Dec 19, 2011 | The Good Word, The Parenthood
There are a lot of things I love about the Christmas season. Like the twinkly lights, chilly weather (when we’re in the northern hemisphere), happy smiley faces at shopping malls, pretty window displays, and treats that combine the magic of chocolate and peppermint or chocolate and pretzels…well basically chocolate and anything.
But what I want my heart to be about in this season has nothing to do with a lot of that, and I think a few years of being halfway around the world at Christmas created some opportunities for helping my heart to learn to focus on the real meaning of the season.
I still love the trees…
And look forward to eyes lighting up at new toys like they have in years past…
And I will most certainly treasure a new set of eyes taking in all the sparkle and twinkle for the first time…
But as I was reading in Exodus yesterday and today, I was reminded of what really distinguishes the people of God as the people of God: His presence. We celebrate Christmas because Christ has come. And we celebrate the fact that because He has come, He is present with us, dwelling in our hearts, directing our steps, and changing the world through us.
In Exodus 33, Moses was kind of at his wit’s end. He was up on Mt. Sinai for forty days receiving the commands of God, and everybody got sort of “impatient†waiting for him…and then things got ‘rowdy’ and ridiculously out of hand.
They’d basically decided “Forget Moses…he’s been gone a long time and who knows what happened to him? Let’s find a new god to worship, and have a par-tay!â€
Moses and the Lord had a long chat about this unfortunate situation, and God decided He would still give the people the land He promised them, but He wasn’t going to be with them when they went to inherit it. I think He was so mad He thought He’d just wipe them off the face of the earth if He spent any more time with them.
Moses was distraught.
He said to the Lord, “If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here. For how then will it be known that Your people and I have found grace in Your sight, except You go with us? So we shall be separate, Your people and I, from all the people who are upon the face of the earth.â€
Translation? “I’d rather be in the wilderness with God, than in the best land on Earth without Him.”
–Moses
The Lord had given other people groups land. The Lord had blessed other people groups with promises. But the covenant sign that Moses was seeking was the mark of God’s presence in the lives of His people. If You aren’t going with us… I don’t wanna go!
Eventually Moses found grace in the sight of the Lord, and the Lord promised to go with them. And as the story continues in Exodus 34, we see a hint of what Moses seemed to already know: that being in the presence of God is unmistakable and incredible.
When Moses returns to talk to the people, after speaking with God, his face and skin literally shines so much they have to put a veil over him.
The presence Moses was after was more valuable to him than the present – the gift of a Promised Land.
Why?
There is unmistakable, incredible power in God’s presence, and when we get into it, it marks our lives and sets us apart as the people of God.
Life-changing, transformational stuff happens in the presence of God that won’t happen anywhere else.
So this Christmas season, I am still enjoying the things that make my heart a little happier and my step a little lighter, but more than that, I want to celebrate Emmanuel — the God with us, who came so that we, like Moses, could find grace in the presence of God, and be transformed.
Lord, help us, like Moses, to focus less on the presents and more on the Presence. You came to give us abundant life — help us to receive it, and give our lives back to you.
Tis the Season for a lot of things…but for His Presence most of all!
xCC
–adapted from the archives
Dec 16, 2011 | A Repat, Uncategorized
We’re down to two suitcases. That’s right. I am two suitcases away from being completely unpacked for the first time since June. My words have been few around here because that finish line has been in sight. And it sure does look pretty.
The little tidying elf somewhere inside of me is hollering, hold that paper finish line thingy tight, y’all, I’m about to bust through!
The tidying elf is Southern. Obviously.
And in other news, in case you were wondering, here are a few of the happenings around the Collie household.
The Tank is pulling up to stand and scoot along furniture.
And he doesn’t like to be told “no.” Who does?
He is very interested in getting hold of my Christmas hippopotamus. And you gotta respect a baby who won’t take no for an answer.
I may or may not have set my hair on fire last week.
What?
Why yes, a candle which had been moved from its lovely perch atop the TV was sitting on the window sill behind the TV, unbeknownst to yours truly. And when yours truly leaned behind the TV to see if the DVD player was plugged in correctly, yours truly’s long and flowy dark locks were blocking the view from said candle, and poof! My hair caught on fire.
I was very fortunate that it proceeded to dip into the wax, which put the fire out before I realized what had happened. But like four days dead Lazarus coming out of the tomb, one might have said, Lord, it stinketh.
