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What the new year is and isn't

January 1, 2015

It snuck up on me this year, New Year’s Eve, the new year, like an old friend on tiptoes waiting to cover my eyes and let me guess who was standing behind me. I had a sense it was coming, but still, it surprised me.

It’s not that I forgot its coming. I just lacked the necessary anticipation.

I spent New Year’s Eve talking to my husband by phone, seeking a connection with God, hanging out with my kids and my parents in front of the TV, watching Taylor Swift “Shake It Off” in 30-degree weather in Times Square.

There was no big to-do. I’m not much for parties or large gatherings and frankly did not have the energy for any kind of effort toward special for New Year’s Eve.

I’ve barely had time to reflect on 2014 and look ahead to 2015, and I wonder if I’m already setting myself up for failure in the year ahead.

Liane Metzler / Creative Commons / via unsplash

Doesn’t the new year require a plan? Goals? Checklists?

I have few of those things in mind or on paper, and I have the feeling of being late or behind before the year begins.

As I considered the year ahead, what may or may not happen, I journaled these words:

A new year brings so many hopes and fears and dreams and expectations. Let me not give too much weight to a single day, month, moment or year. Let me see it for what it is–a part of the whole. A piece of something bigger. One chapter in the story. One verse in the song.

And then I read Psalm 90, a perfectly appropriate reading for New Year’s Eve (thank you, Book of Common Prayer). I’d encourage you to read the whole thing but here are the words that give me strength and hope for a new year.

You have been our refuge from one generation to another.

From age to age you are God.

We bring our years to an end like a sigh.

Teach us to number our days.

Make us glad by the measure of the days that you afflicted us and the years in which we suffered adversity.

Prosper the work of our hands.

I hate how much pressure we put on a year at its beginning. I believe in fresh starts and chasing dreams and goals that scare you a little, but I’m learning that those things often take more time than we want them to and to put all our hopes in the start of one year is to maybe set ourselves up for disappointment.

I want 2015 to be different. I want to be different in 2015. But I will not let one year of my life–good or bad–define the rest of my years. I will choose to see how each new year builds on the last. How even the hard times are working toward something better and good. I will not give up when a year is full of more loss than gain.

And I won’t rest on the security of good days, imagining them to be the only way from here on out.

2015 is just another year.

You can start fresh.

You can rebuild.

You can look up.

You can leave 2014 behind.

You can hope, dream, expect.

But remember that what happens this year is one small part of something bigger: your entire life.

What happened in 2014 doesn’t define you.

What’s coming in 2015 won’t either.

You are loved by a Creator who is writing your story, one chapter at a time.

Hang on till the end.

One man's story of growing up in church: Review of Churched by Matthew Paul Turner

December 31, 2014

Matthew Paul Turner is known for his humorous takes on Christian culture, so before I tell you anything else about this book, keep that in mind. In Churched, Turner tells the story of his childhood in a fundamental Independent Baptist church, including stories of getting a “Baptist” haircut, door-to-door evangelism, and “the bad part” of the movie Ben-Hur. (Disclaimer: I recieved a free copy of the book from Waterbrook Multnomah through the Blogging For Books program in exchange for my review.)

I found the stories comical and wondered if they were a bit exaggerated through Turner’s lens of humor. But knowing that his writing is based in humor, I didn’t take everything at 100 percent face value. Nor do I think that’s necessarily the point.

Turner’s stories of fundamentalism through a child’s eyes needs humor in the telling because some of his experiences are so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh. Still, it’s not all laughs. Turner wrestles with some serious themes like hell and death and salvation. Churched doesn’t tell the entire story of Turner’s spiritual life but chronicles his rocky relationship with church. I appreciated the concluding chapter that gives us an idea of what church is like for him now as an adult.

Churched is an interesting (and short) read. Fans of Turner’s blog will enjoy his stories, as will anyone who grew up in a similar environment and has now left it. I don’t know if it’s a book I would recommend to everyone but it is a good illustration of how church can be hard, even for someone who was raised in it.

You can read Chapter One here to see if it’s for you, and if you don’t already, you can follow Matthew Paul Turner on Twitter.

