 'I don't know how to spell love.'

Ha!

But I knew exactly how he felt.
Sometimes I'm cranky and I want the signs to spell my name and I spit the worst words out of my mouth. I straight up act like I don't know how to spell love.
But I do.
And if I am ever tempted to forget, I'm reminded every Christmas. 

Stores are filled with shoppers looking for just the right way to bring joy to someone else's heart.
Groups and organizations host dinners, pack hampers, stuff closets full of clothes.
Thoughtfulness and generosity are foremost, and it is so deliciously beautiful.
Every part of it sings, shouts, and whispers about the heart of our Saviour.

Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.
-Hamilton Wright Mabie
Amen and amen.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo

Connecting (Advent Day 17)

When I was a kid, the most content I ever felt was when we were driving, all seven of us together in the car, and my Mom and Dad were singing.  Sometimes when we drove they chatted with all of us, which was nice; sometimes they argued, which was not so nice; but when they sang - when they sang on the road I felt that sweet combination of freedom and security which is like nothing else in the world. 

Now that I'm an adult, my best feeling is still inspired by the same things - being close to, and being at peace with my loves. Deep in a conversation with my sisters. Snuggled up with my kids when I know their hearts are filled and at rest.  Cooking with Patrick, listening to a podcast and pausing it to talk it over and sparking ideas left and right and just filling right up -

When I know and feel and experience that I'm not alone.

We're made that way. We need connection, 

I love that when God sent us a Saviour, He sent us ... Himself.

He didn't send us a treasure map to decode or a list of heroic tasks to complete (both of which would have been cool, let's be honest). He sent us a person. Our shelter, our joy, our exhilaration, our strength ... it's all found in His presence.

May your Christmas be filled with those best moments, those holy and true and joyful moments when you connect with those you love - and with the One who loves you best.

xo.

His Love Endu - Well That Took A Weird Turn (Advent Day 16)

When I lived in Zambia, one of the things I loved so much was the call-and-answer style of singing. Someone would sing out a line, and the whole congregation would sing the response in a thunder of harmonies. There's nothing quite like it.
It's so beautiful.

Psalm 136 sounds like a call and answer song to me.  The whole psalm follows that pattern - a declaration of who God is / what He has done, and the refrain His love endures forever.

 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the God of gods.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords:
His love endures forever.

And after reading that line twenty six times, my heart is ready to repeat His love endures forever.

I love that that's the refrain He wants us to carry.  I think so many of us expect it to be something else. I find myself so often working with the merciless daily refrain of:
be perfect, be perfect, be perfect
or its regretful sister:
you weren't good enough, you weren't good enough.


But that is not the heartbeat He offers.  It's this:

To him who alone does great wonders,
His love endures forever.
Who by his understanding made the heavens,
His love endures forever.
Who spread out the earth upon the waters,
His love endures forever.

Each time the refrain echoes, it's like a something wraps firmer, sturdier, stronger around my weaknesses.  The affirmation of God's eternal, enduring love is pounded out here over and over and over again, like the snare in a Scottish pipe band, the techno beat on your running mix, a dragon boat drummer guiding the rowers.

That echo, that beat, gets in and drives.

He remembered us in our low estate
His love endures forever
and freed us from our enemies.
His love endures forever.

The other night we were driving home in the dark. Our kids are not used to being out at night, and Pascal was scared.  So I reminded him of the comfort that my mother used to share with me: 
"God is holding us, baby."  
'God is holding us?'
"Yes."
'God is holding me?'
"Yes."
'God is holding you?'
"Yes."

The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Mary and Joseph held their baby that first Christmas night, but His everlasting arms were holding them.
And He holds us still; His love endures forever.

So as I was sitting here writing this in my quiet house, full of my soundly sleeping family, an alarm went off.

