Tag: Christmas

Ten Years Later #11: A String of Miracles

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

This is the last of the “Ten Years Later” series that I had intended to be a weekly feature in 2024. The year, as most are, was more than I had anticipated — more struggle, more loss, more healing, more restoration, more hope. This post, written and recorded in January 2023, sums up the vibe I want to carry into 2025 — the continuing hope that all things can be made new.

We purchased the gifts and wrapped them. We planned menus, purchased loads and loads of food, and baked ourselves silly. We cleaned the house and made all the beds, and then we waited.

As we sat on the coach, staring at Netflix, the texts started to come in.

“We’re checked in at the hotel! See you in the morning!”

“Our flight just landed!”

“We should be there in an hour!”

And then our family started rolling in — from Ohio, from Massachusetts, from Missouri.

We hugged, we laughed, and we ate.

We puzzled; we played games. We did crafts, watched movies, and traveled to celebrate with even more family.

It sounds like what most families do over the holidays, but I suppose many families, like ours, can get together like this only because of a string of miracles — only because of choosing forgiveness, of going to therapy, and of healing and time and the stubborn belief that things get better.

Didn’t you, too, have the holiday where everyone was yelling at each another?

And the one where no one spoke a word?

And the one where everyone walked out of church sobbing?

And the one where some decided they just. couldn’t. do it — not this year.

And then there was the covid year (or years — who remembers?) where we packed presents into flat rate boxes and stood in line for hours at the post office, hoping our parcels would get there before Easter. The year (or was it two?) where we sat in Zoom rooms with family members, some of us trying not to hog the air time, others trying to endure those who were hogging the air time.

It seems after all those difficult years we might have stopped believing that we could once again be all in one space, laughing, eating, agreeing on what to watch, moving upstairs to open the gifts, and leaning together over a puzzle, snacking on chips and rock candy and cookies.

But we didn’t stop believing — really — did we?

Didn’t we keep hoping for the day when all the therapy would pay off? Didn’t we long for the moment when we all laughed at the same joke, all smiled at the same memory, all managed to load ourselves and our gifts and bags full of food into cars only to discover most of the way there that we had left the main dish warming in the oven and no one lost their shit but we rebounded easily, picking up take out on the way?

Didn’t we imagine it could happen? Didn’t we dream it?

And so I’m sitting here pinching myself, trying to believe that it actually happened. And someone in the Christmas 2022 group chat sends a text checking on someone else who left the festivities feeling subpar. Another sends a pic of a present that broke upon opening, and everyone laughs. More pics are shared, more laughter, and then a commitment to what we will do next year.

They want to do it again next year.

I need a moment to just take that in.

Every family relationship doesn’t get this gift, does it? We don’t all get the moments we prayed for.

Don’t we all have at least one relationship where we do all the initiating? where tender topics are avoided? where our hearts ache with disappointment at the end of each phone call? where we can’t shake the feeling of being unwanted?

In fact, I was sitting in therapy the very day that the last of our family left, on the come down, for sure, and all I managed was, “our Christmas was amazing, but this one relationship over here still sucks and that’s all I can think about.”

And over the hour of belaboring the one less-than-stellar relationship I have spent most of my life bemoaning, my therapist offered suggestions, role-playing, expectation-setting, and the like, and near the end of the session, I began to realize that the beauty we experienced with our family at Christmas didn’t come without the hard work of many — of all of us, really.

I can’t expect this other relationship to magically transform on its own. If I want something different, I’ll need to return — to my knees, to forgiveness, to therapy, to the stubborn belief that things can get better.

It’s risky — even just the hoping for change — because happy endings or even happy moments are not guaranteed. I might experience disappointment — again.

But I might risk hoping, and a series of miracles might just happen. We might laugh at the same joke or smile at the same memory. We might play a game together or lean toward each other over a puzzle. We might agree on a movie. We might enjoy a meal.

And it might be amazing.

Witnessing the string of miracles that led to an amazing Christmas has me thinking that I just might risk hoping again.

[He] is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of”

Ephesians 3:20

Last-minute Christmas Prep

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

You are all but ready for the holidays, but you’re starting to feel a little edgy because the gatherings are starting to happen? Me, too! Seeing all of our people can tricky — especially at the holidays.

It’s not because of the presents or the food or the clothing we choose to wear, it’s because of all the meaning we attach to the smallest of things. We come carrying the historical experiences we’ve had with each important person in our life, and our brains use some kind of warped algorithm to assign emotional value to every holiday interaction:

the language in that text,

the gesture she made when she said that thing about you know what,

the fact that she said nothing about you know what,

the size of the gift,

the absence of a gift,

the appropriateness of the gift,

the inappropriateness of the gift,

that phone call,

the lack of a phone call,

the food that was served,

the food that wasn’t served,

how much he ate,

how much he didn’t eat,

the church service,

the hymns we sang,

the hymns we didn’t sing,

the outfit they wore,

what they didn’t wear,

who showed up,

who didn’t show up…

It’s all laden with our individual and collective histories of hurt, joy, regret, longing, grief, love, loss, and all the other emotions that seem amplified around the holidays.

And why are they amplified? Maybe because holidays are times of expectation — we build them up to be the pinnacle of our human existence. When did you see your first holiday commercial or store display this year? When did you hear your first Christmas carol? When did you purchase your first Christmas present or attend your first holiday party?

For months we look forward to this season with expectation, creating scenarios in our minds, imagining who will be with us, how they will react to the gift that we bring, how we will embrace and enjoy one another’s company, and how perfect the experience will be. But when each of us arrives lugging our history and our expectation, there is bound to be disappointment.

