As is always the case as Christmas approaches, I have struggled to find the meaning in this season. If I’m being honest, I miss the warm, “magical” feelings of childhood, and I almost desperately search for something to give me even a small glimpse of that same wonder. I can be prone to thinking more decorations, more carols, more lights, even more cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies will be the answer to what I think I’m missing. This year even more than normal, I’ve felt a lack of comprehension…real, deep understanding…of the miracle of Christ’s birth. And as I have recognized this, I’ve thought about the manger, I’ve thought about the humble surroundings, the people that were given front row seats, and earnestly prayed for a renewed perspective on what I’m celebrating.

The normal reminders to cease striving, that God is okay with imperfection and messes seemed trite and somehow insufficient explanations for this heart that needed to see the purpose of it all. Because this story isn’t just about humility, peace, love…and all the other feel-good platitudes that pervade most manger messages at this time of year. At its heart, the birth of Christ – the entire life and death of Christ – is warfare, a rescue mission fueled by God’s zeal for His people, the execution of a perfect battle plan to once and for all defeat sin and death.

And while the humble circumstances, the seemingly helpless babe, do serve to make Jesus an approachable Savior, perhaps they are also meant as a reminder that this work of salvation was accomplished by God alone, without the help of humanity. In fact, the plan required humanity to be turned against Him. He couldn’t have a royal army at His side when He needed to be nailed to the cross. He couldn’t have wealth or prestige that would give His accusers too much pause. He needed to have “no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him, nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him”. As much as it’s nice to think that God wanted to make sure we could see ourselves in our Savior, I think His plan was much deeper and more serious than that. He came in humility because that was necessary to accomplish His salvation plan.

That baby in the manger came with a mission. He came to wage war on darkness. He came because there was no other way to accomplish redemption. Yes, He came as Light. Yes, He came to bring joy. But, I think we forget that the peace on earth we sing about was bought at a steep price. As with most things gospel-related, I think we do a disservice to make this Christmas story about God being overly concerned with how easily we can identify with Him. God entered into such humble surroundings because He was so altogether different from us that salvation could only be worked by His own arm. And even in that lowly place, He wasn’t like we are. He was worthy of praise. He was perfect, sinless. The manger was the beginning of the sacrifice that would win our salvation, through no work of our own. It is this that should draw us to Christ at Christmas. Not some notion that Jesus just welcomes us in our imperfection, but rather, that He covers our sinfulness with His righteousness. While we are offered the free gift of salvation, salvation was far from free. Jesus paid a cost that was impossible for us to pay…which is far greater evidence of His incomprehensible love than if He was coming in humility to simply make Himself look approachable.

Who God is…His majesty, omnipotence, holiness, perfect love…is all too often boxed in to make us think that He exists to pursue us, when the reality is that we exist to pursue Him, to praise Him, to fall on our knees and throw our “crowns” at His feet and proclaim Him worthy of all that we could ever give, and more. Even when He shows up as a baby in a manger.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty
will accomplish this.
—Isaiah 9:6-7

Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,
nor his ear too dull to hear.
But your iniquities have separated
you from your God;
your sins have hidden his face from you,
so that he will not hear.
For your hands are stained with blood,
your fingers with guilt.
Your lips have spoken falsely,
and your tongue mutters wicked things.
No one calls for justice;
no one pleads a case with integrity.
They rely on empty arguments, they utter lies;
they conceive trouble and give birth to evil.
They hatch the eggs of vipers
and spin a spider’s web.
Whoever eats their eggs will die,
and when one is broken, an adder is hatched.
Their cobwebs are useless for clothing;
they cannot cover themselves with what they make.
Their deeds are evil deeds,
and acts of violence are in their hands.
Their feet rush into sin;
they are swift to shed innocent blood.
They pursue evil schemes;
acts of violence mark their ways.
The way of peace they do not know;
there is no justice in their paths.
They have turned them into crooked roads;
no one who walks along them will know peace.
So justice is far from us,
and righteousness does not reach us.
We look for light, but all is darkness;
for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows.
Like the blind we grope along the wall,
feeling our way like people without eyes.
At midday we stumble as if it were twilight;
among the strong, we are like the dead.
We all growl like bears;
we moan mournfully like doves.
We look for justice, but find none;
for deliverance, but it is far away.
For our offenses are many in your sight,
and our sins testify against us.
Our offenses are ever with us,
and we acknowledge our iniquities:
rebellion and treachery against the Lord,
turning our backs on our God,
inciting revolt and oppression,
uttering lies our hearts have conceived.
So justice is driven back,
and righteousness stands at a distance;
truth has stumbled in the streets,
honesty cannot enter.
Truth is nowhere to be found,
and whoever shuns evil becomes a prey.

