A Christmas House and Neighborhood Tour!

I'm not ready for Christmas this year.  I still have gifts to purchase, I still have to wrap, and I haven't yet planned Christmas cards.  (Christmas cards are my holiday Achilles heel. Every year I'm surprised by the tradition and how I seem incapable of planning for it.)  But at the same time, I'm entirely ready for Christmas.  I'm ready with good cheer, warm blankets, and spending time by the glow of our Christmas tree reading books, slowing down, and playing games with the kids.  My heart is ready, and that's most important.

So, friends, in this spirit of festivity and hospitality, I thought I'd take you on a little tour of what's making my heart happy in my home and my neighborhood right now.

Let's take a moment on the front porch so you can check out my outdoor decorations.  I love using my vintage metal milk boxes as the background for seasonal displays.  I found these milk boxes on the side of the road on trash day last year, which made me feel as if I were in an episode of American Pickers, minus the bartering and the lengthy road trip in their van.

I also enjoy the natural touches, like the birch wood and small pine swag, both of which I found when taking a recent walk.

 

My decorations inside are simple, like this Fresh Cut Christmas Trees sign which I bought at Wal-Mart last year, my wooden sleigh which I found at a garage sale and spruced up with weathered gray paint and silver tacks, and a small faux Christmas tree from Target that's perfect to fill the sleigh.

 

Other Christmas touches in our house are subtle and mesh with our existing decor, like hanging a wreath on top of mirror,

or setting up a Christmas countdown on the footstool beside our front door.

In the kitchen, I updated my cafe curtain (find the easy tutorial here) by using silver and gold snowflake fabric. I'm especially proud of this project because I bought the fabric two years ago, but just got around to sewing it this year.  (If you've been reading here for long, you might recall that any sewing project is another domestic Achilles heel of mine, destined to take much more time languishing on my to-do-list than needed.)

Each year I add one or two new decorative Christmas touches, like this wall hanging I recently made by painting stripes on a plain canvas I already owned and then hot-gluing a wooden reindeer head silhouette, which I bought from Michaels.

Around the neighborhood, I also seek out the small views that bring delight, like this church's simple wreath that always looks festive against its white arched doorway,

or the Christmas touches on the local granary, a charming historic building that used to store and ship grain on the railroad line that abuts the building.

I sense this is why my heart is ready for Christmas this year.  As I wrapped up my fall semester and now plan for my spring courses, I've slowed down long enough to notice things.  (Not long enough to do Christmas cards, mind you, but at least long enough to notice that I haven't done them.)

I've even taken time to do things that I've only thought about doing in the past, like walking home along the railroad tracks rather than taking the road I normally take.  For the record, walking on railroad tracks is not as easy or charming as you might think.  It's impossible to find the right stride to match your steps with the spacing of the railroad ties, resulting in an awkward clomp-shuffle that's not entirely pleasant to sustain over long distances.

But still, it was an experience.  And during this season of Christmas, I want to soak up and notice the experiences, not just rush through them.  Even clomp-shuffling over railroad ties on a walk home, decorating the house, and maybe -- just maybe -- eventually getting to my Christmas cards.

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How are your Christmas preparations coming this year?  Do you have any Christmas Achilles heels that you haven't yet completed, or any traditions or decorations you especially love?  Drop me a comment below to let me know!

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Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Merry Christmas!  I hope that this day fills you with warmth and wonder as we celebrate a miracle: Emmanuel, God with us.

God with us.  It's almost impossible to grasp the depth of this seemingly simple statement.  God -- the all-powerful and all-knowing creator of the universe, came to earth to be with us -- the perfectly and wonderfully messed up people that we are.

It's too good to be true!  It's absurdly beautiful!  God came to earth to ransom mankind, and He is still with us today.  No greater gift has ever been given.

Wishing the merriest of Christmases from my family to yours!  (And as we count down to 2016 over the next six days, join me daily as I share a few favorite posts from the past year's blog archives.  Thank you for reading, as always!)

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Three Ways to Enjoy Christmas Even More

Christmastime is here, along with the last-minute hustle and bustle to purchase gifts, plan meals, attend gatherings, and keep children (who seem perpetually high on Christmas-induced excitement and treats) from entirely glazing over and melting down.

If I can find a minute to spare, I feel a deep longing to slow down and stop rushing.  I want be enjoying these preparations, using them to settle my heart and quiet my soul, not just dashing all the way only to relax once the crumpled wrapping paper has been picked up off the floor.

