Light the night

...and he was screaming. 

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night?

Thank you over-stimulation and sugar.  

As I opened his door, he came running, 

babe arms open wide.

Reassurance needed

in the dark night. 

I rocked him back and forth,

back and forth,

drowning out his moans and gasps

with steady, calm whispers

of peace and presence.

Only the night-light pierced the darkness.

Such an ample picture of me. 

Such an ample picture of the true Christmas story.

Cries in the night,

swallowing darkness,

overwhelming loneliness,

pressures,

expectations.

And yet, in the midst of chaos,

in the midst of fear,

The Word comes.

"Do not be afraid," He says.

The light bursts forth,

piercing the darkness,

offering hope,

comfort,

peace.

Not only for me and my microcosm.

But hope, 

comfort, 

peace,

offered for the world. 

To a world who is crying out,

writhing with over-stimulation and glut,

like a babe

needing his mama

on a Christmas night.

The Light has come.

The Light shines.

Forever and forever.

Happy birthday, Jesus.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.  May the Light of Christ fill you with all light and hope; so that you might deeply know again... 

where there is light, 

there can never be darkness.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

He was with God in the beginning. 

Through him all things were made; 

without him nothing was made that has been made. 

In him was life, 

and that life was the 

light of all people. 

The light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness has not overcome it. 

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. 

~John 1:1-5, 9

Love in a cup

I met God this morning.

But again, I didn't see.  I didn't notice.  

What is it with me?

Even with glasses, I am so blind.  

Did Mary ever forget? 

A book? 

Now? 

Right now?

It's 7:30am.

My coffee sits here hot. 

I'd really like to drink it...hot.

A book would make it lukewarm at best. 

It's 7:30am.  

The hour for stillness to prepare and pray for the day--with my hot coffee.

Sesame Street plays in the background, but does not tempt today.

Did Mary ever forget?

"Lap. Up on lap," he says.

He crawls up with book in tow.

As I reluctantly make space, pushing the dark morning drug away, 

he snuggles in close.  

The warmth of fleece sheets radiate.

The smell of sweet baby lingers.

I breathe.

The Spirit fills me.

Looking into his eyes,

He smiles.

His big toothy grin

comes close and kisses me.

The morning sleep shakes loose and

I remember. 

This was meant for my devotions this morning.

Holding the very face of God close,

seeing God's relentless love for me,

in that toothy grin,

and slobbery kiss,

that comes to me with no expectation. 

Love that crawls up on this blind mess, 

with hair frazzled,

who thinks a cup of hot darkness will truly awaken.

This is a Love who still comes.

A Love who longs to be with.

To curl up close and whisper again to me what my soul longs to hear.

You. Are. Loved.

Making a list, checking it twice

Owen's never been a fan of costumed caricatures.  Santa Claus at the mall is no exception.

As the lights twinkled, holiday music played, and sweet smells of roasted cinnamon almonds wafted, Connor was pretty excited to see the man with the big red belly.  Either that, or he was just holding out for the complementary candy cane.

When I asked Owen if he wanted to go tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas he said,

"No thank you.  I will just write him a letter and send it."

Encountering the Holy

  

The Lord is coming, always coming. 

Coming to me in surprising ways,
asking me to trust and join.
Wanting to form new life within. 

But, in a world of control where saying yes before analyzing the costs is ridiculous, foolish, unheard of.

Why would I ever do such a thing?

But in the silence…

while I wait…

I too, hear,

“Do not be afraid.”

How do I respond--

to this incredulous request to co-labor with God?

How do I respond to this encounter with the Holy?

I hold this question deep within my spirit today...

as I wait for the one who comes to me.

For the One who always comes to me,

And asks me to join in the mystery.

Yet in this waiting and wondering, I take heart,

For I do this not alone. 

Never alone. 

Because like Mary and Joseph,

I, too, am told that the one I'm invited to carry is named

Emmanuel,

“God with us.”

Thanks be to God.

"'For nothing is impossible with God.' 

Then Mary replied, 

'I am the Lord's servant, may it be to me as you have said.' 

Then the angel left her."

Luke 1:37-8

Birthing miracles

Waiting.









It is what the season of Advent is all about.


Waiting for the Light to come into the world.

Waiting, in this world of rush seems so impractical.  So, wasteful.

Yet, waiting, is anything but passive.  For it is in the waiting that transformation happens.  Happens, because we are ready.  Ready to see, ready to experience, ready to welcome.