I will be so busy tending to my historical hurt — the disappointment of Christmases past when I wasn’t with my father, the longing for the holidays my grandparents created, the belief that I didn’t fit in with my family — and trying to process my current reality — the work stresses, health issues, and dysfunction in relationships– that I don’t realize that you, too, are tending to your historical hurt and current reality, which may be very similar or very different from mine.

And, since my gaze is at least partially turned inward, I might say something that is less than thoughtful or even insensitive and you may feel hurt. And since it’s a holiday, you may contain your reaction to a mere shifting of your eyes, but I will see it, and, being focused on my own hurt, I won’t see that shift as you reacting to my insensitivity but will assign it some other type of meaning — I might assume the worst about you rather than taking accountability for my own actions.

And it doesn’t take many of these small interactions to lead to a tense and emotionally charged holiday gathering, even among the most civilized and emotionally evolved among us.

Before you know it, someone says, “What do you mean by that?” and storms away to a different room or out the front door. Or, they contain their hurt inside, plastering over it with a smile, but carrying the hurt to the car with them and taking it out to nurse and nurture in the privacy of their own home so that it can be brought back to the next holiday gathering. It’s not what we are hoping for, but it’s what we often do.

Hurt people hurt people, and if we are being honest, we are all hurting.

We are all longing for someone to say:

I’m really sorry about that thing that happened to you,

I didn’t mean what I said — I was angry when I said it,

I want to heal with you,

Will you forgive me?

Can we talk about it?

How can I help?

I’m proud of you,

I support you,

I love you.

We often approach holidays playing defense — putting up our guard, expecting the blows, preparing for the worst.

What if we tried a different way? What if we planned ahead and practiced checking in, listening, caring, and supporting? What if we processed our historical hurt through writing or therapy before we loaded up the car? What if we were vulnerable and admitted to a few at our gatherings, “I’m struggling. This season is hard. I’m sorry if I seem distracted.”

How might these little moves have a significant impact on our experience of the holidays?

And while we are at it, can we plan to overlook any insensitive comments someone else might make, any seemingly judgmental facial expressions, any downright rude comments? Can we chalk them up to the heightened emotions of the holidays and not give them too much weight? Can we decide in advance not to gather these infractions up in a bag to take home and examine under a microscope? Can we instead choose to sweep them up with the crumbs from the table and toss them in the trash, not because they are meaningless, but because we are not choosing to assign them any additional meaning?

Can we plan to check in with the oldest, the youngest, the quietest among us? Can we set out to embrace those we know are grieving? Can we provide space for those who need an ear? Can we offer to help? Can we turn our gaze away from ourselves?

Could we give that one extra gift?

…Love one another. (John 13:34)

What a Village!

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

About a month ago I wrote a post (linked here) about what a challenge 2024 has been — how personal and national events have left me feeling dumbfounded and scrambling to find glimmers of hope amidst the ordinary. Then, a little over a week ago, rather unintentionally, I invited you to tangibly produce evidence of that hope — and you did!

Facing the pronounced need of some of my students at the small Detroit charter school where I teach, I, with a few other colleagues, selected what ended up being twelve families and determined to furnish them with some kind of Christmas miracle. I knew our staff alone would not be able to supply what was needed, so I asked you to be a village for my students, and you circled up!

I posted my blog on a Friday, and by Sunday, Amazon packages from a high school classmate were sitting on my porch and a friend had sent me some funds to get the gift card fund started. And the packages kept coming! As I opened each box, I saw the faces of the villagers — a woman who was my camp counselor when I was a teen, a former co-worker, a few dear friends, the parents of a former student I taught in St. Louis, and a sister- and brother-in-law. I saw them coming together to encircle my students, and the image buoyed my spirits.

Any teacher will tell you that every day of teaching in December feels like a solid week. The students are tired of being in school, yet lessons still have to be taught and programs still need to run.

This past week was cram packed, and by the end, I had lost my sense of humor. It’s probably because I expect the same level of rigor on a Friday in December as I do on a Tuesday in October. After all, that rough draft won’t write itself and it’s due on Tuesday so that we have time for feedback and editing before the final drafts are dropped on Thursday.

I get myself so wound up that I forget — still, after decades in this game — that kids are kids are kids and the fact that the calendar says Friday just does something inside the brain. Make that a Friday in December and that “something” is x10.

Anyway, I made it through last week — preparing for and co-leading a two-hour professional development session, observing and coaching three teachers, and teaching two sections of senior English each day, and only lost my sense of humor on Friday.

When the final bell rang, I settled in to finish the grading for the week, to prepare for Monday’s class, and to straighten my room before leaving for the weekend. I’d been a little amped all day, almost resembling the butt-kicking, name-taking self of yesteryear, but as I moved through my tasks, my emotions started to right themselves, and then I noticed the total in my CashApp account. In addition to my blog post ask, I’d invited our teachers to pitch in to the fund for our kids, too. These particular villagers are boots on the ground day in and day out. They are weary, of course, but I watch them hug students, hold students accountable, feed students snacks that they paid for themselves, talk students down from their own high emotions, and even give them rides home, half of their own lunch, or even the literal coats off their own backs.

Still, I asked them to give more. And they did!

Several of our teachers adopted our homeless expectant mother, purchasing everything off her wish list — items such as a blanket, a towel, shoes, and underwear. Others sent the first few dollars of their paychecks straight to my CashApp so that our students will receive what they need.

