When the Body of Christ Works Together...

 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, 

but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.

 For we were all baptized by one Spirit 

so as to form one body

— whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—

and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.

 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

I Corinthians 12:12-14

Several months ago, while perusing Pinterest, I had a crazy idea. It's pure lunacy, really. So much room for error and/or failure. But, and this is unlike me, I decided to do it anyway.

I felt led to do a service project with the youth but something that would really require work of them. I know that 30 Hour Famines are popular, and the old raking the leaves thing is good, and canned food drives are always useful but in my personal experience, not much is really required of the kids. They don't do that much. And in a society where we're doing less and less, I wanted something that required work, effort, thought, and maybe even getting coaxed out of a comfort zone.

So I came up with a Santa Shop idea where we would make the gifts and sell them. Then, in a flash of divine intervention I changed it to Three Kings Gift Shop. After all, Santa's great but he wasn't at the manger (well, neither were the wisemen really but that's a whole other issue...). I suppose we could've gone St. Nicholas but I'm just now realizing that so oh, well! Anyway, I digress...

I spent hours combing Pinterest, reading directions, and carefully selecting gift ideas that fit a couple important criteria.
1) It had to be something people would actually want.
2) It had to be something we could make at minimal cost so I could keep our prices low.
3) It had to be something simple enough for even non-crafty people to make.

I found ten things which met those criteria. I put together a little catalogue and order forms. I ordered some literature from Samaritan's Purse and talked to the teens about raising money to purchase items that would go to people in third world countries. Items like goats, donkeys, honeybees, and fishing boats. Items that would profoundly change their lives, not just their day or week. Their lives. 

Then, I prayed. I prayed for moderate success because I was afraid of failure. Oh, ye of little faith. What if Peter or Paul had prayed for moderate success just in case they couldn't really lead all those people? What if Moses had only wanted moderate success? What if Abraham? Joshua? Gideon? Deborah?

And I think the teens only expected moderate success. They set a low goal for themselves of only $200. And for a minute there, it looked like that was going to be it. But then....

God didn't answer my prayer. He had His own agenda He was pushing and my potential for failure was not a deciding factor for Him. It never is.

The project exploded. We had over-whelming success. We raised $870, more than quadrupling our goal. I was humbled, the teens surprised, and the church family energized. God is good.

Then, I had to figure out how to make over 350 items. Egads. But this wasn't really my job. God had a plan. He'd had it worked out from the very beginning. All the way back to when He first planted this crazy idea in my brain and in my heart.

He planned on using this project to bring our church family together. You see, we've been hurting. It's a long story and quite ugly and this post is about celebration so I won't elaborate. It suffices to say, we've been hurting. We've been in need of something to make all of us feel connected and alive again. But I never imagined it would be this and that I would be part of it.

Last night 28 people, 14 adults and 14 kids (an all time high for youth attendance, actually) came together at house to make crafts. And it was busier than Santa's workshop. After several runs to houses for extra olive oil, after re-making several items because my measurements were off, after figuring out the best way to roll a square piece of paper into a cone, after deciding the perfect way to make a scarf for a snowman and turn a book into a tree...we had completed 5 projects and made well over 250 items. In just three hours. With no complaining and with lots of laughter.

And I noticed something. Everyone naturally found their place. Leaders took charge. Crafters used their experience and artistry to help others in this new area. People tried new things. Everyone pitched in. This is the Body of Christ in motion. Working as one. Glorifying God with our actions. So this is what Paul meant, this is what James wrote about. Faith in action, the Body together.

One boy collected a fistful of money to buy pizzas and breadsticks. A teenage girl prayed, one of my teens that always steps up to pray when everyone else feels tongue tied. She prayed for us, for our gifts, for the people we've loved and missed being able to come back and join us. She forgot to pray for the food, but ti didn't matter. God was there, He knew our thankfulness for His blessings. And this was the true breaking of bread...true communion, even if it was pizza and not a holy wafer.

I had set out to find a project that would bless other people, show the kids that they can make a difference, and help teach our youth how to work together with joyful spirits. But God had other plans. These things still happened but His plan was greater than mine, loftier than mine. He will bless the money we raised and the people whose lives it will help. But He blessed my life through this project and He blessed our humble, faithful church. He is truly the God who sees us, and He's been watching over us the whole time. And last night, He reached out and healed us. He was with us in the mess of olive oil on the counters, hot cocoa on the floor, and hot glue stuck on fingers. And that's what happens when the Body of Christ works together.

