Light Me Up In 2015!

 
If you ask me, the end of 2014 felt heavy.

There is often a bit of a letdown after Christmas.  I get that.  The anticipation is so great for all those weeks and the celebration of his birth means everything and then, it’s all over. 

I usually feel sad for a few days after Christmas, when I know I must wait another year to honor our baby king with beautiful lights and nostalgic music and, of course, gingerbread cookies.  As much as I love putting the decorations away, because that’s what people with OCD delight in after a hectic month, when everything is packed up neatly in tubs and tucked away for another eleven months, I instantly miss the tree and the manger and that Christmas feeling.  You know the one – that comfort you feel deep inside that all is right and peace will reign and love is the only thing we need. 

Christmas is twinkly and bright and exciting.  It’s full of surprises and celebrations and smiles.  Christmas is magical, and when it ends, all that joy that’s been building up for a month seems to fade as we face the reality that it will be a while before everything feels so special again. 

It never lasts more than a few days, and so I expected the same this go round.  But this year, it was different.  This year, the afterwards felt more empty than usual.  The sadness felt too deep.  My shoulders ached and my neck felt sore and I found tears lying just beyond everything I saw. 

There was no reason for the burdens that pulled me down.  God is good and my circumstances are too.  Great marriage.  Happy kids.  Our family is healthy, clothed, fed, sheltered.  We are warm and dry and so incredibly blessed.  I’m literally drowning in blessings.  But, drowning is still . . .

Drowning.

The guilt overwhelmed me as the new year began.  Get it together, girl, ran constantly through my mind.  You should live in a constant state of thankfulness with this life you lead.  People are hungry and scared and sick and alone and You. Should. Be. Nothing. But. Grateful.

GET IT TOGETHER. 

Then, I realized what was happening.  We do this thing every year, as one draws to a close and another begins.  We take stock.  While simultaneously pressing forward – making plans and goals and wishes - we can’t help but look back, and all that remembering fills us with emotions that have massive weight.

The last twelve months?

They were heavy.

Call my life blessed all you want because it is.  Call me fortunate because I am.  It doesn’t change the fact that for me . . . 2014 was hard.

2014 did not go as planned.

2014 had many messes and lots of tears and a whole heap of pain.

There was sadness and sickness and shame.  There were dashed dreams and unmet expectations and altered friendships that will never be the same.  There was loss and there was anger and there was the realization that God’s plans for me might not ever line up with my own.

It was a difficult year, and aren’t they all, my friends, on some days?

Doesn’t every year come complete with longings that can’t be fulfilled, relationships that can’t be mended, and conditions that can’t be changed?  Doesn’t every year have drought and doubt and darkness?  

Don’t we all have those days when we just can’t seem to find the light, and isn’t it okay as long as we let His light be the one that leads us out of our dark places?

It always does, you know.  He always shows us the way back to Him, and once we sit again at his feet, we can remember the rest. 

We can remember that amid the inevitable sorrow every year brings, there was SO MUCH beauty and joy to behold.  There were countless fun times and new friendships and a ton of laughter.  There were overcome challenges and memorable experiences and exciting opportunities.  Dashed dreams paved the way for new ideas.  Unmet expectations encouraged improvement.  Altered friendships taught us about forgiveness.  There was growth and gain and greatness in every single day, if we simply choose to look back on each of them through the lens of his glory and grace.

January brings sadness for me.  It just does.  I’ve blamed it on many things over the years – the end of the holiday season, the cold weather, the gray skies.  Yet I’ve realized it’s not a specific situation in my life weighing me down.  It’s simply because the flip of the calendar to a new year, to a new month in which I actually get to slow down long enough to be still with my thoughts, ignites in me the desire to evaluate the state of my heart.  And y’all, when I look long and hard at my heart . . . I’m sad.  Because I can see, my heart is still not where I want it to be.  I’ve had 12 months to give more, and I haven’t.  I’ve had 52 weeks to serve more, and I haven’t.  I’ve had 365 days to be a better wife and mom and daughter and daughter-in-law and sister and sister-in-law and aunt and friend, and I haven’t. 