Combining the gifts from the virtual village and the on-the-ground village along with some gift cards provided by our organization, twelve (yes, 12!) families would receive gift cards that they can use at their discretion to purchase food, gas, gifts, or necessities! Additionally our pantry is restocked with essentials (seen below) for students to use now or when needed.

My principal and I texted Saturday morning, finalizing plans for purchasing gift cards and other needed items for the fun week we have planned before the break, and then we both headed out shopping. When I arrived home on Saturday evening, I was very content with what we had accomplished, and then came Sunday.

Never underestimate the power of a Sunday morning.

My husband and I had arranged to meet friends for both breakfast and lunch — it’s the cram-packed holiday season after all — and at BOTH meals, members of my village pressed into my hands gift bags stuffed with MORE gift cards to distribute to my students.

I became overwhelmed.

The needs of my students on any given day can seem staggering, and in the bitter cold of December, they can seem impossible to meet — our students need coats and food and clothes and phone chargers and rides and deodorant and feminine supplies. They need patience and hugs and accountability and grace and correction and encouragement and attention.

One middle-aged teacher can feel all alone in the face of such need, but she is not alone.

She has a whole village — on the ground, of course, but also at a distance. She can see them showing up, and cheering, and bringing water bottles and blankets and snacks.

Just knowing they are there gives her what she needs to show up for another day. On a Monday. In December.

It may look like I’m surrounded, but I’m surrounded by you.” — Michael W. Smith, “Surrounded”

The Giving Season

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Since seven (yes, 7!) of our immediate family members have December birthdays, our “season” starts a little earlier than most. We have said for years that we start partying on Thanksgiving and finish on New Year’s Day. This year is no different. The birthday gifts are all but purchased, at least one package has been shipped, and our our living room is staged with “gifts in process” for both birthdays and Christmas so that we don’t miss anyone.

And each morning, I leave my comfortable home that is well-stocked with food, clothing, and this somewhat moderate collection of gifts, cross 28 miles of metro Detroit, pull into a disintegrating parking lot, enter the building, and prepare to meet the reality of the students that I serve.

Today’s reality came in the form of Kaden*, one of my seniors. I was in the gym when he entered from the bus, scowling.

“Good morning, Kaden. Everything ok?”

“I don’t know why we had school today. I almost froze to death.”

“Hey, come here a minute. You only have on a hoodie. Do you need a coat?”

“I mean, I have a coat,” his demeanor was shifting, “we just don’t have a washing machine right now, so I can’t wash it.”

“Ok, but we have coats. I can get you one this morning. Would you be good with that?”

“Yeah, that would be good. I would take a coat.”

Later in the day, I found him, we walked to our clothing closet, and he chose one of several new coats that remained from a large donation we received last year.

We have a fairly decent supply in that closet — coats, shirts, hats, and some miscellaneous toiletries and nonperishable food items — but it goes away quickly because our students are continuously in need of something.

Each day I am asked if I have something to eat — often by students I’ve never even had in class. I try to always say yes and walk students to my stash where they can select a granola bar, some trail mix, or a package of cheese crackers. Most teachers of teenagers probably have a similar routine.

I also get requests for deodorant, for socks, for cough drops, band aids, a toothbrush, or a safety pin — again pretty typical requests for teenagers, and fairly easy to accommodate. These small items solve in-the-moment problems for my students and allow them to get back to learning. I have a pretty healthy stash that many in my village help keep stocked, but when the holiday season comes around, the depth of my students’ need comes into sharp focus.

Before coming to this school, I’d never met families who simply “don’t do Christmas” but here I have met many students for whom December 25 is just another day because their families simply don’t have the financial capacity to purchase anything extra, let alone the privilege many of us have to line their living rooms with gifts, to create an elaborate feast, to deck the halls, and to gather with friends and family.

I have students who are housing insecure — one young woman whose mother died during Covid and who is currently carrying her possessions with her and bouncing between two places to “find a place to sleep”. I have students whose families bounce from apartment to apartment — one young man I spoke to yesterday said “we are definitely moving in a couple of weeks, but I don’t know where yet.” We have families who don’t have reliable transportation — who can’t join the basketball team because they don’t have a ride home after practice and have to take the school bus that leaves at 3:15. I have students who, in addition to coming to school, work to help their parents pay the bills. I have a senior whose very demeanor and aptitude scream “engineer” who is in the manager training program at McDonald’s. He often closes the store and does inventory or other related tasks that keep him up well into the night rendering him incapable of staying awake in school the next day. He’s working this hard, yet he is wearing the same worn clothes and shoes I’ve been seeing him wear since I’ve known him, which is most of high school.

Our students and their families are barely getting by. How in the world can they dream of doing anything for Christmas?

Yet these students keep showing up. They come to school, they log onto their school-issued chromebooks, they complete independent modules to earn their financial literacy credit, they come to my class, bend over their notebooks scrawling out the purpose and audience for their next essay, practice the nuance of Standard Academic English while teaching their middle-aged English teacher the current vernacular. They have big dreams — of being nurses and engineers and game designers and ultrasound technicians — and they need a whole village to rise up around them to give those dreams every chance at reality.

I’m part of their village, and I’m raising my voice to invite you to be part of their village with me.

School leaders have selected nine families who are in dire need of support this holiday season. Because it is already December 6, and we have to get items to our students before they leave for break on December 20, we won’t be filling traditional wish lists. Instead, we have set a goal of giving each of these 9 families one grocery gift card, one department store (Target or Kohl’s) gift card, and one gas gift card. Additionally, I have created an Amazon wish list of items that our students frequently request.