As the body without the spirit is dead, 

so faith without deeds is dead.

James 2:26

Chasing Joy

Psalm 100

A psalm. For giving grateful praise.

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

    come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

    It is he who made us, and we are his;

    we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

    and his courts with praise;

    give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

    his faithfulness continues through all generations.

My son thinks our dog is hilarious. Dayton's first true giggle was at Bode jumping around the yard and barking. And this Indian summer when we would walk around and around the pond, just to escape the claustrophobia of our house, we would watch Bode chase butterflies. I'd never actually seen a dog chase butterflies before but leave it to our dog to do it. And then Dayton wasn't the only one giggling. It was hilarious. Our enthusiastic border collie would bound and leap after the butterflies leading him on an erratic chase around the pond. But eventually Bode would lose sight of the butterfly...or interest. Something else interesting would catch his attention or it just wasn't that much fun anymore to chase something so elusive as a butterfly.

I chase joy in the same way. Around and around in circles, bounding and leaping with no methodology to straighten my course, no plan to ensure success. And always, inevitably, I lose interest. Something more interesting and easier to catch steals my attention. Or I just give up all together. It's too hard, this joy thing. It's a nice idea but it's just not me. I wasn't made that way. Some people just can't be joyous...or joyful...whichever.

But that just isn't so. It can't be so. 

First, because the Bible says otherwise. And second, because if that's true then I'm doomed. I'm stuck in my Eeyore to Tigger to Eeyore cycle of my own nature. 

A drama queen since birth, I see the world through a dramatic lens. Gloom! Doom! Stress! Worry! Anxiety!!

EVERYBODY PANIC!!!

But I'm the only one squawking. My mother once said my brother is a duck, the rain waters just roll off his feathers, it doesn't rattle him. I, however, am a trumpeter swan...graceful and peaceful when the weather's just right, but when the rain starts to fall it's time to panic. A swan having a cow. A lovely sight.

And while Christmas is supposed to be all peace on Earth, good will to men, and joy to the world...I'm over here wringing my hands and biting my fingernails. I'm a Scrooge in Nephew Fred's clothing. I seem to embrace Christmas but underneath I'm really fretting and fussing and bah-humbugging about plans and people and people who get in the way of my plans. My plans, my plans, my precious plans. Like Scrooge and his gold, no one better interfere with my plans. Or else the squawking begins. This is not joy. This is not Christmas.

I could list you a thousand reasons excuses for this irritating behavior. I could get all Dr.Phil on you and explain from a psychological point of view why Christmas is now wrapped up with anxiety, why my tinsel is perpetually in a tangle. But there's no real point in it. Talking about what's wrong, doesn't do one blessed thing to move toward what is right. Or perhaps more importantly...righteous. 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, 

by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, 

present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6

So recently convicted of this ridiculous, self-centered behavior I've started chasing joy again.. But not in an erratic chase of circles where I'll eventually just get bored or tired or both and give up. This time I have a plan. And I have some tools.

1) I'm reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. It's a book I've been avoiding for almost two years because I knew it would blast me from my comfort zone. And while I hate my comfort zone because it's stinks...I'm comfortable there. But I'm embracing the uncomfortable to move toward God and His joy.

2) I'm starting my own list of one thousand gifts. One thousand blessings from God, one thousand things I'm thankful for, one thousand things to celebrate. And the thing is...now that I've started counting, I see them everywhere. I would like to share this list on here because it may inspire somebody else, but I just can't commit to that. I don't have time to log into this blog as often as I'd like and I'm afraid that I will use that ask an excuse. Can't write in the blog, not worth writing down at all! (I know, because I did that before two years ago...)

3) Instead of asking God for things, even the right/rightoues things, I am choosing to only thank Him instead for the next two weeks. A friend of mine did this and she said it changed her life. I believe her. Because it's been a mere 24 hours and I already feel a change. I think this must be what detoxing feels like.

