Still

People can be awful.

Jesus still came.

Immanuel, God with us.

 

Merry Christmas, friends. xo.

Cold and tired and ready for bed

I'm cold, and tired, and ready for bed.

But I wanted to remind my heart one more time: 

Jesus came right into this.

He knew what it was to feel cold, and tired, and ready for bed.

He knows.

He feels.

He is not far off, he is not untouched by the sorrows we carry. They come to bed with us, they wake up with us, and He knows.

Sweet dreams, friends. xo

A New Feast

What do you usually eat for Christmas?

Growing up, we usually had the traditional midday dinner of turkey, potatoes (sometimes scallion champ, if we were lucky), stuffing, veggies, and gravy. Dessert was more flexible (perhaps a glorious pavlova topped with canned mandarin slices?), and there was almost always a tin of Quality Street and a bag of chicken bones that hit the table when the games came out. (Nova Scotians, please stop hoarding all the chicken bones. I can't buy them here and it hurts.)  When night fell, a snacky serve-yourself supper would appear  (I say appear because I was a kid, and didn't have to do any of the work!) - the turkey, again, and assorted cheese and crackers (bacon dippers and swiss cheese crackers were my faves), Clementines and a big bowl of nuts in shells, topped with a few nutcrackers (which did double duty in summertime as lobster shell crackers). There might be a box of Pot of Golds, a tray of Toffifee, a bag of saltwater taffy and definitely a giant tin of popcorn in three flavours (butter, cheddar, and caramel) and of course, there would be Liquorice Allsorts and After Eights.

(Apparently I can't write a nostalgic post about food without a million asides, but here's one more - is the giant popcorn tin an east coast thing, or a long-ago thing? Either way, I can't find them here - people keep directing me to Kernels, which isn't at all the same thing. I'm so curious.)

And mashed inextricably in with memories of the food of Christmases past are memories of all the people who were there. Aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, games and stories and laughter and singing.

As a parent, of course, Christmas dinner is an entirely different kettle of fish. Making a meal, hosting festivities, repeating traditions that evoke memories - the weight lies differently. If nobody wants to cook a turkey, does the holiday sparkle a little less? I mean - is it the actual menu that makes Christmas magic? 

I think no. I think - I think that traditions are great until they become constraints.

When Jesus came, he upended empty traditions. He criticized people for keeping outward traditions that missed the heart of the scriptures. Praying in public, but no inner communing with God. Tithing obsessively, but ignoring the poor. Giving to God, and ignoring family members in need. Traditions that don't serve us aren't of any value.

A friend of mine was so disappointed last year. She worked herself to the point of exhaustion preparing a traditional Christmas feast all by herself, and her family ate it but they weren't excited about it. "It's not the same without everyone here," her son said. "This is company food." And of course, with covid restrictions in place, they didn't have a big family gathering. 

And they're keeping it small again this year, so she asked everyone in her household for one suggestion. They each had to tell her one food that makes them feel happy and celebrate-y. Her husband asked for chicken wings, her daughter asked for nuggets, her son asked for soft pretzels, and my friend wanted cranberry sauce. So their Christmas dinner is centering around those things this year, and she was surprised by how much joy it was giving her to plan a feast specifically for the people who would be there, even though it wasn't the feast they'd usually enjoy. 

As a mom, my favourite Christmas dinner ever was the year we ate grilled cheese with a side of storebought stuffing. We ate by candlelight and there were no complaints, nothing left on the side of plates, no sad kids. No high expectations and disappointments, no kitchen full of dishes to wash, no leftovers for days. It was just genuinely happy and good. This year we're having chicken pot pie. We might still have a side of stuffing, and we'll definitely have a plate of sliced veggies, and probably a side of fruit salad. I'm going to make cranberry salsa and we'll eat it with nachos for supper. And there will be chocolates and games and Clementines. And my five favourite people will be there.

I hope your Christmas is full of the traditions that send your heart straight to God.

I hope your quiet moments are rich with joy and the knowledge that you are loved by no less than God himself. 

