A Little Perspective

Sometimes, perspective is all I need to set my mind right.

This past weekend I left everything I know behind - schedules, routines, people - and headed up to the mountains with a friend who had invited me to join her sisters and their friends for a girls' getaway weekend. I don't remember the last time I did anything like that, but whereas my natural inclination would have been to decline the invitation (based on the fact that I didn't know anyone), I took a shot and went.

When we first got there, I suddenly felt transported back to high school. I felt awkward and out of place, and imaginary audience of adolescence reared its head in a very real way. When you're the new girl, the only one out of the bunch that doesn't have a long history with any of the others in the group - that's intimidating at first. And as I walked into that cabin, I was flooded with the feelings that every other woman there would be scrutinizing every detail about me: my clothes, my shoes, my hair, my skin, my weight, my height, my style, my voice, my personality - and I suddenly felt as if I wasn't going to be deemed good enough for them. This was before anyone even said hello.

The funny thing is that it didn't take long for it to occur to me that these ladies were not up at that cabin to get to know me. (Funny how during adulthood, things like that actually do occur to you, whereas during adolescence, no one could convince you otherwise).  But then, I was hit with this: "Tell us something exciting about yourself." I had nothing.

Exciting? Interesting might have been slightly easier to come up with, but exciting? What's exciting about myself? My life? The fact that I couldn't answer scared me.

As I laid in bed trying to drift off to sleep after the evening's festivities died down, I found myself longing for that something, that thing that would set my heart on fire and make me want to pursue it so passionately that everything else would sort of fade away as not nearly as important (read: laundry, dishes, diapers, and the like). I thought about all the things that other people do, all the things I like to do, and when I compared the two, I felt as if the things I enjoy aren't nearly as "exciting" as the things that so many other people are excited about (chiefly among them, training for a marathon). And I beat myself up about it for a good bit of the weekend. But by the time I got home, I realized that exciting doesn't have to be limited to running marathons. It doesn't have to be limited to mission trips to China. But, it also can be something more than buying organic strawberries at the farmer's market in January (True story. I bought some about two weeks ago. And it was very exciting.)

I've been searching lately for something more. I don't think that's a secret around here. Something more, though, seems a bit elusive because it's ill-defined. More of what? More busy? More meaningful? More exciting? More productive? More spiritual? More creative? More holy? More what? I think the answer is this: all of that. And that is overwhelming. It's a tall order for someone who feels a bit lost.

When I was working an outside job, I was distracted from this desire. Perhaps the job wasn't my calling or my dream, but it was a good distraction from the fact that I actually want more out of life than just to make it through the day. And now, making it through the day sane is at the top of my list, especially since I've had a very moody toddler on my hands for the past month.

Being surrounded by a group of friends tell old stories from a common past and updates on their current lives gave me a glimpse into how other people live, what's important to them, and what excites other people. I heard recipes being exchanged, discipline tips being shared, plans for marathon training being devised, and stories about trips to other exotic places exchanged. All of this was laced with laughter and the belief that life was actually quite good. Perhaps imperfect, but overwhelmingly good. And perhaps that's what was exciting about these women's lives, not just the marathons or the trips.

After gaining new perspective, I have a deep desire to stop thinking about things I want to do, and actually do them. I've let money and time and fear keep me from pursuing these things that seem exciting to me for far too long, and so today, I'm setting a new course for myself and giving myself permission to go and learn and discover. To try. And to be excited about that.

And the first step, for me at least, is to make a list. So off I go to do so.

  

(Image via)

What sorts of things have you been dreaming of doing lately? What's holding you back? Are those limitations real or imagined? What would it take for you to stop making excuses and just get going?

Here We Go Again

I wrote this last Sunday when I was in the throws of feeling a little off.

Do you ever have those days? Days when whatever battle you're facing - mental or otherwise - seems to be staring you in the face, mocking you, dogging your heels and not giving you a moment's breath? I do, every once in awhile.

This post didn't actually get posted due to some strange problem with Blogger, so in my draft folder it's sat for the past few days. But here I am, finding myself with the urge to actually post it in hopes that it will, again, be like ripping off a band aid and exposing the wound to some air. And Lord knows I could use a little bit of fresh air, these days.

This is something I've dealt with before, many times over in fact. But here I am still, or again, confronting that pesky little thing that comes out when I'm at my most vulnerable. Being pregnant, I'm vulnerable to succumbing to my feelings and throwing myself a pity party about it. 