Joining this initiative may be a small part of your holiday giving, but it could make all the difference for a struggling family — it could help them put food in the fridge, buy some new jeans for a child, and put gas in their car so that they can visit a friend. It won’t change their whole world, but it might just change their opinion about the people in it.

All of us have many opportunities to give at Christmas. If caring for my students in Detroit is something you are interested in doing, I invite you to check out that Amazon wish list or to make a donation to our gift card initiative. To do that, you can send a check to Detroit Leadership Academy, 5845 Auburn Street, Detroit, MI 48228 or donate via CashApp.

so in Christ we …form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. 6 We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift … is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; 8 if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously. Romans 12: 5-8, selected portions

Christmas Cheer

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Like many of you, I’ve been checking off items on my to-do list as I prepare for Christmas. In fact, I’ve got multiple lists! We’ve still got a few gifts to purchase, some homemade gifts to finish, and some food to prepare before holiday gatherings. Each day, I complete a task or two and then revise my list, recalculating to make sure everything will be done “on time”.

And while I’m doing that, I’m insisting that my students attend to their own lists.Yes, we are still in school. Our last day is Thursday, December 22. Between now and then, my seniors will complete an essay, which many of them have not yet started. They’ll write a rough draft, participate in peer review, attend to revisions, and carefully proofread before submitting their final drafts. We’re on a tight schedule, but if we stick to our lists, they [and I] will complete everything right on time.

Sounds like no problem, but we’re all kind of over it, if I’m going to be honest — the getting up in the dark, traveling to school in the cold, filing into the building, taking our places, and trudging through the motions, day after day after day.

And, as though she had her finger on the ho-hum pulse of the collective arm of our community, our instructional coach created a spirit week for this of all weeks — the week that I’ve scheduled down to the minute with very little room for getting off task.

The announcement came on Friday at around 1:30. “Get excited, everyone! Next week is spirit week!”

Sigh.

Monday we’ll have a door decorating competition. Tuesday everyone will enjoy hot chocolate and cookies at lunch. Wednesday will be ugly sweater day, and Thursday, our last day at school before break, will be Holiday Cheer Day, where everyone is encouraged to wear Santa hats, jingle bells, or other holiday items.

My first response on Friday afternoon at 1:30pm, as I was wrapping up the week’s work and preparing for the final push, was a very Scrooge-y “Seriously? One more thing to cram into next week?” and “You really want me to take time out of class on Monday to decorate my classroom door? My students are writing a paper!?!?!”

Then I progressed to, “I don’t even have an ugly Christmas sweater!” and “I need to bring supplies to decorate my door?”

Didn’t she know about my lists and my strategy for getting each item ticked off before Christmas? How was I going to fit MORE to-dos onto my lists?

But this morning, my eyes are turned to our students.

This past week, as we have been preparing to write our personal essays, my students have been sharing scenes from their lives, letting me in just a bit, sharing a peek at the things that have shaped them.

Calvin’s* mother died in 2017, when he was just 13. He said it “messed me up”. He found comfort in eating and ballooned to over 300 pounds. But, last summer, an area gym offered free memberships to teens, so he joined. He and his sister, who he now lives with, stopped eating fast food and started cooking at home, and he has lost over 70 pounds. He wants to keep going; his goal is to look sharp for prom — one of the biggest days in the lives of our students.

Monette*, who started this school year pregnant but gave birth and then lost her young son a few days later, says she wants to write about this experience. She says holding her son was a moment she was proud, and losing him was the biggest hurt of her life.

Hope* engaged in an argument with someone on Twitter who claimed that Breonnna Taylor’s boyfriend was a drug dealer. She searched for evidence to disprove his theory and stayed at it until the original post was deleted.

Kevin’s* enlisting in the Army. He spent last summer training with his recruiters, cutting the weight he gained during Covid. He’s our valedictorian, and his ASVAB score qualifies him for just about any military training he chooses. He’s going through the steps now to ensure that he’ll start boot camp just a couple weeks after graduation.

These seniors of mine stand at the edge of adulthood, where the choices they are making have long-lasting impact. They are showing up each day, working hard, and looking forward to a not-too-distant future where they will be responsible for every aspect of their lives. It’s heavy, and I need to take a moment to acknowledge that.

The weight they are carrying goes beyond checking off items on their Christmas to-do list, beyond choosing which salad they will make for Christmas Eve, beyond what gift to purchase for a colleague. They are engaging with real adult stuff — health, loss, political engagement, and military service — when they have a few fleeting moments left to enjoy being kids.

What will it cost me to allow them a little bit of fun this week? a little bit of encouragement? A little reward for continuing to show up even when they are over it?

And won’t I enjoy it, too? Won’t it be fun seeing my seniors scrambling within the 10 minutes they have been allotted to decorate my classroom door, glancing over their shoulders at the classes across the hall to see what they are doing?

Won’t it be great to see our students sipping cocoa and dunking Christmas cookies?

Won’t it bring some laughs and joy to compare our ugly Christmas sweaters?

And won’t it lighten the mood to hear some jingle bells in the hallway?

Yes, of course, yes.

So, I dragged myself out today, found an ugly sweater that I will try to make uglier before Wednesday. I picked up some supplies for our door decorating contest, and while I was out I bought a chai latte to sip on as my attitude finished adjusting.

I checked some other items off my to-do list, too, and then reminded myself to relax. What gets done, gets done. Christmas is about more than my to-do list. It’s about seeing the people in front me, enjoying the time I have with them, and sharing the joy of a love that offers hope, restoration, and a future.