I hope your bellies are full and your hearts overflow.  

I hope the traditions you keep comfort you and give you peace. 

And I hope you are free from the ones that don't.

God bless you, friends.

xo.

 

Chicken Bones
image taken from ganongchocolatier.shop

Asking

Lately I've been thinking about this story Jesus told. He was teaching the disciples about praying, and after he gave them the example of the Lord's prayer, he put it to them another way.

Imagine you've got company that arrived late at night. You don't have any bread left to meet their hunger, so you run to your friend's house and knock on the door. Your friend, undressed and already tucked in bed, won't want to get up and give you the bread. But if you keep asking - if you persist - your friend will come down and give you all the bread you need.

If your children are hungry and ask for fish, do you give them a snake? If they ask for bread, do you give them a stone? Of course not. If you know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more does God know how to give to you. Ask, and receive.  (from the book of Luke, chapter 11, verses 5-13)

I had to look up this passage because I was faced with an uncomfortable dilemma.

Someone asked me for something, and I resented his asking.

Ehh, I've given enough already, I mentally replied, preparing to say no.

But God put his hand on my heart and told me not to reply just yet.

And then He asked me if my refusal was a refusal as a Christian - I mean, a refusal based on God's character, or a cultural distaste for being asked for something. Are you feeling a spiritual discomfort? Or a cultural one? He asked. 

And I had to stop and think about it. And I looked up this story to see what Jesus taught about asking / being asked.

I really dislike being asked to be generous. I love to give! Oh,yes - I love to give, and I love the shiny moment when I surprise people with generosity. Ahh! Surprise! The glorious moment at the end of A Christmas Carol when Scrooge turns into a giver is spectacular.  Surprise, Bob Cratchit!

And I was stricken when I realized: when I'm asked to give, then I lose that shiny moment. Uh. I was not prepared for that good look at my own heart: I think I want that shiny moment more than I want to help people.

That shiny moment feels so good. It's a great moment. It really is.

But - but - it's not the reason to give.

If I'm a Christian first, and everything else later, then my allegiance has to be to God's character first, not to what is comfortable in our culture.  And God doesn't limit himself to giving just when the whim strikes him. He does that, but also -

Jesus laid it right out: He gives when we ask.

Because asking/receiving is really hard, isn't it? And God honours it. Like, we strive every day to be self-sufficient and to meet all our own needs. But it's impossible. Nobody needs nothing. We all need something we can't get on our own. And it hurts. We like to pretend we don't need but -

We need each other.

We need tenderness.

We need grace and understanding and to be seen.

We need people that we can feel safe enough to turn to and ask for help.

We need.

Just ask.

 

xo.

 

In the quiet

This year Vava bought an elf on the shelf. And mostly I've been remembering to move it and make it do silly things for the kids' delight, but some nights Sam asks if he can make the magic, and some nights Vava wants to.

I kind of love this for them.

Not only do they have the pleasure of the elf, but they get to participate in it too. They get to give some effort and time for their little brothers' joy.

It makes my heart so glad.

Elf in a fishbowl - er, in a pineapple under the sea!

And it's gotten them in the habit of coming downstairs after bedtime to prowl around in the quiet. Unlike the daytime, when they're busy with games or projects or playing with the neighbourhood kids, after bedtime they just want to talk. (Listening to their thoughts and stories puts me in mind of Mrs. Darling from Peter Pan, who came into the nursery at night to tidy the children's minds.)

Tonight Vava made a Spongebob Squarepants scene, an hour after she was supposed to be in bed. She bounced around with markers and scissors while I worked, planning with glee, imagining the boys' reaction when they come downstairs tomorrow morning.  I took her picture and gave her a kiss and tried to reflect her zazzly joy back to her. She was walking on air. It was beautiful.

When she finally went back upstairs for the night (for real this time), Sam came downstairs and asked if he could just sit quietly with me while I finished my news articles. I said yes, and we sat in keyboard-clicky silence for a few minutes. After a while, he put his hand over his eyes and told me he was feeling so sad. "Let it out," I said gently, "let all the feelings just wash over you. Don't try to hold them back." (Sam is not a crier or a yeller - he's a pretty contained dude, laughing at Vava and me as we ricochet from glee to sorrow and back again.)

