In which these are my favourite posts of 2009

Taking some time to look back on my year has been good for me. (And it's made me understand why I'm rather tired.)

Why don't you do this, too? Go over your blog and choose your favourite posts of the year by month. Then come back and leave the link to it in the comments - I'd love to read them.

These weren't necessarily the most popular (who am I kidding? What's popular about a personal blog?) but they are the ones I look back and still love, the ones that were big ones to write or the ones that made me laugh.

January

In which listening is part of life together - and I'd rather do that - "I'm weary of your talking. I'm weary of your notes and your blogging. I'm weary of your opinions and your apologetics. I'm weary of your magazines and your radio shows. I'm weary of your services. I'm weary of your building programs and your worship extravaganzas. I'm weary of your books."

February

In which I am tired of poor people - It's uncomfortable at times. After all, I just want to go to the Starbucks. I don't want to have to avert my eyes everytime I try to cross 6th Street, looking anywhere but at the man begging by the crosswalk.

March

(no blogging due to a fast during Lent.)

April

The start of my ongoing chat about "Can God Be Trusted?" (yes, still ongoing. I have about 7 more posts sitting in Draft form.)

In which I recall moonlit kisses - April nights in Tulsa more than ten years ago. Brian and I, slow dancing on the side of the road to an AM radio from his borrowed Chevy Blazer.

In which I wonder where my stitches at? - I feel connected by knitting. It's tactile and forces me to be present there in the moment. It's humble, repetitive, challenging and, most of all, meditative. It's been the easiest way I've found so far to be fully present.

May

In which I threaten a spanking - Okay, to be honest, the number one search that brings people to my blog is the word "spanking". (And if you knew all the weird searches with the word "spanking" in it, you would share my deep wonder of the human race.)

In which I tell a tale of housekeeping - Once upon a time...I was a good housekeeper. No, I take that back. I was an immaculate housekeeper.

June

In which I am bested by the crow - If you need a laugh (at my expense), this is the pick of the year.

In which it is Super Target vs. Me - Over the past few years, you know that I've been on a bit of a journey towards a simpler way of life.... Part of that has meant letting go of our western mindset that more is always better. And if it's on sale, even better.

July

In which love is here to stay - For all my fellow old married people, this is it.

In which I am learning to relax into this relationship - I'm trying to stop striving. You know, trying harder. Always trying harder. It's down right exhausting. I don't know if it's the older sibling thing, the Canadian-Scotch-Irish thing, the prairie kid thing or the evangelical Christian thing but sometimes it's hard to let go of my need to FIX IT and MAKE IT BETTER and EVERYTHING WORKS OUT AS LONG AS YOU TRY HARDER.

In which I wonder what comes first - When we were at our last church, we were hired through the usual process of resumes and interviews. Now? Not so sure.

In which we may end up with a deep freeze after all - Alternately titled, "In which we lay down vocational ministry."

August

In which I am not heavy - Another moment with my eldest, reminding me that I steward a gift that I don't own. It still makes me a bit weepy.

In which she went to Sunday School to pass out crayons - An old story about my mother's humility in her first steps along her journey.

September

In which we are building the walls with prayer - A holy night spent at the new Mercy house before renovation began.

In which I have some bad karma - The moral of the story? Never, ever laugh at another mother's story about poo.

In which I am still learning a new song - A vulnerable post about my weight that almost didn't get published.

In which he is called here too - This is not what he ever imagined himself doing. Especially not as he studied and trained, interned and worked for years in vocational ministry.

October

In which I am changing the world today - Probably my favourite post of the year, it's my ode to mothers everywhere.

In which I am learning to parent how God parents me - Do I want quaking instant obedience? Marionettes of fear? Or do I want their heart knit to mine, obedience out of love and understanding, a connection of joy and gentleness, self-control, kindness, wholeness and love?

November

In which it is time to face the truth - My baby sitter probably thinks I'm old.

In which we need to calm our hearts - The key to many things with my tinies.

December

In which I remember Chancellor Roberts - "Whatever you can say about his life - and much has been and will be said - he was obedient to what he believed God had told him. Even if it cost him dearly. Sometimes he was spectacularly wrong."

