I have a confession. Every Christmas season I find myself wishing I lived inside the movie White Christmas. I want the fancy dresses and the graceful dancing and the melodious crooning. I want the magical snow at just the perfect time, and I want sandwiches made for me to eat by the fire. But then I remember that I cannot sing like Rosemary Clooney, and I definitely can't dance like Vera Ellen (and don't get me started on the size of her waist!) My reality is much more Clark Griswald and a little less Bing Crosby, so if I'm not careful, I can find myself stressed and irritable and not at all jolly. Today, however, I am pausing to take joy in my Christmas tree. It is far from perfect, too, and because of the angle of the top, it looks like it just might plummet through the front window at any moment. But it's real, and it's ours, and nearly every single ornament on it tells a story. Because we were broke twenty-somethings, our honeymoon wasn't to a luxurious resort or spa. Instead, we stayed in a condo in Lutsen, Minnesota. With our basecamp a condo overlooking the lapping shores of Lake Superior, we explored summer in the state parks and leaned into the love we had just committed to. Our tradition of buying Christmas ornaments on our many adventures began there with a jolly-looking bear carrying a Christmas tree of his own. I often tell my students, "Don't do college like I did." I wasn't sure of what I wanted to be when I grew up (I'm still not....see this and this), so I went back to the University of Northern Iowa to finish an already-started teaching degree. There I fell into a part-time job at the Continuing Education office where I met my supervisor, Brenda. She taught me about good tea and taco salads and gifted me with these beautiful hand-made straw ornaments. Every year Chris says, "I think these are some of my favorites" as he hangs them on the branches, and every year I say, "I agree." Thanks, Brenda. A few short months after our wedding, we packed up all of our belongings and traipsed down to our new home in Mount Vernon, Missouri. Because I couldn't find a full-time teaching job, I began work as a teacher's aide in the elementary school. I was out of my element for sure, but I was surrounded every day by sweet children and the sweetest of teachers. I spent a lot of time in the room of Mrs. Kellie Krebs that year where we painted our very own gingerbread ornaments. Kellie showed me what it looks like to give your all in the classroom while simultaneously balancing marriage and family life. Her fourth grade students felt like they hit the jackpot every day when they walked into her room, and so did I. Our time in Missouri introduced us to our first-ever Christian small group experience with a few married couples. In small group I witnessed the beautiful vulnerability of women sharing their sadness as they tried to conceive babies and couples making tough financial choices in the early years of their marriage. We saw job changes and house changes, and for a few years, we did life together. One tradition of small group was a Christmas ornament exchange, and while I have no idea who the Kansas City Chiefs player is that delicately balances on my Christmas tree, I know that every time I clip him to the branch, I think of that small group. The seven couples that attended are all still married more than ten years later. That is beautifully miraculous. In the spring of our last year at Missouri, my beloved grandma Dorothy died. The trip back to Iowa for her funeral provided the perfect time to interview for a new teaching job, so a few years after moving to Missouri, we found ourselves making the trek north to Okoboji. I can't write about his now without crying because I miss my sister and her crew oh-so much, but for eight years we made our home there where we eventually became a family of four. Okoboji is bike rides around the lake in the fall and nachos at the Taco House and coworkers who felt more like family. Life had other adventures planned for us with another move northward, but our years in Okoboji will always be a tightly-held treasure for me represented by a bobber on my tree. Before becoming parents, Chris and I took other trips. We visited my dear cousin Taylor in New York City where we dreamed of being city people while carb-loading with the world's best pizza and bagels. Because we were also tourists, we visited Lady Liberty and brought her home to hang on the tree. We also lounged on the beach at the Riviera Maya in Mexico. After being so seasick I prayed for death on a ferry ride to and from Cozumel, we bought our little sombrero so we can dream of sunshine and sweet cocktails in the middle of winter in the Midwest. Then we became parents. Christmas with kids has taught me to release all expectations of a perfect holiday and to instead enjoy each simple moment as it comes. Adoption introduced us to the very best community of ridiculously brave parents who make daily sacrifices to provide the best life they can for their sweet kiddos. The red heart on the African ornament reminds us of that community, including Shannon and her family, who sold these as a fundraiser for their second adoption. This ornament also reminds us that part of our hearts still beats on the bustling streets of Addis Ababa. We've also taken trips as a family where we carefully choose a souvenir to bring home. We have a lighthouse from Saint Augustine, Florida, a moose family from Winter Park, Colorado, and an ornament from the Christkindlmarket in Chicago. Because I tend to go through life with rose-colored glasses, I focus on the good memories of these trips: the Bloody Mary delivered on the beach while my boys frolicked in the waves with their cousins, the ache in our muscles as we reached the summit of a mountain in Winter Park, the great conversations we had about faith and science while exploring the Field Museum. A glass bone balances on the tree for Rooney, a gift from the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, Lori. She took care of Rooney and loved him like her own, even when we moved across town, and she thoughtfully chose gifts for our boys each year that made them feel treasured. And of course the newest ornament to hang on our tree symbolizes our new home, Minnesota, the beginning of a new chapter where we hope to add new adventures and memories to our branches. So our tree isn't perfect, but then, Jesus didn't come for the perfect, did He? My "merry" might be messy, but it's mine. xoxo
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Rusty pines stretch high over the lake under the finally-blue, afternoon sky. Those towering trees have a Story to tell as they clap their hands in praise. Through breaks in their branches cobalt blue races to the shoreline, pushed by a Force outside of itself -- a rhythmic lullaby of rejoicing. That Force, that Story -- they are also in me. So I, too, sing a song of thanksgiving: For the breath in my lungs, the words flowing from my fingertips, the Truth that I am enough. For the beat of my heart, the laughter leaking from my insides, the Trust that I am loved. Thank You. Amen and amen. |
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September 2020
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