Dec
07
2012“Where is baby Jesus?” Aeralind tugs my hand and asks as angels announce his birth at A Journey to Bethlehem.
We’ve been bombarded with the sights and sounds of the city for the past 30 minutes. The Roman soldiers with their swords and helmets and scowls had scared my adventuresome girls. At least until they met the smiling soldier holding a horse by the reigns. They had softened when he laughed and let them rub the horse’s side.
The girls had smelt spices, heard stories, sampled perfume, sawed some wood, watched a potter, pet goats, and chickens (which Bronwyn liked to boss around) and even cuddled a donkey. The hustle and bustle of the city center and the flock of people herded us on from one place to the next.
Angels sang and a rabbi taught us the Shema. Dancers performed before a wide eyed Sedryn in the stroller. The girls sampled cookies, bread, cocoa, honey. They drank it all in amazed.
Mary and Joseph arrive at the house of a distant relative, tired and looking for lodging. There is no room for them because of the census. The magic of this place is deep and the girls stare at Mary’s full and expectant tummy. “Mommy,” whispers sweet Bronwyn. “The baby Jesus is in her tummy.”
They girls are collecting stamps and jewels for a bracelet, but still all they ask for is to see the baby Jesus. Aeralind, she corners the nice carpenter. “Where is baby Jesus?” She demands of a stranger in an uncharacteristic manner for her heart. And he tells them. So we go.
They stand frozen before the manger. Jesus in Joseph’s arms next to a weary Mary. They whisper about the glory of it all excitedly between themselves. We herd them on since Sedryn is beyond ready for bed.
They’ve chattered about seeing Him ever since the magic of the best story every told began capturing their tiny hearts.
I do believe this will be a family tradition. One I can’t wait to repeat next year!
Dec
04
2012Dear Monica (and all of you other women out there who are my sisters in your own way),
I hate watching you grapple with beauty. I hate hearing you wish this part was smaller or less pimply or fuller or whatever you wish. I hate hearing you say these things because you are believing the first lie.
The lie that snake whispered in the very beginning: “Did God really say…”
God says you are:
“created in His own image.”
“fearfully and wonderfully made.”
And yet all you (and I) can sometimes hear are the lies in the media questioning those truths (Satan’s lies).
Beauty is smart.
Beauty is perfect.
Beauty is a perfect home.
Beauty is a full bust, a slender waist, and curvy but narrow hips.
Beauty is a soft manner.
Beauty is service.
Beauty is doing it yourself.
Beauty is a number on the scale.
Beauty is a hair color.
Can’t you hear it? The snake hissing in your ear, “Did God really say that you are beautiful and that you reflect Him? Oh, but those thighs, those hips, those ankles, those too short eyelashes! Did He really call you ‘very good’?”
God made you, Monica. Unique. With a specific purpose. A specific calling. And a beauty that no one else will have. Because you are you. The only you. (and as a mother of identical twins… yes, that beauty is even unique to each of them. What a strong case for the soul… that beauty so different even within the same DNA.)
Hold your head high. Listen for your calling. Create as your creator creates. When your appearance is criticized, hold your head high, look the offender in the eye and whisper the truth. “God created you beautiful and unique, friend. Why should my form and calling be any less unique than yours?”
I love you, sister. Love you just as you were made to be. The person then, now, and who you are becoming. Listen to the truth: you are God’s beloved.
Dec
03
2012A Journey to Bethlehem. Truly an amazing experience. I’ll write more later.
Dec
01
2012
This pirate came ashore to restock his ship one day. He met a lumberjack and coveted his shirt.
“Arg, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and used the butt of his axe to take out the coveting pirate’s eye.
“Arg,” said the pirate. “I said, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and cut the stealing hand off the pirate right clean off.
“Arg,” said the pirate, “I said, I want that shirt.”
“No,” said the lumber jack and cut the the stalking leg right off the pirate.
“Arg,” said the pirate. “I said, I want that shirt.”
And so he took it.
I won’t tell you what became of the lumberjack. It’s a sad story.
I had blast making this pirate doll action figure for Sedryn.
I’ve been calling him Rudy… but both Bronwyn and Derek told me that’s a terrible name for a pirate. Would you help me give him a name? Give me some suggestions in the comments please!