The Lord looked and was displeased
that there was no justice.
He saw that there was no one,
he was appalled that there was no one to intervene;
so his own arm achieved salvation for him,
and his own righteousness sustained him.
He put on righteousness as his breastplate,
and the helmet of salvation on his head;
he put on the garments of vengeance
and wrapped himself in zeal as in a cloak.
According to what they have done,
so will he repay
wrath to his enemies
and retribution to his foes;
he will repay the islands their due.
From the west, people will fear the name of the Lord,
and from the rising of the sun, they will revere his glory.
For he will come like a pent-up flood
that the breath of the Lord drives along.

“The Redeemer will come to Zion,
to those in Jacob who repent of their sins,”
declares the Lord.
——Isaiah 59:1-20

sometimes I feel like everyone
has a mental list
priorities, what comes first
and what can be left as-is
the broken, the needy
are given first place
the urgent, and wanted, as well
the loud and demanding
force their way on
though, why? none really can tell
life is so full
pulling every direction
it seems to make sense, if I’m fair
that the constant, the faithful
come only at the bottom
that is, only, if they’re even there

“…but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.” —Mt. 20: 26b-28

I’ve never been great at small talk.  Even less so when it’s unexpected, and lesser still when there is a lot of history that is far from being water-under-the-bridge.

And I stand there wondering what’s wrong with me.  What’s wrong with me that I can’t say the things that need to be said? That I can’t even point out that, of course, my kids will be a lot bigger after so many years of not seeing them?

And I stand there feeling torn…between this old anger rising up alongside the familiar ache in my poorly mended heart from a hurt that really and truly left me broken, and this prompting in my soul to not be harsh or unkind.  So I respond with halting words and a lump in my throat and fail to communicate anything at all.

If only I could take a few hours to think things through and write out all of my responses.  Though, in this case, I still might not know what to say…and it might not matter even if I did.  I don’t know what is in another person’s heart or mind.  Maybe anything I could say is already known and considered unremarkable…or has been confused into something worse…and interactions are merely to appear friendly.  Or maybe, somehow, there’s ignorance of how deep these scars run.  It’s even possible, however unlikely, that there is some hope of repairing this long-standing breach.  But small talk will never reveal any of this, and written responses to random small talk aren’t really a thing…no matter how much I sometimes wish they could be.

So, instead, I spend hours after the fact alternately kicking myself for being so inept at conversation, and trying to figure out why I even care, all while feeling like God is nudging me to prayer about the whole thing when I wish I could just forget.  I would hope for reconciliation, but my faith just isn’t that big right now.  Still, if God can use any of this, I pray that He will.

Ava is eleven today.  The only petite child among the seven.  Isabelle has long since grown taller, and Lucas gives her a run for her money in endeavors requiring brute force.  But her size, her long blonde hair, and her generally sweeter-than-most disposition can be deceiving.  Because, while she is gentle-mannered and kind, she is also tenacious and smart; while she might not possess much in the way of raw strength, she is fast and agile and excels in most physical endeavors; and while she is quiet and peaceable, she is also goofy and remains true to her bull-in-a-china-shop descriptor from her toddler days.

There’s a lot to love about Ava.  Her ability to craft things out of clay and cardboard is impressive.  She regularly gives me 2-3 hugs a day, more if I’m having a bad day.  She is quick-minded, clever, and has a fun sense of humor.  She has an ability to bring out the best in most people, and fills the role of peacemaker when interactions among siblings become less than peaceful.

Her interests tend most to artistic endeavors, but she also likes many areas of science and technology.  Ava often loves to be outside and has taken a greater interest in gardening the past couple years.  She has also demonstrated an aptitude for creative writing recently…perhaps borne somewhat from the dramatic increase in her reading volume.

Even though these years have flown by, and I want to push back a little bit to the reality that my baby girl is slowly – but surely – growing up, I just love the young lady that Ava is becoming, so much.  She has a heart of gold, and is a joy to be around.  I am immeasurably thankful for her.

Nathanael is an amazing kid…or, young man.  He is smart and athletic and multi-talented, but honestly, those aren’t really the reasons I think he’s so great.  What sets Nathanael apart are his selflessness, his thoughtfulness, his forthrightness, his gentleness.

As a younger kid, Nathanael would always take the smallest piece, do the extra chore, ask the deepest question, speak the hardest truth, give the most grace.  And he still does.  He looks out for those around him.  He swaps the laundry without being asked, and without announcing that he did.  He does chores for his siblings.  He admits when he’s messed up.  We offer him “paid” projects, and he’ll at times do them for free.  He hesitates to even communicate preferences because what he most prefers is for someone else to have their preference.  He still ponders deeply and problem-solves everything.  He’s often quiet…deadpan-funny…and brutally honest.  He plays games with his youngest siblings, which – believe me – requires an almost unbelievable amount of patience…and does so on a frequent basis.