4) In a similar vein, when my instinct is to complain, grumble, nag, or otherwise squawk, I'm choosing to thank God for that very circumstance instead. This is hard but it is the very re-training and re-shaping that I need. It is taking every thought captive and making it submit. It is choosing to be thankful in all situations. Because the fact of the matter is, I am one of those people who will cry (ah-hem, flip my lid) over spilled milk. And that doesn't honor God, draw me nearer to God, or bringing me any closer to catching that butterfly.

5) Last, I have community and this means some accountability. I've always shied away from accountability because I like to hide. But I won't succeed and I'll never change unless I bare my soul and all my ugly and ask for some help. We are communal creatures, especially women, especially me. So here I am, ready to accept some love and help and prayers from my own community. And my community is pieced together through Facebook and emails and blogs and text and face-to-face friendships. This is community for a postmodern mom chasing joy.

And this time I'm not just chasing joy, but choosing joy. It goes hand in hand. When we choose joy, we catch it and then we give it away. I must choose to be thankful, to celebrate, to wear joy on my lips and harbor it in my heart. And then I will have caught it. It will be mine, no longer an elusive butterfly.

This blog started out being my journey towards a merry heart. And if you've followed me from the beginning, despite my long periods of silence, you know that I've wrestled with this. One minute I'm chasing the butterfly and the next I've seemingly given up and moved on with life. And I have no delusions of conquering this once and for all, I will always struggle. But this feels more like a real change. The real re-wiring of my heart that I have craved for so, so long. And what better time than Christmas?

I imagine that the shepherds, feeling a bit foolish, were chasing joy when they went from stable to stable in search of a babe in swaddling clothes. The wise men were chasing joy as they followed that mysterious star toward the child savior. Mary and Joseph must've been chasing joy as her belly grew swollen with the life of the King inside her. They couldn't have been the type to fuss and fret and squawk so they must've been chasing joy. Anna and Simeon caught their joy at the temple when Jesus came to be dedicated to God. Elizabeth and Zechaeriah caught their joy with the birth of their son, the prelude of the Messiah. These people didn't only chase joy but they chose it in their obedience. Joy is everywhere in the Christmas story, from the lips of Mary in her magnificat, to the returning of Zechariah's voice, to the alleulia of angels. Joy abounds at Christmas time.

And this Christmas, I am choosing joy.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, 

and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: 

and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, 

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you 

good tidings of great joy, 

which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day 

in the city of David a Saviour, 

which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; 

Ye shall find the babe 

wrapped in swaddling clothes, 

lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel 

a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, 

and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2:9-13

A Hallmark Christmas Lesson

I vowed I wouldn't start Christmas early this year. I'm one of those people that usually starts listening to Christmas music in October. I justify it by saying I need to get in the spirit to start crafting all those handmade gifts I talk about making. But the fact of the matter is, I just love it. I'm one of those people. But since this is Dayton's first Christmas I wanted him to get the full dose of it in December. I didn't want the experience muddled with it being all drawn out. As if a six month old has a clue anyway...

But Hallmark started showing their Christmas movies this weekend and I got sucked in. There was nothing else on TV worth watching. I can only watch so many episodes of the Food Networks' 'Chopped' or reruns of 'Everybody Loves Raymond'. So I succumbed to the Hallmark channel's cheesy Christmas movies.

And this got me thinking...why does Christmas seem to creep in earlier and earlier each year?

Many people say it's because it's so commercial. The stores can make an extra sale by plastering the word 'Christmas' on everything. When they trot out the holiday merchandise early and start those holiday sales people buy, to get it out of the way, to avoid the long lines, to avoid the hustle and hassle later.

But I don't think it's all commercialism. Maybe I'm a Linus in a Charlie Brown world, but I don't think this early Christmas creep is just to make money. It's not all aluminum Christmas trees and holiday parties.

I think we crave the feeling of Christmas. We love the twinkling lights and snow covered roof-tops and lopsided but happy snowmen out in the yard. Who doesn't look forward to delicious holiday cookies and steaming mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows bobbing like buoys? Every family has their own traditions and favorite movies. As a kid the Halsey family watched 'White Christmas' each and every year. I think my own family, the Berry family, will watch 'Muppets' Christmas Carol' every Christmas eve...and anxiously wait for all the cartoons to be on TV. There's a whole atmosphere of Christmas...rituals, traditions, that are familiar and homey and snug and warm.

