Brave, Anyway

Tag: christmas

  • Quarantine Christmas

    Quarantine Christmas

    Nine months into quarantine. And it’s Christmas.

    Nine months into a pregnancy. The first Christmas.

    Men and women preparing for an event that should be filled only with joy, but that also includes days that are sometimes marred by confusion or frustration or trepidation. Hearts in people that love God, and yet are still in need of some assurances and motivation. Is how we’re feeling now maybe also how Mary and Joseph were sometimes feeling two thousand years ago?

    We know Mary sang with joy while pregnant but did she perhaps also worry and fret about her future? Especially when she first found herself pregnant and faced having to tell people, like her parents and her sort-of husband. Or when she had to embark on a long journey right at about the time she would be delivering her baby. Did she ever grieve because her life wasn’t exactly going the way she expected? Did she ever feel anxious about responsibilities she didn’t feel prepared for or expectations she wasn’t sure she could live up to? Did she ever cry in the dark and still of night because she was tired and overwhelmed?

    Each year I try to read The Nativity Story, developed from the screenplay of the 2006 movie. It helps me think of the Bible “characters” as real people, who had thoughts and feelings and reactions like all people do. Like all humans do. Like I do.

    These last few months I have found myself constantly trying to be a “together” Mom who cheerfully and competently manages work at home and school at home and church at home and literally everything at home. All while being stuck at home. All. The. Time.

    I have had all kinds of time to put into action plans that one year ago I was convinced would never work until I had more time and a different schedule. Things like getting up early to walk and stay healthy, cooking fancy things on weeknights, reading the dozens of books and devotionals that are stacked around this house, patiently helping with homework after researching and refreshing my knowledge on all subjects needed to pass fourth and tenth grades, and really dedicating quiet time to just writing and focusing on family and faith.

    As it turns out, when faced with all kinds of time at home I will embrace DoorDash and books no one reads in school. I will not walk or ride bikes if it’s even remotely chilly or hot. I will spend time stewing over the ridiculous racist, sexist, total-antithesis-of-Christian content “good” people like on social media instead of brushing up on the different layers of the earth and atmosphere. I will focus on what is not working or not fair, I will then not sleep well and then not get up early, and as a result I will find myself frustrated. All. The. Time.

    Was Mary this human? It doesn’t seem like it. I feel more like Zacharias’ kind of human – the guy who didn’t believe Gabriel’s news that he was about to father John the Baptist, so faced a punishment of not being able to speak for months and had to learn the hard way that he should have a little more faith.

    It’s Christmas, and I competed all the tasks I needed to and had time to spare. This season I got out cards, finished shopping early, read the book I like to focus on in this season, watched the cartoons and movies I always like to watch, found a new nativity set…and yet still things were off. So last week, I gave up logging on to Facebook thinking maybe I just needed to not be exposed to people for a while and focus on more positive things. That definitely helped, but still there was just a strangeness about this season. A disconnectedness.

    All because of stupid COVID and quarantine. I wanted to dress up and go to the Christmas Eve service. I wanted to see my parents and my sister and brother-in-law. I wanted to hold hands while we say Grace. But I wasn’t going to get anything I wanted.

    And then today, I opened a gift from Ella and the world righted itself as thankfulness rose up within me. She’d filled a mason jar with hand-written notes. Some are funny, some are encouraging, and some are things she’s thankful for. Written on the first one I drew out was You showed me God.

    I’m not sure exactly how I’ve accomplished that, particularly in the last nine months, but somehow she loves God even though I am a stuck-at-home mess of feelings and frustration. The answer is only by the grace of God.

    I’ve been the innkeeper this quarantine Christmas season – the one missing the opportunity as I was focused on all the wrong things and all that wasn’t going to be the same. Thankfully, I opened Ella’s gift in time to notice all that quarantine added to this Christmas. Because my family celebrated via FaceTime today, it was actually less chaotic as we all opened presents. We had to really listen and pay attention to one another, and we were really looking at each other instead of at all that was going on in a busy house. Toward the end I realized I should take a picture of all of us “together.” The first picture I took had two empty chairs, because 2020. But I continued to try to get shots at just the right time even though at times our phones and iPads were moving around like in The Blair Witch Project.

