Put Out Your Hand

When the earth is shakin'

And the Sandman's breakin'

Any agreements you made

When the high wind's blowin'

And the sky fills with snow and

The light's long since laid

Put out your hand

When your heart's been howlin'

Every prayer falls down and

The answers don't come 

When you're through with rage and

Your books are blank pages 

And everything's numb

Put out your hand

Put out your hand

Reach out your hand

Stretch out your hand

Leave it out til the shadow

Of heaven sweeps over

This isn't the end

But God it feels like the end

Put out your hand

Reach out your hand 

Stretch out your hand

There's a rest that comes

Even when the storm keeps shuddering on

There's a hem 

There's a shadow

There's a rock and a drop of water in the sand

Just lay down

And reach out your hand.

Just-Right Beautiful

I keep seeing pictures

Filtered and airbrushed and beautyfaced

Wrinkles smoothed, lines erased, pigment evened out

And bland as store bought bread.

Looking less like yourself isn't beautiful

Erasing, painting, changing who you are

Isn't beautiful

You're beautiful 

When you're

Curled up in your pjs reading that book 

Being brave enough to pick up your first surf board

Laughing loud and long 

Kissing your mama

Crying with your best friend

Eating noodles and debating with your coworkers

Walking that enormous dog

Feeding those chickens

Making messes and magic in the kitchen

Driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on mine 

Just living 

Elbows deep.

Not giving a thought to that camera or mirror or unflattering angle. 

You're beautiful

Just-right beautiful 

Just right now

Right there where you are.

Me and My Reflection

When I was a kid 

And I saw the pretty girls getting attention and invitations and boyfriends 

I rode the bus home in silence

Staring out the window at

My own ghostly reflection

Thinking 

It's just you and me, kid.

And thinking 

If I could be pretty enough 

Then I would be loved enough 

And I would be happy.

And thinking

Maybe I could be smart enough 

Or 

Maybe I could be useful enough

Or

Maybe I could be undemanding enough

Then I would be loved enough 

And I would be happy.

And after years of seeing other people fall in love, I thought:

I'm not.

But you 

Love me like crazy and

Laugh at my jokes and

Rave over my cooking and 

Look at me like you're lucky

- Like you're still so unbelievably lucky -

Fifteen years in.

And almost everyone is 

PrettierSmarterUsefullerandLessdemanding

But they're sitting at home with their duds

While I 

Have

You.

My reflection and I were wrong

And lucky

Straight-from-heaven lucky.

If these were silent

 

A bird in flight

A name at just the right angle

Sunshine spraying across the floor through a slit in the curtains

You're here you're here you're here

Rocks and birds and light and words

Cry out

Longing, comfort

Kachi and Pascal are best friends. I'm drinking my morning coffee and I can hear Kachi helping Pascal get dressed. "Put your arms up," he coaches him, "you're doing it!" 

Last night at bedtime Pascal suddenly sits up in bed and sighs, "I'm so tired of waiting for love to come."

And I was kind of just frozen because it's rather arresting to hear the longing of your heart crystallized by a  4 year old.  

But Kachi climbs into Pascal's bed and wraps his arms around him and gives him a kiss and says "love is already here, Pascal, you don't have to wait."  And Pascal curls into him.

And I feel like all the ache and comfort in the world is summed up in those two sentences.

All the best in 2021, my friends. When your heart is longing for love, may you find it already there.

Xo.

For A Weird Christmas

I stepped outside early this morning to put out the garbage. I was utterly surprised to see a rainbow.

There was no rain; hadn't been any yet this morning. 

The rain came a few minutes later, and it poured all day. A warm and weird Christmas Eve.

A friend with a paint sprayer came over this morning. Our space, which was bare drywall this morning, was transformed by this evening.

And yes, I bought the very last Christmas tree.

We'd all been so worried. "I can't believe I'm sitting beside our tree tonight," Vava sighed before bed. 

"I thought it was a No, but God said Yes," Sam replied.

Yeah.

He does that sometimes.

Keeps us waiting.

Keeps us looking up.

And fills our lives with a dizzying array of contrasts.

I think God puts contrast all over the place, and probably for the same reason all authors do - to make us look twice, pay attention, see more clearly.

A rainbow before the rain.

An empty room, filled.

A usually full house, empty.

A king in a manger.

Poor shepherds and wealthy wise men.