In which he might have come from Moose Jaw - I'm getting braver about sharing poetry.

In which I'm in the midst of an avalanche - I miss it, walk right by, disregard it when those prayers are answered.

In which I have a heritage of faith - About being a part of a real family.

The tinies' birthday video posts:

(It's 3 minutes of sweetness and whimsy that makes my uterus ache.)

1 year of Joseph Arthur

3 years of Anne Styles

I am working my way to a Thousand Gifts and I'm up to 223.


Thanks for walking through the year with me. I cherish your emails and comments. I look forward to another year with all of you.
Looking forward to reading your end-of-the-year posts as well.

In which these are my favourite books of 2009

I've got a post about my favourite posts of 2009 coming up in a day or two but in the meantime, here were my favourite books that I read this year.

(Sidenote: They weren't necessarily published this year but still. My list, my rules. In the nicest possible way.)

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller

Handmade Home and The Creative Family, both by Amanda Blake Soule

He Loves Me! Learning to Live in the Father's Affection by Wayne Jacobsen

The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Samson

The Shipping News by Annie Proulx

A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from my Kitchen Table by Molly Wizenberg

Same Kind of Different As Me: A Modern Day Slave, An International Art Dealer and the Unlikely Woman Who Bound Them Together by Ron Hall and Denver Moore with Lynn Vincent

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Burrows

Loving our Kids on Purpose: Making a Heart-to-Heart Connection by Danny Silk

Now enjoy spending your Christmas money!

Edited to Add: What do you think should be on my reading list in 2010?

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts, a Christmas edition (166-223)

166. Christmas preparations as a joy instead of a chore.

167. The smells of baking.

168. Getting up early on Christmas Eve morning to run to the grocery store and finding it empty of shoppers so that I can wander aisles, alone, Starbucks in hand, enjoying myself immensely.

169. Waiting in line at the post office and hearing "Your children are the best behaved I've seen all day long!"

170. Then hearing, "Why don't you come up here to the front of the line? We've all been there with little kids. You probably need to get them home and none of us are in a rush." Then having an entire line of ten people wish us Merry Christmas.

171. Apple pie baking.

172. Tackling my first ever from-scratch cheesecake.

173. Deciding NOT to go to church on Christmas Eve.

174. And not feeling guilty about it.

175. Beautiful women of God, my mother and my sister, going through life with me.

176. A kiss by the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.

177. Remembering that it has been 10 years since we celebrated our first Christmas together.

178. He drove through a blizzard in the Dakotas in an old Chevy Lumina.

179. He still gives thanks for my Uncle Glen who pulled his own car out of the warm garage to pull Brian's non-block-heater-ed car in.

180. And then Uncle Glen barbequed him a steak. At 11 o'clock at night. In a blizzard.

181. He pulled into Calgary the next day, with an entire car full of presents.

182. It was our first Christmas Eve together. We've never been apart since.

183. Seeing that he is starting to get some grey hair at his temples.

184. A family Christmas Eve at my sister's house.

185. Seeing Mt. Baker rising in the distance, pink with the setting sun reflected on the snow.

186. How Joseph adores my mother.

187. Anne making up songs.

188. "Jingle bells! Jingle bells! We have presents and pie!"

189. Papa directing the band while she pirouettes.

190. A good supper of appys and dessert.

191. The fact that my sister and her husband did almost all of it.

192. Including cleaning up.

193. Opening the pressies from the Aunties on Christmas Eve.

194. My sister and I always opened our giftie from our Auntie on Christmas Eve.

195. So we've decreed it's a tradition. And our tinies open the gifts from their Aunties on that night.

196. Anne got her first Barbie. I'm not sure about Barbie anymore, despite my childhood-long love affair with her. But the look of joy on Annie's face, the look of joy on my face and my mother's and my sister's face put the concerns to bed.

197. Playing Barbies with my own daughter at last.

198. Opening Joseph's gift to discover Mr. Potato Head.

199. Realising that Aunties buy the coolest gifts ever.

200. The two hours of quiet I received the next few days, as they each played with their Auntie-toys.

201. Curling up to read a story about Christmas every Christmas Eve.

202. My husband and my mother, so alike.

203. The first Christmas morning with her really "getting" Santa.

204. Bedhead but beautiful.

205. Christmas jammies.

206. Packing up all of our gifts on Christmas Eve just to drive 10 minutes to Granny and Papa's house to all open pressies together.

