2012 Favorites

Happy last day of the year! I hope that you and yours enjoyed the holidays and will be able to eek out a few more days of extended pajama wearing and movie watching.

I’m a list junkie, a complete and total sucker for tabulations of the best books, movies, news stories, and beauty products. Don’t hate. It’s not easy to strike a proper balance between the meaningful and the superficial but I do my best.

So in the spirit of the year’s end and my love of lists, I give you a few of my own favorites from the year.

Favorite Movie(s)

{That I happened to watch in 2012. They probably released sooner…I’m just a bit behind.}

Bernie. People, I just watched this one and it is BRILLIANT. If you like quirky, dark-ish comedies and you hail from anywhere near or below the Mason-Dixon line, you will love this movie.

Wasteland. It’s a documentary about art, poverty, garbage and how they all come together in a way that is redemptive, inspiring, and heart-wrenching. I’ve watched it twice.

Queen of Versailles. Also a documentary but this one chronicles the rags-to-riches-turned-riches-to-rags story of an extremely wealthy family currently building the largest home in America. It’s riveting.

The Hunger Games. Though the cinematography made me a bit queasy, I felt the movie adaptation of the first book was really well-done. The Capital and its inhabitants were a marvel of make-up and costume genius.

Favorite Books

{Fiction} To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I’ve already read this book but my daughter and I went through it this summer and I fell in love all over again. It may be my favorite novel of all time.

{Fiction} The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I know everyone has already read this one but I’m late to the game. It took me a long time to get through it but it was worth the perseverance. It’s an epic, sweeping work that reads like a memoir of the various characters of the story. The writing is masterful and the historical backdrop is both tumultuous and tragic.

{Spiritual} The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. I think I read it twice this year. I echo the thoughts of many when I say that it’s one of the most spiritually influential books of my life, a book I will continue to read and digest for years to come.

Favorite Recipes

Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day. Obviously. If you’re sick of me talking about this bread, I’m sorry. It really is that good and that easy.

Pecan Pie Bars. I’m not even a mega fan of pecans but I nearly ate the whole pan of this stuff by myself. Here’s the recipe.

{via}

Favorite Beauty Stuff

The older I get, the more I have to splurge on foundation and concealer. Drug-store products still do the job with mascara, eye shadow, etc. but the ever-increasing lines, spots, and dryness are begging for products that do a bit more.

Clinique Even Better Foundation: Love. It lasts, isn’t cakey or heavy, and blends well.

Clinique Line Smoothing Concealer: Again, it blends well, stays put, and has a shimmery dewy-ness to it. I feel like it brightens up my tired eyes.

Revlon Grow Luscious Mascara: People, this mascara is AMAZING! And at $5 a tube, it’s a deal. Probably my favorite mascara ever. It doesn’t smudge, doesn’t clump, and makes your lashes long and lovely without looking spidery.

MAC lipstick: Twig

{via}

A friend of mine surprised me with a gift-wrapped tube of this fabulous, splurgy lipstick and I cried. Yes I did. I love surprises and I love lipstick and I cry easily so this really shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me well. She saw that I had pinned it on Pinterest and she bought me a tube! Anyway, about the lipstick…it’s the perfect color for everything. It’s pinky-brown and satiny, lovely alone or under gloss. I guard this lipstick with my life.

Favorite Internet Stuff

Spotify. My brother just introduced me to this. It’s sort of like Pandora but you can just type in songs or artists and listen to any of their songs. You can even make playlists. I don’t keep up with new music like I did in my younger years but I’m beginning to broaden my horizons a bit.

Pinterest. No explanation needed.

Favorite a la mode post

I’m often partial to different posts than the ones that get the most views but I thought it would be fun to search through my posts and see which one got the most views. And the winner is…

The Year of Simplicity: Decisions & School Daze

I chose to write about the ins and outs, pros and cons, good, bad, and ugly of our journey to place our kids in public school after years of homeschooling. Apparently it’s a relevant topic; all of my posts about school get the most views. And because it’s kind of therapeutic for me to share our story, you’ll likely keep reading about it in 2013.

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May we all be filled with gratitude for the momentous joys and everyday gifts of the past year. May we hold our past and current sorrows with acceptance and grace, and find continued comfort. May the year ahead be one of wisdom and grace, renewal and new favorites.

Happy 2013, friends!

{What are a few of your favorite things?}

December {week 3}: “Mindful of My Humble State”

{An edited and re-gifted re-post from December, 2010}

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Recently I was at a Christmas gathering and we were all asked this question: “If you could have coffee with any person in history, who would it be?” I couldn’t choose just one person but C.S. Lewis was certainly on the list. And Bono. After I thought more about it this morning, however, I decided on Mary.

I don’t know why we know so little about Mary. She is, after all, the one who birthed the Savior of the world.

