A New Benchmark

Once upon a time, there was a young family with two young children. The mother was home all day with her preschoolers, and money was very tight for anything besides basic necessities. One day, that woman found an inexpensive outdoor bench at the local Big Lots store. Made of wood and metal, it was a sturdy bench that would serve them well for a long time.

Fast forward almost twenty years. That bench has stood in the front yard, the side yard, the garden, and--for the past few years--on the back deck. Over the decades, the wood has faded, then cracked, then gotten a little green with mildew in spots, finally beginning to rot away in places. The young mother remembers sitting on that bench in the front yard, watching the two- and four-year-olds ride their scooters around while she was in labor with her third child. Each little chubby leg of her four children has, over the years, hoisted itself up into that bench to sit and visit for a spell.

That woman, of course, is me, and about a month ago, I asked my father-in-law if there was any way to clean the wooden slats of that bench to restore it to some semblance of beauty and functionality. He looked it over and broke the news that it was probably not worth the time or trouble that it would take, but that he would see what he could do.

You can't even imagine my surprise and delight to receive this wonderful Christmas gift from sweet Opa! He had taken the bench apart and carried three of the pieces--the curved top, one of the seating slats, and one of the side pieces, home to his workshop. Instead of restoring them, he was replacing them--with beautiful oak pieces lovingly carved and fitted to the frame. He even saved and remounted the original metal plaque that had adorned the old one! I absolutely love it!!

This is what was waiting for me on the back porch during his visit this last week:

This bench was never this beautiful, even on the day it was first purchased almost twenty years ago. And though it has certainly accumulated a lifetime of memories since that time, none has been so precious as this lovingly crafted, hand-wrought makeover. Thank you, oh thank you, dear Opa!

May we sit on it, doing life and memories together, for many more years to come!

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*Entry 1, January - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge
The title is inspired from the song "Benchmark" by Dave Burland.

The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge

Yesterday was the 12th Day of Christmas... and thus, the official end to the 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge.

It's the one time of year I force myself to blog every day. I love the exercise of writing... of capturing the thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head, and organizing them into something that makes some modicum of sense... of sharing those thoughts, however dull they may be on any given day, with those who care to read them... of chronicling the mundane and the ordinary from our daily-day life, and thereby--if only occasionally--hallowing it as something extraordinary. It also forces me away from the tyranny of the urgent and back to the truly important, so often overlooked in our daily-day busyness!

Therefore, for a second year, I am committing to continue throughout the year with the 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge. The rules are simple:

1) Blog at least once each month, sometime during that month. (You may post to an actual blog, if you have one. If not, compose a note to be published on Facebook, or simply write it out longhand and share it with at least one other person. Whatever works for you. Just grab your thoughts, organize them, capture them in words, and share them with at least one other person.)

2) Give your blog post a clever title, using the title of or a line from a song. (Identify the song at the bottom of the post.)

3) Include a photograph you took to accompany your post, if at all possible. ("If at all possible" is the caveat for those of you who don't take pictures, or don't own a digital camera, or don't use a smartphone, or don't look at life with a photographer's eye... But maybe 2015 is the year to learn to do just that! Look for ordinary miracles in your days, and capture them. Look at life with gratitude, and express it. I'm planning to, and I know that it will change me!)

Won't you join me?

"There are thousands of thoughts lying within a man that he does not know 'til he takes up the pen and writes."    ~ William Makepeace Thackery

Oh What Fun It Is!

One of the super fun things we have done this Christmas break is learn a new game... and we have played it a lot! Why? It's really fun, it's easy to learn, and it doesn't take very long to complete a round. The educator in me also loves that it forces practice with numbers and quick computation.

I really think something was lost when electronic gaming became all the rage. Board games have become all but obsolete, along with the fun interaction with a group that they involve. We're old school, and we still love them!

My parents first learned this game when they went to visit family in Tennessee for Thanksgiving. They had such fun with it that my mom bought it for my dad for his stocking at Christmas. We played it for the first time at my parents' house on Christmas Day, after the feast. We got hooked and played it as a family several times in the ensuing days.

When Iivo's dad came to visit for a few days around New Year's, we played with him, too. Not much of a game guy beyond Scrabble—he doesn't love the ruckus and silliness that sometimes accompanies group games—he told us afterwards, "That game is really fun...especially if you're playing with a congenial crowd." (He's probably right about that last point. We don't have anyone who got gloaty and mean when they were winning—nor anyone who got upset or pouty when they weren't—and everyone was pretty good-natured if they found themselves suddenly being trounced and left in the dust. With this game, it really is all in good fun!

The game is a dice game called Farkle, and it is available for pretty cheap at WalMart and places like that. We didn't buy it, however, because you don't really need to. You're better off spending your money on a good (read: quiet) dice cup and some nice dice. I typed up a version of the rules by consulting online, and I used my handy home laminator to make nice reference cards to use during the game. That's all you need, really: six dice and a copy of the rules. I'm happy to share the one I typed up, if you're interested. I also typed up score cards (for up to ten players) for everyone to use—two to a page—since we make everyone who's playing keep score for all players. Yes, it's more math practice, but it also helps with strategy for your turn if you know how many points each player has at any point during the game.

The only thing I can't provide for you is OG's signature exclamation, whenever someone rolls a farkle and loses all their points. Something really is missing, for us, when she's not playing, and no one calls out this happy and funny little consolation:

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*Entry 12, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge 
The title of this blog post is from part of a line from the Christmas classic "Jingle Bells."

The Miracle Has Only Just Begun

One of the things I have always loved about my Christmas stocking is that it reflects a warm, welcoming, homey environment. I don't have anything against snowmen... or Santas... or teddy bears... or gingerbread houses... Not at all! But I have loved that my stocking shows a roaring fire inside a warm home, a haven from the freezing weather outside. That is what I always want my home to be... a warm haven of welcome that invites people in.