207. The tradition of Adam making Christmas breakfast.

208. The fact that my sister calls his casserole "Slater Delight."

209. Addison's little toothies.

210. The way she eats her food, mouth wide like a bird.

211. Her weird laugh: Huh huh huh huh.

212. The hand knits under the tree for my babies.

213. Joseph's little gnome-hood for his new red sweater (made by moi).

214. Anne's heavy new sweater that was tossed aside because I still haven't sewn the buttons on it yet.

215. Gifts from the heart.

216. Like braided rugs and musicals, hockey tickets and books.

217. An afternoon at home, with napping tinies, to watch "Love Actually" together.

218. Phone calls with far away family.

219. The smell of sweet potato casserole and corn casserole baking.

220. A rested and quiet day without frenzy or noise.

221. Getting into our Christmas best together.

222. Anne's Christmas dress and Joseph's Christmas sweater, two beautiful healthy babies.

223. Driving to my mum and dad's house together.

224. Walking through a red front door to open arms and the smell of turkey.

225. Working in the kitchen with my mother and sister.

226. Anne and then Brian saying grace over the meal.

227. The men cleaning up while the women look after the babies and relax.

228. Changing into my jammie pants and ORU sweatshirt which I have had since 1996.

229. A beautifully arranged table of desserts.

230. Deciding to put the babies all to bed so we can stay and pray and play.
231. Christmas with family.
232. Every moment - from the noisy to the silent, the sacred to the mundane- and never losing sight of what it's really all about.

In which I have a heritage of faith

It is the evening of Christmas Day. The presents have been opened. Supper is over - what a supper! - and the kitchen is sparkling with the dishwasher doing overtime. The tinies are all snug in their Granny-and-Papa-Beds (Anne in the heritage room, Joseph in the crib downstairs, Addy in her pack-n-play in the spare room, Heidi the dog wanting somewhere to snuggle). We are all tired but happy.

My mum and dad are curled around each other in the chair-and-a-half. My sister is leaning back, her legs across her husband's lap. I am in the single chair with Brian at my feet, holding my socks in his hands.

We begin to share what we think about our past year, our struggles and our victories. We each tell of what we want for the year ahead: not resolutions, but heart-desires for our families, our children, our work, our marriages.

My parents read Scripture. The candles flicker and we sit in the glow of the Christmas tree lights to pray together. We pray for one another, placing our hands on each other, and even crying a bit. This is the best part of the day.

I hear Anne singing in her bed and go upstairs to tuck her back in. Afterwards, I stand at the top of the stairs, looking down at my family in the light of Christmas. I am rooted and grounded.

They are gathered together, a strong cord, holding me fast. They all anchor me, adore me, infuriate me, love me, encourage me, pray for me, laugh with me, hold me up and remind me who I really am.

They have all given me a lineage of faith, a tradition of love and grace, a rich heritage of quilted dreams and prayers that covers every cold and lonely spot.

I am blessed among women.

In which Apples to Apples never met this family

Have you heard of this game, Apples to Apples? I have had it since Texas when I used to play it with a rowdy group of high school girls that were in my life group. I have packed it around, move by move, because it is a lot of fun to play. (Just ignore the fact that Mensa picked it as a favourite.)

The gist of it is that one card is drawn (usually a descriptive word like "fantastic" or "fabulous" or "filthy") by the judge. Everyone else choose a card from their seven cards of nouns (words like "homework" and "Madonna" and "picking your nose") that they feel best describes that word. They pass the card to the judge. The judge evaluates them all - with the "help" of the entire cast bellowing out their reasons for choosing that word and why it is, in fact, the best word of them all. The judge then decides - completely arbitrarily - which of the words they feel is the best one to describe that word. The one they choose is the winner of that round. You play, taking turns as judge, until you reach either breaking point of laughter or the prescribed number of cards to win.

So we played last night. Which is newsworhty in itself. The only game we play as a family is Cribbage Death Match. Because my father despises board games. Like hates them with a grand, unrelenting passion. But we guilted and badgered him into it as only two daughters can, so by the time 9 o'clock in the evening on Christmas Day rolled around, he was perched in a chair, glowering at us over his 7 cards.