I think the world of this son of mine.  I love that he is so consistent, principled, disciplined and kind-hearted.  I have treasured these 16 years with him and am beyond thankful for the gift he is to me and to our family.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like writing about life.  Somehow, politics and theology are easier topics to get my head around – and much less personal – than this everyday existence.  I don’t even really know if I have anything to say, but I occasionally get blindsided by how quickly these days are fading into memory that I figured maybe I should try.

A family picture from less than three years ago caught my eye today because my three older boys looked so young in it.  I was still taller than all of them then – now they are all taller than me, even the thirteen year old.  My littlest girl was still, truly, a little girl, and my baby, just a toddler.  I have moments when I can walk to the car with nothing more than my purse, and remember the days of infant car seats, diaper bags, and toddler hands…and the tears I cried way back then because I knew, as much as the moments felt tedious, I would miss them when I could leave the house unencumbered.

And I do miss them.

Yes, there is relief in knowing all of my kids have reached some level of personal responsibility that lifts a weight off my shoulders, but I was never under the illusion that this growing-up process would be a welcome one to me. It’s a struggle, nearly every day.  Every milestone and achievement celebrated usually also has me fighting unsuccessfully to choke back tears.  My kids and Tim have all come to expect it, and even joke about it, which does, oddly, make it a little easier.  They know I do really want to see them spread their wings and thrive in everything God has for them.

But, what do I do when they’re gone?

I know there will almost certainly be grandchildren, and requests for help, or even a child or two living at home at least a little way into adulthood.  But there will also be empty bedrooms, and a quiet dinner table, and a washing machine sitting unused for long stretches of each day.  Honestly, these thoughts make me plead for Jesus’s return as much as any of the atrocities in our world today.  I just don’t know how my heart will handle it.

But we’re told to not worry about tomorrow, and I imperfectly try to take that to heart and, when I remember, make the most of today.  So, I stay up later than I would like to talk with Caedmon about life.  I smile at my six year old and make sure to hear his voice that can be so easily drowned out by older, louder voices.  I help Nathanael weed his patch of corn, and take Bethany for coffee and clothes shopping.  I make slime and have tea parties with my two not-so-little little girls.  I listen while Elijah recounts the latest joke or factoid he’s read about…and remind myself to offer him extra words of encouragement, because even as a teenage boy, his sensitive nature still benefits from those words more than others might.

And I keep talking to my kids about Jesus.  We keep memorizing verses, and singing worship songs, and lifting up our needs in prayer…even when it seems tedious, or like they couldn’t care less…because this matters most – teaching them to seek Him in every moment, through every doubt, fear, question and trial.

I fail a lot.  I miss opportunities.  I yell when I shouldn’t.  I even sometimes take advantage of their capabilities to slack in my own.  I try to apologize when it’s warranted, but I’m sure I don’t get it right all the time.  I hope it’s enough that I remind them that these are all reasons why I need Jesus.  I hope they know, now and down the road, that, in spite of these failings, I love them beyond what words can express and I wouldn’t trade these days with them for anything.

Nine years ago, our Sweetpea was born…the smallest of all of my babies.  Now, she is taller than Ava, strong, independent, helpful and persistent.  While she was also the least interested of all her siblings to become mobile as a baby, she is now the one least likely to be sitting for any length of time.  Isabelle regularly finds excuses to be moving around when we’re watching a movie together.  Schoolwork is a challenge many days simply because she doesn’t feel like she’s doing anything.  She literally wanders around the house looking for tasks she can “help” with so that she doesn’t have to sit down and attend to her schoolwork.

The plus side of this is that she is quite proficient at many things.  She makes breakfast, does laundry, vacuums, cleans bathrooms, pulls weeds, helps Tim fix things, preps vegetables, waters plants, and so much more.  She is endlessly inquisitive and also loves to explain things to others.  When given the option, Isabelle will always choose to work alongside someone rather than work alone.  She seeks out interaction in almost any endeavor and just gets such joy out of being around people.

Isabelle is nurturing and compassionate.  She has the best giggle, still, and the biggest eyes that show every emotion so clearly.  She is often ready with a word of encouragement, and is particularly benefited by words of encouragement herself.  She is thoughtful and exuberant and literally bounces with excitement at times.  She brings light and optimism with her wherever she goes.