This past weekend, I experienced three separate moments that (quite unexpectedly) helped me prepare my heart and kindle Christmas spirit.  If you've been careening toward Christmas like I have, I highly recommend them.

1) Host without caring what the house looks like.  On Friday evening, old friends from New England texted that they were traveling for the holidays and would be passing near our town.  Without a second thought, I immediately invited them to not just drop by for a quick hello, but to stay the night.

I'm so glad they said yes.  An hour later, they and their four daughters arrived in our driveway with a flurry of greetings and hugs and suitcases and you-can-sleep-in-my-room offers from my girls, who were thrilled to have a new playmates for an impromptu sleepover.

I didn't have time to clean -- or plan a meal, or set out fresh towels, or even care to do those things.  We simply opened the door, and that was enough.

Truly, your hospitality is enough.  It's more important that the state of your home.

2) In whatever capacity, serve.  On Saturday afternoon, my family and I rang the bells outside of Wal-Mart for our local Salvation Army.  It hadn't been my idea.  My mother-in-law had heard that there was a shortage of bell ringers, so she volunteered us.

To be honest, we had plenty of other things to do with our Saturday afternoon, but we dutifully bundled up the girls, donned our red vests, and took our stations outside the automatic doors where welcome gusts of warm air periodically would blow toward us from the industrial entrance heaters.

Despite my initial reluctance, at some point during our two hour shift I realized that my heart was as warm as my feet were cold.  (Which means that my heart was toasty warm because, baby, it was cold outside.)

Perhaps it was witnessing the generosity of donors, or wishing strangers Merry Christmas, or hearing my kids hum snippets of Christmas carols as they rang the bells, or looking upward at the first snowfall of the season when light flurries briefly graced the sky.  Perhaps it was all of this combined, those small festive moments that suddenly made the pavement sidewalk somehow feel like it was a bit of sacred ground.

3) Give yourself permission to rest.  The older I get, the more I recognize my need to pull back periodically, especially during hectic seasons.  There is nothing wrong with this.

Yesterday afternoon when we visited my in-laws, brother-in-law, and nephews after ringing bells, I browsed through a magazine while I lay in front of my in-law's fireplace.  I was so warm, so cozy, so initially aware that the din of conversation from the adults and noises from the kids were blurring farther and father into the background, until I was aware of nothing at all except stretching and realizing that I must have just fallen into a coma right there on the floor.

It was utterly delightful.  When I re-entered the festivities, I brought a better version of myself because I was rested and recharged.  Yes, my friends, take a moment this week to step back, curl up, or doze off.  I completely give you permission.

This Christmas season, my prayer is that you're blessed with the best kind of unexpected visitors, moments to serve, and delicious little pockets of rest.

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The "Just So" Christmas

I'm not sure why I expected anything different, but decorating our Christmas tree was chaotic this year.  My husband carried the bin of ornaments up from the basement, and the girls descended upon it, grabbing, jostling, and announcing, "I remember this one!"  Ornament hooks spilled and embedded their way into the carpeting.  The lower half of the tree received 90% of the ornaments.

Partially through I considered that we should be more festive and less rushed.  I had forgotten to turn on Christmas music.  The rest of the house was a mess.  Everything was happening too fast.  Instead of being thoughtful and deliberate, we were colliding our way into Christmas.

And, realistically, I was the only one who was bothered by this.  Not my husband.  Certainly not my kids.  They were too busy hanging bulbs and angels, too caught up in the glittered and mismatched ornaments that they had made during Christmases past, too curious as they looked at Baby's First Christmas pictures and wondered which one was them.

No, it was just me.  In my mind, I had a picture of what a house should look like when a Christmas tree is decorated, and that mental picture didn't include a kitchen table that hadn't yet been cleared from lunch, or a sink full of dirty dishes, or a family room carpet that was in dire need of vacuuming.

Each year I somehow expect that I'll feel entirely prepared for Christmas each year -- that presents will be neatly wrapped in advance, and we'll host dinner parties where I'll wear something with exactly the right amount of sparkle, and I'll have uninterrupted time to reflect on the real meaning of the season in an organized and tastefully decorated environment.