When the word "hopeless" came up, I was convinced I had the winner when I tossed in "social security" but I didn't know my audience. Adam had never heard much of the USA's retirement system and chose Brian's contribution of "Choir Boys". Evidently, neither one of them are a big fan of Glee.

For the word "heartless", my father laughed until he cried over my sister's assertion that "Roman Numerals" are the worst culprit. He gave her the win for on that one for sheer cheek, much to our consternation. Roman Numerals. Honestly.

And, no lie, I was the judge for the word "Mischievous" when this conversation ensued:

Me: The word is "mischievous."

Mandy: Here's the winner! Here you go. Think "leprechauns." I will win this one. They are sneaky little buggers. Nothing better in that stack than leprechauns.

Dad: Yeah. That's totally true. But you know the only thing more full of mischief than leprechauns?

Me: What?

Dad: Vampires.

All right then. Evidently, when we play this game, it's more Apples to Oranges.

In which we wish you a happy Christmas

I'll be up to my ears in excited tinies, baking, wrapping and general merriment But I couldn't forget to say Merry Christmas to all of you. I appreciate each of you so much - your wisdom, your insight, your "you, too? Me, too!", your laughter, your comments. I never would have thought I'd get to know so many people just by writing on a little corner of the Interwebs. I'm thankful for so much this Christmas but you are a part of that.

Happy Christmas!

In which I am singing Mary's song as Advent draws to a close

Mary's Song

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast

keep warm this small hot naked star

fallen to my arms. (Rest...

you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies

the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies

whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps

whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so slight it seems

no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps

to sprout a world. Charmed by doves' voices,

the whisper of straw, he dreams,

hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes,

he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,

all years. Older than eternity, now he

is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed

to my poor planet, caught

that I might be free, blind in my womb

to know my darkness ended,

brought to this birth for me to be new-born,

and for him to see me mended,

I must see him torn.

(by Luci Shaw, published in Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation.)

Have a blessed Christmas Eve. May your home be filled with love.

In which we do our Christmas baking

According to Anne....

It was officially time to make the Lemon Sugar Cookies with Icing with Mumma. We baked the cookies but then had to wait a whole DAY to ice them.

I emptied out most of the sprinkles in the first few cookies. Mum said I had to learn to pace myself a bit better. But it takes concentration, people. Cookies are serious business. Sprinkles are good, therefore, MORE sprinkles = BETTER.

Icing. Buttery, buttery icing. Oh, gracious. I ate too much of it.

Sloppy, sloppy icing. Sprinkles everywhere.

Have you ever put a 3-year-old in charge of sprinkles? This is what you end up with.

It's magic.

My little brother has to be in his play pen during such business. But I hate to be apart from Joey - even for icing and sprinkles. So Mum had to finish the icing off alone because I climbed into his play pen to "read" (recite from memory) a story to him.

And then Mum had to vacuum the kitchen floor for a while.

In which this is how we celebrate Christmas

Everything you (n)ever wanted to know about how we celebrate Christmas

(Completely and unceremoniously ripped-off of Megan who ripped it off from her lovely friend Missy's original post here.)

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?

Actually neither. I don't like either one. We introduced Anne to hot chocolate for the first time last night. We made a big production out of it, waiting until Joseph was down for the evening, stirring it up, adding chocolate chips and marshmallows. She had her first sip, flung her arms around Brian and said, sincerely, "Oh, Daddy! Thank you SO MUCH for this FAN-TAC-TIC hot choco-wat." And then I melted into a puddle on the floor.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?

This is the result of much hard bargaining (I am pro-Santa, Brian is anti-Santa). So the compromise is we "do" Santa but he only does a stocking. No writing letters, no endless lists of stuff they want. But we do the cookies and carrots out for Santa and Rudolph. And in the stocking, there is a note that says "Merry Christmas! I am giving presents because I love Jesus, too!" (Don't laugh. He drives a hard bargain.)

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white?

