Mommy Brain

Concord Hymn
~Sung at the completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837~

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and thee.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1837~

Happy July, everyone! Can you believe that June is over? It went very, very fast - mostly because we were so incredibly busy.

Any plans for Independence Day? We’re heading to Mom and Dad’s for the day. Dad’s got some leftover pre-cut catamarans from camp, so the kids are going to make cool wooden sailboats, and then we’re going to head to Chewelah park to float them in the creek. We’ll have chicken and potato salad for dinner, and then celebrate my sister Marni’s birthday. Her 29th - my baby sister is turning 29! How did that happen?

We’ll spend Saturday with them, too, celebrating Dad’s 60th birthday. Then Marni and Hans and the boys will spend Sunday and Monday saying their goodbyes to Hans’ parents. Tuesday morning, we will say our goodbyes. Sniff. They will be leaving for St. Louis at the end of the month, but with gas prices the way they are, Marni needing to get their apartment packed up, Natalie’s Bible camp in the middle of the month, and us leaving on the 27th for our trip to the Oregon Coast, we won’t be able to see them before then.

Well, I refuse to think about that until I have to. Here are some links for your Independence Day weekend:

~ If you love words as much as I do, you’ll love Visuwords. Type in any word, and watch what it does with it!

~ Hey Lady! Whatcha Readin’? is giving away up to five prize packages - each one containing 14 books!

~ There’s another book giveaway at The Tome Traveller.

~ Quantum of Solace, the next Bond movie starring (the yummy) Daniel Craig, opens on my birthday, November 7th - here’s the trailer.

~ Joss Whedon, of Firefly and Serenity brilliance, is presenting Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along blog, a 42-minute web-musical that will be presented in three 14 minute episodes. It stars Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion, from Firefly. Part one will go live on July 15th, part two on the 17th, and part three on the 19th. It will remain online until midnight the 20th, with a probable DVD release after that, but while it’s online, it’s free.

~ Didn’t this already happen in an animated children’s film?

~ Anyone else looking forward to Mamma Mia? Here’s the trailer.

~ Feeling apathetic about the upcoming presidential election? The Onion has created a video to help those who couldn’t care less. It’s satire, of course - don’t want to get any comments reminding me how important it is to do my civic duty.

~ Author Dennis Cass presents Book Launch 2.0.

~ Why does everyone hate homeschooling moms?

Methinks American middle-class people are uncomfortable around the home schooled for the same reason the alcoholic is uneasy around the teetotaler.

Their very existence represents a rejection of our values, and an indictment of our lifestyles. Those families are willing to render unto Caesar the things that Caesar’s be, but they draw the line at their children. Those of us who have put our trust in the secular state (and effectively surrendered our children to it) recognize this act of defiance as a rejection of our values, and we reject them in return. (emphasis mine)

Here’s what I’ve been blogging at Books and Movies this week:

~ An Incomplete Education

~ Squids Will Be Squids: Fresh Morals, Beastly Fables

~ The Bucket List

~ Kung Fu Panda

Sonnet
Christina Rossetti

Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Has many sonnets: so here now shall be
One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me
To her whose heart is my heart’s quiet home,
To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee
I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome;
Whose service is my special dignity,
And she my lodestar while I go and come
And so because you love me, and because
I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath
Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name:
In you not fourscore years can dim the flame
Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws
Of time and change and mortal life and death.

Have a blessed Easter.

What are you doing this New Year’s Eve 2007? I am sitting on the couch with my new laptop, watching the kids jump and sing and dance along with their High School Musical game on their new Playstation 2. They are happy, especially since their daddy told them they could stay up until midnight to welcome the New Year. Without asking their mommy. He’s the crazy one - I’ll probably head in to bed, and he’ll be up. And he’s still getting over the flu. He did, however, take a long nap in a quiet house this afternoon while the kids and I were visiting at Michelle’s.

I’m also listening to the song Revival from the CD Revival in Belfast by Robin Marks. We found a new church home this year. It has been nearly two years since we left our old church home. And yet, as soon as this song comes up on my MP3 player, I am fighting back tears. This CD came out when I was worship coordinator at that church, and we did many of these songs on Sunday mornings. Hearing this song brings me right back, and I am sad again. How long until that goes away?

