Come Be in the Manger with Me

I love this picture. I love all that it represents. I love how my daughter is always ready to play.

Right now I am in a season when life feels messy. I often feel like I am barely above water. I am not sinking, but the margins in my life have been shrinking. And when that happens, I want to clean my garage.

I know exactly what I am doing. I am trying to find some place in my life where I can have some control and feel like everything is all in its place.

The thing about life is that it is messy. It is unpredictable. It is always changing. For the past seven years, I have been discovering that I can find serenity in the mess. I don't have to become crazy trying to control it. That just makes me more crazy. I can have a garage that is messy or neat and still be okay inside my own skin.

On this particular day I eventually focused on getting down the Christmas decorations and loading a few boxes for the thrift store. Much more realistic and less exhausting.

And I loved how my daughter couldn't wait to pick up a broom and help us clean the garage in the midst of playing dress up. She had no concept that cleaning is not meant to be fun. She was thrilled to just be with us and share in the activity of the day with her family.

My daughter does not compartmentalize work and play. She hasn't learned to do that. She loves to clean, cook, fold laundry, and unload the dishwasher. All with my help of course. But she loves to do it because we are together. She is not on a time schedule. She is in no rush. Most of the world lives more like she does with a strong sense of community in the midst of every day tasks. I long to live more like that.

My daughter loves to play dress up, not because she is trying to make herself more beautiful to others, but because she loves to dress up. She loves to use her imagination. She loves to be creative. And she loves to invite you into her play times.

Just this evening she came to me and said, "Mommy, I made a manger. Come be in the manger with me." 

I said yes.

Her simple invitation helped me to stop and ponder God's invitation to come be with Me in the manger -- the dirty, messy, manger of my every day life. He doesn't ask me to clean it up first. But he's waiting for me to invite him in. He's the only one who can truly clean up the mess anyway. And that's what he longs to do.

Come be in the manger with Me.

Roses in December

Today I gathered around a table with women I dearly love. During the year we meet each week to study, to ponder and to help each other live out the teachings of Jesus. They are my "go to gals when life gets tough" as my North Carolinian friend puts it.

We are moms, singles, aunts, grandmas, and great grandmas. We come from different faith traditions. We love a good discussion. We like to use our minds as well as our hearts. We love to laugh. We love to welcome a newcomer.

Twice a year we gather to celebrate with feasting and gift giving.

The gifts we bring are simple but come from our hearts. Today, one brought a poem. Another a dramatic reading of a lost sheep and his shepherd. One shared a picture of her father who passed away this year. Another brought chocolate croissants.

And another gifted each of us with a fragrant rose and an herb bouquet from her winter garden.

Gifts of love. Gifts of friendship. Gifts to enjoy today.

The roses were fragrant and vibrant. I imagine it was a sacrifice to cut them from her garden at this time of year and share them with all of us. Yes, I live in a climate that has roses in the winter. But this will be the last of their blooms until spring. The roses must have looked stunning in her garden. But instead of keeping them for herself, she cut them and brought them to share.

My rose is in a vase on my dresser. I can smell its sweet scent as I write. It is with a deep appreciation that I enjoy its beauty because it came at a time when a garden rose is a rare gift.

I wonder how often I am given gifts but don't fully appreciate them because they seem common place or ordinary. And yet when given out of season or in a season of pain or grief, they become a lifeline. They become God's gifts of grace at just the right time.

My dad died on December 4, 2004. When we came home from the hospital after his passing, four long stemmed red roses sat in a vase on the kitchen table. My dad had given them to my mom just a few days before his tragic accident. There were four of us who entered the empty house. My mom, brother, husband and I. It was as if he was saying one last time to each of us, "I love you."

On the first anniversary of his death, I bought four roses to put in my home as a way to honor my dad. I now do that each year on December 4. I love that the red roses are part of my holiday tradition. They remind me to focus on what really matters during the holidays. I need that reminder as I can quickly feel overwhelmed by all I think I need to do. I need this reminder all year long!

I was given more than a rose today. I was given a gift of grace. 