Best books of the fourth quarter {and 2014 overall}

December 29, 2014

As the year comes to a close, it’s time already to share with you the best books I read in the last three months and try to narrow down the best books I read all year. I’m offering this as a 2-for-1 blog post to close out 2014.

My previous quarterly lists were limited to five or six books. After reviewing my reading over the last part of this year, I can’t narrow it down. (Good for you, reading friends!)

First, here are my picks for the fourth quarter of the year. (Gosh, this is so hard!)

Three books caused a shift in my spiritual journey, and the words of their writers are still rumbling around in my soul. The Sacred Year by Michael Yankoski offers challenging thoughts and practices for a deeper spirituality. Prototype by Jonathan Martin changed forever the way I think of discipleship. And Interrupted by Jen Hatmaker was an inspiring story of redefined mission when comfortable Christianity no longer was enough. (Please don’t read these three books simultaneously or back-to-back. You might despair of ever becoming the kind of person you want to be. Take them slow and let them simmer in your mind.)

Another notable nonfiction book was Rare Bird by Anna Whiston-Donaldson. If you know someone who is dealing with grief, especially the loss of a child, this is an gut-level honest account of what that’s like. And even if that kind of grief hasn’t reached your circle of family and friends yet, it’s still worth reading. Bring the tissues.

I’m surprised to have so many nonfiction books make my “top books” this quarter. Usually I read fewer of those because it takes me longer to read them than it does fiction.

But here are three notable fiction books from the last three months:

A.D. 30 by Ted Dekker. Dekker made my “best of” list twice this year, and I previously hadn’t read anything by him. Read this book for a better understanding of the life of Jesus in the context of his culture. (Would be good for Lenten reading!)

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. I have no official review for this one, but read the nice things people are saying about it on Goodreads and Amazon. I noticed this one on the “new books” shelf at the library and was intrigued by the summary. I didn’t check it out that day, but the next time I saw it on the shelf, I snagged it. It’s mesmerizing. I couldn’t easily walk away from it, its plot and characters lingering as I went about my business. A “heavy” read but not without hope.

Tears of the Sea by MaryLu Tyndall. I make it no secret that Tyndall is a favorite author. This year, she released a book unlike any other she’s written, and it is such a beautiful reminder of the depth of God’s love illustrated through a mermaid story.

With books likes those rounding out the year’s best reads, how on earth am I going to pick my top books of the entire year?

Here they are, as well as I can determine. (I narrowed it down to six books! Aren’t you proud of me?)

The best books of 2014

Quiet by Susan Cain. I read this book early in the year and I’m still thinking about what I learned from it about myself. An invaluable reference for introverts and the people who love them.

Outlaw by Ted Dekker. I mentally reference this book weekly. I’ve read a lot of transformational fiction over the years, but this book changed something inside of me, opening up a spiritual way of life I had not understood or considered previously. (And it’s also a captivating story.)

A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert. I love Ganshert’s stories, but this one makes the list because of the lead male character. I try not to play favorites with fictional characters, but he’s one of my all-time favorites.

The Waiting by Cathy LaGrow. Family secrets. Generational history. An almost impossible reunion. And it’s all true. This true story reads like fiction and is the kind of story writers drool over because of the inherent elements of story. I am jealous to write like this.

Restless by Jennie Allen. Another one of those life-changing books that is still changing my life. If you feel the nudge for something more in your life, Allen’s book can help you discover your unique role in God’s kingdom. And she does it with encouragement and grace and her own admissions of fear and failure.

Surprised by Motherhood by Lisa-Jo Baker. This might be only the second parenting/motherhood book I’ve ever finished. So much grace and encouragement for moms of all kinds and seasons. I wish I could buy a box of these books and hand them out to moms at the grocery store.

There you have it. My imperfect wrap-up of my 2014 reading. I’m looking forward to another great year of reading and have some highly anticipated books lined up for review in the coming months. I hope you’ll stick around and share in the love of reading.

What makes your list for the year? What books are you looking forward to in 2015?

