This Christmas there may be less-than-perfect moments . . .
but if you look at it through eyes of thankfulness, it may just end up being the best memory.
My favorite outtake by Ali Jane Photography
Last night I was reminded of the first Christmas Peter and I had after we were married. We got so excited about the gifts we had bought for one another that we opened them early. Not a day or so early. Like two or three weeks early. I think Peter even made a little scavenger hunt for me to find my gift. And if I remember correctly, we budgeted $20 to spend on each other. Such a sweet memory.
Of course I– like so many of you– are up to my ears in gifts. I have all of the teacher gifts lined up on the counter, waiting for gift tags to be put on them. The kids are begging me every night to wrap up their gifts for family and friends (I have to work myself up to the patience level. I’m not there yet.) The guest room bed is piled in all sorts of goodness (I even have a small pile of things I bought for myself. I wonder, should I wrap them? It’s a whisk and a measuring cup, so don’t worry that I’m going overboard.).
One of the words I’ve been mulling over this past year has, in fact, been Gifts.
After Annie died, I would have horrible thoughts go through my head. I would begin to think that maybe I was going to fail her horribly as a Mama, so God had taken her from me. I would beat myself up thinking of all the ways I was robbing my kids’ childhood by working through this grief in front of them. Was I being punished? Was there some sin that caused her death? Over and over thoughts would tumble through my brain, leaving me worn down and exhausted.
About 18 months ago, Peter and I attended a Respite Retreat and one night after he fell asleep, I woke up and started writing in a flurry. Because it hit me:
God gives good gifts to His children.
And, I wondered, could Annie’s death ever be redeemed enough so that I would be able to see it as a gift? Would I open up my heart and my hands to allow Christ to not only heal my hurt, but also to use it?
So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.
Matthew 7:11
When I bought Ann Voskamp’s book a few months later, I devoured it. It spoke to something deep, deep inside me. Slowly I began to put words to my suspicion– Yes! It’s true! Not only does He give gifts, but they are good gifts.
But. (There always seems to be a but, doesn’t there?)
God may hand me the gift, but it’s my job to open that gift. I could be sitting in a virtual room of unopened, wrapped gifts, whining my face off about my sad life. And wouldn’t that be a shame? When I think about my kids pulling that kind of act on Christmas morning . . . well, that would be ridiculous.
The other night, Peter was putting William and Kate to bed while I wrestled Eliza into her jammies. She wiggled free and took off to the bedrooms with only her diaper on, sticking her belly out as far as it would go. When she got to the kids’ bedroom doors, they exploded with laughter. Oh, she thought she was hot stuff and they thought she was hilarious.
A gift. Joy and laughter in our house again. There have been days when I wondered if it would happen again.
Two years ago, I wrote of the line “The Weary World Rejoices” and how weary of it all I felt. But this year, I’m reminded of the next line in the song, “But yonder breaks a new and glorious dawn”. While we feel the weight of sorrow and misery in our lives, what a promise we have that just in just a little while . . . if we can just hang on for a little bit longer . . . it will. be. glorious.
He is writing a story of my life– of all of our lives– and along the way? He gives good, good gifts.
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I have a cookie exchange in a few days. Last year I brought these little babies and they were a hit. So I took pictures of them and fully intended to put them on the ole bloggy.
Now, a year later, here they are:
You will need these highly nutritional* ingredients:
2 loaves of white sandwich bread
2 blocks of cream cheese
1 egg yolk
1 cup of sugar
2 1/2 sticks of butter, melted
(you’re starting to question my definition of healthy, aren’t you?)
2 cups of sugar mixed with 1 tablespoon cinnamon
*lately, William has been highly interested in nutritional facts. Only he says, “Mom, I need to see the neutral ingredients”. I don’t correct him. Is that bad?
Moving on.
First, cut off the crusts of bread and roll each piece out flat with a rolling pin.
Mix up the cream cheese, egg and 1 cup of sugar. Take this filling and spread a generous amount on each piece of bread.
Then, roll it up tightly and cut it in half.
