No day but today

This morning, Facebook took it upon itself to remind me of a blog post I wrote two years ago today. It was a post about Advent, and Mary, and choosing to be still when the world swirls in chaos.

In other words, still oddly appropriate for today. The more things change, the more they stay the same- as they say.

More than that though, two other smaller details, unrelated to the words of the blog post itself, jumped out at me.

First, my sweet friend Annie had left a comment on the post. Annie was also someone who loved to write and always expressed herself beautifully. Two years later, Annie is no longer physically with us in this world.

Second, looking at the date of the post, I realized I wrote those words one week before my world would be upended in ways I could have never imagined. Talk about chaos and disruption and confusion and grief.

Two years later and two of my favorite people in the world, two people who were the best of friends to one another and so many others, are gone. With us, but not with us.

Sigh.

I know....I know...A bit gloomy for this first Sunday of Advent.

I'm known for my love of Christmas music, the happy endings of Hallmark Christmas movies, my abiding love for Santa, and more often than not a childlike glee of Christmas that rivals Buddy the Elf.

That's all true.

But, like so, so many others (and everyone eventually), I've known some sad Christmas seasons. In fact, there is still a lot of heaviness to this one.

That's when I am grateful for Advent and the real Christmas story. Because while it's a joyful story, it isn't really a happy one.

It's pretty dark. It's a little scary. It contains more than a few confusing elements. And in the end what it asks most of you is simply faith.

Or not so simply.

There are many ways to live out one's faith. For me, continuing to love Christmas in the face of sadness is one of mine. It is my way of saying to death, You cannot have this. You are not powerful enough to make me lose this, too. 

Tracy and Annie were full of light. Literally bursting with it. To choose light is to choose them. If they are to be found, and felt, it will never be in darkness.

Which is why even when darkness descends, which it does from time to time, I always know I can't stay there long. I might rest there for a moment. It can feel like a relief sometimes to just let the despair rise and take cover in the blackness. But it won't take long and their spark will start to flicker from somewhere, telling me it's time to come back.

Come back into the light.

Live.

I saw Rent this past week, which was one of Tracy's favorite Broadway musicals. I hadn't seen it in years so seeing it now, on the other side of this loss, was a wildly different experience.

When I had said I wanted to go to the show, it felt like maybe it was a strange choice to see during the Christmas season. Having just seen Holiday Inn the week prior, it was an odd juxtaposition.

Really though, it was pretty much the perfect contrast.

Holiday Inn- the happy, giddy, bubbly side of Christmas. Rent- the dark, melancholy side of Christmas. Yet in both stories there is the reminder that what we have is each other. We are here to love each other, celebrate with each other, help each other, and hope that there is a happy ending somewhere down the line.

I believe there will be.

I believe in the Light.

How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?
How about love?

Keeping watch

When my brothers and sister and I were growing up, Christmastime meant cousins. Oh sure, grandparents, aunts and uncles, too...but truth be told, the cousins were the highlight. I'm not sure when and where it all began but at some point my mom and her sister must have made the decision that neither snow, nor rain, nor gloom of night would keep them from celebrating Christmas together. So even as they settled into different states, a day's drive apart, we never missed a Christmas with one another. 

For the most part we alternated houses each year, so the only thing we ever needed to know was if it was a "Portland year" or a "Spokane year" because everything else was just details. We never questioned this arrangement, or balked during the years when it was our turn to cram ourselves into the car and make the long winter drive over-the-mountains-and-through-the-gorge-to-our-cousin's-house-we-go.  It was just the way Christmas was. And we loved it.

I think sometimes it was almost more torturous to be the ones doing the waiting rather than the traveling. At least when you were on the road you had some sense of forward progress. You knew how much longer it would be (because you asked every 10 minutes), and you had the thrill of feeling yourself inching ever closer with each passing mile sign (and you shouted out every single one).

To be the ones waiting at home was agonizing.

