For me it always seems a little too tied to money. If I can’t afford all the things on the kids’ lists, it feels too familiar – to the Christmas when John wanted a puppy, for instance, and the timing didn’t seem right so we decided to forewarn him that it wouldn’t happen and I spent half an hour in the bathroom SOBBING because we had just ruined his belief in Santa, in us, and in the magic of Christmas in one fell swoop. Or I’m reminded of all those Christmases when we waited until the last minute to buy gifts and then put them on a credit card because there really wasn’t any other way, and then the heart behind it all just seemed completely ruined.

I always want Christmas to feel exactly like the shopping scene in the new Miracle on 34th Street – the sidewalks of Manhattan, ice skating in Central Park, twinkly lights everywhere, and Kenny G playing the aforementioned saddest happy song on the PLANET in the background. But there’s so much of it that doesn’t feel like that. Wal-Mart on Black Friday, for instance. Being on one too many Secret Santa lists (or three or four too many). Not knowing how, among all the gift exchanges and grab bags and last-minute forgottens, to live out the words of that beautiful song from our Christmas video two years ago:

All that I want for Christmas, is to give my love away.

Feeling emotional at Christmas is like having the baby blues after delivery. Many people go there, few confess. We know the happiness is bigger than the ache, so we ignore it or pretend it’s not there or actually forget about it when everything finally comes together and we finish our list or sometimes after we’ve only just begun but have realized there are perfect gifts for perfect people to be found.

Maybe you’re away from home for the first time or there’s someone missing that should be with you still. Maybe you were hoping some things would have changed by now, and they haven’t, or you can’t stop wishing for all the things that have changed that you sort of want back the way they were. I can’t actually help you. That’s the problem. I don’t have the magic. But I do believe in it. And every year, without fail, I see it at some point again – those moments that make me believe, seriously, a black night, frightened shepherds, and plain, plain people with a quiet, scandalous birth…but the angels filled the sky. They filled it and they sang and it was ridiculous and amazing, and it shouldn’t have happened and surely it couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. And it did. And there are still moments to be found today that make that ridiculously magic story seem totally and completely possible and true.

Find yours. Look for it in your children, your best friends, your mama, your neighbor, the child who gets a shoebox full of goodies thanks to you. Know you’re not alone in the sad. But that none of us have to get through without the magic.

I always think I’m doing okay at life, taking it in and relishing its good things like I mean to. I even take pride in how often I avoid its speed and chaotic filling up of every single day. But then a holiday comes, four quiet days to do only the things I love most, and it’s sort of like seeing them again after a really, really long sleep.

Oh, hello, tall boy. You’re twelve now, and I knew that – I noticed after all, when you first came into life and every anniversary of that day since. Still, it’s nice to look at you, watch you savor your happy things as I savor mine.

And speaking of my happiness, hello, dark table. You’re the largest of the prettiest things I notice at home. You make supper better. And birthday cake. And the rounded edges of folded shirts and pajamas. I like your rich color and your still-brand-newness, which reminds me we just don’t see you enough.

I haven’t seen you in a while. That’s what I say to the top of the bright white dryer after sorting and putting away the heaps of things that have piled there. And what a useful white shelf sits above you when it’s not crammed with things that don’t belong. Little white vase and white flower, photo of my sisters in a frame, detergent, softener, and scrub brush: Welcome to my zen.

I’ve been meaning to finish you for a while, Ms. Voskamp. And you didn’t disappoint. This post is sort of inspired by you really. A list of noticed things. And a bright hello to the books unfinished on my computer or not yet begun in a folder marked ideas. I had time to think of you this weekend – big, long quiet after late, creative nights and long, restful sleep. I like you again, very much actually. I’ve planned our whole future together. I hope you cooperate, but I’m not worried. You’re my favorite work.