The prince of peace to a weary world.

Lights shine in the dark, windows glow warm against the chill, wet night.

It's a beautiful story. A story that has rolled on and on through the ages. My story. Your story. A story that has maybe had a few sadder twists, lonelier spots this year than we're used to.

A story the author entered that first Christmas night. I imagine the loneliness and difficulties he encountered were quite a bit different than what he was used to.

Wishing you a peaceful night and a joyous morning, friends. And good reading, wherever you are.

xo.

A Little Peace

I got an early Christmas present today. 

The workers finally finished sanding my future kitchen.  A friend is willing to come paint tomorrow. I had a few hours between the workers leaving and my evening shift beginning, and I wanted to shop vac and clean out the space so we can get right to work in the morning. 

But it was the witching hour - that tired, bored, crankish time of day right before supper. It's when my kids all want attention, separately, and don't have a lot of patience or focus.

I left them playing nicely, determined to get as much done as I could until they called for me.

I moved all the equipment and tools to the hallway.

Nobody called.

I vacuumed the window sills and outlets.

Nobody called.

I vacuumed the edges and corners.

Nobody called.

I finished vacuuming the entire floor.

Nobody called.

I went back past the plastic sheeting and into the land of the living. Sam had cleared the table, made himself a snack, and was watching a movie. Kachi and Pascal were playing cars on the stairs. Vava was reading in her room. 

It was the quiet hum of a happy, contented family.

I washed up quickly, and laid down beside Vava. Kachi joined us, then Pascal and Sam. We ended up in a giggly heap and just laid there together while I ordered a quick pizza for supper. 

Sheer gift.

Kachi stayed snuggled up with me the longest, and afterward he made me this.

Peace in the whirlwind, peace. I opened my heart and breathed it in, that little echo of Immanuel.

Wishing you moments of stillness in the busyness, contentment and peace in all the upheaval this Christmas, friends. 

Because Jesus. 

xo.

In the Fullness of Time

Due to a summer reno gone woefully awry, we don't yet have a Christmas tree up. It's so late it hurts. 

Five rooms' worth of furniture and appliances are jammed into two rooms. We're living on top of each other and have been for months. There's nowhere for a tree to go.

I love Christmas trees. I love the warm glow of twinkle lights, the fragrance of fir, the special ornaments the kids have made. I love the way it sets a celebratory tone regardless of what's going on around it.

But right now we're more than a little low on celebratory tones. There's more plaster dust than Christmas sparkle. Presents are stashed in the attic. We've got a string of newly made ornaments dangling in front of the mirror, awaiting a branch where they can make their debut. 

We're so achingly ready to celebrate. 

But we have no room for a tree.

We've been hoping the reno would reach a usable pausing stage, so we could set up our future kitchen as a temporary living room, with plenty of space for the Christmas tree. 

But things keep going wrong and wrong and every day our plans get pushed back and back. Now we've got two days left til Christmas and if we're going to put up a tree on Christmas Eve it will take a miracle.

I know that Christmas isn't in the tree. I know it. It will be Christmas whether or not we have that particular decoration.

But the waiting, and hoping, and waiting, and hoping - 

It's exhausting. 

Logically I know that every day brings us closer to the space being ready. It must. It does. 

But somehow, every day of delays and setbacks makes me feel like the opposite is true. It makes me feel like we're further from finishing than we were when it started. It's a lie that feels really true.

It's my own little glimpse of the weary world, awaiting the Messiah. Awaiting deliverance. Awaiting salvation. Longing for the promised God-with-us. And every day before He comes makes it feel like he's further away.

But he's not.

Each day adds up, each day fills up, until the days are complete and God-with-us.

And now we're all waiting. Waiting for Covid to end. Waiting for restrictions to ease, for hugs and visits and borders to open. Waiting maybe for that heartbreak to stop aching, waiting for that unanswered prayer to finally be answered, waiting for surgery and healing, waiting for your baby to come home. Waiting for peace, waiting for love, waiting for relief and comfort and rest. 

In the fullness of time, God sent forth his Son.

It will take a miracle for Christmas at our house this year.

But then, it's always taken a miracle for Christmas.

xo.

What We Remember

I keep seeing that post on Facebook about how your kids won't remember what presents they got for Christmas this year; they'll remember the feelings and delight and joy of it all.

Tonight I asked Sam what is his favourite Christmas memory of all time. 