This was long before cell phones and the ability to stay in constant contact with loved ones on the road. While we were waiting for our Portland family to arrive, we might get a single call all day updating us on their travel schedule IF we were lucky. And that was only if they were lucky enough to find a stop with a pay phone and Uncle Dave was willing to spring for the call. (Not always a sure thing. His kids still love to talk about having to share a small fry growing up.) But other than that, all we could do was wait. And wait. And wait. And asking mom how much longer it would be was useless because she didn't know either.

So, she'd do what she always did when all other attempts at distraction failed. She told us to go watch out the window.

And we did...for what felt like hours. It might have been minutes though. I'll be the first to admit that childhood recollections of time are seldom accurate. But it felt like we hung over the back of that living room couch staring down at the highway for close to a lifetime.

My childhood home, the home in which my mother still lives and where we all still spend Christmas every year, sits atop a small, pastoral hill. When we were kids, all of the trees surrounding the house were not nearly so tall and full as they are now and we could see all the way from our big living room windows down to the sleepy highway that lead to our gravel country road. Back in the day, the number of cars that came down that highway was not substantial, so great excitement would ensue each time one appeared. Inevitably though, my older brother would quickly tell us why that couldn't be their car because it was the wrong color, or too big, or had the wrong shaped headlights.

(Okay, I'm not really sure he commented on the headlights, but he was always much wiser than either my sister or I about which cars were actual prospects and which ones didn't deserve a second glance. We were foolish enough to get excited about delivery trucks.) 

But just when we would start to fear that they really never would arrive, a set of properly shaped headlights, belonging to a car of the right color and size, would turn onto our gravel road.

Pan-de-monium. 

We would fly off the couch and race to the front hallway screaming, "THEY'RE COMING!! THEY'RE COMING!!"

And at long last, when that same set of appropriate headlights would finally make its way up our long, sometimes icy, snowy road and swing into our carefully shoveled driveway, the hysteria would give way to...

THEY'RE HERE!! THEY'RE HERE!!!

Let the festivities begin!!

I think maybe I see Santa?

Singing "Up On the Housetop".
We were practically The Osmonds.

I feel like Valerie is about to go all "Junkyard Dog" on someone here.
Don't Tracy and I look a little frightened?
P.S. We LOVED The Sunshine Family!!

Inevitably someone (me) ended up mortally wounded/deathly ill and in need of medical attention.
Christmas can be a dangerous time.
Thankfully, I had a doctor with a terrific bedside manner. 

Yep, that's a turtleneck with a Fa La La La sweatshirt.
I've always been festive.

Matching footed pajamas?
I think we were drunk on eggnog.
I kid.

Okay, so maybe that matching jammies thing wasn't a one time deal.
Or ended in childhood.

And that cousin Christmas only grew....
How did we get so lucky?

The next generation.
Pure love.

This year, as we string lights, decorate trees, sing Christmas songs, and wrap presents... sometimes I find myself asking, "How do we do this? How?"

What do we do with an absence so great?

And the only answer I can come up with is this...

We celebrate all that she loved. We remember that there is a Light no darkness can overcome. We share memories and make new ones. We carry the past into the present, and have faith in the future.

On the days it feels hard to celebrate and carry on with the traditions she loved so much, I picture her keeping watch.

I think of her giddy with excitement, anxious to share with us the incredible gift of perfect joy that she now knows. Always the hostess, I imagine her waiting with happy anticipation to usher us in and give us the grand tour.

And I believe that, for her, the waiting will be but a minute. It isn't agonizing or endless because she now lives in that beautiful space outside of time. She is both happy in the now, and in all that is to come.

For us, the waiting is longer. And I'd be lying if I didn't say that as much as the distance stings, I do hope for the wait to be very long. I feel okay saying that because I know she hopes that, too.

But when that day does come, I take comfort in knowing that one of the first voices I will hear will be hers. She will throw her head back and laugh in that way that only she can, and then proclaim for all to hear....

She's here!! She's here!!