    On quarantine Christmas, our limited shopping ability (online shopping is just not as fun) resulted in several homemade gifts that we all laughed and cried over. On quarantine Christmas, my sister gave my daughters the most thoughtful little boxes which will help them focus in tough moments but that are also really a lesson on how to live and to learn to trust God. On quarantine Christmas, I noticed the looks of joy on all the faces of the people I love the most. On quarantine Christmas, we didn’t take pictures all sitting or standing in a certain spot and as a result I now have this picture of my Dad. On quarantine Christmas, I got my thankfulness back.

  • I Believe

    I Believe

    My youngest is eight years old and all throughout this season I’ve been a bit melancholy. I suspect this is the last Christmas where she’ll believe in Santa, and it makes me a little sad. I’m frankly surprised we made it to this age with that magic intact.

    In years ahead there will still be the shaking of packages throughout the season and Christmas mornings filled with anticipation, but it won’t be the same when there’s no one one remaining who believes. In some ways it will be better – I truly envy those of you posting pictures of fancy dinners with wine with your adult children. ONE DAY, I think, each time I see one of your photos, as I sip hot chocolate after a meal that included french fries.

    Earlier this month, I had a few long seconds of panic and thought this would end up being the year that the magic of Santa disappeared. Audrey came home from school and announced that not everyone in her class believes in Santa. My heart sank. I knew it was coming, and I really should have been prepared. But unprepared, and way outside of my comfort zone, I gave an answer that I had not thought about or considered all the positives and negatives of. I winged it, or whatever the right tense of winged is. (Wung it?)

    You know how not everyone believes in God? That Jews believe in God but not really Jesus and Muslims believe in a different god and some people don’t believe in any god? Not everyone believes in Santa. We believe in Santa and we believe in Jesus.

    And then I waited another very long few seconds while she considered my answer. “Oh. OK.” And then off she went on her hover-board.

    So simple, really. She just accepted my answer and moved on. For about a minute I thought I was Mom of the year. I had successfully avoided a Christmas season “what do you mean there’s no Santa?!” catastrophe, and I had answered her in a grown up way with grown up words. And then came the internal panic: What the hell did I just do? Why, why, why did I do that? Why would I compare Santa to Jesus and connect God and faith and Santa? Dumb, dumb, dumb. Once she loses faith in Santa then she might she lose faith in Jesus.

    THIS is why I am person who likes to be prepared and who likes to think about what she believes. I cannot handle all of the tragic possibilities of winging it. The reason I obsess about thinking about why I think something and what I should say about something is to avoid situations exactly like this. UGH.

    A full 24 hours passed before I realized that I once believed in Santa and Jesus, and I still believe in Jesus. And that’s true for millions of other people as well, so probably it’ll all be OK.

    At a craft fair at the start of this season, I picked up a sign that I love. It has Give Thanks on one side and Believe on the other, and it’s a perfect fit in our farmy antique-filled family room.

    I’ve stared at it many evenings this month thinking about what I actually believe about some things. What I actually believe is most important. How I show the girls what things are really important, and how I convey why I believe the way I do about everything from abortion to Noah’s flood and ark. Because I believe that one of my greatest responsibilities as a parent is to show them that I really think about what I believe and that they should, too. They need to think about what they see and experience and think and believe, and about the why – not just believe what I believe. And I want them to know that God, I believe, delights in us even when we have doubts and we’re not sure what we think, and He encourages our learning and our thought processes.

    Jesus said to doubting Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

    It doesn’t say Jesus was frustrated or exasperated or at the end of his rope with all of Thomas’ questions. It says he asked Thomas to touch Him, to seek the answers to his questions. Jesus wanted to help Thomas find the proof he needed.

    I believe in Christmas. And I believe in love. I believe that the story of Christmas is a story of a parent’s love, a spouse’s love, a family’s love, a neighbor’s love, and a child’s love.

    I believe in the magic of Santa and of elves, and of tooth fairies and of Easter bunnies. I believe they have made countless children smile over the centuries and I believe in and love the power of that.

    I believe in reciprocity. The world gives back what you put out there. The more you give, the more you will be given. You reap what you sow, which can be either ominous or glorious.

    I believe that when you don’t know what to do, the thing you should do above all is simply plant. Sow seeds. Positive seeds. And, I believe in what Elsa has to say on this topic: just do the next right thing.