That never seems to happen, though.  Instead, there are brief moments of Christmas wonder in the midst of regular life.  My kids pile onto the couch and we share one blanket as we stumble upon the second half of A Christmas Carol on TV.  I overhear my youngest talking to the Baby Jesus figurine in the manger.  We take a detour to pass the "crazy house" that has hundreds and hundreds of lights.

Christmas will never slow down for us.  It's never going to be "just so."  I'm the one who needs to slow down and discover those moments of holy wonder, reflection, and worship right in the midst of regular life.

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Hurtling Toward the Holidays

Do you ever feel as if you're being propelled toward the holidays instead of leisurely approaching them?  This year, I purposed to pay attention to these days leading up to Christmas, to notice their rhythms and nuances, to appreciate their excitement and sweetness.

Realistically speaking, my gifts are still unwrapped, I haven't yet planned my holiday menus, I never hung the outside garland, my family is arriving in town later today, and my kids' eyes are perpetually glazed over while visions of sugarplums dance in their heads and all that.

I'm hurtling toward the holidays, dashing all the way.  Fa-la-la-la-la.

Yesterday, though, I had a few special Christmas moments.  To preface this, I must first let you know that I'm kind of a sap.  I think that the song "Christmastime is Here" is more melancholy than wistfully childlike.  I think that "Christmas Shoes" is downright depressing.  (Have you ever heard this song?  Gah.)

But sometimes I enjoy the influx of emotion, that swell in the back of my throat and the sting in my eyes.  Such was the case yesterday when I saw this commercial from Eat n' Park.  I haven't seen the commercial in years, but yesterday I caught a glimpse of it from the television mounted in the ceiling of the pizza shop where I was picking up dinner.  I stopped in my tracks to watch the ending.  From my earliest childhood days as a girl growing up in Pittsburgh where Eat 'n Park restaurants abounded, I remember cheering on that little star.

Go, little Christmas star, go.



What got me the most, though, was when I gathered my two younger daughters on my lap yesterday afternoon to read O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi" from this amazing Saturday Evening Post Christmas Book that my father used to read to me.

I've kept this slim volume on a bookshelf for years, but yesterday marked the first time I actually opened it with my kids.  As a child, I remember how my heart broke when Della cut her hair only to open the beautiful tortoise shell combs that Jim had bought to adorn those very tresses.  I remember how the broken pieces of my heart lurched within my little chest when Jim revealed that he had sold his watch to pay for the combs, rendering the platinum fob watch chain that Della had purchased with the money earned from her shorn locks useless.

It was the saddest thing I ever had heard.

Even so, I opened to that very story and read it aloud as my girls rested their heads on my shoulders.  They're too young to grasp its underlying sorrow and beauty, too young to understand why I wiped my eyes, too young to process its perfect infusion of words like imputation and mendicancy and meretricious.

I cried sad, happy tears at the reckless extravagance of it all: the giving of your very best, regardless of its cost, to bless the one you love the most.

And for the moment, I wasn't hurtling toward Christmas at all.  I was remembering Emmanuel: literally, God with us.  How God gave His very best, regardless of its cost, to bless the ones He loves the most.

And God so loved the world that he gave his only and only Son, that whoever believes in him might not perish but have everlasting life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.

John 3:16-17

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Snow and Grading. Grading and Snow.

For the past 12 hours, my life has been consumed by two things: grading and snow.

In terms of grading, this past week I concluded my classes and parted ways with my students, and I'm now facing the weighty task of evaluating final projects and assigning final grades.  In terms of snow, today we were wallopped with a mighty storm, the type of storm that invites you to forego the unplowed roads and cuddle up on the couch instead.  (Unless you're grading, in which case you feel invited to cuddle up at the computer.)

At any rate, what I really wanted to share with you today is a few pictures.  Last night marked the Christmas banquet for my husband's campus ministry, and I baked several dozen cookies in preparation.  Get a good look at the little one's reaction.

That's my girl.

I also hoped against hope that we could secure one smashing family photo, but alas, we've demonstrated, once again, that we're incapable of simultaneously looking in the direction of the camera. 

Please tell me that your children do this, too.

I did feel pretty good about rocking this red dress and some killer heels, though.  And I felt really good about those cookies, and the candlelight Christmas caroling, and the wonderful time with the students and staff as we celebrated the near-completion of another semester together.

Plus, who knows?  Maybe next year we'll witness the Christmas miracle of an entirely focused family photo.

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Prepare My Home. Preparing My Heart.

