(Because of the wonderful response I got on this post last year, I am reposting it, one year later...oh my, it was verrrry prophetic. Looking back over the past year, I can easily see that God knew what battles were ahead of us, and He put His word, His two edged sword in our hand. Merry Christmas to my family, and to all my faithful friends!)
I've always wanted to greet people I care about in this way at Christmas time: "God rest ye merry, my friend."
For many years, I never understood that old carol, "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen". It originates all the way back to the middle ages, and was written in old English. In those days, "merry" didn't mean "happy" as it does now. In those days, "merry" meant "mighty". A great and powerful king was a "merry" king, and a great and terrible army was a "merry" army.
"Rest" didn't mean to put your feet up, nor did it mean that you took a nap. "Rest" meant, in old English, "to keep in a continual state of".
"God keep you in a continual state of might and strength, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day, to save us all from satan's power when we had gone astray.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy! Comfort and joy! Oh tidings of comfort and joy!"
This Christmas, I've been smitten over and over with the simple statement of a great heavenly host. There...filling the heavens...Jehovah Sabaoth, Lord of the Hosts, sent His great host to break centuries and centuries of silence between God and men. God could have commissioned them to say anything. These ministers of His, this great, innumerable host, are as flames of fire, carrying out His Word, down to the smallest detail. They've declared war before, down throughout human history - lots of times.
Would this be that sort of message?
God could have instructed His hosts to give only the facts: "Messiah is here."
He could have sent a message of judgement.
God dropped a bomb, to be sure. He dropped a bomb that would forever make that field in Bethlehem the greatest, most utterly meaningful, most famous "ground zero" of all time. But it was an explosion of joy.
The Grace Message was finally detonated.
A blast of mercy, engulfing the planet. Into the black of the night, into the darkness of our human spirit, came the bright light of Good News. It was tidings of comfort and joy. Jehovah Sabaoth utilized His great host, He sent the mightiest, "merriest" troops in the universe to tell us, "YEAY!" and to promptly throw a party amongst the stars, in full view of a few shepherds.
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, Peace....Goodwill....to men."
Peace.
Goodwill.
Let it sink in. Let those two words be the good news they were meant to be. Your very own tidings of comfort and joy.
Merry Christmas, dear ones. God rest ye merry...
There is No Place Like Home...
I'm home on Christmas eve, and I'm glad all the way into the marrow of my bones. I'm home...my own home...where I can bake cookies in my own oven, whip up a batch of mashed potatoes on my own stove top, and listen to my "Scottish Christmas" CD.
The designer Coco Chanel, who owned enough houses and had enough of this world's wealth to know, once said about her favorite house, "It isn't the house...it's the life I live there."
I'm no longer impressed with grand houses. I used to be - not unhealthily, mind you - but impressed nonetheless. And I can still appreciate a beautiful Arts and Crafts bungalow, or French chateau-style architecture, or a rustic log cabin. But I have learned, up close and personal, that houses really do mean very little. It is the life lived inside the house, by the people in residence there, that makes the cold, attractive but inanimate piece of architecture a warm and welcoming haven...or a place where warmth might have been the goal, but it is rarely really felt.
As my blog header proudly declares, I live in suburbia, in a declining middle class neighborhood. So it isn't the house....it is the life I live here. I live soulfully and creatively, lovingly and yes, even artistically - all inside the walls of an unremarkable 60's rancher. I have personally shared the gospel with every single neighbor on my street, and even two houses on the street behind me, and even a street or two over, I can show you the homes of people whose lives I've been enabled to bless.
The sounds and smells and sights of Christmas fill this home to bursting. I'm sure there are a few grand and huge and beautiful homes, where the lives of the people living in them fill it with purposeful and artistic living, warmth and joy, perhaps even exceeding my own. But there probably aren't very many. A great deal of those kinds of houses are image props - beautiful boxes that must be artificially filled with stuff that reflects the sort of lifestyle that the owners want to live, but don't actually live.
And there are small houses, in declining middle class neighborhoods, in which joy cannot be found, where the family fabric is shredded, and warmth isn't even attempted.
See, it isn't the house, it's the life you live in it.
I'm home on Christmas eve, and I'm happy to the marrow of my bones. The life I live in this house is built on the foundation of grace - there is no other foundation to lay than that which has been laid, which is Jesus Christ. And I have been very careful how I've built upon that foundation. I've made the tough choices that tend towards abundant life. Therefore, this home will be filled, throughout the day, with family and friends, just like every other day. They will all come and go and partake of the peace and loud laughter that fills these walls. Maybe someday I'll also be able to offer them all a hot drink inside a home that is bigger, with beautiful and far more interesting design - but it won't be the house that touches their heart. It will be the life I live inside the house.