How long was she in labor and how badly did it hurt? Did Jesus cry that robust, red-faced, newborn wail when He left the warmth and comfort of her womb? Who tended to her after the labor and delivery? There was no mention of a mid-wife and I can’t imagine that Joseph would have a clue. Did she doubt whether she’d really seen and heard the angel of the Lord? Did she wonder if she was crazy, wonder if it had perhaps all been a dream? What were all of those thoughts she “treasured up” and “pondered in her heart?”

This side of Heaven, I won’t know. But today with new eyes and a needy heart, I gazed upon the few words we do have in Luke 1. Commentators call it “Mary’s Song.”

My soul glorifies the Lord

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has been mindful

of the humble state of his servant.

From now on all generations will call me blessed,

for the Mighty One has done great things for me—

holy is his name.

His mercy extends to those who fear him,

from generation to generation.

He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;

he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.

He has brought down rulers from their thrones

but has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things

but has sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel,

remembering to be merciful

to Abraham and his descendants forever,

just as he promised our ancestors.

{emphasis mine}

That Mary’s words find resonance with a 21st-century mama just struggling through the everyday with her own baggage…well, God’s word is so faithful. Today I have been especially mindful of my own humble, servant-like state. I cried when my husband left for work this morning, overwhelmed by the mess and the children but mostly overwhelmed by my own inadequate self.

The inadequacy. It waxes and wanes depending on the day but oh, there are times when I am simply swallowed up by it and it seems there’s no way out, no glimpse of grace. The tears have flowed freely and the frustration has shot my nerves to pieces and it is in my swallowed-up state that I long to be rescued.

Still in pajamas, still recovering from tantrum-throwing toddler, still staring at heaped-up clothes in every room of the house, the older two and I, we finally sit at the oak table to gather ourselves in so many ways. And we sit ’round our first-ever Jesse Tree, our very own family’s “shoot” pointing to the Savior, despite days of feeling stunted and broken and stump-like.

More than a few days behind, I read and I read, story after story, as tears burned and heart ached and children stared at me…crazy, crying mama. We read of destitute Naomi and desperate Ruth and Rahab the prostitute {my favorite,} all broken-down women who only God could make great and who humbly took their places in the line that would eventually bring Jesus into the world.

Is it any wonder that He felt so at home among the lowly and the beaten-down? He came out of them and He also came unto them. Only God would do such a crazy, wonderful, upside-down and inside-out thing.

Sometimes I simply need to know that I am in good company and maybe you need to know it too. I need to know that the Savior of the world is also the Savior of this weary housewife and the Redeemer of rotten days. I need to know, like Mary and her inadequate sisters in the faith, that He is mindful of my humble state, that his mercy extends to me and that the only greatness that matters is that which the Lord raises up out of nothing.

Mary’s song is for all of us.

I pray that grace and strength and fresh hope will be yours and mine during this third week of Advent.

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Christmas {Week 2}: Belief is a Gift

Schooliversary

Last week he reminded me that December 9th would be their 1-year anniversary. I can’t believe he remembered the date. He’s only in third grade.

December 9th was the day he and his sister began public school.

I’ve written about our journey from homeschool to public school quite a bit. I am less emotional now than I was at the beginning, more sure that this is right. For us. For now.

Nothing about school, whether you do it under your roof, your church’s roof, or the state’s roof, is perfect. Convictions, values, the child’s needs, the parents’ needs, lifestyle, safety, academic excellence, money, and goals–they all play a part in what can be a grueling decision.

My hope has always been that we could make a decision and that I would be able to rest in it. I don’t arrive at decisions easily and once they’re made, I tend to second-guess them. It’s a torturous thing for all involved.

But this week I realized the sweetest thing. My kids have been in public school for a year and I have found rest in this reality.

I no longer cry. I rarely fret, not about school anyway. I am at peace with a reality that I didn’t think I could feel peaceful about.

There are difficult days and things I don’t like. I really miss the flexibility and downtime. Homework can be a waste of time. Grades are often too important. Standardized testing creates too much pressure and stress, something young kids shouldn’t have to deal with. Books, lunches, instruments, and homework assignments have all been left behind on one day or another, stresses I didn’t know when we homeschooled.

But then there are the gifts:

Devoted teachers who really care and guidance counselors who go to bat; new friendships that are so very sweet and old friendships that have been rekindled; read-aloud time in special needs classrooms; an invitation to bring my grandfather to a Veterans Day lunch; pajama mornings and parties and plays.

“Tougher and rougher” kids have taught my relatively sheltered children that not every child enjoys a life wrapped in love, provision, and needful boundaries. To and from commutes allow precious time for dialogue, debriefing, and even prayer. And this mom? She’s less depleted and has more energy to just be a mom.

One year in, amid the good days and the rough ones, my soul is at a place of rest. And this? Is no small gift.

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Today, we’re unwrapping the gifts of the everyday over at Emily’s {Chatting at the Sky.} And we’ll be doing it each Tuesday of December.

What can you unwrap?

