Since Monday night, stolen moments have resulted in a quilt top for my Fiona girl.
How cute is my helper?
Speaking of Beatrice, my current favorite photo:
Yes, she is that fun.
(I also feel like you should all know that, after smiling in happiness over how the quilt is turning out, I discovered that I have no cream, eggs, or salt. Salt. Clearly those moments were stolen from the grocery shopping “budget”.)
I snapped at my son.
I do that, you know.
I sin.
Between me, you, and this curse-laden world, we’ve got a world of hurt.
That’s why this is so amazing.
Redemption: He bought us from the tyranny of sin. He paid in blood; He paid in full.
How glad I am to light this candle tonight.
Arise, shine. Your light has come.
Ryan took the boys out one afternoon, and they strung pretty white lights around the lone tree in our yard. When it shines at night, so solitary in a snow-white, moonlit field, it’s just so pretty.
In this picture, Jameson appears to be sweeping the snow away. He’s got a long way to go:
*****
Cookies are what it’s all about, right? Rum logs are happily consumed at every moment that seems at all appropriate.
Beatrice longs for a cookie:
*****
There are pre-dawn book-reading moments that happen quite regularly. The basket of Christmas books gets heftier every year.
*****
The boys had their CFA Christmas Concert this past Friday evening. William was bursting with excitement over his “very first concert ever in his whole life!!!!!” I will be honest: I was not feeling the Christmas “magic” last week, but did my best to remember how exciting that Friday evening concert always was to me as a child. With that in mind, I made sure to carve out plenty of time to iron clothes, straighten ties, wrap scarves, and say in as many ways as I could, “Hey! This is a big deal!” And they had the best night. (Seeing life through someone else’s eyes sure helps a lot, doesn’t it?)
I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the dirt around here. Mine, theirs — all of it.
That’s not a faith perspective.
It’s just far too easy for me to see all the dirt and start feeling like I’m working in a pig pen instead of a gold mine. That I’m wallowing in mud instead of digging a foundation.
The dirt really is there. It’s not a figment of my imagination, or gross exaggeration by a melancholy idealist — I’m a mess, they’re a mess, we’re all a mess. But how will I respond?
Will I simply marvel all the more at a glorious Savior who redeemed me? Will I see the dirt for what it is — and thrill at the faintest glimmer of gold?
While we were yet sinners, Christ died. He wasn’t deterred or overwhelmed by dirt. Not even a whole-world-full.
I want to be like that.
I want to be like Jesus.
*****
One of my favorite people, full of gold to be discovered:
She was sound asleep when I laid her down — carefully turning back our comforter, slowly easing her onto my pillow. So sweet.
A few minutes later, with no warning or warm-up, her sobs suddenly began. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and turning out the lights, and then slipped into bed next to her. Her tear-filled eyes lit up instantly, and a quivering smile that was so relieved.
She’s sound asleep again. Because she’s fine now. All she wanted was me.
Isn’t that amazing?
I think so.
Here we are, on the eve of a wonderful celebration. A day to stop and just say, Thank You. What a gift this day is, in and of itself!
In recent years it’s struck me that being thankful is very “on trend.” It’s kind of popular. But somehow, somewhere in its rise to fame, Thankful has become synonymous with Positive Thoughts.
That’s not what it means, I tell my children.
Thankfulness inherently is an acknowledgement of two parties: you, the recipient, and another, the giver. And being thankful without acknowledging the giver is rather like mailing a thank you card with no address.
Thankfulness is a chance to remember who we are and where we stand. It’s an invitation to embrace humility. And joy.
So I ponder this. Tomorrow, I want to respond to that invitation. I don’t want to simply look around me, take note of the good things I enjoy, and proceed to feel good. I want to treat thanksgiving as what it is: a chance to humbly say, All I am, all I have, the very breath I breathe, is a gift. A gift from a Giver.
Now thank we all our God
With heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things has done,
In whom the world rejoices.
Who from our mothers’ arms
Has blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love
And still is ours today.
*****
Moments of blessing far beyond what I deserve (what joy and freedom!):