    I believe our choices always reveal our priorities and our character.

    I believe in healing. The kind that comes in miraculous God-moments, the kind worked by doctors and caregivers, the kind that comes with time, the kind that comes with travel and in amusement parks where we just let ourselves have fun and relax, and the kind that comes while driving along country roads with the windows down and the radio on.

    I believe effort, not time, heals some, but not all, wounds. Those who have been wounded can choose help and choose healing, or they can choose to focus on pain or disappointment or self. Faith is what can heal all wounds.

    I believe words have power. It’s why I held a chubby little baby and whispered, “Audrey Grace is cancer free” thousands of times before it was actually true, it’s why I like to mention how smart or clever my girls are when I also comment on their appearance, and it’s why I keep journals – an outpouring of words reveals what I truly think in a way nothing else can.

    And I believe in the voice of music and art and doodles. Specifically that they can reveal to us and others what we think and what we believe and what’s important. I love that Ella’s go-to music isn’t something you’d hear a snippet of on TikTok, but it’s worship music. I love that Audrey’s journal and sketch pad are filled with heart doodles and words of affirmation.

    This morning I sat down at our desk to check all my notes for today and found a doodle Audrey left behind. It speaks volumes about what’s in that little 8-year old heart and mind, and it was like getting a Christmas card from heaven.

    I believe and am thankful that God is constantly and patiently working to reveal Himself to every doubting Thomas, that He’s constantly present in my daughter’s lives, and that He’s constantly maneuvering ways to calm the hearts and minds of Mommas like me who fret too much.

    This isn’t the last year for Santa or for Elf on the Shelf or for Jesus. Just because we all eventually learn that our parents buy all the Santa gifts doesn’t mean we don’t believe in Santa. We choose what we believe, about literally everything, whether we actively think about it or not. And this house believes.

  • Don’t Lose Your Wonder, Brave Girl

    Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and my children were nestled all snug in my bed while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. Well not sugar plums, likely Skittles. And not beds, but bed. But you get the idea.

    Two nights ago I was in the middle of my giant king-sized bed, snuggled between my two brave girls. During the daytime my bed can easily accommodate the three of us stretched out watching a movie, but on the rare nights we all fall asleep here together I somehow end up smooshed into a 5 inch space in the center while the two little people consume the remaining 75 inches of space.

    It. Was. Glorious.

    It was glorious because I was surrounded by the two most wonderful little humans I know. It was glorious because everyone was feeling snuggly. It was glorious because so close to Christmas the girls don’t argue about someone being in their space or staring at them or poking them – even teenagers don’t want to get ousted from the good list! And it was glorious because I was keenly aware that the days of all of us climbing into bed together are numbered and few. And with that realization came this question: how does one not lose the sense of holiday anticipation and wonder with all the growing up and with all the change?

    Last night, on Christmas Eve, we ended the day in our new jammies. It’s our tradition, and one of the few traditions we’ve maintained. I’ve been thinking a lot this weekend about all that’s changed in the last year and I realized that the biggest thing is not that the girls have parents who are divorced. The biggest change is one that every Mom faces over time. The Christmas Eve kid-chatter goes from what Santa might bring to how embarrassing Mom’s striped elf pajama pants are. Instead of putting together Barbie dream houses and pretend veterinary hospitals, Santa lays out an iPhone and Vans and purses.

    The biggest change is simple really – the girls are getting older. They’re growing up. And so Christmas isn’t the same as it’s always been.

    I’m a firm believer that one of the best things about Christmas is the traditions. But really Christmas is about both tradition and change. We celebrate Christmas because of change in one small family in Bethlehem: Mary found herself pregnant even though she was a virgin and Joseph found himself married to someone that he didn’t get pregnant. And throughout our lives now, more than 2,000 years later, Christmas is a benchmark by which to see change.

    We were all once a baby who looked at the lights and bulbs with wonder, we were all once a child who fell asleep wondering about Santa, we were all once a teenager wondering why we couldn’t just get our stuff and then talk to our friends all day, we were all once young adults sitting around the table wondering how to talk like and be real grown ups…and at some point we will all be matriarchs or patriarchs that wait with wonder to see the young people on Christmas Day.

