Take Joy this Christmas

We are so close to Christmas now and it’s always this time, just days before Christmas day, that I start to feel like I just want it to be over with. And I can’t find the energy to go to the store to pick up the missing ingredients so I scratch that dish completely and make something else to take to dinner. Will anyone care that I’m bringing scalloped sweet potatoes instead of potatoes au gratin with white potatoes? Will they think I’ve done something fancy and love it? Or will they see right through me and know I’ve taken the easy route? And why do I let stress take over just days before this wonderful celebration and allow “easy routes” to appear on this map to the manger?

I love this season of giving so much that I had the house decorated and Christmas music playing days before Thanksgiving. And yet here I am. Too much time spent on work instead of family. Too much energy spent on the list instead of the recipient. Too much focus spent on the one day on the 25th of this month to just get through instead of the rest our days, this current one included, as the true gift given to embrace.

Too much spent. Period. That sums me up. But I found this poem today and it couldn’t have come at a better time to remind us all that whatever we need this Christmas, we already have it.

As the inevitable stress creeps in in these last days before Christmas, and we find ourselves looking forward to it just being over, my wish is that we can take a step back, take a deep breath in, and take hold of the joy that lies waiting, within our reach. Merry Christmas.

Take Joy

There is nothing I can give you which you have not;
but there is much,
that, while I cannot give,
you can take.

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today.
Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant.
Take Peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach,
is joy.
Take Joy.

And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you, with the prayer that for you,
now and forever,
the day breaks
and
the shadows flee away.

–Fra Gio

Meet Them Where They Are

As the first of twenty-six funerals commence today in Newtown, I am giving myself a visual reminder for every minute of this day to keep my heart pointed in their direction. I am hoping with everything inside of me that in some unfathomable way, those precious families are feeling the hands of love, peace, comfort, hope that are being extended to them from around the world.

There are times in life when God is needed near but there is no part of us that wants to look for Him. There is no light in our darkness. All joy, all hope, all feeling has been sucked right out of us and if we are to feel any part of God’s goodness it’s because He has gone searching through our forest of grief to find us.

I will not pretend to know one ounce of what the Sandy Hook families are feeling in the days following their unimaginable horror. I have begun to pray a thousand prayers since Friday morning and each one has stopped short in my throat. God, give them peace. How in this heart-wrenching hell can any mother, father, sister, brother feel peace? God, be their comfort. How does one even think of comfort in the middle of mind-blowing pain? It goes on. Asks of God and every time I start I stop because I have no idea what these families need or want from God. Some may have lost all belief in Him last Friday. Some may have lost belief in Him a long time ago. Some may have never believed at all. And others may be trying to hold on to some thread of belief but the agony of what is in front of them makes stepping towards Him too difficult, impossible even.

And so I stopped asking God to be something for them. I stopped petitioning Him to deliver, to restore, to renew. And I’m simply asking God to find them. Wherever they are, whatever they are feeling, whenever they are ready, just meet them where they are.

Those that just 4 days ago were living in the thickness of joy and dreams and laughter and normal life are now living in the margins, so close to the edge, at any moment waiting for the slightest of winds to blow them right off the cliff. Meet them where they are. That jagged cliff is her home in this moment. Meet her there.

As they clench their fists and scream.

As they sit in silence and remember.

As they accept an embrace.

As they turn away.

As they comfort a sibling.

As they inhale every piece of clothing in their lost baby’s room.

As they memorialize through stories.

As they take a step forward.

As they begin to feel again.

As they allow joy in.

As they throw it all back and get lost in the grief once more.

As they

As they

As they

Meet them there. And I have no asks of you other than that. Because you, God, in all of your great glory have known the agonizing pain of losing a son. You, God, share the pain that these families now carry. And only you can know what they need. As you welcomed their children home, you also took a step forward to where these families would need you to find them. And so, as I sit here helpless, wanting to do something, say something, pray something, I have only one ask able to spring forth. Meet them where they are, sweet Jesus.

