For the last week, “we” seem to have finally figured out how to go to sleep soundly and not wake up when transferred to the basket. Prior to this, he’d been just falling asleep in my bed. (I just couldn’t stay awake long enough to make the transfer!)

So now I have a few minutes at the end of the day that are sort of mine.

Not many minutes, since it’s already after midnight. But still. He’s sleeping, and I’m not.

Christmas was in Portland. There will be pictures soon, I hope. It was nothing like what I’m used to, and I’d be lying to say I didn’t miss home incredibly, but it was fun to share the holiday with his clan. We found a very nice church to attend Christmas Eve morning, and since it was their only service that day, everyone was wearing festive clothes. I got my fix of Christmas hymns sung heartily, Luke 2 read reverently, and the longing shared by believers who are awaiting His second coming. Christmas day had stockings — at NOON (whoever heard of such a thing!) — and delicious food, and TOO MANY presents, but who can resist at Christmas time?

The biggest disappointment was the lack of snow. What in the world? I’ve had my share of eleventh-hour white Christmases, but I don’t think I remember a single year when it absolutely never snowed! So I was thrilled this morning to wake up to a blanket of white, with a heavy gray sky still spilling flakes. Beautiful. A fresh snowfall in the morning is what redemption looks like to me. New and white. Perfect.

Louissa is home. So is Lore. I’m so happy, and trying not to be sad that they’re leaving way too soon.

K. My few minutes awake and alone have ended. I’m exhausted.

Good night.

Today I read this call to higher heights from Ravi Zacharias:

“Some years ago, we were spending Christmas in the home of my wife’s parents. It was not a happy day in the household…

Yet, in the midst of all that, my mother-in-law kept her routine habit of asking people who would likely have no place to go at Christmas to share Christmas dinner with us. That year she invited a man who was, by everyone’s estimate, somewhat of an odd person, quite eccentric in his demeanor.

It fell upon me, in turn, to entertain this gentleman. I must confess that I did not appreciate it. Owing to a heavy life of travel year-round, I have jealously guarded my Christmases as time to be with my family. This was not going to be such a privilege, and I was not happy.

As I sat in the living room, entertaining him while others were busy, I thought to myself, “This is going to go down as one of the most miserable Christmases of my life.”

But somehow we got through the evening.

At the end of the night when he bade us all good-bye, he reached out and took the hand of each of us, one by one, and said, “Thank you for the best Christmas of my life. I will never forget it.”

He walked out into the dark, snowy night, back into his solitary existence. My heart sank in self-indictment at those tender words of his.

That year the Lord taught me a lesson. The primary purpose of a home is to reflect and to distribute the love of Christ.

Anything that usurps that is idolatrous.”

Ah, yes. There is truth, and a good reminder of what’s passing away, and what’s here to stay.

You, Lord, did not come to earth, in love and humility that we cannot comprehend, simply to provide an opportunity for the traditions and warmth that I treasure so dearly.

If this month is special — if our homes are warm, our hearts open, our hands giving — let it be because we have Jesus, and He has made us so.

Oh, and how glad I am to have Jesus!

“Born to raise the sons of earth
Born to give them second birth!” (–my favorite lines of the season!)

…today. (Actually, tonight at 10:13pm.)

We do this three more times, and a whole year will have passed. Amazing. Makes me want to cancel every appointment and sit here with my quickly-growing baby.

Happy three months, my little love. You’re precious to us.

On the ball is not how you would describe my life since Jameson was born. The littlest things that I used to do without thinking (i.e. put laundry away) can stay on my to-do list for days. Or weeks. Like my bedsheets: I finally got around to changing them two days ago after intending to do so for a few weeks.

And what happened last night? Jameson ate around 3:30, and half an hour later, threw up — not spit up, THREW up — all over himself, me, and the clean sheets.

Of course.

C’est la vie.

Along with cream-colored ponies and crisp apple streudel, these are a few of my favorite things:

::Jameson’s fatter-than-ever cheeks.*

::My lovely friend (the short one!) coming to my rescue, because she’s only a phone call away.

::Jameson laughing in this really goofy way when he falls asleep while nursing. It’s sooooo super-cute!

::Our Christmas tree, filling our little living room. I love where we put it this year!

::My baby’s smushy back, as I say. I love the way all that chub rolls when I lift him to “drip-dry” out of his bath. Oh! That reminds me —

::Giving Jameson baths.

::Holding hands with Ryan in the mall. That’s the nicest way to Christmas-shop.

::Bronwyn’s sunshine smile.

::Jamie’s dimples!

::Mom’s house at Christmas.

::The countless things about Jameson that I find absolutely amazing and wonderful, and think the whole world really should know about, too, but probably would take too long to tell. (I know, of course, that you wouldn’t get bored, because he really is the most wonderful little munchkin!)

…and he’s almost three months old, so I’ll throw this one in:

::The memory of meeting and falling in love with Jameson.

——————

*I won’t lie; I stole “::” from Bri. Next, I’ll steal “:.” Anyone know who that’s from?