Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 8

All Is Calm

 
I awake from a dream to the sounds of my newborn son stirring beside me in bed. Before the squirming turns into hunger cries, I scoop him up in my arms, sit up in bed, and watch him instantly calm the moment he latches onto the nourishment only a mother can give.  And as he nurses, my eyelids begin to fade, but I force myself to stay awake, to stare at him and to relish in the moment. 

There were many nights when my oldest two were nursing babes that I cried and begged for just a little more sleep.  I dreaded the night time hours and awoke more exhausted than the night before.  I walked through my days in a fog, waiting for the day they would sleep through the night. 

But when our neighbors received devastating news about their unborn son, when a friend said goodbye to her newborn son way too soon, and when parents sent their little ones off to school for the very last time, I remembered that these moments are oh, so fleeting.  I do not know what tomorrow holds and, really, I am only promised today, this very moment. 

The reality of that truth is so scary and so overwhelming.  I hate not being in control, but, the bigger truth is that I was never in control to begin with.  Before I was even being knit together in my mother's womb there was One who already knew all the days ordained for me.  He alone knows what will happen for my tomorrows. 

So, in the calm of the night, when the rest of the house is fast asleep, instead of complaining and longing for sleep, I cradle my newborn son and watch as his body relaxes and his hands curl around me.  I listen to the soft whisper of his breathing and smile when it gives way to happy sighs and a milk drunk smile.  I want to live my life without any regrets, to take captive moments like this, because it could so easily be taken away from me and I will miss this.   

Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun! 

 

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 7

The Brightest Light

One year ago today, the world lost one of its brightest lights.  She, the woman who lived and loved to the full, is still so very much a part of who I am today.  She is the one who gave me a love of words.  She could weave a story as intricately as a beautiful tapestry. 

When she spoke, you would stop whatever you were doing just to hear her stories, because she carried stories of the past, present, and future with her every day.  And if you closed your eyes and listened carefully, you could almost see and feel and breathe the stories she told. 

Not a day goes by that I don't think of her and wish for just one day more.  The day we found out our littlest peanut was growing in my womb, I thought of her.  She loved children and would gladly take the time to hold, rock, and talk with the littlest ones.  Oh, how she would have loved to meet her two newest great grandchildren. 

There are days that the grief still so overwhelms me I can't breathe.  But there are also days that the memories of the nearly 28 years I was blessed to have her here make me smile and laugh, even through the tears.  I am so grateful for every single one of those years and for the woman who helped shape me into the woman I am today. 

Just yesterday, my daughter asked about her great mommy.  She often wears a little gold bracelet that used to belong to my grandma and every time she says, "my great mommy give this to me".  I smile as tears glisten my eyes and tell her, "yes, and oh how she loved you, so very much".  

Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun!

 

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 6

 Emerging from wood

Standing tall or standing small

Rebirth of self-truths

Photo credit: tombothetominator

Cuddled up on the couch next to my love, our newborn son quietly nursing in my arms, we sat mesmerized by the story unfolding before our eyes.  Giant redwoods, the world's largest and oldest trees (perhaps as old as 1,500 years), seem to carry stories of centuries gone by deep within its highly valued wood.  The more conversationalists studied these trees, the more they realized how complex and intricate they are. 

Reaching highest of over 300 feet, forests filled with these giants were almost lost by the clear cutting practices of logging companies.  But they proved to be as resilient as they were massive as new trees sprung forth from the stumps left behind.  A single sprout could grow up to six feet in a year. 

The canopies of these super trees were even more impressive.  National Geographic calls them "forests in the air", because the branches hundreds of feet from the ground held an intricate forest of their own including bushes, soil, and new tree trunks growing right from the limbs.  The salamanders that live in these "forests in the air" can spend their entire lifetime here without ever touching the ground. 

As I took it all in, one line caught my attention.  Some of the trees loggers cut down could have been "around when Christ walked the earth".  I know trees don't really talk, but if they did, I wonder what kind of story they would tell.