I don't remember much about Christmas last year.  It had been a difficult fall semester for me, a season marked by some personal hardships, stress, and tiredness.  When Christmas followed close on the heels of the semester's close, I barely had prepared for its approach.  Sure, the tree was decorated and presents were wrapped, but my heart wasn't invested.

I've vowed not to miss Christmas this year.

At one point last week my five-year-old melted down because there were still over twenty days until Christmas -- a figure which seemed cruelly insurmountable in light of her eagerness, like I had been mistakenly counting in dog years.  A day is like a week to a kid who's waiting for Christmas, after all.

To aid the countdown and ease her emotional duress, I hung a simple paper chain in our kitchen.

Each day we ceremoniously tear off a link. 

Little did I know that this simple ritual would be as rewarding for me as it is for the girls.  Another fall semester draws to a close, and once again, work flurries about me.  There are final speeches to observe, final projects to evaluate, and final grades to upload, yet I each day I pause and regard that simple paper chain.

We're making time each day to sit together on the couch -- all five of us -- and read Christmas books or watch a Christmas video.  It's become my favorite spot in the house, a cozy space where I can enjoy the view of snow-covered hills behind our home, a space where I can steal a moment with my favorite people.

This year, I've not only prepared my home, but also my heart.

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The Value of a Shoebox: Operation Christmas Child

I once read an article about a young boy on Christmas morning after he opened his first present. When his parents offered his next gift, he looked at them and said, "Why would I need another present when I already have this one?"

Ah, the sweet contentment of a heart unpolluted by the trappings of materialism.

For the record, I cannot imagine any of my children, lovely as they are, uttering that statement. 

Not that they're greedy or spoiled, but my kids are more likely to tear through the wrappings of their presents in delirious excitement and then pause, look around, and double-check to make sure that they haven't missed any packages in the initial frenzy.  They're more likely to want three gifts, not two.  Seven gifts, not six.  If you're giving them more of anything -- stuffed animals, helpings of dessert, an extra ten minutes of watching TV -- they'll gladly accept it.

It's a pretty typical kid reaction.  In fact, it's a pretty typical human reaction.  It's exciting to receive a gift, after all.

This is why I'm eager to partner with Operation Christmas Child, a non-profit organization that tangibly shares the love of Christ by providing children -- over 100 million children thus far, in fact -- with a shoebox full of Christmas gifts.

Every year, my daughters and I head to the store to buy the items for our shoeboxes: crayons, markers, notebooks, stickers, small stuffed animals, soap, toothpaste, hair clips, or other compact toys like bouncy balls or a jump rope. For many of these children, these shoeboxes will be the only gift that they receive all year.

In a small way, this experience not only encourages my children to realize how blessed we are, but also to consider how we can practically meet the needs of others.  It's a learning process.  If we gauge it by my three-year-old's reaction of clinging to the stuffed sock monkey while crying "my monkey" instead of putting it into her designated shoebox, it's one that we're still learning.

But if I gauge it by my eight-year-old, who corrected me when I temporarily halted our Operation Christmas Child shopping trek at Target to admire a scarf with a nudging "Come on, mom.  Don't think about yourself right now," I'd say that it's a lesson that's starting to sink in.

Would you like to participate?  You can learn how to pack a shoebox and find drop-off locations near you for this year's collection week, which runs until Monday, November 25.  A shoebox has never been so valuable!

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Merry Christmas!

A very Merry Christmas from our family to yours!  I've told you that it's impossible to get all of us looking at the camera at once...

But I might not ever have told you that I'm a sucker for something random: flash mobs.  (I mean, the friendly flash mobs that break out in song and dance.)  Something about organized extravagence appearing in the middle of the most normal, unsuspecting place causes me to pause, marvel, and tear up.  That's what happened when I watched this lovely video.

Enjoy!  Blessings to you this day!

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As We Wait for Christmas

The other day I discovered my four-year-old lying on her back in the middle of the hallway, staring at the ceiling, and muttering to herself about presents.  She's a typical kid before Christmas: glazed-over with anticipation.

Underneath our tree rests a manger scene.  Over the past few weeks, the figurines have been scattered around the house.  Mary is found on the kitchen floor, a camel appears underneath the table, a wise man surfaces in the bathroom.  Yet my kids always seem to know where Baby Jesus is.

This morning I overhear the girls talk as they crowd around the manger and form a new configuration with the characters.  "We need to put Baby Jesus right in the center," my oldest states.