    To fully understand and embrace all that is Christmas, we have to be open to change – all throughout our lives. We embrace a baby that was born to become a king and a savior, and we embrace Christmases and the different phases of our lives with the firm belief that there’s beauty in each one. That’s the only way we will hold on to our sense of wonder.

    So I will snuggle with my girls in the big bed along with a tray of pineapple cookies, a family tradition that’s at least over 45 years old. I will watch a Christmas cookie bake-off on the Food Network instead of White Christmas, which apparently has boys that are weird and music that is weird. I’ll wake up on Christmas morning and watch Ella smile just as big at a Merry Christmas text from a boy as she did for her new phone – I’ll even think I like that boy for making her smile. I’ll watch Audrey play more with her new device than with her LOL Surprise house, and I’ll be a little sad for a minute until I see the first text she sends, to me, reminding me to embrace the change and see the wonder: “I love you so much.”

    When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things, not the great occasions, give off the greatest glow of happiness. ~ Bob Hope

    Happy Christmas, everyone.

  • Embrace the Mess, Brave Girl

    I hate messes. I avoid them if at all possible.

    I like to walk on the beach, but I have a process for doing so because I don’t like wet sand that gets on clothes and between toes and then into a car that then needs to be vacuumed.

    I am not a great cook, but no matter what I do in the kitchen I wash my hands obsessively and clean up as I go because sticky fingers leave sticky spots on faucets and counters and handles.

    I embrace craft and slime projects, but keep stacks of boxes and cardboard and old towels to put on any surface that could potentially get glue or glitter or paint or detergent on it.

    I guess it’s probably more accurate to say that I do my best to proactively manage messes carefully.

    Today, I am waaaaaaaaay outside my comfort zone, embracing a mess that I willingly purchased. The girls picked a new Christmas tree this weekend and it’s one that looks like it’s covered in snow. If you are looking at the tree in just the right way and zoning out a bit, that beautiful snow against the lights can fill you with a serene feeling…until you start to notice that the snow that covers the branches is like beet juice that destroys all the other food on your Sunday dinner plate. That snow has gotten on the floor, which then got onto socks and onto paws, and then travelled throughout the whole house.

    I have fake snow everywhere.

    And just as I was seriously considering a complex narrative about why the tree won’t work for our house, I overheard an exchange that melted my heart. Audrey wanted to play outside and as I was standing on a ladder grumbling to myself about the snowy mess falling all over the place, I heard her ask her grandpa if he would take her outside. My first thought was I would need to take a break and take her out – it’s Sunday, one of Papa’s favorite days because it’s filled with sports. But before I could take one step down, I heard him say “Let me turn off football and we’ll go.”

    My girls are so blessed to be surrounded by people who will bend over backwards to prioritize them and who will embrace mess for them. Family and friends and helpers who I’ve watched time and time again drop everything to put a smile on their faces or to help me help them navigate something.

    The thing about divorce is that so many people are impacted. It’s not just the spouses and children. It’s the parents and siblings and friends and coworkers. It’s not just my girls who have spent the last year reeling from discoveries and facing a new norm – many of the people that the girls rely on for love and comfort and consistency and care have also been hurt deeply. The thing that makes me the second angriest about the selfishness that led to where we are today is thinking about all the tears shed by our parents and family, and my beloved friends.

    Recently someone asked me if I was going to have a divorce party, and I realized that I will never be friends with that person again. That person and I have absolutely nothing in common. Because anyone who can think about divorce as funny or freedom or positive when innocent children were impacted is not a person I can in any way relate to or even want to relate to. Divorce, even without children, is a tragedy. But in a divorce impacting children, the thing a good person would think about and focus on is the children.

    Hillary Clinton famously noted that it takes a village to raise kids. The village surrounding my girls is pretty fantastic. Truly wonderful people who are watchful of them and who just love on them and are present for them. People who recognize I might want to privately have a glass of champagne, but who would always be respectful and private about that because of my girls. Good humans. I appreciate them more than I can ever convey. And I learn from them all the time.

    It’s a fair statement that I am more-than-a-little obsessive compulsive and attached to order and neatness. And it’s also a fair statement that even at 45 years old – supposedly a real grown-up – I am still learning from my parents and my village.

    Which is precisely why I am embracing the fake snow that is literally everywhere.

    Mimicking Papa, let me just turn off my OCD and I’ll love it.