How ordinary obedience changed the world: Review of 50 Women Every Christian Should Know by Michelle DeRusha

December 24, 2014

I never liked history until I started learning about people instead of just dates and events. Stories are powerful teaching tools for me, and Michelle DeRusha’s book, 50 Women Every Christian Should Know, is a valuable resource for families, churches, and individuals who want to inspire their spiritual journeys. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book from Baker Publishing in exchange for my review.)

I did not grow up in the church, so stories of faith that some may have known since middle childhood and the teen years are still new to me. DeRusha’s book chronicles women who lived from the 11th Century to the 21st Century and paints a picture of the spiritual experiences that shaped them. With many of the women, DeRusha’s short biographies were a catalyst to find out more information, especially writers like Dorothy Sayers and Flannery O’Connor, names I know but have never read.

50 Women contains familiar names like Corrie ten Boom and Mother Teresa and less familiar ones like Hildegard of Bingen, a German nun, and Phoebe Palmer, founder of New York City’s Five Points Mission. How a person even chooses 50 stories for a project like this is a feat I can applaud. I’ve never had so much fun learning history.

It’s a daunting book, not because the stories are dull but because they are rich. I found that if I read too many stories in a row, I became overwhelmed, both by the amount of information and the challenge to my own life. A glut of inspiring stories is dangerous to a comfortable life.

And yet, so many of the women lived ordinary lives that reflected an extraordinary obedience. Many of the stories were connected through time, as women influenced each other’s journeys. And all of them have application for women today.

I could see this book as a homeschool resource or maybe even a Sunday School resource. I think it also could be read devotionally. Each story is short and could be used weekly to encourage an individual’s spiritual walk.

I have great respect for the author of this book. The amount of information she must have had to condense into a few pages for each woman’s life!

Don’t be intimidated by a book of this size and quality. Let it enrich your spiritual life.

The two ways people react to our upcoming holiday plans

December 22, 2014

It all started with a death in the family. And a secret prayer to be able to spend more time with my extended relatives.

Sometime around Thanksgiving every year, my husband and I sit down and think about our travel plans for Christmas. He works in a restaurant with limited time off and the rest of our family lives 800 miles away, so going home for Christmas is never a simple matter. As it was shaping up this year, we were going to get about five days in Illinois with our families. Enough time to drive for a whole day, celebrate some Christmases and drive for another whole day.

I’ve been missing my family, thus the secret prayer to find a way to spend more time with them. The kids have a long school break and my husband was the only one who needed to be back at a certain time. (It was a secret prayer because I don’t like sounding disappointed by our circumstances. After all, I married him with full knowledge that one day we would live in Pennsylvania. I just didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to be so far away from everyone else.)

Then my uncle, who lives in Colorado, died, and we started asking different questions.

Are we going to Colorado?

Who is going to Colorado?

When are we going to Colorado?

How are we getting there?

My uncle was the sort of person who didn’t want people to make a fuss, so he wanted no funeral service, only to be cremated and have his ashes scattered in the mountains (an impossibility in the winter months).

But the rest of us need closure and to be together, so the planning began. During the holiday break, when several family members have time off because they work for school districts, a trip to Colorado would happen.

The catch? Several of those family members do not like to fly, so this would be a road trip.

Unwilling to subject ourselves to a possible 16-hour drive with a day off followed by another possible 16-hour drive (did you know Denver is 1,500 miles from where we live in Pennsylvania?!?), my husband suggested something crazy. (At least it sounded crazy to me.)

“Why don’t we fly home?”

We have lived in Pennsylvania for more than six years and have never flown back to Illinois. Mainly because it’s expensive and not perfectly convenient. Since there are four of us, we still need a vehicle in Illinois, so loading up the van and driving for a day or overnight has always been the preferred option.

Until now.

After my initial shock and near-refusal, the idea grew on me. We would arrive in Illinois considerably fresher and certainly earlier than if we drove, and because we would only be in our hometown area for a few days, not having our own vehicle isn’t too much of an issue.

So plans came together. We booked tickets. We arranged flights and school and work schedules.