We are very opinionated about lights, I'm afraid. (Are you surprised? Evidently, we have opinions about EVERYTHING.) We love old-fashioned coloured lights. The uglier and less-matchy-match the better. We like homemade ornaments and mismatched colours. We like it to look like a family tree and not a decorator tree. I contemplate writing a poem entitled "Where Have All the Coloured Lights Gone?" but Bri thought it was a bit much.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?

Nope. There's enough kissing in this joint without encouraging it.

5. When do you put your decorations up?

Brian is American so he always likes to do it the day after American Thanksgiving. Which is amazingly early to me. But we usually do it and then I am so sick of them by December 26, that they are all back in the box in short order. This year, because of the move, we didn't get our tree up until the middle of December so it might actually make it a bit longer this year. We'll see.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish?

My mother's cabbage rolls are a big favourite. I also love dessert. Just being real here.

7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child?

Spending Christmas Eve at church, the candle light service and then spending the night in bed with my sister. We shared a room most of our childhood, until I was 12 or so. But we ALWAYS spent Christmas Eve, curled in bed together, whispering and "having a sleepover." (I mean, we even did it when we were in our twenties.) We would get up early, open our stockings quietly and then my parents would wake up for coffee and pressies.

When I was very young, my granny and grandpa would come over first thing in the morning to watch us open our gifts. I loved that too. (They would park outside in the cold at 5:30 in the morning, waiting for a light to go on. As soon as a light turned on, they'd rush out and ring the doorbell and bustle in. So my mother would run around, in the dark, threatening bodily harm if someone turned on a light before she'd brushed her teeth. Good times.)

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

I don't know that I ever really believed in it to the point that it was "real". I mean, we were allowed to imagine like crazy - fairies, mermaids, fantastical creatures of all sorts - so flying reindeer and Santa just fell in with that, I suppose. But I remember figuring it out when I was about 7. My mother was teaching me cursive writing which resulted in many hours at our formica kitchen table, copying her letters one after another (for all of you that compliment me on my script handwriting, this is the origin of it). So by Christmas morning, when "Santa" left me an art easel with "Merry Christmas, Sarah! Love Santa" on it, the gig was up. I knew that woman's handwriting pretty well by that point.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

Just one each. My tinies open their gifts from their Auntie and her tiny opens the gift from us. And Brian has carried on the tradition, always buying me jammies for Christmas Eve. (I have an unholy longing and adoration for jammies.)

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?

Open the box. This pole goes here, this pole goes there. Fluff the branches. String the lights. Plug them in. Realise they don't work. Unstring them. Drive to Canadian Tire. Buy more lights. Restring the lights. Then start hanging ornaments on the top of the tree. Most valuable/cherished at the top. Nothing on the bottom 60 cms of tree. Wrap a ribbon around it all. And finally, alternately years, Brian lifts a tiny to place the Ugly Angel with a Cracked Face at the very top.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it?

I love snow and enjoy a white Christmas. But then it can leave. Which is why I live in BC now and not in the prairies any longer.

12. Can you ice skate?

Oh, this is a sad one. I grew up skating and was a very good skater. We had a rink in our back yard like almost every kid in Regina in those days. (Dad just flooded the backyard and ta-da!) I took CanSkate and was a pretty good figure skater. I spent hours - HOURS! LITERALLY! - in my skates as a teenager at the lake and on dark rivers in the evenings. But this last winter, when we took Anne, I put on a pair of rented skates and I. Could. Not. Skate. I was horrified. I felt like Bambi out there. I need to re-learn it, evidently 8 years in the southern US has removed my skating sensibilities.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?

When I was 6, I wanted a Minnie Mouse nightie for Christmas. My mother looked and looked but couldn't find one. So she sewed it herself. She found a Minnie Mouse fabric, cut her out, sewed a beautiful yellow nightie with long sleeves and lace, right to the floor and then sewed Minnie right onto the front of it. I have never been quite so excited on a Christmas morning as I was that day when I opened it up. And when my Mum told me she had made it herself for me, I almost took flight. We still have it but it's in my mother's keepsake box.

14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you?

The celebration of Emmanuel, God with us. And being with my family.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?

My mother's butter tarts.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?