Another ENTIRE YEAR has gone by . . . and I still don’t look a whole lot like Jesus. 

I’m not giving up.  This year has already started off much better than last year, because I spent the first week of this year with family and friends, instead of in the hospital (can I get an Amen for the one year birthday of my fabulous semi-colon?!). 

Without a doubt, 2015 promises to be another year of fullness.  I am certain it will be full of some familiar heartaches, because life will always have valleys this side of heaven.  There will be mistakes and missteps over the next twelve months, just as there were over the last twelve, and some of them might push me into those dark places where life feels hard and heavy.


I will not remain there. 


Because I know, His light is brighter than any darkness I face.  My heart may still be full of sin, but I know He is at work inside it, and He’s. Not. Giving. Up. Either.  


He is using every dark place in my life to shape me.  To change me.  To mold me in his image. 

And with every mountaintop I reach, I pray that I will be better able to reflect Him.

Happy New Year, my friends!  Wishing you health, happiness, and an abundance of His light and love in 2015!!!

Then spoke Jesus again to them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.  John 8:12

The After

We waited and it came and He came and it’s over and I’m . . .

Okay. 

Strange, how it always used to bring on sadness, the end of the Christmas season.  It used to feel so final, like it was simply a beginning and an end and 335 long days until it all came again.  I once dreaded the day after, when the enthusiasm of it all was over and there was no more anticipation for what would be.  

Strange, how adulthood changes everything, with no exception for Christmas.  Christmas, in fact, shines a blaring light on the transformation that occurs with age and maturity, as we go from waiting on Santa to becoming Santa to explaining Santa.

He knew the truth this year.  Said something about the Easter bunny last spring and when he did, he used his ten year-old fingers to make air quotes in the sky.  We were shocked, but not devastated.  Amused, but not annoyed.  Truthfully, I found some relief in discussing reality with my son.  It felt important, this exchange between parent and child, a way to cement our relationship in honesty.  It encouraged me to embrace the fact that time marches on, while allowing me to explain to Charlie that there is only one person I care about him believing in, and He doesn’t deliver baskets of eggs or fill stockings with presents.

Christmas was different this year, and not just because I'm pushing forty and there has been no denial of adulthood for quite some time.  There was less magic, less mystery for our family now that the oldest knows the truth and the youngest is more than a little suspicious.  Yet I am grateful for the changes, as the receding magic and mystery seemed to give way to something much better . . . more meaning.

I think that’s why Christmas is over and I’m okay.  Because Christmas as an adult and a mother has come to mean so much more than the weeks leading up to the twenty-fifth day of December . . . so much more than the excitement over celebrating the birth of a baby.  The birth of the baby no longer means the holiday season is over.  The birth of the baby no longer signifies the end of the most wonderful time of the year.  Christmas is over for another year and its okay because the birth of a baby is never an ending . . . it’s always a beginning.  And this baby . . . He didn’t come as the finale to a month of merriment.  He didn’t come as a conclusion.  This baby came to start and finish and live and be the most wonderful love story OF ALL TIME. 

This baby means everything. 

I will miss the world adorned in its holiday splendor, lights twinkling all over town to announce the arrival of the Light of the World.  I will miss cards arriving in the mailbox each day and searching for surprises and songs about a silent night. Still, it is okay, because although the Christmas season is over, I no longer miss what I was missing all that time.  I no longer miss Him. 

We waited and it came and He came. 

For all.  For always.   

4 Days Until Christmas!!!

There’s a whole lot of waiting in December.

Waiting to buy presents at the mall, waiting in line to visit Santa, waiting to open gifts, waiting for the mail to come each afternoon, waiting for school to get out, waiting and waiting and even more waiting.

Waiting is hard.  Patience is a virtue, after all, and maybe even more so in December.  Our patience already worn thin by the pressures we heap on ourselves during this, the busiest season of the year, we look for joy in so many places.  Sometimes, we find it.  Joy is in all those places we seek to discover it. 