I am rather thankful I didn’t have to stop, drop and roll, and singe the new carpet in the process.
Shew.
Afterwards HH came to the rescue and put some ice in a washcloth to freeze the wax, and then he got it out of my hair for me.
So if you notice an extra “layer” cut into my hair on one side, pretend you don’t know anything about it.
K Thanks.
And in other news, I may or may not have used a one-legged gingerbread man to talk about accepting people who are different this week.
It’s also possible that I found a treasured baby reindeer butt onesie in a box that I am certain I already looked in three times. Have I told you reindeer butts drive me nuts?
ha!
I may also still have about 50-some Christmas cards left to write. Among other things.
Perhaps one more piece of information to add to this {un}important monologue, a couple more Whole Foods posts are coming your way — apologies I got sidetracked — and I’m planning to post a linky to one of them so that if you have some good recipes or ideas of your own to share, already published on these here internets elsewhere, you can link up!
Be on the lookout early next week. Unless I catch my hair on fire again. Then it might have to wait till Thursday.
Why does burnt hair smell SO bad? Anybody wanna google that for me?
xCC
Dec 14, 2011 | The Good Word
The Bear came home from preschool with a plastic baby Jesus last week. I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t like him. I love that he is learning about Jesus, learning the Bible, and learning so many other wonderful things at preschool. But Plastic Baby Jesus, or PBJ, for short, I wasn’t sure about.
For one thing, PBJ reminded me of the king cakes they bake in New Orleans and hide the baby Jesus in at Christmastime — I only know about this because of a sweet girl my brother dated from there who told me about it. Does this Jesus actually belong in a cake?
For another thing, PBJ was really pale, and his hair was ginger. Real Jesus wasn’t Scottish. These are unlikely attributes of the real baby Jesus.
He was swaddled in a piece of felt, tied with a piece of yarn, and lying on two stretched out cotton balls.
AND. His manger was a plastic cup — the disposable kind that packaged baby food comes in.
I read the note that came along with Plastic Baby Jesus — We’d like for the kids to put the Baby Jesus under the Christmas tree and sing Happy Birthday to him on Christmas morning — and I sighed. Out loud.
 
Just as quickly as all these thoughts came into my head — a new one emerged.
Wait a minute — wasn’t this the story of the real Baby Jesus?
Humble beginnings.
For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant, And as a root out of dry ground.
By appearance, in form, by the manner of His arrival, He was rejected.
He has no form or comeliness; And when we see Him, There is no beauty that we should desire Him.
Nobody thought he was supposed to be the result of an “unplanned” pregnancy — or a lowly carpenter, or a traveling preacher.
He is despised and rejected by men, A Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.
The long-awaited Messiah — naturally His life and ministry would begin and end with big fanfare.
He shall see the labor of His soul, and be satisfied.
The Jews were sure global domination — top to bottom leadership — would be first on His agenda, if He was going to be the new King of Israel.
By His knowledge My righteous Servant shall justify many, for He shall bear their iniquities.
The Messiah was going to set everything right and deliver His people so they could rule. So they’d no longer be oppressed.
Right?
Therefore I will divide Him a portion with the great,
And He shall divide the spoil with the strong,
Because He poured out His soul unto death,
And He was numbered with the transgressors,
And He bore the sin of many,
And made intercession for the transgressors.
An arrival announced to shepherds in a field and wise men far away. A dedication at the temple where just an elderly man and a woman with many years praise the Lord for His arrival.
Right from the start, the story of Jesus was precisely the opposite of what many of us would’ve thought, would have chosen or would’ve expected of the Saviour of the world.
And maybe that’s precisely why the humble birth of a baby the world didn’t have room for was the most important birth in the history of mankind — the Love poured out that turned the world upside down.
Where would He arrive, and what would be the manner of His coming, if the Incarnation took place today, I wondered. Would I make room for Him?
My heart made room for that Plastic Baby Jesus.
He is, I’ve decided, a very good representation of the real thing.
Perhaps not by the letter, but in Spirit, his simplicity speaks truth to the Coming of the Saviour — the manger born, humble and glorious King of Kings.
xCC
Dec 13, 2011 | The Parenthood
You wouldn’t expect the first day of the week to be the one with the best lyrics. But just this Monday I started listening with new ears and I heard the most beautiful song these days on earth have given me yet…
The baby, singing from his crib before the sun rises. With some milk and a little love, he finishes off a decent night’s rest with a morning snooze in our bed. Surrounded by pillows, his little stuffy nose makes me wonder if a sleeping piglet might sound the same curled up in a haystack somewhere.