When we first bought this house, it was a miracle house. Trust me, I don't throw that word around, and I don't use it lightly in this instance. Though I do believe in "ordinary little miracles," this isn't one of them. This was a big-time miracle that placed us in the home that has shaped our family for over two decades. That full story appears below, for those who care to read it, but at this point, suffice it to say that, the Lord took our miracle-house-in-the-first-place and made it a miracle all over again, a second time.

I remember a particular morning that I was praying, bemoaning, "Lord, if you are intentionally keeping us small because we're going to be in a hut in Africa someday soon, thank you. But if this is the kind of ministry you've called us to in this season of life, could we please just have a little more room?" I was having my devotions in my bedroom closet at that particular moment, because it was the only room in the house that didn't have someone sleeping in it.

I'm not kidding, nor am I exaggerating for effect. We had taken in a young, unmarried pregnant woman who was sleeping on the bottom bunk of my son's room. He had moved to the bottom bunk in the girls' room, displacing his sister OG. We had raised her sister EL's crib to the highest level, keeping the side rail down, placing a step ladder beside it, and telling OG that she now had her own "big girl bunk." The littlest one, EL, we moved into a porta-crib, vacillating between our bedroom closet and our bathroom, as we were never quite able to decide which of those two rooms it was more inconvenient to be barred from in the mornings.

Sleeping on the pull-out couch in our den was a young woman from our church who was separated from her husband. He had come home from a Navy deployment and they were working through some real marital difficulties with the help of pastoral counseling with the elder board at our church. Because of the floor plan of our house, I couldn't turn on a light in our kitchen, dining room, entry hall, or hallway without disturbing her, so I was—literally—crouched in our bedroom closet for devotions, begging either for a move to the mission field or for a little more room for ministry here.

I told no one. I didn't really harbor on it. I didn't keep praying it, asking over and over again. It was just one desperate cry of longing, uttered from my bedroom closet and then forgotten in the busyness of daily life with little ones and live-in guests.

Within a month, I found myself talking to my dad on one of the daily morning walks we took around the neighborhood. He had given us, free of charge, some sample pergo-type flooring that had been sent to his company by a manufacturer who had hoped they might choose to carry their product. Since our kitchen was still covered with the original vinyl linoleum, we had welcomed the gift and gladly put it down. Click-lock flooring is pretty easy to do yourself, so we had managed to cover it reasonably well to the edges. I was telling my father that we were out of our league, though, when it came to covering the gap you must leave at the edge of such flooring to allow for expansion and contraction. He told me he would have his business partner come cut some molding for us and help us put it down. ("'Business partner'? What 'business partner'?!" I asked. And that was how I found out that my father had started a business with the man who had helped put the pool-house in his back yard! Though we'd been walking and talking together every morning for years, this was the first I'd heard of it!)

That, my friends, is also how I met Dave. He came over to measure for the molding. While there, he casually mentioned, "You're losing your roof, you know." (This we did know, having certainly noticed that several shingles would blow off each time we had a bad storm!) We told him that we realized this, but that we had been considering adding a fourth bedroom, so we didn't want to replace the roof, only to have to rip it up again if we did.

The next time I saw Dave, a few days later, he was like a kid in a candy shop. Although he had come over to install the molding in the kitchen, he had brought his newest project: plans he'd dreamed up—and actually drawn up!—for turning our 3-bedroom, 2-bath, 1800-square-foot ranch into a 5-bedroom, 5-bath two-story with dormer windows and almost 4,000 square feet. We were stunned. And a little embarrassed. Had he thought we had wanted him to do this for us? Was he going to expect to be paid? What should we even say? We started hemming and hawing: "Um, Dave. Er. We can't afford this kind of renovation! Um.We can't even afford to pay you for having drawn up these plans. Uh. We just meant we might extend the left side of the L-shaped ranch and turn it into a T-shaped ranch. And, um, we can't even afford to do that—but we've been trying to spin straw into gold and figure out how to pull it off—which is why we still have the crummy roof but no addition. What were you thinking?!"

Dave quickly put our fears at ease, explaining that—for him—this was great fun... better than a video game, this drawing up of imaginary dream plans for fantastic house renovations. He didn't expect us to pay him, nor did he expect that we'd ever actually use the plans. He was just excited to share his handiwork. And what handiwork it was! We had fun looking over it, we had a good laugh, and then we went back to life-with-four-kids-and-two-live-in-guests.

Within the next couple of weeks, we were invited to share brunch with my parents after church one day. We arrived at the usual restaurant and were pleasantly surprised to find that Dave and his wife, Janet, were joining us. After much visiting and feasting, the conversation turned to the renovation plans Dave had drawn up. My father asked what we had thought of them. We shyly replied that they were great, but that we couldn't afford anything like that. After a few more minutes of awkward conversation, it became clear that Dave and my father had already talked about this, and that they were jockeying to build this addition for us. They needed a local "show home" in our town, they said, since there were many local folks contacting them about additions, and it was cumbersome to take people to the next town over, many miles away, to show their handiwork. If we were willing to be that show home—letting them take people through the house whenever needed (maybe once a month, but no more than once a week, they conjectured)—they would like to do the addition for us. So, while we paid for things like carpet and paint and ceiling fans, the cost for the bulk of this addition was absorbed by my dad and his company.

We lived in the house during the renovations. When we started—in February—I remember telling Dave, "As long as as it's done by the time we need to start school next September. (Ahem. I had a little to learn about construction!)

I recall my friend Ken saying to me at one point, early on, "You are not doing this. This thing is happening to you... around you." And he was so very right! The Lord had heard my hastily-uttered-then-quickly-forgotten request ("...Could we please just have a little more room?!") and He had chosen to give us "exceedingly above what we could ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20).