You’re going to dip each roll into the melted butter and then in the sugar mixture.
Pop those little crazies (you’ll have about 120, but you can put them super close) onto a cookie sheet and into the freezer until they are hard. Then take them out and bake them at 350* for 12-15 minutes.
Oh, they are insanely yummy. And since they are so small, you’ll have no problem popping them into your mouth at a high rate of speed. I’m not saying you should, I’m just saying you can.
And let us just take a moment to remember that last year while these were baking, I took a few pictures of my favorite little rolls. Sigh. She is so big now.
Over and out.
P.S. Some of you may remember Jane Wagner . . . I got this recipe from my Mom, who got it from her. Basically, I’ve learned that any recipe with Jane’s name on it is excellent. What a wonderful, full-of-Christ woman she was.
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I went for a walk this morning. It was beautiful. Sunny. Crisp.
I walked past a little stream and began to silently thank God for the unexpected gurgle. But as the words came out, I noticed a styrofoam cup, a shopping bag, wadded up newspaper. Huh.
I walked past a house with festive decorations and started to smile. Then I saw that instead of taking down their fall decor, they had left the pumpkins and just added lights to the mix. Classy, I thought. The next house had three angels with lights strung around their necks, choking them. To top it off, the owner had put fake garland around them. I wondered why she didn’t use the beautiful branches from her pine tree a few feet away. I mean, really?
And then it hit me that my criticism was suffocating me even in the fresh air.
Joy is something that I have to choose. Grace is something I can find in this desert too.
And so, I took another deep breath. I began to thank God for the people who lived in each house I passed. I prayed for the hurt in their lives. I prayed that the love of Christ would be real to them. And I thanked Him for beauty that surrounding me in unexpected ways.
Lately when I’ve read the Bible I’ve had such a hard time focusing. I find it much too easy to let the day slip by without sitting down and spending time with God. And when I do take the time? It seems mundane. Uneventful. Flat. Sometimes I just can’t wrap my mind around His Words.
My heart seems to be suffocating. One day I don’t get any fresh air at all. The next day I get the fresh air of His Word, and yet I spend my time too anxious to get on to the next thing on the list.
The rest of the day I find myself still mulling over the trash in the creek, the gaudy decorations, my resistance to stop and receive His grace. Ugh! What is wrong with me?
In that moment, I look up.
And my eyes begin to see– to really see.
I look around my house and notice pictures from Kate. Little notes of love from her to me, with the sun hitting them in just the right places.
I hear a whisper, “Even in this place, I love you. I created you. I am with you. Breathe My joy deeply and let Me fill you. Grab your tambourine and resume your singing.”
And I do.
This is the way God put it:
“They found grace out in the desert, these people who survived the killing.
Israel, out looking for a place to rest, met God out looking for them!”
God told them, “I’ve never quit loving you and never will.
Expect love, love, and more love!
And so now I’ll start over with you and build you up again, dear virgin Israel.
You’ll resume your singing, grabbing tambourines and joining the dance.
You’ll go back to your old work of planting vineyards on the Samaritan hillsides,
And sit back and enjoy the fruit— oh, how you’ll enjoy those harvests!
The time’s coming when watchmen will call out from the hilltops of Ephraim:
‘On your feet! Let’s go to Zion,
go to meet our God!'”
Jeremiah 31:2-6
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Peter and I got married while I was still in College. He had graduated from Seminary and I had a few years left, so he found a job at a little Presbyterian Church down a winding road twenty minutes from Asbury. Those people became some of our dearest friends and to this day, when we are feeling discouraged or disoriented in our lives, we seek out those friends who have loved us and encouraged us and cheered for us relentlessly.
This morning I was thinking of a dear lady, Sally, who went to be with Jesus earlier this year. Let me tell you about Sally. She was spunky. She was a little thing . . . so little that her husband, Whitney, built her a little stool so she could sit in the pew at church and rest her feet on something. She was a teacher to her core– it didn’t matter that she hadn’t officially taught for years– she was always teaching. If you’ve heard Peter preach, you’ll notice he doesn’t end his sentences in a preposition. That’s because Sally took him aside one Sunday after he preached and taught him the proper grammar his Preaching Professors had overlooked.