I have come to realize in a new, very real way that most women aren't very comfortable in their own skin. And if they are, they've most likely walked through a very raw place in their life in which they weren't comfortable with themselves, a place where they were plagued with questions and doubt and frustration and misunderstanding, the unwelcome result of a wound inflicted in childhood, a wound they weren't really even aware of even, until their incessant tendency to compare themselves to other women somehow caught their attention. It's not new news; I've known this on some level for a long time. I understand it in a new way now, though. We're not all that different after all. And the divide that keeps me captive to the idea that "I'm the only one who doesn't have it all together" is fading away.

For most of my life, I simply thought this is just how women are: they compare themselves to each other in some unspoken competition for who could be . . . well, what, exactly, I never knew for sure, but I suspected it was a combination of the prettiest, the funniest, the smartest, the friendliest, the best dressed, the most stylish. It seemed like everything was a competition with us girls - and it didn't matter how much I actually liked the girl I pitted myself against; I somehow usually ended up feeling less than, as if I was somehow cosmically insignificant if my dress size happened to be slightly larger than any one of my friends.

I'm not sure I even really participated in this collective comparison until I was in fifth grade. I call that my "butterball stage," and anyone who knows me well knows why. I was pudgy. No - that's not really fair. I was really pudgy - and I was blissfully unaware of it until the moment that changed everything.

My dad was the children's pastor at our church, and it wasn't abnormal for us kids to go down to the church office every now and then for some reason or another. One day, my mom took me down there, just the two of us. I don't know if I really knew the reason we were going or not, but I remember what happened when we got there. We went into the bathroom and I stood on the scale and my mom read the number aloud. "115. Now, if you can just stay there, you'll be ok." I've never forgotten those words, not in the 20 years or so since I heard them.

Before anyone is tempted to assume that I'm villifying my mother for this, let me say this: the words were innocent. Her intentions were not malicious. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that moment would stick with me into adulthood. I love my mom, and I know she loves me whatever size, shape, color, or texture I come in.

What did happen, though, was that those words had power over me for years. After that day, I was acutely aware of weight and size, and how they were inextricably linked to being ok. From that moment on, 115 was my number, the number that I couldn't ever quite reach again, the number that dictated my own sense of self-worth. If I wasn't 115, I wasn't ok. Something was wrong with me. No matter what else was good about me, the only thing that would make me ok was the right number on that scale. I was wounded without realizing it. As I grew up, I came to believe that if I couldn't be ok, than at least I should be humble about it, as if self-deprecation made me a better person or something. And I became obsessed with the scale.

When I got a bit older (and perhaps a bit wiser), the Lord graciously revealed this wound to me and helped me to see its effects on my life. And for a few years, I did fairly well believing the truth about myself and at battling through this weakness of mine, the weakness that makes me feel distinctly less than because of my unrealistic standards for myself. I began to feel comfortable with myself and accepted the fact that 115 isn't a healthy number for myself. I came to terms with the fact that if I got to 115, I still wouldn't be ok because I would be under weight of my height.

Even so, that nagging sense that something about me wasn't quite enough was always with me. Pregnancy brings this out in even fuller force, even though there's a very real (and very apparent) reason why my body is morphing into a shape that feels alien - and even a bit monstrous. The amazing truth that there's a new life forming inside of me doesn't shake the feeling that somehow, it's not making me any more beautiful than before. In fact, as the scale creeps up little by little, I watch my sense of self-worth diminish just a little bit more. And so I start to self-deprecate. I start to berate myself for things beyond my control, and I compare myself with other women who are pregnant or have had children and are all the more beautiful for it. (Especially the ones whose bodies don't change at all except for a slight blip in their midsection.)

But you know what? I'm realizing that self-deprecation is false humility. And I'm also realizing that it is impossible for me to be the only woman to deal with these issues. If heart burn and round ligament pain and swollen ankles and mood swings are all common effects of pregnancy, then a distorted body image probably is one, too. And to go even further, that distorted body image probably doesn't just exist during pregnancy - but pregnancy is the perfect time for it to flair up again and take advantage of an already highly sensitive, emotional girl who is questioning herself anyway.

And so, that being said, there are a few things I want to leave you with today. Since I wrote this on Sunday (and according to my own rules I'm supposed to be leaving you with my favorite tidbits from around the web this week) here are things that have stuck with me for the past few days. The first is a link to My Body Gallery, a site that shows what women with a particular height and weight actually look like. This helped me realize just how distorted my own view of myself is.

