Merry Christmas

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

Gratitude:

1747. Jack's attempt at adult conversation, "Myra's such a little childhood."

1748. How Lucy calls Craig's spiky hair, spicy hair.

1749. Jane's confesses when we ask about Christmas grafitti scrawled on the dining room wall: MERRY CHRISTMAS with holly berries.

1750. How Lucy says she like her baby because it has happy eyes.

1751. Jane's response when I ask her to tidy up the bathroom, "Momma, I don't really want this to become a cleaning day."

1752. Lucy up early from nap, "Mom, my thumb hurts. I took off the hangnail carefully my own self."

1753. How Jane tires to talk politics, "Why won't they grab the bull by the horns?!"

1754. Her commentary on me making Christmas goodies, "Mom, you're actually cooking, like COOKING-cooking."

1755. How Myra pushes a recipe book off my lap and climbs up to snuggle.

1756. How Lucy taps my leg, "Momma, I want you to dance with me where you hold me."

1757. Jack with a handful of grapes, "Guess what I did? I presented treasures to Myra."

1758. How all our kids want to dip their Springerle cookies in my coffee.

1759. All the family and gifts gathered to celebrate Christmas down on the farm.

1760. The bliss of cousins wound up and full of cookies and nuts and cheese and candy canes.

1761. A movie and popcorn with husband.

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

Normal

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

"And God," I squish my eyes shut, lean against the bunk bed, "please forgive me for being so cranky today." I sigh.

From the top bunk, "I couldn't tell you were cranky," Jane whispers.

A smile pulls the corners of my mouth, "I know you don't want me to treat these kids and Daddy that way," I pray. "I'm sorry, God."

The night rocks in quietly like a ship docked in still water. We snug covers around children's shoulders, kiss their warm foreheads.

I climb the ladder and smile at Jane. "Did you say you couldn't tell I was cranky today?"

"Huh uh," her voice like a songbird, "You were just your normal self."

I hug her, her warm cheek against mine. "I love you."

I trundle down the bunk ladder, step into the hall. My normal self. Am I cranky so often it's the normal-me or does she just see normal-me in all I do?

Like most days, I pray for grace to cover me.

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

Gratitude:

1732. How Lucy breaks up our writing lesson with a whispered, "Momma, you have stinky breath."

1733. How she mimics Jack sounding out words.

1734. Her charge to Jack, "Let's pretend we're RATS."

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

1735. A day of Christmas shopping, a new vest and Christmas clothes, the festive clomp of our feet on tile floors and camaraderie of looking together.

1736. Jack's examination of Daddy's Lincoln Log house, "How'd you DO that?" And Jane's spontaneous, "It's cause he's amazing." And Jack's, "You're TOO amazing Dad."

1737. How Myra keeps kissing the characters of the nativity on our hearth.

1738. Jane and Jack's chorus during dinner, "Dad, you're the smartest man in the world."

1739. Craig's appreciative, "Wow. THAT hit the spot," as he polishes of a plate of pot-stickers. And Lulie's, "Why'd you eat a SPOT?"

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

1740. Jane's continued infatuation with my growing belly, "Do you think people think you're fat or pregnant?" We stare at each other a moment. "Probably pregnant," she adds.

1741. The gathering of family to celebrate Christmas with my side. And how weaved between the gifts and fancy food: two days that unfurl like a long sigh.

1742. Playing Pit for the first time and laughing to tears in the playful banter.

1743. The full feeling of spending time with a people who love me for who I am, the weight of that anchor.

1744. Loving them the same.

1745. In the teetering excitement, Craig's question to Jane, "So, do we need a present for you?" And her confident, "No. I don't really need anything."

1746. How every gift is perfect in that moment.

Photo courtesy of Urban Rose Photography.

Wings

"Do you think we'll have legs in heaven?" Jane pulls a flannel quilt up on one shoulder, sidles down under it's wings. "Legs to walk," she says.

"I think so." I elbow over the bunk rail, stand tip-toe on the bottom bed. "What do you think?"

She sways curls over jammied shoulders. "Nope. Wings. Wings to fly." She captures my eyes. "In heaven we won't need to walk. We'll just fly."

"Hmm. Fly." I snug the flannel in tight around her six-year-old self. Of course, we'll just fly.

I pad bare feet down the hall. Christmas words circle back soft in my ear, You're the best part of my day, husband says. And, You make everything make sense, I say. And it does.

Between flying in heaven and husband's words, Christmas unfolds, another Christmas, down the hallway and into the evening. Christmastide.

Gratitude:

448. Husband.

449. Child-wrapped presents, lots of tape.

450. Gelatin, radiant, sprayed kitchen-aid-mixer style all over the kitchen.

451. Rapturous grins the children try to hide.

452. Peppermint marshmallows.

453. More wrapping paper than ever and tape and markers and scissors and an assembly line the kids set up that manages to cover every lumpy present with paper and tape of some sort.