I remember when New Year’s Eve was an occasion to stay up late, party hard and celebrate. I must be getting older, because it is now just fine with me to stay at home with my family, and mentally reminisce about the past year and plan for the new one, while they party around me.

My heart is full tonight, and I want to get these thoughts down before they are gone in the flurry of the rest of the week.

I have many things to be grateful for as I look back on 2007.

We were able to refinance our house and get out of debt. Because of that, and in spite of the fact that Kevin still faces the possibility of unemployment this year, we are better off financially than we were last year at this time. God is good.

I wish you could see what I see right now. Josiah is laying on his back with his ankles crossed, hands under his head. He looks like he should be laying in a hammock. He’s watching his sister and brother sing and compete, and when each song ends, he jumps up and shouts, “You got an A!” (The game grades you on your performance of HSM songs.) And on my MP3 player is playing the song This is a Moment Made for Worshipping by Steven Curtis Chapman. “This is a moment made for worshipping, because this is a moment I’m alive…”

I’m grateful for a husband who believes in my writing to the point that he would buy me a brand new laptop because I need something better for my work. And a husband who bought me a second MP3 player for Christmas, because he remembered that I jokingly said in passing that I needed one for music, one for audiobooks. And he indulges my book obsession.

I’m grateful for friendship. We’ve lived in this town for 10 and a half years now, and during that time I have made many good friends. They have all been exactly what I needed at the time, but each friendship has been for a season. And now, for the first time since I was in college, I feel like I have a true best friend. God ordained that Michelle would move here for me; you’ll never convince me otherwise. Our friendship is still relatively new - although I can hardly believe we just exchanged Christmas gifts for the second time - but I have no doubt that our friendship is for a lifetime. Some things you just know.

All right, answer me this: how can I go from lovingly gazing at my children having fun and thinking about how wonderful it is to be their mother to being completely annoyed that they are interrupting my blogging? My blogging about how grateful I am? For them? (The song on my MP3 player is now Fabulous from High School Musical 2. I’m not as selfish as Sharpay, honest.)

I’m grateful for happy, healthy kids. Other than the occasional cold and flu, my kids are healthy. They are also good kids. Yes, there are days when I want to pull my hair out, but there are also days when the receptionist at the orthodontist’s office tells me how much she enjoys it when we come in, because she knows my kids are well-behaved.

I’m grateful for Natalie. My 11-year-old. Just typing those words makes me sigh. She is changing so fast, from an adorable little girl to a beautiful young lady. She is goofy, feminine, able to break a board with her foot while blushing over the cute boy at Tae Kwon Do, and - most importantly - she has a strong desire to follow Jesus.

I’m grateful for Noah. He’s 9. When Kevin gets the pictures off the camera and onto my computer, I’ll post the picture Kevin snapped while we were opening gifts Christmas Eve. Noah has always been a joy to watch open gifts - he is thrilled with each and every one. And though he loves the Playstation and his camera, the gift that got the biggest smile was Arthur Spiderwick’s Field Guide of the Fantastical World Around You.

I’m grateful for Jonathan. He’s 8 and his energy is astonishing at times. He is like contained electricity; he buzzes with it. I love the fact that he is now an accomplished reader, and likes to share with me what is happening in his book. It makes me laugh to see how fast he can go from picking on his sister to defending her honor. (Now, I’m listening to Long Train Running’ by The Doobie Brothers: “Without love, where would I be right now?” Yes, my musical taste is varied and odd.)

I’m grateful for Josiah. He’s 6 and still comes running up to me to say, “I know what you need, Mommy. You need a snuggle from me.” And he’s right; I do. As he has completed the familiar pages in Abeka’s Letter and Sounds this year, it has been startling to realize that this is the last time I will be leading a child through this phonics program, the last time I will watch a child experience the joy of reading for the first time. I am now the mother of four readers.