No one argues.

"He's the most important piece," the four-year-old adds.

They might not yet fully grasp the significance of their statements, but the truth isn't lost on me.

Put Jesus in the center.  He's the most important piece.

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Bringing Beauty to the Mess

Why decorate for Christmas?  Why go through the process -- the work -- of unpacking, unraveling, and hanging extraneous things just to take them down, wrap them up, and pack them away a few weeks later?

It's because we gravitate toward beauty.  We need beauty, I believe.

When I see a crimson bow against the pine garland that drapes along my front porch railing, I see beauty.  The same goes for when I gaze out my kitchen window and notice the bulbs that are dangling above my kitchen sink,

or the wreath hanging on my front door,

or the stockings suspended from our banister,

or the festive centerpiece on the dining room table.

I see these small touches and realize that beauty has been brought to this place.

These Christmas decorations have joined the daily stuff: the crumbs, the dust, pile of clothes that needs to be carried up the stairs, the day's mail that's been left on the dining room table, and the dirty dishes in the sink that couldn't fit in the crammed-full dishwasher.

Across the nation, Christmas decorations have been displayed in homes where hearts have been heavy, where little children have been shielded from the news, and where older children (like us adults) have been painfully grappling with why?, knowing that there are no glib responses or simple explanations.

And yet, the Christmas decorations are beautiful.  It seems like such a stark contrast -- almost out of place -- but isn't this the essence of the Christmas message?  That beauty was brought to our mess?

Life is terribly messy at times.  And in light of the recent events, life also is unspeakably tragic at times.  Whether our messes are purely accidental, entirely of our own doing, or dramatically and irrevocably imposed upon us, we're living in the midst of them, feeling their effects.

Why did God go through the process -- the work -- of bringing Beauty to our mess?  Why bring a baby into a manger?  Why take such beauty to such a lowly and filthy place at such a dark time? 

I recently read a post from Moore to the Point which reminded, "Jesus was not born into a gauzy, sentimental winter wonderland of sweetly-singing angels and cute reindeer nuzzling one another at the side of his manger.  He was born into a war-zone.  And at the very rumor of his coming, Herod vowed to see him dead, right along with thousands of his brothers.  History in Bethlehem, as before and as now, is riddled with the bodies of murdered children."

Certainly, in these upcoming weeks and months (even years) we need smart discussion and thoughtful, informed advocacy about school safety, mental illness, and gun laws.  That much is abundantly clear.

As for right now, I also remember John 10:10, which states, "A thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they might have life and have it to the full."  Simply put, the murder of children -- the most innocent -- is of Satan.  Period.  It reeks of evil.

We must take practical steps to do our best to prevent such tragedies from occurring again, of course.  Also, shaken as our nation is, this is not a time to run away from God, but to run to God. 

This is the message of Christmas: God became man and entered a violent world to meet us in the midst of our mess. 

He still can meet us in the mess.

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Attempting Christmas Pictures

You know those families who take Christmas photos where all children are smiling, looking directly at the camera, and dressed in color-coordinated outfits? We're not one of those families.

In any given picture, one child seems to be out-of-sorts.

At other times, all three children go slightly awry: one inspecting the ceiling with an air of surprise, one eating her hand, and another curling her tongue.

Even the oldest child, the one who has handled herself with notable maturity for the other photos, eventually will succumb to antics.

As if the floor were shifting underneath, she'll also develop an inability to stand upright.  She'll extend her arms for balance. At this point, you won't mind. The littlest one is in motion and the middle child is trying to stick multiple fingers into multiple facial orifices.

Scrap this option for the Christmas card.

If you're feeling especially optimistic, you'll take a breather, let the kids burn off some energy, and try later in the evening. This time, the two older children will be compliant because you're letting them hold a strand of Christmas lights.

The youngest will look at you plaintively. Are you really doing this to us again?

And you are. You're really doing this to them again.

But the child is intent on closing herself off from her surroundings, falling into a protective stance that adults only wish that they could do while in stressful public situations. La-la-la-la! I don't see you!

When she opens her eyes, she's shocked that you're still taking pictures.

So she revolts. If you're attuned to the mind of a two-year-old, you can discern the thread of her inner dialogue: I've had it. I'm squishing my face.

Really. I mean it. I'm really going for it. It's total face-squishing time.

I'm warning you. This is not going to be pretty, Mom.

And she's right.  

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