New and Glorious Morn

December 27th. It’s six-thirty in the morning and we’re saying goodbye to our Calgary kids who came for a whirlwind week of Christmas chaos. Toddlers lacking in routine but rich in sugar. Sweet moments of opening gifts, playing with toys, cuddling up to read stories, laughing at their cute expressions. Biting our tongues over temper tantrums and whining and the house turned upside down. They’ve become reacquainted with cousins, aunts and uncles—and even a great-grandmother the little one had never met. They’ve been taken to church, to the playground, and around the block.

Now it’s time to say goodbye. We squeeze the stuffing out of them and send them on their way, grateful for good traveling weather and praying for safety.

I take my coffee into the living room and sit staring at the tree, only partially lit due to a failed string of lights since some time Christmas Eve. In the stillness, I reflect on our time together. What just happened here?

I’d entered into it determined not to entertain impossible expectations—or any expectations at all. A group photo would have been nice, since it was our first time together in two years. But I knew better than to bank on it. We managed to collect all thirteen of us under the same roof for only two hours, during which the little ones slept.

I’d asked God to help me adopt a servant’s heart, to gladly make each day as good, each meal as tasty, each bed as comfortable, each event as convenient for others as it lay within me to do. How did I do, God?

He doesn’t answer.

All I know for sure is I’m exhausted. I drift off for a bit, wondering how to spend this day. Should I kick it into high gear, restore the house to order? Or should I lie around watching Christmas movies in my pajamas, polishing off the egg nog, fudge, and Chex mix? I could take advantage of the quiet, buckle down at my computer and hammer out some new columns or maybe even the first chapter of a new novel. Or perhaps I should give my sluggish ol’ body a head-start on 2020 by going for a brisk walk and drinking a gallon of water.

For now, I doze.

When I open my eyes again, the sun—which we have not seen for days—streams through my living room window. It laser-beams its radiance across the top of our mantle, brilliantly illuminating the nativity scene. In his creativity, kindness, and gentleness, God reminds me once again of what all the fuss was about. Or what it was supposed to be about.

In the end, I spend the day in moderation. Some laundry and puttering, a bit of writing, a short nap, a little fresh air and healthy food along with the leftover treats. My heart is at peace, because I know that whatever post-holiday feelings I might be sorting, the joys and disappointments, the not nearly enoughs and the much-too-much, God is always sufficient. The goals or dreams or worries I might have for the new year pale in light of the one true gift that is mine every day: God’s love, sent to us through a baby in a manger.

Humble Pie, Anyone?

Amid all the treats we’ve been eating too much of all month, I did not see a single offering of humble pie. It’s a dessert we find easy to refuse. Yet when I reflect on 2019, it seems God has been walking me through a season of humbling in big and little ways. How about you? Turning it down, apparently, is not an option.

Last year at this time, I really thought I’d have another book contract by now. After releasing my third novel in 2017, I naively thought of myself as having it made as an author. That although my publisher had discontinued its fiction line, another would eagerly snap up my new manuscripts as fast I could write them. But two years have passed. I’ve completed three more novels that, so far, no publisher is prepared to take a risk on. It’s humbling to know so many people write better than I can.

A misunderstanding with my agent reminded me that if she chose to, she could drop me from her client list today and fill the slot with any number of eager writers immediately. It’s humbling to be a small fish in a big sea.

Diminishing sales and no promise of another contract leave me wondering if I’m going to be looking for another “real” job. It’s humbling to know I don’t have the energy for that.

With joy, I retired from my city hall job at the end of March. While training my replacement, I told her to feel free to call or email me if she became stuck. It’s been nine months with not one call or email. City hall still stands and the world still turns. Go figure. It’s humbling to know I’m replaceable.

A conversation with one of my children left me feeling like a complete failure as a mother. Although I’m thankful this hasn’t happened yet, it’s humbling to realize my adult kids hold the power to cut me out of their lives should they so choose.