I’m grateful for parents who live close enough that we can watch football games and go to the movies together. I’m grateful that we found a church that our kids love. I’m grateful that there is a (however tentative) peace with our neighbors. I’m grateful that my kids have good friends. I am grateful that we are on our sixth year of homeschooling, and I still enjoy it and I am still convinced that it is the best path for our family. I’m grateful for weekly phone conversations with my sister Andrea, chatting online with my other sister Debra, and visits with my sister Marni while she still lives close enough. I’m grateful for quiet evenings with a book, a glass of Pinot Grigio, and dark chocolate. I’m grateful for 24, Numb3rs and Ballykissangel on DVD. I’m grateful for all the blogs on my blogroll - and some I haven’t added yet - for making me think and laugh, for giving me encouragement, and for suggesting some brilliant books.

May your New Year be filled with books that make you think, friends you can be “you” with, and days bright with joy and laughter.

My nephew, Peter, has a fever! I know it’s horrible to be happy about that, but my sister said we all might as well be sick together, so we will be going down to Mom and Dad’s tomorow afternoon for Christmas dinner. The whole family - sickies included. And I am glad.

I hope your prayers are answered at this Christmas, too - big ones and little ones. (No, I didn’t pray that Peter would get sick, but I did pray that we could all be together.)

I leave you with the lyrics to the song I sang at the Christmas Eve service this evening.

Precious Promise
Words and music by Steven Curtis Chapman

Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Oh, what a gift of love,
An angel tells a virgin that she’s gonna have a son.
And though it’s a Precious Promise,
She wonders how can this be?
What will the people say and what if Joseph can’t believe?
And her questions and her fears
Are met with an overwhelming joy that God has chosen her.
Oh, what a Precious Promise:
Mary waits as Heaven comes to earth.

Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Oh, what a gift of love,
Joseph makes his choice to do what few men would have done:
To take Mary as his bride, when she’s already carrying a child
That isn’t his own.
Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Mary and the child will have a home.

And shepherds stand on a hillside;
Their hearts are racing with the news the angel told them.
A star’s light fills up the dark sky,
As the night of Precious Promise is unfolding.

Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Oh, what a gift of love,
The waiting now is over and the time has finally come
For the God Who made this world
To roll back the curtain and unveil
His passion for the heart of man.
Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Lying in a manger in Bethlehem.
Oh, what a Precious Promise,
Lying in a manger in Bethlehem.

Four days ’til Christmas! Even though we had more time between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, what with Thanksgiving being earlier, I still feel like it has taken me by surprise. I will be doing some wrapping this weekend - I’m still waiting on two shipments from Amazon. They’re supposed to arrive tomorrow. (Fingers crossed.)

This morning Natalie has an orthodontist appointment; this afternoon Michelle and the boys are coming over for a play date. Tomorrow, my sister and her family arrive at my parents’ house for the holidays. We will be sledding on Saturday, decorating cookies on Sunday, singing at the Christmas Eve service Monday, and then celebrating at my parents’ house for Christmas. All that to say that I’ll probably be missing from here until after the Big Day.

Here are a few links to keep you busy while I’m gone:

~ Amazon’s The Tales of Beedle the Bard page

~ The trailer for Ben Stein’s new documentary Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.

~ Amazing and beautiful video: The Inner Life of a Cell. Hat tip: Athol Dickson.

~ My brother-in-law Hans is blogging again, and I especially enjoyed this post about some of the adorable things my nephews say to each other.

~ How well do you know your Christmas carols? Take this quiz to find out.

~ Chronicle Books is holding a creativity contest for kids.

~ Remember when I was talking about Roger Whittaker’s Christmas Album, and how every kid should hear Darcy the Dragon? Well, now they can, complete with cute pictures, thanks to this YouTube video.

~ Carol at Magistramater has posted another great list of the things she is grateful for.

~ Brighter Minds is offering 40% off of all products for my readers. The offer is good until February 1, 2008. Just enter the code BLOG at checkout.

If I don’t get back here before the holiday, may all of you have a truly blessed Christmas.

It snowed today. And snowed. And snowed. A lot of snow. I was planning to run a couple errands and decided instead that it was a good day to stay home. I did housework and laundry, worked on an article, and watched the snow come down. The kids played games pretty much all day - yes, I’m a bad mom. But it’s Christmas break, right?