The renovation took almost a year to complete. I remember vacuuming up the scraps from the newly installed carpeting, the day my in-laws arrived to celebrate Christmas with us. The every-couple-of-weeks unannounced "show home" visits—which were wonderful because they forced us to keep the house tidy at all times!—ended with the dissolution of Sanctuary Builders a few years later. But for the last decade, we have lived and grown in this house, ministering and hosting and housing others whenever the opportunities have presented themselves.

I am so thankful for the incredible gift of this home—ultimately from my Father, the source of "every good and perfect gift" (James 1:17), but also from my earthly father, the first man I ever loved, and one of the dearest persons on earth to me. Proverbs 13:22 says that "a good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children," and my father has done that in so very many ways, both tangible and intangible. How blessed our children have been to grow up within half a mile of their grandparents, loving and knowing them in deep, daily-day ways. Thank you, Heavenly Father... and thank you, earthly Dad!

For those who might care to read about such things, which I'm sure is not many, what follows is the full story of how we came to be in this miracle house in the first place.

When Iivo and I began looking at houses, we quickly realized something very depressing: We couldn't afford anything nice in any kind of nice neighborhood. (Never mind the spiritual crisis it caused us,  wrestling with our feelings about "good" neighborhoods versus "bad" ones... and with deciding what kind of place we wanted to raise our family... and with my thoughts and fears when imagining walking with little ones around a neighborhood where I didn't feel safe... and with wrangling through the realization that mercy and justice and compassion and help are difficult enough concepts to define and wrap your brain around, let alone embrace with deliberateness and purpose... But those are all thoughts for another post!)

At any rate, after looking at all the things we could afford, we realized that the little townhouse we were living in was just fine, and that it would have to serve us well for a few more years, because we weren't going to move across town to something awful when we could stay here. We loved it here, five minutes from my parents' house, the childhood home I grew up in.

One day, as we were bemoaning that we would never be able to afford an actual house in this part of town, my dad casually mentioned, "You ought to look at that house at the front of the neighborhood. We played golf with that guy about a year ago—he was a singleton who joined our threesome—and he was anxious to sell it then. He might be open for an offer."

Well, long story short, we did. We looked at it. It was cosmetically hideous but structurally sound, and we knew some new carpet and fresh paint would do wonders. We calculated the absolute most we could afford monthly without my paycheck—the plan was for me to stay home with our children when they were born—and made an offer. We made the offer through his real estate agent, hoping that the lack of commission he'd have to pay our agent would help with the deal. We had decided to have my father, the consummate businessman, make the offer for us. As we sat with the agent around my parents' family room, my father said, "TM, the kids would like to offer—" and proceeded to name a price that was $1000 less than we had told him was "the absolute most we could afford." We had no idea why he was doing that, but we had decided to let him handle it, so we let him handle it. TM responded with something like, "Well, I'll make the offer, but I think that's what he paid for the house, ten years ago." (Bear in mind that this was long before the "housing bubble" had burst and people had experienced the reality that their house was worth less than they'd paid for it. Houses in our area had steadily risen in value for decades, and this house was undoubtedly worth more than we were offering.)

As expected, the homeowner was insulted by our offer, and countered with a counter-offer of his own. We explained to the agent that we couldn't afford any more than we had offered, and she indicated A.'s feeling that the house should sell for "what it's worth, no what they can afford!" We agreed, and told her that we were sorry for having wasted her time. We had just thought that, perhaps—with the house having sat on the market, unsold, for almost two years—A. might just be willing to part with it for the lesser amount.

We arranged a meeting with TM, the real estate agent, to get our earnest deposit back. That morning, she told us that A. had called her and said, "Keep it alive, TM." The conversation went something like this:

TM: "We could do some creative financing and get you into the house for about $25 more a month."

Us: "TM, we know that this is how this usually works. We make an offer. They make a counter-offer. We haggle a while and settle somewhere in the middle. But we really did offer the most we can afford. $25 more a month and we don't eat one week. We're sorry."

TM: "Can you not offer him anything?"

We proceeded to tell her that, actually, we had originally settled on a figure that was "the absolute most we could afford" and our father had—for reasons he couldn't explain—offered $1000 less than that. We could counter with an offer that was a measly $1000 more, if she thought it would help. She agreed to try once more, and our offer was accepted! We found out later that, in reality, A. had actually paid $10,000 more for the house ten years ago than he was selling it for now. (Again, this was pre-housing-bubble-burst.)

It really was a miracle that we got into this house, one of the smallest in a lovely neighborhood just minutes from my parents...on foot!

For many years, we lived in that house, growing—and eventually outgrowing—the little three-bedroom ranch. When they were little, we had all three girls crammed into one of the tiny bedrooms, while their brother PT was king-of-the-world in the other (tinier) one. We used bunk beds like loft beds and put the girls' furniture beneath them, but it became apparent that eventually—as the actual size of their clothing grew with them—we wouldn't be able to fit it all in one little dresser and one little closet. We began to dream of adding another bedroom, but it was only a dream. We were no more able to afford more per month then, than we had been at the beginning! Where would we come up with the money for anything of the sort?

It was at that point, in the midst of all that hoping and dreaming for one more bedroom, that the Lord gave us the miracle addition... a miracle addition on a miracle house!

I believe the Lord knew that this gift would take my natural, God-given bent toward hospitality and solidify it into a lifetime of ministry in our home. When you live in a house that literally grew around you—happened to you, in response to the prayer, "If this is the ministry you have for us in this season, could I have just a little more room?"—you are all the more likely to open it up to people for ministry whenever you possibly can. We've hosted countless meetings for church over the years: Bible studies, prayer meetings, pot luck dinners, music practices. We've housed hundreds of people, many of whom we haven't known before they came... some for days... or weeks... or even longer, when it's been needed. I'm so grateful for the opportunities we've had to meet people, many of them pastors and missionaries involved in God's work around the world. It's been fascinating to meet them and hear of their work with Bible translation or church planting or ministry in orphanages.