There is joy in searching for just the right gift for the people you love most.  There is joy in rolling out cookie dough and spreading icing on sugar angels.  There is joy in coming up with clever elf tricks after the kids go to bed and hiding that perfect present in a spot no one will think to look and drinking eggnog with family members you wish you saw more than once every twelve months.

But that virtuous patience . . . sometimes it stretches so thin it simply can’t hold, and the waiting suddenly begins to feel void of anything worthy of honor.  Still, the waiting . . . it does mean something.

In December, we wait because we have hope for what is to come.  We wait for the One we know is coming.  We wait for Him, and HE. IS. ALWAYS. WORTHY.  He is void of nothing, except for sin, and he came as a baby to grow into a man who would become our sin, and die for our sin, and forgive our sin.

We worship the day the baby came.  We worship with trees covered in lights and wreaths on every door and songs about a manger.  We wait all month and then we worship the baby who became a man and a Savior.  We gather and we celebrate and the joy . . . it’s so full. 

Christmas is just so full.

And yet, the waiting continues.

Because He came, and He lived, and He died, and even after December is over and the trees and wreaths have been put away, we will not forget.  The One who came as a baby in Bethlehem?  The One who lived as a human without sin?  The One who died on a hill in Calvary?

He is coming again. 

That’s why the waiting means something, my friends.  Waiting for Him shows all the world that WE BELIEVE.

We believe in the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes.  We believe in the man who taught us what love means.  We believe in the Savior who hung on a cross to set us free.

We believe in Jesus, and this Christmas, and all the Christmases to come . . .

We will wait for Him.

Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart: wait, I say, on the Lord. 

Psalm 27:14

Tis' The Season

Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come.  The month has arrived and the race is set to begin.  The contestants have taken their places on the starting line, and nervous energy bounces and crackles between them.  Anticipation hangs in the crisp December air and the stadium is packed with eager spectators.  The bell rings and they’re off like a shot!  The crowd erupts in cheers as they surge ahead, faces set in serious concentration, eyes focused solely on the rush towards the finish.  They push and shove and grab at the things in their path – lights, trees, wreaths, bows.  They agonize about stocking stuffers, toil over gingerbread houses, and search for the world’s cutest picture to put on the front of a card.  They rack their brains to come up with elf tricks, fretting and fussing to make every second count as they check off the items on their lengthy must-do lists.   Over and over they shop, purchase, wrap and label, as the minutes speed by until the twenty-fifth day.  

Y’all . . . I get it.  December is nuts.  We look forward to the holiday season all year long, and then we find ourselves panicked and frustrated because budgets are tight, parking spaces are allusive, and our children can’t seem to summon even an ounce of gratitude while scouring the dozens of toy catalogs that arrive in the mailbox each afternoon.  It’s the same thing every year - we become so focused on finding the perfect gift for everyone in our lives that we forget the greatest gift ever given is the reason we’re celebrating in the first place.

That stadium of spectators?  That crowd of people?  They ARE paying attention.  Christians, let’s never forget we always have an audience.  And right now, as we experience the advent season and prepare for the coming of our King, the whole world is watching.  

What will these people do to honor that glorious day God came to dwell among them?

Will they spend more time fighting over their place in line than fighting to provide peace?  Will they invest more in presents under the tree than in being present in the lives of their neighbors?  Will they sacrifice their patience instead of their plenty?

This is our chance, my friends.  This is an opportunity we simply can’t afford to miss.  We have a captive audience and we can show them what Christmas is all about.  We can put aside all our good intentions to provide the best gifts for our families, and instead, we can provide the best gift of all time . . . to the world.

I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes. Romans 1:16-17

Am I ashamed of the gospel?

A Christmas tree stands tall and proud in our family room, covered in lights, crosses of all shapes and sizes dangling from its branches.

But am I ashamed of the gospel?

There are nativities in our kitchen, foyer, dining room, and basement, their statues a reminder of that night in a Bethlehem manger.

