a christmas letter, for a first christmas.

(anticipation.)

"look, Baby, snow!!" we rushed to the window to see the fluffy snow falling, just beginning to blanket our little wooded backyard. "this is what we've been waiting for!"
and then it struck me--this is what it must have been like, at least a little--waiting so earnestly for the child king who would deliver them. and suddenly, like a dream: He's here! He's born! People rejoicing! Angels singing!

“Glory to God in the highest heaven!
And on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests!”¹

His entrance into this world,  all at once quiet and frantic, rushed and strange, yet altogether ... peaceful? A paradox so much like most baby's births, so much like your own, my SweetLos. i will forever be so grateful for this time last year that i spent waiting for you, hoping for you. like the world waited for its Savior. like we wait for Him again.

(hope.)

as my thoughts turn to His triumphant return this Christmas season, i can't help but think that the same kind of startling quietness might be with us when that time comes. the loud voice! the trumpet call!² ... and yet ultimately, peaceful. He is the Prince of Peace³, after all, isn't He?

(light.)

we've needed His peace in even greater measure lately, it seems. the demonstration of evil in the world⁴ last week in Connecticut has us all reeling, still. as a new parent, and being prone to worry, my heart pulls toward anxiety and fear. and without a hope, without a promise, isn't there a reason for such great fear??
but this particular horror, for me, has been different somehow. like every time i open my mouth to shout out in fear, a gentle, holy hand puts its fingers to my lips and says "Hush, child. Remember: I am your perfect Father. I love you with an everlasting love.⁵ And I am still in control."
His peace, which surpasses all understanding⁶, has made me still.

Friends! we cannot forget!
there is a light in the darkness.⁷ Jesus is still on His throne.

my dear, sweet, tiny Baby,
my prayer for you this Christmas is for hope and peace and light. this world you were born into is so, so dark sometimes, so dark you can hardly see. but we have a God who keeps his promises. a God who loves us so much He sent His only child to die so that we could live.⁸ so when the darkness closes in, Baby, trust in Him. hold tight to Him, my Tiny Toast. He's all you need.⁹ He'll never let you go.
love,
Mama.

---

1 Luke 2:14
2 1 Thes. 4:16
3 Isaiah 9:6
4 Jeremiah 17:9
5 Jeremiah 31:3, Romans 8:31
6 Phil. 4:6-7
7 Isaiah 9:2
8 John 3:16
9 2 Cor. 12:9

4.5 months ♥

Dearest Livvy, baby of mine, newest love of my life...

Aye, where to begin?? Surely you've learned by now that your mother is not good with deadlines. We missed a whole month there, and almost half of this one. But you've grown so much and things are changing so fast, that I figured I'd better get some documentation done before it all just slips away. So here we go...

Since you were born, you've grown five inches and almost doubled in weight. That skinny little frame has grown into healthy, expressive cheeks and chunky, delicious thighs. Everyone agrees you're basically the cutest thing they've ever seen; I can't go into a store these days without someone stopping to admire you. Your daddy and I are simply beside ourselves, we can't believe such a beautiful little person came from us. The Master Craftsman does only good work, but in your case, we're especially captivated.

Our Livvy, the Heartbreaker. (Daddy better get a gun!) :)

Many things have changed since I wrote last: you can roll over, front-to-back and back-to-front, for starters. You choose to do so very rarely though, as being on your tummy still causes you a lot of grief, it seems. The doctor continues to be impressed, however, and says your development is ahead of the curve. We're admittedly not surprised. :)

Things have not been so easy as of late, though. As you become more aware of your surroundings, you become more difficult to satisfy. Like the more you look around, the more disappointed you become. I suppose this is something we all face as we age, if we're honest with ourselves. And in your case, as expected, it's resulting in many long, sleepless nights and many more tears. But don't lose hope, I trust that eventually we will come through this, stronger and better rested. In the meantime, my prayer is that we can all be more patient and love one another well. (You'll find I'm much kinder at 9 a.m. than I am at 3. We're working on that.) :)

Difficulties.