But it wasn't any of our alarms.
And my super panicked freaked out brain remembered that people down the street woke up with an intruder in their house last week
And all I could think was they're in our house and it's their alarm
And my senses got all fuzzy and started to hide
And I couldn't think straight, or even listen straight
Because I was so afraid.
It was, I eventually discovered, a toy with a dying battery.
And now I am sitting here with my heart pounding, laughing at myself,
 
But I still mean it.  His love does endure forever.  And I'm going to go back, and put God's refrain in that story and see what happens:

As I was sitting here writing this in my quiet house, full of my soundly sleeping family, an alarm went off.
His love endures forever.
But it wasn't any of our alarms.
His love endures forever.
And my super panicked freaked out brain remembered that people down the street woke up with an intruder in their house last week
His love endures forever.
And all I could think was they're in our house and it's their alarmHis love endures forever.
And my senses got all fuzzy and started to hide His love endures forever.
And I couldn't think straight, or even listen straight
His love endures forever.
Because I was so afraid.His love endures forever.
It was, I eventually discovered, a toy with a dying battery.His love endures forever.
And now I am sitting here with my heart pounding, laughing at myselfHis love endures forever.
For quiet nights or frightful nights, it's a good echo to in the heart. Sleep well, friends. His love endures forever.
xo.

Stand by Night (advent day 15)

Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, who stand by night in the house of the Lord!

Psalm 134:1

It's been a few years since I was up feeding a baby in the night, but every time I read this verse it takes me back to the sleepy, largely unwelcome moments when I was.

Nobody likes getting up in the night. Especially with a ravaged body and an energetic toddler or two eager to greet the dawn. But I also knew it was important and holy work: standing guard against hunger, neglect, loneliness. Building into my kids the ability to trust and love in the future. Showing them again and again that they are loved and cared for.

I love imagining the servants of the Lord, standing in the temple at velvet midnight, torches ablaze.  There was no light pollution to compete with. The temple light would have gleamed for miles.

The shepherds, too, were serving at night, keeping watch over their own flocks. And when the angels announced the birth of the Saviour, they blazed and sang "Fear not! There is born to you a Saviour!"

I think a lot of you stand by night in the service of the Lord. Watching over your own particular flock of heartache. Caring for your children. Weeping over a hidden sorrow. Praying for restoration, redemption.  I know what that's like. The world sleeps, but your light is on. It might be unseen by those sleeping around you, but it is not wasted. Your wakeful work is kindled in the compassionate, tender heart of God Himself.

He sees. He knows.
And He has not forgotten.

"Fear not," He sings to your longing heart, "there is born to you a Saviour."

And the light of that torch gleams for miles.

(Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, who stand by night in the house of the Lord!)

Fear not. There is born to you a Saviour.
Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Light in the Dark (Advent Day 14)

We went to a Christmas party tonight.  When we walked to our friends' house, it was raining.  We hustled and complained a bit, and Pascal was afraid because it was dark - so dark. 
During the party the temperature dropped, and when it was time to leave, we stepped outside into a winter wonderland.
The snow had fallen thick and fast, and was perfect for snowballs.  Trees were outlined in beauty, and the darkness had been replaced by the snow's reflective radiance.

Kachi trucked straight on, asking permission before crossing the street.
Pascal held my hand and stayed close and quiet, looking around at the beauty.
Vava chattered about gingerbread men and crafts.
Sam and Patrick had a glorious snowball fight.

It was perfect. The best sort of winter magic, with light bouncing off of each snowflake as we walked home full and happy.

And I was thinking about the utter difference the snow made, because snow reflects light.  And when Moses spent time in God's physical presence, he came back to his people with a face that shone with reflected radiance. He glowed, like a night full of fresh-fallen snow.

Wishing you all sorts of light in the dark at Christmas, dear friends, and hearts that gleam bright in the night.
xo.

