Post Category → holidays

Christmas memories


We watched “That Thing You Do” all together, and then made up some beds for four little girls under the tree. Well, not exactly under. Enid was a bit disappointed to find out that I was not, in fact, going to move all the presents and put her pillow directly under the branches. They fell asleep in the glow of Christmas lights and anticipation.


We spent Christmas Eve day making food for the evening, playing games, eating bagel sandwiches, taking naps, and finally got dressed for the evening’s celebration. Rain followed by ice followed by a blizzard of snow and intense wind made the whole day an adventure, and even our short drive felt harrowing.




Our gathering was small, thanks to nearly impossible weather, but beautiful and special. My older boys spent plenty of time over the past week helping to set up and tear down, as well as ushering and singing in choirs and doing special readings. Beatrice played piano and it was just lovely, and the two older girls sang with several other children as we lit our candles and paused to understand that LIGHT has come to rescue us from darkness. It was so special.





Then we were home, turning on music and lighting candles, pulling out the food and getting ready for our family “party.” We ate our food and drank eggnog, laughed and talked, passed out gifts purchased by siblings for siblings, and then put on the new pajamas we give them each year. We were exhausted and slap-happy, starting to show the beginnings of what would be a week full of virus, and most of all, delighting in how fun Christmas Eve is all together.






Daddy and the older kids all slept in while Percival and I lit candles and started the fire and made coffee and just waited. Finally they stirred and we began a day full of excitement and gratitude, new games and new books to read and piles to organize, food flops and food successes, and dropping like flies (at least Enid and Mama and Daddy) as the day progressed. A Celtics game, delicious vanilla pudding with berries and cream, and to bed we all went, only to wake to another vacation day together, with plenty of space for vitamins and rest, more games and trying out new crafts, pulling our house back together, and just being.


…and finding great joy in older sisters’ gifts.

A December album

Just a little photo-album-post, for my own memory’s sake:


Beatrice quietly slipping into a more and more helpful role — one afternoon she rolled and cut over 100 linzer “heart” cookies while I wrapped gifts. Game changer.


My heart catches a little when I see this. William blew me away singing the part of Amahl in my mom’s stellar production. He sang in the stratosphere, the music was challenging and he did it effortlessly, his presence on stage was endearing and sweet and tear-jerking. Something about a boy soprano is such a bittersweet thing: even as I listen and savor, there is the knowledge that, more than most things in life, this is incredibly fleeting, and once gone, will never return. Perhaps Percival will take the torch someday, but for now, I think we have heard some of the last amazing Dunphey boy soprano singing for awhile.


Breakfast out on a leisurely Saturday morning — such a rarity I can’t even think of the last time it happened. Pure enjoyment!


Finding pictures of favorite decorations — we all love this little toymaker!


My mornings by the tree are usually quite solo, and I love taking in this view.


Hundreds of cookies, pounds and pounds of butter, and plates to share wherever we go — it’s a blessing to enjoy and give abundance.


The kids and I, along with two sisters and their families, made a day trip to visit our grandparents. The kids all played piano and ukulele and sang and were generally happy and excited and the biggest treat for everyone who lives at the Center. A long, long day of driving is so worth the joy we leave and the love expressed.


Finding this little crew, happily singing “Twelve Days of Christmas” together.


Partying hard at the Ockrin’s was a bit much for this little lady.


Someone lit all the candles for our first dining room table meal and had to take a picture. I don’t blame them!


Rare, and a favorite: sitting all together by candle- and tree-light, eating Christmas cookies and reading Christmas stories.


This. How I love these girls, love their affection, love that in the midst of so much busyness and commotion, they find my hand to hold or my lap or my neck to squeeze.



Cecily turned SEVEN! Oh my, what a treasure she is!! Her heart is so tender and sensitive, her humor so developed and hysterical, her smile so full and unabashed.


Sometimes I see something like this and my heart catches in my throat — something so simple as sitting and laughing together at a random moment of the day, and yet, someday sooner than I know, it will be the rare treat that only happens through great effort and planning around holidays and summer visits.


We did our family shopping trip without Ryan, who was home with quite the virus. St. Lawrence Bookstore was the destination, and we were successful without too much agony, and now bags are stashed in my room, waiting for the great Wrapping Afternoon.

And now, a few more sleeps, a few more busy days, a few more Advent books to count down… *sigh*

Christmas Time is Here…

We’re on that fast train called December, hurtling along, express style, toward 2023.

It always takes me by surprise. One minute we’re in September and I’m catching my breath from the summer, settling into a routine for what feels like the first time all year, and the next minute it’s almost over.

Time presses us, doesn’t it? It heals wounds and brings growth, and it cuts short and signals death. Forty of these ever-flowing weeks brings us to the birth of a new baby while simultaneously carrying me along, ever closer to my end.

But were time and money infinite, we would find ourselves lost in a sea of priorities with no urgency to actually choose any. Instead, they are anything but infinite. We are anything but infinite, and don’t we know it, deep in our souls. And so each tick of the clock is a crossroads, a decision point: what will be the things that matters to us? (There is a Kingdom outside of Time, whose rule is infinite, and investment therein brings eternal rewards. I highly recommend, with each movement of the second hand: choose Jesus.)