Hello boy of ten. I see those eyes and how they’re aging you. A child’s are found about half-way chin-to-crown. Did you know that? Yours aren’t there anymore. And they crinkle when you smile. And they’re Papa’s. Except they’re not when I take the time to look. They’re yours. All and only yours. Just like your comedy and your heart.

My bright, bright sunshine of five. I see your cheek before I press my own to it, praying I’ll never forget how that feels. Your hand still wants mine when we walk, and I love that. You’re right, you know. I said, “Will you always stay little for me?” And on my lap you said, “I think not.” And your brave and blatant fineness with leaving me someday made me almost as happy as the fact that you happily curled up with me then.

Hello, cat’s purr and heater’s whir and the ticking of the clock. Hello twentieth-century fox, how I love your sound. I’ve missed the noticing of all these happy things, the deep, satisfaction of really seeing them and truly taking them in. This morning I sat alone with the bread and the cup. I love how they feel, I love the lingering taste, I love the hot tears I welcome every time I hold them and think of the one I believe in who made me and watches as I notice all these happy things.

Leading into today, the day that celebrates Jesus’ resurrection, I considered various ways to share the story with my children. The Passion of the Christ came to mind. It might be awfully difficult for children to watch, though I think few artistic forms paint a better picture of what happened. C.S. Lewis gave us a nice allegory of Jesus’ death and resurrection with the death of Aslan. I could read that chapter maybe. I could take them to a Sunday School class or leave it to one of their grandmothers to share the real meaning of Easter before or after the candy hunt. I could make them sit through an old You Tube version of Carman’s The Champion, which I gotta say is still pretty tempting. The options are just pretty much unlimited.

But in the end, I just read the story. I read it from John. I cried when He asked John to take care of His mother. I cried when He said it was finished. I cried when the disciples feared His body had been stolen and then He appeared to Mary in the garden. “Mary,” He said, “Who are you looking for?”

Our bedtime book these days is the Jesus Storybook Bible in which the retelling of Old Testament stories always illustrates how each story pointed to His coming, His sacrifice, and our redemption. So we were definitely ready for His coming, so to speak. And after two days of being with those we love most – on Michael’s side and mine – after tromping through yards and around gardens looking for eggs and cherishing decades of tradition – after showers and baths and tucking into bed so we could read the story, He definitely came. I feel it from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Not the proof or the evidence, but the belief, the relief, and the happy, overwhelming feeling that it’s real.

I hope my kiddos feel it too. And I hope you begin your week with at least a bit of that deep down wonderful feeling that comes from love, traditions, hard-won victories, and belief.

P.S. This video probably won’t be on You Tube forever, but it’s got some of that goodness built in. My weekend and all its happy feelings began when we stumbled onto this performance Friday night.

Weak and wounded sinner

Lost and left to die

Raise your head for love is passing by

These are the first words to a favorite song of mine by Chris Rice.

I have a major songwriter crush on this guy. I listened to his CD Past the Edges throughout my labor with John Michael, so his voice reminds me of the happiest accomplishment in my life. I bought one of his anniversary CDs right before the MRI that discovered the tumor that was eventually diagnosed as synovial cell sarcoma. So his voice also reminds me that on a very scary day, he made me smile. He wrote one of the best Christmas songs ever, Welcome to our World, and the song Smellin’ Coffee about the phenomenon of going to bed world-weary and waking up miraculously refreshed – something I’ve experienced again and again. He also wrote And Your Praise Goes On in which we see how creation praised its creator from the beginning, then we picked up the song, and it will continue even when our life on earth has ended.

This quote is from the song Come to Jesus, its lyrics following the tradition of classic hymns that describe a believer’s journey from salvation to eternity. And it’s a favorite in our house.

You know I love words. And this week I thought I’d share some of my favorite lines – phrases that made me wonder how the writer managed to put words together so beautifully, describing so powerfully something I’ve felt or that I desperately want to. I love this particular line. Weak and wounded sinner – yep, I relate. Then, raise your head for love is passing by. How often is our salvation there if we would just raise our head to see it? How true that only looking in and at ourselves can make us sad, but looking up and out brings help. How beautiful that the answer to our weakness and our wounds, is love.