One such dear stranger-turned-friend, Lucy, had come to stay at our house multiple times. The last time she called me, she said, "I absolutely love staying at your house. That guest room is so peaceful, and I get so much work done! Thank you for letting me crash there and for leaving me alone to work!" We got word just this past week that sweet Lucy died last month. Finally, she has gone home to be with her First Love and heard those blessed words, "Well done, good and faithful servant!" (Matthew 25:23). And I know she's enjoying an even better, more peaceful room, prepared for her by her loving Heavenly Father (John 14:2-3).

I'm so thankful to have had the chance to bless her and know her because I was given "a little more room," and I can now keep a guest room, ready and waiting, for whomever the Lord sends to it.

What a gift!
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*Entry 11, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge 
The title is a line from the song "The Miracle of Christmas" by Stephen Curtis Chapman.

Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight!

I am having trouble sleeping these days.

Don't get me wrong. I have no trouble falling asleep. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could fall asleep within two minutes any time, anywhere. If I can lie down in comfort, quiet, and darkness, I can fall asleep. Instantly. When I hit the pillow at night, I'm out like a light. Literally. Boom, I'm gone.

I've even become one of those people I never understood, growing up—the ones I mocked and made fun of. You know the ones: People Who Fall Asleep During Movies. I remember uttering the words, "I don't understand people who fall asleep during movies! I could never do that! I'm too engaged and involved in the story. Even if I don't particularly care for it, I could never sleep during a movie." (Sigh. The list of things I understand now that I never understood in my 20s and 30s grows daily... and exponentially. The attitudes of my former selves toward others over the years, embarrass me!)


No, I have no trouble falling asleep.
My trouble is in staying asleep. Inevitably, almost every night, I find myself waking up sometime between 1-4 a.m. to go to the bathroom. At least half the time, I have trouble returning to sleep. Since almost every other late-forties woman I know struggles with this same thing, I have assumed it is mostly hormonal, combined with getting older. And I'm sure that's somewhat true. But I'm once again reminded, after reading this article, that it just might be my own fault.

Screen time before bed... screen time in bed... may just be killing my sleep. Like so many other things, I know this... but I don't act consistently in line with what I know. Sigh. And so the list of things I hope to be better about in 2015 grows.

 

A Puppy Dog for Christmas

This is the precious puppy face that greets me every single morning, without fail:

It's blurry because he was jumping up as I took it.

It wasn't easy to get him to sit still and "pose"!

It is adorable to me that Finley has come up with a little morning routine that involves running back to see me—usually I'm still in bed!—as soon as my husband releases him from his leash after their morning run. My husband unhooks Pippin, the other dog, first—and he runs into his crate, waiting to be served breakfast. Then Finley is unhooked, and he runs straight back to see me. He pops his head (and wet paws!) up on the side of the bed to say hello. I greet him and rub his ears a few seconds, then he turns and runs off back down the hall for "dinner."

It is so endearing to me that he runs back to say hi before he goes to eat...every single day!

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*Entry 8, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge 
The title is a line from the song "Bobby Wants a Puppy Dog for Christmas" by Merle Haggard.

He really is the cutest, sweetest thing!

We Read the Story That Started It All

This morning I am up before the rest of my family, praying for them as we begin the new year. During 2015, in addition to the fun and challenge of "putting off" something together, we're taking up the mantle of family solidarity in a much more significant way, as well. This year, we are "putting on" the daily habit of time in God's Word and journaling.

Although spending time reading God's Word each day has been a goal for each of us every year, this year we are shamelessly bribing our children to remain consistent by offering them money—and family pressure—to get it done. We figure there is no greater investment we could make in our children's lives than to help them establish a no-matter-what, it's-just-what-I-do-every-day habit of reading the Scriptures and writing about it.

To that end, we put forth this offer—printed and laminated into a book mark—and placed it in their stockings during the Christmas festivities:

The front of the card:
“But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”    - 2 Timothy 3:14-17
***
“How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, O Lord; teach me your decrees…I will not neglect your word.”
- Psalm 119:9-12, 16b

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The Offer: Read your Bible and write in your journal daily for all of 2015, and we will give you $200 to spend as you like. Miss one day and you forfeit all of it.

The Challenge: Every day. No matter what.

The Benefit: “I’ve never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God. I’ve never met a weak Christian who does.”      – Ben Stuart

“Practice Round”: Starting tomorrow, on Christmas Eve, you may begin. On New Year’s Day, when you officially start this challenge, if you’ve succeeded, you will receive $20 toward a nice dinner out together as a family.

The back of the card:
“I’ve never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God.  I’ve never met a weak Christian who does.”    – Ben Stuart

Journal-Writing Tips
·         Write the date at the top of your entry. I also like to include the time that I am writing, in case I write more than once per day.
·         Write the reference for the Bible passage you read that day.
·         Write something meaningful to you that’s on your heart—either at this season of life, on this particular day, or in response to this particular Bible passage.
·         You might choose to begin with something like one of the following:
- “Thank You, Lord, for…”
- “Lord, please help me with…”
- "This verse makes me realize…”
- "I really need to…”
- "I’m struggling with…”
- "I’m struck by…”
Note: Most people find it easiest to stay consistent with a devotional time if it is done first thing in the morning, upon awakening.

The “Proof”: You will show that you met the conditions by your word, and by having a daily entry in your journal, dated and showing which Bible verses you read that day. These entries are between you and the Lord alone. We won’t read them.

The “Rules”: Your entries may be as long or as short as you like, but the goal is daily time in the Word and prayer. You must write an entry each day, and you may not create an entry for a day you missed on a different day.

The cheap Ollie's calendars on which we'll keep track of our daily progress.
One is for the four of us here, one is for PT back at college,
 and one is for EV (and Ron!) when she gets married in February.