{from Emily} Anything that causes you to pause and celebrate the moment. Not what will be or what is to come, but what is real and true this day: the messy, the lovely, and the unexpected. Share a photo, a story, or anything that offers a glimpse into your own journey of discovering the gifts in the midst of the ordinary.

Join us?

December {Week 2}: Belief is a Gift

{An edited and re-gifted re-post from December, 2010.}

I believed in Santa until an embarrassingly old age because Lee Kinard, the Channel 2 weatherman for the North Carolina Triad, said he was real.

With each passing year, my shaky belief swinging like a pendulum between the magical and the rational, I’d watch Mr. Kinard show a radar picture of Santa’s sleigh and tell all of us children to hurry off to bed. And every Christmas Eve until I was 10 years old, I’d fall fast asleep believing that Santa would slide down my chimney that night…even though none of it made sense and all the other kids said Santa was actually your parents.

Looking back, my “belief issues” point to a strange irony. Though my belief in Santa persisted beyond that of all my peers, I secretly questioned the existence of God at a terribly early age.

I went to church twice on Sundays, memorized Bible verses on Wednesday nights, sang in the church children’s choir and scrawled copious sermon notes. There was persuasion aplenty swirling about during those impressionable childhood days and I really did believe….most of the time.

As I got older, however, belief became more difficult. While I was able to keep the serious and scary doubt at bay for years at a time, by my mid-20’s I was a mess. None of it made sense and I demanded proof. Church-going and sermons, choir and persuasion–they didn’t cut it anymore.

Stories of God and religious rituals, much like the myth of Santa Claus and the practice of Christmas traditions, seemed contrived and meaningless.

I needed someone to show me God on a radar screen so that I could fall asleep with the assurance that He was real.

My own story would probably be a more powerful one if I could tell you that Belief showed up in some magical, supernatural way with glitter and snow-dust and angels, or in the midst of drugs and jail-time and Las Vegas.

But the story unfolded without much fanfare or drama at all.

An over-thinking girl with a still-seeking heart buried beneath all of that cynicism, just her and the book of Romans on a winter’s day…

The disillusioned girl and her still-believing husband making a last-ditch effort at church and stumbling into a place that taught Truth with equal parts Word and knowledge, conviction and grace…

The gentle, powerful persuasion of the Spirit that whispered to her searching soul, This is true and real and no amount of evidence can make you believe…

She didn’t make her way through stacks of convincing apologetics tomes or enroll in a 12-steps-to-belief program. After years of struggling to understand, the nonsensical slowly began to make sense and with each shaky step toward belief, her feet found surer ground.

I know now that all the evidence in the world is no match for a heart that is simply not ready to receive faith. It’s a gift. Faith, that is. And for natural-born skeptics like me, it’s one we have to keep receiving daily.

Christmas becomes increasingly significant to me each year because for the Believer, it’s so much about the receiving.

The rituals and traditions and songs force me to reckon with my daily state of faith. Or lack thereof. The motions are no longer empty or superficial. They point, like a radar, to the One who is real and who came and still comes, every day, with fresh faith to be opened as a gift for skeptical strugglers like me.

And maybe like you too.

May hope and faith be your gifts to receive during this second week of Advent.

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Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

{Hebrews 11:1)

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Face to the Sun

Well over a year ago I began a slow spiral into complete exhaustion. In July of this year, I finally sought help from a doctor. Tests revealed that I had good reason to be in a state of total and utter fatigue. With medicine and rest, nutrition and vitamins, I’ve begun a gradual ascent into quasi-normalcy. We don’t know how long it may take but I now have more good days than gutter days.

No small miracle.

In this season of much to do, I squint my eyes and wish for every day to be a good one. This week began with a hearty to-do list and I hoped with all my might that the energy would man up and match the list. Yesterday, it did not.

Despite an early-morning run, coffee, and a quiet house, no amount of willpower or wishing would make this body go. I yawned. I sat. I read. I stared out the window. I drank coffee. I tried to just go. I yawned some more. I prayed for strength. Nada.

Discouraged and drained {though I had done nothing} I took the dog outside and sat in the sun. This mild, southeastern climate is my best friend right now. On a December noonday, I sat in my husband’s Nike sweatshirt from college, closed my eyes, and let the warmth of the sun beat down on my face. I smiled. I breathed slow and long and deep. I prayed a little. I nearly fell asleep sitting upright in a patio chair.

I’ve been reading Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling devotional for a couple of years now. She talks a lot about the warmth and light and healing of Jesus’ presence. Over time, I’ve begun to associate warm, radiant light with Jesus, particularly on winter days when the sun is such an unexpected and welcome gift.

And so yesterday, in the midst of nothing to give, I simply lifted my tired face to sky and received the healing, comforting, love-lit warmth of Jesus while sitting in my driveway.

Times like these have become a sort of communion, a means of grace to keep me going through the difficult days. In moments of stillness and clarity, I see the beauty in my neediness. For there are certain gifts, like Jesus in the noonday sun, that I would never have stopped to receive if the day had been the energy-filled, productive, Type-A day I so desired.