454. Janie's reminders, "You guys remember, Christmas is really about GIVING gifts."

455. A clock. The clock. One that chimes and makes Great-Grammie cry.

456. Open arms that welcome us, that hold the door between trips to the car, and carry our children 'round piggy-back.

457. Gifts. So many gifts of love. And the uncanny feeling that someone has read your mind.

458. Being truly, genuinely, completely, utterly surprised.

459. How the children laughed and played and played and laughed and no one begged to open presents.

460. And the gifts, every one, love made flesh.

461. Alice in Wonderland. Reading to the children. How they snuggle bumped under my elbows and chin and press in close to see the words and stare into space to picture the story.

462. Books, books, books galore! The classics. Peter Pan, Les Miserables, Oliver Twist, Gulliver's Travels.

463. Janie learning to sew.

464. How Lulie explains that she doesn't have to wear patches anymore now that she's two when I forget to patch her for a day.

465. The way red nail polish chips off and leaves white nails underneath.

466. A full pot of stew, three loaves of banana bread, and a tidy kitchen.

467. Time off with husband and how even if the house gets messy we just step careful and be together and make time go slow.

468. How even though little Rose has a fever she cuddles extra long and smiles when I kiss her feet.

469. Sleep.

A Gift

"That's ok. No big deal," I say.

Jack grins. Broken pencil forgotten he jumps, claps his hands together.

"Yeah, that's our gift to each other today, you guys. That's-ok-no-big-deal. It's a gift," I smile.

The morning pivots and Christmas begins.

December Thanks

"Is it sometimes hard when you're the smartest person in the room?" Janie wants to know.

Later, Jack bobs through the kitchen in blue jammies, "We played Go Fish, and Janie won," he jabbers, "but I'm gonna be first in heaven." His bare feet pad down the basement stairs. I make oatmeal with lots of cinnamon and some apples.

At bedtime, Janie tells me, "I heard Lucy say, 'Jesus come into my heart,' and I asked her if she loves Jesus and she said, 'Yes.'" Jane runs the words together, but warns us that Lucy probably doesn't really understand.

I tuck the sheets in snug, kiss her neck, "I love you, Jane."

Jack rubs my face and smooths my hair back.

"You make me happy," I whisper to Lulie and she nods, sucks thumbie.

Another day winds down.





Gratitude:

422. Go Fish. And teeny tiny playing cards.

423. Chex mix made with Grampa's secret recipe, the one we thought passed on with him.

424. A batch big enough to fill a garbage sack made by sister-in-law.

425. Early Christmas and an overnight sleep at my parents with brothers and families and kids everywhere.

426. A Christmas pageant with cousins, one with towels and scarves and headbands with flowers, and how Uncle Peter had to be Joseph because all the boys wanted to be wise men. But Mary didn't mind. And no one minded that we all had to pretend that Zeke's stuffed owl was baby Jesus because all the real babies were asleep. But all the wise men still bowed down to the baby Jesus, and we acted out the story.

427. How Janie sat and nibbled Christmas candy with the grown-ups while we played Balderdash.

428. The riotous laughter.

429. The letter I wrote to George, the boy we sponsor in Adiedo, Kenya. His mother and father have both died. He's eleven.

430. The picture Jack drew of him and George to send with the letter.

431. An old song book of Mother Goose rhymes -- 1906.

432. Another Christmas book, The Gift of the Magi, by O. Henry.

433. Prime rib, baked potato soup.

434. Breakfast and Psalm 19 with Jack while the girls splash in the bath.

435. Bananas black enough to make banana bread and sweet Chinese cinnamon.

436. Nail polish, red -- and how we sit at the breakfast table and polish fingers and toes between bowls of oatmeal.

437. Nice short fingernails, the kind you can play piano with.

438. How Craig never worries about anything. Not a thing.

439. And the unspoken permission to not worry with him.

440. How Rosie plays soft with my hair when she nurses.

441. How the other kids arrange the baby monitor when she sleeps, and how Jack wears both receivers clipped to his pockets to keep an eye on her.

442. How they still try to figure a way to use the monitor as a walkie-talkie.

443. How my brothers all respect my dad and love my mom.

444. Kazoos. A whole army of them on full volume.

445. Jesus. The real Jesus. The one who died for my sins.

446. And the unbelievable, my every wrong is made right in Him. Unbelievable. A miracle.

447. The gentle passing of each day, each one good.

Wednesday.

Totally regretting, "Sure honey, go ahead and try to make lunch," the jelly explosion.

"How did you get jelly EVERYWHERE?"

"I don't really know," he purses lips, wrinkles forehead, "I wasn't really watching." Decidedly. I plop the jelly knife in the sink, break out the wet-wipes.

Now the boy's cutting a little-sucker-thing the baby can bite on out of scrap fabric. "Can you sew this for Rosie, Momma?" He flits at my elbow. I sigh, crooked edges, shining blue eyes. "Momma?"