But am I ashamed of the gospel?

We read aloud from our Jesse tree devotional each night, listening in awe to the Old Testament stories that paved the way for a Savior to come.

BUT AM I ASHAMED OF THE GOSPEL?

Have I told anyone about that Savior this week?  Have I shared the prophecies that for centuries whispered His name?  Have I mentioned that holy night when Mary held the Son of God in her very arms, tiny and precious and exactly what the Bible promised all along?

The gospel is good news for ALL to hear.  It is the gift of the season – HE is the gift of the season.  And gifts are always meant to be given away.

I pray we will not be ashamed of the gospel this Christmas season.  I pray we will announce the good news every chance we get, to every person who needs to hear it. 

I still can’t quite believe it’s over.  All that thought and time and energy and money put into one of the most wonderful days of every year, and now . . . it’s already two days past Christmas.  The good news, of course, is that Christmas is really just the beginning of the celebration.  It’s the day Jesus was born – the day God became man so we could begin to grasp the depth of his love for us.  The rest of his short life was equally as amazing and, don’t worry, there are even more donkeys and angels.  YAY!

Christmas this year was a whirlwind for me, as I imagine it might have been for many of you.  There were family gatherings and parties mixed in with all the decorating, shopping, wrapping, and cooking in a way that makes me wonder exactly where the month of December went.  Honestly, I think I spent most of it trying to come up with elf tricks. 

And now that Christmas Day has come and gone, and I’ve had a full day to reflect on the most magical time of the year . . . I’ve come up with two moments that defined my holiday season. 

The first came on Christmas Eve, smack in the middle of a beautiful candlelight service.  My nine-year-old was sitting to my left, my dad on the right.  Everyone was dressed up and the air was full of excitement and the joy could clearly be heard in the voices of the congregation, our voices lifted to the heavens in praise of the One who came to save.  My eyes filled with tears, as they often seem to do when thousands of people are singing together about Jesus, and I could actually feel the magic of Christmas flow through me.  And then, my precious son, dressed in his holiday best and bubbling over with anticipation about the hours ahead, leaned over to me, and with wide eyes and a very serious demeanor, asked the one question I’ve happily avoided for all of his nine Christmases so far.

“Mom, what exactly is a virgin anyway?”

I probably shouldn’t cuss on a blog about Jesus, but man, I sure wanted to at that moment.  In church.  On Christmas Eve.  

Not to worry.  I simply told my son we’d talk about it later.  The problem, of course, is that now it IS later, and because my son has the best memory of anyone I know, I feel quite certain the chat I’ve never wanted to have is going to happen any minute now.  Awesome.  Next Christmas, he’ll probably lean over and want to know exactly what those “band-aids for Mommies” are that sit in a box on the back of the potty for a few days every month, and I’ll be trying to figure out how to explain tampons while everyone else is belting out Joy to the World.

The second monumental moment of Christmas 2012 occurred at precisely 12:07 on Christmas Day.  The reason I know the exact time of this disturbing event?  It was the time on the clock when all of my Christmas decorations, minus the tree, were officially down and packed into tubs in the storage room, not to be seen again until next December.  An entire year of therapy and THAT’S how much my OCD has improved?  You’ve got to be kidding. I’d like to blame my insanity on the fact that we were leaving the house at 12:30 and not planning to return for over a week.  But really, I’m not sure that fact offers much of an excuse.  The scariest part of the whole deal is the way I felt when I looked at the clock at seven minutes past noon and realized the only thing left to do to “undecorate” was to take down the tree (which won’t happen until after our trip). 

I was ecstatic. 

And that, my friends, is why I need Christmas.  Because despite all my efforts . . . despite all my plans and intentions and prayers and dollars spent trying to work through my mess . . . I need Jesus. I will always need Jesus.   

And He is here.

Emmanuel.

God with us. 

May he bring peace into your lives as 2012 comes to a close, and my he bring peace into mine as well.  The kind of peace that settles my heart when I know I'm on the cusp of an important conversation.  The kind of peace that allows me to find calm in the midst of clutter.  The kind of peace only the Prince of Peace can offer.    

