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Christmas Mood


Don't have the Christmas Spirit? Mood is really what we're talking about when we say it, right? My husband and I have both lamented that we're just not "feeling it" right now. Yes, that sounds terrible: not in the mood to celebrate the birth of Christ? But that's not really what we mean. We celebrate His birth, burial, and resurrection every day. It is always meaningful. But Christmas time does generally come with a hum of excitement and anticipation that neither of us are currently experiencing.

We're tired. Those feelings take energy. However, feeling it or not, it is still very meaningful. Our emotions are part of the package God gave us and He has good reason for them, but thankfully, our faith is not based on them.

This year, we took the first week to breathe and we begin Christmas school on Monday. I'm prepping today and just printing out pages has me excited for their excitement. I may be tired, but they are not. They are eager to celebrate. I'm thankful for our traditions and the children who won't let me forget them.

I've seen an extra dose of people chastising Christians for celebrating Christ during Christmas instead of all year long. It's ridiculous really, the assumption that someone enjoying the season might not also be celebrating all year. I think perhaps they've forgotten that God loves a party. He required His people to celebrate many feasts throughout each year to mark a time of remembrance. Were they not grateful all year long that God had rescued them from Egypt? Of course they were! Did they still celebrate Passover? Of course! Please don't let anyone guilt you into not embracing this season, this party. Even Jesus acknowledged Hannukah.

A while back, I wrote an article about finding Quiet at Christmas. I'm following that advice carefully this year. He's my reason for breathing, all year long, and I'm honored to get to celebrate His first coming to us as we look with longing to His second coming. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.



Advent already??


I'm usually as giddy as a five year old when it comes to the start of Advent. This year, I just can't believe it's here already. Advent means the year is almost over. And wow, what a year. It's been one of our hardest years in recent memory. I have barely blogged since January, when I shared my optimism for a year of sweetness. In it, I mentioned the need to yield control to God. We had no trouble with that one because the year was completely out of our control. There was nothing to do but trust Him with it and hold on for the ride, in survival mode.

Our year of Sweet turned into a year of Sick almost immediately. Flu, sinus infections, ear infections, and then pneumonia. My husband, who is never sick and who never misses a day of work, was home in bed for a solid month. It wasn't they, "Hey, let's watch Netflix or read a book" kind of time in bed. It was "Please, Lord, let me pass out until this is over" kind of time in bed. That was hard to watch. We didn't crawl out of the sickness hole until March.

I had a cancer scare and a surgery to remove an ovary. My sister had a cancer scare. My precious grandma passed away. My oldest baby left for college.

I feel like there were about fifty million other things that blindsided us, but truly, I was just along for the ride and my knuckles have been gripping the rail pretty tightly.

And here we are, looking at the end of this year that I feel like we never quite started. Did I do it any justice at all? Was I sweet to my children? I honestly couldn't tell you.

At the beginning of the year, I wrote:
Our purpose is to glorify Him and to enjoy Him forever. He is glorified when we yield control. He is glorified when we read His Holy Word and let it change our hearts. He is glorified when we enjoy the sweetness of life He has given.
Yield control: Check (involuntarily, but whatever)
Read the Word: Check (YouVersion Bible App FTW!)
Enjoy the sweetness: *stares at flashing cursor*

Did I enjoy it? I did. 

Wow. 

I didn't realize how much, but yes, yes I did. 

Through the sick months, I was only down for a couple days. I was grateful that I was able to love on my babies. One night, I stayed up all night with my youngest, watching VeggieTales to distract from the pain, dosing her in hopes of keeping her ear from bursting, and massaging her ear until I thought my hand would fall off. That is a precious memory now.

Through my cancer scare, I was really able to examine a lot and realize how good I've had it. I've lived my dream-come-true life. 

My Grandma was an amazing woman. It hurt so much to lose her, though we had been losing her for years due to Alzheimers. We were able to celebrate a very precious life this summer.

