A Year of Gifts

Its almost time, Christmas day when my family will tear paper off gifts and squeal with delight. I'm leaning toward that with anticipation, especially to the moments when they see what I have been working on - the labor of my hands, love woven into every fiber. I hope they see it for what it is: a bumbling attempt at showing them that each moment with them is a treasure and a privilege.

This blog is almost a year old, and in that time some may have noticed the tone change a tad here and there.  I don't write perfection just as I don't live it, and you may notice a stray thread here or there, a mistake, a blunder.  The truth is, each and every word written in this space has been a love labor of sorts - pieces of me laid out in the open, bare and simple but there for you to come and take along if you like.

And for me, the best gift is that you have.  My inbox bulges with your sweet words and my heart overflows when I read your stories, your hearts.  The privilege of one year of words tapped out in the hush of night, sent out into the world and touched by others - it is my humble delight.

You have been the greatest gift of this year, for me.  The words of encouragement you have blessed me with have touched me deep down.

This Christmas, so thankful for the gift of you.

To you and yours, have a Blessed Christmas!

Handmade Christmas - Elving

One of the things I love about making gifts for my family at Christmas is that it requires very little shopping. While getting out in the crowds and jumble may be a favorite Christmas activity for many, I would much rather sit in my snug little house.  I find this to be especially true on the years when I am incubating a little someone.  I like to pass Advent and Christmas in my own warm little place, with a bit of candlelight, lots of peace and maybe some softly playing music.  Delightfully, creating gifts absolutely requires staying in. 

This has been quite a week for "Elving," to borrow the term from Soulemama.  Although I was a bit burned out by the one knitting project I took along on our trip (so much so that I hardly touched it on the drive home!), I was quickly bolstered in my resolve and ambition when we arrived home.  I made a quick and painless trip to the craft store, and spent a few days frantically creating.

To be honest, I kind of wish I had taken my time, because now I am largely done and it was so fun I almost wish it wasn't over.  I do have a few knitting projects to finish up, so that will have to keep me happy.  With the remaining Christmas, I hope to work with my littles on some things they can be involved with - baking cookies and clay ornaments to take around the neighborhood.

This week I finished up the waldorf dolls for the girls, including making dresses and pantaloons and aprons for them.  I began a little felt Totoro for Joboy, but I need some black felt to complete him, so he is waiting in the wings.  I have 4 little hats waiting for 4 little heads, and 3 sweaters with 1 just needing sleeves before being wrapped up.

Today I do need to go out and run around and find a few surprises for the stockings, but rest assured by nightfall I will be happily back in my little home, enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of the season as it plays out right here.

When Dust Blows Away

He comes padding into my bedroom early in the morning, his little boy haircut making him look like such a big boy, but we both know he's my baby.  I pull him in next to me, pull quilt and comforter up under his little chin, and in the early morning light we grin at each other, snuggle closer.

I am in love.

I have been since even before I saw that squinched up newborn face, before I even knew that "the baby" was a little boy baby, one with brown eyes and a sideways smile that turns me to pure liquid whenever he pulls it out.

But while I'm holding my boy close this morning, I can't ignore, can't forget.  Every day, the possibility of tragedy looms.  We are dust, and dust can quickly and quietly be brushed away.

It has been a week of lost little ones.

First a friend's heart breaks when her little one still in the womb stills.  Perhaps  the least recognized or understood grief left in the world - that of losing someone you have yet to meet.  He had a name.  He had a family.  He was loved and wanted and prayed for, and suddenly, he's gone - feet never to touch this earth.

Then I'm reading online and what's that?  Dana's little one, sweet Mattias, merely weeks older than my little Joboy, snuffed out by a freak accident on a normal day at home with Mama.  Hearts break all over the world when reading her story.

There is nothing more unnatural, more against nature, than the separation of Mama and baby.  The quick and painful slashing of those ties can leave marks that scar, deep.  I wonder if I lost my heart, here looking at me with those liquid brown eyes - would I hear his phantom footsteps for days after?  Would I see his face in those of other little boys?

I know its morbid and not very Christmas -y, but wait -

Another baby came.  A beautiful one, Heaven sent.  He came to wipe away every tear from every eye.  He came to heal, restore.  To take broken, hurting, grief stricken people and to draw them to him, fill them abundantly and bring them home.

I cannot understand the pain of losing a baby.  It is incomprehensible to me.  But there is that hope and that faith that both little ones are in Heaven, waiting on their Mamas.  All because Someone cared enough to come and pour Himself out for all of us.

What Makes a Home

The wind blows hard against the sides of our van, husband hanging on with both hands, trying to avoid crushing into guardrail or semi truck as we chased the sunset, homeward.  I'm winding green wool around two bamboo sticks, watching the road and taking in the white landscape, every now and then pointing out a farm, Christmas lights, a home on the side of this slushy gray highway.

In the back, a few are sleeping, the others watching the snow flutter by.  9 hours in the car is long for anyone, and they do as well as can be expected, only now and then complaining of legs aching to get out and run, but knowing the more we stop, the longer it will take.

It all strikes me as odd, this racing toward home when home is right here with us.  What is there that matters more than this, here?  We're together.  We're warm.

And even when we pull up in that familiar drive, rush into the empty house with hands full of luggage and gifts, why it was just an empty shell without us. 

We make it home.  When we aren't here, its not.

And now that we're back, the soul flickers back on.  There are babes being tucked into beds, candles being lit, prayers being whispered.

Much has been said of "making your house a home."  And much has been written, tips and tricks for decorating or the arrangement of furniture, the choosing of paint and wall paper.

But when it comes down to it, to make a home one must first make a home within themselves.  And I think you know Who must dwell there.  Without that, we're all homeless.

Thankfully, He came to be a home for the homeless - you and I. 

Thank you for your grace as I get back into being Home - and for the past week of being largely absent!

Shoveling in the Snowstorm

I'm wiping the table down for what feels like the 10th time today.  A quick glance at the clock reveals it is only 1130.  How is that possible?  It feels like I have already done so much, but a look around the house shows there is so much more to accomplish.

I could spend my life doing nothing else but straightening up this house.

The truth is, I never really get "there" - to that place of sparkling cleanliness.  More often than not, I visit the land of "good enough."  With days like mine, packed with children and schooling and meals and mess and moments, its a wonder we aren't knee deep in dust more often.

Maybe you've heard the saying "cleaning when you have small children is like shoveling during a snowstorm."  Maybe you, like me, chuckled and shook your head, amazed at what an accurate analogy that is.

It can be incredibly frustrating, watching your hard work be carefully and intentionally undone all.day.long.  Sometimes it is more than I can take.

Yesterday a friend reminded me of something.  I was talking of cleaning and holidays and stress, and she gently reminded me: Jesus chose a stable.

God could have had his child born in the 5 star hotel of the day, if that is really what he wanted - but he didn't.  He didn't choose a spotlessly clean home with all the modern amenities available at the time.  He chose a place so ordinary, almost extraordinarily plain, dirty, common.

He sent his Son to a plain place and plain people.

He knew that these lives of ours, they are a mess.  And He came anyway.

He can and will come into our homes even when the laundry pile is threatening an avalanche, and those urchins of ours desperately need baths.  He comes to us when the dishes didn't get done and the bathroom mirror is all smudgy.  He longs for us to spend time with Him, not preoccupied with unattainable housekeeping perfection.

This house, it will probably never be more than "good enough."  But where He is, that ground is Holy. 

Praying for perspective today!!