Today, we’re unwrapping the gifts of the everyday over at Emily’s {Chatting at the Sky.} And we’ll be doing it each Tuesday of December.

What can you unwrap?

{from Emily} Anything that causes you to pause and celebrate the moment. Not what will be or what is to come, but what is real and true this day: the messy, the lovely, and the unexpected. Share a photo, a story, or anything that offers a glimpse into your own journey of discovering the gifts in the midst of the ordinary.

Join us?

December {Week 1}: Into the Mess…{And How “Mess” Seems To Be A Recurrent Theme Here}

Recently I recalled a series of Advent posts I wrote two years ago. I thought it might be fun to look back and see what I was writing about two years ago at this time.

My life was very different then. I home-schooled three young children, worked part-time, and never felt even remotely on top of things. My pensive, introverted self coped with the chatter and daily demands by writing about mess and perfectionism and Jesus in between math lessons and read-alouds.

I didn’t know it then but life would get a whole lot messier and imperfect just a few months later. And as a result, Jesus would become a whole lot bigger. I would come to understand my desperate need to be saved from my own brokenness and from the brokenness of the world that would bring wave after wave of crazy into my life.

Though things were different two Advent seasons ago, there is an obvious common theme. I am still writing about mess and imperfection, coming to terms with how the real trumps the ideal and how that’s actually for the best, even though I kick and push against it every time.

Surrender, acceptance, and gratitude in the midst of mess or suffering have the strangest way a way of ushering in freedom, peace, and joy. My stubborn, idolatrous heart still pines away for the ideal even though experience has shown me that the times of sweetest communion with Jesus are when I’m knee-deep in the real.

And so the message of these two-year-old posts still echo my heart today: Jesus came into the mess.

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{An edited and re-gifted re-post from December, 2010.}

For months I’ve longed for this Christmas season to be one of intentional anticipation, one in which we slow down and incorporate gentle practices of expectancy. I’ve envisioned serene mornings of hot chocolate and Bible readings and Jesse Tree ornament hanging. How we’ll awake Christmas morning and celebrate His coming more than we celebrate with consumerism. {Sigh. Still writing about this too.}

And today, on this first “serene” morning of expectancy, hot chocolate spilled across my tableau of perfection as children bickered and the littlest one got sent to time-out. We finished our first devotional to find that he had destroyed the Lego creation his older brother had painstakingly assembled and by 9:45, I felt undone.

I fussed and fretted and reprimanded and said to myself, This is not at all what I envisioned. Why do even the most sacred and well-intentioned practices crumble before my very eyes?

And just as quickly, I sensed a Spirit-tug and I knew this:

He came into the mess and He comes into the mess.

Born in a stable amid the stench and groan of animals, out of the womb of some non-descript girl who moaned and cried just like every woman in labor, born to a people who would rather worship the things of this world than worship the One who came to save them from it.

There was nothing serene about any of it. Except Him.

Daily, we will {hopefully} continue our Jesse Tree journey until Christmas Day and the setting will likely be messy, as life is every single day.

As I type this, there are crumbs scattered across the table, dirty dishes littering the counter, and nary a Christmas decoration in sight, save for the paper advent chains my children made in church last night.

Perhaps this is just the perfectly imperfect way to begin the day and this season. Life stripped of glittery, lit-up, and bedazzled perfection and replaced with life undone and messed up, cluttered and loud and torn apart just like the Legos.

He came to piece it all back together and to bring peace to all of us who feel just a bit undone. Besides, glittery perfection isn’t as obviously needy of a Savior.

During this first week of advent, if you’re feeling just a tad unraveled and overwhelmed, I invite you to segue from Thanksgiving to Christmas by being thankful for the mess that points us to Christ.

Emmanuel, God with us.

With us in the mess.

With us in the celebration.

With us in the suffering.

With us in the fear and anxiety.

With us in the giving and in the receiving.

With us every moment of every day, no matter what the day holds.

To bring us peace.

Grace and peace to you all, dear ones.

More Favorite Things. I Know! I Love Too Many Things.

Reddi Whip is a must with this hot cocoa. Crushed-up candy canes are optional. {But I highly recommend. }

#1: My favorite hot chocolate. It’s my third winter of having this as a staple in our house. And it’s so simple! Yet amazing because it’s Martha Stewart’s recipe so, you know…it’s legit.

{via}

Yield:

Makes 5 3/4 cups dry mix or 92 eight-ounce servings

Ingredients:

3 1/2 cups sugar

2 1/4 cups cocoa

1 tablespoon table salt

Whole milk for serving {Trust me, you must you whole milk. This is no time to skimp.}

Directions:

In a large bowl, combine sugar, cocoa, and salt, and whisk to combine well. Store the mixture in an airtight container. For individual servings, pour 1 cup whole milk into a microwave-safe mug, and microwave on high just until hot. Add 2 tablespoons of cocoa mix, and stir to dissolve. For a larger batch of cocoa, warm the milk in a saucepan set over medium-low heat, taking care not to let the milk boil; as it warms, stir in 2 tablespoons of mix for each cup of milk.