Big tears rolled down his cheeks, still silently, and after a few minutes he told me he had just finished reading Maus again. Ahh, WWII. Whose heart wouldn't break? "It just made me so so sad that they died," he whispered. 

"It is so so sad. Yes. And so right to feel all those feelings," I whispered back, "when you let yourself feel them instead of stuffing them down or closing you mind off, they'll wash clean and you'll be healthier for it. If you ignore them or pretend it's not happening, they'll get stuck." And then he told me he wanted me to tuck him in so he could have a good cry while he fell asleep.

You. Guys.

That moment was so rare. Sam does not want to talk about his feelings ever - he is so even-keeled that I think he barely perceives the fluctuation from one feeling to the next. So having a chance to talk with him and give him a bit of advice in the quiet that I think will help him be an emotionally healthier person? Pure gold.

I love these late-night moments. I love the connection, the just-them-ness, the unspectacular glory of seeing their hearts a little more intimately than I see them during the day.

Christmas is good for that. 

For staying up a little later without the pressure of school the next day.

For planning joy and expanding freedom.

For hearing each others' hearts beating a little more clearly.

For holding each others' happiness and sadness with intention. Yeah.

 

Wishing you beautiful moments of silver and gold this Christmas, my friends.

God bless you.
xo.

All I want for Christmas

When he saw all the treats I bought when I was shopping, Patrick grinned.

"Looks like you must want a hippopotamus for Christmas," he said.

But God knows all I want for Christmas is Patrick.

 

I got Patrick for Christmas in 2005. This is a picture he drew of the day we met.

A million years ago, before kids and before we were married, I was pretty lonely and hated Christmas. Everyone was all coupled up and I didn't think I would ever find anyone who was just right for me. And that Christmas, I didn't think I would ever be loved.

But there he was.

Blue eyed and quiet, a writer, ready to laugh and with a big square palm that felt like magic against mine.

And - he loved me.

And for some crazy reason

God created this big and crowded and lonely and messy and perfect and heartbreaking and breathtaking world

And ... he loved us. 

Yep. I'm sorry, Mariah Carey haters, but Jesus looks at us and the song he sings is All I want for Christmas is you.

Awesome.

Merry Christmas, friends. xo.

 

 

 

Provisions

I went to Costco today to do my big pre-Christmas grocery shop, and the road home was terrifying. The snow was thick and slippery; it was like driving on shortbread dough. Road markings were buried beneath it all and everyone was just doing their best to stay on the road and off of each other.  The one-hour trip home took closer to two hours, and my legs were like jelly when I finally parked in the driveway.

I am fully aware that it is a total overreach, but I felt a oneness with women in the past who had to travel far to buy provisions, and bring them back to their families at great personal risk.  

(And you know what? They'd be so glad. That the grandchildren of their grandchildren have grandchildren who can drive to get provisions, an abundance of provisions.)

And I was thinking about what provisions God made for Jesus' coming into the world. And Mary brought swaddling clothes to Bethlehem for the baby's birth, but what did God provide? 

And when I realized what He provided, it made my heart so happy. 

You guys.

The provisions God made for Jesus, the things he planned and prepared in order to welcome him that first Christmas ... were people.

He gave him Mary.

He gave him Joseph.

He gave him the wise men and shepherds and Anna and Simeon.

The important provisions we need for Christmas are not things ... they are people. People. 

We are the provisions for each other at Christmas. He gives us each other. He gives us parents and friends and children and colleagues and neighbours and family.

We're the provisions.

With so much love for you, my friends. xo.

Triceratops Heads and Haiku Dinner

Kachi and I were looking through old photos the other day, and he saw a picture of little Vava with Zebra in one hand, and Topsy (a rubbery triceratops) in the other. 

"Who is that?" he asked, pointing at the dinosaur.

