Blessed for a Reason

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.”

Isaiah 61:1-3

It’s easy to see the many blessings

Good news for the poor, bind the brokenhearted, liberty to captives, open the prison of those bound, proclaim the year of favor and the day of vengeance, comfort those who mourn, give a headdress instead of ashes, gladness instead of mourning, praise instead of a faint spirit, oaks of righteousness.

while overlooking the reason they’re given.

That he may be glorified.

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From Our Family To Yours

We didn’t send out Christmas cards this year for two reasons:

1. The address book is packed in a box that I apparently haven’t unpacked.

and

2. Our family photos typically look like this

So, please know that you haven’t been forgotten or removed from the mailing list.

We love you.

Merry Christmas!

– Matt, Jeannie & Abby

In Case You Didn’t Know-

Jesus is the Reason for EVERY Season.

Not just this one.

The Brilliance of Buttons

Sometimes I feel like I should write one of those posters that says, “All I Need To Know In Life, I Learned From My Granddad.”

He always wore a button-up shirt. My grandfather, that is. He always wore a long sleeve, button-up shirt.

Twills, cottons, and in the winter, flannel.

I can only recall three situations when he wore something different- funerals, church, and weddings. And at each of those events, he had a button-up dress shirt on under his jacket.

This morning as I struggled to get out of my pjs (a rather frequent battle of mine in the winter), I thought about Granddad and his shirts.

The shirts themselves didn’t mean much to me. I’d rather steal his plain white undershirts to use as nightgowns. But the act of him wearing the shirts is what I remember fondly.

Because no matter what he faced each day- gardening, fishing, changing a tire, grocery shopping, or just sitting at the kitchen table and talking with my grandmother- he felt the day was worth getting dressed for.

Not dressed in ratty old clothes, although he’d probably call them that, but dressed in a shirt that required buttoning. A shirt that took a little bit of effort.

I’m certain that he isn’t the only man his age that lived, and dressed, the same way. But he was the only man I knew who did.

I miss him, and his gentlemanly style, terribly.

Snowberries and Sunbeams

My heart hurt yesterday.

After talking and crying with Matt about the cancer our pastor is fighting, my best friend’s dad is fighting, his friend is fighting, the cancer that seems to be surrounding us at the moment, I felt raw. There’s no other way to describe it.

It felt like every nerve ending was exposed and the slightest breeze brought pain.

I turned off the tv and the computer and the phones, because they have become the bearers of bad news.

I went to my favorite chair and I sat in silence. I needed to hold completely still, completely silent, and just be. I needed to focus on breathing.

It was the best thing I could have done. While I sat, waiting to feel normal again, the sun dropped a little lower in the sky. And although I wasn’t previously aware of it, I discovered that my chair is in the ideal spot in our living room.

There are apparently a few minutes each day, minutes I sat trying to recover yesterday, when the sun shines directly through the wreath hanging on the window in our door and straight onto my chair.

And while I know that other people might think sitting in a house being blinded by the sun isn’t so great, for me it was perfect.

I was directly in the path of sunshine, and there’s something magical about having light wash over you and nothing else in the room, and as a bonus, the sun brought with it a clear view of snowberries.

As I sat, basking in warm light, watching dust specks dance in front of me, I noticed that everything seemed to hurt a little less. And for that- the dust and the light and the warmth- I am thankful.

Getting Through

For about the hundreth time yesterday, I heard someone say “If we can just get through the holidays, then…”. While I understand the sentiment, it overwhelms me with sadness.

Christmas isn’t a trial to survive. It isn’t just another day on the calendar. It shouldn’t be item #38 on our to-do list.

Christmas is a time for remembrance and thankfulness and love and joyful anticipation.

So why do we think that Christmas is standing in our way? Why do we act like Christmas is a meeting we wish we could cancel?

Something is wrong if we strive to get through Christmas and back to our daily lives instead of wanting to get through our daily lives and back to Christmas.

Wordless Wednesday

Abundance

I love Christmas. The meaning of it, the traditions, exchanging gifts, the songs and food. But the way we’ve celebrated Christmas in the past few decades, the way we celebrated last year, is a relatively new way of living.