My wonderful sister, Debra, sent us a package a couple days ago. It contained all the materials we needed to make nine of these cute little snowmen ornaments. Actually, ours are even cuter than the picture, because the have adorable little hats on them. Not only did she send all the materials, she had already cut out all the foam shapes, and put each little kit into its own separate baggy, and tucked in a low temp hot glue gun in case we didn’t have one. Isn’t she awesome? So the kids and I made snowmen after dinner tonight, and they are now hanging on our tree.

What did you do today?

This is the essay my sister wrote several years ago about our Christmases when we were kids. It’s long, but she does a wonderful job of describing just what Christmas felt, tasted, and sounded like to us as little girls.

I remember the way the Maple tree looked through our kitchen windows from where I sat at the large, picnic-style table my father had fashioned to accommodate his family of six. You could tell it was cold out looking through the frosty windows at the sky, clear as blue glass. A majestic background for the giant limbs, now bare, that stretched over the drive.

I can still feel the chocolate mint dough sticky on my palms, as I rolled the little balls, dipped them in confectioner’s sugar, and flattened them on the blackened cookie sheet.

Roger Whittaker’s Christmas album, a tradition at our house since before I was born, poured in from the living room, evoking, even then, happy memories of Christmases past and hope for what this present season could bring.

For me, Christmas in our old State Street home was magic. The season was made special by my blessed parents who found their joy in four shining faces and their squeals of delight. I’ve often thought how much more I could have appreciated had I been then as I am now, but nevertheless, my sisters and I immersed ourselves in the season as only children can, with never a thought to growing up and leaving behind our dear house and all its memories.

The Christmas season began officially, for my sisters and I, the day after Thanksgiving when my parents gave permission, at long last, for the large stack of records to be carted down from the upstairs closet. Soon Bing and Frank filled the house with “White Christmas” and “Silent Night.” Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” particularly delighted Debra, who liked to set the record back and hear it again, risking the aggravation of my parents who had never been great fans.

In the evenings we would sit and listen, pouring over the Sears catalogue and furiously writing down page numbers just in case Santa needed any help in filling our stockings.

The next event was the buying of the Christmas tree. My most vivid memories of this are when we were older and my sisters, busy with the “more important things” of teenage years, left the duty to Dad and I. So, on the designated evening, after Dad was home and dinner was finished, we two would set out, bundled up, on a mission to find the perfect tree. We would stop at all the stands in town, and weaving in and out of the rows, Dad would stand a tree up, spin it around for my approval, and together we would pick out it’s various flaws. Too tall, bare on one side, not enough branches at the top, and on and on, until at last we made our choice. To top off the evening and celebrate a successful mission, Dad treated us to ice cream cones, which we licked happily, never minding the cold outside.

Once home, the tree was brought in for the approval of Mama and sisters who weren’t always pleased with our selection, but weren’t at liberty to complain since they’d opted not to come along, and me secretly glad since I’d had Dad all to myself for the evening.

Once the tree was decked we would turn our attention to baking. Mama would take her worn recipe box down from the cupboard and with the box in her lap she would pick out all the holiday favorites and us girls would each choose a recipe. My favorites were lemon bars with a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar. Holiday recipes would come and go, stained-glass cookies one year, haystacks the next, but the sugard cookies were always a standard. To us it could not be Christmas until the dough was cut into bells, Santas, crosses and stockings, and each was decorated with colored frosting and red and green sprinkles. Somehow I think more frosting ended up in our bellies than on the cookies, but nonetheless, we conquered the yearly task with zeal, armed with sticky-handled butter knives and the sweet tooth inherent in all the Shannon clan.

Christmas Eve was sometimes spent at Grandma’s house around her tree. There were always presents to open, a foretaste of what would come from under our own tree that beckoned us back home. In later years, when we better understood the reality of the holiday, the night before Christmas was a reminder of the sacredness of what we were truly celebrating. Mama would read those familiar, comforting words aloud, “And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus…” And I would imagine the scene as I had so many times before, almost hearing the rustling of the cattle about Jesus’ cradle as we sang, “Away in a Manger.” I would climb into bed, carols still in my head and my stomach full of cookies and eggnog.

Christmas morning began with four little girls in barefeet and nightgowns racing down to the family room. Our stockings, each one knitted by Mama in red and green, and marked with our initials, waited for us in a row like special friends that only came out to play once a year. The small gifts that rested at the top of each were torn into as Mama snapped pictures and Daddy stood by smiling. The usual bag of bon bons and nuts retrieved from the bottom of each sock and taken down to keep us chewing as we opened the rest of our gifts.