This is a bit of a bittersweet pursuit for us, learning the habit of daily journaling. We've all been given a front-row peek into the personal journals of our dear friend Mark Rodriguez as his mother, Leigh Ellen, has been publishing excerpts of them online in the form of near-daily encouraging devotional thoughts. (See God Is Super Good.) Mark, one of our son PT's best buds, was tragically killed in a random shooting as he drove home from his school's graduation ceremony last May. While this experience has rocked our faith community, where Mark's father is pastor, it has also served to strengthen so many of us in our walks with the Lord. As this was what Mark was all about in life, we know that he is rejoicing, even now, that it is still being accomplished here on earth while he resides in heaven.

Won't you consider joining us this year in our daily pursuit of time reading the Bible—God's very words to us—and in capturing our thoughts through journaling? We are so looking forward to growing in our faith and faithfulness this year! 

After all, consider this, from Ben Stuart: "I've never met a strong Christian who does not meditate every day on the words of God. I've never met a weak Christian who does." May we all be stronger Christians this time next year because of the time we've spent with Him every day in 2015!

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*Entry 8, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the Christmas song "Daddy, Won't You Read It Again" by This Hope.

I Sure Do Like Those Christmas Cookies

I am typing this in a few stolen moments amid the craziness of New Year's Eve Day stuff. This afternoon—by which I mean all afternoon—involved shopping with my girls for a mother-of-the-bride dress, as well as shoes for the bridesmaids. I am now grabbing a quick shower—shopping makes me feel grungy—before heading into the kitchen to work on the festive Swiss-German feast my husband planned and is supposed to be cooking, but isn't, because he's stuck at Men's Wearhouse taking care of getting his suit for the wedding—and my son PT's, who at 6'7" is too tall for the one they chose for the groomsmen to wear! (I'm telling you, wedding planning is not for wimps!)

My dear father-in-law is here with us this year, and he forgot to bring his hearing aid. Having been deaf in one ear since a childhood illness took his hearing on the right side, he is now almost completely deaf without the assistance of a hearing aid in his good left ear as well. What this means for us is that the movie we will watch tonight as we wait for midnight, has to be mostly dialogue-free. Enter All Is Lost, a perfect movie for Opa, an avid sailor in his youth and still-sometime-sailor now, at age 80. Never mind that it's kind of a downer for New Year's Eve. With a mere handful of words at the very beginning, in a voice-over monologue, it is really the only movie he will be able to follow and enjoy.

As I type, I am eating a cookie. In fact, I have been eating cookies for days. We have all been eating way too many cookies for about a week now, and I have polished off at least two dozen all by myself in the past three days, I'm sure. Why so many cookies? Because that's what we're giving up as a family this year. Beginning at midnight tonight, No Cookies 2015 will begin for us. My son PT has agreed to join us even while he's away at college. My daughter EV, the one getting married, has remained silent about her intentions once she's in her own home in February, but for now, she's joining us in our solidarity effort. Hopefully we'll have better success than we did last year, when we bit off more than we (couldn't) chew.

A few remaining Peanut Butter Kiss Cookies and Cheri's Snickers Cookies are still in the kitchen, and Laurie J.'s Chocolate Chip Cookies are being prepared as I type. Yum! Like George Strait declares in one of the goofiest Christmas songs of all time: "I sure do like those Christmas cookies!" And for a few more hours, at least, I get to eat them to my heart's content.
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*Entry 7, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the song "Christmas Cookies" by George Strait.

What Do You Get a Wookie for Christmas?

Some people send Christmas cards. My fun cousins, F. Michael Haynie and J.P. Haynie—joined by J.P.'s wife, Ashlee—send this kind of musical fun. Star Wars fans everywhere, enjoy!



*Entry 6, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
This blog post shares the title of the song, "What Do You Get a Wookie for Christmas?"

Home for Christmas

While googling for lyrics to "I'll Be Home for Christmas," I came across this haunting—and hauntingly beautiful—song. It strikes me as desperately sad. The young woman singing has become disappointed and disillusioned, we can presume, by the relationship that took her from her old home to a new one. This year, she just wants to go back home for Christmas, where people know and love her, and she's not "more like a stranger" with each passing day.

My fervent and ardent prayer this Christmas is that my children will never feel this way! Yes, I want them to know how deeply and unconditionally they are loved. Yes, I want them to have deep and precious memories of a childhood well lived. Yes, I want them to always feel supremely welcome here. But after they've left our home to begin life with a new person in a new one, never, never do I want them to feel more at home here, than there!

As bittersweet as it is to walk through this last Christmas of having our sweet EV at home, I release her with all blessing to her new home. Next Christmas—ten months on the other side of her wedding this February—I'll be thrilled to see her as much as I can... but when she isn't here with us in these four walls...that's when she'll be home.

May this never be:

Careful what you say
This time of year
Tends to weaken me
And have a little decency
And let me cry in peace
But there`s a place where I
Erase the challenges I`ve been through
Where I know every corner,
Every street name
All by heart
And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year

I`ll pack my bags
And leave before the sun rises tomorrow
`cause we act more like strangers for each day
That I am here
But I have people close to me
Who never will desert me
Who remind me frequently
What I was like as a child

And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year

I don`t know what my future holds
Or who I`ll choose to love me
But I can tell you where I`m from
And who loved me to life

And so it is a part of my
Courageous plan to leave
With a broken heart
Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna go home for Christmas
Let me go home this year
I wanna go home this Christmas
Let me go home this year

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*Entry 5, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
This blog post shares the title of the song "Home for Christmas" by Maria Mena.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

I attended a funeral today. There were still decorative banners hanging at the front of the church... A beautiful silhouette depiction of the nativity—parents and Child—on one side of the church, and another of the traveling wise men on the other. You can picture them in your mind, I'm sure, along with the lovely evergreen tree laden with Crismon ornaments. I was struck by how out of place the urn seemed, carefully placed on the table, front and center, amid all that festive Christmas pageantry.

But then it occurred to me.