The second is a link to a friend's blog where she posted something very similar to this just the other day. When I read it, I thought, "I was right. More women deal with this than any of us really think about." When I catch myself thinking I'm surely the only one struggling with this particular battle, I'll think of her, and then I'll think of all the women she represents, women who outwardly seem strong and secure, but who inwardly are doing their best to get by just like the rest of us. And here's a link to a video she made of herself while she was working through some of these demons awhile back. The video spoke to me profoundly, and I find that the chorus of the song has been popping into my head every now and then for the past several days - a welcome reminder to my weary heart that its time to give up the fight and embrace the beauty of who I am, just as I am.

And finally, here's a link to a project I finished awhile ago: Project 31. Project 31 was a challenge to rediscover my own true beauty, to deal with my demons and get right in my brain about who and what I am. I find that even though I finished quite some time ago now, it really is an ongoing process for me, and I've got to keep going back to these truths to keep my mind healthy when it comes to all this stuff. I'm doing it for myself, yes, but also for my daughter who will watch me and mimic me, who will learn from me and who will emulate me.

This picture says it all.

52 Projects: Project 34

Project 34

Photograph your bookshelves. Then, make a list of every book that’s on the shelves, putting a check mark next to the books that you’ve actually read. Next, make a list of all the books that aren’t on the shelves that you’ve read over the years. Some you’ll have no problem remembering, others you won’t be able to recall. And then make still another list, this one noting all the books you want to read but haven’t — yet. Update frequently, and keep the lists and photographs tucked away in your favorite book.

I love my bookshelves, so much so that a place doesn't quite feel like home without them or the books that fill them. The funny thing is that I haven't read the majority of the books that take up residence here; I've known that for a long time and it hasn't really bothered me until recently. I love reading. Always have. But I also love books for their beauty. (Am I crazy that I think books are beautiful?) As such, I have many books that I love simply for the  aesthetic value they add to my living room; I'm sure the contents are incredible as well (most are classics, you know), but I wouldn't be the one to tell you that for sure.

But, last December, finding my appetite for reading was suddenly voracious, I determined that now was as good a time as any to start reading these books. As many as I could, as quickly as I could. (In other words, I resolved to start one and finish it without letting weeks slip by without picking it up.) And, as I began, I realized I had several books that I just didn't care about. I had picked them up once upon a time because I had wanted to read them, but as the years passed, I lost interest and forgot about them. With space at a premium in our apartment, I started sorting through the books and making piles of those that I was willing to let go of. I did this before I realized that one of the 52 Projects dealt with books on one's bookshelf. Nice timing, eh?

Here is one of my bookshelves; this is in the living room. There's one more shelf that's not pictured here; it's covered up by storage boxes behind our couch, and the camera couldn't catch it. (Told you space was at a premium - who wants storage boxes in their living room?) Anyway, we keep classics, books on faith and spirituality, and fiction on this shelf. 

This is the other shelf in the living room; it houses classics, literary anthologies, and art and history books. Oh, and Addie's books and toys are on the bottom two shelves. Didn't catch that in this picture, but I promise you I've read all the books on her shelf. Many times.

And here is the much more functional bookshelf in my bedroom. The books on this shelf are the spillover from when I cleared out two shelves on the living room shelves for Addie's stuff. And yet, somehow, adding books to my bedroom made it finally feel like my own room.

And this is the final bookshelf to show. This is in Addie's room; she has another one with strictly her books, but I included this one because the majority of books on it are actually mine. Books from childhood, high school, college. Books I held on to because they seemed to special to get rid of (my mom's Nancy Drew book from when she was a young girl); books I held on to because I thought perhaps one day my own daughter might love them (Anne of Green Gables); books I held on to because I still read them over and over again (Harry Potter).

So. The point of all this was to write a list of the books on these shelves, right? Well, I wish I could tell you that I had my list complete. I don't. I've had a clingy, moody toddler on my hands this week who has made it fairly impossible to do much else during her waking hours than read books with her, play hide and go seek with her Little People, or watch Sesame Street for the 47th time in a row. But I can tell you that the list is started, at least. I'll add pictures here when I get it finished. Promise.


What books do you love? Why do you hold on to the books you do? How do you decide what stays and what goes?

