Emmanuel

It’s December 13^th.   Twelve days until Christmas. 

Plenty of time.

Plenty of time to get the shopping done.  Plenty of time to wrap the gifts.  Plenty of time to trim the tree and mail the cards and bake the cookies. 

Don’t panic, my friends.  There is plenty of time.

I know how it goes.  We hustle and bustle all month long.  We rush around in a flurry, here, there, and everywhere.  Our minds race with all that must be done.  The commitments pile up and the lists grow longer and we wake up in a cold sweat fretting about whether we’re on track to accomplish all that we need to accomplish to pull this thing off. 

Did we remember to move the elf?  Did we remember to read the Jesse tree devotional?  Did we remember to put a treat in the advent calendar?  Did we actually order that gift for our mother-in-law, or did we just dream that we did?

It’s okay.  Christmas is busy.  We try to get things done early, but it’s tough to put much of a dent in the responsibilities that go along with making this much magic in a single month.  There are expectations this time of year – BIG ones – and most of them fall on us moms.

In addition to the myriad of roles we play every other day of the year - you know the ones – nurse, cook, housekeeper, chauffer, psychologist, rule enforcer, wife (that usually does seem to come in last, doesn’t it?), in December, we add a slew of duties to this mama position that can make our heads spin.

We do the planning and the decorating and the shopping and the baking and the surprising.  We create the cards and order the cards and stuff the cards and address the cards and stamp the cards and mail the cards.  We rack our brains to come up with the perfect gifts for everyone in the family and fuss about how much money we’ve spent to make everyone we love feel equally special.  We plan school celebrations and ornament exchanges and tacky sweater parties.  We cut and tape and tie and hide packages in places we might never find them again, and y’all, at six o’clock this morning I was using the tip of my pinky finger to spread Nutella on the tiny mouth of our elf, because, ya know, that sneaky little fella got into the candy jar last night while we are all sleeping lying awake trying to think of new elf tricks.

It’s okay.

Christmas is hard and I’m tired too.  My body shifted into overdrive the second we put away the pumpkin pie and my brain is turning to eggnog as I try to fulfill all the requests and requirements that go along with the biggest holiday of the year. 

But it’s okay.  I won’t get it all done and I won’t get it all right.  I will forget to send someone a card.  I will burn a batch of gingerbread cookies.  I will get him the wrong color and her the wrong size and I will worry about presents when the whole thing . . . the whole month . . . our whole life . . . is all about His presence.

I will screw up this Christmas because I am a mess, and isn’t it funny how He came?  Not in a royal palace, surrounded by the splendid majesty he deserved.  No.  He came in a barn.  He came in the middle of the dirt and the muck and the animals and the mess.

He came to be human, and the barn was the perfect place for him to enter the world, because it wasn’t perfect.  A king born in a messy barn was exactly the right setting, because he wants to settle himself in our mess.  He wants to settle in our messy hearts and stay forever.

So don’t panic, my friends.  Enjoy this Advent season.  Enjoy the hustling and the bustling and the extra obligations.  Enjoy the rushing and the racing and the added commitments.  Amid your shopping and wrapping and celebrating, feel the comfort he provides.  Feel the peace he brings.  Feel the hope he offers.  Feel his light and love envelop your soul as he settles deep within, content to stay as long as you let him.


There is plenty of time to get ready for Christmas. 


There is plenty of time to get ready for His coming. 

Because He’s already here.

Genius Friends, Part Two

Y’all, doesn’t it make sense to assume that since my friends are geniuses, I must also be a genius?  I’m thinking it’s a perfectly sound theory, so if no one opposes, I’m gonna go with it.

I recently wrote about one of my genius friends offering me the beautiful reminder that communion with God must be a daily renewal.  (The really smart, computer savvy bloggers know how to insert a link for that post here, but sadly, I am not one of those bloggers.  The post is called Every Day of the Week And Twice on Sundays, if you want to read it). 

So get this, another genius friend of mine said another genius thing in my very same kitchen on that VERY SAME NIGHT.  It could have been the wine, but I’d prefer to think it’s because, clearly, my girlfriends rock, and therefore, let’s once again go with the theory that so must I.