I'm happy. To the marrow of my bones. That is what makes this home a haven.
The designer Coco Chanel, who owned enough houses and had enough of this world's wealth to know, once said about her favorite house, "It isn't the house...it's the life I live there."
I'm no longer impressed with grand houses. I used to be - not unhealthily, mind you - but impressed nonetheless. And I can still appreciate a beautiful Arts and Crafts bungalow, or French chateau-style architecture, or a rustic log cabin. But I have learned, up close and personal, that houses really do mean very little. It is the life lived inside the house, by the people in residence there, that makes the cold, attractive but inanimate piece of architecture a warm and welcoming haven...or a place where warmth might have been the goal, but it is rarely really felt.
As my blog header proudly declares, I live in suburbia, in a declining middle class neighborhood. So it isn't the house....it is the life I live here. I live soulfully and creatively, lovingly and yes, even artistically - all inside the walls of an unremarkable 60's rancher. I have personally shared the gospel with every single neighbor on my street, and even two houses on the street behind me, and even a street or two over, I can show you the homes of people whose lives I've been enabled to bless.
The sounds and smells and sights of Christmas fill this home to bursting. I'm sure there are a few grand and huge and beautiful homes, where the lives of the people living in them fill it with purposeful and artistic living, warmth and joy, perhaps even exceeding my own. But there probably aren't very many. A great deal of those kinds of houses are image props - beautiful boxes that must be artificially filled with stuff that reflects the sort of lifestyle that the owners want to live, but don't actually live.
And there are small houses, in declining middle class neighborhoods, in which joy cannot be found, where the family fabric is shredded, and warmth isn't even attempted.
See, it isn't the house, it's the life you live in it.
I'm home on Christmas eve, and I'm happy to the marrow of my bones. The life I live in this house is built on the foundation of grace - there is no other foundation to lay than that which has been laid, which is Jesus Christ. And I have been very careful how I've built upon that foundation. I've made the tough choices that tend towards abundant life. Therefore, this home will be filled, throughout the day, with family and friends, just like every other day. They will all come and go and partake of the peace and loud laughter that fills these walls. Maybe someday I'll also be able to offer them all a hot drink inside a home that is bigger, with beautiful and far more interesting design - but it won't be the house that touches their heart. It will be the life I live inside the house.
I'm happy. To the marrow of my bones. That is what makes this home a haven.
Winter Solstice
As of this week, the light will be ever increasing. Tucked away in the cold of the first day of winter, we find the promise of spring! I'm no pantheist or wiccan - I am a believer in the good news of Jesus Christ, but every year, I celebrate the winter solstice - that shortest, darkest day of the year. It comes on December 21st, day before yesterday. It is the day when my part of the world silently changes from becoming dark earlier and earlier, to dark coming later and later...the sun setting later and later...a few more moments of light each day. I know the science behind it all, but to me it still is such a small miracle.
"And heaven, and heaven and nature sing!"
On the day of winter solstice, I feed the birds. It is a serene, centering ritual I've enjoyed for years. My thoughts linger over the love of a God who is aware of the sparrow. The birds need food in winter, and my soul needs nourishment, too. By His hand we all are fed. I quietly, in my own heart, think of the promise of spring and the faithfulness of a God who said, "While the earth remains, Seedtime and harvest, Cold and heat, Winter and summer, And day and night Shall not cease." (Gen. 8:22)
On the day of winter solstice, I feed the birds. It is a serene, centering ritual I've enjoyed for years. My thoughts linger over the love of a God who is aware of the sparrow. The birds need food in winter, and my soul needs nourishment, too. By His hand we all are fed. I quietly, in my own heart, think of the promise of spring and the faithfulness of a God who said, "While the earth remains, Seedtime and harvest, Cold and heat, Winter and summer, And day and night Shall not cease." (Gen. 8:22)
Winter. The season of light (yes! of light!) and bare, beautiful, sculptural branches. I want to bring these concepts into my home, after Christmas, to decorate a few corners and table tops temporarily. I will add touches of light and bare branches here and there. The ideas are still forming...ways to decorate with light itself, when the Christmas twinkle lights come down. I enjoy a home that celebrates the seasons.
I'll take pictures and blog them for you, once I figure this out and execute it. Any ideas? Please email me with them! I'm sure whatever I come up with, it will be beyond simple to do - because I don't do complicated or ostentatious.