#2: This cupcake recipe with this frosting. They’re called “Wedding Cake Cupcakes” and “Wedding Cake Buttercream.” You’re welcome. Best cupcakes and frosting I’ve ever made and super easy.

A picture of the amateur ones I made. Recipe Girl’s are much lovelier.

I made them for my 9-year-old’s birthday a few weeks ago and I’m making them again for my {sniff-sniff} FIVE-year-old.

Which brings me to Favorite Thing #3: this guy.

Yes, the baby of the family will be five tomorrow. I’m not coping well. I feel like I just gave birth to him and soon he’ll be leaving for college. I have a hard time with birthdays. It’s wrong and weird and I need to get it together.

But honestly, I just love him at this age. He wears cowboy boots every single day, rain or shine, summer or winter. He usually wears a cowboy hat to complete the ensemble. When we try to coerce him into sneakers, he tells us they look weird and that people will laugh at him. So he wears what is essentially a costume instead. Makes total sense.

Also? Collared shirts. He refuses any shirt with a crew neck or any pants that do not have a button or zipper. It’s the quirkiest thing. He’s been this way for months. It’s like he’s a 50-year-old trapped in a 5-year-old’s body.

#4: The fact that “ombre” hair is in. I haven’t had my poor hair cut or colored since May so if people stare too long at my grown-out roots and lighter ends, I just tell them I’m rockin’ the latest trend. And that my version of the trend has a bit of gray mixed in.

Um, not me. Just in case you were confused. {If only.}

#5: Puffer vests. I bought my first one this year when Old Navy had their 50%-off-outerwear sale and I want to wear it every day. It covers a multitude of sins, is super cozy, and looks good with jeans or running pants. {Or pajamas when you are too lazy to put on real clothes in order to take your kids to school.}

#6: Cinnamon Pinecones. You know those cinnamon brooms that grocery stores sell this time of year? I love them. But I’ve never bought one because a.) they look witchy and b.) where in the world do you hang a decorative broom?

Enter the cinnamon pinecones that I bought at Wal-Mart this morning for $3.97.

My great room smells like a cinnamon-spice wonderland. {I may or may not have licked one.}

#7: Santa Snow. Also an impulse buy at Wal-Mart. {Do not go shopping first thing in the morning when you are somewhat rested, caffeinated, and ripe with the holiday spirit.} It is not to be confused with flocking spray so you can’t use it winterize branches, but you can spray a bit indoors and it cleans right up. For $1.50 a can, you can “let it snow” wherever you like.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

{I’m thinking it may snow on the kitchen table tomorrow for a certain 5-year-old’s birthday.}

#8: Branches & Spray Paint: I’ve been clipping bare branches and spray-painting them white in an attempt at creating some free Christmasy ambience. We’ll see how it all comes together. I brought some of them inside before they were completely dry and it smells a bit spray-painty in here.

Good thing I’ve got those pinecones.

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Your turn. Any favorite things {holiday or otherwise?}

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Linked up with Grace at Home {a weekly link-up event at Imparting Grace}

Favorite Things {With Pages}

Happy Post-Thanksgiving and Pre-Christmas everyone! This Monday finds me a bit bleary-eyed and exhausted from much traveling and much food and two weeks of sickness that will not leave. I’ve no intention of being brilliant or deep or productive today, so I’m dishing up a favorite things post {and continuing to try not to stress about getting my holidays just right.}

My pockets are not exactly deep right now {as if they ever are} so I’m not planning any Cyber-Monday craziness. But I do look forward to Amazon’s $5 magazine subscriptions this time of year. I love getting and giving magazine subscriptions. It’s like unwrapping a little surprise gift that arrives in the mailbox once a month.

Another recent favorite purchase is this book: Reflections for Ragamuffins by Brennan Manning.

He’s one of my favorite writers. The Ragamuffin Gospel and Abba’s Child have both been such important books in my life. Reflections for Ragamuffins is a devotional, one reading for each day of the year. I love it. Here’s a quote from the preface:

Reflections for Ragamuffins is a series of meditations written over a span of twenty-two years–years of joy and suffering, fidelity and infidelity, intense commitment and serious relapses, muddling and struggling to be faithful to Jesus. I share these reflections with a specific purpose in mind: not to transmit inspiring thoughts, but to awaken, revive, and rekindle radical, ruthless trust in the God bodied forth in the carpenter from Nazareth.

See why I love his writing? It’s not about striving and perfectionism; it’s about real rest in the only One who can save us.

On a different note, it was a little over a year ago that I began baking this bread: Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. But I call it “Bread for Dummies.” I love to cook and bake but bread has always intimidated me. It’s so fussy and condescending with its demand for exactness and precision. Prior to the “Dummy Bread,” I had ruined at least as many loaves as I’d successfully baked.