I have an Aunt

I have an Aunt Ellen that sends me a card every holiday. All the big ones—Christmas, birthdays, Easter—and the little ones, too—Halloween, 4^th of July, anniversaries, and all those in between. She is 90 years old and still takes time to send us love. Her notes are personal and her love is endless. She is a Great Aunt, my grandmother’s twin sister, and she deserves every bit of that capitol “G”. When I visit, there is a fresh Texas Sheet Cake waiting for me and I cook often with a cast iron skillet that she gave me recently. The skillet is over 100 years old and seasoned to perfection. She received it as a wedding gift from her mother. I love to think of all the meals that were prepared for her family throughout these 100 plus years as I use it to prepare meals for my family now. What an honor to have it in my hands and to have her in my life. She makes me so proud to say, “I have an Aunt,” in Ellen Marie Randall.

I have another Aunt Ellen—my mother’s sister—who has a heart filled with so much grace for those around her, I wonder sometimes if she remembers to keep some grace in reserve for herself. I hope she does. We all need a little grace-for-self in reserve. My Aunt makes me feel special in only the way an Aunt can. She is an amazing artist and has allowed me to hold one of her paintings hostage on a wall in my home. I mentioned that I loved it and it showed up in a package on my doorstep a week later. I didn’t intend for her to send it to me but that’s what she does. She sends out love, and it comes in many forms. I wrote a post about hanging on and letting go in October and mentioned Fall leaves in that post. I had a box of her Virginia, Fall-colored leaves on my table that week. She gets me and I love being able to call her Aunt and Friend. I’m eternally grateful that because of Ellen Diane Taylor, I can say, “I have an Aunt.”

My father’s sister, my Aunt Betty Jo, lives in Ohio and I haven’t seen her in at least 20 years. But as a child, she was one of my favorite people in the world. When we visited my dad’s family in West Virginia, I always wanted to stay with Aunt Betty Jo across the river in Ohio. She lived in a tiny house and raised dogs. I can’t tell you what kind of dogs, I just remember that as a young child I would walk beside this woman that could throw a 40-pound bag of dog food over her shoulder like it was full of feathers and watch with joy as she let me get dirty right alongside of her cleaning the dog cages and holding the new puppies. They also raised Emu’s and my uncle was small enough to be able to ride these big birds. My cousin and I would laugh and laugh, telling each other stories of him being on the Swiss Family Robinson beach racing these birds for fun. My Aunt Betty Jo taught me that being a woman didn’t mean being weak. Mother used to tell me I looked like my Aunt Betty Jo and that gave me pride. She was one of the first truly funny ladies I can remember being around and she makes the world’s best chocolate gravy. A little bit for the gravy, but a whole lot for the strong, funny lady she is, I love being able to say, “I have an Aunt,” in Betty Jo Goss.

I have an Aunt Monty that feels like a kindred spirit. Her house has always been warm and welcoming. She is a country lady in every sense of the word and I love her for every bit of country she has exposed me to. Food is meant to be fried and milk is meant to be chocolate. I have many childhood memories of the woods around their house. We spent a lot of time there when it was safe for kids to roam the woods until mom whistled us home. Aunt Monty has an infectious laugh and a compassionate heart. She is sister-in-law to my mother but they share a friendship that really takes the in-law out of the equation. Monty Ellis is beloved in my family and it’s a privilege to see her and say, “I have an Aunt.”

My Aunt Sunday is one of the sweetest women I know. I’ve never heard her raise her voice, though I’m sure one of her four daughters just might be able to say that they have once or twice. She has shown me that patience and love aren’t always easy to maintain firm grips on but when you turn around and look back at the journey you’ve made, you’ll be so glad for the determination you had to just hang on. She’s raised four girls that share a bond only sisters can understand. She married my mother’s brother, so she’s technically an Aunt by marriage but God brought her into our family and there she will always remain. I’m thankful that in Sunday Graham I can say, “I have an Aunt.”

These women in my life that I am blessed to call my Aunts have left permanent marks upon my life. They’ve been the source of wide-eyed wonder as a child, taught me and my sister what the laughter of women can really do for the soul, and have shown me how an awkward girl can grow into a graceful lady. Each one has given me a picture of the kind of Aunt I want to be. I’ve never taken the time to give them these words of how they’ve touched my soul, but I want them all to know that they have each played a part in making me the woman I am today. A woman I hope makes them proud to say, “I have a niece.”