Perhaps that's why I couldn't resist the Hallmark channel's Christmas movies. They have a particular gift for crafting Christmas. All of their movies take place in quaint towns full of quirky but lovable people. There's usually an old person who needs cheering up, or who cheers up a jaded young person. There's always a love story and a cute kid or two. The towns are all bedecked with wreaths and lights and snow always falls at just the right moment. And in the church there's always a Christmas pageant or a carol sing on Christmas eve. The Hallmark Christmas world is perfect. Just the right amount of greenery, mistletoe, cocoa, and carols. And we want that world...

Because that world isn't too busy for family and friends. That world seems so restful. The long lines and frazzled shoppers and exhausted salespeople don't exist in that world. Priorities are straight, or straightened, and there's something we crave in that.

I think this is the real reason Christmas sneaks in a little earlier each year. It's the whisper carried on the frosty winds...the whisper to come back to traditions of our youth...the whisper to cherish these fleeting moments...the whisper to savor...to worship the Savior.

Of course, the whisper gets covered up by the shouts of holiday deals and must-have toys and bargains and black Friday!!!!

An exclamation mark always overpowers an ellipses. The rush always overtakes a pause. But it's the pause we long for...and it's why we let Christmas come a little earlier every year. Because maybe this year, we'll get it right. We won't worry about that perfect gift or holiday dinner. It won't matter if we burn the cookies and all the gifts look like the dog wrapped them. Our holidays don't have to look like a Hallmark Christmas...it's the feeling we crave. The slowing down...the coming together...the worshiping on a holy night.

So, yes, I gave in when I said I wouldn't...I'm letting Christmas start early...this first weekend in November. I haven't started the music yet. We'll see how long I can delay that itch...but I won't apologize for letting Christmas come early in our house. I think maybe I need to let it in early because maybe I need that long to figure it out...not how to get have the perfect Christmas (thank you very much, Good Housekeeping)...but how to really have the right Christmas spirit in my heart and home.

Because Of The Baby

I haven't written in ages. Sometimes I lose my voice and it doesn't always mean that I can't talk. Sometimes I just can't write. I have nothing to say, or what I do have to say comes out all garbled. I promised myself I wouldn't clutter up this blog with meaningless chatter (do you really care what I had for breakfast this morning? Wildberry poptarts, if you do...and they're making me nauseous).

That being said, something profound should follow...right? Well, I got nothin'. But I have that urge in my heart to write again. To express, to communicate, to emote, to be heard, or at least put something out there in the world. Silence is golden sometimes, this is a hard lesson for a chatterbox like me. But there are times for sharing, too. Even if I'm not sure yet what it is I'll share.

Christmas is fast approaching. There's far too much on my to-do list. I don't see how it will possibly all get done. But it will. Presents will be wrapped, the tree will be decorated, I might even manage to make a few sweet treats. This is one of the miracles of Christmas--it somehow comes together with too little time. At least this year I'm determined to stay joyful. Mostly I meltdown around the holidays. But the baby has me focused this year on what matters. The baby has helped a lot in this area.

Truth be told, a lot of people in my life are angry about other people and other things that they can't control. I listen, I sympathize, sometimes I agree, sometimes I try to gently suggest something else. I used to get all whipped up into a frenzy, sometimes I still do, but I realized last week: I don't have the extra energy to spend on anger. It's a natural emotion, a reaction, and at times I find it downright biblical. But I can't stay in anger, it takes up far more energy than I have to spare. This is a huge lesson to learn for a girl who has wrestled with anger issues and bitterness. Frankly, it takes a lot less energy to just cry it out and move on...and even less energy to let it go. But it is draining to dwell in anger. The baby has brought this lesson to the forefront. I think I learned it a long time ago, but being pregnant has taught me to spend my energy wisely. This is how I realized that spending it on anger is a bad investment.

The same is true for worry. Yes, I get nervous every time I go to the doctor and they listen for that heartbeat. And when I sneeze and my entire abdomen seizes with violent pain, I get a little nervous. But I don't have the extra energy to spin my wheels in worry. This was a monumental lesson for a compulsive worrier. The baby has taught me so much and hasn't even take his or her first breath.

No wonder they say parenthood changes everything...