What I Do and What I Don't Do

Last week I was thinking a lot about dreams, goals, and ways to pursue them without losing my mind. Have you ever been in a place where you feel distracted by the things you think you ought to do, sacrificing getting something you want to do? (And I'm not talking about paying bills vs. blowing your paycheck at the mall ... )

Someone taught me a very valuable lesson last January, and here I am a whole year later and haven't done anything about it. I've remembered it, though, and every time I find myself caught between the ought to and the want to, I think about the lesson and wonder if it could help sort things out for me.

It's simple: make a list of things you do and things you don't do.

Shauna Niequist, she's a genius. I'm telling you. (She is hands-down one of my absolute favorite authors. She tells the truth, beautifully, honestly. And I never get through the first chapter of either of her books without crying. You can check out her blog here.)

In her book Bittersweet, there's a chapter called "Things I Don't Do," and I've been thinking about the truths in that chapter for the past several days. In it, she tells the story of how she came to write a list of things she doesn't do. She tells the story of how she came to hear (and believe, and put into practice) this invaluable piece of advice: "It's not hard to decide what you want your life to be about. What's hard [...] is figuring out what you're willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about."

So today, after re-reading the chapter for at least the hundredth time, I'm thinking about what I really care about. I'm asking myself questions like, What are the things in my life that are central to the life I want to lead? Am I leading the life I want to lead? And if not, what are the things I care about that I'm not making room for? What are the things in my life that I don't really care about, that are distracting me from investing in the things I do care about?

It's a two-part exercise. The first step is to decide what is most important to me - the things I do. The second step is to make a list of things that I don't really care all that much about - the things I don't do. I think by writing it out, it's like giving yourself permission to say no to the things you don't really care about, but more than that, it's permission to say yes to the things you actually care about, the things you always say you would spend your life doing if only you had the time.

When I sat down to make the list, I realized that it's much more difficult than it sounds. It may not look that way when you read my lists, but give it a try and you'll find out just how truthful I'm being. And by the way, if you don't feel like reading this list, I don't blame you. It turned out to be quite long. And believe it or not, I could probably make it longer. But maybe it will make you think differently about what you do and what you don't do - and just maybe, if you're like me, it will end up helping you feel really good about who you are and what you do (and what you don't do), and help you to take a step toward focusing your time and mental energy on pursuing the goals that line up with what's actually important to you.


Things I Do
I love Jesus. I do my best to live my life as He has asked me to, which includes serving others and being involved with fellow believers on a weekly basis.

I try hard to make sure the people I love know they are important to me. Sometimes this means watching something obscure on Netflix that clearly is nostalgic to my husband (but quite silly to me); sometimes this means inviting friends over to our place for an impromptu dinner;  and sometimes this means driving a bit to spend time with people I haven't seen in too long. Doing what I can when I can to spend time with people who make me think, make me laugh, and challenge me to be a better person is never time wasted.


I work at home. I have a more-than-full-time job taking care of my growing family. I try hard to keep things clean and running smoothly around here, and I take in freelance work when it pops up.

I spend a lot of time in the kitchen. Cooking and cleaning, yes, but studying and experimenting and creating. Cooking is a creative outlet for me, a beautiful way to experience all the colors and textures and flavors this world has to offer. I do my best to cook in a healthy, mindful way, but I never sacrifice flavor. Ever.

Which leads me to my next point. I believe in putting my money where my mouth is (perhaps literally and figuratively?) by buying organic milk, eggs, produce, and meat. I support local farms and I belong to a CSA. What this means in a practical sense is that I pay an awful lot for organic milk, I don't buy tomatoes out of season, and I made Addie's baby food from scratch (which actually is not nearly as hard as it might seem). Food is important, where it comes from is important, how we come to purchase it is important, and how we think about it is important - for the environment, for our health, and for our taste buds. Seriously - the real stuff tastes better. I promise.


I spend a lot of time with the written word by reading and writing. I read all sorts of books and blogs, especially ones that make me see the world a bit differently, or teach me something valuable, or give me sheer pleasure as I turn the page. When I read inspiring writers, I find that I am a better writer myself, and since writing is important to me, reading is essential.
 
Things I Don't Do
I don't have a outside job outside my home in the traditional 9-5 workday sense. I quit that over six months ago to stay home with my then infant daughter. When I was working, I felt lots of pressure to stay home. And now that I'm home, I feel lots of pressure to be a working mom. The thing is, I can't have it both ways, not really. But I can still do what I love here, in my home, while raising my daughter. 