One by one, taking turns, the glittery paper and bows were torn off and boxes were opened to a fresh cry of joy. Each doll was hugged. Mickey Mouse phones were tested.

Some years there were “special” presents - a desk or mirror that Daddy would make. The picture of my Daddy bundled up in his winter coat and heading out to his workshop will forever be etched in the cherished banks of my mind. When there were whisperings and hushes and warnings to keep out of the shop, you knew it was going to be a special Christmas. The cold evenings, the singing of the saw blade, the sanding, the varnish, and the love that shaped each piece, combined to create something worth much more than the wood it was made of. I can see Mama’s tears.

In my case it was a cradle where my Cabbage Patch dolls spent their best days and now waits for my little girls to come play.

Christmas day ended with a family dinner at a table that seemed to stretch for miles covered with so many things that were so easy to spill. There were cousins and new toys to play with while the Aunts, Uncles, and Grandparents visited. Christmas went out leaving tired bodies and full tummies in its wake.

I was always a little melancholy the day after Christmas. I knew that soon the tree would be taken apart, the clothes-pin reindeer and paper stars put away for next year’s tree. The cookies and treats would disappear from the cupboard and the stack of records would return to their corner in the closet. The thought of waiting a whole year for the season to come around again saddened my heart. But the school year would pass while last Christmas’ toys kept us company and we’d begin another. Before we knew it Christmas would show once more in the smells of the kitchen, and the sound of our excited giggles.

Of course, we can’t always believe in Santa. The cradles and Mickey Mouse phones make way for a thick volume of Jane Austen and, in Debra’s case, a CD of Elvis’ Greatest Hits. We no longer live in our dear house on State Street with it’s perfect place for a Christmas tree and family gatherings aren’t what they used to be. We cling less to the gifts and more to the baby Jesus. Most of us are married and some are expecting little ones of their own. There are new faces in the family. A niece with Debra’s curly hair and a nephew with my round cheeks. But when we all make it home for Christmas, all grown up with little girl memories, we watch the little ones who find those same old stockings of Mama’s, a sugar cookie or two to decorate themselves, and perhaps, a Roger Whittaker carol to remember always.

by Marni Shannon Stout

This evening, our house will be swarming with girls as Natalie celebrates her 11th birthday. That would make our weekend busy enough, don’t you think? But we also have a dress rehearsal for the kids’ Christmas program at church on Saturday morning, church with another rehearsal Sunday morning, and then the program itself Sunday night. I’m tired just thinking about it!

Saturday afternoon will probably be spent with Natalie taking a long nap, and hopefully, some downtime for me. Kevin wants to take the kids out to dinner Saturday night to celebrate our new debt-free status. And I am trying to figure out how to talk him into taking the kids to church Sunday morning for their rehearsal, so I can stay home and watch the Seahawks, whose game starts at 10 am - about the same time as church. I am such a heathen - I know. But they’re 9 and 4, have clinched their division, and are heading into the playoffs! It feels a little like 2005 in Seahawks fandom, and that’s a pretty great - but precarious - feeling.

Before I bake and frost a cake, clean the bathroom, run to the video store and the grocery store, and head to Michelle’s for an afternoon playdate - during which I expect to be frequently bugged by Natalie, who will be too antsy to let us visit - I thought I’d leave you with some links:

~ When it goes gray, we need to dream again. - from Mental Multivitamin.

~ My Grown-up Christmas List - from Semicolon.

~ Merry Recycling Day - Michelle pointed me to this article at The Telegraph.

~ Duelity - a very interesting pair of videos, in which the producers present creationism in the language of science, and evolution in the language of religion. I’m not sure what side the creators come down on, but it is a very interesting look at how language and beliefs are connected. The comments on the blog are very interesting, as some people assume a pro-creation position, and others assume a pro-evolution position. Let me know what you think. Hat tip: Think Christian.

~ Very funny Homeschooling Family Video - Hat tip: Donna at Quiet Life.