The real reason I started writing today is because my heart is feeling a little more heavy and a little less merry. My grandparents' health is failing, first one, then the other, then the other one again. It's hard on them, it's hard on we who love them. And sometimes I catch myself just whispering over and over again, hold on until Spring.

I never thought that they would live long enough to see me get married, let alone have a child. Especially when we discovered our infertility issues. As the baby seemed farther and farther away, it seemed more and more certain that I'd never even have one photo, one memory, of my beloved grandparents with my much longed-for child. But I worship the God of Impossibilities, and He made a miracle inside me. I have to trust His timing and His goodness. But it just seems like this winter is going to be so hard on these dear souls...Winter is always hard for old folks.

This is where all those lessons I've been learning, or realizing, because of the baby help me. I can't be angry with the diagnoses or changes. It won't change anything. I can't spin my wheels in worry. It won't help anything. There's nothing I can say now that I haven't said in the last five years (woulda, coulda, shoulda, what ifs and maybes). All I can do is trust in God, love them as hard as I can, and take care of this little budding life inside me.

Christmas celebrates the birth of a baby. Not just any baby, but a real miracle baby. The miracle baby that trumps all other miracle babies. God wrapped in flesh, God among us, God born in a barn (what were you born in a barn? well, it was good enough for our Lord and Savior). Christmas is a time of great celebration and joy because Christmas was Heaven reaching out to us. Four-hundred years of silence shattered with two babies--a prophet to prepare the way and the Messiah who would save us all. This is not a time for anger, for worry, or for senseless chatter. This is a time for gratitude and celebration. Exuberance.

This is the time to consider what a baby has taught us. Not just me and my baby. But the Baby. The Baby who would grow into the man who would change the world with His words and return us to God with His sacrifice. So many lessons can be taken from the manger, if we're only quiet and listen.

Humility. Gentleness. Simplicity.

Peace. 

And the angel said unto them, 

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

 "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Luke 2:10-14 

It Feels Like Christmas

A part of childhood we'll always remember

It is the summer of the soul in December

Yes, when you do your best for love it feels like Christmas

I realize Halloween is still 5 days away and that means Thanksgiving is a month away which means Christmas is two months away. That being said, I'm already in the Christmas spirit. It might've started when I first spied the Christmas fabric on display at Jo-Ann's. Or when I dragged Katie with me to buy some of said Christmas fabric at Jo-Ann's. This was in late August or early September. I can't remember exactly. I've been just itching for Christmas this year.

Which is unusual for me but not new. I used to love Christmas. I suppose all children do, despite the depressing existence of young boy Scrooge. What kid doesn't get ants in their pants for Santa Claus and presents and looking at Christmas lights? The coming of Christmas also meant the coming of my birthday. Born just two weeks before Christmas I would get birthday cake with a side of Christmas cookies. My mom was great at making birthdays special. She made Ace of Cakes style cakes before anyone had ever heard of Duff and his Baltimore bakery. We'd have a gaggle of little girls over for games and gifts and cake and cookies. And my excitement would only grow as Christmas drew ever nearer.

I remember decorating the Christmas tree and listening to Manheim Steamroller. One of our traditions was opening a new ornament the night we decorated the tree. Sometimes Mom hand-made our ornaments, other times they were store bought. She kept lists for both Adam and I so we'd know in the future who gave us particular ornaments and how old we were. It's those very same ornaments that hang on my Christmas tree now.

While we were away at school our house would change into a winter wonderland. A collection of Santa music boxes in display in the barristers, a Christmas village would appear complete with puffy angel hair snow, we'd each get our own little tree to decorate. Our collection of Christmas books would appear. My parents bought me a new The Night Before Christmas every year for my birthday; the one holiday birthday gift I'd tolerate. I now have those Santa music boxes and I pair them with my Night Before Christmas books. Memories re-gifted, in a way.

Some years I would get to arrange the nativity set. I couldn't understand why the donkey or sheep couldn't lay in the hay...in the loft. When the other, more sensible, people in my family tried to explain that a donkey or a sheep could not climb a ladder, I told them I didn't care. And the donkey, or the sheep, stayed in the loft, defying all reason.