I love this youngest girl of mine with all my heart.  She is a unique, precious treasure to my heart…one of God’s very best gifts to me…and I am so thankful for the chance to celebrate her 9 years today.

Lucas is six years old today.  On any given day, he can be my biggest challenge or my greatest blessing, or both mere minutes apart.

He’s almost done with kindergarten, which I’m sure he’d tell you can’t end soon enough.  He HATES schoolwork…like, throws a mini-tantrum at least half the mornings when he’s reminded there’s schoolwork to be done.  And, to be fair, I’m still trying to figure out how he learns best, which means he’s had to do a lot of learning in ways that don’t come easily for him.  BUT, he started the school year not even really knowing the alphabet or numbers (due to lack of interest and motivation on both my part and his), and can now read enough to figure out most words, and though his math progress is slow, progress IS being made, and he is still far beyond where he started.

In other areas, though, he is exceptional.  He regularly surprises me with his listening comprehension and verbal communication skills.  He loves drawing, and his ability to memorize facts is impressive.  He can follow LEGO instructions for sets that should be too complicated for him, and can come up with his own detailed and functional creations.  As always, he is constantly trying to keep up with his older siblings, so his strength and coordination continue to improve at an accelerated pace.

The thing I find most remarkable about Lucas, though, is the way he observes and cares for people.  In spite of a particular selfish bent that might be magnified because he is the “baby”, he is very concerned with the well-being of those around him.  He is a protector of his sisters, he reminds his brothers of things when he thinks they might have forgotten, he prays for me if I’m hurt and hugs me if I’m sad.  He randomly writes notes telling me, Tim, or his siblings that he loves us, and he likes nothing better than to make someone laugh.

He has a lot of preferences, from not liking to wear pants that touch the floor at all, to preferring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches over almost any other food.  He likes to do tricks on his bike, and play stratego, and eat candy, and climb on everything, and sing like a heavy metal rocker.  Lucas is full of personality and energy and passion.  Still a force to be reckoned with in so many ways, but he brings joy to my heart even so.  He is a treasure and blessing to our home, and I am thankful beyond words for this six year old kid.

My oldest girl is seventeen today.

She became a licensed driver earlier this week. She has dreams of one day owning a purple ‘81 Corvette.  She is earning college credit and learning Calculus and still taking care of a flock of chickens.

She makes really intricate, creative jewelry.  She helps with house projects.  She randomly creates dress patterns.

She is growing in compassion and wisdom and responsibility.

We love our Miss Bethany so.  What a treasure these seventeen years have been.

Another year has flown by.  Caedmon is in full figuring-out-life mode.  He’s taking classes part-time, working part-time and trying to make decisions about what he actually wants to do with life.

We saw a sign in a store a while back that said something along the lines of “I’m an adult, but not, like, a REAL adult” and we both laughed because that is how things seem for him right now.  He’s wanting freedom and independence and space, but he’s also still borrowing our car and getting his laundry done for him.  He’s handling so many things on his own, though.  Saving money for college (he has enough for a car, just hasn’t found one yet).  Figuring out classes.  Working one job consistently, but also managing to fit in another one, as opportunity permits, that is giving him valuable experience.

And, to be honest, we’ve had some rough moments.  I’m learning how to let go, and he’s learning (I hope) that becoming an adult is a balancing act of responsibilities and relationships and learning how to choose self-sacrifice at times when it would be easier to choose self-service.  He pushes back more on some things, but he also listens and adjusts, which makes me so proud of who he is.

His interests have stayed much the same even as he has made his way into the world of adulting.  He loves music, he loves LEGO, he’s a big movie fan (particularly Marvel).  He likes anything rustic, cozy or Christmas. He chases Lucas around, makes “teenage boy” jokes with Elijah, and talks about ideas with Nathanael. He patiently listens while his younger sisters talk his ear off about things that, in general, couldn’t matter less to him.  He talks to Tim and me about life, and problem solving, and politics.

In truth, I miss the joyful, hopeful kid Caedmon was ten years ago.  In some ways, life has been really hard, and hasn’t left him without scars, which makes me want to yell at God about how unfair He can be sometimes.  But, instead, I talk to Caedmon about where our hope is found, and how to cling to Christ when we face loss or disappointment.  And I remind him that what we gain in eternity far outweighs any joy or sorrow we could experience now.  These lessons that I am still learning at 43 years old, he’s learning at nineteen, and it makes me hopeful for his relationship with the Lord to be that much richer and deeper and stronger because of it.

It seems that life gets more complicated with age, even for my kiddos.  But I am so thankful that I get to now walk side-by-side with Caedmon has he navigates his way through.  These nineteen years have been a blessing beyond words I can only hope for many, many more.