Showing posts with label Musing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musing. Show all posts

Friday, May 9, 2025

Yesterday Was a Long Time Ago


I said please don’t ever buy me flowers

I don’t care about that

They’re expensive and all that

And I meant it

Truly.


I would much rather have a sweet note

Or a steamy poem

Like you always used to write.

Or a stroll down the path,

Hand in hand

With that hand that could make me swoon

With just a tickle of a finger in my palm


These weren’t like the tired old oh brother

of a bunch of red roses.

Obligatory hot house tokens

of supposed true love.

(Or at least the typical lusty hope 

That something might come of this

With flowers involved.)


But the thing is

Now the notes don’t come anymore

And the fingers rarely fumble for mine

Along secret paths.

So some flowers every once in a while

Might still make me believe that you

Well, you know,

Things I used to

Believe

When no flowers were needed

And the hand could make me swoon


Sometimes I’d like to find him

And tell him about you.


And hope that one of you writes me a poem

Or picks me some daisies

Or at least buys me a hothouse waste of money

So I could believe again

And snuggle in

To the fragrance of 

Extravagant waste

For extravagant love


© 2025 Laurie Sitterding

*This poem was selected for publication on Poets Online. 

https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_floriography.html


Sunday, August 12, 2018

Words of Expectant Hope

Almost 25 years ago, a couple knocked on our door—and the doors of our hearts—with a box of warm Kristy Kreme doughnuts and an announcement that we were going to be fast friends. Three days ago, I held this dear friend’s hand for the last time. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Our friendship over the years was complicated and complex... deep, and fierce, and fragile at times. We were like family. We loved, and served, and forgave each other, through much of life’s struggle and fear and joy and pain. At times, we hurt each other deeply. There was judgment, and misunderstanding, and betrayal, and anger. But there was also faithfulness, and commitment, and a steadfast clinging to the pursuit of unity in Christ. We grew up together. We matured together. We knew each other through every iteration of pride and judgment and arrogance, and yet we somehow made a way to find the best in each other and presume a heart of good will from each other. We served one another, at times selflessly and without thanks, and in the end we found that none was needed... not really.

Since that day many years ago when my friend shared with us that she may have found a lump in her breast, I have prayed for her body, and her family, and her spirit. When she needed to turn the chairs inward and fight this battle without me for a time, I prayed. And trusted. And served. And waited. Restoration and reconciliation—though incomplete this side of heaven—are beautiful to behold, and even more beautiful to live.

This valiant warrior was never more lovely to me than the day I took the clippers to her beautiful raven hair, watching it fall to the ground in waves, like my tears. She is the bravest woman I have ever known, battling this scourge that sought to defeat her body for so many long, painful, wearying years.

I have been preparing my heart for some time that she might be called to leave us some day way too early, even as I desperately hoped that our faithful God—whom I knew could—would choose to heal her. She knew it, too, and hoped it to the bitter end, even as she gave us all the strength to trust along with her that He does all things well.
Even on the day that He called her home to be with Him—her body struggling to breathe and her mind no longer able to grasp our presence with her—she called upon the name of her faithful God to help her. I want faith like that, like my dear friend Darla’s... faith that is so deeply woven into my very being that it clings to my soul and spirit, even as conscious thought and communication have failed... and that erupts from my lips in words of dependence and expectant hope and trust, when all other words have been said. "Help me. God, help me."

My dear friend, I am so grateful that I got to spend those several hours with you just before He called you home. It was a blessing—to me—to speak to you, even though I wasn't necessarily sure that you could hear me or know what I was saying. I do believe our human spirits perceive, in some sort of awareness and communion and fellowship... and that our heavenly spirits know and understand things that our conscious minds can no longer grasp. I'm so glad I got to tell you one last time what a good wife you were, what a good mom. To hold your hand and touch your arm and stroke your beautiful hair. To thank you for your faithful friendship. To assure you that we would take care of Ken and the kids. To tell you that it was safe for you to go. That you had fought such a brave, good fight... that you were almost home. To quote to you the 23rd Psalm... which would have seemed trite had the words not felt so perfectly right and true. Those are the words He gave me, so those are the words I gave you. The Lord is my Shepherd. Green pastures. Still waters. The valley of the shadow of death. I will not fear. Thou art with me. Guides my path. A table before me. Goodness and lovingkindness. I will dwell in the house of the Lord. Forever and ever.