Forever and for always.

Silent night

I have an issue...

Okay, I have many issues being human and all. But this is a biggie for me, maybe it is for you too?

I have this tendency to get sucked into things that aren't mine to own. Other people's anger, fear, arguments, worries, and even their conflict. It's kind of  my own personal oxymoron because for the most part I studiously avoid conflict, but when confronted with it- even if I DO nothing about it and don't participate in it- it will still eat away at me.

Seriously, an argument between two other people, utterly and completely separate from me, will bother me enough to keep me up at night. And you do not even want to know what I'm like if I was actually involved in anyway...

Yeah, I'm working on it.

Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?

But this issue is why the verse in my devotional JUMPED OUT AT ME this morning. And honestly, this is a verse I have heard or read literally hundreds of times in my lifetime. Why did I see it in such a different light today? Probably because I needed it so much.

All that changed from the hundreds of times I have read it before was one word.

One overlooked word that made all the difference today.

One little word.

A word that when said in isolation in any elementary classroom will make all of the children giggle.

But.

"But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart." Luke 2:19

But.

That one word suggests Mary made a choice that countered in some way the reactions of those around her.

But.

Instead... Rather than... In contrast... Despite that... Whereas... Even so...

Whatever chaos, or excitement, or confusion, or general hoopla was swirling around her... Mary opted for silence. She chose to be still. She took time to listen to the voice in her heart.

She didn't react, she responded from the deepest, truest part of her soul.

And her response was to be quiet.

It wasn't cowardly inaction. It wasn't a failure to DO SOMETHING.

It was wisdom in its purest form.

And something tells me that what she gained by doing "nothing"...was peace.

Let it be so.

Amen.

Making space

Over Thanksgiving break, Annie and I spent almost every evening before bedtime watching Hallmark Christmas movies on TV. As a result, I'm pretty sure she is under the distinct impression that at some point in her life a distant relative will bequeath her an Inn in some quaint but very removed location, she will become engaged to a wealthy and attractive, but humorless man, until she has a chance encounter with a humble tradesman (also attractive) who teaches her to laugh again and so she will promptly, but gently, dump McScrooge. And finally, she has also learned to be very wary of any sort of corporate mogul (land developers are particularly shady) who wants her to sign anything lest Christmas and all Christmas spirit be placed in immediate jeopardy.

She also still hides under the covers for any and all kissing.

I know it all sounds very cozy and sweet, and believe me, I love it, but it isn't always as comfortable as you might imagine.

These movie watching sessions take place in my bedroom with both of us tucked under the covers of my king size bed. You'd think that leaves plenty of room for the two of us, wouldn't you?

Let me try and paint you a word picture here...

Visualize a large, king size bed. Travel in your mind over to the left side of said bed (I'm a left-sider. I have no idea what that says about me but I'm sure there is a Facebook quiz that could tell me.) No, travel farther over to the left side. Farther. Mentally place yourself in the furthest 12 inches of the left side of the bed, teetering on the right side of your body so you don't fall off the edge. You might want to tuck your right arm under the pillow, grasping the top edge of the bed as leverage. Just a suggestion.

Sound comfy?

This is where I inevitably end up every evening because my daughter is not content for us to lie in close proximity of one another, or even next to one another. No, she prefers some form of cuddling that resembles a twist tie on a loaf of bread (I'm the bag of bread, she's the twist tie). And if I should try to gain even a little breathing room, or shift even slightly, she will immediately wrap tighter so as to eliminate any white space between us.

It is my futile attempts at freedom that cause me to find myself in those final 12 inches of bed space. Every. single. night.

Cozy, is putting it mildly.

But in that space, even as my arm is falling asleep and claustrophobic feelings start to rise in my chest, I hear all of the words that have been waiting to be said. Words that either get lost in the busyness and distractions of the day, or words that feel too vulnerable to be spoken out loud except in the one place you know yourself to be completely safe and unconditionally loved. Words about fears, and dreams, and hurt feelings, and questions, and general wonderings about the world, and God, and her place in it all.