Most of all, Sally loved Jesus.
One summer, Crawford (a little boy then, now a college freshman!) came up to Peter and asked him a question. “Mr. Peter,” he said, “What does Heaven smell like?”
I love my husband so much, because he took that question seriously. He didn’t laugh it off as some childish inquiry. He researched it and sat Crawford down and really talked to him about it. For some reason, that question has always stuck in my head.
Have you ever thought about what Heaven smells like?
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?”
2 Corinthians 2:15-16
Sally once told me the story of a lady she went to visit weekly. The lady wasn’t too keen on Sally coming to visit her, but Sally was part of a group of people in her “Winter Church” in Florida that would go out to care for those who couldn’t get out on their own. The lady would hardly talk to Sally and was very bitter and hardened by life. Week after week, Sally would go to her house and sit with her, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good.
And then, one week, Sally bought some lotion. She went to her woman’s house and asked her, “Would you mind if I rub some of this lotion into your hands?” The lady nodded, and so Sally proceeded to rub her gnarled hand with her lotion. Each week, she’d ask the same question, “Would you mind if I rub some lotion into your hands?” and each week she’d gently work the lotion into those hands. Slowly, the woman became a friend to Sally.
Sally was the aroma of Christ. She was the fragrance of life.
Don’t we need that fragrance in our lives!? If I’m going to heal from this grief, I have to have others surrounding me, rubbing the healing balm of Jesus into my soul. I need encouragement and prayers and simple reminders that I’m not alone.
But it can’t stop there. Because if I’m going to heal, I also need to be that fragrance to others. Reaching out to the downtrodden and tired, weak and weary. This grace I’ve received is not only for me to take and hoard– it is a gift to be shared.
So what does Heaven smell like?
I think it smells like us– you and I– doing this walk of life together.
It’s the hurt caring for the hurt.
It’s the obedience in answering the small whispers from Jesus.
It’s giving when I feel like I have nothing to give.
It’s pushing away the pride and allowing others to encourage my heart.
It smells like lotion from the hands of one to the hands of another.
It smells like Grace.
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?”
2 Corinthians 2:15-16
** I love that picture of Whitney and Sally! It was the front of their 50th Wedding Anniversary invitation– so sweet! **
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We were having a bit of a problem in our house, in the sibling rivalry department.
The Thriving Family Magazine from Focus on the Family mysteriously appeared in our mailbox and I flipped through it and found this article on Gentleness.
What could I lose?
Now, I will say that these little activities helped us understand gentleness and what the Bible says about it. We had fun. We prayed and read the Bible together. But the sibling rivalry department is still experiencing problems. I’m beginning to think it’s a problem that requires constant supervision . . . for the next 18+ years. Am I right?
Anyway, one morning William looked up our verse. And then I gave each person in our family a raw egg. We wrote our names on them and put them in ziploc bags (triple checked to make sure they were sealed). We traded our eggs and for the next two hours, we had to hold someone else’s egg, being gentle so it would not break.
We talked about how we should be gentle with others– in our words and our actions. We can break someone’s spirit by hurting their feelings or not listening to them. As a family, it’s vital that we are gentle with one another. And, most importantly, we are gentle because God’s Word commands us to.
After talking and praying, and patting ourselves on the back that we were being STELLAR parents by not only having family devotions, but tacking an object lesson along with it, it came time to trade our eggs back to the original owner (note the sarcasm).
Lo and behold, not only had a certain child’s egg been smashed, there was not a bit of shell to be found in the ziploc. Please tell me how one can accomplish that feat?
 |
| This is early in the breakage. No evidence exists of the shell-less egg so as not to encourage non-gentleness. |
Gentleness.
Next time, I may boil the eggs first.
P.S. Bonus Pic! This is how I found Eliza that day after her nap. She is a silly one!
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When Grandma died, I got a few things.
Well, they aren’t just “things” because they elicit such strong memories for me.