I'm not much of a crafter. I could be, and I enjoy it (usually), but let's be honest here: I don't make my own jewelry or greeting cards or pillow cases or tutus for little girls. And I don't scrapbook. (Believe it or not, this has been a point of guilt for me. Not creating something fancy and pretty that documents my marriage and my growing child has made me feel like I don't care about them enough. But the truth is, I'm actually really terrible at documenting much of anything in any organized manner.) 

I don't stress over having a perfectly clean house. I do my best to keep things tidy (and actually, I really really hate going to bed with a messy kitchen), but overall, I'm not one of those women whose kitchen floor you could eat off of. Heck, I don't even scrub my shower. (But I can happily say that Joey does do that.)

I don't perform, and actually, it took a long time for me not to feel bad about that simply because I grew up among performers. Artists. Talented folks who enjoy sharing their gift in front of an audience. Plus, I married a man whose dating history primarily involves seriously talented musicians. Me? I'm not one of those. I don't sing or play an instrument, I don't act, and I certainly don't dance. And while I do want to learn to play the piano again (I quit when I was in 6th grade), I want to do that for me. I don't want to learn it with pressure to play for anyone other than myself unless I want to.

I don't do much with social networking. I don't Twitter, and I rarely Facebook. I like being connected with my friends, but I do my best to stay in touch with them by actually talking to them, visiting them, writing emails or letters to them. I admit that Facebook is an easy, fast way to shoot them a quick "I'm thinking about you" message, but I feel like it's pretty impersonal, and to be honest, I don't want the whole world privy to what I have to say to them.

I don't live outside my means. This means that I don't go shopping very often (unless you count shopping for milk and bananas every week), and I don't use money budgeted for something else or a credit card to get the things I really want. I either save for it, or wait for extra money to come in, or ask for it for my birthday or Christmas. It's tough - there are times when I feel deprived when I can't go out and buy a new purse or get a pedicure, or (even worse) sip a fancy cup of coffee as I roam around a bookstore, picking out a pile of new books to bring home with me. But I do feel good about making huge strides toward being debt-free, and believe it or not, life does go on if I keep on using my worn out purse.

I don't run marathons. I don't ski. I don't hike. I don't sail. I don't ride horses. In short - I'm not outdoorsy. I like to be active and healthy, but I don't spend my free time doing the things I listed. Perhaps I will someday, but for right now, I don't. And that's ok.

I don't keep up with the media. I don't have cable. I hardly ever know what new movie is out. I couldn't tell you who the latest pop star is. I enjoy movies and clever TV shows, but I don't keep up with the latest celebrity gossip.

Come to Me

When you know you're supposed to be reflecting on the past and anticipating the future, when you know you're supposed to be setting new goals and starting to walk in new ways to get those goals accomplished, sometimes it feels too hard to actually start. 

In the days leading up to the first moments of 2012, the idealist in me was full of good ideas -- no, great ideas -- for how I was going to do things differently this year, how I would make real changes that would matter, that would change my life both inside and out. But I never actually got around to writing them down or defining them any further than simply making a mental note of what I hoped to accomplish this year. I dragged my feet when it came to that; it was as if I was rebelling against new years' resolutions or goal-setting with an attitude that seems to think it doesn't really matter anyway. I'm fine the way I am, aren't I? Do I really have to make changes? And if I do, who says New Year's Day is the "right" or "best" time to start? And yet, here I am, three days into the new year, finally forcing myself to sit down and define my dreams for this year.

Defining dreams is pretty important, I think. Writing them down, giving the unspoken desires deep within your heart words that take up space outside of yourself, that gives the dream a bit of substance, doesn't it? It makes it seem as though perhaps you might actually see that dream come true. It motivates to action. It gives direction to decisions.

This year, I waver between feeling as though my dreams are far too lofty to be attainable and feeling as though my dreams aren't nearly big or important enough. The more I thought about the disparity between these two thoughts, the more I realized it is caused by a cocktail of desire & destiny and self-doubt & faithlessness.

As I was putting Adeline down for her morning nap today, I pondered this as I rocked her back and forth. It was not lost on me that I do that rocking motion in my thought life every day, sometimes without even realizing it. Back and forth I go, moving between belief that the Lord has planted desires in my heart whose buds are beginning to peek their little necks out from beneath the soil, and the flawed thinking that the bud has died, and that no amounts of water or sunlight will revive it. The pull between what I dream of doing, what it seems like I "should" be doing, and what I actually feel like doing on a daily basis leaves me burdened and burnt out. And so I do nothing (thus the reason I haven't written anything here in nearly two weeks).