In making space, blessings abound.

Yesterday began the season of Advent which is another opportunity to make space. And, again, we might find ourselves a little uncomfortable in doing so. In a season that demands activity and consumption and never ending to-do lists, it can be hard to say 'no' to one thing so that we can say 'yes' to something else. Yes to making space.

Space to listen.

Space to reflect.

Space to absorb.

Space to remember.

And the biggest challenge is not turning Advent into one more requirement, but instead finding a way to journey through the season honoring its true intentions.

Hope

Peace

Joy

Love

It's impossible to cloister ourselves away for the next 25 days doing nothing but reflecting, praying and fasting (I have trouble fasting for 25 minutes). But I'm determined to make space everyday getting reoriented on what this season means for me and my faith.

Everyone is different and I don't presume to know what makes sense for anyone else, but in case you are looking for some resources, here are some suggestions that have been meaningful for me:

Naptime Diaries Advent Devotional: I purchased the hard copy version of this devotional and it is beautiful. Unfortunately, that is sold out for this year but they have made available a digital version that you could still download. It offers thoughtful reflections, scripture and prompts to inspire your own thoughts and prayers.

She Reads Truth: I used the hard copy devotional from this group last year and loved it. It's so pretty it is really like a keepsake journal (which explains the high price). However, you can follow along for free with their Advent reflections just by going to their website or if you sign up you can have them sent to you via email. Reading the daily SRT scripture and reflection is one of the first things I do each morning.

There are lots of great published Advent devotionals out there, but a few that I have read in the past are Watch For the Light (a collection of well known Christian writers from Bonhoeffer to C.S. Lewis to Philip Yancey), Advent and Christmas Wisdom from Henri J. M. Nouwen  (you can never go wrong with Henri Nouwen), and the Irish Jesuits put out this devotional booklet each year that is really lovely and thought provoking, Sacred Space.

Ideas for celebrating Advent with your children (beyond eating a chocolate treat everyday-not that there's anything wrong with that...):

Story of Christmas ornaments: This is a newer tradition in our family that I have used with Annie (we didn't have them when the boys were young). We have been using these for at least five years now and she still enjoys reading them and putting them on her own little tree in her room each night. The ornaments are mini-books that progressively tell the Nativity story.

Advent Storybook: This is a sweet storybook that successfully walks the line between being fictional while also being true to the essence of the Christian Nativity story and ideals (at least I think it does). A mother bear tells her little cub a story that weaves both fiction, adventure and the true meaning of Christmas. Annie enjoyed this book for many years.

The Jesse Tree: I found this book when looking for something a bit older than the Advent Storybook mentioned above. Annie still enjoys reading a story together each night of Advent, but she was ready for something a little more sophisticated. We have just started this book together but we are already enjoying it.

Jotham's Journey: By now you are probably thinking I didn't do any sort of Advent celebration until Annie came along, but not so! This is the book I read each Advent with my boys for several years. I have not pulled it out with Annie because honestly I think she would find it too scary. It's exciting! And full of adventure! And kinda nerve wracking at times! My boys loved it... Even when Jack thought he was too old for it, he would still always end up listening in as I read it to Timothy. It's almost like a kid's historical fiction novel that then ends up tying into the Nativity story.

And, finally... it nothing else....just consider lighting some Advent candles. Don't get too worried about having some sort of correct candle configuration, the candles are not the point. The point is to take a moment, slow down, breathe, pray,and remember what we are celebrating.

Some faith traditions use purple as the color of Advent, and some use royal blue. Again, it doesn't really matter that much. I decided several years ago to use glassybaby votives as my Advent wreath. It was a bit of a splurge and a gift to myself, but now I have them year after year and they never wear out.