Google didn’t bring me any recent Chris Rice news today – nothing since 2008. I hope he hasn’t stopped writing. And if he has, I hope he knows how grateful someone is that at some point he wrote the words he did, and that he shared them.

One of the reviews says, “the book radiates happiness and optimism”. When I think of the conditions of worry and gloom and care under which it was written I wonder at this. Thank God, I can keep the shadows of my life out of my work. I would not wish to darken any other life – I want instead to be a messenger of optimism and sunshine.

~LM Mongomery, on her book Anne of Green Gables

I wish I could tell LM Montgomery that she was exactly that for me.

I used to disappear into her books, and when I emerged the world was washed with that optimism. She helped me see God in nature. She made difficult people seem more harmless, kindred spirits something to be treasured though “not as rare” as we might think. She shaped my love for fashion, books, poetry, and education.

It’s been so strange to read her journals the last few months – Volume I – and find that she was often lonely, anxious, and depressed. She struggled to find true love and maybe never did. Her father may have been the only person in her life who loved her deeply, unconditionally, and kindly.

When Anne of Green Gables sold to a publisher and arrived on her doorstep one day bound and published, she was elated. But a year or so later when the sequel came, she didn’t care. She “went for a walk in the woods and thought no more about it.” It was this entry that made me realize like I never realized before even though I’d said it to myself: Success really can’t make you happy if you haven’t found a way to happiness before.

I don’t blame her for not being happy. Her winters were miserable, shut up in two tiny rooms with a grouchy old woman and barely enough heat to be comfortable. Instead I admire the way she could still find that belief deep inside that happiness was possible. I don’t think she wrote pretend happiness but possible happiness. And that’s what I responded to when I read it.

The last several years I haven’t read her books again and again like I used to. (I used to be able to look back at my journals and tell which entries were written while I was reading Anne – they affected me that much). But now I can’t wait to read them again. Because I’ll know how hard she worked to put her belief in the goodness of life into her stories even though it continued to fail her a bit in reality.

I think if we’d admit it, our beliefs fail us sometimes too. I believe God performs miracles, but I don’t see them very often. I believe he hates cancer as much as we do, but it continues to find us and our loved ones all the time. I believe he made us in his image, but some people are really difficult to love. I believe love and companionship are for everyone, but I still have friends who haven’t found it.

People think they tell the truth, or write it, when they only show the ugly parts. But I think the possibility of happiness is just as real as the fact that often we misplace it. LM Montgomery inspired me to look for the happy, all the time, no matter what. And I love her for it.

There is so much in the world for us all, if we only have the eyes to see it and the heart to love it and the hand to gather it to ourselves – so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in even the narrowest, most circumscribed life – so much to enjoy and delight in and be thankful for.

~LM Montgomery, 1900…. spring

We celebrated a few things – two anniversaries, my five years cancer-free, my dad’s fifth year of recovery from an addiction, plus lots and lots of children and many years of love.

And on Sunday we gathered in this room for church. And we read things from the bible and talked and maybe cried a little. Some of us cried a lot. I did, for instance, when we sang the song about God’s feelings for us that’s titled How He Loves. “He loves us, oh how he loves us.” That’s the chorus, over and over. And I couldn’t even sing it because I just cried instead.

The last time I saw the song performed, it was with cardboard testimonies. People held up cardboard with their former troubles and sadness on one side, then flipped it to their victories and happiness on the other. Things like this, for instance, from my niece. You can see what’s on the cardboard when you roll over the picture:

And as we sat in this room my mom now calls the Sanctuary, and Dan played the piano and those who know it well sang the song, I didn’t even remember that performance that had also sent me directly to The Ugly Cry with its stories of redemption. Instead I was just feeling loved. And it was only later that I thought of the cardboard testimonies we could have shared…

Cancer

Addiction

Miscarriage

Separation

Loss

And then, of course, I thought of that room which for the time at least held nothing but the victory to all those things. Health, recovery, babies, love, and life. And then I really cried when I heard the words again. He loves us, oh how he loves us. I hope you can hang onto that if your cardboard looks more like trouble right now than redemption. And even if you can’t, it’s still true. And I hope you get the chance to feel it soon.