Once again, my instructional coach gave me just what I needed.

for unto [us] is born this day, a Savior”

Luke 2:11

*All names changed, of course.

The Wonder of Why

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

Each November my husband and I create a Google doc — a list of all the gifts we’d like to purchase in December. We’ve found this necessary because we have seven (yes, 7!) December birthdays in our immediate family. And all the birthday celebrating we do in December culminates, as you may know, in Christmas! For years we have spent Thanksgiving to New Year’s in a whirlwind of activity — purchasing, preparing, sending, and celebrating.

We can get so busy, so caught up in the details of all the festivities, that we can forget the why — the reason we celebrate.

We don’t often lose sight of why we celebrate the birthdays of our loved ones because they are (even if virtually) physically present in our lives, and even in the most difficult of years, we are thankful for that.

However, even with all the garland and bows and carols and gifts, or perhaps because of them, we can lose the wonder of why we are celebrating Christmas.

Why is it that most of the country — much of the world — stops what they are doing every year for at least a full day if not a full week or more? Why is it that retailers organize months’ worth of marketing, staging, and purchasing toward December? Why is it assumed that we will gather with family and friends, exchange gifts, and transform our homes for a month out of every year?

What could it be that aligns us all in a common activity, a common momentum, a common — dare I say — purpose?

It couldn’t be — could it? — the ages old myth-like tale of a woman, some angels, a donkey, a stable, and an infant? Is that story, which has been told and retold in various forms for generations, the why that propels us all toward a seemingly united series of activities — where we dress in red, light our trees, purchase stamps by the roll, bake dozens of sweets, and wrap our carefully chosen gifts in the wee hours of the night?

9,776 BEST Baby Jesus Manger IMAGES, STOCK PHOTOS & VECTORS | Adobe Stock
Source

Is it possible that a centuries old story, one that some of us believe and some of us don’t, has the power to draw our eyes, dictate our spending, and determine our social calendars for weeks at a time. Does that seem odd, especially right now when we have trouble agreeing on most everything? We can’t get on the same page about climate change, gun violence, or even a global pandemic, but we all seem to be willing to purchase an ugly sweater and wear it on a prescribed day.

We give lavishly during this season — to our friends, our coworkers, our families, and even those we do not know. We are generous, we spread good cheer, we even dare to hold on to hope. All of us!

Why?

Is it because a baby was born over two centuries ago?

How could one baby born in a manger change anything?

It makes no sense at all.

Omnipotent, omniscient, eternal God distills Himself into infant form, becomes human, and lives among us? How can one life — one perfect sinless life — atone for all the harm we have inflicted on one another?

It’s simple: He’s the answer to our why.

He’s the only One.

He’s the only One who can heal the sick with His touch, calm the sea with His breath, and save us all with His life.

He’s the only One who is with us in the busyness, in the shopping, in the decorating, in the frantic checking off of tasks. He’s with us — God with us — even when we have lost our recognition of the why.

He, my friends, the baby, Jesus, is the why.

The whole earth rejoices — stars appear, angels sing, kings trek across the land — at His birth. And we long, we groan, we wait for His return.

Because until His return, we will lose sight of the why again and again — we will turn to ourselves and strive to create a perfect Christmas, a perfect experience for our families, a perfect celebration of love.

We will get a glimpse, because He — Jesus — is God with us, but we will not yet fully see the joy, the unity, the peace that He will bring.

Yet, even now, from His fullness — the beautiful fullness embodied in that infant — we have all received grace upon grace. Grace for when we overlook him, for when we get caught up in task completion, for when we have forgotten, or for when we have refused to believe that He is indeed God with us — Emmanuel.

How do we adequately pause — rush to the manger, bow down, and acknowledge the one who makes all things new? We start now, in this moment, putting down our list, lifting our eyes, and adoring the infant born in a manger long ago.

We, like the shepherds, bend our knees. We, like the angels, declare His glory. We, like the kings, bring Him our finest gifts. We, like Mary, ponder this miracle in our hearts.

The God of the universe put on flesh — in the form of an infant — to be with us.

That is our why — that is the reason we celebrate Christmas.

O Come Let Us Adore Him.

Missing the Magical, Longing for the Actual, a re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

I wrote this piece last year, at the point of the pandemic when folks were just starting to get vaccinated, when we stayed far away from each other for Christmas. This year seems different. We still haven’t returned to the magic of large family gatherings like we had when I was a child, but many of us have been vaccinated and boosted. However, with Covid numbers zooming upward again, some are feeling a little unsteady, a little cautious, a little wary of getting together. Perhaps you were able to meet with those you love actually, and if you did, I hope it was magical. If not, I join you in longing for a time when we can meet with all of those we love.

Click the arrow to listen.

When I was a very little girl, Christmas was full and magical. It began with learning our parts for the Christmas Eve program at church. For weeks we would rehearse our lines, “and there were shepherds in the field keeping watch over their flocks by night,” and our songs, “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.”

Mrs. Hollenbeck would herd us into the sanctuary, organize us on the steps of the chancel, and direct us to speak more loudly, “so they could hear us in the back.”

Then, on Christmas Eve, donned in our Christmas best, hair combed and inspected by our mother, my brothers, sister, and I would pile into the car and head to the church.

The place would be crawling with people decked out in their finest — all the men in suits, the ladies with lipstick and stockings and heels. We children would be corralled in the basement, lined up, and given last minute instructions before processing up the stairs, into the sanctuary, and down the aisle to the front of the church. Our families beamed at us as we sang and told the Christmas story of stars and shepherds and sheep and a swaddled baby.