So many little ones like certain stories being told. Reading the Christmas story before opening gifts. Praying together on Christmas Eve. Washing dishes in the kitchen with my mother and sister after the feast. Tearing bread for the stuffing with my mother. The after-supper-clean-up complete, sitting down with coffee and pie to finally relax.

17. What tops your tree?

A rather ugly and cheap Wal-Mart angel with a cracked-and-glued-back-together face. We bought her our first Christmas that we were married and have now become rather attached to her. Anne dropped her two Christmases ago but I fixed her up in a jiffy with some crazy glue.

18. Which do you prefer giving or receiving?

GIVING.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song?

Traditionally, it's "O Holy Night." I never tire of it. But to be honest, I just adore "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey.

20. Candy Canes: Yuck or Yum?

I like them but when there is much finer fare at Christmas, I can't be bothered.

21 Favorite Christmas Show?

I love the oldies like the Rankin Bass ones and Charlie Brown. I also adore "Love Actually" for a modern Christmas tale.

22. Saddest Christmas Song?

I'm not good with sad Christmas songs. Even Christmas Shoes makes me roll my eyes, I'm afraid.

How is your Christmas-ing going so far?

In which He might have come from Moose Jaw

I like to think

I wouldn't have missed Jesus on earth.

That I wouldn't have been among the many

who saw a carpenter from Galilee

and dismissed him outright.

Callouses and a country accent,

the smell of labour and friends

that didn't belong anywhere

anyone really wanted to be.

I like to think

I wouldn't be so pompous.

So sure of myself that I,

the educated elite, after all,

wouldn't have said

"But have you heard his accent?

Can anything good

and wise come out of Nazareth?"

But

what if he was an auto mechanic

from Moose Jaw?

What if he was a waiter

from Peggy's Cove?

What if he was a chicken catcher

from Arkansas?

What if it was happening right now?

Would I recognise him?

Or would I only see

my own ideas

of what and how

He ought to be.

Am I recognising Him

at work,

alive

loving,

and being loved

now?

In which I'm in the midst of an avalanche

It's winter which means that it's pitch dark outside by suppertime. I'm looking out the window above my kitchen sink but all I see is my own tired reflection and a warmly lit room behind me.

The kitchen is a disaster after a day of Christmas baking and pot roast. When I take a step, I end up with crumbs stuck to my feet. The oldest has been feverish with strep throat and the youngest is determined to be everywhere he is not supposed to be. I chase everyone downstairs because the gift is to clean my kitchen up alone sometimes.

I'm humming quietly under my breath, working in the light of the Christmas tree and candles, straightening and picking up, cleaning and wiping, sweeping and setting to rights, restoring the home. I've spent the day doing laundry (there are few things I despise as much as the drudgery of laundry) and cooking. I've spent the day administering medicine and organising naps. I've tried to return important emails for my work because we need to fundraise but my head isn't there by this time of day, even though my heart is.

Sometimes I don't feel swept up in a grand love story. I feel like I am underestimated. I feel like all I do is pick up. The day feels long. I feel misunderstood. I play second fiddle.

I have prayed for the big words. For the best nouns to be at work in my life - words like peace and goodness and generosity and love and joy. And I have prayed that my life would be an expression of the best verbs - forgiving, loving, peace-giving, joyful living.

Then I miss it, walk right by, disregard it when those prayers are answered.

It's in the tiniest of moments, easy to miss like snowflakes.

But the moments are creating an avalanche.

I don't recognise that this -

the greatest act of service of my life,

this having and being a tightly knit family together -

is the biggest noun and

the biggest verb of my life so far.

In which this is some linky action

If you're snowed in, here are a few wanderings worth your time this weekend

I thought my fellow baby-wearing mamas out there would LOVE this video. (RSS subscribers, you'll likely have to click through to watch it...and it's worth it!)

