It's Not About Giving

We all know the feeling. A friend drops in, maybe an acquaintance, a neighbor. Someone we don't know that well, someone that we certainly didn't put on our Christmas list. Goodness, we didn't even send them a card. And here they are at our door with a beautiful platter of assorted homemade cookies. Or a lovely ornament tied with a ribbon. Or some other thoughtful, beautiful, perfect gift. And we stand there, eyes wide, arms spread, speechless. Because we don't have a gift in return. Maybe we scurry into the back of the house and wrap something up. But the feeling is still there: discomfort, embarrassment, indebtedness. Powerlessness. It is awkward to be the receiver of a gift. And from now on we might avoid that person's street when we're out on a walk, or at least until we've come up with some equally lovely gift to give in return.

So here we are in the Christmas season. The "season of giving," as we've coined it. But really, is this the season of giving? We certainly love to give. Why? Because it makes us feel good. It puts us in control. It gives us a pat on the back, helps those in need, seems to be a win-win. But the truth in the underbelly of all of this is that it is excruciatingly difficult to be the recipient of a gift-- especially a wonderful unmerited gift. Which is exactly what the Christmas story-- that story set in a stable in Bethlehem-- is all about. Receiving an unmerited gift.

William Willimon writes,

"The Christmas story implies that what God wants to do for us is so strange, so beyond the bounds of human effort and striving, that God must resort to utterly unnatural, supernatural means. It tells of an unimaginable gift from a stranger, a God whom we hardly even knew. This strange story tells us how to be receivers."

In the Christmas story, we are receivers before we are givers. In our best efforts we have managed to get it all wrong, because the true Christmas spirit is not about giving. It is about receiving this stranger, this acquaintance whom we hardly even know, bearing lavish gifts of grace and unmerited love, with open arms, humility, and welcome.

Very Pregnant in Advent

We're in the third trimester here. That time that things get uncomfortable-- hips sore, body heavy, bathroom breaks a little too frequent. I love pregnancy artwork-- paintings, sculptures, photographs. But it is interesting to note that very rarely does this artwork depict a woman truly on the cusp of birth. I would say that months four, maybe five, are the months that are deemed art-worthy. Month nine is large, comical. People who haven't been around pregnant women lately will exclaim "I've never seen a pregnant woman that big!" (and by this I mean my dad). And strangers will ask if it's twins. But no, the truth is, that's just what a really pregnant woman looks like. She looks imposing, clumsy, slow.

And this is just where we find ourselves in the Advent season. Mary is pregnant, very pregnant. All of humanity is pregnant in expectation, hope, uncertainty. The birth is coming. The surges have started softening the cervix. There may be moments that it feels like this is it, this is the birth. And then the moment passes, sleep eases the feeling, and it's back to just being unseemingly pregnant.

And pregnant with what? A child-- an unexpected child. A child that we feel has hope, that we just know has some sort of special purpose. The Son of God? He remains cloaked in the darkness of the womb. It is an uncertain time, a time of longing to see the outcome, to be able to see this child when he is crawling, see him when he is talking, imagine what he will become. Even to see his groggy eyes gaze up into ours when still covered in amniotic fluid.

But for now, we remain pregnant. Large. Uncomfortable. Uncertain, curious. And longing.

Morning Muffins

One summer when I was working in the city, I used to stop off in a local bakery every morning and pick up a cup of coffee and a "morning muffin," which was a delicious carrot-raisin muffin that made me not mind being up at an early hour in the least (and this in college, mind you!). And they were substantive enough to keep my filled up until lunch, and healthy enough to not make me feel too guilty.

Yesterday morning I readied a few ingredients so that Z and her aunt could have a cooking adventure-- shredded carrots, shredded apples, flax seed and oat bran among several others-- and these "company muffins" match and even exceed my memories of morning muffins. I grow more and more impressed with my go-to cookbook each time I try a new recipe. So here it is for you to enjoy!

1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup oat bran or rolled oats
3/4 cups brown sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
In a large bowl combine and stir well.

2 tart apples (peeled, cored, and shredded)
1 1/2 cups carrots (finely shredded)
1 cup flax seed meal (or walnuts)
1/2 cup raisins
Add and stir to coat. Make well in center.

2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup oil
In a separate bowl mix together. Pour into flour mixture. Stir just until moistened. Fill muffin tins about 3/4 full. Bake in preheated oven at 375 for 18-20 minutes.

Some Guests on our Shelf

A lovely little package arrived from Israel the other day... which is just so perfect, since it's Jesus and family! I always loved having a nativity set growing up, and knew I wanted something special that would be touchable, playable, but still not your average "toy." This mama, papa, and baby set stuck out, and are just perfect on a shelf that's eye-level for Zosia. And I loved the fact that Mary had long black hair and Joseph is depicted as an old man-- both unusual depictions of Mary and Joseph, but most likely correct!

I wasn't sure whether Advent talk/celebrations were getting through to Zosia-- she's just so tiny, and if you think about it, the whole idea of Christmas is very complex. A birthday for someone far away, long ago. Someone that we "see" at church, but who isn't here in body.

But the other day she emerged from her room with a baby blanket over her head, and when I asked what she was playing, she said, in that "how can you not know, Mama!" sort of way, "I'm Mary!" And then she pulled out a baby doll and started bossing Jesus around. I love that kid.

When All Wrong is Alright

It's been one of those days-- well, a couple of days, really. The handle to our car door broke. We moved mountains to borrow a car, scrambled to get out the door this morning to our doctor's appointment (to that wonderful pediatrician all the way across town), to drop off that trusty old car of ours. One thing after another: a lost wallet, a dirty diaper, a muddy dog. And then when we had finally let out a sigh of relief, when we had imagined that we were in the clear, the final blow: that appointment that we had thought was today was tomorrow at 9:15. It was just becoming comical-- a comedy of errors.

As our morning routine had been going so wrong, Ben and I had started listing things we were thankful for, things that were going right-- the change in attitude kept us going, seemed to override all these little blips. But then on the silent ride home from the doctor's office, the practice of gratitude became slightly more difficult.

We came home, had some coffee, settled the kids into their routines. And flipped open to our daily Advent reading, which somehow has this way of speaking so eloquently to our current dilemmas. Today's words for us:

"Keep your eyes on the prince of peace, the one who doesn't cling to his divine power; the one who refuses to turn stones into bread, jump from great heights, and rule with great power...; the one who touches the lame, the crippled, and the blind, the one who speaks words of forgiveness and encouragement... He is the source of all peace."

And then there was a glimmer of clarity. Because there is beauty, and even sacredness in those moments that are "all wrong." Sometimes when things don't go the way they're supposed to-- when our best efforts result only in mistakes, when our hopes fall like dominoes, one after another, we enter into the realm of the divine. A divinity that came not through power, but meekness, who did not cling to divinity, but chose powerlessness. That divinity is the source of all peace.

Who Needs A Doormat Anyway?

Thanks, Selma! Nothing quite like some fresh slush straight off a pair of boots. And here's the queen on her "throne" right by the front door.

Hot Chocolate Chip Cookies on Demand

You all probably know this trick, right? When you're making a batch of your favorite Chocolate Chip cookies, only bake as many as you're planning on eating that day. Take the rest of the dough and scoop cookies onto a tray or cookie sheet, freeze for 10 minutes or so, and then place into a ziplock bag. Then, whenever you're in the mood for a hot chocolate chip cookie, bake one up. Delicious. And generally keeps you from eating a whole tray of cookies at once. Generally.