After every line had been said and “Silent Night” had been sung (with the last verse a cappella, of course) we would recess down the aisle to the back of the church where the ushers waited with brown lunch bags filled with roasted peanuts, a fresh Florida orange, and several pieces of candy.

Bundled up in our coats and hats and hugging our precious loot, we were transported home, where we were snuggled into our beds, said our prayers. and went to sleep in anticipation of more magic on Christmas morning.

When we woke, we would rush to the tree to find piles of presents, then before we knew it, we were dressed and loaded back into the car for the drive to my grandparents.

After an hour of watching the familiar landscape and ticking off all the familiar milestones, I would bolt from the back seat and run to the door where my grandpa was waiting with a huge smile and open arms. Right past him, in the kitchen, was my grandmother in a dress and heels, a Christmas apron tied around her waist. She was smiling, too, and ready for her hug, even if she had been up since before dawn making a Christmas feast and setting tables with linen, candles, china, and silver.

The food was the stuff of legends — roasted lamb, beef, ham, and/or turkey, homemade rolls, mashed potatoes with gravy, dressing, salads, and sides, all served family style and passed round the table from person to person. Just when you thought you couldn’t eat one more bite, grandma brought out pie and coffee, even though we’d been nibbling all day on sumptuous Christmas cookies that had been placed among the decorations throughout the house.

Full beyond full, we would roll into the living room and gather around the rotating tree that sat in a musical tree stand brought from Germany who knows when. More than 20 of us — the extended family and any additional guests that Grandpa had invited to join us for the day — received gifts selected individually and with care.

After all the packages were opened and all the paper tossed away, we children ran off to play in the basement, the men moved to the den to watch the football game, and the women assembled in the kitchen to pack up leftovers and tend to a mountain of dishes. Grandma would stand at the sink and wash, the rest stood close by, towels in hand, chatting as they wiped and carefully stacked each dish.

Then magically, just as the sun was starting to set and the kids were starting to bicker, the food would reappear again. Leftover potatoes were transformed into potato pancakes and drizzled with gravy. Meats would be warmed and salads set out, and we would eat — impossibly — again.

Then, full of food and joy and love, we would stand in line to each receive a signature grandpa handshake and loads and loads of hugs before we were piled once again into the car for the ride home. I remember pressing my cheek against the car window, gazing out at the stars, and feeling my dad reach his hand around the seat to pat me on the leg.

Of course, that was a million years ago, and certainly, not all of my Christmases since then have been so magical. Some have been disappointing like the time we excitedly drove from Missouri to Michigan for three family Christmases and then drove back, all five of us sick with the stomach flu. Others have been thick with the heartache of family brokenness — loved ones sitting in the same room unable or unwilling to speak to each other, leaving early or angry or both. In fact, even the Christmases at my grandparents’ house that I remember so fondly often ended with my dad carrying me to the car as I cried tears of fatigue and frustration.

This year, as our grown children are far-flung across the country and our parents are close enough to drive to but too dear to risk the chance of a Covid infection, we have made the choice to follow the CDC’s recommendation to not travel, to not visit, to stay at home, and stay safe.

We won’t have a Christmas Eve program at the church. We’ll stream a pre-recorded worship service on our television as we sit together on our couch. Sure, we might sing “Joy to the World,” but we won’t hear the voices of the family sitting behind us or stand in the sanctuary chatting and laughing afterward with our friends and their children who’ve all gathered for the annual celebration.

Our people will open the presents that have been delivered by the United States Postal Service in the safety of their own homes, not sitting near our tree. We’ll likely Zoom and chat for a while, but we won’t have hugs or secret handshakes or extra cups of coffee and pieces of pie. We won’t pile into the living room together to watch a movie, or hockey, or football. We won’t sit around a puzzle or pour over old pictures or play Scrabble or banana-grams or Uno.

Our little house by the river won’t be crowded by people piled on top of each other and taking turns with one little bathroom. We won’t share homemade cinnamon rolls or a roasted turkey (although you know I’m going to make one), and we won’t hear the laughter as our granddaughters run through our house in their flouncy nightgowns.

We won’t see our parents or our siblings or our nieces and nephews — we won’t get a classic photo on my mom’s couch or gather with my in-laws at a Bob Evans. I won’t hug my godmother and godfather; in fact, now that they are living in separate nursing homes, they won’t be able to hug one other either.

I know we’ve made the right choice, but as December 25th gets closer, I am feeling nostalgic and fighting melancholy. I so long to be with the people we love — to hear familiar voices, smell familiar smells — to share space and time with those we love the most, even if it’s not magical, or memorable, or perfect, or impressive.

But we can’t. Not this year.

So, I’m going to schedule some Zoom meetings, put a turkey in the oven, turn on some Christmas music, and start a new puzzle. It won’t be what I’m longing for, but it’ll have to do until it’s safe to travel the miles, to meet fact to face, to embrace one another, to share the couch and a meal and some laughs.

And once we do get to share physical space again, I think I am going to view it differently. I don’t think I’ll care if it’s magical; I think I’ll simply be grateful — so, so grateful — for our gathering to be actual.

May the Lord watch between us while we are apart from one another.

Genesis 31:49

Sumballo, a Re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 3 Comments

This post, written right after Christmas 2015, seems relevant today. As you gather all the pieces of your holiday celebration and ponder them in your heart, may God grant you the wisdom to see the big picture.