And that is only part of the adventure.

Forrest Cavale | Creative Commons | via unsplash

The second leg of our Christmas vacation involves four generations of family in an RV driving across the Midwest Plains to Denver for a long weekend of grieving, celebrating and being together. It also involves one of our particular foursome flying back to Pennsylvania from Denver so he can return to work and the rest of us spending a few extra days in Illinois with a yet-to-be-determined rendezvous somewhere between Illinois and Pennsylvania.

If you’re still with me, you’re probably thinking one of two things. I know this, not because I’m a mind reader, but because every person I’ve told this plan to has had one of these two reactions and nothing in-between.

One reaction is: “That’s awesome! You guys are going to have so much fun! What an adventure! I’ve always wanted to do that!”

The other is: “Wow. That sounds … interesting. I’ll pray for you.”

Honestly, I waver between both of those feelings–excitement and terror. Because, let’s face it, this could be the most awesome thing to ever happen to our family or it could be a total disaster. (In reality, it will probably have moments of both). Either way, this will be one of our most memorable holidays ever.

And that’s worth something.

So, I can’t promise you a bunch of blog posts from the road because I’m not exactly sure what all we’re taking with us. But, if you’re interested in following along the adventure on Facebook, Twitter and/or Instagram, I’m going to use the hashtag #XCountryXmas for all travel related posts. (You can find me on Goodreads to see all the books I read while we travel, too.) I will be writing down memorable quotes, journaling my thoughts and taking pictures along the way, hoping to bring you a share of our memories in the new year.

And just to give you a teaser, here’s the first memorable quote for the trip to come.

Me: Izzy, I e-mailed you teacher today and she said to have a good trip and that you were excited.

Izzy (the first-grader): Yeah, and I might even see the Platte River.

Me: How do you know about the Platte River?

Izzy: My teacher told me. It’s in Nebraska. I can’t wait to go through Nebraska.

Me: I think you’re going to be disappointed. (No offense to Nebraska.)

To epic road trips and beyond! (And Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and all that jazz!)

Set a story in Chicago and I'm glad to read it: Review of Secrets of Sloane House by Shelley Gray

December 17, 2014

I first knew of Shelley Shepard Gray as an author of Amish fiction. Now I know her writing credits stretch beyond those boundaries. In Secrets of Sloane House, writing as Shelley Gray, she pens a novel of suspense, mystery and romance set against the Chicago World’s Fair. (Disclaimer: I received a free e-copy of the book through the Booklook Bloggers Program in exchange for my review.)

I love a story set in historical Chicago, and even though I don’t know much about the era, it’s still fun to read about the city I most love to visit. My husband recently read The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson, a true story of events that happened during the Chicago World’s Fair. As I read Secrets of Sloane House, I got the impression that it was like The Devil in the White City meets Downton Abbey.

Rosalind Perry is a servant in Sloane House, but she’s there under false pretenses–investigating what might have happened to her sister who was a servant there and has disappeared. As she asks questions and tries to uncover the mystery, she begins to fear for her own safety when it becomes clear that everyone around her is keeping secrets and her questions are drawing the wrong kind of attention. Only Reid Armstrong, the heir to a silver fortune, agrees to help her. Remembering his middle class roots, Reid forgoes propriety to help Rosalind, a servant in another house, much to the dismay of some of society’s members.

Though it’s not a fast-paced action kind of story, it is intriguing and held my attention. I wanted to know what happened to Rosalind’s sister, and I was interested in the World’s Fair come to life in the lives of ordinary Chicagoans of the day. The relationship between Reid and Rosalind is full of potential problems and it was fun to see how their story played out.

Secrets of Sloane House is the first in a series that I would continue reading. If you’ve read any of Gray’s Amish fiction, you’ll find this a departure from those stories, but if you’re not interested in Amish fiction, this one is worth a try.

And it makes me wish for a Downton Abbey style show set in Chicago!