This particular friend of mine is involved with a ministry called Wiphan.  The name Wiphan comes from combining the words ‘widow’ and ‘orphan,’ and the goal of this organization is to “equip widows and orphans for a productive life, offering hope to the hopeless through the love of Jesus Christ.”  Wiphan does most of its work in the compounds of Nkwazi and Mapalo, which are in Zambia, the tenth poorest country in Africa.  The population of each of these areas is approximately 40,000 people, most of whom live in homes built of mud bricks, which often leak during the rainy season.  The people have little or no furniture, no running water or indoor plumbing, and most are without electricity.  A widow and her children typically end up living in such compounds after “property grabbing” occurs after the death of the husband.  This culturally accepted practice allows the deceased husband’s family to strip the widow of all her financial and material resources, leaving her without any means of supporting herself and her children.  Most widows are uneducated and without job skills.  Jobs for unskilled widows are practically nonexistent in an economy with a 50% unemployment rate, and many women in the compounds turn to prostitution for income.

Wiphan has started two schools near these compounds that provide a free education, five meals a week, basic medical care, and uniforms to over 400 children in grades 1-7.  The organization also helps fund tuition for children who wish to further their education beyond seventh grade in government secondary schools, while providing those children with encouragement, discipleship, and academic assistance through their Inshila Program.  In addition, Wiphan offers free skills training in hospitality, jewelry making, and keyboarding to widows and older orphans.  Finally, the organization has partnered with another ministry, Tuli One (We Are One) to develop group homes that provide supervision, care, and protection to orphans who attend the Wiphan schools.   

Please check out this amazing ministry and the incredible work they are doing by visiting the Wiphan website at www.wiphan.org

Now I’ve been trying to write about what this friend of mine told me in my kitchen for weeks, but every time I did, the words just wouldn’t come out on the computer screen like they were making me feel in my mind and heart and soul.  Because the truth is, these words . . . I will NEVER forget them.  These words were life changing. 

I am a guilty person.  I feel a lot of guilt about a lot of things a lot of the time.  If I eat a cookie on a weeknight after working out, I feel guilty.  If I miss a sporting event for one of my children, I feel guilty.  If I am late to a meeting with a friend, I feel guilty.  If I complain about something in my house to my husband who is working so hard to provide for our family, I feel guilty.  I spend a lot of life feeling guilty about my failures, my shortcomings, my mistakes, my selfish desires.  And it’s exhausting.  It’s exhausting and stupid and worthless and the Bible tells me not to do it. 

I do it anyway.

My friend recently spent a week in Zambia visiting the widows and orphans that Wiphan is helping to equip.  During her time there, she had the opportunity to visit one of the Tuli One housemoms, who currently cares for four double orphans – four boys without anyone else to care for them, who all attend Wiphan’s Nkwazi campus. The woman’s name is Lyness. 

Lyness lives in the Nkwazi compound in an area called “The Overspill.”  It’s called by this name because it is on the outskirts of the compound, which is overcrowded, so it literally is the “overspill.”  The address written on Lyness’ house actually says Overspill.

When my friend arrived at Lyness’ home, the woman was doing laundry in the backyard (washing clothes in a bucket and hanging them on tree limbs to dry).  She welcomed my friend into her mud home, proudly showing her around.  Lyness had a nicer home than many in the compound – five rooms large including a living room, kitchen, and three bedrooms.  She did not have indoor plumbing or electricity.

My friend quickly noticed that just outside Lyness’ home, she had drawn a large rectangle in the dirt, and on one side of the rectangle, there were two large tree limbs stuck into the ground.  Wondering what all this was about, my friend asked why the woman had such things.  And her response was so unbelievably precious, I can hardly think about it without tears streaming down my face.

“That’s where I’m going to add on to my home one day.”

I picture the mud house in my mind.  I picture the woman and the dirt and the orphans and the poverty and the starvation and the illness and the AIDS and the death running rampant in her country and beyond, and the woman . . . Lyness . . . full of holiness . . . overspilling with holiness . . . because she wasn’t thinking about any of that.  She was thinking about having a nicer home one day.

And the tears just keep falling.  Because Lyness and me . . . we aren’t that different. 

Adding on. 

A plan for something more. 

A dream of something better.

Hope.

What a beautiful, glorious word, and yet much of the time, we discard it.  We make it insignificant, even insufficient.  Why?  Why do we forget about the hope we have when it’s such a part of everything we believe and love and hold sacred? 

HE. IS. HOPE. 

And He wants us to be hopeful.

We don’t have to feel guilty about the desires of our hearts, as long as they aren’t the focus of our lives.  It’s okay to dream big.  It’s okay to think about having something better than what you have now.  Being content doesn’t mean you can’t be hopeful at the same time.  Thanking God in every circumstance doesn’t mean you can’t wish for something different, something more, and set your sights on making it happen.  God knows your heart anyway, so why pretend you don’t want to be a better cook, a better wife, a better mom, a better friend?

We have Him, and because of that, we can have hope.  We SHOULD have hope.  Hope like the hope of Lyness, who dares to dream big.  Hope that doesn’t see anything standing in the way of what God can do.