"Topsy," I replied, surprised he didn't remember. 

"No - Topsy's just a triceratops head," he said, giving me some serious side eye.

 And I realized - by the time Kachi was old enough to remember, Topsy had been worn through from Vava's constant loving. She had split in half and, emptied of her little white pellets, became two halves of the dinosaur she was. For a year or two, Vava slept with both halves sandwiched between her long skinny feet - still feeling love and comfort from her beloved Topsy - and then somewhere along the way, we lost the bottom half. So Kachi only remembered Vava being absolutely smitten with an empty rubber dinosaur head - and apparently never stopped to ask why, just accepted it as normal, as one of the Things that Always Were.

(I read a post today where people shared weird traditions from their families that they'd accepted as normal when they were kids, but realized later were pretty strange.

One person came from a family that had haiku dinner several times a month.

Haiku dinner, where
Anything they said had to
Beat like a haiku.

And all I could think with my little nerd heart was how amazing that would be.)

I love hearing my kids talk about when they were little. It wasn't that long ago to me - but to them, it's foundational history. I love how they each remember different things, snippets and segments of moments and memories that stand out to them more clearly in the blur. They retell them and connect to each other in the retelling.

I wonder if God feels the same way when we talk about Jesus' birth. Like there's a lot we love and remember and it's such a part of who we are. We've got the gospels and tradition holding the memories, but for Him, it wasn't that long ago and there's a lot only He knows. He probably laughs with glee as we retell and remember in snippets and slices the strangeness, the manger and the overflowing inn, the haiku dinner or triceratops head.

I love pulling out Christianity's photo album and looking through it every year.  That star. That mama. That crowded inn. A weird way to send the son of God into the world. A strange and fragmented old story; a good old story. It centers my heart on Jesus, and connects me to you and to God in the retelling. Even if I have it muddled, like Kachi and the triceratops head. Even if I look back in twenty years and think that my blog posts are a bit of a haiku dinner - normal now, but just so weird.

It makes my little nerd heart happy. Thanks for reading along with me, guys.

Merry Christmas. xo.

To the Dark Winds

It's been windy all day. The wind has been shuddering at the roof and knocking over garbage cans and jangling the neighbour's windchimes nonstop. And when it gusts particularly hard, the wind shrieks around our door (which doesn't fit quite right in its spot). 

Right now it's making an angry whistly noise, and something definitely fell over outside - maybe our snowman sign, or the Christmas planters - but I can't complain because it's telling me a story.

I've had a very hard day. 

We've been home sick with a cold all week - Kachi had it first, and now I've got it - and we kept the other kids home too, waiting for Covid test results (negative, sweet mercy). And when we're at home, unwell, seeing entirely too much of each other and not enough of anyone else, depression camps out in my head.

I've posted before about my depression (here's a link to that post if you want to read it). In God's mercy, I find myself with more good days than bad, but I still fight it. Today was not a winning day. It was a battle, the whole way through. Today was a long and bleak reminder that, in spite of the relief and help I have from my meds and counseling, yeah, I do still have depression. And some days it hurts more than others. 

Before he went to bed tonight, Patrick and I watched an episode from a fantasy series we've been so eager to see. (We read the books ages ago.) There was a moment in tonight's episode where the band of protagonists is making their way through a mountain path, when they are attacked by the Dark Winds. The Dark Winds swirl and shriek around them, and each character hears the winds whisper accusations and pierce their own deepest fears. 

"You'll never be good enough. You were always going to fail," hears one. 

"Of course they'll never stay with you; they don't love you like you love them," hears another. 

"You are going to let everyone down," hears another.  And so on.

Once they are free of the Dark Winds, their leader reminds them to shake the whispers out of their thoughts, because they're lies.

And just then the wind wailed at our door and I laughed, because yes, God, I get it; I have been listening to the Dark Winds all day.  

And then God tells me the truth.

Jesus came to still the wind.

Jesus came to heal the hurting.

Jesus came to bear my burden.

In my depression, with dark winds shrieking lies that feel like truth, with my heart hurting and my soul weighed down, I hear his promise: I'm exactly who he came for.