Hallelujah, the King is here

Given for all men

For today the holy son of God

Is born in Bethlehem.

"Born in Bethlehem" by Third Day

 

Merry Christmas!  I hope you have a wonderful day celebrating the birth of our Savior with your family and friends! 

God bless you . . . every one.:)

 

So, here's the deal, friends.  You can't read this post.  You have to sing it to the very familiar tune of Jingle Bells (but with an extra verse between each chorus, because I just couldn't make it work any other way).   Go ahead now.  Belt it out.  And don't worry - no one can hear you.:)

 

Dashing through the Forum,

In my banged up SUV,

Cursing every minivan,

That pulls in front of me.



Who are all these people?

Where did they come from?

Don’t they know this is my mall,

Who invited them to come?



I’m running out of time,

There's only one day more,

How will I be super Mom

if I don’t hit every store?





OH, jingle bells! Jingle bells!

It’s almost Christmas Day,

Only hours left to go

SO GET OUT OF MY WAY!

 

 

 

I find a spot to park,

I grab my purse and run,

I’ll make it through this shopping list,

And boy will it be fun.



I find the things I need,

But the lines are oh so long,

I’m mad at everyone I see,

Why does this feel so wrong?



I wait and wait and wait,

I buy and buy and buy,

I add up all the money spent,

I think I might just cry.



OH, jingle bells! Jingle bells!

It’s almost Christmas day,

I should be filled with happiness,

But I want to run away.

 

 

 

Finally I’m done, 

I slump back towards my car,

Then glance up at the dark night sky,

And glimpse a shimmering star.



The bags fall from my hands,

The anger flees my mind,

Hope and peace consume my soul

As I watch that star just shine.



It’s not about the shopping

It’s not about my list,

It’s all about remembering

God’s greatest ever gift.



OH, jingle bells! Jingle bells!

Feel the wondrous joy,

All because in Bethlehem,

 Was born a baby boy.


I return home to my crew,

My spirits lifted high,

The stress is washed away,

For I'm focused on the why.



Our tree is filled with lights,

The stockings hung with care,

I pull my kids in close,

I have something to share.



"I love you more than words,

I love you in every way,

But no one's ever loved you,

Like God on Christmas Day."

 

OH, jingle bells! Jingle bells!

Thank you, God above,

You sent your one and only son,

And filled the world with love.

Shockingly, I've never won a Grammy for my songwriting skills.  Still, how'd you do?  Feel better?  I hope so. Now . . . after you go shopping tomorrow for the eleventh time this month and it takes thirty minutes to park and you wait in line for hours and you spend all your money on toys your kids will forget about in 47.9 seconds, sing it again.  And this time . . . let the whole world hear you. 

There are two reasons I know someone is trying to knock some sense into me.  Dream one and dream two.  Both in the same night.  Both causing me to wake up with my arms over my head in an attempt to protect myself from the enormous pieces of machinery coming towards me, while I lay cowering on the ground.  Because I have a son, I actually know the name of these demon machines that threatened to decapitate me in the middle of the night.  They were excavators, one gigantic and one just plain huge, one filled with sand and one filled with red clay.  Apparently, the attacks were occurring on Georgia soil.  

Two dreams in one night in which I was about to be clobbered in the head?  Sure seems to be clear evidence that someone is trying to knock some serious sense into me.  In this case, I believe that person is Jen Hatmaker. 

I desperately want to plagarize Jen Hatmaker because then you would think I was absolutely brilliant.  But alas, I'm not the plagarizing type, so my suggestion is you buy her books as soon as possible and read them yourselves.  Then, you too can have dreams about being frozen on the ground in the middle of an active construction site.  

Jen Hatmaker has me so stirred up I can barely sit still, or think straight, or complete a sentence.  You should see my list of things I want to write about – it’s a mile long and looks like someone on heavy drugs wrote it.  There is, however, one common theme on my rambling list of jumbled ideas – a single name that repeats over and over and over again. 