What story would be told by one of the trees in the Garden of Gethsemane the night Jesus was arrested?  What story could be shared by the tree cut down to make the cross that held our Savior as he breathed his last have to tell?  What story might would unfold through the words of the tree used to build the manger meant for animal feed that held a newborn babe one night in Bethlehem?  And I wonder how my story would be different if not for that night in Bethlehem. 

Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun!

 

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 5

Vintage Christmas

Christmas eve, all bundled up for a white Christmas, dressed in our Sunday best, we walk into the church where I grew from a baby girl to a young woman.  The sanctuary is aglow with candlelight, Christmas trees, and the newborn babe lying in a manger.  We slide into a pew and wait for the opening hymn and the story to unfold through the eyes of children.

As the little Mary and Joseph search for room in the overcrowded town of Bethlehem, my heart begins to swell.  I've heard the story year after year, but there is something about seeing children reenact the scenes of that night that remind me of the awe and wonder of a child hearing it for the first time.

When the angels fill the manger scene to announce the birth of the newborn king, we all join in singing.  After a few more songs, the service ends and a line begins to form of children eager to see the nativity scene with the baby Jesus.  Even as a teenager, I was just as eager as those little children as I stood speechless before the tiny wooden figure that reminds us of the real baby born on that day.

This year, as I pulled out our nativity, the one that used to sit in my great grandma's home, I smile as my own children gasp and jump for joy.  "It's baby Jesus!" they shout.  And we go about our days, every so often one of them will walk over to the manger scene, lean their head in their hands on the table, and silently take it all in.  No store bought Santa or red and green tinsel can hold their attention so well.  Because there is something timeless and beautiful in the vintage Christmas scene with the newborn Jesus center stage. 

 
Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun! 

 

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 3

Brimming in Scarlet

Photo source: mtsofan

The day is dark, not simply from clouds covering the light of the sun, but from the cloud of sin covering the light of the Son of God.  Brimming in scarlet, the One who became man, the Word who dwelt among us, weary, broken, emptied, poured out, freely giving His life.  He whispers, "it is finished", and breathes his last.  Man tried to defeat him, but His was a death only He could give...and only He could conquer. 

The sweet cries of a newborn babe, wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger, the ones chosen to be his earthly parents smiling and staring in awe of the miracle before them.  It's the picture of Christmas we see and marvel at...and yet it stands in grave contrast to the picture of the newborn babe grown into a man, hanging from nails piercing his hands while blood pours from the wounds upon his broken body.  We love to see the picture of that precious newborn babe...but we cringe and hide and run from the one of the man upon a cross.

And yet, I am the one brimming in scarlet, the weight of my transgressions holding me back from joy and peace and life.  Without the picture of the cross, the picture of the babe is meaningless.  As I stare at the nativity scene laid out carefully in our home, I can't help seeing the cross...because I know that Christmas is nothing without Easter and that the hope of Christmas lies in the very color of the decorations we cover our homes with.

 
 Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun!

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 2

Christmas Secret

Photo source

I've always loved gift giving. There's something so exciting in finding just the right gift and seeing the recipient's joy when they open it.  Now that I'm a mom, it's even more exciting to see this Christmas tradition through their eyes.  The look of awe and wonder the moment they see the gifts under the tree and the surprise that comes when they open it is priceless.

Keeping a secret is the most fun part of gift giving.  Our families have each taken part in gift exchanges over the years and this year we are part of three.  It's always been fun to try and guess who has who.  Usually there is at least one person who has figured it all out by the time we gather round for Christmas.  I have always loved the surprise, so I'm always the last person to know. 

The greatest secret of Christmas, though, is not meant to be kept a secret. As we gather round this Christmas and exchange gifts carefully chosen for each recipient, I'm reminded of the best gift I've ever received, one that wasn't part of a gift exchange or even one found under the tree on Christmas morning.

It's the gift of Jesus and the hope He brought to this earth, freely given and completely undeserved, that is the best kept secret of Christmas.  It's a gift that is meant to be shared and spoken of often, so the secret might be known in the hearts of men and women throughout the earth.

This Christmas, when my children wake up Christmas morning and stare with wide-eyed wonder at the gifts under the tree, I want them to remember that Christmas is more than presents tied up with ribbons and bows.  I want them to know the Christmas secret that is the best gift of all.

 Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun!