This is ultimately what Christmas is all about. In the end, the incarnation of God into a little Babe—who really was born, and lived, and died, and was risen from the dead—truly is the whole point.

We are lost in our sins, desperately in need of a Savior. Enter Jesus, stage left. Born of a virgin. In a stable. Lauded only by shepherds, the outcasts of their society.

And so all my "Christmas celebrating" was interrupted by a funeral. My dear friend's Christmas celebrating was interrupted by a terrible accident, and her son was taken away, just like that.

Sometimes it's all joy and pageantry and celebration. 
The wedding. 
The birth. 
The holiday du jour. 

This time it was Christmas. 
Christmas Eve, to be exact. 
A Son being given
To save the world from their sins,
Or something like that. 

A little too much celebration. 
Libations abounding. 
Lack of judgement. 
Again. 
Overconsumption. 
Again. 

A decision to walk home
Is always a better choice. 
A safer choice, 
At least according to MADD. 

But not this time. 
Not this day. 
Not this Eve, when Son is given.
And son is taken. 
In one step off the curb
At the wrong moment. 

And, you know, the thing is
That all is not calm. 
And all is not bright. 
And no one is sleeping tonight. 

How do we find that heavenly peace
In the midst of something like this?
When we want to run
And hide
And scream
And cry. 
And we do, until there's nothing left to give. 

And in that brokenness, we find the point. 
Find the place of emptiness that can be filled, 
For a full cup can hold nothing.
Can receive nothing
But an empty one knows its need
And a broken one, even more so. 

I don't really love broken and empty. I don't like crying until I can't breathe and my eyes are swollen shut. I don't want pain and grief and a perpetual knot in my stomach and a perpetual lump in my throat. But these are the things of life sometimes. This is reality. Sometimes it isn't all calm and bright. And thank God He meets us in those moments! Thank God He came for moments such as these.

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*Entry 4, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the Christmas carol "Silent Night" by Franz Gruber.

Sleigh Ride, F. Michael Haynie Style

Clearly it's time to take a break from Broadway and film to make that Christmas album!

My cousin, F. Michael Haynie, singing a version of "Sleigh Ride" that I want in the Christmas mix at my next Christmas gathering. Happy Third Day of Christmas!



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*Entry 3, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
This blog post shares the title of the song "Sleigh Ride" by Leroy Anderson and Mitchell Parish.

Stockings Are Hung by the Chimney with Care

It's the day after Christmas, and I'm looking at a Christmas mantel that looks decidedly different this year. This is a bittersweet thing for me, this particular expression of the reality that "things change." This year, the stockings look different... because they are different.

Many years ago, as we married and began to have children, I began looking for Christmas stockings for our little family. I selected some beautiful needlepoint ones, and over the years it became harder and harder to find another... and then another... and then another... to match the rest. Whenever I found a needlepoint stocking, I bought it, whether we needed it right then or not! By the time my third child, OG, was born, we were desperate and without success until my sweet friend Niki saw one—at the drug store where she was working as a pharmacy technician, of all places!—and snatched it up for us.

Those stockings are precious to me. I love them. I love the sweet memories of having stuffed them full of fun "little nothings" for the ones I love. For many years now, they have hung along our mantel, perfectly spaced... the same exact way, every year.

Enter Ronald. Last Christmas Eve, Ronald showed up at the hospital where my daughter was having surgery before we even did. (It was the wee morning hours, still dark outside!) He was by her side, along with her parents and grandparents, all day long. He sat by her bedside and held her hand throughout the day, until my husband finally prodded him, late that evening, "Ronald, go be with your family. It's Christmas Eve!" We should have known then how serious things were, but since they'd only  just had their first date a few weeks before, we hadn't realized it yet.

That's how it goes when old friends from church, who've known each other for years, finally have their first date!

This year, EV and Ronald are engaged, and we are feeling the "growing pains" of our last Christmas together as just our little family of six. Her heart is torn, half here and half there... she still lives in our home, but is busy preparing for her next one. Come February, our four walls will never be her four walls in the same way again. Our mantel will not be her mantel. Next Christmas, her stocking will not hang here... not really.

Facing this dilemma, I began to prepare for the inevitable—either removing EV's stocking from the line-up or adding one for Ron. The second option was far preferable to the first, but any stocking I would hang among that lineup of coordinated, matching needlepoint stockings was going to look sorely out of place! The last thing I wanted to accomplish was making him feel out of place!

And so, this year, in a deliberate move of inclusion, I bought all new stockings. The beautiful lineup of needlepoint treasures has moved to the staircase—a new holiday decoration that forever preserves for this Mommy's heart the lineup of stockings that graced our mantel for two decades. A season of our lives is ending, and it is a bittersweet thing to bid it farewell! It is a season I have loved very much... yet the children have grown and are maturing into women and men before my very eyes... and these stockings no longer hold us all.

We added a bunch of nails to the mantel—enough to include my dear father-in-law and eventual spouses for each of my children, should they all be married one day—and I bought matching pairs of stockings for each of them. They opened them on December 23 along with our annual Christmas PJs, and EV placed a stocking for Ronald next to her own on the mantel.  I love how the nails just happened to work out so that, for now, the couples can hang together as a unit and still look relatively evenly spaced with the singletons!

It is a different look, to be sure, and I'm working hard to get used to it. For now, we've been working hard to give these new stockings their first year of "history," knowing that it's the memories that give them their true beauty anyway.

The thank you hug from my daughter "for working so hard to make Ronald feel included" is a good start!

And I can always walk around the corner to see the old ones, too...
Double the nostalgia... double the fun.

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*Entry 2, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
The title is a line from the famous poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Clarke Moore, but it is also a line from the song "Christmas Time Is Here" by Brian McKnight.