*****

This past week we said goodbye to November, full of thankful hearts as we gathered the Sinclair clan for food and fun. Pilgrims and pumpkins were packed away, Diana Krall began her yearly reign from our kitchen speaker, and Christmas appeared.

We decorated, made cookies, prepared dozens of teacher/CFA volunteer gifts, watched Christmas movies, lit candles, got our tree, ironed holiday clothes, and inaugurated the season with the kids’ CFA Christmas concert.

We also got hit with a tummy bug, several days of a fever for Percival, horrible rainy weather instead of snow, had gobs of study for Greek finals, basketball practices, and had to cancel our very first holiday gathering.

Our “tree day” summed up what so much of this fall has felt like: not quite to plan, not exactly how we’ve usually done it, plenty of divide and conquer, with Ryan and I trying to keep the big picture in mind as we work with a new set of variables. And it also summed up the goodness of God I’ve been basking in: years of working very hard to build a family where love, servanthood, and right priorities shape us, and now seeing those values genuinely take root in the lives of our older children. Suddenly a day can seem to go awry and yet stay absolutely on course because we are pulling together, smiling, serving, keeping our eyes on the prize. And so, when that tree was vertical and watered, lit and decorated, and we all sat together eating rum logs, although the day had lacked “magic,” what we ended up with was even better. We had persevered together, repenting along the way as needed… and by George, we’d gotten that tree up!

And so here we are: a month to celebrate well, purposely carving out time to reflect, enjoy, beautify, and create. May we all serve and bless as we go, giving generously, and receiving the small blessings that surround us and the staggering blessing available to us all through the kindness of Christ, our Savior and Friend.

listening

It is early and yet dark.

The rooms are heavy in silence and I, the mistress, tiptoe as if intruder, hoping to pass through unnoticed, preserving the unbroken sound of nothing.

I raise light with an unspoken apology to Sleeping House, sliding dimmer slowly, barely, silently begging just enough glow to do my usual things.

Candles lit and set by the tree, Bible raised to their light so I might see the red letters waiting on page.

Still silent.

Glow of tree, flicker of flame.

And then, from deep within House, a stirring. Furnace moves air, warming this winter morning, wrapping my sleeping Babes in comfort, guarding between us and frozen chill.

That bulk of ancient metal parts, somehow it speaks poetry in the morning. I hear its low hum and swell with gratitude. I am cared for. I am covered. I am sheltered. I am warm. My soul fills with mercy of provision, gladness of thanks.

Listening, not merely hearing, and a soul catches Word spoken. Eternal wave of sound, echoing Life through the ages, if we would but still. Low hum stills my heart this morn, and in tender moment I cry silently: Oh, to hear the Word and catch it gladly, receive it readily, treasure it forever.

Christmas memories, 2020

A post of photos, so I can remember the year when three children sang like angels and siblings burst with joy over gifts exchanged and Percival matched his brothers and Ryan actually had no idea what I bought for him (!!) and the beef was a fiasco and we stayed in slow-mo for days afterward playing games and wearing nightgowns and good heavens, we all needed a solid nap.

the gift of today

I’m always so sad to see December coming to a close, although (let’s be honest) probably this little afternoon ritual of coffee and cookies will be the hardest thing to see go. The salads promised by a goal-filled January will be great, I’m sure, but nothing like these buttery morsels.

This December also meant saying goodbye to 4-year-old Cecily, and that reality gave pause to both Ryan and me on the eve of her birthday — “December nineteenth!”, always declared with a wide grin — as our eyes grew wistful and full of memory. The little years of Cecily Anne have been truly delightful years, full of belly-laughter and deep-down joy.

But when our 4-year-old disappeared that night, we found in her place an equally delightful 5 year old and the hopes of a year yet to be lived.

And so it is, really, with all of the wonderfully rich days already enjoyed. They end, we turn off the light with a deep sigh, but the sun rises and invites us to embrace yet another day, made by and planned by and inhabited by God Himself. Can I do that? Can I release, with thankfulness, the gifts of yesterday and open my hands to what He will give today?

We chatted today, amidst pots of Sopa de Albondigas and rising orange-scented sweet dough and the beef tenderloin I wanted so badly to not mess up. We talked about finishing strong, and I reminded the boys of the human wonder names Usain Bolt who, among other obvious gifting, is capable of seeing a finish line and not slowing down at all. He runs right through that marker and leaves his opponents in the dust. We talked about how everyone’s inclination is to see the end and, in relief, slow their pace. “I’ve got this,” we think to ourselves, and then slow down. Usain Bolt and Caleb remind me of each other, in their ability to finish strong, and I am challenged. I’m only 39, and already I can start to understand the temptation to begin coasting. Entanglements, weights, sorrows, or just plain old, “I’ve got this.” Enough days of packed away treasures, enough mornings of waking to a more frail body, another disappointing circumstance, and we start to slow.

So I’m looking at a month of pictures, of memories, of days with my kids right here with me. Growing, happy, innocent, with me. It’s easy to sigh and have the echo of so many kind strangers ring in my mind: “These are the best days of your life.” And I know what they mean, and I’m smart enough to understand, but tomorrow, no matter what else it may bring, is full of the promise of purposes of God, and He invites me to live it strong, live it fully, live it with hopeful expectation.

Emmanuel, God with Us — today, tomorrow, forever.