It was a privilege and an honor to share those sacred moments alone with you, and then to witness your sweet Kathryn and your precious Ken as they reached out to hold your hand or touch your arm in your restlessness—"I'm here, my sweetheart. What do you need, my love? I'm right here"—and to see you settle down, comforted and quieted.

"This is part of the deal," Ken had told me. "This is what we sign up for, on our wedding day. 'Till death do us part.' It's hidden there, in plain sight, right in our wedding vows." I witnessed the most sacred of things in that room that day... the palpable love of a man for his wife—flawed and human, yes, but sacred and powerful and astonishing... wild, and fierce, and rearing its head to be sure it was known and perceived until the very last breath.

Well done, good and faithful one. So very well done!

I am so glad that you are now in heaven, dear Darla, where there is no pain or sorrow or cancer. I wish I could have loved you better. I wasn't ready to be finished learning to love you well. I miss you. The world is less beautiful without you in it. Your beautiful voice is missing as I worship. But I know that you are now “absent from the body and at home with the Lord,” and I can only imagine the glories in which you now live. And from which you now sing.

I look forward to our reunion in heaven, where there are no tears or pain or ability to misunderstand or hurt one another ever again. So go ride your horse in the horse corner of heaven, my sweet friend. I'll see you soon...

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Chopin Doesn't Live Here Anymore

I am standing in my kitchen
Like a thousand other mornings
Of a lifetime of mornings
In silence.
Deafening silence.

Every morning of my life
Every year of my life
For decades of my life
Was a soundtrack

Brahms and Bach
And Bela Bartok.
And Ludwig.

Schubert and Schumann
And Shostakovich.
And Wolfgang
Amadeus.

They played for me.
Butchering and mastering.
Neither mattered.
Both were grand.
And all was beauty.

Every forgotten sharp
And shaved note
And curse under the breath of frustration
And tears
Were background noise I forgot to take in.
Hours a day
Of an ordinary, extraordinary soundtrack.
And I missed it.

And I miss it.

The music.
Doesn't.
Play.
Anymore.

Louder than it ever was
Is the silence
And the longing
And the ache
In the wake.

Chopin doesn't live here anymore.

© 2017 Laurie Sitterding
----------------------------------------------
My entry for the February 2017 prompt—Music and Memory—at Poets Online.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

The Last Day at the Beach



The Last Day at the Beach. That's the title of this achingly beautiful song from William Ackerman. I can't listen to it without getting wistful. This year's family reunion beach week has been the first year that we have had more high school graduates among our children than not... four to three! One of my daughters is married, and her husband joined us this year. (Welcome, Ronald!) One of my sister's daughters is engaged, and her fiancé joined us this year, too. (Nice to finally meet you, Crawford!)

There's been lots of fun and feasting... sunburn... beach volleyball... ukulele... feasting... rain... Avengers and Jurassic Park (must. get. ready. for. sequels!)... feasting... Taboo...  Nanny's cakes (coconut, chocolate chip, rum, and poppy seed)... new pups ("Finley and Chewie, meet the cuzes!")... biking (and even a bicycle built for two!)... feasting... donuts from Duck Donuts on National Donut Day... skim boarding... freezing produce... "Farkle!"... boogie boarding... feasting... hot tubbing... coconut rum fruity drinks and Mike's hard lemonade... The Dugger Interviews (isn't the world talking about anything else?!)... feasting... shopping... reading... Pictionary... corn hole... rain... feasting... Heads Up! charades (thank you, Ellen!)...

The list of fun memories, far from complete, makes me smile... and I list it to keep me from crying. Every year, as the week comes to a close, I am amazed at how quickly it has flown, and how fleeting time is. Our children are growing, and we are growing old, and there's nothing we can do to slow the hands of time. Another fun week is coming to a close much too soon, and we ignore the approaching goodbyes that will inevitably prick our eyes come morning. Goodbye, Beach Week 2015. (Such fun you've been!)

Until we meet again next year...

----------
*Entry 6b, June - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge 
The title is that of William Ackerman's song by the same name.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

But First, Let Me Take a Selfie

I know that I'm getting older... and that I "just don't understand"... and that taking selfies is just what everybody (insert the words "under thirty") is doing.

And I've been known to stick my arm out with the best of 'em, to capture a moment with the camera turned the wrong way...