Let us love this winter. We might not get to experience another one. Enjoy this one as though it were your first...or your last. There is no such thing as an ordinary season or an ordinary day.
Christmas With Our College-Career Small Group
Tim and I shared a special moment this evening. Our daughter and future son-in-love hosted the college-career small group that typically meets at our house. Sarah still lives with us at home, since her wedding isn't until March. But her fiancee Jonathan rents a little house in town, and Sarah went over there today to help him get ready for small group. It is the first time I've seen the house since they've moved their new furniture in, and got it all painted and decorated...
...it was like walking into an art gallery. Jonathan's beautiful paintings were everywhere. I have to say - the wall colors were the perfect "foil" for his art. (Good job, Sarah!)
But it was so much more than that. Tonight, Tim and I saw the results of some of our labor, as this group of young people, almost twenty of them, worshipped and shared their hearts. We're going through the Truth Project curriculum, but for tonight, we set it aside in favor of celebrating Christmas together. It was Jonathan and Sarah's very first time hosting any kind of small group, yet it was as though they'd been practicing hospitality together forever. The fireplace...the candles...the food (simple but good)...the way they directed the flow of the evening's activities without being intrusive...
I have to say, it is beyond a pleasure to oversee this small group. The couple who previously were in charge of our college-career group resigned without securing a replacement for themselves this past year, just sort of handing it all back to us. Tim and I gladly took it back over. It was bumpy there for awhile, as we prayed our way through, and added new faces to the mix. This group is absolutely flourishing now - it was languishing before we took it back. I almost feel guilty, as though I am scooping up this massive blessing - sort of like when someone else runs into difficulty and has to sell their home for a loss...if I were the buyer, I might struggle with guilt over capitalizing on such a miraculous deal.
This is how I feel! The previous leaders' loss is Tim's gain and my gain. We love this small group, and they love us. They are totally refreshing, totally real, and completely cool and utterly loveable.
Our future son-in-love Jonathan is facilitating the Truth Project, and is doing an amazing job. After tonight, I can already see that the gift of hospitality has indeed been passed on to the next generation.
...it was like walking into an art gallery. Jonathan's beautiful paintings were everywhere. I have to say - the wall colors were the perfect "foil" for his art. (Good job, Sarah!)
But it was so much more than that. Tonight, Tim and I saw the results of some of our labor, as this group of young people, almost twenty of them, worshipped and shared their hearts. We're going through the Truth Project curriculum, but for tonight, we set it aside in favor of celebrating Christmas together. It was Jonathan and Sarah's very first time hosting any kind of small group, yet it was as though they'd been practicing hospitality together forever. The fireplace...the candles...the food (simple but good)...the way they directed the flow of the evening's activities without being intrusive...
I have to say, it is beyond a pleasure to oversee this small group. The couple who previously were in charge of our college-career group resigned without securing a replacement for themselves this past year, just sort of handing it all back to us. Tim and I gladly took it back over. It was bumpy there for awhile, as we prayed our way through, and added new faces to the mix. This group is absolutely flourishing now - it was languishing before we took it back. I almost feel guilty, as though I am scooping up this massive blessing - sort of like when someone else runs into difficulty and has to sell their home for a loss...if I were the buyer, I might struggle with guilt over capitalizing on such a miraculous deal.
This is how I feel! The previous leaders' loss is Tim's gain and my gain. We love this small group, and they love us. They are totally refreshing, totally real, and completely cool and utterly loveable.
Our future son-in-love Jonathan is facilitating the Truth Project, and is doing an amazing job. After tonight, I can already see that the gift of hospitality has indeed been passed on to the next generation.
Good times...good times.
Come On In!
(the wreath I made...I'm so proud!)Some of you have emailed me and "Facebooked" me, wanting to see a few more pictures of our home. (Thank you for all the sweet notes, by the way!)
So come on in, I have the best hot drink ready for you - here's the recipe:
a 46 oz. bottle of pineapple juice
a can of jelled cranberry sauce
cloves
cinnamon sticks
Put the jelled cranberries in a blender and hit them a few times, just to "liquify" them. This will make it easier on you. Then pour it into a 2 quart saucepan on the stove, with the whole bottle of pineapple juice in it. Stir it all in, and steep it with the cloves and cinnamon. Strain before serving. So good!
Come for a tour around our tiny "Ceiligh Cottage"
The fireplace in my bedroom - and where Bocelli and Grant live.
This kitchen sees a lot of action - a busy, busy place.The diningroom...
A wreath on each bedroom door...