Janie whispers in my ear her that she'll make a whip for the cousins. "They'll LOVE it," she says. Lulie unloads the freezer ice machine, toddles in, an ice cube frozen to her lip.

They wave by in shifts. "Now we have all the whips that we'll need," one of them says. "Can we use the pins? When will you sew them, Momma."

The world swings like a ball on a string.

All that Christmas spirit. Sigh. I almost missed it.

Piano

"Awesome. Awesome, oh awesome!" Lulie gushes and pokes her fingers into my big red hymnal. I coax chords and melodies from my old piano. The children fight over a little spool-stool at my side.

Lulie edges over my elbow, feathers through the fat side of the hymnal, "Dat don't have pictures in it," she twaddles, both eyebrows up, she turns, "so be. careful." She nods and thunks the hymnal back to place, then sways dulcet.

Holy, Holy, Holy gathers around my untuned voice. Lulie's top-not of curls flops in harmony.







Gratitude:

368. The sea. The great, big, wide ocean.

369. Wind blown faces and hair damp with ocean mist.

370. The layers and layers of friendship between my family and me. The remarkable strength of love over time.

371. Parents who are married. In-laws who are married. Siblings who are married. Aunts and uncles all married still. Grandparents and the immovable standard: to death do us part. The weight of this history, a footprint as big as the sun.

372. Our 16 hour drive back from the ocean. The adventure and thrift shops and coffee. The fun.

373. Five kids and three adults all splashed into a hot tub and their insistence that they were swimming in the ocean.

374. Claire. Olivia. Sophie.

375. The miracle of Claire turned woman pressing her stride in the world.

376. Our CLEAN house, the one sister-in-law and brother-in-law and kids made sparkle for us, the one we stumbled into at four minutes before midnight, bleary from road trip. How even the wet pants and soggy children seemed sweet after that.

377. My piano. And the piano dolly and three brothers and husband that wrestled my sweet beast into the living room.

378. How the children try to fly off the hearth when I play.

379. How Thanksgiving was like a dream this year wrapped in the ocean.

380. How Lucy favored my uncle and shared all the toys she stole out of cousins suitcases with him. And his generous heart, his quick mind, his gentleness with the children.

381. The way my aunt can embody peace and steadfastness and still laugh uproariously.

382. How Jack practically moved into cousins' family. The buzz of 5 little boys.

383. How identical twins can be so splendidly different. Did I mention Olivia's is taller and wants to work with animals? Sophie wants to be a pastry chef and help the poor. Such vivid dreams.

384. A blusterous game of Balderdash, and how I am completely awful at acronyms.

385. A green and orange hat knit in the round.

386. A husband so content I haven't a Christmas gift idea at all.

387. The 22 dozen cookies husband and I rolled out for half the night. How we had to use a curly piece of firmica in the middle of the living room rug so we wouldn't ruin the dining table with the pizza cutter.

388. Anise seeds.

389. Anise oil.

390. Children who blur all attempts at a family photo with their laughing and jokes.

391. Sister-in-law who tells me to make a cranky day good.

392. Six layer dip and salty tortillas.

393. Salami and cheddar.

394. A second Thanksgiving dinner with MORE family. {sigh} Such riches. Such. Riches.

395. The gathering up in preparation for Christmas. The liturgy of, no, to myself and, yes, to others. How giving ends in contentment.

396. Pockets full of seashells.

Merry Christmas!

The BEST part of {Christmas} cheer...





If any of you who missed Janie's rendition, it's HERE!

And, may the savior himself, {Jesus}, bless each one of you with joy and strength.


{GLORY to God in the HIGHEST!}

Christmas is Coming!

Christmas is coming. The goose is getting fat!





Pleased to put a penny in the old man's hat.





If you haven't got a penny, a haypenny will do.





If you haven't got a haypenny,





then GOD bless YOU!

God bless you, gentleman,
God bless you.

If you haven't got a haypenny,
then GOD bless YOU!


(Anyone else hear Miss Piggy singing this as a kid?)

Christmastide

In those days...
Luke 2:1-14

An Angel

Jack has a cold. With the devotion of two years old, he rubs sanitizer over both hands, front, back, waves them in the air. "Dry Momma. Touch Lulu?"

Hands already pulling toward Lulie, he resists, waits, I nod, "Okay." He grabs her hand and leans in close-close, kisses her, lays gently on her tummy, smiles. Sigh. Guess we didn't really need the sanitizer.























Janie participated in our Christmas Eve service this year. Her four-year old stride onto stage, smile, tiny shrug, seemed completely unconscious of audience. Half-way through she noticed the angel perched up above. The angel! She couldn't look away. At one point the angel waved at her. She paused, waved back. The night went on.

Yesterday tucking her into bed, we snuggled, laughed over our day. A couple of quiet moments and then, "Mom, was that angel on stage REAL?"

The Christmas Prayer

Perhaps Janie said it best:
God help me be how you want me to be.

Or Jack:
I like God.
I like Jesus.
He lub me.

Lulu:
Nuzzle, nuzzle.