As I continued to rock back and forth, I breathed a small prayer asking, "What do I do with this?" Being in that in between place is uncomfortable and paralyzing. I felt a faint whisper in my ear say, "Come to me," an echo of what Jesus said in Matthew 11:30: 

 Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? 

Come to me. 

Get away with me and you'll recover your life. 

I'll show you how to take a real rest. 

Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. 

Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. 

I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. 

Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.

(The Message)

And so, I didn't waste time. I went to him immediately. I flipped through my journal, a bit embarrassed by how long it's been since I'd written in it, looking for a shred of evidence that He'd met with me before in hopes of bolstering my faith that He'd do it again. Without looking very far, I found this letter. It is a letter written last April at our annual Women's Conference; our speaker, Susie Larson, gave us an opportunity to sit in the presence of the Lord and write a letter with words the Lord would speak to us right then. "Don't think about it, just write," she urged. Here's what mine said:

My precious child, 

I want you to know that I love you. More than anything else, I want you to know that I love you. Deep. Deep. Deep. Love you. And I have your back. You don't have to worry. You don't have to be afraid. I'll take care of you. I know you, your heart, how your mind has kept you captive from the things I desire for you. They're for me - so take heart, love. Take my heart and let it become yours. I'll not leave you. Never. I can't. I won't. Don't even try pushing me away because you'll lose. I win. I always win. With me, you are safe. I've got your back. I see you. I know you. I'll help you. I mean what I say. Maybe others don't. Haven't. But I do. I will. Trust me. Trust ME. I am good. I am true. I am real, more real than anything else, for without me, there is nothing. Apart from me, there is nothing. With me, there is fullness of joy. With me there is clarity, not confusion. With me there is light at the end of the tunnel. I am that light. Keep walking. Keep moving. Keep seeking. Keep trying. Don't fear failure. Don't fear falling. I am. I promise. Believe the promise. Step into the promise. Embody the promise. Don't forget. Remember. Remember me. Remember me? I am the one who brought you here to this sweet place. I will continue. My word is true. My word is sure. My word will not fail. Honor me. Honor me with everything you are and I will honor you. Do not forget. And I will not forget.

Perhaps today the Lord was trying to tell me something even more specific than the message of this letter. As I was looking through the pictures I took to share with you, my eyes landed on this:

They're for me. My dreams, that is. They are not my own; they are mine to bring glory to the Lord. However big or small those dreams are, however dramatic or seemingly mundane, all of them are for His glory alone.

Take my heart. Instead of "taking heart" on my own and operating from my own strength, take His heart and operate in His strength. Make what He cares about what I care about. What hurts His heart, let it hurt mine, too.  Let the things that move him, move me. Love like he loves.

I'll not leave. I'm not alone, nor will I ever be. I am not facing this alone, and I never will. We're in this together.

I don't know where you are in processing and pursuing your dreams. Perhaps you're like me and have been feeling like the desires set deep in your heart are more of a liability than they are liberty these days. Maybe you've lost sight of your dream completely, or maybe you've walked through this place before but have come out the other end. Either way (or any number of other ways this might find you today), I will leave you with this:

Your dreams? They're for Him.

Take heart. His heart.

You're in this together.

Keeping Christmas

I could have posted many, many things related to Christmas this morning. It's difficult to find my very favorite passages or sayings or carols or prayers, so instead, I thought I'd share four things I found this year that I had never heard before. These resonated deep inside my heart this morning as I sat thinking about the mystery of Christmas and how to keep it alive all year round. I hope you find them as meaningful as I do.

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.

- Charles Dickens

Expectancy is the atmosphere for miracles.

- Edwin Louis Cole

 

When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with the flocks,
then the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal those broken in spirit,
to feed the hungry,
to release the oppressed,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among all peoples,
to make a little music with the heart…
And to radiate the Light of Christ,
every day, in every way, in all that we do and in all that we say.
Then the work of Christmas begins.
- Howard Thurman 

Not Only on Christmas Day

Lord, this is my prayer
Not only on Christmas Day
But until I see You face to face
May I live my life this way:

Just like the baby Jesus
I ever hope to be,
Resting in Your loving arms
Trusting in Your sovereignty.