But, truth be told, I'm a little disturbed. I find the selfie craze pretty disconcerting. I'm concerned about what it is turning us into... who it is making us. It scares me a little to see people so utterly self-absorbed that literally every kind of moment has to be captured with the camera facing SELF. It is changing how we view things. It is changing how we document things. It is changing how we do relationship.

I don't know about you, but I didn't need anything to come along to make me more self-focused... more self-absorbed... more looking at myself and how the world affects me, instead of how it is affecting those around me!

Last night, my family and I were camping, and all of them had headed to the bath house to get ready for bed. I had stayed behind, enjoying the last few moments of our little campfire. The embers were morphing and moving in the smoke, and the last dying flames joined their movements in a mesmerizing dance. It was glorious, that sight, as it combined with the sounds and smells of that fading fire... crackling pops... rising sparks... the scent of wood and earth and smoky tendrils filling my nostrils...

It was in the context of this peaceful, beautiful, holy moment that I saw one of the most ridiculous things I think I've ever seen. Across the way, at the next campsite, I became aware of a couple of guys who had set up a tripod and camera in front of their campfire. (Yes, a full-blown tripod, complete with camera attachment.) They were ready to capture their selfie the old-fashioned way, I guess... at a decent distance, and without the distorted shoulder in one of the corners. And so I watched them as they attempted to do so. Not once. Not twice. Not six or eight times. No, I watched these two young men literally set up the scene (clinking beer bottles in front of their campfire), hold the pose (as in, "Let's keep these beer bottles in this fake clink for eight seconds while the camera takes the shot), look at the result (apparently never quite perfect enough), and then re-stage the entire thing for a re-do-try-over TEN TIMES. They wasted almost twenty minutes with this project. Were they enjoying the fire? The beers? The company? No, they were obsessed with staging and then capturing the perfect (fake!) moment.

I had been experiencing the perfect (real) moment, and I was never once--not even for a fleeting instant--tempted to spoil the mood by trying to "capture the moment" with my camera. And, had I been so inclined, I certainly would never have been tempted to try to capture it by sticking my arm out and centering my big ugly mug in front of the real show!

I'm not sure what to make of it all, but I know that I never want to miss the real things going on around me because I'm too busy staging some fake ones.

----------
*Entry 4, April - The 12 Months of 2015 Blog Challenge 
The title is from the song "#SELFIE" by The Chainsmokers.

(For some interesting thoughts about selfies, you can read these two articles, which discuss some research-based findings suggesting that our selfie-centered behavior is making us psychologically sick. I wouldn't be surprised.)

Sunday, January 4, 2015

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.


Monday, December 29, 2014

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.

Friday, December 26, 2014

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.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

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. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. -------
    *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.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

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!

Sunday, December 14, 2014

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! 

Celebrating Christmas

As we move into the week before Christmas, the excitement around our household is growing. Some of our family's "Christmas traditions" have already come to pass, and many are yet to come in the next few days.

This is an interesting Christmas for our family... our last as just our own little family unit of six. This coming February, our daughter EV is getting married. Over the coming years, our little family of six will expand into "extended family" as our four children eventually leave our home to start their own little family units of living and learning and teaching and traditions and celebrating. I am rejoicing through the growing pains, and I look forward to seeing how they will choose to honor the coming of the Savior of the world in their own homes one day. I'm sure some of our traditions might remain, having made their indelible marks and been found worthy of repeating. I know that some of those that were part of their spouse's growing-up years will mingle in as well. Most, however, probably will not, as they seek to create their own traditions and memories as a couple and with their own children.

I first wrote this post about our family's Christmas traditions back in 2008. (At that time my children were 14, 12, 10, and 8.) It has been amended and added to over the years, as our family has grown into (and one out of!) the teenage years, but many of the traditions have remained. Just this one last time, we're implementing as many of these things as we still can. And maybe, just maybe, in future years, some of those beloved "extended family members" will join us in some of the traditional celebrating at our place!

Here's the original (though oft-amended) post from 2008:
At the meeting of our worship team during our weekly practice last week, the "icebreaker" question was to share your favorite family tradition in celebrating Christmas. It was interesting to watch people decide which "life stage" to answer about—whether to answer about the traditions they remembered from their own childhood, or the ones they implement now with their own children, or the ones they used to implement when their children were still at home. Generally, the effect was that you got "the best of the best," as they had to choose a favorite from among all of those experienced during any life stage.