No more. This bread is delicious, free from preservatives, and nearly foolproof. Did I mention it takes 5 minutes? Here’s the basic premise: You dump yeast, flour, salt, and water in a large plastic container. You let it rise. You refrigerate it. You pull out a hunk of dough when you want fresh bread for dinner. You let the dough rise {no kneading or anything} for 40 minutes. You bake the bread. You eat the bread. You delight your family and friends. You wonder where the extra five pounds came from but decide not to sweat it because the bread to so worth it.

Anyway, I’ve been making this bread regularly for many months and thought it was worth mentioning again, especially since it’s the perfect season for hot, crusty, comforting bread. I linked the recipe above if you want to try it out but I finally bought each of the actual 5-minute bread cookbooks last Christmas {after checking them out repeatedly from the library.}

Here’s the first cookbook and the one I use the most.

Here’s the second cookbook which has lots of healthy breads and gluten-free options.

Okay, so these next favorite things do not have pages but I feel compelled to tell you what I’m watching these days as I tide myself over until Downton Abbey resumes: The new version of Upstairs, Downstairs and Call the Midwife. The former takes place in at 165 Eaton Place, London, during the late 1930s and 1940s. The latter also takes place in London but in the East End during the 1950s.

Oh they are such good shows! {Dramas, both of them, on Masterpiece Classic.} The actual seasons have ended but I think you can watch them or stream them on PBS online. {And while searching for that Downton Abbey link I saw that you can buy Season 3 on-line already! What?!? ‘Tis the season for not shopping for oneself so I will patiently wait for January. Hopefully.}

Any favorite things you’re loving lately? {with or without pages}

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*Amazon links are affiliate links.

For the Mom Who’s Trying to Get Her Kids and Her Holidays Just Right

She started the list a week ago. Her delicate fingers gripped the brightly-colored pigma pens as she scrawled out her heart’s desires on the lined pages of a polka-dotted notebook. Mommy, do you want to know what I have on my Christmas list so far?

This mama’s inner response was one of frustration and slight panic. Why is she only thinking of what she wants? My children are becoming products of American consumerism run amuck! How am I going to fix this?

I’m not sure what I said at first but within a few sentences I was waxing poetically about how we need to also be thinking about ways we can give and not just focus on what we want to receive. Like a heart surgeon, I wanted to jump right in and fix things. You know, take out the greed, replace it with selfless goodwill and sincere gratitude, stitch things right up and tada! A child who can celebrate the real meaning of the upcoming holidays because I, a righteous and intentional mother, have taught my children well.

As I type these words, I could just choke on the hypocrisy of it all. Not to mention the control, anxiety, and self-righteousness that goes along with it.

I’m not sure that our foremothers stressed over the intentionality of the holidays and special occasions with their children the way we moderns do. They were not bombarded with Pinterest, blogs, an endless array of magazines, and HGTV segments. As commercialism and consumerism have skyrocketed, so has the “intentionality movement.” {That’s what I’m calling it.}

Don’t get my wrong, I long to be an intentional mother. My husband longs to be an intentional father. We want our children to be full of thanksgiving not only this week but every day of the year. We want them to know something of sacrifice and generosity during the Christmas season and beyond. We want to incorporate traditions and practices that point our family to Christ instead of to the Toys ‘R Us Big Book of Presents.

And we can stress ourselves to death trying to do it.

We can wallow in guilt when we don’t live up to our expectations.

We can consume ourselves with attempts to undo the consumerism.

We can look at what other families are doing or not doing and feel like maybe they’re getting it right and we’re not.

I don’t have answers. I never have answers. But writing and sharing helps me process the tangled state of my heart and mind as I consider the unnecessary pressures and obligations of the holidays. Personally, I long to be reasonable and balanced in a way that fits the uniqueness of our family.

I like pretty things and baking and crafts and sacred traditions. But if my family emulated every great and intentional idea we’ve ever seen, we’d be up to our ears in Advent calendar-ing and devotionals and cookie-baking in the shapes of Christmas symbols and doing lessons on the Christian history of Christmas and volunteering in homeless shelters and giving shoes, toys, clothing to the needy and buying goats for a family in Africa and making sure each child only gets 3 gifts because that’s what Baby Jesus got from the wise men…

And I am so not even done.

Those are all wonderful endeavors. You may do some of them. We do some of them as well. Do not misinterpret my condensed list of good things as cynicism, sarcasm, or apathy. It’s because I care quite a lot about mothering well and modeling compassion that I stress and digress.

We are called to give generously and to live sacrificially. Honoring traditions create lovely memories for our children that they may even want to honor with their own families one day.

But we cannot do every good thing.

We cannot change the hearts of our children even though we try like mad to do so by mandating certain behaviors or instituting various family practices.

We cannot save the world. That’s what Jesus came to do and is doing. I think the most lasting thing we can do with our families is to speak, love, and live every day in light of that Truth: Jesus came! To save the world!