Jesus.

I know, I know.  I always seem to come back to that guy, don't I?  Trust me, I never thought I'd be that person.  I sin, and a lot of times, I enjoy it.  (If you're doubting my deep need for a Savior, I should probably inform you that Adam and I were trying to come up with something fun for the Elf to do a few nights ago, and the first thought I had involved naked Barbies, Cool Whip, and an empty box of . . . like I said, I sin, and sometimes, I giggle while doing it.)  Despite my sinful nature, I always believed God was the one writing my story, and for whatever reason, in the last few years He's encouraged me to make sure my story points to Him.

Of course, it is almost Christmas.  Jesus should be on my mind, right?  I mean, this is his time to shine.  This is the season when he actually gets to occupy some shelf space.  You might even see him in storefronts and on catalog covers right now.  He'll be the tiny one - the baby lying in a feeding trough in the middle of a barn, because that's where kings are born when hotels are filled to capacity. 

The thing is, I keep seeing Jesus and thinking about Jesus and reading books by Jen Hatmaker about Jesus, but I don't understand why I can't get the fellow out of my head.  Sure, he looks cute in his manger, but my mind isn't racing with images of a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, although I'd gladly trade my two big kids in for one right now since a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes wouldn't expect an elf to perform G rated magical feats in the middle of EVERY. FREAKING. NIGHT. IN. DECEMBER. 

All cuteness aside, baby Jesus isn't the one consuming my thoughts.  Instead, it's the Jesus of Easter I'm thinking about.  I'm way ahead on the calendar and completely off on my holidays.  Can I put a bunny on the top of my Christmas tree, because I can't stop thinking about the grown-up Jesus.  The one who performed miracles to prove he was the son of God. The one who provided instructions on exactly how we should live. The one who took every bit of my sin - all of it - and died on a cross to and wash it away forever.

Do I remember they are one and the same - the baby lying in the manger next to farm animals and the man who gave me freedom?  When I'm running around in circles planning and decorating and buying and buying and buying and wrapping and addressing and mailing . . . do I remember that the baby I'm celebrating became a man?  A man who loved me so much he willingly gave his life as a ransom for mine.

As I write the words . . . I know.  I know they are the reason I'm dodging excavators in the middle of the night.  It's not because of Jen Hatmaker.  She's a great writer and I highly recommend her books and blog, but she's not the reason I can't stop thinking about Jesus. 

The reason I can't stop thinking about Jesus is because his Father is after my heart.  In the midst of all my Christmas preparations and holiday busyness, God is whispering sweet reminders in my ear.  As I rush around trying to check off every item on my December to-do list, He wants to make sure I know . . . really know . . . how much he loves me.  And all I have to do to know how much God loves me, is look at Jesus.

The one sleeping between the cow and the donkey.

The one who became a carpenter and a man.

The one who lived, and died, to save me.

To save you. 

To save the world.   




 

I’m so guilty.  I buy into it every time.  I promise myself I won’t, but sure enough, I get sucked right in.  It happens as soon as I see the wreaths go up on the neighbors’ front doors and the stores start playing Mannheim Steamroller and my kids begin questioning the magical abilities of our Elf.   It’s as if someone has flipped a switch inside me and I can’t find the darn thing to turn it off. 

When I feel the tug, I immediately brace myself, working with intention to keep the focus where it should be.  I put out the nativity sets and hang up the Luke 2:10-11 banner and set up the advent tree.  My intentions are just that, however . . . intentions.  And the next thing I know I’m driving all over town in search of new, more, different, more, brighter, more, bigger, more, better, more, more, more, MORE.

It might have helped if I had left our house alone.  Just a few years ago, our house was all red and sage and gold.  Christmas matched.  Now, our house is all gray and blue and cream, and when I pulled out the tubs of Christmas stuff from the basement last week, I couldn’t possibly imagine living with any of it for an entire month.  