My own children were in the room, participating in the meeting, so we got to hear firsthand their perspective on some of the favorite traditions we're practicing now. What I discovered is that "it's working." We have long desired to capitalize on our children's love of holidays and special occasions and celebrations, and to use them to underscore the special significance of certain spiritual truths. We've always wanted Christmas to be more about Jesus than Santa. We've wanted them to be firmly grounded in truth. We've wanted them to be more excited about giving than receiving. And we've wanted to avoid the materialistic spending frenzy that is typical of Christmas in America.

Yeah, right. Pretty tall order. But we've done our best, and it seems to be mostly working. Here are some of the things we do toward that end... all of them are not "spiritual," and some of them have just "come about on their own" without any planning or thought or purpose to it. Some of them are just silly and fun, while some of them are deeply significant. Some we hold lightly; some we simply must do.

So, although I'm pretty sure nobody else is as excited to read all about our family's Christmas traditions as I am to write them all down, here they are, in no particular order:

* We usually stay away from anything Christmas-y until after Thanksgiving, in order to give that holiday its own importance and focus. On Thanksgiving day, after all the feasting, we always watch "It's a Wonderful Life." It is just a great movie that underscores what's really important and what really isn't... and my husband is pretty much George Bailey. (2014 note: This year was the first year in all of my married life that I didn't watch this movie on Thanksgiving Day. Seriously. Thank you, pre-Black Friday shopping on Thanksgiving Day. Grrrr!)

* By far our most important and significant tradition is doing our "Advent banner," beginning on December 1. Iivo and I created this banner (from the book Family Celebrations - Meeting Christ in Your Holidays and Special Occasions by Ann Hibbard) when I was pregnant with EV, and we've been going through these family devotions during Advent ever since. We made a banner with a large flannel Christmas tree, and each "ornament" (with its symbolic felt emblem) is velcroed onto the tree by a child after the Advent meditation has been completed each evening. This keeps our focus clearly on the spiritual dimensions and implications of the Advent season. Our regular family devotions are replaced with this Advent banner during this time. [2013 note: These devotions are perfect for little ones, and a little "babyish" for older ones, but we walk through them every year anyway. We've added an Advent "road to the manger" candle tradition—compliments of Ann Voskamp's son, who handcrafts them himself, with all profits going to missions. We printed the pictures and made the "ornaments" for her advent tree devotional several years ago, and we usually do some of that, too, when we can. We reprise the "thankfulness tree" from Thanksgiving, and we hang that beautiful artwork on it. Sometimes, now that they're older, we'll do three or four days' worth of felt banner devotions at a time, and other nights we won't do it at all. Whatever works to keep all the relevant Advent scriptures before our eyes and minds throughout the month.]

* We also have collected quite a set of Christmas books over the years, so our evening "family read-aloud" is also disbanded during this time, and we read a Christmas story together each night. These range from the explanatory (Santa, Are You For Real?) to the symbolically spiritual (this year's acquisition—The Tale of Three Trees) to the silly and fun (A Wish for Wings that Work - an Opus Christmas Story). We have enough by now to last us throughout the Christmas season. The red-white-and-green basket of books comes out with the Christmas decorations and sits out all month, by the couch; the kids tend to pick up and read the books on their own throughout the month, as well.

* However soon as is practical after Thanksgiving, we head together as a family to get our Christmas tree. Though there is a lovely(?) artificial tree in our attic even as I type, over the past few years we have developed the habit of heading to our local Taylor's for a "real" tree, which as of this 2008 writing can be had for only $14.99. Somehow it has come to be tradition that after we choose our tree and strap it to the van, we head across the street to eat at the Tijuana Flat's restaurant that is there. There is nothing Christmas-y about it, but it is pretty expensive for our whole family to go there, so we usually only do it this one time during the year. It has become part of the Christmas traditions purely by accident. [2013 note: The "must have a real tree" thing has continued, through several price hikes at Taylor's over the years and then the eventual abandonment of that store entirely after this tree fiasco. Also, the super-close Tijuana Flats closed down, so we now head across town to the other one, though it is nowhere near the purchasing place of the Christmas tree anymore!]