There was magic in our holidays. Our basement functioned as a family room where we'd watch movies and play with toys. Every year, as a family, we'd watch White Christmas and when we'd come back upstairs to get ready for bed...it'd be snowing. My family, cute as we were, would sing together at Christmas eve services. The Virgin Mary Had a Baby Boy, Have a Super-Duper Christmas, and my favorite Do You Hear What I Hear? My mom was the night wind, I was the little lamb, my brother was the shepherd boy, and my dad, of course, was the mighty king. We were adorable.

We were always in the Christmas pageants. I was an angel one year, my brother was a prophet (Isaiah, I think). Church was a big part of our holidays. Services at our own church, at our grandparents' church, my great-uncle was a minister so some years we'd go to his church, too. There was always talk of Jesus and the manger, of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and wise men. Jesus was never lost in the tinsel and twinkle lights. Somehow He was infused into everything. The music, the traditions, the memories.

We'd have our own little family Christmas--Dad, Mom, Adam, and me--and then a day or so before Christmas we'd pile in our mini-van and go over the river and threw the woods, and we'd be comin' round the mountain, to grandmother's house. Adam and I were the only grandchildren, and let's face it, Christmas is much more fun with little ones, so we were a teensy bit...indulged...at the holidays. Grammy, PapPap, my aunt and uncles filled the living room with gifts. Literally. Every year the tide of gifts would get nearer and nearer to the dining room, encroaching on all the furniture, threatening to overtake the Christmas tree.

Of course, all of this changed rather drastically as my growing up crashed with my parents' divorce. I remember feeling as if the spell had been broken, no matter how hard we tried to paste it all back together. Some years were good, others were not. I wouldn't say I lost my excitement entirely...I just had a feeling of loss lingering in the background. I think this was inevitable and I think we all had a similar feeling.

Eventually Christmas became about keeping the peace and pleasing other people. The magic was lost and Jesus was somehow missing from the equation. I couldn't seem to find Him in the gifts or the tree or the cookies. But I eventually started my own traditions. There are certain books I try to read every year, The Birth by Gene Edwards for one. I like to read the Christmas scriptures, especially on Christmas eve as midnight approaches. Charlie Brown Christmas has become a family favorite--I'm Sally and Adam is Charlie, we call each other every year when it's on--and when Linus recites Luke 2, I find Him. He's there. He always was. He was in the magic, and He was there when the magic was broken.

He's there this year when the magic is stirring again.

Our first year of marriage felt a bit like this year. Curtis and I decided early on to do Christmas just us. I baked so many kinds of cookies and was excited to do the shopping. I decorated my own house for the very first time. We fought about the Christmas tree (the first one we bought fell over but magically none of my precious ornaments broke). I made a huge Christmas feast. It was everything a first Christmas should be.

Then the next couple years we rushed here and there to try to squeeze it all in and work around other people's plans. The magic left again like pulling Santa's beard off.

I'm not sure when, from where, or why the Christmas magic comes. I think it's about the spirit of a person, their attitude. When all I could think about is what used to be or what couldn't be anymore...there's no chance for magic to stir. When Christmas became about agendas and rushing and people-pleasing, there's no chance for the magic to stir. When Christmas becomes about getting what you want and holding your ground, there's no chance for the magic to stir.

But when Christmas is about joy, regardless of where you are or if the Christmas tree falls over, there's a chance. When Christmas is about celebration, simplicity, and relationships, there's a chance. When Christmas is really about Jesus, when He's not stuffed into a stocking buried beneath the presents and the angel hair snow, there's a chance.

I have no issues with mixing the secular with the religious at Christmas. What's wrong with sprinkling some reindeer feed on your yard after reading the Christmas story? What's wrong with writing letters to Santa, after thanking God for all that He's given us? What's wrong with believing in Father Christmas, as long as we truly believe, save our souls believe, in Jesus Christ? I think there's supposed to be whimsy, fantasy, and the whisper of magic on every winter wind. It's only when tradition overtakes meaning, when cash registers drown out the angel chorus, when hurrying rushes the Christmas story into a one-hour Christmas eve service, that the magic of the season is really lost. It's only when we lose Jesus that we really lose Christmas.

It's in the singing of a street corner choir

It's going home and getting warm by the fire

It's true, wherever you find love it feels like Christmas.