The microwave dings and the spoon joins the chorus, stirring peanut butter into oatmeal, and pop, the cap of the honey is open, and with a squirt a breakfast fit for a Bear clunks on the table.
Swoosh, juice is in the glasses and the kettle purrs in preparation for HH lattes for two.
The little one drums his hands with a bang, bang, bang the rhythm of a baby waiting for his cereal to be served. He sings his tune in high pitched notes, his brother belts the lower ones for two-part harmony.
A baby toot ricochets quite well on the seat of a high chair, the wind section announcing its presence at the breakfast table, squeals of laughter bounce off the walls, trumpeting the soulful notes of deep, deep amusement.
The shower squeaks and the water’s rhythm keeps time with these melodies, as HH gets ready for work. With a step and a hum and the creak of an old floor I collect shoes and find clothing for school.
We’re almost ready to go when I tell the Bear he’s my baby and I love him — and like a moody bridge, a moment of discord in the melody — he protests with a loud solo, for a baby, he is not.
I joyfully sing the resolution to his discordance, my best attempts at the chorus of an old Mariah Carey song:
You will always be a part of me…
and I am part of you indefinitely…
boy, don’t you know you can’t escape me,
ooh darling, cos you’ll always be my baby.
A cacophony erupts in the car — squeals and laughter and shouts and harumphs. The baby and his brother echo one another in a hollering contest only bettered by the likes of Spivey’s Corner.
I glance at the Bear in the rear view and smile as he joins me in the chorus of a song straight from our home in South Africa:
Here we go, here we go, all out for You!
We will go, we will go, tell about You.
All we are, all we are gives You glory.
Sing it out, sing it out, You are worthy!
We’re here and it’s now — sometimes it smarts — we are learning and living a new normal. But we still have in our hearts what was, and still is — and all of it together is a symphony so beautiful, I’d love to hear it again and again, the melodies, the music of our Monday.
xCC
Dec 7, 2011 | A Repat, The Good Word
Here I sit on a Wednesday morning. Freshly fallen leaves have scattered across the yard outside. A squirrel is vigorously digging to retrieve something from the ground. There’s a gentle breeze, and though this is December, and North Carolina, the Bear left for preschool without a coat this morning and I could probably open the windows for a while.
We’re in our new place. Christmas colored candles flicker here and there. The Elf on the Shelf
watches over the den with cheerful interest.
My body aches — yesterday my personal theme was “high impact” and with that in mind I vigorously attacked room after room, cleaning high and low, stacking and sorting, placing and re-placing, unpacking, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing so much I told HH at dinner “Today I came to really understand the meaning of that old saying, ‘Put your back into it.'”
But here we are, and I imagine myself an Israelite entering the Promised Land. Entering a house I didn’t build, sitting on furniture I didn’t buy, enjoying the comforts of someone else’s choices, in this mountain turned molehill of a home.
If this was a vineyard, I’d be eating the fruit.
My frame won’t allow me to go “high impact” every day — working and scrubbing and rearranging, fussy baby on my hip. And so I slow and pause, remembering to sit still and be thankful.
God has provided, exceeding and abundantly above and beyond all we could ask or imagine.
Even if there is some work involved in receiving this gift.
I cannot think of a better scenario for coming off the mission field than this one: moving into a home where you only have an electric bill to pay, already so well furnished the odds and ends you’ll need to get for settling in are few, close to family (and friends) who are constantly helping with their hands, their time, with gifts, with encouragement.
If there is a better picture to be painted, I haven’t seen it.
The breeze picks up again and a lone leaf flaps like a flag, not yet ready to let go of the branch. The Christmasy smell of a nearby candle wafts in my direction. My lips curl up to a smile.
Like that last leaf on the branch, I find myself close to settling in, finding rest, slowly drifting into the comfort of a new place called home.
xCC
Disclosure: The link to The Elf on the Shelf is an affiliate link for Amazon. “Choo-Choo” (as we named him) has been a fun little addition to enjoying Christmas around here. And the Bear’s behavior improves when we mention him. Score.
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