While we wait, new life gestates within.  Like Mary growing the Holy Child, we join with her in the waiting, trusting that that which was declared to her was true, and in time, will come to be.

So too are we, mysteriously, gestating with transformation, as we open ourselves up to the possibilities of that which is impossible.

Waiting can be uncomfortable-with swollen ankles and aching backs--we wonder when it will come forth.  Yet the Mystery that we each hold, grow in its own time.  Coming when ready.  We know not the day or hour...but it will come forth.  A mother's mantra resounds, "I will not be pregnant forever."

Waiting...watching...for the miracles to appear.  For they will appear to those who prepare.  For transformation happens to those who say yes.  Who are willing to carry the Holy Child within, and in their waiting...watching for the birth.

This is Advent.

The Light of the world coming forth again and again...both in our world--and in our hearts.

He came as a baby

I see.
Jeeeshus.
There.

There.

Each and every morning, it is the same thing.
As we enter the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, he spots him.


I see.
Jeeshus.
There.

There.

Our nativity is set on the window-sill that is between our kitchen and living room.  As I pull it off the shelf for the little hands to carefully explore, he moves me.

He points out his toes, his fingers, his eyes, his hat.  He touches his nose, his mouth, his knees, while gently and lovingly naming each part.  He had a body.  This is something I often forget.

Our Creator of the Universe, came to us, in a body.  But not a body of a mighty gladiator, strong in might to force a revolution.  Rather, as a teeny baby---innocent and vulnerable--with 10 fingers and 10 toes, whose earthly mother and father surely counted on a regular basis, like enamored parents do.  A baby who relied on the care and love from his family, and who, as he grew into a man, continued to invite a voluntary relationship of love.

Connor strains, and wiggles, and writhes to get a glimpse of this Holy Mystery each and every morning, not out of duty or obligation or guilt, but simply out of curious love.  May I too, like this toddler who understands, really understands...ask to see.  I want to see, touch, and understand.

Filling the plate

I hate to admit it, but I gained 3.2 lbs. over Thanksgiving.
Yes, I know,
that.is.a.lot.

But, it was worth it.

The celebration feast and weekend following was delectible.  Sitting at the table surrounded by family and friends, hearts full of gratitude for all that's been given, I'd say those 3 lbs. were well worth the Jillian Michaels hell I'm going through now.

I've heard it said that our spiritual walk, in different seasons of life can take on various menus.  Once in awhile there is feasting--with extended times for retreats, spaces of silence, and reflection.

Other days is like everyday fare--mac & cheese, tacos, Tuesday nights at Chik-Fil-A.  We have moments to offer prayers and read, to integrate our faith with actions.

Yet sometimes, the best we can do is grab a snack.  It's throwing the banana, cheese stick, or granola bar in the purse while driving to soccer practice.  Catching God on the run, where breathing becomes prayer.

I appreciate these menus so much, because I often attach guilt to my spiritual life in this busy season of life thinking I need to do more.  But life right now with active, demanding boys, can't be all about feasting.  I can try, and need to, carve out time and spaces for these "holy holiday meals," but realistically speaking, it just isn't going to happen on a regular basis now.
And that is okay.  Because God is not something that needs to be "found," as much as noticed.  And this can happen no matter what my day looks like.

Life is full of various menus--and I guess it doesn't really matter,
...as long as I'm eating (and gaining weight).

What a mother won't do

Quandary of the day:  "Mommy, I have to go!...NOW!"

A new experience:  Peeing in a van via a Mc Donalds water cup as to not wake toddler who fell asleep between errands.  

 

A new prayer of thanksgiving:  Thankful for pee, and not poop.

Seeing Beauty

Down here south of the Mason-Dixon line, generally speaking, we are still in fall.  Even as late as last week in the 60 degrees, glowing-red trees and blazing yellow shimmers could still be spotted.  As I was zooming down the road, eager to go around a slow-moving Ford, Owen reflectively states as he looks out, 

"Mom...isn't that just...beautiful?" 

Opening my eyes, I too, see. 

"Wow. It sure is, baby, it sure is." 

But even more so than the trees flanked by the crisp blue background, the true beauty lies in the one that was able to see the Beauty.  For this is no small thing.  In a world that is always looking ahead to see what's next, missing the here and now becomes commonplace.  To see, to really see, is a gift.

 Nurturing the noticing...