The missing key to joy {a OneWord365 reflection plus a 2015 revelation}

December 16, 2014

If you’ve been following along here for the past couple of years, you might know a little something about my OneWord365 participation. If not, you can read about the start of it here, or select the OneWord365 category in the righthand sidebar under the “what I write about” menu to see all the posts I’ve written about my words of the past two years.

In short, it’s a revolution rather than a resolution for the New Year. It’s a choice to focus on a word that leads to change or transformation. My first year, it was “release,” as I discovered the need to let go of some things I’d been holding too tightly.

This year, it was “enjoy,” as I realized my need to not be so serious or fearful about life all the time.

In a way, this year was a OneWord365 letdown compared to 2013 when I literally felt freer at the end of the year as a result of letting go. As this year comes to a close, I’m not sure I’ve enjoyed life as much as I could. Sure, there were highlights, and it’s not like we’ve had a miserable year. But I don’t feel like a major attitude shift has happened as a result of my One Word this year.

I take complete responsibility for that. And I think maybe I got ahead of myself. After my year of release, I reasoned that it would be easier to enjoy. And in some ways it was.

But I think for true transformation to happen, my 2014 One Word is going to have to work together with my 2015 One Word. (It’s coming, don’t worry.)

I start thinking about these things ridiculously early. Or maybe not, but even before this year was close to its end, I was contemplating my next year’s word. It’s not magic or a guarantee but I find having a One Word does help me focus a bit. I look for the word and its application, like a yearlong treasure hunt. And in some ways, it’s like speaking a truth over your year. This word, I declare, is what I want for my life right now.

It’s not a science, for certain.

For a month or more, I thought my word for 2015 would be “strong.” I have plans to work on my health in 2015, and “strong” is something I’ve not felt in a long time. But it didn’t sit the way the other words have. It seemed like a good concept but not the exact right fit.

So I brainstormed some other words related to “strong” and what I hope 2015 will mean for me. I tossed around “healed” and “free” and “light” and “open,” words that are good, too, but still not quite there. They were part of the idea I was working toward but none of those words by themselves represented what I wanted.

Then one day as I was leaning over the dryer pulling clothes out, a word settled in my soul. (That sounds strange, right? But sometimes that’s how it happens. The word finds me when I’m no longer actively looking.)

It’s the right word because it encompasses “strong” and “healed” and “light” and “free.”

For 2015, my word is this:

In an effort to enjoy, I rediscovered how much of me is still broken. And it’s not that I think I’m useless or need to be cast aside, but I’m certainly not where I want to be mentally, physically or emotionally.

To be whole next year means that I’m going to do some things for me, things that have taken a backseat in past years. As a wife and a mom, I’ve let others’ needs come before mine, which sounds sacrificial and maybe even a little bit spiritual but in reality, it’s put me in a place that isn’t healthy.

I’m not exactly sure what “whole” will look like, nor do I expect that in one year all the broken parts of me will be miraculously fixed and healed. For me, it’s a start. It’s a line in the sand that says, now it’s time to focus on me, not so I can selfishly demand the world revolve around me and my needs, but so that I can be the best me. It’s a gift to my family for me to be whole. And it’s a gift to me, too.

I’ve already taken a few steps toward wholeness. I’m on medication for high blood pressure, which means I’m also looking at ways to eat healthier and exercise more. I’ve started seeing a therapist because my mental health is probably as bad (or worse) than my physical health. (And it’s not that I want you to feel sorry for me, and maybe you don’t think I should be talking about these things, but putting it in writing keeps me accountable and frees me from fear.) Taking care of my mental health may also involve medication, a decision I’m still considering.

What else will “whole” look like?

Defining, and following, my dreams (and God’s) for my life. I’m an incomplete person without my writing, so that will take on a greater role in my days. How, I’m not sure yet. But I have a second kid starting school next fall, which means I’ll have five whole days a week without children starting in August. A taste of that free time this year has me dreaming about pursuing more writing opportunities.

I will start another novel next year. Though I’m not yet finished editing and rewriting the one I finished a first draft of this year, I’m desperate to start planning and plotting a new story, one that has been on my mind for years and is a completely different genre than the first one I wrote. It’s a story that I think will bring personal healing as I write it. (Expect to hear more about this next year!)

