Much joy!

Much song!

Much legos!

With much gratitude to the Giver of the greatest gift…

Merry Christmas, friends!  May you see and celebrate Jesus in it all!

love ~ Jennie

“When the LORD brought back the captives to Zion, we were like men who dreamed.  Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy.  Then it was said among the nations, ‘The LORD has done great things for them.’  The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.”  (Ps 126:1-3)

It’s 6:00 a.m.  The room is dark, the bed warm.  He’s checking his phone “32 degrees.  We can do it.  No problem.” he teases.  I moan and tell him I’m just going to run on the treadmill at the Y.  I pull myself out of bed and go to the window.

“The tops of the trees are swaying a bit – looks windy.”

“Yep.”

How is it that he can be so friendly and pleasant from the moment he gets out of bed?  Fourteen years. He’s always been this way.  He’s gotten used to my morning sighs and silence.  Space please.  In our first apartment – a one bedroom – I found a corner of the living room for my morning quiet and turned my face to the wall.   It took him awhile to understand that even his presence in the room was a bother.

So he knows better than to try and convince me, but he’s putting on his warm gear.  And I know I’d rather run with him and outdoors is better, but the trees are swaying and it’s dark and it’s 32 degrees…

“Oh, all right.”

He’s won me over again.  I put on the layers, head downstairs for shoes, gloves, and the crazy hat with the face shield attached.

The wind pushes hard as we turn north and up the first incline.  On the northern edge of the neighborhood 32 feels like 20.  But I’m there and he’s beside me and we can make this good.

We turn south again and start making plans for adjusting our route – how to avoid that wind.

Running south and lower, we find a sheltered loop and run it a couple times.

“Ready to pray?” He asks.

My crazy face mask is gross now, damp with breath, drips from cold nose, sweat. From under it, I pant out, “Sure.”

He knows he’d better start.  We’re on an uphill.  But I’m learning – to pray with him, between breaths, with eyes open – getting stronger.

When the street levels out again, I take a turn.

I ask God for laughter.

I’ve never been a comedian and “reserved” is certainly on the list of adjectives others might use to describe me.

But I tell God how I want to be like the captives brought back to Zion.  I am a captive brought back.  So I ask Him, in short breaths, cold wind pressing, “Lord, fill my mouth with laughter, my tongue with songs of joy.”

Mark agrees, thanking God for joy and asking God for a house and a life and a heart filled with joy.

A few days later, we’re riding home from the Y after an early morning treadmill run.  He looks over at me in the passenger seat and smiles.

“You laughed a lot yesterday – just wanted to tell you that…”

“You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.”

“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise…”

From the middle of the kitchen I can listen to little man’s number sentences about the 4 white helicopters and the 1 blue helicopter while I coach camper friend through the banana muffin making process.  She’s not so familiar with this juggling act so there is no pause button.  Little man wonders why 4 + 1 is 2.

“No, 2 eggs,” I tell him.  ”You’re right – 5 helicopters. What’s the next one?”

“Now what?”

“Crack the eggs into that bowl.  J, three white chickens plus…”

Enter Simon.  ”Mom, can I tell you about Henry Longfellow now?”

This middle of the kitchen dance is getting complicated.  But I smile, get down next to him and say it soft (so as not to confuse the muffin maker and mathematician), “That looks like a great outline, Buddy.  Can we sit down and talk about Henry Longsworth, I mean Wadsworth Longfellow in a little bit?”

“Sure.”

So the dance continues.  The music coming from the schoolroom  is Bach, but in my heart I sing back words from the morning’s reading in Revelation.

Lord, You are worthy.  You are worthy of glory and honor and praise.  

You are worthy of baking lessons and word problems and poetry.  So I’ll dance and juggle and give what I can.  I’ll give a gracious reply and ask for forgiveness when I don’t.  I’ll wait for anger to pass and keep on loving.  I’ll try again and tell him I’m sorry for the irritated tone.  I’ll sit at the piano with a frustrated child and hold a crying one on my lap.

Because You are worthy.

Later, there is dinner and dishes, a Christmas letter to finish and presents to wrap.

I tell Him again, “Lord, You are worthy.  YOU are worthy.”

And it helps.

Friends, may we give it all and do it all for the Worthy One today…

Love you ~ Jennie

I almost missed it.

The snow.  The wet.  The cold.

No snow pants.  No boots.

No thanks.

“I despise the snow and cold,” I said.

But he smiled, “It’s up to you.”

Then they marveled, “You’re coming, Mom?”

And I saw every smile, every crazy run, laughed and cheered and loved every minute.

Didn’t miss a thing.

“In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance than can never perish, spoil or fade – kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time…”

Could it be that many times what my eyes see stands in stark contrast to the reality of what is really there?

I see browns and dense fog.  He sees the coming of multiple shades of green.

Living Hope.

I see a heart crushed by loss, ravaged by sin, closed to Life, and He sees the Spirit’s breath chipping away at a heart of stone…

Living Hope.

His name is Jesus.

Thankful…