 

Twas The Write Before Christmas: Day 1

Silent Night, Stille Nacht

 

Family.  It's the picture that comes to mind the moment the sweet melody of Silent Night finds its way into my memory each year.  We're all gathered round the home that love built, dishes piled high and our bodies nourished after another meal together.  In the midst of this circle, my grandfather sits, gently rocking back and forth in his favorite chair, his long, lean legs sprawled out before him.

The caroling books my aunt created years ago are passed around and soon the room is filled with melodies of Christmas.  We laugh as we act out the words to 12 Days of Christmas and smile as we sing Merry Christmas to the pizza delivery guy.  And somewhere in the middle of all this beauty, my grandfather makes his request for the song he loves to hear every year.

We turn the pages to find the words of Silent Night and slowly begin to sing.  As the words on the page reach their end, my grandfather's voice continues on in the words of his German heritage.  The room is silent except for the voice of this patriarch who has carried this family through many storms and taught us the value of family.

This will be the third Christmas without his strong, deep voice mesmerizing us with Stille Nacht.  And yet, every year since he left this earth, I remember and somehow, if I close my eyes and listen carefully, I can still hear him singing.  I can still picture him perched in his chair, smiling at all the faces of the ones he loves, and reminding us that even though he is no longer here with us, he still lives on in each and every one of us blessed to call him father and grandfather.

Linking up with Bigger Picture Blogs for this year's Twas The Write Before Christmas.  Check out this year's prompts here and join in the fun!

 

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: {Day 3}

"It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

"Praise the LORD! [hallelujah] Praise the LORD [hallelujah], O my soul! I will praise the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being. Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation. When his breath departs, he returns to the earth; on that very day his plans perish...The LORD will reign forever, your God, O Zion, to all generations. Praise the LORD! [hallelujah]" (Psalm 146: 1-4, 10)

The phrase "Praise the LORD" is found often in the Psalms, a command to lift our hands and sing our praises to the One who is worthy and awesome and good.  But, sometimes, opening our mouths to say "hallelujah" is hard.

In the last week of my grandfather's life, as his body grew weaker and the end loomed near, I fell to my knees, begging God to spare Him.  My words were broken and I felt cold and lonely.  But, somehow, in that moment of simply laying it all at His feet, even when it was hard, I found reason to praise Him.

I don't know what You saw in me / But I'm glad you believed / In spite of my condition / That Your mission was to rescue my heart
 
Don't understand the sacrifice / Why You gave up your life for the sake of my soul / Only heaven knows 

There's a mystery that lies / Within the logic of your love / There's an undying mercy / That I'm unworthy of
 
If that isn't reason enough to love You / Reason enough to give You / All of my heart and soul / There'll never be a reason

(Avalon, "Reason Enough")

As my sweet friend, grieves another loss, even in the midst of that kind of tired, she still finds the words to praise the One who will heal all her wounds and dry all her tears.  Because she knows there's reason enough to praise Him even in the storms.   

When our external hard drive with every single one of my photos on it crashed and the only way to fix it costs more money than we have right now...and when our washing machine broke on the same day...I still found the strength to lift my eyes to the hills and praise the One who's already given me more than I deserve.

Because, there are always moments like this...

...when a friend's husband was inches away from an explosion and literally on fire...and still came home un-burned to be a husband and dad, when she should have been planning a funeral but instead God chose to spare his life.  In those moments, it's impossible to not stand in awe of such an awesome God.  

His ways are often well beyond what we can comprehend, but He always, always has a plan, a perfect, beautiful, and wonderful plan for each and every one of us. 

So, even when it's a cold and broken hallelujah, it is still a hallelujah, because there is reason enough to praise Him, reason enough to love Him, reason enough to trust Him.

And that reason came in the form of a newborn babe, wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger, who grew up to be the Prince of Peace, the perfect and spotless Lamb. 

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This post is part of Bigger Picture Blogs' series, 'Twas the Write Before Christmas, a prompt a day to encourage us to share our story and give our gifts as a small creative respite from the busy, crammed full of things to be done, holidays.  I am linking up today's post with Day 3's prompt.