Beyond that, I don’t want to set up too many expectations for my One Word because it will turn out different than I expect. It has so far. Though I’m not a fan of surprises, even good ones, I want to leave room for the Spirit’s work in my One Word. I cannot plan what God has in mind.

Before I end this post, I need you to know that this is the scariest One Word yet for me. I’ve been thinking about the passage in the Bible where Jesus asks a man who has been an invalid for 38 years if he wants to get well. I always thought it was a ridiculous question. Who wouldn’t want to be well after being not well for so long? But it’s interesting how we adapt to our unwellness. It becomes comfortable and we know how to function, how to survive. Throw us a curve and make us well? Then we have to operate in a new way.

Next year, I turn 37. (That’s eerily close to the 38 years mentioned in that passage.) And while I’m not sure if I’ve been “unwell” that entire time, I know that next year marks a turning point if I truly pursue wholeness. And it scares me a little. Because wholeness will change me, and even if the change is good (and it will be), it will be different than what I’ve known.

Still, I don’t want to offer excuses to the Lord for the reasons I’m not well. I want to hear his call to wholeness, pick up my mat and walk.

It’s sure to be a shaky journey, and if you aren’t afraid to walk it with me, I know I will need your support.

I also can’t end this post without asking you to consider choosing one word for next year. You don’t have to make it official by registering on the site although that does have the potential for community and accountability. You don’t have to blog about it, either, or publicize it on Facebook. But if you take some time to think about it and a word settles in your soul, will you tell someone about it so they can ask you how it’s going?

You can a leave a comment here with your word, too, and we’ll encourage each other along the way.

Full of surprises from start to finish: Review of Price of Privilege by Jessica Dotta

December 10, 2014

I discovered Jessica Dotta’s Price of Privilege series almost reluctantly. Because it was on the list for Tyndale’s Summer Reading Program and I could check it out from the library, I gave it a chance. Sometimes I yawn at another offering set in 19th Century England, but I’m so glad I picked up this series. (You can read my reviews of books 1 and 2, Born of Persuasion and Mark of Distinction, on Goodreads.)

The finale in the series, Price of Privilege, is a stunning and surprising conclusion. It also might be my favorite of the three books. (Disclaimer: I received a free e-copy of the book through the Tyndale Blog Network in exchange for my review.)

Without giving too much away for anyone who hasn’t read the first two books in the series, I’ll say this: I want good things for Julia, the lead character, who is telling these stories in the first person. Her life has been marred by circumstances out of her control (and some in her control), and I just want things to work out for her. A friend who read the first book in this series had almost no sympathy for her character, so I’m not sure why I do, but I feel sorry for her. But sorry for her in the kind of way that I’m pulling for her.

I can say that almost nothing that happens in Julia’s life makes me feel good or happy. And this is not your light-hearted happily ever after kind of story, but it has a redemptive storyline that drew me into it. One of the highlights is a character named Jameson who adds a sprinkling of humor through some of the toughest scenes. His character is what made this book my favorite.

Now that I’ve finished the series, I’m a bit sad to leave these characters behind even though there were disturbing events in their lives. I felt their sufferings and sorrows, and what I’ve loved about Dotta’s writing is the kind of dark moodiness she’s able to convey on the page. Definitely reminiscent of the Bronte sisters’ works, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.

If you’re looking for something different in the historical genre, love England and don’t mind a story with some darkness to it, then I’d whole-heartedly recommend Dotta’s series.

I wish I could say more about this particular story without giving away other details. This is another series I’d love to read again, straight through, to get a better handle on the turns of events, too.

The one gift I can give this year

December 9, 2014

We’re in a terrible rush these days.

Have you noticed?

It seems no matter where I am, someone is honking or speeding by or cutting someone off or ignoring the people around them. We’re so busy, looking for the shortest lane at the store, the fastest way from here to there.

So hurried.

Waiting is an obstacle to accomplishing tasks, patience no longer a virtue.

Life is just flying by, and what do we have to show for it?