Gratitude for the truth and beauty of the Gospel inspires and enables me {and my family} to shine a light in the small, humble corner where we live.

Dr. Tim Kimmell in his book, Grace-Based Parenting, says this about families:

God left our families in communities to serve as porch lights, if you will, for the lost people around us. We are to be the steady glow that helps them find their way out of the darkness. When families are committed to being this light, they are inclined to live more intimately with Christ. {And I would argue that the inverse is also true: When families live more intimately with Christ, they are supernaturally more committed to being this light.}

… {Historically} Parents armed with little more than a vibrant relationship with God consistently served as the ideal springboard for great people. So something changed. We got scared. And I think that fear is what motivates so much of the Christian parenting advice we get.

This excerpt was not written to address the issue of being intentional with our kids regarding the holidays, but his words nonetheless apply.

We fear that we’re not doing enough in our family and for others. We fear that our children won’t be compassionate and generous if they’re too excited about their own presents. We fear that they’ll be lacking somehow if our own traditions are missing creativity and consistency.

When I’m motivated by fear, I tend to control and manipulate. Things become contrived instead of sincere, forced instead of free-flowing. It’s ugly.

I often think of Emily Freeman’s quote in Grace for the Good Girl:

Fear drives.
But Love leads.

Do you know what I wish I’d said to my daughter when she came to me with childlike excitement over her Christmas list?

I love your list. This list shows me how much you appreciate beauty and anticipate delight. You know, God made us this way. In the garden, there was a limitless supply of beauty, an endless array of his good gifts. No living thing lacked anything. That’s how we were created to live and one day all of that will return. In the meantime, dreaming of lovely and delightful gifts show us how much we long for beauty and goodness in a broken world. Receiving and giving presents are a little foretaste of what was and what is to come. And of course all of this pales in comparison to the greatest and most undeserved gift of all: Christ Jesus, through whom all of this was promised and is possible. We have so much to celebrate, so much to receive, so much to give…

Because she is 11, she would have probably tuned me out after the first two sentences. But if we’re living out what we believe every day of the year, though we’re doing it so imperfectly, perhaps it eventually gets through. Trickle-down theology?

Though excess and materialism can poison our hearts, so can good deeds and sacrifice when they’re driven by duty-bound motives or dripping with self-righteousness.

We can’t make our children’s hearts change. We can simply love them, provide for them, teach them, and model for them, albeit imperfectly. Only God can knock down the idols of their hearts and replace their love for the created with a greater love for the Creator. Only God can do that in my own heart and let me tell you, I sometimes wonder if I’m much further along than my children.

This year I’m starting over, at least in my mind. I want a brand new paradigm. It’s not about getting it all just right. It’s not about making sure my kids love Jesus on Christmas morning more than they love the new Lego set they just unwrapped.

It’s about pointing our own minds and hearts, as parents, toward the beauty and wonder of Christ and hoping that a bit of that beauty and wonder will spill over and cumulatively settle into the hearts of our children. And also hoping that it will flow into our spheres of influence in ways that are genuine and authentic and personal. Like the squares of a patchwork quilt, there is such beauty in the uniqueness of our families and how God uses us differently in our communities and beyond.

I don’t know about you but that sets me free in all sorts of ways. And I think it really is that simple…

Start first with my own heart. Live gratitude. Receive the love and mystery and wonder of Christ every day.

Perhaps setting our minds on these eternal truths will have a way of making everything else fall into place over the coming weeks.

A thrill of hope, the weary mom rejoices…

…………………………………..

How about you? Do you struggle with “intentionality guilt” like I do?

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{This post appeared in BlogHer’s “Family” section, November 26th, 2012}

*Book links within this post are amazon affiliate links.

Why We Need to Have a Party for the Stuff We Never Celebrate

How are you? she asked.

We were at church. She’s one of the few who knows the real guts of my life, a sister who knows that behind the lip gloss and tall boots hides a woman with a story that is anything but fashionable and pulled together.

I replied with confidence, not with fear of relapse or false hope: I feel change in my heart. It’s happening. It’s slow but true.

She smiled, her face revealing the sincerest gratitude for me. And then she encouraged me to write it down, to journal the gifts of change and growth, to acknowledge and celebrate that God is at work.

I know that God can snap his fingers and heal on the spot. Sometimes He does. Usually He doesn’t.

I’m finding that He uses an often-overlooked instrument of healing: Time.

We underestimate the healing salve of time. Often I think of it as some disconnected abstraction or as annoying accountability. I check my watch. I jot something on the calendar. My heartbeat quickens or my face grimaces when busyness eats into my precious margin. Too often time feels like a tool that I wield to govern my days.

But time does not belong to me. It belongs to the One who created it. We talk of how God created the Heavens and Earth, how He’s the author of faith, hope, and love.

But what about time? He created it too. And though He is not bound by time in the ways we are, He uses time in remarkable, miraculous ways. In our speedy, instant-gratification culture, inefficiency can feel like an enemy. Waiting feels like punishment.