But it's not all sleepless nights, either. The times you laugh and smile are so full of joy! Every day, it feels like our hearts may burst with delight, an explosion of colors and sparks, like the Fourth of July. Life has, in some ways, slowed down since you joined us. Although it seems like the days and weeks fly by, being with you every day forces one to notice every little part of every moment. As you figure things out and begin to put the pieces together, I have the opportunity to live it all with you, to experience the newness of it all, all over again. Suddenly I feel every breeze and every hot ray of sunshine. Suddenly every song seems more real and every new morning seems so fresh and bright. And I'm realizing, there's something about meeting another person's very basic needs makes us all a little more honest.

You're so small, and yet, you've changed us already in so many ways. Take my wardrobe, for example. Never did I imagine I'd so enjoy having a little girl to dress in ruffles and frills and bright, excited colors. But it's happened, and I'm thrilled, and suddenly I find myself picking out pieces for myself in the same bright hues. Suddenly I crave something bolder, more fearless, more unexpected.

Tiny and cute, indeed!

Baby, we've loved you so much, since you were just a secret. And now we're so, so grateful you're here, growing and changing and forcing us to do the same. Having you has been big and small and hard and joyful all at once, but always beautiful. Baby, you're our favorite adventure so far, and we can't wait to see what you throw at us next.

Love,
Mama.

for my sweet beeb, part 2

you're almost here! every day that passes, i think this. often, i exclaim it, with ridiculous hand gestures. we're so excited for you to finally be here; it feels like so long ago we were barely thinking you up. and now we're so close to bringing you home, snuggling your little face off and loving every minute of it.

what a ride, hey? the eye surgery doctor was annoyed with me this morning because of you. he says he needs to see me back again in another 6 months. my vision hasn't changed, and my eyes have healed wonderfully. but they say you can kick off some hormonal changes, which are likely to take place shortly after you're born, and they want to be sure everything stays on track. but don't listen to him--we're not in the least bit apologetic about your arrival. in fact, the giddiness has all but overcome the nervousness at this point. we're completely unprepared! and if you came tomorrow (as long as you're strong and healthy) we wouldn't mind at all.

probably the best part of this journey has been watching your Daddy grow into your Daddy. he can't wait to finally see you, name you, play all kinds of monkey games with you. at first i was worried he wasn't ready for you; he seemed a tough nut to crack when i first approached the idea of introducing another small human into the family dynamic. but you should see him now! a nervous bundle of joy and anticipation, i've never seen him look so lovely before. the cynics and experts say having a baby can disrupt a marriage relationship. sure, we're not getting much sleep these days (i have considered moving a cot into the bathroom, but we prefer our current cozy, sleepless bedroom situation, when it comes down to it.) but i've never been so in love. something about our anticipation of you makes every day more exciting, more adveturous, more romantic. having just come through the Christmas season, i'm reminded that there was another child once who had a similar sort of effect. the excitement, the joy, the mysterious, boundless love. so perhaps this time is like this by design--a brilliant Creator using his handiwork to give us a glimpse of his perfect hand, a veteran Father teaching us what it means to be His family.

Christmas was, in some ways, unusually special for us this year. not everything went as planned, but all at once we started to come together as a little family for the first time, all on our own. i wish you could see all the beautiful Christmas lights your Daddy worked so hard on! if i could talk him into it, i'd leave them up a little longer, hoping that we can bring you home to a place so pretty and cozy and bright. (he may be uncharacteristically excited about Christmas this year, but let us not forget his relentless practicality.) i could hardly belive it; your Daddy finally caught the Christmas bug and worked harder than ever to create a beautiful Christmas for us (our own little Clark Griswold!) i just wish you could be here to enjoy it with us. guess there's always next year. plus, maybe by then we might actually have a little snow!