I like days
With a snow-white collar,
And nights when the moon
Is a silver dollar,
And hills are filled
With eiderdown stuffing
And your breath makes smoke
Like an engine puffing.

I like days
When feathers are snowing,
And all the eaves
Have petticoats showing,
And the air is cold,
And the wires are humming,
But you feel all warm…

With Christmas coming!

~Aileen Fisher

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast keep warm this small hot star fallen to my arms.
(Rest…You who have had so far to come.)
Now nearness satisfies the body of God sweetly.
Quiet He lies whose vigor hurled a universe.
He sleeps whose eyelids have not closed before.
His breath (so slight it seems no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps to sprout a world.
Charmed by dove’s voices, the whisper of straw, He dreams, hearing no music from His other
spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes… He is curtailed who overflowed all skies, all years.
Older than eternity, now He is new.
Now native to earth as I am, nailed to my poor planet, caught that I might be free,
Blind in my womb to know my darkness ended,
Brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
And for Him to see me mended, I must see Him torn.

~Luci Shaw

(Originally posted December 23, 2005)

Do toy company executives hate parents? Would it really kill them to package their toys in square boxes? These were the thoughts I was mulling as I wrapped gifts for two hours last night. I love buying my kids gifts, and I love watching them open them. Wrapping - not so much.

I detest the boxes that have three square sides, but the fourth is - not. It’s especially frustrating when you know darn well the toy inside isn’t oddly shaped. Maybe the toy companies have a deal with the wrapping paper companies. Kickbacks on all the times you have to re-wrap because your measurements didn’t come out right?

One of the gifts I got Noah is a remote control flying saucer. The box is square on three sides, and slanted on the fourth. I got Josiah the same thing, only a different brand (so they look slightly different and there won’t be any, “No, that one’s mine!” fights). Same toy, same shape, and yet this one was packaged in a beautiful, perfectly square box. My husband walked into the room (He had been downstairs blissfully playing a computer game while I wrestled with scotch tape and ribbon.) and found me clutching this box with tears of joy running down my face. When he asked, “What on earth is wrong?”, I simply sobbed, “It’s square, it’s square!”

Then we have the hunting game for Jonathan that plugs into the VCR. It has three nicely square sides. The fourth is completely open. I suppose this is to give a better view of the toy inside, and therefore my assumption that it’s packaged that way to give moms fits is a little paranoid. I managed to get the thing wrapped, but when I picked it up to move it, I put my finger right through the paper on that fourth side. My Christmas cheer flew out the window as I muttered, “Son of a nutcracker!” a la Buddy in Elf.

I had just finished wrapping the last misshapen hulk of a present and belted out a rousing Hallelujah Chorus, when the phone rang. It was my friend calling to tell me about her day. Seems her car had caught fire on the side of the road and completely melted the engine and dashboard. (She had her three sons with her, but they all made it out safely.) She told me her story of the 911 operator who insisted on an exact street address in order to send the fire department, to which she replied, “I’m on the side of the road, in the middle nowhere, just tell them to drive down Graham Road until they see the flaming Suburban!”; and the oh-so-helpful gentleman who stopped and told her she should really get back in the car and turn the hazards on to prevent an accident (I’m not kidding); and the man driving the medical supply truck full of oxygen who parked right next to her vehicle to see if he could help, to which she said, “Well, you could move that van full of flammable material away from my burning car!” As I laughed with her until my sides hurt, I realized there are (many) worse things than wrapping asymmetrical boxes. We praised God that it had happened a few miles from home, and not the next day when they would have been driving over a mountain pass to Grandma’s house with no cell phone reception and a vehicle full of Christmas gifts. God is good.

Now if only my friend will call and remind me of this next year when I’m tackling the mountain of unwrapped gifts.

God. Infant - God. Heaven’s fairest child. Conceived by the union of divine grace with our disgrace. Sleep well.

Sleep well. Bask in the coolness of this night bright with diamonds. Sleep well, for the heat of anger simmers nearby. Enjoy the silence of the crib, for the noise of confusion rumbles in your future. Savor the sweet safety of my arms, for a day is soon coming when I cannot protect you.