No More Let Sins and Sorrows Grow

1. No more let sins and sorrows grow,
   Nor thorns infest the ground;
   He comes to make His blessings flow
   Far as the curse is found,
   Far as the curse is found,
   Far as, far as, the curse is found.
2. Sometimes, sorrows are great and refuse to stop growing. Sometimes, the circumstances in our lives seem like anything but blessings. The curse is real, and sometimes it rears its ugly head, whether we're trying to celebrate or not. This is one of those Christmases. 
3. Today, a dear friend of mine had to remove her adult son—struck by a car last night, on Christmas Eve—from life support. He will not survive the day, at least not in this world. A mother, and a wife, and two sons, and many other friends and family members are grieving today for this one they love. Never mind that it's Christmas. 
4. A neighbor of mine buried her husband last weekend on what would have been their 47th wedding anniversary. He had fallen from the roof while hanging Christmas lights, landing in such a way on the driveway below that he sustained a fatal head injury. He never regained consciousness enough to communicate his love and goodbyes. Never mind that it's Christmas. 
5. My pastor and his wife are navigating through the tricky waters of celebrating the family's first Christmas without their son and brother, Mark, who was tragically murdered last May in a random shooting as he drove home from attending his high school's graduation ceremony. Her thoughts about what that's like are poignant and real and vulnerable and honest and encouraging and fiercely beautiful, in an awful sort of way. Never mind that it's Christmas. 
6. This year was a year of tears for me. I attended far too many funerals... some for dear ones who should have had a lifetime ahead of them... some for those who lived long lives, rich and full, but who are still so sorely missed. 
7. Never mind that it's Christmas. 
8. As I've moved through this holiday season—grieving, and praying for many other dear ones who are also grieving—it's been a daily exercise to seek joy. It's been work to move past my own confusion and pain and to find the Lord in all of it. Do I really believe that He's good, all the time? Do I really believe that He's sovereign? Do I really trust Him, in the middle of all this pain?

"Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words." 
 - 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18a| NIV84

1. I've had to choose to find encouragement in those words. I've had to dwell on the reality that, though we grieve, we do not grieve as those without hope. My dear friends who have "fallen asleep in Him" truly "will be with the Lord forever"! They are with Him even now, as I type these words. As I struggle and strive, amidst grief, to celebrate the fact that God came to Earth as a baby to save the world—and yea, even me—from our sins, they are basking in His glorious presence, face to face. 
2.  
3. I don't pretend to have all the answers, and I certainly don't know what to say to a friend who is saying goodbye to a son on Christmas Day, but I do know this... must hang onto this...
4. 
   
5. Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
   Let earth receive her King;
   Let every heart prepare Him room,
   And heav’n and nature sing,
   And heav’n and nature sing,
   And heav’n, and heav’n, and nature sing.
6. Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns!
   Let men their songs employ;
   While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
   Repeat the sounding joy,
   Repeat the sounding joy,
   Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.
7. No more let sins and sorrows grow,
   Nor thorns infest the ground;
   He comes to make His blessings flow
   Far as the curse is found,
   Far as the curse is found,
   Far as, far as, the curse is found.
8. He rules the world with truth and grace,
   And makes the nations prove
   The glories of His righteousness,
   And wonders of His love,
   And wonders of His love,
   And wonders, wonders, of His love.
9. -------
   *Entry 1, The 12 Days of Christmas Blog Challenge
   The title is a line from the famous hymn "Joy to the World" by Isaac Watts and Lowell Mason.

Oh Christmas Lights, Keep Shining On

Christmas lights are a magical thing for me... ever since I was a little girl, lying on the couch in the dark and watching the blinking lights—waiting for the inevitable moment, which would come for the patient, when every single light was out for a brief moment. I loved it. I would blur my eyes and watch the twinkling colors, magically heralding the fun of the season.

Many, many years have passed since those days, and I still find myself watching the lights. This year, they're not blinking, but they are still colorful, and they were hung more masterfully than ever by my oldest daughter, EV, who went up and down instead of round and round with them. The effect is beautiful, and it's a whole lot easier that way! (Who knew?!)

Tonight I begin what will be a fourth year (for me) of completing my friend Pam's "December Blog Challenge." Though she hasn't mentioned a word about it yet, I can only assume she is continuing the tradition this year. Even if she doesn't, I will, because I love the forced exercise of sitting down and gathering my thoughts during the comparatively calm days between Christmas and New Year's when it seems possible to grab a few moments from the busy life of a homeschool mom—happily on break!—to write.

Won't you join us this year? You don't have to join us every day. (My first year, I only got to December 30, the 6th day of Christmas!) Just grab a day or two during these next two weeks and capture your thoughts. I'd love to read them!

Winston's Heaven

This is our first Christmas without our beloved Winston. He was our Christmas rescue from the local SPCA in 2009. Five years ago, he came to us and hijacked Christmas. All we did that year was watch that unruly, crazy, not-so-house-trained dog! And we fell in love. This year, we have another new dog, acquired as a puppy this past July. Like Winston before him, Finley is still trying to figure out exactly where he should and shouldn't "do his business." Like Winston, he wants to eat both the ornaments on the tree and the presents under it.

Finley is a sweetie, and we love him a real whole lot, but we still miss our dear Winston... a real whole lot. So a couple of weeks ago, when we saw him staring back at us from the walls of the local Plow and Hearth store, we had to have the picture. It was marked half off, and—amazingly—was subject to our coupon as well. This isn't common, and we just took it as a further sign that this picture was meant to be ours.

OG calls it Winston's Heaven... "Finally allowed on the bed... and under the covers!" 

It really does look just like him. And now it hangs in our bedroom. Oh, sweet Winston. We miss you!

The Art of Sticking With the Giving Up

My friend Pam Fahs is one of those people who is extremely talented, extremely driven, extremely dedicated, and living life with great deliberateness. You know the type... the one you'd absolutely despise if she weren't so absolutely sweet... and didn't somehow pull off "unquestioningly better than you in every possible area" and still not make you feel judged or demeaned in any way. Seriously. I don't know how she does it, but somehow she always makes me feel inspired and encouraged toward improvement rather than judged and found wanting. I wish she lived nearby. I'd love to just hang out and share life ideas together! (Read: learn from her perpetually, and copy her shamelessly...)