Call me crazy, but one of the most special things I got from Grandma was her tupperware.
And I can’t help but fill them with her favorites–
Orange and strawberry finger jello
Scotcharoos
Monster cookies with one M&M in the middle, sprinkled with extra sugar
When they are empty (and before I fill them up again!) I hand wash them.
Yup. I am crazy.
But I don’t think I could bear it if her white-medical-tape-handwritten-name came off.
Seeing her name there shows me that she often filled up her tupperware and took it somewhere. And that speaks volumes to me– it teaches me to think of others, to give a gift, to make others feel special.
At Grandma’s viewing, we would periodically take turns sitting by Grandpa so that he wouldn’t be alone. So when my turn came, I was amazed at the number of people who came up to him with a memory of how Grandma had cared for them and loved them when they needed it most. It was a precious time for me.
I love the Godly heritage I’ve been given. And each time I run the soapy water and gently wash her name– Grace H.– I’m reminded to in turn show others that I care.
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You may be under the impression that my kids are always rainbows-and-sunshine-happy-and-jolly-all-the-time.
I find that laughable.
Let’s just say it gets a little crazy around here.
Let’s not forget this lovely moment on Easter morning:
And how about this one? I had the bright idea to take a candid family picture while we had ice cream outside one beautiful spring eve. As Peter was setting it up, William accidentally bumped into Kate who spilled her ice cream all over my lap. I’m sure the neighbors were watching the drama that ensued. It was not pretty. This was the best we got:
(Remember this series of family pictures we took the day we brought Annie home from the hospital? I still remember laughing so hard and yet being so terrified of having 3 kids!)
With the arrival of summer and a new routine, let’s say that things have been a little . . . intense . . . around here.
Oh, we’ll adjust. It’s just the in-between-ness that makes me a little frazzled.
All of a sudden the kids are fighting and someone’s crying and it escalates until each one is in a corner proclaiming that they “didn’t do ANYTHING!”
What’s a Mom to do?
I took a cue from William’s kindergarten teacher and made a jar. Well, I made 2 jars.
One was a Tattle Jar. That way when the fighting ensued and they came running to me, I could joyfully proclaim, “Put it in the jar”. And they would.
The other was a Kindness Jar. I always want to encourage them to find the good in their siblings.
As promised, a few days later, I read through the paper slips in the jar.
And laughed until tears ran down my face.
Kate yeld! at me wene I was was tring to helpe hre
(“Kate yelled at me when I was trying to help her”)
me & kate are giting a loun thrsday
(“Me & Kate are Getting along Thursday”)
Kate kickt me for no resin
(“Kate kicked me for no reason”)
Kate wude not let me have a trne
(“Kate would not let me have a turn”)
Kate is being a chrter today
(“Kate is being a cheater today”)
Lest you think William was the only one tattling, here are Kate’s:
“ILUI”
“WIDP”
(I guess it’s hard to write down tattles when you can’t spell yet. Who knew?)
My personal favorite is the tiny picture she drew of William taking her ball.
You know, I can’t say that the jars really worked. I still heard my share of tattles and refereed a lot of disagreements. But it was funny. And sometimes it’s good to have something to laugh about.
And I have to remember that there are LOTS of moments when these three are the best of friends.
You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to go stop an argument the kids are having with their imaginary friends. Apparently Sally took Kate’s stuff. Jaden and Sally might have to go home for the day. Whatever.
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Two weeks ago we spent a few unplanned days in Indiana with most of my (crazy, wonderful, hilarious) extended family. We travel from quite a few places, so it was really fun to have so much time together.
The reason for gathering, though, was not so fun.
After many years of life, my Grandma Grace quietly and peacefully left this life.
I am so thankful for the many years I had with her– heaps of memories growing up.
After everything was over, we found ourselves at my Uncle’s house, lining both sides of a table stretched all the way across their dining room. I could close my eyes and hear the familiar sounds of family– sounds I grew up with all my life. And yet, now they are different.
I found myself fighting tears lots of times that day because I realized it was the end of an era.
Because one very important person was missing. There’s just no one like a Grandma.