For my dear friends who are in a season of waiting or grieving and who are struggling during the holidays, I pray that they too will receive the gift of a winter rose.  The gift of a hug, a phone call, a meal, a note, a prayer. Something that will remind them that they are loved.

Linking up with Tuesdays Unwrapped  

The Library

I love going to libraries. I love the rows of books. I love the quiet. I love how I can browse through cookbooks, novels, and paperbacks at my leisure. I love the smell of old wood desks and the echo of footsteps in libraries with grand ceilings and wood floors.

This week I was struck by how amazing it is to have access to public libraries. It is so easy to take for granted what I have always had available to me.

A few years ago I remember hearing about The Camel Library in Kenya. I remembered this story again this week and thought about the camel that carries books to villages in Kenya so that children can have access to them. What a creative and amazing idea. A public library that fits the cultural context in which it was born.

I had never thought about how the public library is a relatively new institution in America. My grandma grew up in the Los Angeles area when public libraries were just being established. Yes, our tax dollars at work. But it is a wonderful use of those dollars. I now live in a relatively small city with four public libraries. And I can get books sent from other libraries in my county to my home library. I have access to thousands and thousands of books!

One of my favorite books is Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson. I would encourage you to pick it up if you haven't read it. Mortenson writes about how he attempts to climb K2, the second highest mountain in the world, but never reaches the summit. After he and four other climbers complete a 75-hour life-saving rescue of a fifth climber, Mortenson takes a wrong turn on the trail and ends up in the small village of Korphe. Physically exhausted and ill, Mortenson was cared for by some of Korphe's residents while he recovers.

The scene that jumped out at me is when the author sees the children of Korphe gathered together every day to practice their lessons. They don't have a teacher or a school or books or pencils. But they are so thirsty to learn that they practice their arithmetic together by drawing with sticks in the ground. The book goes on to tell the story of how Mortenson fulfills his promise to build a school for the village.

I read the book when my son was starting first grade. I was struck by how I took for granted that my son had a school to attend. I am so thankful for my son's school -- for classrooms, books, pencils, pens, tables, chairs, art, science, music and so much more. And most of all for teachers! I have so many friends and family members who are teachers. Thank you for teaching our kids!

And this year, my son, who is now in third grade, has had to learn to live life with Tourette's at school. I am so thankful for all the support he has been given at school. He is in a community that wants to listen and learn about his needs. He feels safe and loved there. A gift beyond words.

The simple act of walking into the library caught my attention. I want to pay attention to the people and places that I take for granted. I want to say thank you.

Small Signs

I was surprised by my daily Advent reading for November 29 (yesterday) - Search Amid The Small by Henri Nouwen.  It seemed to echo my own thoughts from my blog and reminded me, once again, to look for the simple gifts and remember who gives them. No matter what your spiritual practices may be during the holiday season, I hope this will encourage you as it did me.

A reflection for Advent from Henry Nouwen:

Our salvation comes from something small, tender, and vulnerable, something hardly noticeable. God, who is the Creator of the Universe, comes to us in smallness, weakness, and hiddenness. I find this a hopeful message. Somehow, I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince me and others of God's saving power; but over and over again, I am reminded that spectacles, power plays, and big events are the ways of the world. Our temptation is to be distracted by them and made blind to the "shoot that shall sprout from the stump (Isaiah 11:1)." 

When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence -- the smile of a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures of love offered by friends -- I will always remain tempted to despair.

The small child of Bethlehem, the unknown man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the naked man on the cross, he asks for my full attention. The work of salvation takes place in the midst of a world that continues to shout, scream, and overwhelm us with its claims and promises. But the promise is hidden in the shoot that sprouts from the stump, a shoot that hardly anyone notices. 

Dear Jesus, I know that you can give me eyes to see the signs of your presence in the world, and I pray for this. But I also pray for faith in you for those times when I will not be able to see, to understand or feel your presence in my life. Grant me the courage to persevere and to hope in the unseen.

Sandy Shoes

My kids sandy water shoes are on the front step. They went tide pooling the day after Thanksgiving with our extended family and our international friend. I thought I should probably pick up the shoes today and put them away. But instead, the shoes caught my attention and reminded me of the past weekend and a gift I had been given.