Ruffy Stockings

So this is the year of crafts for Christmas, I am determined. So whilst sitting on my rear and watching tv I decided to get started! I wanted to make stockings for Shiloh and Bode this year but I wasn't sure what pattern to use. My mom has a really cute scottie dog pattern she uses for dog stockings, I found a cute one that's shaped like a dog's leg and has a paw print on the bottom, or I was thinking of using a traditional stocking shape with paw print fabric.

Then, I had an amazing idea! At work I'm constantly doodling Shiloh and Bode faces for the kids. They love those guys. I thought to myself, why couldn't I make stockings shaped like their heads?? And when I didn't have a comeback for myself, I figured I would try it to see what happened. I have to say, they turned out super cute and it was so mind-numbingly easy I couldn't believe it.

First, I sketched the shape of their heads. Then I pinned it to a piece of felt--brown for Shiloh, dark gray for Bode--and cut around the pattern. Next, I had cut out a stripe for Shiloh--crooked just like his in real life. And I made a white patch by Bode's mouth which I added gray buttons to for his spots. I cut out 1 red tongue and 2 pink triangles for each dog. I found brownish black buttons for their noses, and big googly eyes. Using tacky glue I attached all the pieces.

As the faces I dried I set to work on the back. I cut the head pattern out on white felt and red snowflake fabric. I glued the felt piece and the snowflake piece together. I used the white felt to give the stocking some more strength.

I pinned the face to the back, trimmed off any uneven spots, and used white floss to blanket stitch the face to the back. When that was finished I used some velvet red ric-rac to make the hanger. I glued it to the back at the tips of the ears and used 2 white buttons to cover the raw edge.

All in all, I think the project took a little over 2 hours. Pretty easy and super cute! Compare to the pictures on the sidebar to see how much the stockings look like them! It was hard to get Bode's spotty white patch around his mouth just right but its pretty close. I'm so excited for Christmas to come and fill them with bones!

Changing of Seasons

I've never been an Autumn enthusiast. It may go back to this one time when I jumped in a pile of leaves and landed in a pile of dog poop. Totally traumatizing. But this year I've been downright anxious to be able to flip the calendar to September, thereby making summer officially over. I even changed my blog background early to ring in Autumn's approach. (Don't you just love the owl? I'm really digging this owl trend for Fall this year)

We've got a surprise pumpkin patch growing around our flagpole so I'm looking forward to carving pumpkins this year and roasting the seeds. I want to make some Thanksgiving decorations for the house. I'm so excited for apple cider and doughnuts. We have a bonfire planned for the youth group.

And I have to confess, I'm already preparing for Christmas. I know, I'm as bad as Wal-mart trotting out the Christmas things with the back-to-school supplies. But this year I am bound and determined to make some gifts. Last year I was full of plans and good intentions but very little materialized. By starting in September I should be able to get a few things completed at least. At the top of the list are stockings for Curtis, me, Shiloh, and Bode. I think Bode will enjoy Christmas and I want to have a special New Year's Celebration since we adopted him last New Year's. Last night I pulled out all of my Christmas fabric and anything else red or green. I envisioned turning it into all sorts of things--wreaths, stockings, yo-yos, garland, ornaments. I can't wait to get started. I'm sure I will share some of my crafting adventures on here!

I think this summer was hard for me. In fact, I know it was. Stress crept in from all sides and I'm very ready to put summer 2011 in the books. I love the changing of the seasons. Each new season with its change of shoes and coats invites a change of mind and perspective. As the temperatures cool and the scenery changes I'm invited to change, too. I don't have a favorite season, I love the beginning of them all and I find that I am always ready to see them end.

Perhaps this is true about the seasons of life, as well. It's exciting to begin a new stage of life, but the readiness to move on seems to come just as the change is necessary. I feel like I'm just here on the edge of a life change, fidgeting and jumping so ready for the next season of my life. But I can't rush that anymore than I can rush the coming of Fall or Winter. Each must come in its time.

But in the meanwhile I can celebrate the changing of leaves from green to reds and oranges. I can relish the dropping temperatures and strain my eyes for the glimpse of that first precious snowflake. I can drink up all the sounds, smells, and flavors of Autumn and the promises of Winter. And eventually my season will change, and oh, how thrilling it will be.