* We usually end up putting only the lights on the tree at this point, and then "do the ornament thing" about a week later. While the lights go up, we tend to gravitate toward a favorite Christmas CD called It's Christmas Time, with carols and fun Christmas songs sung by Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, and Frank Sinatra.

* After the lights are on the tree, the girls usually grab the other Christmas decorations from the attic and scatter them about the house, while iivo and PT put some Christmas lights outside, on the house and bushes.

* We have a variety of nativity sets, and they go up in different rooms of the house... right down to the little clear glass ones EL bought at the Dollar Tree for her sister OG and her brother PT one year when she was very little, "so they can have one of their own like EV." (The "nativity of her own" for EV came from her Sunday school teacher when she was a preschooler, and is a little nativity set of black figures. She still puts it up in her room every year.)

* Iivo's birthday falls in the middle of the "Christmas season," so there is usually a break somewhere in here one weekend to celebrate him and his birth.

* "Doing the ornament thing" is an experience around our house, and it is usually reserved for a weekend of its own after Iivo's birthday weekend. (We're still homeschooling during these weeks of early December, so weekends are all we have!) Each ornament is brought out and—since many of them have significant memories attached to them—discussed as it is put on the tree. My mother has been buying a different Christmas tree ornament for each of my children every Christmas since they were born, so that they'll have a set of ornaments to take with them to their own homes when they leave ours. They each pull a few of their own ornaments out of their ever-growing collection of special storage boxes, smiling and remembering and deciding where to place each one. It is usually best if I stay out of this process as much as possible. (See here for more about this!)

* When we put ornaments on the tree, we listen to A Charlie Brown Christmas by the Vince Guaraldi Trio. This is relatively calm and mostly instrumental, which helps during the frenzy. So does egg nog, by the way, so that's become typical during the ornament-hanging as well.

* Though we own a lot of Christmas albums, and have put them all into a Christmas playlist on the iPods, a few favorites tend to come out and stay front and center around our house in December. These include the two already mentioned, James Taylor's James Taylor at Christmas, Christmas Portrait by the Carpenters, and A Christmas Together by John Denver and the Muppets. A local radio station plays Christmas music all season, and it tends to irritate some of us and thrill others of us. So there is usually some listening to "I'm Gettin' Nuttin' for Christmas" or "Feed the World" or "Santa Baby" type songs... and the commensurate "radio wars" that go on when one member of the family doesn't want to hear "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime" for the eight-hundredth time, while one other member of the family has every radio station in the house tuned to this station—and turned on!

* Our children do not have "Christmas wish lists," and we tend to buy each of them only one "big" present each Christmas. This item is something we think they would enjoy having, not something they've asked for. (I think both our homeschooling and our not watching television have helped in this regard, because there aren't nearly as many "have to have this" items in a kid's mind when he isn't in the peer-conformity world of school or watching TV commercials telling him how much he needs a specific thing.) They never ask for particular things they want, as we've never fostered an environment that caters to that. They do have grandparents, however, who will sometimes ask if there are any particular wishes; occasionally one surfaces, but not usually.

* What they do love (and I mean love) is the practice we have of going out shopping—one child at a time, with me—to buy a specific gift for each of their siblings. (I talked about this in my last post.) They plan out and think about what they might like to buy each other, sometimes for weeks and months before Christmas, and head out once we finish homeschooling—with either a very specific plan in mind, or with an open mind combined with a pretty good knowledge of the sibling—and we shop. This is both exhausting and exhilarating to me. Truth be told, I love it, too! There is something thrilling about seeing your children genuinely more excited about the gifts they're giving than the ones they're receiving. (2014 note: Although I still LOVE watching them give each other perfect gifts that demonstrate how well they know each other, I've had to let go of the joy of helping them pick them out and getting to shop with them. They've all been old enough to get each others' gifts without me for a while now! Every once in a while a non-driver will ask for a ride, and I'll secretly smile inside at this throwback to the good old days!)

* The actual celebrating really begins for us on "Christmas Adam." (You know... the night before Christmas Eve! This nickname was given to December 23 one year by one of my children—I don't know which one started it, honestly—and it has stuck ever since.) This night, for us, usually involves opening a single present... the huge box—all individually wrapped inside but also wrapped together in one big box—of our new Christmas PJs. I wish I'd taken pictures of everyone in them, every year, to watch the growth of the kids and to save the memories... but we didn't, so we just have to remember in our brains. Even as I type right now, I'm wearing the "Downton Abbey-style" PJs we selected in 2013—all warm flannel with buttons and collars, and oh-so-comfy.