Photo by S. Charles | Creative Commons

—

I am not ready for Christmas. I am never ready for Christmas. I still have family photo cards from last year that never made it to the mail. (Confession: I’m tempted to send them out again this year. Do you think anyone would notice?)

I have a hard time planning ahead to send Christmas cards and shop for gifts. It’s not like Christmas comes as a surprise every year. I just fail to plan for it. Sometime after Thanksgiving (and after our son’s birthday), I start thinking about Christmas, but frankly, it stresses me out a little to add all these other things to my already cluttered life: decorating a tree, sending cards, buying presents, making cookies. I enjoy all of those things; I just don’t appreciate the pressure I feel to get it all done in this short amount of time.

—

What’s the point of Advent?

A friend asked this on Facebook recently. My answer was less than theological or educated, and her question is not at all surprising. Until a few years ago, I didn’t think much of Advent, that season of the year preceding Christmas. Maybe we opened a calendar with candy in it as kids. Maybe we tried to mark down the days somehow. Even now, with kids, making time for Advent activities seems like one more thing to add to the already busy time of year.

This year we’re using some Advent readings from Thriving Family magazine and twice already, we’ve gotten behind and had to catch up on the days we missed. Sometimes I want to just forget the whole thing. Is it really worth it?

And then it happens.

We find a cute tree. We make room for it in the house and decorate it. We drag out the kids’ nativity set and they begin to tell stories about “the time when Jesus came to be born.”

And even though these acts are small and ordinary, they remind me that this is no ordinary time. It is a time to remember, yes. But also to pause.

A time to wait and expect.

The kids practically bounce off the walls with excitement now that the tree is up and there are presents under it. Christmas is special and they know it.

Do I know it?

—

I am obsessed with the idea of light breaking into darkness.

Light equals hope. Aren’t we all a bit happier when the sun shines after days of rain? Doesn’t something in us brighten also?

And this is what happens during Advent. We who bear the Light of God proclaim to those walking in darkness (we were once those people, too) that Light has come and Light is coming. Light is breaking through. The world will no longer be dark. There is hope. Hold on just a bit longer. Come with us and we’ll show you the Way to the Light.

Photo by Hartmut Tobies | Creative Commons | via unsplash

—

It is easier, sometimes, to pierce the darkness with light at Christmas. Sometimes we are kinder, more patience, more peaceful, more generous. Sometimes not.

I never quite understood the phrase “the Christmas spirit,” as if our mood during this time was limited to only a few weeks or a month out of the year.

Come January do we all turn back into misers? Is there something magical about this time that brings out the best in us? Or is it just easier to hide the worst in us when all around us is seemingly jolly?

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:22-23)

Sometimes when I look at the world I see only hate, sadness, war, hurry, meanness, evil, harshness and greed. (I don’t have to look far. All those things are inside of me.)

So I find it interesting that the fruit of the Spirit is all the things lacking in our world, in my world, today: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

These are small battles, for sure, in a war that rages across humanity.

But they are satisfying victories that allow a pinprick of light to shine in the darkness.

This is Advent.

Not a loud proclamation that life as we know it is over.

Not a terrifying battle cry that we’re about to be taken prisoner.

Not a forced servitude.

No.

It is little bits of light in the dark.

It is the hope that comes with a newborn baby.

It is a promise that life goes on.

It is expectation that the world will not always be dark.

It is an invitation to join a revolution whose core value is love.

It is a hand extended in friendship and brotherhood, a voice that says, “Follow me. There’s another way to live.”

It starts with Advent and continues through Christmas, but heaven help us if it ends there.

If I could give the world a gift this year, it would be my own commitment to be Light and Love and Hope all year long.

Of course I’ll fail at that, but it’s certainly worth a try.

Do you celebrate Advent? What does it mean to you?

How does the Christmas season affect you?

The weird thing about grief

December 5, 2014

My cell phone rang while I was making a special lunch for my son’s birthday on Tuesday. I almost never get calls and almost never in the middle of the day, and when I saw that it was my mom, I just knew it wasn’t going to be good news.