This morning, I opened my morning devotion from Beth Moore’s Whispers of Hope: 10 Weeks of Devotional Prayer and found this verse from Luke 2 — the Christmas story:

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Luke 2:19

When I’ve read this verse in the past, I’ve pictured Mary holding baby Jesus in her arms kind of shaking her head in disbelief; I’ve imagined her saying, “Well, you weren’t kidding, were you? You said I would conceive and bear and son, and here he is!” I’ve imagined pondered to mean “wondered in astonishment.” However, Beth Moore, a biblical scholar, corrects my image a bit; she says pondered is translated from the Greek word sumballo which means “taking many things, casting them together, and considering them as one”. These words make me picture tossing many snapshots onto a table, discovering connections between them, and finding the theme of the collection.

Among Mary’s photos I see — her pregnant body on a donkey on that long journey to Bethlehem, her downcast eyes in the moment when her parents discovered her ‘situation’, her peaceful resolve during tense conversations with Joseph, and her brow beaded with sweat during the labor and delivery amid the straw and dung. I see images of the first glance at her child, I hear the knock on the wall of the stable when the shepherds arrived, I smell the frankincense when she opens the gifts from foreign dignitaries.

When she pondered those moments “as one” what did they add up to for her?

I’m sitting here three days after Christmas in my little house by the river, and I, too, am taking a moment to ‘sumballo’. I’m looking back at the events of the last few weeks — the parties, the visits with family, the gift buying and giving, the hopes, the disappointments, the laughter, and the tears — and I’m casting them together as one.

In fact, this whole blog — every post on every day –has been an attempt to ‘sumballo’. Since I started writing in the summer of 2014, I have been looking back over sections of my life: I’ve been ‘casting them together’ and ‘considering them as one’.

Sometimes we are  tempted to look at isolated moments as defining moments — that time that you lied to a trusted a friend, the year that your parents were divorced, the semester that you failed a class, that car accident that nearly claimed your life, the winning football championship, the Homecoming coronation, the birth of a child. Certainly these moments shape us, but they do not define us — not in isolation. They only offer hints until we sumballo  — until we put these moments into perspective as parts of a whole.

If I am going to look at the fact that for the ten soldiering years of my life I was way too busy, and I often overlooked the emotional needs of my family, if I am going to acknowledge that this behavior was costly to my physical, spiritual, and emotional health and to the physical, spiritual, and emotional health of my family, I can’t view that time in isolation. If I am going to truly sumballo, I need to look at other seasons as well. I need to remember that I also stayed at home with my children for almost ten years — nurturing, hugging, reading, teaching, correcting, and guiding. I need to acknowledge that for the past five years I have been recovering from soldiering and learning a new way. Within each of these periods have been awesome moments  — young children singing happily in the car on a road trip, teenagers rolling on the floor with laughter, and young adults gathering for the holidays. However, each period has also had moments of devastation — betrayal, trauma, and disappointment. If we grasp onto any one moment and let it define us, we get a a distorted view. In order to see the clearest picture, we have to cast all of the moments together. We must consider them as one. Only then, can we discover a theme.

And what is that theme? Way back in my twenties when someone challenged me to write my testimony, I wrote that the theme of my life was “rescued by grace”. Even in those early years, I knew that God had been protecting me, walking with me, holding his cupped hands beneath me to carry me through. He was overlooking mistakes, forgiving wrongs, and allowing me second and third and fourth chances. When I was careless, he protected me. When I was selfish, He was benevolent. When I was hateful toward others, He poured love on me.

He rescued me with grace.

As I am approaching fifty, I look back at all the events of my life, and I ponder them all in my heart. Time and again I see my  failed attempts to do things on my own followed by God’s miraculous provision. I see God transforming my pain into compassion for others. I see my pride falling into humility. I see the love of God.

I wonder what Mary thought as she pondered ‘all these things’ in her heart.  She had to see God’s miraculous provision in a faithful husband, a place of shelter, and safety from Herod. She had to see God transforming her pain and embarrassment into compassion for others. She had to feel humbled in the presence of the Christ child. She had to see the love of God for herself and for all of humanity.

Despite our weaknesses, our poor choices, our sin — He loves us. He has seen every moment — every victory, every failure, every injury and every recovery. None of it has been a surprise to Him. He has gone before us, and He has held us in the palm of His hand. He has cast all the events of our lives together and saturated them with grace.

That is the message that I find when I sumballo.

Seeing The Gift

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

My Bible reading this morning was about Abraham and Isaac.  You know the one, they are walking together — father and son — with sticks and flame and knife toward Mount Moriah to make a sacrifice.  Isaac, though young, is pretty sharp.  “Hey, Dad, I noticed we don’t have an animal with us for the sacrifice.”  Abraham assures him that God will provide what is needed, knowing full-well that God has told him to sacrifice Isaac.

Can you imagine?  I don’t think we can.  Here we sit in the United States of America — the land of the free, the home of the brave, the place where parents give their children everything. Everything. I am not exempt from this.  I remember my mother telling me when I was younger, “If I had the money, I would buy you everything.”  And I knew she would.  Still one of her greatest joys is giving to her children and her grandchildren. Like mother, like daughter.  I love to give my children what they need and what they want.  I sometimes go overboard.  I sometimes lose track of what they need and what they want, and buy them things that I think they need or want, and even things that no one needs or wants.

So, can I imagine depriving them of something? Or, gasp, agreeing to sacrifice them? No.  Not at all.

But Abraham had heard from God, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and…offer him there as a burnt offering…”

Abraham “rose up early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac.”

Say what? 