I had not been feeling well on Friday so stayed home when everyone else went off to the beach. I love the beach. I love watching my kids tromp through the water. I love seeing the sun set over the Pacific. I love going to the tide pools in the winter when the high tide brings in all sorts of sea life. And last Friday was the lowest tide of the year. My husband sent me a picture via his phone of the octopus they got to see!

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself when I opened the picture on my phone. I imagined my daughter's face when she saw the octopus. And yet, I was savoring a quiet house and the time to rest on my bed and read a book -- one of my favorite things but something I rarely get to do these days. I have been trying to practice gratitude with the help of a group of women I meet with weekly. So I chose to enjoy the quiet and let the day move along instead of lingering on what I was missing.

When everyone arrived home, my two-and-half year old daughter bounded up into my arms and exclaimed, "Mommy! Mommy! I brought you a present. Seashells. Seashells for YOU!" What a gift! And then she was so excited to share about her adventures on the beach and about finding the octopus. "A BIG ONE!" She couldn't wait to share her joy and give me her gifts. Her heart was full because she got to share her joy with me.

I am so grateful for my sea shells.

Last night my kids had trouble going to bed. They both needed extra time with me at each of their bed times. I remember thinking how much I had to do before I went to bed. But I stopped and enjoyed the quiet moments to snuggle with them. I listened to their breathing get deeper and calmer as they drifted off to sleep. I soaked in the moments of being their mom.

I am so thankful that I get to be their mom.

Out of the blue one day, my son said, "I am so glad your my chosen mom." He knows he has a birth mom so he decided I needed a special name too. This spoke deep into my heart that day as I was feeling the residual effects of infertility. I didn't get to choose what age I would become a mom or how close in age my kids would be or what hospital they'd be born in or what month. Sometimes I get blindsided by women who talk about making a family as if it is like baking a cake. You just put in all the ingredients, set the magic timer, and everything comes out just as you planned. And then they get disappointed that they had to have a c-section or a different doctor or to use drugs. I guess I just don't get that emotion when you are holding a healthy, beautiful baby in your arms. So even today, I sometimes get hit by infertility after all these years. My son reminded me that I get to be his Chosen Mom. And even though it's not what I planned, that's a good thing -- for both of us!

My daughter's shell now rests on my windowsill. It's a reminder that I didn't get to go to the beach that day, but my daughter did and brought me back a gift. It also reminds me that as I enter into the Advent Season, I don't want to miss the real gifts because I am too busy getting things done or planning how things should go. Most of all I want to be awakened to God's presence in my life and his unexpected gifts.

I am grateful that I stopped and looked at sandy shoes today.

The Oboe's Song

I came across this rendition of Gabriel’s Oboe. Yo Yo Ma plays the cello. Amazing. And I have always loved the oboe. It's like sweet laughter. Yesterday, I just closed my eyes and let the music fill the room. 

You may wish to do the same. Listen before you read the post. Just pause for four minutes and enjoy. 

This piece moves me. It reaches deep into the soul. I am amazed by their artistry. I am inspired to find my own expression of creativity.

There is something that happens when I allow for creativity to flow into my life. I never realized it until I was walking through the grief of my dad's death. He was a man who loved to create but was hindered by a disease. He loved photography. He loved to cook. He would start with a recipe and then become inspired to add his own touches. He loved to write and often wrote for local political campaigns.  

For those who know me, you know that I love photography, to cook with a variety of exotic spices, and to write. It wasn't until my dad's memorial service that I realized that he and I shared so many creative outlets. I never saw it before because I didn't give my life any margins to be creative.  I was too busy being productive. I also couldn’t see my dad beyond his disease of addiction. I only saw the struggle and not the man behind the disease. I struggled to see his creative heart. 

My dad gave me my first camera. He taught me to cook my first meal by his side at the stove when I was in kindergarten. I felt so proud when we delivered it to the table together. He loved to share his writings and help me with my grammar. He was such a stickler thanks to his high school English teacher, Mr.Killion. 