"We checked every bulb, didn't we?"

until then, Beeb, keep up the good work during Kick Daddy Hour each morning; he may sound a little grumpy, but i assure you, he's enjoying it as much as we are. ♥

love,
Mama

pruning

a few weeks ago, we made our annual trip to the apple orchard. i'd been waiting so long for the cool weather, turning leaves and crisp, tart apples; it comes every year, but still it feels forever new and fresh, like i can finally take my first deep breath in months.

i heard a sermon recently about pruning and fruit. in it, there was a story about an apple tree that was overgrown and breaking under the weight of its own bitter fruit. it needs pruning, or it will eventually die, the gardener said. when he was done working, there was almost nothing left of the poor tree, nothing green. the tree has been traumatized, he said, by the severe pruning. but eventually, it will grow strong and bear fruit, big and sweet.

i watched my husband, along with his father and his brother, cut down a number of trees in our yard a while back. many were diseased and had died, one had grown awkwardly and was threatening to crush our garage. even some that were still tall and strong needed pruning; i watched with concern as they sawed off every sideways-growing limb and thinned the branches to let sunlight in. wouldn't too much pruning hurt the tree, i said? won't it leave even the largest trees in distress? the most mature trees, they said, might feel a little pain, but in the end they'll be healthier, stronger. the branches growing toward the sky are the most important parts of the tree. anything else is stealing precious nutrients and energy from the stronger branches, and threatening the tree's health. the trees need to be pruned, they said, in order for them to survive.

it got me thinking about my tendency to hurry forward, yearning for fruit but despising the necessary pruning. i don't think it's necessarily bad to long to bear good fruit, but i think better than that is an attitude that embraces the pruning and receives it with joy--a painful means to a beautiful end. i don't know if we have any say over what parts of us get pruned and what remain (although, i suspect not); but if i could choose, i'd like to see the laziness go. clip off the fear, prune away my short-sightedness. cut down and burn all the sideways-growing branches of self-centeredness and pride, to make room for branches that can bear good fruit. so the light can come in and grow a blossom into a fruit, so that fruit can ripen into something bold, sweet and nourishing. so that the harvest is plentiful and many can eat till they're full.

it is finished.

a dear friend once reminded me, upon her own rediscovery, that all the best songs have already been written.

trying to prepare my heart for the heaviness of Good Friday, i found this one, again. and since i cannot say it any more perfectly, i'll merely let it stand on its own.

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom.

atrophy

i have a friend, she writes beautiful words. some of her recent words read like a script in my head. these are the lines i've spoken, the dance i've done.

since an injury last summer, i haven't been as active as i would have liked. i can feel that my body has gotten softer, changed shape. my clothes don't fit. what i see in the mirror doesn't match the body in my head, i feel like i don't belong in my own skin. i can see evidence in places where muscle definition used to exist, but what's there now seems unfamiliar. the landscape has changed, and i don't know where i am.

workouts are harder, leave me stiff and sore for days. i am remembering what this feels like, relearning how to move, how to stand, how to breathe. i am surprised to find myself slower, weaker, less flexible.

i get the same feeling when i haven't been in the Bible as much as i would like. i forget things, i lose focus. like He calls my name, reaches for me, but His hand only barely brushes my sleeve as i breeze through the door. later on, i wonder why He didn't fight harder for me. i accuse Him, i shift the blame. but He was always in pursuit; i was the one who got distracted, who turned and walked away.

now, back in that wonderful book, i am starting to recognize some things. the words sound familiar, their message feels like nourishment to brittle bones, sore muscles, a weak heart. i see signposts everywhere--my handwriting in the margins, well-worn pages, notes from friends, evidences that i once knew this place. i lived here once, this was my home. it doesn't feel like that yet, it still seems new, but already it feels so much better than where i've been. like the softness of your own sheets after a long week away.

Paul says "I beat my body, and make it a slave, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified." it's a picture of discipline so purposeful, so complete. a subtle warning against laziness and apathy, a reminder to keep our eyes fixed on the goal. to run with purpose. to persevere.

for those who have been feeling a bit unsteady.

a loving reminder of where our hope should lie: not in paychecks, governments, unions or even in ourselves, but in our good and sovereign Savior, Creator of all things.

"