2010

For the chance to see all the pennies in one jar
For a gentle home-going for Dad
For the gift of another time in Thailand
For two months of bliss by the water
For books read
For new friends and what they teach me
For the privilege of studying Hebrew
For the arrival of an abundant Harvest
For the lessons of letting go
For the lessons of release
For the deepening still of life long friendships
I am grateful

For known opportunities to become more than I am
For the unknown challenges that will shape me
For the joys that will delight me
For the prayers that will be answered yes
For the prayers that will be answered no for reasons He won't tell
For new friends yet to meet
For still friends who will help to grow me
I am hopeful
And humbly anticipating
All He will do

Us In The Van

It happened because we decided we could all fit in the van.

When it comes to having adult children with partners and families of their own, being together at Christmas has been something we've tried to give realistic balance to. Naturally, especially with grandchildren, gathering is extremely important. It makes us "us" in a way that only being at a table together can do. But being anywhere merely to fulfill an obligation is never more than that, and defeats any noble purpose of family.

To honour that, it has become our gentle policy to ask for and hope for at least one gathering during the Christmas season, with no fixed date or expectations. Anything more than that, I consider bonus.

So when Ken and I, and the two we bore, and ones they chose (minus the one in waiting) and the three they bore, can all fit into one vehicle, car seats included....and when that occasion is the SECOND all together gathering of "us" in this one Christmas season....it's all gravy (turkey pun intended).

And it happened on the way home.

We had spent the afternoon at the home of Ken's generous sister and her husband, with those of us who make up Ken's siblings and who live close enough to make being at that table possible. Shrimp for starters and gifts and kids and phone calls from those who live too far and silly paper hats following loud snaps and way too much food and a dog parked closest to the youngest and messiest of us. And then, when it's all done, we fit ourselves back in the van for the drive home.

And that's when I realized. We weren't all there. Not all of us who should be. But all of us who could be were. And as we wait for the one in waiting, it was enough for me in that moment. For the two of us who chose each other, and the ones we bore and the ones they chose, and the one they bore...us and our kids and their partners and their kids. The "us" of us.

And how many times had we make that drive, too full from turkey, quiet now after all the noise? First just Ken and I, then one at a time our own babies in car seats, and then bigger children, and now new car seats. Thirty two years of driving home from Christmas with Ken's family.

It happened in that moment that I felt contentment and blessing and rightness. And it registered with me as something important because I know I shouldn't be feeling it. Too much is not as it should be this Christmas to make it feel less "us". First time without Dad. Mom moved away. A son-in-law yet to rejoin us.

But there was still an "us" gently, strongly. In the van. And it was very good.

And I wanted to sing.

Kristyn and David have both told me that one of their favourite childhood memories is rides home from family things and me singing.

I should have sang. Next time.

The Holy Hush of Readiness

There comes a time in the happy rush of preparation when it all comes to hush in a holy readiness. When that happens, it is best to sit still for a bit. Feel it. Joy in it.

I am sitting in that hush right this moment. It smells good, this hush, like freshly baked cookies. It feels warm, like your thickest, newest fleece wraped around your shoulders, folding down to your feet. It sounds big and full and hushed and worshippy, like the candle-lighting rendering of Let It Be swirled around a carol. No-el, it says. Israel's King is born. Awe.

And I'm ready. Ready to let it be Christmas, and to joy in the now of it. Ready to lay down the work and weight of a confusing, pressing fall, and Sabbath my soul for a quiet string of days. Ready to just be with those I love so. Ready to receive - again - all the unspeakableness of the Incarnation, and revel in the fierce loveliness of the new born Child who turns out to be God Almighty.

I wish you readiness, and the strength of spirit to receive it deeply. I pray you will hush yourselves in its smells and sounds and warm wrappings. Be comforted. Be re-filled. Be re-born on this Birthday.

Because He heard you asking. And He came.