As I grieved the loss of my dad, I found that when I allowed myself time to explore my creative outlets I was more able to feel a connection not only to my dad, but also to myself and to God. The God I worship, I believe, is a Creator God. He loves to create. I see that every time I look at a sunset – A new canvas of color every evening. I don't need to know how all the molecules collided to make it happen. I can just stand and gaze and enjoy its beauty. 

When I take time to be creative, I believe I become more connected to the God who created me. Maybe it's because when we create, it comes from our uniqueness. It reminds us that we are not a face in the crowd, but we are a beautiful child of God created in His image. 

Gabriel's Oboe touched my heart in a way that it reminded me of my life's journey.  For me, the cello is life as I move through its ups and downs. Life in all its emotions. Life in all its complexity. The oboe is those places along the way that surprise me with joy and punctuate the cello's notes. I now know that they do come and often when I least expect it. And finding creative expression is one way I can help my life hear the oboe's song.

Creativity can come from so many places. 

Experimenting with a new recipe 

Trying a new spice

Planting a vegetable garden, rose garden, or herb garden

Picking up a camera 

Making something out of Legos, wood, play dough or fabric 

Writing a poem 

Knitting a scarf 

Playing the guitar, piano, or recorder

Painting with oils, crayons, watercolors, or finger paints 

Learning a new sport

Dancing

Singing

The list is endless.

My children remind me that creativity and using our imagination is how we grow, celebrate, and discover who we are meant to be. Today, I need to remember that I don't have to master it. Just try it and enjoy the process of discovery. What do you enjoy? Add a comment and add to the list. Let's discover together.

Gratitude - Selah

To learn more about this series, please visit SELAH.

I bought fuji apples today. I buy apples twice a week. My kids love them. I love them. But today was different. I cut open my apple and found MITSU, the honey spot in a fuji apple. I just stared at it. My daughter had no idea why I was grinning. I said, "Mitsu! Mitsu in my apple. I can't believe it!"

For those who follow my blog, you know I wrote about mitsu a few days ago. I haven't seen it in an apple for years. I was so excited! Mitsu always reminds me of Japan.

Today, all these memories from Japan came rushing back to me. But the one that stood out was my first Sunday in Japan after arriving from the States. I was 23 years old. After attending the worship service at Sakai International Bible Chapel (a city outside of Osaka) where I would go every Sunday for next two years, the ladies gathered in the small kitchen to prepare green tea and snacks. Today was special because someone had brought a box of 16 big beautiful fuji apples each individually wrapped in a protective holder. One apple probably cost the equivalent of five U.S. dollars or more. (That was two decades ago!) It was November and the perfect time to celebrate the gift of these beautiful apples with everyone.

I was asked to help prepare the apples. When I cut the first one open, I noticed some darker color inside and began to remove it and then throw it in the wastebasket. All of a sudden, several women were talking in animated voices and telling me something in Japanese. I now know they were probably saying, "MITSU DESU!" One of the women then said in English, "This is apple's honey. It is the sweetest part! Don't put in gomi (garbage)."

I thought about this memory today. It was my first taste of culture shock with many more to come over the next four years I lived in Japan. But what struck me today as I remembered that event was how I didn't recognize the mitsu. I had to be in another culture to even discover that it existed and then recognize that it was the best part.

Yesterday, I wrote about waiting. About how I had to learn to live in gratitude while I waited. This memory in Japan is a picture to me of that journey. Sometimes I miss what is beautiful in my life because I can't see it. Sometimes I need to be shown where to look.

Gratitude is also a spiritual discipline. Some people write out a short gratitude list every evening. I don't do that, but I do like to write a list regularly in my journal. I do it because I find that gratitude helps me to live one day at a time. I can't be thankful for something tomorrow. It hasn't happened yet. I can only be grateful for what is here today.

Today I want to pause and really live in gratitude....For the things I can't buy or collect or obtain by my own effort. Today, the mitsu in my apple at lunch is at the top of my list. I may share my list tomorrow.

How do you practice gratitude?

(We just found our second mitsu of the day! So fun!)