Vava's Question (Advent Day 13)

I feel like it wasn't that long ago that all of my kids were babies, learning how to crawl and babble and make mischief.  I'm aware on one level that they're growing up, but often my background pre-set expects them to still be so young.  So it really took my breath away the other day when Vava asked me "how do we know God's real, and not just our minds messing with us?" which is a pretty important question (and probably too advanced for me to tackle, but I did my best).  I told her that a lot of people have asked the same question, but for me, I hold on to the times God has told me things in my heart that I don't have any way of knowing, and they turn out to be true.  She asked for a few examples, and I shared some with her and encouraged her to keep asking questions.

When we watched The Star, one of the surprising elements for me was the tension, the fear, caused by Herod wanting to kill the new King.

After it ended, Vava was like "did that Pharaoh want to kill baby Jesus like he tried to kill baby Moses?"  And I explained to her that it was Herod, not Pharaoh, but that she's right - Jesus' story echoes the story of Moses, and both Pharaoh and Herod wanted to guard their throne against the threat of God's plans. And when I was looking up similarities to show Vava, I discovered that Moses himself prophesied that God would bring another prophet like him, a prophet to stand in between God and his people. 

And Moses told the people how they could know if prophets were speaking words from God, or if they were just making them up: the words they speak would come true.  God's word is true.

It was a realllllly long time between Moses' foretelling of Jesus and Jesus' arrival.  I am certain a lot of people started to doubt. So I love that God made Jesus' story such an obvious echo of Moses'. God sent a baby to save His people? Check.  Was placed in a non-cribby crib? Check.  Rescued from a murderous king? Check. Lived in Egypt? Check. Chose to serve the people of God rather than rule a second-hand kingdom? Check.

Anyway, I'm not an apologist but I just thought this cool aspect of the Christmas story gets forgotten sometimes. Moses was a forerunner, a picture, a preview and foreteller of Jesus; we can trust Moses' words because they came true.

And we can also trust a very good God who brought that question to Vava's heart.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

This is Where the King Sits (Advent Day 12)

This morning I took Kachi and Pascal to the garage to get the car fixed. The waiting area had three chairs, and I sat on the chair by the door. Kachi wanted to sit in the middle, and yet Pascal wanted to sit in the middle. There were a few tense moments until Kachi very cleverly said "Pascal, do you want to be the king?" Pascal replied with an enthusiastic "yes!" Kachi, pointing to the chair on the end, declared "This is where the king sits." Pascal scrambled up, very pleased. Took him a solid five minutes to notice he'd been bamboozled.

It made me smile to myself though, because Kachi didn't even know he was speaking the truth. 

It is where the King sits: with us.

With us. He isn't too good, too grand, too perfect. He sits where we are.
A grubby blue waiting-room chair.
A wooden chair at the kitchen table.
A comfy armchair, right there beside you in your living room.
A manger.

This is where the King sits.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Lunch notes (Advent Day 11)

Sam and Kachi waffle back and forth on whether or not they want a note in their lunch.  Sam looked forward to his notes all through kindergarten, but somewhere along the way, someone told Sam that only babies like notes in their lunch, so from then on, he has steadily refused any offers.  Kachi, hearing that, decided he didn't want notes for about a month this year ... but changed his mind and now expects one with a doodle as well (in colour, if you please).  Vava, on the other hand, has always wanted a note, at least one, and two are even better.

This morning I ran out of time to put a note in Vava's lunchbox.

"Miss V," I shook my head as I wrestled an unwilling Kachi into snowpants (why don't they ever believe me when I say it's cold outside?), "You'll have to zip up your lunchbox and put it in your backpack without a note. I'm sorry."  I steeled myself for a storm.  Instead, she just smiled. 

"It's okay. I'm wearing my necklace." Yes! Her friend made her a necklace with a note inside - how perfect! She continued, "It says I love you Vava, and I will read it and remember I am loved and that I am Vava."

My precious girl. I hadn't realized what that meant.
At school, Vivian is a relentlessly high achiever. She holds her breath, dives in, does everything as perfectly as she can and comes home half-strangled and emptied, where Vava can breathe.
Vava is loved just as she is, no performance or achievement required, and falls apart whenever she needs to. (Vivian, you may be sure, has never fallen apart.)