* Christmas Eve, for us, traditionally involves a series of Christmas Eve church services. There is a children's service at my parents' church up the road that starts at 4:00 and involves story-telling and craft-making and a "birthday cake" for Jesus. My parents pick up and take the little ones to that, while the older ones and we adults get ready for our church's service. Iivo is the worship leader, and usually some of the rest of us are involved in the music in some way, too. That service is typically at 5:30. My father brings the little girls after the children's service is over, and then attends that 5:30 service with us. My mother is usually doing some last minute rehearsing at her church for the 7:00 service there. Once our service is over, we try to limit the intake of Christmas cookies by our children, then head up the road to that service to see Nanny sing in the choir and ring the hand bells. By the time this service is over, we are all "sung out" and starving, and we head up the road to the local Chinese restaurant and share a variety of dishes, served "family style." Afterward we head back to my parents' house for more Christmas cookies and hot apple cider, and to open stockings.

* [If my family has traveled out of town to TN for Christmas, or if Iivo's family is visiting from out of town, this pattern tends to look a little different. We only attend our Christmas Eve service, and afterward we eat a meal highlighting a blending of traditional Estonian and Swiss foods. This would typically be a pork roast, sauerkraut and red cabbage (very Swiss-German!), rosolje (Estonian "purple potato salad" containing pickles and beets and—if you're lucky—skipping the herring!), sai (an Estonian Christmas bread made with raisins), and verivorst (Estonian Christmas sausage). If my mother-in-law has cooked and brought some verivorst, the Eesti folk eat this—and Iivo loves it—but the rest of us tend to pass on the blood sausage. If my in-laws are here, we'll stay home and open our own stockings on Christmas Eve, with my parents joining us here for egg nog or cider or Christmas cookies.]

* Once the kids are in bed, we go around and swipe all the baby Jesus figures from each nativity set and carefully wrap them together in one package. We wrap this package very plain and dull and place it under the tree. (This becomes "the first gift of Christmas" in the morning, and we highlight the fact that Jesus—the greatest gift ever given—arrived here without fanfare or recognizable earthly glory.)

* On Christmas morning, Iivo and I get up early and put in the dough for the traditional cinnamon rolls that are our Christmas breakfast. Afterward, we crawl back into bed and "sleep in" as late as the first child. This child—however big or small—crawls into bed with us and waits for brother or sisters to awaken and join us. Once three of the four are up, we decide it is time for the final child to get up, and all head in together to rouse the sleepyhead.

*We get up and get going in the morning with the final installment of the Advent banner. This is meant to be the Christmas Eve lesson, but we wisely skip this since we've usually already attended two church services that night. This lesson is on the wise men, and segues nicely into the first gift of Christmas. We open this (the baby Jesus figures wrapped the night before) and the children go put each baby Jesus back with the corresponding nativity set. This was more naturally "fun" when they were little, but it has become part of what we do, so even these older children love to walk through this process.

* After this, we head into the kitchen, fashion the dough into cinnamon rolls, and get them going in the oven. While we wait for them to bake, we open our stockings.

* For breakfast, we have cinnamon rolls and either sausage or hard-boiled eggs for protein so no one "melts down." After we eat this, the kids are finally able to head in and distribute their gifts to their siblings. They are fairly about to burst with anticipation by this point, but they take turns and go one at a time. One child "plays Santa" first, and gives her gifts to her siblings one at a time. Said sibling opens the gift and we all enjoy seeing what was given and received. This process takes a while, since there are twelve gifts (three each) that have been purchased by the children for each other. It always strikes me every year how fun it is to "know" and "be known," as these gifts perfectly reflect their knowledge of each other and what each other likes and might enjoy receiving.

* After this, we take a break to read a Christmas storybook, then give the children the presents we have bought for them. Iivo and I don't buy each other any gifts (his birthday is in early December and mine is in early January), but instead buy one "big thing" we feel the family needs or would enjoy. This can range from the immensely practical and needed to the totally frivolous and decidedly un-needed. Everybody usually knows about what this gift might be, as there's been some discussion about it throughout the preceding months. It is revealed at some point over the course of the morning.