The themes for each week of Advent can vary among faith traditions, but the ones I am most familiar with are:

1st Sunday- Hope (purple)
2nd Sunday- Peace (purple)
3rd Sunday- Joy (pink)
4th Sunday- Love (purple)
Christmas Eve/Christmas candle (white)

Honestly, you could light a simple white candle each night of Advent and call it good. Making space is not about creating new obligations and opportunities to feel guilty. If you only remember to light the candle once a week, then breathe in, breathe out, and be grateful for that one moment of peace in an otherwise hectic time of year.

Just make some space and listen for the words that have been waiting to be said.

Words that you may be hearing for the first time, or words that you have heard so many times you carry them in your soul.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned...

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,

and the government will be upon his shoulders.

And he will be called 

Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God,

Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:2-6

Wishing you an abundance of hope, peace, joy and love this Advent season.

(P.S. If you have other Advent resources or traditions, I'd love to hear them!)

The gift of Christmas

So, I was cruising along through October with barely even a hint of melancholy. I wasn't exactly hosting parties and chatting people up on the phone, but I was totally staying in my lane, doing my thing. Lots of reading, cleaning out closets, giving things away with abandon and glee, and I was even rocking a really solid healthy eating kick. I mean, how often do all of those good habits come together in the same month?!

It was hard not to start feeling a little cocky.

But as the 26th approached, the wheels started to come off.

Sometimes you just have no control over when all the feels are going to start clamoring to be heard. It seems like I should remember they often like to be heard at the end of October...

And then on top of an already significant anniversary, Jack let us know that he wasn't totally sure he was going to be able to come home for Thanksgiving after all. The boy has gotten himself a job and apparently when you get a job your employer actually expects you to work.

(I suggested he have his boss call me, but he didn't seem to think that was a good idea. What?!)

Then Timothy finished up his college applications and after much soul searching determined he was ending his quest to play college soccer. The school he most wants to attend is not recruiting any defenders for next year and he has always said the school was more important to him than getting to play. The schools that are interested in recruiting him aren't schools he wants to go to, so...he is content to hang up his cleats at the end of this year. I'm proud of him. I support him 110%. As always his decisiveness and uncanny sense of himself astound me, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that this is another ending that makes me a little sad.

And Annie...well, she just keeps growing up and that always means new...STUFF. Mostly good stuff, but stuff that all feels different both for her and for me. She is not one of those little girls dying to get older so I'm watching her struggle a bit against changes she can't control, and it makes me just want to wrap her up in a blankie like a burrito and rock her to sleep - except she's practically as big as I am. But I would totally still do this if I could just get her to stop fighting against my efforts to swaddle her up. It's very hard to swaddle a 10 year old who does not want to be swaddled. Words to live by.

And there it is.

Nothing earth shattering and certainly small potatoes compared to other people's problems. But perspective only takes you so far when it's your heart that's breaking, justified or not.

So, what's a girl to do?

I did the only thing that makes any sense under the circumstances. The one thing guaranteed to lift my spirits and heal my soul.

I think you know what's coming.

Oh, yes I did.

Clutch your pearls and cover the children's eyes, because here it is....

I started listening to Christmas music.

It all happened about a week ago when I really, really, really didn't feel like taking Rooney for a walk. It was kind of gray and I felt tired and blue and uninspired. So, I asked myself, "Self, what would make this more enjoyable for you?" And I kid you not, the answer was immediate and clear.

Christmas music

At first I felt a little sheepish. I mean in spite of my very public confessions of my love for Christmas here and here, even I do not usually resort to Christmas tunes before November.

But then I thought, who will even know? It will be my little secret. Although I swear Rooney kept rolling his eyes and sighing in disgust.

And then I couldn't stop.

And then I made a new Christmas playlist.

And then I perused the Apple Music Christmas playlists and determined right then and there they should hire me to make them some decent Christmas playlists.

For REAL, Apple Music. Puhleeease. Your selections are embarrassing. And boring. And it really pains me to say that about any sort of Christmas music.