It isn't a fresh, colourful note that she needs to take with her each day - it's the reminder that she's her truest version of herself, and she's loved.

And that's what the Christmas bells ring out - you are loved! just as you are!
That's why God sent Jesus.
He didn't gussy us up first.
He didn't give us a list of planetary or personal improvements to make before that star-soaked night in Bethlehem.
He sent Him to us, just as we are, because He loves us so.

And it's not a note in the lunchbox, but at Christmas time it's a love note to the whole world.
You are you, and you are loved.

Merry Christmas, friends.
xo.

Live Your Life (Advent Day 10)

We watched The Star this weekend.

It was adorable. Way funnier than I expected, and way better quality than I've come to expect from "Christian" entertainment. (Sorry. I know that's my team. It's just not great at making movies.) Vava and I watched it first, and then turned it on for everyone else ... and joined them to see it a second time, because it's just so good

Mary is played by Gina Rodriguez, the actress from Jane the Virgin (yes, perfectly cast!), and her voice is awesome. I feel like sometimes Mary can be haloed up a lot, and we miss the humanity in her story. But Mary is warm, loving, funny. And while she is so clearly full of faith, she's also sometimes baffled by the life - her life - this little Son of God is coming into.

The moment that got me crying both times was when Joseph and Mary realize they're going to have the baby in a stable - and Joseph cries out, "No, no, it's not supposed to be this way!" Because of course you don't want to bring your baby into the world in a stable. So how much more do you not want to bring the Son of God into the world in a stable?

A while back, I had this conversation with God. He was asking me to do something, and I was conflicted. I didn't feel like I was a very good choice for Him; I mean - I'm not the face of anything, and I usually even struggle with the life-basic task of being the face of Janelle, so how could I take on a role from Him?

So I'm like - uhh, I don't think I can do that, God.
And He's like - why not?
Um - because I'm fat.
Winston Churchill.
But he was powerful! I'm also ... not.
Harriet Tubman.
But she - uh yeah. No, You're right.
Live your life.
But -
Live your life.
But -
Live. Your.  Life.

And that is one of the strangest, loveliest things about the Christmas story.  God didn't come into Mary and Joseph's life and uproot it and give them fancier stuff or easier passage. They didn't glide on a gilded road to Bethlehem, they didn't sink into a giant soaker tub after the rigours of the journey.  They didn't move into the temple and become priests and spend their days debating the scriptures.
No.
He comes to us just as we are. Wants us just as we are. Uses us just as we are.
Living our life.
And gives us Jesus.

Merry Christmas, dear friends - right there in your life, from me right here in mine.
xo.

Advent Day 9

When you picture time, the passage of time, what do you imagine?
I have always seen it as a river, with me bobbing along through different scenes from my life, which are being enacted on the bank.
I can see the things, but I'm inexorably carried past and on to the next thing.  There's no staying, no stopping.
(This is probably weird, but so am I so that's alright ;). )
I was reading in a book today about how it scares some of us, the awareness of time passing. Grey hairs and laugh lines, instead of testifying to the facts of our lives, just serve remind us that our time left is growing smaller, running out. We don't like to picture the end of that river.

My favourite river is the Sakeji.
It's a tributary of the Zambesi, the river that plunges in world-wonder glory from a mouth 2 km wide: Mosi Oa Tunya (aka the Smoke that Thunders aka Victoria Falls) in Zambia.

I almost died there. (Not at Vic Falls - a logical place to have a near-death experience - but in the Sakeji.  I was swept through a dam, whooshed out onto a breakwater, and lived, with just a few scars to tell the tale.)