And it wasn’t. My uncle Bill had died sometime in the night. We’d known it was coming. His lungs were failing and his health was deteriorating quickly in the last few weeks. But it doesn’t make the sadness any less sad.

We talked briefly, my mom and I, and just as we were ending the call, her voice cracked, and I almost did, too. I wandered the kitchen, waiting for my husband to come back with our son from preschool (and the final ingredient I needed to finish lunch) when my phone rang again with a number I didn’t know or hadn’t saved since I switched phones. It was my cousin, whose father was the uncle who just died.

We’ve rarely talked on the phone, he and I, but that day, I was glad to hear his voice. (He lives in Colorado; I live in Pennsylvania.) We didn’t talk about much, but his voice, too, cracked as we ended the call. While we were talking, my husband came home and I must have had a distressed look on my face because he seemed to know, too. I ended that call, having not shed a tear yet and just sobbed into my husband’s chest while he wrapped his arms around me.

I cried for the loss and the pain that my family members were experiencing and the separation that kept me from being with them in their grief. My mom, my other uncle, my grandparents are at least all in the same state and have each other to grieve with. My cousin has his mom and my uncle’s friends and co-workers. I’m feeling a bit lost in the process out here in Pennsylvania.

And did I mention that it was my son’s birthday and I still had a cake to decorate? How is a person supposed to decorate a birthday cake and celebrate the passage of another year of life when death has just visited your family?

I don’t know.

When my tears subsided, I finished making lunch. We talked to our son about why mommy was crying. And then my husband played Legos with the birthday boy while I decorated the cake in the kitchen.

It was surprisingly therapeutic to create something fun and beautiful with my hands while sadness made its home inside of me.

We continued our birthday celebration. We told our daughter the news when she got home from school. We ended the day as normally as possible, though we did stay up late putting Legos together. Whenever there’s a tragic loss of life, especially if it is close to home, I always want to spend more time together with the people I love. It’s like grief and loss remind me that nothing is guaranteed and every moment matters.

—

I haven’t experienced a lot of grief for deaths in the family. At 36 years old, I still have both of my parents in good health, and three out of four grandparents. Our losses have been few in my lifetime, though I realize that somewhere in the not-so-distant future, the losses could accumulate more rapidly than I’d like.

I know almost nothing about the grieving process except that it’s different for everyone and takes varying amounts of time and really, there are no rules when it comes to how people process loss.

My uncle and I weren’t terribly close. He lived in Colorado for most of my life. But his son, my cousin, is like another brother. We are nearly the same age and my brother and I spent many summers with him at our grandparents’ house in Illinois. I have many memories of our escapades together. A few years ago, my husband and I got to fly to Colorado for my cousin’s wedding, and there I had the chance to get to know my uncle again and spend time with him as a grown-up. I’m so grateful we took that trip even though our basement had just flooded in a freakish rainstorm.

So, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to process this loss. How much do I grieve the loss of a man who is important to me because he is important to people I love?

The day after his death, my emotions were raw and I was feeling everything. Grief felt like a heavy blanket over my head and I couldn’t get enough air. I played Legos with my son and again found a measure of relief. I don’t know if it’s the creating or the focusing on a task or doing something childlike but whatever it was, it lifted the fog a bit.

That night we helped decorate the church for Christmas, something I haven’t done yet at our house, and the joy and light of Christmas decorations reminded me that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. (That’s in the Bible. Don’t ask me to cite it right now.) That hope descends to the hopeless. That love has the last word. (That’s a line from Jason Gray.)

I desperately want to spend time with my family right now, and I may get my wish over Christmas. Until then, though, this grief thing is weird. Yesterday and today life has been almost normal. But I can’t say whether that will last.

I am not sticking to a healthy eating plan right now because sometimes grief says, “Eat a cupcake.” But it also says, “Take a walk. Slow down. Be present. Notice what’s around you.”

I am trying to do those things.

Maybe I’ll be able to write a post soon telling you about my uncle and the things I appreciated and loved about him. But that’s not for today.

Today, I just want to say that grief is weird. And that’s okay.

No words of wisdom from me.

But maybe you have some to share?