I loved LOST from the first moments when a surgeon who wants to fix everything and an arrested murderer became friends. And then a lotto winner who thinks he’s unlucky shook hands with an ex-soldier from the Iraqi Republican Guard. It all thrilled me from that moment as we learned more and more about the survivors of a mysterious plane crash – more reasons why they never would have been friends in real life and even more ways their lives were connected whether they knew it or not.

To the loud noise in the jungle and the crazy whispering and giant polar bear, I was all “Enh. Whatever. Show me another end-of-the-day campfire montage!”

Eventually, I admit, the mystery and science fiction aspect sucked me in as well. This show may have singlehandedly won me over to new genres of entertainment. But still, even though I wanted answers to all the crazy stuff, I mostly just wanted to keep witnessing the amazing human ability to forgive and sacrifice and grow and the beautiful power of friendship.

To that end, the LOST finale totally satisfied me. When it comes to answers? Not so much. So many things I wanted to happen, didn’t. Although, when I think about the answers I didn’t get…I realize maybe that is an answer in itself. For instance:

Was Jacob God or what?

Through most of the series I expected an ultimate good and an ultimate evil, something like God and the devil. But the characters theoretically in those roles kept confusing me. The Smoke Monster in the form of John Locke, for instance, was obviously bad. He killed all the time and without any glimmer of being justified for it. But it seemed like, a lot of the time, he was telling the truth whereas his nemesis was all vague and annoying and inconsistent. So until the last few episodes I had to wonder if the creators would perform the ultimate twist and show us that the guy telling the truth and hanging out with the survivors was actually the guy to follow and the calmer voiced dude in white was just a master manipulator.

I wanted a strong answer to this question. And what I found out was that they were both just guys really. And still I wondered if the righter one was really totally right. So many things about Jacob bugged me. He accepted a job from a woman who killed his mother in cold blood and was so incredibly vague about said job that I sort of wanted to strike her head with a rock. He believed in her cause without much information at all.

Yea, so Jacob wasn’t God. But nobody actually said, “Yea, Jacob’s the better guy, but he’s not perfect.” And yet, they kinda did. He said it himself when he told Kate she could still have the job of protector if she wanted it. He’d crossed her name off when she became a mother, but it was, after all, “Just chalk on a cave wall.” And in the end when Hurley feels badly about taking a job that keeps people from leaving the island, Ben says, “That’s how Jacob ran things. Maybe there’s a better way.”  So, really, I guess I got my answer to that. Jacob was definitely fallible.

The problem with that, for me, is that I wanted better redemption for the Man in Black. Couldn’t we have had an Anakin Skywalker moment? Couldn’t Jacob at some point have apologized for not letting his brother just leave the island already before he turned him into the horrible man-eating smoke monster? Something like that could have happened when the Smoke Monster lost its immortality. “I just wanted to leave,” he could have said. “I’m sorry about that,” Jack could have answered. “He should have let you. But you definitely, definitely shouldn’t have killed all those people.” And then punch him in the face and kick him to the ocean. You know?

What is the Meaning of Life?

I think there are two ways to look at a show like this. You either take it for what it is, considering everything only within the context of the show (in which case, wow, so not enough answers at the end). Or you take it as a bit of a metaphor within the context of the universe we know and against the things that we believe. When you do the latter, there still weren’t enough answers. The religious leanings were extremely vague, especially in the end. But with this approach, there’s a lot more room for explanation.

For instance, the truth is, I didn’t want the creators to try and tell us point blank the meaning to life and what the afterlife would entail. Because I knew they couldn’t actually know that since none of us can. What they did instead was focus on what we do know – or what many of us believe anyway : There is more than this. And, in even greater detail: We need each other. I loved that.