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: {Day 2}

Photo credit: Will Merydith

"Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel"

Do you ever have trouble reading a phrase from a song without singing it?  As I read today's prompt, I couldn't help but find myself humming a melody.  These words are from a song my dad loved to sing and a story he would read to us every year at Christmastime.

Listening to my dad read is one of my most cherished memories.  Perhaps that is where my love of reading came from.  My dad loved to read to us and, as he read, the way he captured the mood and characters of a story through his voice brought the story to life in our imaginations.

As he read Good King Wenceslas, I could imagine the good king watching the poor man gathering winter fuel on a night that was cruel with frost.  He felt a compassion that was driven to action as he gathered flesh, wine, and more winter fuel and set forth by foot a good league hence to be a blessing. 

His page follows along, but finds the dark cold night and strong winds almost too much to bear.  The king tells his good page to mark his footsteps, bearing the burden of blazing the trail.  His page follows his lead, finding the ground where his good king tread to make his journey less coldly and the winter's rage less cruel. 

When at last they reach the home of the poor man, they find warmth and friendship awaiting them.  I always loved the picture on the last page of the king and page dining together with a lowly peasant.  It reminds me of the picture of Jesus dining with tax collectors, holding hands with lepers, and welcoming the harlot.

Jesus came not to be served, but to serve.  As I think about that first Christmas eve, when the star shown brightly over a meager little stable in Bethlehem, I wonder what sort of gift I could have brought to the newborn king.  Perhaps the greatest gift I can give my King is to be a blessing to others, through service, sacrifice, time, and prayer.

Yesterday, as I read Ann's blog post, I felt a tug on my heart.  Maybe I missed the whole meaning of Christmas in my frenzy to find the perfect gifts for people I love, but who already have more than enough.  Perhaps our tree should look like Ann's tree...empty of gifts while our hearts are full of the blessing of giving to others. 

"As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace" (1 Peter 4:10)

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This post is part of Bigger Picture Blogs' series, 'Twas the Write Before Christmas, a prompt a day to encourage us to share our story and give our gifts as a small creative respite from the busy, crammed full of things to be done, holidays.  I am linking up today's post with Day 2's prompt. 

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: {Day 1}

 I've lived my entire life in the Midwest.  As the last fall leaf reached the ground and the air grew colder and heavy with snow, I braced myself for months and months of cold, dark winter.

In my childhood, I hated being outside for too long in the winter.  My asthmatic lungs gasped for breath, unsure how to rescue the oxygen from the frozen air.

I remember the first year our neighbor's granddaughter came over to play.  She was from Florida and only saw snow once a year on her trips to her grandma's house.  She begged us to play outside, much longer than I preferred.  She even built an igloo one year and sent me on a scavenger hunt to find her.  I remember wondering what the big deal was...after all, it was just snow.

But there is something magical and beautiful about snow.  That first snowfall seems to stop time, because we can't seem to keep our eyes from the beauty of a world covered in white, sparkling in the sunlight. 

I still have a love/hate relationship with snow.  My dad called it a four-letter-word.  Because, that first snowfall loses its charm after months and months covered in its dark coldness.  I sit in my warm, comfortable home dreaming of the day when the sun will come out again, melt away the snow, and welcome us back out of our cozy cocoons.

We all go through seasons in our own lives.  The winters of our lives are the hardest, darkest, loneliest ones.  It is in the winter that I lose my way, desperate for the sun to shine again.  And the moment that first flash of green peeks through the snow, I breathe a sigh of relief. 

It's that relief that knows I've lived, survived, arrived in spring.  For, as hard as the winter is, the spring always comes.

But there's still something about winter that never ceases to hold us captive.  Because the winter is when we grow and learn.  It is in the hardest seasons of my life that He refines me, renews me, and revives me.  Without the snow, I wouldn't know the beauty of a simple blade of grass.  And without the winter, I wouldn't know the blessing of spring. 

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This post is part of Bigger Picture Blogs' series, 'Twas the Write Before Christmas, a prompt a day to encourage us to share our story and give our gifts as a small creative respite from the busy, crammed full of things to be done, holidays.  (The picture and event button are from Day One's post and the prompt was simply Snow.)