And like the growing Christ child
In wisdom daily learning,
May I ever seek to know You
With my mind and spirit yearning.

Like the Son so faithful
Let me follow in Your light,
Meek and bold, humble and strong
Not afraid to face the night.

Nor cowardly to suffer
And stand for truth alone,
Knowing that Your kingdom
Awaits my going home.

Not afraid to sacrifice
Though great may be the cost,
Mindful how You rescued me
From broken-hearted loss.

Like my risen Savior
The babe, the child, the Son,
May my life forever speak
Of who You are and all You've done.

So while this world rejoices
And celebrates Your birth,
I treasure You, the greatest gift
Unequaled in Your worth.

I long to hear the same words
That welcomed home Your Son,
"Come, good and faithful servant,"
Your Master says, "Well done."

And may heaven welcome others
Who will join with me in praise
Because I lived for Jesus Christ
Not only Christmas Day
- Mary Fairchild

The Heart of Christmas

Yesterday, I felt like a breath of fresh air swept through my stale heart and gave it new vitality. For the past several weeks, I had been feeling a little confused as to how to go about celebrating Christmas the "right" way. Now that Joey and I have a family of our own, little as it may be, I am even more aware of the folly that surrounds us during Christmas, how somewhere along the line the real reason for Christmas was hijacked by folks who saw an opportunity to make a dime. And now, all around me, I see kids with a sense of entitlement, kids who throw fits over getting the biggest, best, newest thing the world has to offer.  I'm left wondering what we will do to celebrate it, how we'll be able to raise kids without this sort of attitude, and whether we'll be able to somehow honor Christ in the midst of it all.

I have seen several blog posts discussing exactly this idea lately, and it seems that many folks are determined to set things right in their homes and basically shun anything remotely "of the world." But as I read the articles, I started feeling like a loser of a mom because not only was I exited for Addie to get to experience Christmas for real for the first time, but I also felt like a million people out there in blog land were somehow judging me for welcoming Christmastime with a fire burning the fire place and scented candles filling the room with the sweet smell of Christmas while Joey and I decorated our tree as "It's a Wonderful Life" was playing in the background.

But yesterday, it was as though our Pastor's message let me off the worry hook and gave me permission to celebrate with all the merriment that the season has to offer. He brought a bit of this merriment I'm talking about into  the service because he said that it is, after all,"the Most Wonderful Time of the Year." He showed a clip of his favorite rendition of this very song, a rendition done by none other than the Muppets. It was easy to see that Pastor was in a festive mood, thoroughly enjoying celebrating the season, but as soon as the music died down and the congregation began to settle in for the sermon, he posed this question (as if he instinctively knew there was someone in the back row sitting next to Joey and I who were vocally questioning his judgement): He asked, "So why do we have things like this at church?" He then explained, "The reason we do stuff like that around here is to offend as many religious spirits as possible. Don't get me wrong -- we're a deeply spiritual church. We're just not very religious." He went on to give a powerful message about how at the heart of Christmas is a celebration of the most wonderful gift that was ever given to humanity--the gift of the saving grace found in the Christ-child. Since we're celebrating that this season, shouldn't we be merry, be festive, and have a wonderful Christmastime?

Perhaps that's the distinction I'm trying to make in my own life as I think about what sorts of things to cut out of as well as include in our Christmas celebrations, the difference between what's religious and what's spiritual. If I don't put up a Christmas tree, if I refuse to sing Jingle Bells, if I never give another gift at Christmas -- does that make me any more spiritual than if I do? Maybe. Or maybe I would be doing it out of a religious heart, not a spiritual heart. I think in the end it comes down to the condition and motivation of my heart. 1 Samuel 16:7 says this:

The Lord doesn’t see things the way you see them. 

People judge by outward appearance, 

but the Lord looks at the heart.

(The Message)

I think this verse holds the answer for how to celebrate Christmas, how to weigh what's important versus what's not important, and how to make what could otherwise seem trivial carry deep significance.  So, after I thought long and hard about all this today, I made a decision. Instead of feeling guilty for celebrating the way I do, instead of being overly concerned with what people might think of my choices, and instead of feeling the push to buy more, do more, or be more during these last few days before the 25th, I'm going to focus instead on the condition of my heart, my motivations for my actions, and most importantly, on the greatest Gift anyone has ever been given. And I suspect I'm going to have an awful lot of fun doing so.

I sincerely hope you will join me.