Science or Faith?

The Man in Black kept insisting to Jack that Locke was wrong about everything. There’s nothing to believe in, nothing to protect, no such thing as destiny. And I wanted the finale to declare a winner on that. And at first, I didn’t think it did.

When the Man in Black fought Jack in the end, he said right before he thought he was about to kill him, “You died for nothing Jack.” Fortunately Kate killed the monster instead, and Jack lived until the end of the show. But when he did die at the end, there still wasn’t any definitive proof that everything had been for some grand purpose. Though he got the water turned back on and the Light and all, we didn’t really know if the whole world would have died without it. We didn’t know for sure that everyone’s lives would be wonderful now. And yet Jack smiled as he died. And I think it’s because he knew whether he was right about everything or not, he’d chosen the more fulfilling path. He had chosen faith, and it felt much better to have a destiny than not. He had loved and risked his life for others. He had moved past addiction and selfishness. He had found a way to believe in something bigger than himself. And he was glad for it.

What the -H- was the Island??

As I read in this article, the real faith-or-science answer was given to us in the fact that so few answers were given to us. We were asked as a fan to take a lot of things – well – on faith. Why did some people find healing on the Island? They just did. How did Jacob know so much, how could he leave the Island at will, what was the deal with his lighthouse? That stuff just was. It kind of comes back to what I consider to be the main point of the show: Characters and relationship. Since Juliet had tried for years to figure out why pregnant women died but never found the answer, then neither did we. Because what mattered more was Juliet’s journey. Ben didn’t get to learn why the Island healed Locke’s legs but not his tumor, so neither did we. Instead, we watched Ben struggle with whether or not he’d keep following the side that could have healed him but didn’t.

Here’s what the Island means to me. It’s a scientific phenomenon and a place where the spiritual is pretty much as real as the physical. And we don’t know why or how any of that is true. What we learned instead was how different people responded. Some people studied the scientific phenomenon at the cost of human life. Some people took the spiritual aspect and turned it into a religion that let them decide who got to participate in that spirituality. They invented rules that weren’t necessarily the rules the Island demanded. They stole human life too and they removed free will.

Others faced the Island with the best, if imperfect, intentions. They studied it, so they could learn to help. They signed on as protectors. They valued human life over their own purpose. They were willing to suffer for a greater good.

That’s how I see it. I walked away from the finale pretty much speechless, unsure whether I liked what I’d seen or not. And then Jimmy Kimmel, of all people, helped me get it. He said, “Life on earth is a test, and this was Jack’s.”

I don’t think we only saw Jack’s journey, but I do think whatever the Island is, the story was in how people reacted to it. I also think, one of the actors or creators summed it up in the pre-show before the finale. Many different people. Many different backgrounds. Many different reasons to be uncool. “But can we get along?” And the answer to that question was definitely a resounding yes.

I’ve offered to guest host Serenity’s blog a few times, mostly in jest (she doesn’t trust me – with good reason), but I finally decided that I should really take a shot at it. Seren, I promise to behave myself. What’s the worst that could happen to me, right? I mean, it’s not like she has a bunch of writers on here, critiquing my every word…

I’ll preface my post by acknowledging that I could not be more out of my element than right at this moment. I am akin to a fish that is waterless. However, given my present lack of good judgment, I will press on. I am a supreme novice when it comes to the world of blogging, although I do think I understand its most basic concepts. I realize that in the grand scheme of things, I’m writing this more for Serenity than anyone else, but I also realize that my topic of choice could not be more commonly shared by so many people. So, all of the writers that are logging in, I kindly thank you in advance for keeping your editorial comments to yourself. All non-writers, don’t even think about it.