Abraham had waited for this kid.  He and Sarah had Isaac in their old age.  They had longed for him.  Prayed for him.  And, finally, they had welcomed him.  And now Abraham was supposed to lay him on an altar, put a knife into him, and then burn him? 

Hebrews 11 says ” By faith, Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he … was in the act of offering up his only son…” when God said “Do not lay your hand on the boy…now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me” (Genesis 22).

He didn’t make him go through with it! He Himself provided a ram for Abraham,… and a Lamb for us.

If we picture ourselves placing our own children on an altar and raising the knife, we can see our eyes squeezed shut, the sweat beads forming on our brow, the sheer anguish, praying that God will provide.  What relief Abraham must have felt!  God had provided.  His only son didn’t have to become a sacrifice.

But His Only Son did.

And how do we celebrate this?  How do we mark the relief, the thankfulness that we feel when we realize that we have been rescued?

It’s hard to do this with integrity in a culture that hauls out Santa in October, pipes holiday muzak from every speaker, and pressures us to have the perfect gift for everyone on our list.  We are so bombarded by a consumer culture that we can’t even fathom giving up having a Christmas tree, let alone giving up a child.

That is, after all,  what Christmas celebrates.  The Child.  The Sacrifice.  The Gift.

I forget about that.  I am so consumed with finding the perfect gift for my kids, my spouse, my parents, that I forget about The Perfect Gift.  I online shop and run from store to store in order to find that special item, and I overlook The Special Item. Sure, I squeeze in Advent worship and Christmas Eve worship.  I sing “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” and “Joy to the World” but if I am going to be honest (and you know I am) I put my focus on the gifts instead of The Gift. 

But things are shifting over here in the little house by the river.  As I continue on the Minimalist Challenge, and trim out the unnecessary, I am finding it easier to see the things that really matter.  I am unwilling to forfeit my Bible, my journals, my laptop, or my family photos.  I am willing instead to get rid of old puzzles, dusty books, unworn clothing, an extra crockpot, an electric roaster, and a yoga mat that I never use anyway.  I am hoping that as I send more clutter out the door, I will be less distracted and more able to see all the blessings that The Gift has provided for me — not the things that I can pick up on clearance at Target, but the priceless gifts of family, health, love, faith, friendship…

I am learning a lot in this next chapter, guys.  I’ll add learning to my list of priceless gifts.

Titus 2:11-12

For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people.

 It teaches us to say “no” to ungodliness and worldly passions,

and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in this present age.

Don’t wait for Christmas, a Revisit

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Back in December 2014 when I first wrote this post, I was just starting to recognize how hard the holidays can be — how isolating, how anxiety-producing, how uncomfortable. I’ve always loved Christmas, but I’ve had a taste of how celebration can feel during a season of grief. I’ve begun to understand how difficult it can be to be with family and friends — even when you love them. And I’ve been learning a new way.

We spend a lot of time and money getting ready for the holidays. Over the last month many of us have attended parties, dinners, and gift exchanges with family, friends, and coworkers. We have cooked special foods, decorated our homes, and dressed in finery in order to celebrate.

We celebrate the love of family. We celebrate that we get time off from work. We celebrate our friendships. We celebrate the birth of a Savior.

We celebrate by eating, drinking, laughing, and sharing. We celebrate by giving and receiving gifts, by sending Christmas cards, by calling those we love, and by worshipping with our church families.

But there are many among us who just can’t celebrate. And they probably aren’t telling you about it. They may decline invitations, bow out early, or just refuse to answer your calls. It’s not that they don’t want to be there. They really do want to be there. They just can’t. 

It would be easy if they had a contagious disease, were recovering from surgery, or had a compromised immune system that prohibited them from joining in the festivities. Then you would understand. “Oh, too bad Bobby can’t be here, you know he just had that surgery, and he’s recovering in the hospital.” Everybody gets that. In fact, many of us would load up our gifts and drive over to the hospital to bring the celebration to Bobby because we love him and don’t want him to be left out.

But some people can’t celebrate and it’s because of something that you can’t see — something you may not understand.

Kay Warren, wife of well-known pastor, Rick Warren, who lost a son to suicide in 2013, recently posted on Facebook and then wrote in Christianity Today about the pain she has endured over the last two Christmases as well-meaning friends and acquaintances have sent Christmas cards filled with photos of smiling families and newsletters proclaiming all the good stuff that has happened for them over the year. She received these celebratory cards and letters and got angry. She couldn’t possibly celebrate. How could she, knowing that her son had taken his own life? Even if she believed that Jesus was born in a manger to save the world from their sins, even if she trusted Him and believed that He held her in the palm of His hand, she couldn’t possibly smile, or laugh, or rejoice.

She’s not alone, guys. While we deck the halls and kiss under the mistletoe, many around us can’t fathom the “oh what fun it is”. Not today. Not yesterday. Not Christmas Day.

They’ve lost a child. They are in the middle of a divorce. A loved one has cancer. They just lost their job and can’t pay the mortgage. Their father is on life-support. They have experienced pain that they can’t even talk about. And the idea of joining you or me in our merriment, knowing the pain that they know, is unconscionable. It just can’t be. 

So they stay home, miserably wishing they could be there, wishing they could celebrate, wishing they could be part of the joy. Angry that you can be. 

Moving forward, I’m going to spend less time and money getting ready for the holidays. I’m going to try to shift my focus to the here and now — to little moments that I can be with those I love —  in their tears,  in their laughter,  in their anger. And if we get glimpses of celebration, we will seize them — we won’t wait for Christmas.

And, if they happen to come at Christmas, well then, we’ll be all the merrier.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

Matthew 5:4