* At some point several years ago (2011, maybe?) we started a tradition of eliminating each child's "big gift" and replacing it with $100ish dollars' worth of credit toward a World Vision or Show Hope gift that they select and give, using the money that would have gone to their "big gift." (If you didn't click on those links, you really should. Or at least click here and take 90 seconds to see how it works. We love giving gifts that make a difference in the world all year long!) They still receive a small gift or two from us, but now more than ever, Christmas is, for them, about what they get to give, not what they are going to get... both to each other, through the gifts they buy each other, and through the gifts they choose for the needy around the world. They choose, and we order, these gifts on Christmas morning. (Cards of thanksgiving for the donations arrive in the mail sometime during the ensuing 12 Days of Christmas we're celebrating around here.)

* After all this, my parents—if they've joined us—head back home, we shower and get ready, and then we all re-convene at their house for a holiday meal mid-afternoon. The menu used to vary a bit every year (usually some variation of turkey or ham, with each of us contributing different side dishes to go with it), but over the years it's settled into ham, Nanny's warm potato salad, Nanny's cranberry salad, fresh green beans, and Laura rolls. When we gather at their house, we eat the feast, and then open the gifts from them.

* Over the course of the month, we tend to watch a Christmas movie or two. These vary from year to year, and have included such favorites as Miracle on 34th Street, Elf, The Santa Clause, Samantha (An American Girl Tale for Christmas), Prancer, and The Polar Express. We also usually try to fit in a viewing or two from among the favorite childhood television specials we always watched when they (and we!) were little:  How the Grinch Stole Christmas; A Charlie Brown Christmas; Frosty the Snowman; Rudolph; or Nestor, the Long-Eared Donkey (my personal favorite since I was a girl). As the kids have gotten older, this list has expanded to include many hardly-seems-right-to-call-them-Christmas-movies-just-because-Christmas-is-in-them films that we've enjoyed with our teen children. (Think Die Hard or While You Were Sleeping here!)

* We have watched The Nativity Story every year since we went to see it in the theater with my sister and her family, who were visiting, the year it came out, but we have yet to figure out a "regular" time to do it, so the tradition is simply that we must do so some time over the course of the season.

* If Iivo's family hasn't come to visit us, there is usually some holiday travel involved after Christmas to go see them. This may be the weekend after Christmas, or over New Year's, but sometime over the course of the break we try to get to see them, too.

* Although the Christmas decorations disappear from my mother's house as quickly as the local radio station playing Christmas songs reverts back to its usual love-song format, we tend to leave the decorations up through all of the "twelve days of Christmas." We're just not quite ready to see them go by December 26th, and so we leave them up until a weekend falling somewhere around January 5.

* Unfortunately, it is usually not until this stage of things that I get around to doing our Christmas cards! We are terrible about Christmas cards, but I love them!! I love sending them, and I love getting them, even if they do arrive later than everyone else's! (See here for more on this!)

"The aroma of our homes is created by the liturgy of our lives. The liturgy of our lives, simply put, is what happens when we deliberately think through what we do and why... There is liturgy in all of our lives. We all have family traditions that in many ways tell the stories of our homes and what we value."
- Steve Murphy, publisher of 
Homeschooling Today magazine


What is it we value at Christmas time? First and foremost, we value the Savior. We long to keep Him first and foremost in our minds as we walk through the season that follows Thanksgiving and incorporates New Year's. What began as a celebration of the incarnation—God made man and delivered to us as a baby—has become deliberately secularized in American culture. It has become more about Santa and getting stuff than about Jesus and giving stuff. It has become more about "happy holidays" than "Merry Christmas." It has become a spending frenzy that breaks many families' budgets and creates many spoiled, ungrateful, never-quite-happy-enough children. We work hard to reverse that focus in our home. Jesus is squarely the central focus for us.

We also value the fun and the feasting and the break from the routine that this season offers. It is a chance to break out of the daily grind and to reflect on what is important to us in new, fresh ways. We value our immediate family, and we love remembering them with special little tokens of affection. We value our extended family, and we treasure the chance to visit with them in whatever ways work out each year. We value the special friends we have, and we enjoy spending time with whichever ones He's given us to be particularly close to in each of the various seasons of our lives.

Even talking about it all has made me nostalgic and anticipatory. We will walk through many of these traditions again this year... this week... and over Christmas Eve... and Christmas Day... and New Year's Eve... and New Year's Day. I really can't wait!