Rest will, tiny hands. For though you belong to a king, you will touch no satin, own no gold. You will grasp no pen, guide no brush. No, your tiny hands are reserved for works more precious:

to touch a leper’s open wound,
to wipe a widow’s weary tear,
to claw the ground of Gethsemane.

Your hands, so tiny, so tender, so white - clutched tonight in an infant’s fist. They aren’t destined to hold a scepter nor wave from a palace balcony. They are reserved instead for a Roman spike that will staple them to a Roman cross.

Sleep deeply, tiny eyes. Sleep while you can. For soon the blurriness will clear and You will see the mess we have made of Your world.

You will see our nakedness, for we cannot hide.
You will see our selfishness, for we cannot give.
You will see our pain, for we cannot heal.

O eyes that will see hell’s darkest pit and witness her ugly prince…sleep, please sleep; sleep while You can.

Lay still, tiny mouth. Lay still mouth from which eternity will speak.

Tiny tongue that will soon summon the dead,

that will define grace,
that will silence our foolishness.

Rosebud lips - upon which ride a starborn kiss of forgiveness to those who believe in you, and of death to those who deny You - lay still.

And tiny feet cupped in the palm of my hand, rest. For many difficult steps lie ahead for You.

Do you taste the dust of the trails You will travel?
Do You feel the cold sea water upon which You will walk?
Do You wrench at the invasion of the nails You will bear?
Do You fear the steep descent down the spiral staircase into Satan’s domain?

Rest, tiny feet. Rest today so that tomorrow You might walk with power. Rest. For millions will follow in Your steps.

And little heart…holy heart…pumping the blood of life through the universe: How many times will we break You?

You’ll be torn by the thorns of our accusations.
You’ll be ravaged by the cancer of our sin.
You’ll be crushed under the weight of Your own sorrow.
And You’ll be pierced by the spear of our rejection.

Yet in that piercing, in that ultimate ripping of muscle and membrane, in that final rush of blood and water, You will find rest. Your hands will be freed. Your eyes will see justice. Your lips will smile, and Your feet will carry You home.

And there You’ll rest again - this time in the embrace of Your Father.

from God Came Near by Max Lucado

I found this Christmas meme at one of the other Carrie’s blogs, and decided to play along.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift bags, if at all possible. Wrapping gifts is my very least favorite part of Christmas. My mom gave me a wonderful gift by offering to do my wrapping this year. Yay!

2. Real or artificial tree? Artificial - prelit.

3. When do you put up the tree? The day after Thanksgiving.

4. When do you take the tree down? New Year’s Day.

5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, but only if it’s mixed half and half with Sprite.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Fresh ‘n’ Fancy Kit. It was a kit that allowed you to make your own makeup and perfume.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Yes, Kevin bought me one a few years ago. It goes under our tree.

8. Hardest person to buy for? My brother-in-law, George.

9. Easiest person to buy for? My dad.

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I can’t remember exactly what it was, but my Grammy went through a phase where she would give Amway products, like hand lotion. Usually, half-used.

11. Mail or email Christmas cards? Mail.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? White Christmas and Meet Me in St. Louis

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? When Kevin gets his Christmas bonus, which is Friday. Obviously, we’ll have to make other plans next year.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? No.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My dad’s Mincemeat Star cookies. Click on the recipes category on the sidebar, if you’re interested.

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Colored. We had white lights until last year, when the kids got mad at the fact that Mom had chosen white and they didn’t get a say in the matter. Now, we have colored.

17. Favorite Christmas song? “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Go to Mom and Dad’s - they’re only a half-hour away.

19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Yes.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Star.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning? Our parents usually let us open one on Christmas Eve, but the main presents were on Christmas morning, and that’s what we still do.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? The parking lot at Wal-mart. Oh, and the songs “Santa Baby” and “Feliz Navidad” played over and over and over on our local all-holiday-music-during-December station.

23. Do you decorate your tree in any specific theme or color? Nope.

24. What do/did you leave for Santa? We never did the Santa thing with our kids. We’re not fanatical about it - we watch The Santa Clause and all the other movies, like Rudolph, but the kids have always just thought of it as a fairy tale for Christmas time. They know who the real Saint Nicholas was, and how his love for Jesus prompted him to give gifts to the poor.

If you decide to play along, let me know!

The poster above is available at AllPosters.com.