(I make the best Christmas playlists. I'm not bragging, it's just true. It could be because I have 275 Christmas songs. That is the actual number of Christmas songs I own.) #sorrynotsorry #proudofit #ineedmore

So, now I'm just not even pretending anymore. I don't care who knows. I'll shout it from the rooftop (or my porch since our roof is really steep). I am already listening to Christmas music and I can't wait to see who comes out with new Christmas music this year. I'm full on IN and if you think I'm going to grow tired of my perpetual Christmas by the 25th of December then you really don't know me at all.

If you see me walking Rooney with a smile on my face, you will know why.

And let me know if you need me to make you a playlist.

I will honor Christmas in my heart,

and try to keep it all the year.

~Charles Dickens

This kid gets it.
He always has.
He's been playing Christmas music since July. 

Come darkness, Come light

I think it's safe to say that my biggest weakness is my sweet tooth.

Actually, it's probably even safer to say that my biggest weaknesses are pride, impatience, slothfulness, selfishness....but let's just start with my sweet tooth. That's a bit more manageable. Baby steps.

Oh my, do I love sweets.

In the interest of good health, moderation and all things holy, I do manage to keep my sweet tooth in check most of the time. I am very aware of the dangers of sugar and the importance of eating real, whole foods. And that is what I do eat, most of the time. My meals do not consist of old fashioned donuts topped off with a sprinkle of M & M's. (But...yum, right?) I'm not Buddy the Elf pouring maple syrup on spaghetti. But truth be told, when I finish off my healthy meal of mostly high fiber, vitamin-rich, minimally processed, heavy-to-the-vegetables foods...I kinda want a little something sweet.

Maybe just a small handful of Christmas colored mint M & M's?

So, you can see why the holidays pose a particular challenge for someone like myself. When we enter into the season where every meeting, gathering, classroom function, or social event comes with a plate of Christmas cookies laid out front and center, it's time to pull out all the stops for sweet tooth dysfunction management.

It's not that I'm not capable of forgoing sweets. I once gave up sugar for a full two months. I like to refer to that period of my life as The Dark Ages.

I mean, really. What is life without a little sweetness?

So, given that any full ban on sweets is ultimately doomed to failure, my strategy for the past month or so has been to eliminate sweets on weekdays, only allowing myself a moderate amount of sweet treats on weekends. The only exception to this restriction are bonafide holidays that fall on a weekday. I mean, like, Thanksgiving and Christmas, not National Potato Chip Day (although who needs sweets if you can celebrate with potato chips?)

I realize that for some people my personal Operation-Cut-The-Sweets plan is probably an eating regimen that is second nature for you. I don't want to hear it. I'll warn you that every time someone primly say, 'I don't really care for sweets...' I am pretty sure an angel loses its wings. So, just keep it to yourselves you salad-loving-health-nuts.

I was walking the dog yesterday (distracting myself from Annie's candy bar she had left half-eaten on the counter), listening to Christmas music, when a song came on that literally had me almost skipping down the sidewalk. I was overcome with such merriness that it was almost silly. The only thing that kept it from being more-than-almost silly was that I did not actually skip down the sidewalk (my children are thanking their lucky stars right now).  But I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that one little Christmas song turned my day, and my mood, right on its heels. I went from melancholy to joyful in about twenty seconds flat.

And it occurred to me that one of the reasons I embrace the Christmas season so enthusiastically is because it is my little something sweet.

For those of the Christian faith, we are really in the season of Advent. The Christmas season does not truly begin until Christmas Eve. And Advent is traditionally a time of reflection and repentance, not unlike the season of Lent. It's an introspective time in which we travel through the stories of our faith, reminding ourselves of why the Christmas story is indeed good news and something to be celebrated.

I'm good at that part. In truth, my heart and mind are all too often inclined more to the heavier stuff of life. Things weigh on my heart easily. I am too willing to carry burdens that aren't mine to hold. I lean into Advent with all the pondering and praying and repenting and sometimes get so far into the darkness that I forget that the light is coming. And, in fact, that the Light is here.