Peace, he says, be still. 

Knowing that He sees me - that He cared enough to knock at my heart and my door with this heavy handed metaphor until I could not miss it - sets me free. 

No, I say to the Dark Winds: Jesus came.

At Christmas.
xo.

A tiny gift

I was taking out the garbage this morning and heard an exquisite tiny pattering, tik tik tik tik tik all around.

I knew we were due for snow, but I couldn't see a flake. The air was fresh and cool and, as far as I could see, completely clear.

But the tik tik tik-a-tik continued pattering.

It was hail so tiny I could not see it. It was dancing on the crisp, coppery leaves that the wind had blown up in a heap in the corner of our yard, and it sounded like delicate, eager drums.

'The snow will come,' it promised, 'tik-a-tik tik.'

And soon, the snow came. Soft, swirling flakes that swished silently down, and the lacy drumming was over.

I was so glad I'd heard it: a little gift in a saddish and ordinary day.

May we have ears to hear and eyes to see and hands to touch and tongues to taste and noses to smell the gifts of God. 

Merry Christmas, friends. xo.

Here is your God

Still listening to What Child is This / Child of the Poor.

This verse has captured me today.

Bring the thirsty, all who seek peace; 
(So, bring all, the thirsty, all who seek peace;)
Those with nothing to offer
(Bring those with nothing to offer.)
Strengthen the feeble
(Strengthen the feeble,)
Say to the frightened heart:
(Say to the frightened heart:)
Fear not, fear not
(“Fear not: here is your God!”)

 

I just love him so much.

On the outside, I am well fed and safe. I am strong and capable; taking care of my family and working hard. 

But inside?

Who doesn't feel longing and fear? Who doesn't quail at the possibility that it may be nightmares that come true, instead of dreams?  

I find myself here, in this song. My heart is thirsty for more. My stormy temper seeks peace. I flail, knowing I have nothing of consequence to offer. Compared to the obstacles before me, feeble. When I think of my children's future on this uncertain planet, frightened of heart. Maybe you feel it too.

And this is what He says.
His message to Mary, before everything else.
His message to Joseph, in his dream.
His message to the shepherds in Bethlehem.
His message over and over again:

Fear not; here is your God.

This sweet baby, full of mercy, here. Here is your God.

He doesn't need me to offer anything - He comes, offering me everything.

Here.

Merry Christmas, friends. xo.

A Child of the Poor

I shared this song (What Child is This / Child of the Poor) three or four years ago - it was the only time I've ever heard it. It's still so lovely it makes my throat ache.

My heart is awash in worship every time I realize that Jesus came to us, poor.

He came to share our sorrows, to know our hunger.

And yes, he was born to a barely-married couple from a shabby town, he was that kind of poor but I'm thinking about the kind of poverty that grinds heavy in the heart and leaves you feeling like there's no hope left, no one who truly gets you, no one who can lift that weight that sits on your chest when the silence descends.

He came to know us. Bear our burdens. Live our lives from the inside out. Feel our deep-soul hunger and walk around with a hidden heart that longs to be known.

I know, says this child, Me too.

In this song, the artists blend the two songs together but when they came to the chorus, they both slipped into the chorus of A Child of the Poor, instead of What Child is this. And I felt my heart longing for the sweet "This, this is Christ the King" - I wanted them to get to the answer, to the glory. I didn't want them to stay in the valley, the questions.

But the deep, sweet truth is this:
He came to us in our poverty.
Of course he dwells in glory.
Of course he is rich and radiant.
But he set down that splendour to come to us
Poor.

Whether your heart feels rich and splendid, or aching and barren -
Christmas is for you.
He came for you.
Christ the King, the child of the poor.

Merry Christmas, friends. xo.

Who is this who lives with the lowly
(This, this is Christ the King,)
Sharing their sorrows, knowing their hunger?
(Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;)
This is Christ, revealed to the world
(Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,)
In the eyes of a child, a child of the poor
(The Babe, the Son of Mary.)