My bedroom - red berry swags and kissing ball are up. We're all ready for Christmas!Well, we are "T minus 7 days and counting". Rain is turning to snow where I am - hope your evening is well spent, my friends. Enjoy this time of the year...
It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas!
Batten down the hatches, east Tennessee, we are fixin' to get us some weather! How do I know? Without the forecast, I can tell.
Did you know that juncos feed voraciously when there is snow coming? They do. Juncos are little dark, charcoal grey birds, with light bellies and light beaks. My back yard is full of them this afternoon. I tried to take pictures, but you can't see these dark birds amongst all the fallen leaves - but I did happen to snatch a picture of a little guy who flew to my fence ~
Can you see him, there in the upper right hand corner? He is one of about a dozen that have been feeding in my yard today - juncos are ground feeders, and these guys are preparing for something...they are scarfing up every last bit of seed that falls from the feeders above.
I say "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." I'm ready. The pantry is stocked, my shopping is done, I even have only one gift left to wrap....no, two. But that's it. Cookies are made, and I have all I need to make more. Twinkle lights are on, music is playing, that steady sound of rain on the roof, and here I am, warm and dry with sounds of spring, as the canary and pocket parrot compete as to who can sing the loudest. Along with all of Knoxville, I raided the grocery store for milk and bread...and I have a small stack of Christmas movies to watch. And a stash of great magazines to peruse. And a husband to snuggle, once he finally makes it home. I also have a message to prepare for Sunday, but that is supposed to be a surprise.
::she says, smiling::
The juncos are telling me that all this rain is about to change to snow. Let's see if they are right.
Did you know that juncos feed voraciously when there is snow coming? They do. Juncos are little dark, charcoal grey birds, with light bellies and light beaks. My back yard is full of them this afternoon. I tried to take pictures, but you can't see these dark birds amongst all the fallen leaves - but I did happen to snatch a picture of a little guy who flew to my fence ~
Can you see him, there in the upper right hand corner? He is one of about a dozen that have been feeding in my yard today - juncos are ground feeders, and these guys are preparing for something...they are scarfing up every last bit of seed that falls from the feeders above.I say "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." I'm ready. The pantry is stocked, my shopping is done, I even have only one gift left to wrap....no, two. But that's it. Cookies are made, and I have all I need to make more. Twinkle lights are on, music is playing, that steady sound of rain on the roof, and here I am, warm and dry with sounds of spring, as the canary and pocket parrot compete as to who can sing the loudest. Along with all of Knoxville, I raided the grocery store for milk and bread...and I have a small stack of Christmas movies to watch. And a stash of great magazines to peruse. And a husband to snuggle, once he finally makes it home. I also have a message to prepare for Sunday, but that is supposed to be a surprise.
::she says, smiling::
The juncos are telling me that all this rain is about to change to snow. Let's see if they are right.
Christmas Dreams
I found this piece of paper the other day, and it brought back my own memories - of practicing writing what would soon be my "new name" over and over and over. My Sarah Atchley will soon be Sarah Howe.
Last Christmas, it was Hannah who was engaged to be married. One year later, it is Sarah who will be leaving us very soon - engaged to be married in March. We have no more daughters to give away after this.
It lends a sweet urgency to Christmastime for me. Again (like last year) I've decorated a little earlier than usual. Again, in sudden unexpected moments, the poignancy overwhelms my heart. Next Christmas, there will be no daughters asleep in their beds in this house on Christmas morning.
But it is good....so good. Because these two new sons of mine are so good, so Godly, so fit to love and lead my daughters.
I've dreamed of all this, in Christmases past. I would hear some of the sweet, romantic holiday songs, like "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve", and "Baby, It's Cold Outside", and I would hold my Tim's hand, we'd sing together, kiss each other, and I knew with all my heart that I wanted this for my daughters. I wanted them to be loved and wanted by a man who was handsome and accomplished and strong in the Lord. I wanted them to share kisses by twinklelight with the one Someone Special...back then, years and years ago, it all seemed so remote and far away. I wondered who my "other sons" would be.
Tonight, I know. I know. Amazing!! What was once a misty, dream-like mystery to me twenty years ago...ten years ago...two years ago...has now materialized. My dreams for my daughters have come true. There is someone wonderful and Godly to sing a line or two of "Baby It's Cold Outside" to my gorgeous girls, and each couple is now making the sorts of Christmas memories that only lovers, and future lovers, can make.
This is my Christmas gift ~ two new sons, strong and good, who love my daughters selflessly. The way my daughters' mother has been loved.
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