I think that is why I encourage an atmosphere of festivity and jolliness in my home by decorating early, playing Christmas tunes 24/7, and moving that blasted Elf around the house every night to the delight of one nine year old girl. It is because I need to be reminded of the light that is coming, the Light that is here- even as I acknowledge the darkness that is also the truth and reality of this life.

Being honest about the darkness awakens us to be compassionate with ourselves and others. But remembering the light, keeps us hopeful. And hope is the source of joy.

Wherever your heart is this Advent season, I hope Christmas will be your little something sweet.

"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness,
but will have the light of life." John 8:12

P.S. And if you see me on a weekend, be sure to offer me a cookie...or candy...or brownie...I'm not picky. Just watch out for your fingers.

Believe

I've taken a little heat for the speed with which we moved onto decorating for Christmas this year. The turkey carcass was practically still sitting on the counter when we hauled all of the Christmas boxes up from storage and started decking our halls with boughs of holly. I could give you a long list of reasons why we were completely justified in leaving Thanksgiving behind so quickly but the biggest reason of all, the one that I challenge any of you to try to resist, would have to do with one little girl who simply loves Christmas.

It really isn't her fault. She cannot be judged for her inordinate love of all things Christmas-y and tinsel-y and Christmas carol-y...because, the thing is, it's in her blood.

At the risk of blowing your mind on this early Monday morning and sending you running for that second, third or fourth cup of coffee, I have a pretty big secret to share. Well, at least it's a secret to some of you. Some of you, and you know who you are, won't be the least bit surprised. But the rest of you...well...you see, what you might not realize, and will likely come as a bit of a shock to those who have only known me as an adult is...okay...brace yourselves...

I grew up as the daughter of Santa Claus.

I'm sure some of you are smiling, or perhaps wrinkling your brow in confusion, or chuckling, imagining that I am simply telling a cute joke. I am not joking. And I can assure you that any of my oldest, dearest friends- those closest to me and my family as a child-some of whom might be reading this at this very moment-are not chuckling. They are nodding in all seriousness, and would solemnly tell you if asked, "Oh, yes, it is absolutely true. Her father was Santa Claus."

Because they know.

And it wasn't just because my father donned his red suit and beard almost every year of his adult life, thrilling children and adults alike with his booming laugh and jolly spirit.

It wasn't just because he always seemed to know the right thing to say to encourage a shy child to share their deepest heart's desire.

It wasn't just because both babies and awkward teenagers never seemed to balk at taking their place on his knee, sensing him completely worthy of their trust.

It wasn't just because of who he was on that one day each year.  Even though everyone saw and knew and believed he was Santa Claus on that one day.

But the real reason we knew, why we still know, was because everyone saw and knew and believed he was Santa Claus everyday of the year.

He laughed like that everyday. He could get any child to warm up to him, everyday. He loved babies and teenagers alike, everyday. He gave and he gave and he gave....everyday.

And I miss him...everyday.

But especially at Christmas.

Newer skies

Kneeling in Bethlehem

by Ann Weems

It is not over,

this birthing.

There are always newer skies

into which God can throw stars.

When we begin to think

that we can predict the Advent of God,

that we can box the Christ,

in a stable in Bethlehem,

that's just the time that God will be born

in a place we can't imagine and won't believe.

Those who wait for God

watch with their hearts and not with their eyes,

listening

always listening

for angel words.

This has long been my favorite Advent poem. I love the way it challenges us to imagine the possibility that the miracle of Christmas was not merely a one-time event in history, but evidence of God's ongoing, persistent, tireless, devoted and dogged determination to be known, to be felt, and to be present in our lives. If only we will listen.

This year, as I read this poem anew I was struck by the first lines and how much of motherhood is an endless process of birthing. That newborn whom we labored to bring into the world bears almost no resemblance to the toddler we must teach to walk and talk; nor he to the grade-school boy who must be taught self-control and compassion; and then we turn around and we are staring into the chest of a man-child, a head taller than ourselves, who is poised to take his first steps out into the world alone, possessing little more than youthful self-confidence and optimism- but anxious to leave nonetheless.