So.  I compromised.  The foyer, which has a big, bold, colorful painting on the wall, is now graced with a big, bold, colorful sixteen-inch tall felt nativity set that I envision my grandchildren playing with one day.  It’s the most precious Christmas decoration you’ve ever laid eyes on and makes me grin from ear to ear every time I look at it.  

The former living room, which recently became Adam’s office because of his new job working from home, has one very plain Santa.  He’s wood, I think, very cream and grayish, and actually quite adorable because he’s holding a candy cane behind his back.  Still, this room used to be one of my favorite rooms to decorate.  This year, I’m closing the French doors and pretending it’s totally decked out. 

All of the red and green items I previously adored are currently confined to the kitchen, which is so neutral it can handle the infusion of Christmas for a few weeks.  On December 26^th, I’ll frantically shove it all back into the tubs from which it came with an obscene amount of pleasure, but for now, it looks fun and festive. 

The family room was a challenge.  It’s very much connected to the kitchen, but every time I tried to put something red and green near the gray, taupe, and cream, I broke out in hives.  Must have something to do with that OCD issue of mine.  Things that don’t match look cluttered and I am highly allergic to clutter.  I ended up keeping a hint of green – the Christmas tree sits proudly in this room, after all – but most of my decorations are of the silver, cream, and gold variety.  I think it works.  It looks all dressed up for Jesus, but doesn’t make my brain hurt.

The dining room – well, that’s where my new color scheme demanded a bit of new and different, which, of course, meant more.  I did some repurposing before I spent any money.  I made a wreath from burlap ribbon and some old fabric scraps.  I painted and glazed some wooden trees so they are now snow-covered trees.  Yet somehow, it didn’t seem like enough, and sadly, this is where the flip switched my friends.  Before I knew it, I was holding a receipt from Homegoods that was longer than most of my grocery lists.  That’s just pathetic when there are starving children in Africa.  And Asia.  And Haiti.  And Afghanistan.  And India.  And probably right down the street.

What is it about Christmas?  Why does it bring out my consumerism to such a massive degree I completely forget my income bracket?  And really, why am I blaming it on Christmas?  Christmas is simply an excuse.  It’s my reason for the temporary insanity that causes me to throw money at items that will sit out for four weeks a year.  The real question is . . . why do I feel the need to constantly collect things . . . worthless, insignificant things that have absolutely no eternal value?  None.  Am I looking for my worth in having a home beautifully decorated for the holidays?  Will I find my worth in the perfect tree or the just-right stockings or the ribbon that’s the exact shade I need? 

Surely, I’m worth more than a bowl of ornaments that match the pillow on my couch.  

I talk about Christmas and its REAL meaning all the time.  I talk about the “reason for the season” at church, at school, in the check-out line at Homegoods.  The real meaning of Christmas is to celebrate the birth of Jesus. In my head, I fully comprehend that fact.  But if I just think a bit deeper, if I look with my heart and go beyond the meaning to the purpose, I find something else.  Something so wonderful and amazing and unbelievable, I can hardly fathom its significance.

Christmas means God looks beyond my ridiculous amounts of spending and my silly concerns with decorating and my obsessive desire to please others and discover my worth in worldly pleasures.

Christmas means God thinks so highly of me, he sent his one and only Son to die in my place.

Christmas means God loves me so much, he was willing to sacrifice his child to save me.

Christmas means . . . God thinks I’m worth it.

He thinks you’re worth it too. 

Christmas lists can be rather telling, don’t ya think?

Confession: Last December, I had to seek counseling over my son’s Christmas list. Yes, my friends, a letter written by a seven year old beginning with the words “Dear Santa” sent me to therapy.

Let me explain.

I am a bubble mom. Hey, I’m a control freak and control freaks like to keep their kids in
bubbles . . . teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy, small ones. I discovered not long after becoming a mother that I had very clear visions regarding what I did and did not want to expose my children to, and there were a LOT of things on the “no” list.