I, like most men, am not a complex creature. I have a few hobbies, things that I’m interested in, but nothing all that fascinating. I think about things: Religion, politics, will the Tigers stay in the Big 12? But that doesn’t mean I have an overwhelming urge, or even an underwhelming urge, to share those thoughts with anyone. I have friends, although I’m not sure they know that. I have things I want to accomplish in life, and even though it may take me longer than I thought, I’ll get there. I’m just your average, run of the mill guy who married a hot chick way out of his league.

My life is arranged simply: God, my wife, my kids, family, friends, and Clay (my Lab –last but not necessarily least). That’s it. If I find myself giving more importance to things other than what’s on my list, it’s time to stop and reevaluate. I don’t like things complicated, I want to keep it simple. And for those who really know Serenity, I’m sure you’re laughing right now. Yeah…complete awareness of the one you marry – did not have it.

On June 16, 2005, my simple life got messed with. Cancer. Seren and I had been thinking about our third child that would arrive in 8 months, and now we were wondering if she would even live that long. What do you do when everything you’ve been given, even life itself, is being threatened? Well, you live. I couldn’t be more proud of how Serenity made the decision that she was going to live, for however long that might be. And over the last five years, we’ve tasted the bitter and the sweet that life has to offer, and we’ve kept putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes we were taking steps into what seemed like a great unknown, not sure if there was going to be solid ground under our feet when they landed, but we always seemed to find our way. Our faith was tested time after time. And if we stumbled, there were always friends and family members around to help us along. I’m not suggesting that Serenity beat cancer because of our faith in God, but I will tell you, we’ve lived because of our faith in God. And however many days we are given, we’ll live.

So Seren, thanks for not leaving me. When I wake up early in the mornings, I’m very grateful that you are still lying next to me in bed…then I get up, go pee, and go back to sleep – stupid diet coke right before bed.

I like to buy sparkling grape juice for New Year’s Eve and have a toast with the kids. They think it’s special to drink out of the fancy glasses. As. Do. I. In this clip, John is mostly hidden by the flowers on the table. Other trivia you might like is that John and Drew turned into wild men when they saw they were being filmed. You’ll see it in the tape. And then you can see them immediately cease when I tell them off-camera to FOR GOODNESS SAKE NOT RUIN THIS BEAUTIFUL MOMENT.

So here’s to the New Year. I hope it’s good to all of us.

As we thank you for what you have done / As we look to what you’ll do

We will wait here in your presence, Lord, to consecrate our lives to you

Lord, prepare us for what lies ahead / Do what only you can do

Anoint our eyes to see, our ears to hear / We consecrate our lives to you

Oh, Father, we wait for you / Holy Spirit, Come

Breathe on us / Cover us / Let your will be done

I really like the idea of heaven and eternity. I really hope for it. I often count on an eternal righting of things that the bible suggests will happen. And when someone dies, I pray it’s real and that I can see them again. This is a picture of Jake with his great-grandpa, with whom Jake shares a name. Grandpa’s funeral is tomorrow. I’ll sing in it. Jake will sit on someone’s lap, or near them, not really understanding what has happened. And we’ll all talk of how Grandpa has passed on and what he meant to us and what he added to our lives. His grandson, a soldier, will fold the flag during the military service. And we’ll all cry.

Den’s words about belief have made me think about this death differently than before. I wonder sometimes if we rush to the thought of eternity so we don’t have to face the resolution of today. Or if in counting on eternity, we take for granted our time with each other in life.

I feel so grateful that Jake shares a name with Michael’s grandpa. It’s a living reminder that we treasured him when he was with us to treasure. Instead of thinking so much about the day when we hope to see him again, I’ve been thinking about the days we saw him here. I’ve been thinking about life and how cool it was to share it with him at least for this amount of time.

Eternity is a wonderful, beautiful hope. But I’m reminded of something my uncle teaches about the salvation-by-works theology versus salvation-by-grace. (Believe like you’re saved by grace, live like it’s all up to you…), and I would paraphrase, “Believe that you’ll see your loved ones again, but love them like this is all you’ve got.”