So, one of the areas she's totally better than we are is in the Family Solidarity Challenge. (This is my name for it, not hers! Hers would be snappy and memorable and would either rhyme in a cool way, contain a clever play on words, or consist of a memorable acronym. And it would probably somehow involve the number 7.)

For many years now, her family has "given up" something together, for the entire year. Here is a recent Facebook post from her that explains the process a bit:

As No Candy 2014 is coming to a close, T. and I are trying (without too much success) to engage our kids in a discussion of what we will give up as a family in 2015 (all in the interest of building family unity and eliminating one unhealthy thing for a year). Winners of the "Nice Try Award" so far:

A: "No Fried Food on a Thursday 2015"
C: "No Ranch Dressing 2015"
Q: "No Rice 2015" (Yeah, impossible!)
T: "No Eating Out Monday Through Thursday 2015" (Also impossible!)
A: "No Cucumbers 2015"
A: "No Tomato Sauce 2015"
R: "No Peanuts 2015"

Pam continues: I'm about to make an executive decision on "No Cake 2015," "No Cookies 2015," or "No Ice Cream 2015." I think "No Cake" will cause the smallest revolt. 

For the record, I tried the "executive decision" approach last year. After having successfully given up soda for all of 2013—and finding it wonderful in so many ways—we were going to join them again in 2014. We chose "No Sweet Treats 2014," Um, yeah. None. Of any of them. Nothing. Of all of them. We made it, I think, to about February before we just quit. I don't consider it a total failure, however, since we learned what NOT to do if you want to be successful.

So, we're back to the drawing board for 2015, remembering what we learned from last year's fiasco: No huge, broad categories. No exceptions or special circumstances. No caveats. ("It's a wedding. Eat the cake."..."They made them special just for us."..."But they bought them for us and we can't just let them go to waste."..."Daddy ate one!")

What will it be this year? We're not sure yet, but we're all weighing in, considering some of the Fahses' past successful adventures: "No French Fries 2010," "No Soda 2011," "No Fast Food 2012" (Avid sportsters, they allowed themselves Chick-Fil-A for game nights), "No Chips 2013" (I believe there was a brief dispensational pause when they visited Texas or someplace with great Southwestern food) and "No Candy 2014."

It isn't at all surprising to me that Pam's family is five for five and we're hobbling in, trying to make two out of three this year. That's typical! But also true to form, she's inspired us to carry on despite our past failure. We bit off more than we (couldn't) chew last year with our attempt to give up every single sweet treat. This year we'll be more specific. (Specificity is key! No ever-expanding "grey areas" to go snacking in!)

The feedback I've gotten so far?

EL: How about we DON'T do "No Sweet Treats 2015"! I'm good with anything else... No chips, maybe? But that would mean no Mi Casita, no Guad's, no chippies! NOOOO!

IM: I could go with NO CAKE... if cheesecake is not really a cake.

OG: I'd say no chips or pre-packaged snack food. That's probably the worst thing you could reach for when you're hungry, but because it's easy, that's what's gravitated towards instead of something healthier like ants on a log or almonds or veggies....

PT: No cookies is probably smartest, given how many we can eat without feeling bad about it.

That last comment probably stems from the fact that EL has made three different batches of Christmas cookies so far—all meant to be served on Christmas Eve—and they're all gone! We eat them all, every time she bakes them. Clearly, we need some help!

Perhaps we've already found our "need to give it up" thing for 2015 after all! Won't you join us? What will your family choose?

Goodbye, cookies! We'll miss you desperately. See you in 2016!

Rethinking Santa

A Letter to My Children, Christmas 2014

Dear ones,
We got a lot of flack from both sets of our parents for "ruining Christmas" and "denying you the magic of childhood and believing" when we didn't "do Santa Claus" with you as children—didn't tell you that he was real... and watching you... and giving you gifts based on your behavior. 

We didn't have a John Piper article (see below) to support us or help us feel like we weren't freaks... we just knew that we didn't want this god-like man, Santa Claus—all-seeing, all-knowing, omnipresent, omnipotent—to figure into your thinking in any way about God. 

If we had chosen to "do the Santa thing" (which everyone around us was doing, and encouraging us to do!), we knew it was possible that it could cause a stumbling block to your young faith, a thing we weren't willing to risk. 

When push came to shove, we were unwilling to have your experience come down to this: When Santa (and the Easter Bunny... and the Tooth Fairy...) all turned out to be fabrications—untrue things we'd told you were true, and helped you believe, even—we didn't want you to doubt God, too. After all, every other too-good-to-be-true, invisible being we had told you about turned out to actually be too good to be true! We didn't want the truths you'd learned about the *true* all-seeing, all-knowing, omnipresent, omnipotent Being (the Way, the Truth, and the Life: for real and true!) to be compromised by our letting Him share the glory (and pieces of your heart. and affections. and love.) with other beings who were lies. 

We believe we did the right thing. We really hope you never felt gypped to have learned about the true Saint Nicholas, yes, but to have celebrated and worshiped and adored the coming of Jesus, instead!

Here are John Piper's thoughts on the matter, from his recent "Ask Pastor John" podcast called Rethinking Santa. Click on the link to have a listen.

Oh, my sweet children, how I love all of you! It's interesting—and a little hard, in a bittersweet way—walking through this particular Christmas... celebrating with you for the last time as just our little family of six. Over the coming years, our little family will expand into "extended family" as you each leave our home to start your own little family units of living and learning and teaching and traditions and celebrating. I rejoice with you through the growing pains, and I look forward to seeing how you guys honor the coming of the Savior of the world in your own homes one day. For now, though—this one last time—let's do it all this way! 

Merry Christmas, my little sugarplums. I love you!