To give you an example of how hard-core my list was, I will admit to nursing Charlie while watching HGTV on mute. Why was the TV on mute, you ask?  Because I couldn’t stand the thought of exposing my newborn baby to anything that might be even the slightest bit negative, and they might use such appalling words as “hate” or “sexy” on HGTV.  (They do, you know, which is why I still don’t allow my kids to watch Divine Design, even though I think Candice Olsen hung the moon, and when I win the lottery and feed as many starving kids as possible, I will then hire her to redecorate my entire life.)

I’m still terrified of the television when it comes to my children. Now that Charlie is older, he wants to watch sporting events with his daddy. Sure, golf is fairly clean, but I have to make sure Adam is armed with the remote control ready to change the channel as soon as any commercials come on. I simply don’t have the inclination to explain why half-naked women show up on all beer commercials and I definitely don’t want to explain what Viagra is all about.

Movies make me nervous too. Although there are guidelines for determining the rating of movies, I’m not so sure they make sense. We even stayed away from the G rated Disney movies until last January, when it snowed so much the kids were out of school for a week and we finally tired of sledding down our driveway. I know they’re classics, but again, the language isn’t always appropriate and the themes irritate me. I mean seriously, what did Walt Disney have against mothers anyway?

Music is yet another issue for bubble moms like myself. There is nothing great out there for school age children. My kids loved Bible songs and the baby and toddler CD’s when they were young, but once they started school, they outgrew “The Wheels on the Bus,” and there just isn’t a next step. I love music with a great beat as much as the next girl, but I don’t need The Black-Eyed Peas on my five-year-old's play list.

My extreme sheltering extends beyond television, movies, and music. Until last Christmas, we didn’t have any toys with weapons in our house. In fact, I never used the word ‘gun’ in front of my children, along with many other words like ‘kill’, ‘die’, or ‘dead.’ I realize my kids will one day learn our world has the potential to be a violent place, but I wanted to put that day off for as long as possible. So, for years, when my daughter saw a beetle on the ground that wasn’t moving, I told her it was simply taking a little snooze on the sidewalk. And when well-meaning family members bought Star Wars Lego sets for my son because they thought I was going overboard with my desire to protect my children’s innocence, I confiscated the weapons in the blink of an eye and threw them immediately into the trash.

Like I said . . . hard-core. I formed a bubble around my children and tired to keep it intact for many years. Of course, every bubble pops eventually, and the one I created around Charlie and Libby finally did. In fact, it probably popped years earlier, but I was too busy making sure my kids still thought the ‘F’ word had to do with releasing bodily gas to realize it. When I saw Charlie’s Christmas list last December, however, I knew my bubble had burst.

My seven-year-old son asked Santa Claus to bring him a Nerf gun, a bow and arrow, and a pocketknife for Christmas.

Every single item on his list was a weapon.
Well, this bubble mom panicked. I called the counselor at Charlie's school and requested an emergency meeting while visions of sociopaths danced in my head.

The amazing school counselor reassured me that my son was not on his way to becoming a dangerous criminal. He was just a little boy who wanted to play like a little boy with toys made specifically for, yep, you got it . . . little boys. It made sense when a trained professional explained it that way, so I went with it, and after my counseling session, Santa delivered in a BIG way. He brought Charlie a nerf gun and a bow and arrow for Christmas. TWO weapons. Of course, in typical fashion, Charlie rarely plays with either of them, but they sit in his closet, reminding me that there is no way I will always be able to protect my children. They will hear things I don’t want them to hear. They will see things I don’t want them to see. They will learn things I don’t want them to learn. All I can do is try to keep the lines of communication open and pray for God’s protection over my children. And I have to trust that the bubble I had around Charlie and Libby for so many years gave them just enough sheltering to allow them to go out into the world and find the good in it.

This year, Charlie’s Christmas list looks like this:
1. Play Station
2. Backpack (it doesn’t matter which color)
3. Another Nerf Gun
4. Surprises!!!

Number two is my favorite. Only a male could be that agreeable. Man, I love that kid. And I'm so glad I won't need any therapy this year.

Merry Christmas my friends! May God richly bless you this holiday weekend and always!