Hope that overspills. 

Fun, faith, and . . . ummm . . . fruit loops? I'm sorry. I must have read that wrong.

Nope. You read it right. Fun, faith, and fruit loops. It's the perfect title for this blog. Let me tell you why.

The fun part is easy. I like to have it. As often as possible. I'm sure you feel the same way. Fun is just so much . . . FUN! And it's incredibly interesting to think about the many ways people go about creating their fun. For me? Baking chocolate chip banana bread is fun. So is a night out with my husband, coloring with my kids, and having a good chat with a close friend. Lying under an umbrella on the beach is fun. Taking a long walk with an Ipod full of Chris Tomlin and Rhianna songs is fun.

Yes, I have both Chris Tomlin AND Rhianna on my Ipod. I'm full of contradictions. Or maybe I should call them conflictions. They certainly aren't convictions . . . yet.

My ideas of fun could fill up pages and I'm sure you have your own lengthy lists of people, activities, games, and hobbies that can make you smile when it's the last thing in the world you feel like doing. Fun is one of the great gifts of life. We should all try to have more of it, if you ask me.

Now what about the faith?

Wow.

How do I cover this one in a paragraph or two?

The dictionary defines faith as belief not resting on logical proof or material evidence. Hmmm. I get it, but I think it sounds a little boring and a lot tough to swallow. In the Bible, faith is defined as the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. That's from Hebrews 11:1, if you're interested, and that's the definition I'm going with. It just makes sense to me.

I realize not everyone claims to have a specific kind of faith or even to be particularly faithful. Still, I bet most people will admit to having hopes. Most humans look for the hope in all situations, especially us women. We hope it doesn't rain for the picnic we planned. We hope our husbands remember to pick up the milk we asked for. We hope to lose five pounds before bathing suit season.

We have hopes for our marriages, our families, or friends, our careers, our lives. And most of the time, we believe the things we hope for are going to happen. Well, maybe not losing five pounds, but the other stuff. We wouldn't plan a picnic if we didn't think the sun was going to rise. We wouldn't ask our husbands for help if we didn't expect them to come through for us, even if only to pick up the one item on the grocery list we forgot. We wouldn't accept new jobs or fall in love or bring children into the world if we didn't truly believe such enormous decisions would have positive consequences.

So you see, you might not consider faith to be a part of your life, but I'm guessing it is. In some form.

When I think about faith in my own life, I think about God. For me, He is the creator of my faith and He is all that is good and faithful. I believe God is at work in my world. I believe He will lead me down the paths He wants me to travel. I know some of those paths will be filled with mistakes and sorrow and pain, but I believe God is using every experience in my life to make me a better wife, mother, and friend, and most importantly, to draw me closer to Him. I have faith that my life will have meaning because it belonged to God.

Finally, the fruit loops!

Can't you just picture of big bowl of fruit loops in all their sugar coated glory? Truthfully, I can't eat fruit loops anymore. They're too sweet for me. I used to love 'em though. Craved those suckers. My mom only allowed me to eat them when we visited my grandparents' house and boy did I look forward to those trips with mouthwatering anticipation.

I still desire fruit loops today. Only now, my fruit loops have specific names and, on bad days, they aren't nearly as sweet as the fruit loops of my past. Today, my fruit loops go by the titles of Adam, Charlie, Libby, and a host of other family and friends who serve to make my head spin with every emotion in the book on a regular basis.

Yes. I call my people fruit loops. As in, "Husband, did you really take our children out of the house in those outfits? You are such a fruit loop." And "Son, are you seriously trying to tell me you want another box of legos when you already have ten-thousand in your collection? You are a total fruit loop." Or, "Daughter, do you honestly think I'm going to answer 'yes' to that question because it's the fifth time you've asked me in the last three minutes? What a fruit loop."

Fruit loops are the perfect way to describe the people I know best, love most, and need more than I'm often willing to admit. Fruit loops are SO like the people who inhabit our lives. They come in all kinds of colors and flavors, yet, when you put them all together, they create this magnificent collection of wonderful goodness.

Sometimes, I wake up and think I don't want fruit loops today. I'd like to try something different. Something new and exciting and completely unlike the life I chose for myself when I got married, had children, and put my career in a self-induced holding pattern.

But most of the time, when I look around and see the fruit loops in my life, they make me smile. They fill my heart with a pleasure I can't possibly describe. They ARE my pleasure. They ARE my heart.

I couldn't live without my fruit loops. I also couldn't live without my fun and my faith.

So there you have it folks. Fun, faith, and fruit loops. The perfect title for a blog about life . . . from my vantage point, at least.