• A beautiful and very real look at motherhood from Heather at the Extraordinary Ordinary. I love Heather's blog and often find something beautiful there. She really spoke to me on this one. Then that tiny boy, that little sleeping guy opened his big blue eyes and asked to eat with screeching sounds. And I loved him deeply despite my shaking and shivering. So I sat for the first time on the bed that was once ours and mine with this new baby on top of that macaroni shaped pillow thing that everyone said I needed to have. I struggled to get him all lined up and open mouthed to eat. I struggled. And I loved him enough to share something that was mine and ours and now his.
• The Big Picture is one of my consistently "OH MY WORD! THAT IS AMAZING!" stops on the Interwebs. They are doing an end of the year round up of the best photos of 2009. (Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 here.)
• If you aren't reading NieNie's blog, you should be. She was horrifically burned over most of her body about a year ago. Her journey "back" is inspiring and life-affirming, hard and beautiful. The Arizona Republic is doing a series on her and if you have an evening, curl up and read this. It'll make you so very thankful to be alive. And it's much better than another night spent watching reruns of The Office.
• Jordon Cooper has a timely and insightful look at the missional challenges of churches and advocates "slowing down the path to the pulpit". Given our experiences these past few years, I have to say I agree.
• And finally, "It really sank in with the Christmas story. The idea that God, if there is a force of Love and Logic in the universe, that it would seek to explain itself is amazing enough. That it would seek to explain itself and describe itself by becoming a child born in straw poverty, in shit and straw... a child ... I just thought: 'Wow!' Just the poetry... Unknowable love, unknowable power, describes itself as the most vulnerable. I was just sitting there, and it's not that it hadn't struck me before, but tears came down my face, and I saw the genius of this, utter genius of picking a particular point in time and deciding to turn on this." Bono (H/t to Dave Carrol at Big Ear...a fellow Canuckian.)

In which he knows he's not supposed to but does it anyway

This is my wee lad, Joseph. This video pretty much sums up his personality in 1 minute, 22 seconds perfectly. (And excuse my sing-song voice.)

Now you can see why I am defenseless against him. He would make anyone want another 8 babies. Listen to that laugh. Honestly. It's not fair.

(RSS Subscribers, you'll need to click through to the site to view this video, I believe. And it's worth it.)

In which I remember Chancellor Roberts

(Photo courtesy of Oral Roberts Ministries)

There has been an outpouring of love for Oral Roberts since his passing earlier today.

I went to Oral Roberts University in Tulsa. It's where I met Brian. We were deeply enmeshed in the culture of ORU, serving as RAs (both of us), chaplains (Brian), Head RA (me), Vice President of Student Services (Brian) among many other pursuits. We fell in love on that campus, made out in the baseball field after curfew and it was where I ran, to see my friends, when we got engaged when we had just turned 21(!). My best friends were there. My sister and I were roommates. I loved my girlfriends and my profs. I loved my studies and I loved my independence. I came into myself at ORU. It was the end of one chapter of my life and the opening of many new paths for me.

I've been conflicted about ORU, even during my time there. I hold no illusions. I wonder/ed about many aspects of it, not the least of which is the "bubble" that you live in there and the theology held by its more extreme staff and students. I was there during the Pastor Schuller years and at the height of the "Money cometh!" debacle. I cringed over the mismanagement of the university over the years.

But I love it. I love it because it is like family. And Oral is, in a way, like family.

Whatever you can say about his life - and much has been and will be said - he was obedient to what he believed God had told him. Even if it cost him dearly. Sometimes he was spectacularly wrong.

But here's the thing: he did it.

He couldn't conceive of mincing steps; he stepped out in faith with a leap and whoop, in front of millions. His vision for the City of Faith is one of the greatest visions from a Christian leader in the 20th century.

I loved Oral's bigness. There was nothing small about the man. He was huge - even his ears were enormous. His voice was big, his sermons were bigger. He boomed "Something GOOOOOOOD is going to happen to you!" and he'd swing his arm like a fighter going in for the uppercross. His faith was enormous and an easy target. When he experienced tragedy - within his family or through his decisions - it was on a grand scale. But when he experienced heights, joy and success, it was big.

In his later years, I remember hearing him preach that his one piece of advice was to "obey God." Whatever else you do, just obey God.

He had guts. He didn't live in a world of "cover-your-ass." He stuck his neck out.

In chapel, we were surrounded by words written on the walls. The words that Oral felt God speak to him about the founding of the university (most of us can still recite it):

"Raise up your students to hear My voice,

To go where My light is dim,

My voice is heard small,

And My healing power not known,

even to the uttermost bounds of the earth.