"Last year," he said confidently. 

"What happened?" I asked.

"I forget," he replied. 

😅❤😅

Turns out, it wasn't any one particular thing - just having his cousins here, and having Ash sleep in his top bunk. She's the eldest, and he adores her.

My earliest Christmas memory is from the house we lived in before I turned 5. I remember the tree, set up in the basement (I think?!), lit with coloured lights, and decorated with red and green and gold and silver balls and bells. And I was allowed, oh bliss of bliss, to sleep by the Christmas tree with my big sisters. We nudged our air mattresses all up against each others', and I think we used Dad's thick hunting sleeping bag to turn them into one big bed. Together and warm and cozy under a those magical twinkling lights - mmm yeah. It radiated Christmas magic.

That thing going around on Facebook speaks truth.

We don't remember the presents, we remember the love that gave them.

We don't remember how things look, apart from how they made us feel.

We remember togetherness and specialness and lights in the dark.

The traditions we cling to and the celebrations we create and recreate every year matter to us because they sing to our hearts the song of heaven: love.

Love came down at Christmas.

And everything that carries an echo of His peace and joy and generosity and light holds that Christmas magic.

Wishing you a good one, friends.

xo.

Great Love

Two weeks ago at work I noticed a sudden shift away from door delivery to doorbell delivery - almost everyone was requesting me to place their order on the step, ring the bell, and leave.

The first day I thought it was just a funny coincidence, but the next day it continued and I finally turned on the radio and realized what had happened. The number of Covid cases in our area had begun to spike, and people were responding with increased distancing. 

And even though I miss seeing happy faces in doorways, it made my heart glad to see such an immediate response. This is how we love our neighbours. 

Do I want to be social distancing? Heck no. I wish there was no pandemic.

I miss my family.

I miss my parents.

I miss my nieces, who we're usually picking up from the airport right about now.

I wish we were able to get together and laugh and play boardgames and sing and cook together. But we can love each other, love our communities by laying down our Christmas traditions and preferences. 

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends. (John 15:13)

I might paraphrase it:Greater love has no hugger than this: to choose not to hug for one's friends. 

Merry Christmas, friends.

Miss you.

the Untied way

Have you ever seen Inside Out? You know how Riley's memory bank workers occasionally send an unrelated memory up the chute to dance on repeat in her head? Well, when I was a kid, I heard a clip on the radio about The Untied Way. Nope, that's not a typo, not the United way, but the Untied Way. And every now and then, the Untied way clip plays in my brain.

The Untied way is a philosophy that promotes giving freely (no strings attached, no expectations) and generously ("charity should hurt a little bit") to people around you. It's a stop-gap support, a drop of kindness to the people who have fallen through the cracks between cracks.

I googled it today to see if anyone else has thought about it since the 90s, and found an oldish article - Click here if you want to read it.

I think it really resonated with me and stuck in my head because it seemed like a Jesus sort of generosity. No bureaucracy. No demands. No rewards or tax receipts or strings*. Just - as you can, do. 

When He told the story of the good Samaritan, Jesus asked "who was the neighbour to the beat-up guy on the road?" And the answer was: the one who cared for him.

It wasn't the priest.

It wasn't the deacon.

(It wasn't organized religion.)

It was the stranger who stopped, and helped, and carried him to bed.

That's how we love, and that's how we put our arms around the world at Christmas time and anytime: love our neighbours as ourselves. 

We stop when we see a need.

And we help.

However we can.

Untied. Freely.

It's the joyfullest part of Christmas.

Xo.

(*please know I'm not bashing organizations or tax receipts! They enable us to give even more. I just mean that sometimes people need help, people right in front of us, and not on the other end of an organization.)

The Real Treasure

I found this in the kitchen today.

Vava had repurposed a pizza box into a gift box. She wrapped it with construction paper, created a Santa-themed card, and filled it with presents she made herself (three magic wands, a purse, and a notebook). 

Not because someone told her to, not because she felt obliged, but because she loves.

Her love flows out of her in creativity, in colour and tape and paper.  And in generosity, because love gives freely, gladly, happily, eagerly. And here's the secret: love itself is the light that illuminates any present. Whether it's a store-bought gift or a construction paper masterpiece, the real treasure isn't the thing you unwrap... the real treasure is the love.

And it's so so beautiful. 

Merry Christmas, friends.

Xo.