It is not over...this birthing.

And right now I am praying with all my might that there are newer skies ahead- skies that are star-filled and exploding with wonder and hope.

For him.

And for all of us.

Blessings to all this First Sunday of Advent. 

Bring it on

This morning...this day-after-Thanksgiving morn...Annie and I snuggled together, both of us positively gleeful that there was no reason in the world we had to leave the warmth of the covers and venture into the very wet, very cold day outside.

In fact, as I type these words I am still happily outfitted in my pajamas (if pajamas can be considered an "outfit"). What?! Perhaps it is 1:00 in the afternoon and perhaps I did just eat lunch- a most delicious turkey/stuffing/cranberry sauce sandwich- all while in my pajamas. Why do you ask? Whatever...there are no hidden cameras here....All of you who were showered, dressed and made-up by 8am this morning can just take your judgment elsewhere. I have no regrets and even less shame. (I could stand a smidge more vanity though as I have seriously considered venturing out in my current attire but have been cautioned against doing so by certain members of my family. Some people are so fussy).

Anyhow, back to that cozy memory from this morning. While I enjoyed a few extra minutes of pillow time, Annie played on the ipad and ended up pulling up the Charlie Brown Christmas app. It is essentially a narrated storybook with a few small activities thrown in. I've been pleased by how much she enjoys this app given its simplicity. She really seems to just enjoy hearing the story over and over again.

I closed my eyes and listened to the familiar words of Charlie Brown lamenting the commercialization of Christmas. I smiled as Lucy tells him he needs to "get involved" with something, thus cornering him into directing the Christmas play.

What a lovely thought...I mused...a group of children who set about organizing, writing, directing and performing their own Christmas pageant, with no adult in sight. I wondered how that would turn out if I were to turn loose my band of kiddos at church to organize themselves?

Annie asked why I was laughing to myself.

And then came that unforgettable moment when Charlie Brown cracks (I'm hoping not to have a similar moment myself during our pageant rehearsals...) and cries out to no one in particular:

Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?!?

And Linus, sweet Linus... always ready with a historical anecdote or timely quote, all with blankie in hand...gives his unflappable answer:

Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.

Not gonna lie...I felt myself choke up for just a second when I heard those words. And Annie and I cuddled even closer as we listened to Linus recite what must be some of the most familiar verses in all the Bible.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the Angel of the Lord came upon them, and they were sore afraid. And the Angel said to them, Fear not: For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the Heavenly Host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.

That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Advent begins in just a matter of days, which means Christmas is on its way.

I understand all of the reasons people lament the commercialization of Christmas and get overwhelmed by too many activities and expectations. I understand... I do. I am also deeply aware that for many people this is not the most wonderful time of the year. I've had those seasons, those Decembers when I wished I could erase the whole shebang from the calendar so I wouldn't have to spend days on end pretending to be interested in celebrating when what I really wanted to do was stay home avoiding anything that hinted of Christmas.

If that is you this year, then know you have my heart, my prayers and my wishes for peace. I've been there...

But this year... still basking in the thankfulness glow from yesterday, I was so incredibly grateful this morning for the almost giddy anticipation I felt for the weeks ahead. Perhaps because I know how it is to feel otherwise and I know how much my 7 year old needs me to join her in her excitement over all of the wondrous expectation contained in the season of Advent, followed by the JOY of Christmas morning.

This year, I'm right there with her.

Annie asked me this morning, her voice plaintive and cautiously hopeful, Mommy, when can we start decorating?

I pretended to be deep in thought, weighed down by the gravity of her question.

Oh, the boxes...oh, the mess...oh, the clutter...Christmas!...Bah humbug.

Then I smiled and squeezed her tight and asked:

How about today!!

Advent may not officially begin for another week... but I say,

Bring it on!