There was a time when Christmas morning brought presents that weren’t trivial. Gifts often held new versions of worn out items. Things that helped with warmth, work, and education. December 25th offered up toys that had been wished for all year.

That’s not exactly how most of us are living these days.

Now it seems almost a burden to make a Christmas list. Nearly everyone gives “nothing” as their answer to “What do you want for Christmas?” Shopping for gifts becomes tedious and stressful.

Do I desire nothing for Christmas because I’m so satisfied with what I already have? Unfortunately, no. It’s because in all our low-middle class wealth, I want for nothing.

We buy things so often that we have destroyed the concept of anticipation.

So we, like many others, have chosen to scale down our gift giving this Christmas. I can’t remember a year when we didn’t discuss taking it easy, but this time we’re actually following through with our plans.

Personally, my decision stemmed from realizing that while there are many things I’d love to receive, things I’d cherish and enjoy, there are few things I really want.

And things I need? Nope. There are none of those.

I have a home filled with food, a family filled with love, and a savior filled with grace.

I am already blessed beyond measure.

But those are words often said and not always believed. Even when I’m the one saying them.

So tonight, I wondered how to put my material blessings into perspective. What would it take for me to understand even the tip of the iceberg that is my riches?

And then it came to me.

What if from December 26 until December 25 of the following year, what if every single non-essential purchase I made was wrapped and stored in my closet until Christmas morning?

Would a single closet offer enough space? Would I need a room to hold it all?

All the clothes.

The makeup.

The coffee mugs.

The decorations.

The movies and books and music.

The soft blankets.

The soaps and candles.

The fabric.

The chocolate.

The journals and the sharpies.

What if I saved it all for Christmas Day?

How would I feel upon seeing the boxes and bags stacked around the Christmas tree?

I can’t help but wonder, would the abundance bring me joy or shame?

Cat Tales

I wonder if I’ve ever mentioned my cat on this blog? If not, here goes: I have a cat. (I would say we have one, but every time the cat does something horrible Matt reminds me that I have a cat.)

He was my, our, first child and has taken a serious backseat to Abby over the past 3 1/2 years. So as he’s snuggled up next to me, and Abby is tucked away in her room, I thought I should share a little story about my first love.

I have a cat and his name is Troy. Troy Jr. For all who don’t know me, I have no interest in football or the Dallas Cowboys so no, he isn’t named after Troy Aikman.

He’s actually named after Troy Dyer- the slacker in the 90s movie Reality Bites. As a tiny kitten, I had no idea how fitting the name would be.

You see, when Troy was a few months old, my roommate and I came home to find him foaming at the mouth. Seriously, foaming.

Let me tell you, there is nothing like opening your front door expecting to see a sweet little kitten and instead finding a cat perched on the kitchen counter, staring at you, and foaming at the mouth.

We would have thought he was rabid if he’d ever been let outdoors. And even though we knew he wasn’t technically rabid, the crazed look in his eyes did absolutely nothing to ease our suspicions.

After a few moments of us staring at him and him staring at us, we noticed the wrapper on the counter.

Troy had bit into and through a Nyquil gel capsule.

Our fear of foam quickly turned to panic.

I promise you that if they had tested Nyquil on cats, that stuff wouldn’t have been approved for humans.

We took Troy to the vet where he had his stomach pumped and spent the night being monitored. (I didn’t even know they could pump a cat’s stomach.) I spent the evening wondering if he’d been hungry, curious, or acting out for attention. I’ll never know for sure, but given his namesake, I pick the latter.

Troy came home the next day. A little groggy but with a clean bill of health and a recommendation to keep all medicine out of his reach. We thought it had been a very close call.

The vet either didn’t want to scare us, or didn’t know what to expect because we were given no warning that Troy might be a little different afterwards. It was a few weeks later that we discovered the consequence of his actions: whenever he’s really happy, purring like a helicopter happy, he drools.

You read it right. My cat drools. Like pouring out the sides of his mouth drool. It’s disgusting.

So, that’s my cat’s deepest secret. He’s been living with the shame of drooling like a dog for 10 years now.

But I still love him. And Matt does too (though he’ll deny it if you ask him).

Maybe the next installation of embarrassing cat moments will tell how Kas (Troy’s brother) managed to light his own tail on fire.