My son left for college and my world changed, but we were able to send him off without fear. He's a good man. Things have turned out well. He loves God and really, that's all that matters. 

We took our first family vacation without him, which was hard, but we took that vacation to the Smoky Mountains to celebrate the wedding of my sister. It was magical. All of my sisters are married to good men. They are happy. This makes me so happy. 

Last night, we began our first day of Advent, our first without my oldest son. It's hard not to look around and see how much is still yet to change. We have 3 more babies that are going to follow his lead and leave home. We will one day be celebrating Advent alone. But that is as it should be. They will be celebrating Advent with their families. And then I'll one day be celebrating Advent with grandchildren. I'm told that makes it all worth it.

Time to man up and jump in. Accept the year for what it was, all the good and all the rough. In hindsight, it's hard to say that any of it was bad. 
So here we go. Advent 2016. 


I take it back.

I'm a mess. I'm not ready. I brought him home from the hospital, like...yesterday! And I'm not ready to give him up already. And I know all the logical, encouraging, pat answers to this, but I don't think there's any way around a mama just being a mess when her baby leaves.

Tomorrow.

He leaves tomorrow.

And everything changes.







We've reached the edge of the Wildwood

When my oldest son was three, he was anxious to know what was coming. He'd wake up and ask what we would be eating, not for breakfast, but for dinner. He wanted to know the day's plans. He wanted rhythm. Order. He was frustrated at his inability to understand time. He always wanted to know how long until...but minutes meant nothing to him. We stumbled on the solution one day, thanks to Clifford, the Big Red Dog.

Watching Clifford was part of his daily routine. This clever little show was broken into two segments of roughly fifteen minutes each. It was perfect for a young child's attention span and he was tickled to get to watch TWO tv shows. As we drove home from town one night, he asked again how long until we were home. I told him half an hour, which meant nothing, but then I explained that it was the same as two Cliffords. Click. You could see it register. From then on, time made sense to him and he simply asked how many Cliffords things would take.

I realize now that I'm the one who didn't have a good grasp of time. I thought I was boxing it up nicely with my charts and schedules. I savored; I really did! But it flew. I started to panic when my sons were still in early elementary and their sisters were still babies. I had blinked somewhere and missed a lot of moments. It really hit me that they were growing and would be leaving and that I couldn't get those moments back. I struggled with depression and anxiety for a bit. And then the Holy Spirit convicted me through a children's story book.

We were reading Wind in the Willows. Rat was describing the surroundings to Mole and explaining the Wild Wood ahead. Mole wanted to know more. What was beyond the Wild Wood? Rat gave a sharp answer:
"Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,' said the Rat. `And that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me."
It was the unknown.  It was scary. It was not to even be talked about. To someone else, it might have been intriguing. An adventure. But fear is crippling and it makes us unreasonable. And that's when it hit me. I was Rat.

My children were safe and secure with me in the easy River-bank days, but Wild Wood days were coming whether I liked it or not. And eventually, they would leave home. They would embark out into the Wide World, alone. And it was my job to prepare them for that journey.

I cried. My sons sat beside me, one raising an eyebrow while the other one shrugged. But it was a good cry. It was a calling. And callings come with peace.

From that point forward, I was able to enjoy the present while keeping the end goal in mind: raising young men and women who would one day enter the Wide World, equipped and confident. Our homeschool lessons took on new meaning. Math is beautiful. It reveals God's order and rightness. Science is mesmerizing, displaying God's handiwork. Latin. Logic. All of them were worthy lessons on their own, but in the scheme of preparation for adulthood, they were tools to develop in my children an appreciation for truth, goodness, and beauty.

Of course, I made a LOT of mistakes. As did they. But now, with my oldest, we stand at the edge of the Wild Wood, gazing at the unknown ahead,

"Where it's all blue and dim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they mayn't, and something like the smoke of towns, or is it only cloud- drift?"
Just two Cliffords ago, he was looking up at me with wonder in his big blue eyes, asking to go down the slide. And now he's a man. A good man. And I am so incredibly proud of him.