Their work will exceed yours

and in this, I am well pleased."

I am happy for Oral. I am happy that he is with his "darling wife, Evelyn" (as he never failed to refer to her) at last. I am happy that he is, I believe, resting in the arms of Jesus, hearing the words "Well done, my good and faithful servant." I am thankful he lived to see his university become strong again, headed towards a bright future. I am thankful for his every act of obedience, for starting ORU and reminding us every day that it was "forged in the fires of healing evangelism." For his leadership, his guts and his love. I am thankful for his three hour long sermons, right over lunchtime. I am thankful for his memoirs, his big ears, his "expect a miracle!" and "something good is going to happen to you"s. I am grateful for his life. His legacy lives on in millions of us, all over the world.

Also, I am grateful for how uncomfortable he makes me. For how he makes me wonder if my plans and dreams are too small, how he makes me wonder if I am putting God in a box, how he challenges me to open wide my expectations, my heart and my obedience to all that God is and has and does.

Expect a miracle.

In which my nouns and verbs need to announce Him

In the poem “Salutation,” which references Luke 1:39-45, Luci Shaw writes:

Framed in light,
Mary sings through the doorway.
Elizabeth’s six-month joy
jumps , a palpable greeting,
a hidden first encounter
between son and Son.

And my heart turns over
when I meet Jesus
in you.

I believe that the aspect of Christianity

that dazzles and amazes me most is

Emmanuel.

Emmanuel is a Hebrew word,

spoken by the prophet Isaiah among others,

that means literally

God with us.

This baffles me,

confuses me,

embraces me

and transforms me.

Never more than now during Advent.

The idea that God is among us is revolutionary to me.

As John 1:14 says, "The Word became flesh and blood,

and moved into the neighbourhood.

We saw the glory with our own eyes,

the one-of-a-kind glory,

like Father, like Son,

Generous inside and out,

true from start to finish."

I simply love this - my Jesus, my Word - for more reasons than I can share.

The news to me that God became human like me.

That Jesus is the point.

God became one of us and moved into our neighbourhood,

on our turf.

No longer far off (even though he was near),

no longer separate.

St. Augustine's familiar words hit the mark,

"For You have formed us for Yourself,

and our hearts are restless until we find rest in You."

The human race needs God, the Creator,

because it is built into the very core of

our nature to know Him intimately.

Without Him, we are incomplete,

empty, unfulfilled, restless,

all because we are living life contrary to the purpose

for which we were made. (Dr. Richard P. Bucher)

So there is the Christmas part of that:

the baby in the manager,

cold for the first time?

weeping?

hungry?

Just like a tired, cold or weeping humanity.

Eventually laughing,

joyful,

brilliant and

wise

like a laughing, joyful, brilliant and wise

humanity.

Suffering,

experiencing pain,

experiencing friendship.

The best and truest human.

I remember hearing once that Jesus was here

not only to save humanity but

to show us what it means to be truly human.

Because he was fully and completely human,

he is our perfect example of revolutionary humanity.

And then there is the other part of Emmanuel:

God is with us now.

Present in these "jars of clay", our bodies,

we carry the spark of the divine.

So that we are, as Christ-followers,

supposed to be the hands, feet, mouth and heart of Jesus on earth.

The Cradle

For us who have only known approximate fathers

and mothers manque, this child is a surprise:

a sudden coming true of all we hoped

might happen. Hoarded hopes fed by prophecies,

old sermons and song fragments, now cry

coo and gurgle in the cradle, a babbling

proto-language which as soon as it gets

a tongue (and we, of course, grow open ears)

will say the big nouns: joy, glory, peace;

and live the best verbs: love, forgive, save.

Along with the swaddling clothes the words are washed

of every soiling sentiment, scrubbed clean of

all failed promises, then hung in the world's

backyard dazzling white, billowing gospel.

Eugene H. Peterson

It really humbles me to realise

how little I let Jesus out.

And I don't mean "evangelising"

(what a horrid word)

or gravely confronting people to ask them

"if you died tonight, where would you end up?"

I mean,

my life

of verbs

and nouns

reflecting Jesus:

loving,

forgiving,

embracing,

welcoming.

Flinging wide open the doors of love to humanity.