My body reminds me daily that it’s been performing for sixty years. Parts are wearing out. Hurting. Drooping. Clothes don’t fit right. Unless I plan to live for a hundred and twenty years, I can no longer consider myself middle-aged. It’s humbling—and scary—to grow old.

I continue to blow it with my spouse on a regular basis. Even after forty-two years, which tells me I will never get this right. It’s humbling to admit.

Can you relate to any of these? Being humbled does not feel good. I think that’s why God tells us to humble ourselves. (I Peter 5:6 says, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.”) Humbling yourself is far less—well, humiliating—than being humbled by circumstances or by other people.

Though it’s not enjoyable, humbling is good for us. Why? For one, it keeps us from the sin of pride. The wrong kind of pride can be deadly.

Secondly, being humbled teaches us to rely on God. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my writing career, my income, my agent, my family relationships, my health. I can do my best, but ultimately, I need to trust God with the outcome, lean hard on him and know he has my best interest at heart. He knows what is best for you, too.

And sometimes that best comes with a tasteless but healthy dose of humble pie—no ice cream on the side.

And the best dad award goes to...

Nearly every Christmas Eve, when we return home from the candlelight carol service at church, I pop in our DVD of the 2006 movie, The Nativity Story. Like any Hollywood production of a biblical story, this depiction of Christ’s birth comes with plenty for critics to hiss at in terms of accuracy. Probably the most glaring is the visit of the wisemen to the stable, arriving at the same time as the shepherds almost immediately after his birth. Historians know the visit came many months later.

It doesn’t bother me, because the key elements are all present (including Mary’s virginity and the angelic visits.) I love the music and wasn’t surprised to learn the score was made into an album and nominated for a Dove award. The way the wisemen are portrayed offers bits of comic relief. The plots of Herod and the Romans’ taxation practices give a glimpse into history and the oppression under which the Judeans lived. Elizabeth’s delivery of John the Baptist provides realistic insight into what life might have been like. The scenery, the costumes, the animals—all of it works together to bring you much more than your standard Sunday School lesson.

Though I know how it ends, I’m always brought to tears at the tender moment when Mary’s baby arrives and the expressions on his parents’ faces say it all. Which brings me to what I love best.

Instead of the impossibly sweet and serene Madonna usually portrayed when an actor is brave enough to tackle the role of Mary, we see someone more human. Keisha Castle-Hughes (a New Zealander who was sixteen at the time) played Mary as a headstrong, thoughtful adolescent transformed by an unimaginable responsibility. I think she demonstrates a beautiful balance of surrender to God’s plan, confident independence, and strength of character.

On the arduous journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, Mary comes to recognize and appreciate Joseph’s integrity—and therein lies my second-favorite thing. We know little from the Bible about Joseph, other than that he was a “devout man.” This rendition shows several examples of Joseph being generous, kind, and considerate. In her positive review of the movie, Ann Hornaday of The Washington Post concluded “…[perhaps] Jesus became Who He was not only because He was the Son of God, but because He was raised by a good man.”

Oscar Isaac as Joseph

The Bible tells us Joseph was a carpenter, and the assumption is Jesus learned this trade from him. My heart has a soft spot for carpenters because my grandfather was one. He always smelled of sawdust—one of the happiest smells I know, because it reminds me of him and because it generally means some sort of progress is in the works.

I wish we knew more about Joseph. Wouldn’t he be a huge encouragement to fathers? Think about the self-sacrifice involved in accepting as your own a child you did not father and then giving him all the love, protection, guidance, and care you’d give your own. Add the fact that this child was like no other before or since—the son of God himself. A little daunting, wouldn’t you say?

Watch the movie if you can. Reflect on the good example set by Joseph. And if you have men of real integrity in your life, men with servants’ hearts and courageous spirits, be grateful. Let them know they’re appreciated.

Merry Christmas!