Even within the church, we applaud those who are quickly delivered from addiction or varying forms of licentiousness. We leap for joy over those who are instantly healed from disease or disability. We cry and Hallelujah and call it a miracle. And it is. It is.

But what about the rest of us who feel stuck in the eternal waiting room? We’re still in counseling. Our internal workings are still more broken than we want them to be. Our relationships and our very lives are still a mess and isn’t there a clean-up crew who can help with this already?

What about the marriage that is in the process of healing but that process takes years? Issues are processed and forgiven only to give way to more issues that have to pass through the same, grueling cycle.

What about the young mom who is balancing babies and carpool and forgiveness? She knows she has to. Theoretically she wants to. But those deep wounds coupled with her pride combined with the rigors of the day-to-day? She’s getting there, she’s making progress. She’s learning and growing and finding healing even in the midst of her crazy life, but daily she’s tempted to despair because complete change isn’t hers yet. The process feels terribly slow and the pain of the past weighs her down. Still.

Healing in one area but not yet another doesn’t mean failure. Conviction and awareness that come incrementally doesn’t mean you’re losing.

It means God is at work.

The Bible uses many different metaphors for the Christian life: a long and grueling race, a seed that is planted and cultivated, a branch that is grafted onto Christ Himself. He is referred to as the author and perfecter of our faith, one who promises to complete the good work He began.

He is faithful over generations.

All of these images and promises reveal that God is not in the same kind of hurry we are. I could go into great detail about every one of those metaphors, how a seed has to die and remain dormant, how long it takes for a fruit tree to actually bear fruit, the physical and mental obstacles of completing a marathon, how generational promises took and still take centuries to fulfill.

But the imagery speaks for itself. They all require time.

Slowly, I’m learning that time is not an enemy; it is one of God’s good gifts.

For reasons I may never understand, He uses time itself to heal and time as an incubator in which we heal.

Our visions of what complete change and healing should look like are not necessarily wrong. But I for one have a tendency to focus on the complete instead of the change. And why wouldn’t I? After all, we were made to be complete, made for a garden of perfect wholeness and fellowship. Our souls will long for perfect healing and sweet consummation until our time on Earth is through.

Longing for wholeness is not wrong; it simply points us Heavenward.

Until then, we journey seemingly circuitous routes, trod treacherous paths, and live with broken hearts. We hurt others and are hurt by others. Wounds mire us in the deep, sometimes for years. Change can feel so slow, we wonder if we’ve moved an inch.

I can only truly speak for myself. The story I know best is my own. And I’ve decided that I don’t want to put off celebration and remembrance until healing is “complete.” I want to acknowledge every bit of incremental heart change, every wound that hurts less than it did, every new grace.

I want to look Time square in the face and say, Thank you for being so patient and doing your thing even though nobody ever acknowledges what you do.

I want my marriage, my family, my church, my tiny circle of influence to be places in which we celebrate the “small” and “incomplete.” We only see a single brushstroke on the canvas. God sees the entire work of art and, as any artist knows, a masterpiece takes time.

I have such a long way to go toward the healing, wholeness, and change I desperately desire. But as I look back, I’m able to see that Time is both a patient healer and a gentle place to simply be. Rest {“the art of doing nothing”as I like to joke} is bringing renewal. Faith and Hope are taking shape in tiny but tangible ways.

Most of all, Love is winning. That sentence makes me cry every time I read it. I think it’s because only I can really know what a supernatural thing that is, that Love could win in a such an unlovely story.

So for my own sake, I think I need to redefine “miracle.” I love the instant kind. And I still pray for it.

But Love that grows out of that which was dead, whether it takes ten days or ten years, that’s incredible.

Forgiveness that requires a thousand small deaths over five months or five years, that’s amazing.

Beauty that slowly rises out of the ash-heap of dysfunction and baggage and self-righteousness, that’s crazy.

And repentance that perseveres through bouts of pride and pity, anger and waywardness, well, that invites the fanfare of Heaven itself.

It’s true. One single act of repentance = big Heavenly party.

Let’s resolve to make much of the grace at work in our lives. Sometimes that means we just need to take a moment to reflect and give thanks. Whether we roll it around in our heads for a bit, chat it out with a friend over coffee, or scrawl it down on paper, reflection and remembrance have a way of giving birth to gratitude-induced hope.

Or maybe we need to have an actual “party” of sorts:

A date with your husband because even though marriage isn’t perfect, you haven’t given up and maybe you’re even getting help.

Ice cream with your kids because even though you still haven’t stopped losing it with them, you haven’t stopped asking them to forgive you and you haven’t stopped begging God for grace to change.

Dinner out with a sweet friend who knows where you’ve been and also how far you’ve come.

A few quiet hours to yourself to simply celebrate, in your own uniquely personal way, the great work that God is doing in seemingly small ways over His time.

Twenty months ago I couldn’t have written this post. Now I can. And that is something to celebrate.