The Sakeji curls around the school where I lived for a year. It was ingeniously made use of to fill the huge outdoor swimming pool - a channel was dug from the river to the pool at one end, and at the other end of the pool, the water drains back into the river.  On swimming days, the channel is opened and water gushes from the river, tumbling and tearing (in the rainy season) or creeping steadily (in the dry season) into the pool until it is filled.

I attended a Beth Moore video study a few years ago where she spoke about the fullness of time.  She explained that our cultural concept of time is one of time passing - passing us by, always moving, slipping through our fingers.  But the scriptures propose a different concept of time - as if time is filling up, filling in, meeting its purpose in a place.  And as she described it, I couldn't help but picture that huge Sakeji swimming pool, being steadily filled up for its purpose by the river that was already flowing past it.

The fullness of time. Time comes. Time fills.
I love the restfulness of that image. You can lie back and relax in that kind of time. No panic. No rushing. No searing nostalgia. Time isn't passing you by. It's filling you up. Completing you. Meeting its purpose in you.

I love that that's how God describes Jesus' arrival:
When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His Son.

Waiting for the future can be hard.  Looking back can be hard. When we see time as fleeting, we do both. Oh, waiting and wishing I had done things differently is just agony.

But this spacious, gracious idea of time filling me? Nothing is gone. Nothing is wasted. It's all there. It's filling me up like that great big pool.

I hope, this Christmas, you find yourself filling up with all the fullness of time.
xo.

No Story (Advent Day 8)

While we were waiting for supper to come out of the oven, Pascal was just about done. He was slumped over on the floor, whining. I dropped down onto the kitchen couch and asked him to bring me a book, so I could read him a story.

"No story," he said, climbing onto me with his blankie in hand, "just you."

And he pressed his heart against mine and laid his cheek on my shoulder and we just sat there, quiet.
It was enough.

I think Jesus said the same thing.
He knew us. Made us. But He didn't leave it at that. He didn't just know us from the story. He came to us.

And He invites us to do the same to Him.

I mean - I make a big deal of the Christmas story. It's my favourite story. But it's my favourite because it's not simply something I read about. And if He had come to us any other way, that would have been perfect too. Because the story I love isn't a story ...

It's someone I know. Someone I love. Someone who loves me back.

Just Jesus.
And it's so much more than enough.

Advent Day 7

My friend shared this hilarious meme today and it killed me because it's so painfully true.

I feel awkward and like I laugh at the wrong things and react in weird ways and don't care enough about some stuff and most of all just feel enormous next to my friends - like a human among elves (er - usually more insulting metaphors spring to mind). I've always been taller, bigger, with an in-the-way cloud of much frizzier hair. While my friends would pick out a princess to dress up as, I always felt like I had more in common with, say, Gaston than Belle.

So I shared it too, and the weirdest thing started happening. All these beautiful, delightful, lovely friends (the ones among whom I feel like such a braying donkey) chimed in that they felt that way too.

But, wait, what? How? We can't all be the odd one out. If we're all feeling like the one that doesn't fit in, well, then none of us are actual outsiders ... if we all feel like we're on the outside, then that's the thing we have in common, that's precisely how we understand one another.

I think that's one of the reasons Jesus was born an outsider too - painfully literally. No room for Him in the inn. Sorry, little fella, you haven't even been born yet and already you don't belong here.

Because we've all got this ache in our hearts, this fear and feeling of not being good enough, same enough, small enough, bright enough, whatever enough. And Jesus came to us to bring us all in. The good news is not about being enough. It's that He's enough.

And He came as an outsider because He knows - He knows - and He invites us all in.

From the very beginning He was told He didn't belong. But He makes us welcome - He's the way, the door, and He has set our feet in a large room. He spreads His arms wide and invites us all gladly.

Yeah.

There's room.

No matter what kind of an outsider you think you are, or how much space you think you take up.

The last page of Scripture rings with the invitation:

Whoever is thirsty, let him come and drink of the water of life freely.

Whosoever will.

There's room.

Merry Christmas, friends.

xo.