Permission to Wonder

This isn’t normal this time we’re living in. Read that again … This isn’t normal.

I’m giving so much thanks that we homeschool in a time such as this. Our routine doesn’t have to shift too much. Our extracurriculars have been cancelled, our playdates postponed, our libraries closed, our vacations on hold. But our day-to-day life doesn’t have to change much. We’re used to being home all day. We’re used to preparing three meals at home every day. Going on hikes. Playing outside. My girls are amazing at playing independently - and together. They are just used to it. Creativity abounds. I mean, if I’m really honest with myself, I’m a tiny bit grateful that I have an excuse to just stay home and say no to all the requests that come my way. I’ve been longing for an extended time of rest and Sabbath.

But let’s be real …. when that rest and Sabbath is forced on you, it doesn’t have the same effect. I find myself feeling anxious every morning as I wake. I feel my creativity lacking. My motivation has tanked. We are doing the bare minimum when it comes to lessons each day. That desire I originally had to just plow through the rest of our year has now dissipated, as I now wonder if our summer plans will be cancelled as well.

I wonder if the oldest will get to perform in the dance competitions she’s been preparing for since Fall.

I wonder if the youngest will ever go back to gymnastics.

I wonder how I will continue to be the Pollyanna in the family.

I wonder if we’ll be told we can’t even go to our favorite parks to hike.

I wonder if the beaches will be closed.

I wonder if my favorite local businesses will survive this mess.

I wonder what life will look like in 2 weeks. In 4 weeks. In 2 months.

I wonder what my CSA pickups will look like come June. Will we be able to pick our own veggies from boxes touched by others, or will we still be living in a time where fear of germs prevails?

I wonder if our government will put us on a “total lockdown” even though the U.S. is founded upon principles of liberty and freedom. It’s hard to not trust your government to look out for your best interests, you know?

I wonder if someone I know and love will fall ill because of this virus. Will they die? If they do, will we be able to celebrate their life?

I wonder how we’ll celebrate Holy Week, if we can’t celebrate The Last Supper with our church family.

I wonder how we’ll celebrate the risen Christ. BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, COVID-19. NOT EVEN YOU CAN KEEP JESUS IN THE TOMB!

And as I wonder all of these things, I begin to feel guilty for the trivialness of my worries. And then I feel gratitude that these are the things I’m worried about. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll keep our house. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll have enough food to eat. I’m not worried about whether we’ll get bored. I’m not worried about how we’ll pay our bills, or if we’ll lose the one source of income we have.

If your worries are like mine, I want you to hear me say that your worries matter. Today I’m granting you permission to feel sad. To feel mournful over the things that don’t feel normal. To give yourself some space to just process what’s happening. Allow yourself to just BE. Take some time to play with your kids. Make a list of all the things you’ve been wanting to do, and just pick one to throw yourself into. Find a good audiobook to listen to. Stories make us all feel better.

Regardless of what you see on social media, it’s OKAY to not force yourself - or your kids - into a new routine at home right away. It’s okay to give them a week or two of unstructured play. It’s okay for them - and you - to feel bored. It’s okay to not rush into this new virtual-schooling/working life that is being thrust upon you.

It’s okay for you to wonder. It’s okay for you to feel sad. It’s okay for you to feel a twinge of happiness that you have an excuse to say no to all the demands that were wearing you out just two weeks ago. It’s okay for you to simultaneously love and hate all the virtual meeting opportunities that are coming your way.

This time we are living in. It is NOT normal. Let’s not pretend like it is.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash.

On Being a Team

This post was originally written in 2013, but got lost in the transition to a new web host. As I discovered it today I felt a need to revive it. Although some of our circumstances have changed - I no longer have to rock and nurse babies to sleep and he no longer has to stuff diapers - but he still stays up way past the time I’ve gone to bed doing the chores that still need to be done. He still loves me more every day. And I continue to be grateful for the gift of him in my life.

I don’t know how I snagged you. After all the brokenness in my life…I don’t know how in the world I found you. My teammate. My soul mate. My partner.

You are the yin to my yang.

The peanut butter to my jelly.

The jam to my toast.

The chocolate to my milk.

You get the picture.

We are good on our own, each one of us. But together … well, together we are unstoppable.

Many nights, when I rock and nurse the little one to sleep, you are hard at work. Cleaning up dinner, stuffing diapers, vacuuming, sometimes you are even scrubbing the shower. So many men would do their own thing – maybe sit down to watch a ballgame, or perhaps spend their time playing video games. But not you – you clean. Without being asked. Willingly. Lovingly. With every sweep of the broom, you are giving me a gift.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. I’m so thankful for every little thing you do.

But tonight, as I rock the little one to sleep, you take a break from all that work and meet with your men’s small group. I can’t help but think about what a good role model you are for men everywhere. You are the kind of husband every woman wants. The kind of daddy every child needs. A man of insurmountable faith, not ashamed to be the kind of man God has created you to be.

You love me. So tenderly. So completely. More than I ever could have hoped for.

We are so different than we were just a few years ago. So much more confident in who we are. Together. And apart.

I can remember calling you late in the night because I was terrified of being alone. I remember your promise – that you loved me – and that even though you weren’t beside me, I wasn’t alone. I remember shedding so many tears – mostly out of fear. Afraid that I would screw up again. Afraid I would push you away. Afraid I wasn’t good enough. That I was destined to be alone forever.

And I remember your firm response – I love you dammit. I’m not going anywhere.

I remember you telling me I was a princess through God’s royalty. I remember thinking you were crazy when you said that. So much of me wanted to hate that imagery – but I had never been called a princess before. Princesses are beautiful – and loved. I had never believed I was either. Until then. And as much as I hated the imagery of God as King – it was the exact image I needed at the moment. It helped me begin to understand just how loved I am.

I look back on those early days and I can hardly believe you fell in love with me. I was so weak. So broken. Such a mess. But you didn’t see any of that. You saw my beauty. My strength. My passion.

You helped me find my confidence. You continue to push me to find my voice – and to be the voice for others. You are … my other half. My better half.

I’m so thankful to be on the same team with you. So blessed to share life with you.

Creating a Homeschool Vision

If you asked me before I had children if I would one day stay home and homeschool them, I would have given you a very quick answer: “Absolutely not!” I have always been a huge supporter of public schools - after all, I grew up in a relatively poor, underperforming school, and I turned out just fine. I may not have been the smartest kid in the state, but I had an appreciation for people different than me - and I thought that was the most important thing about school. Of course I’ll send my kids to public school!

And yet when I had children, I couldn’t help but wonder what life might be like if we chose to homeschool. I’ve shared part of that story before - along with why we chose the Charlotte Mason philosophy to guide us in defining our curriculum over the years.

As we promised, we reassessed at the end of our first year, and made the decision to continue homeschool for the foreseeable future. This Charlotte Mason homeschooling life is so rich and full of beauty - and we just can’t imagine sending our children to learn in any other setting. That doesn’t mean there won’t come a time when we choose a year or more of public or private school - but for now, we are all in to this crazy homeschooling life.

There’s a lot of talk about “homeschool philosophies” - there’s even a quiz you can take to see what type of homeschooling model will fit you best. But there’s so much more to homeschooling than simply a philosophy. So, like any good visionary leader, I didn’t want to begin this all-in approach to homeschooling without a Vision and Mission Statement. Inspired by a sermon on “Family” this summer, I spent a good chunk of time trying to create a vision for homeschooling based around the following question:

“How does homeschooling allow us to enter into the mission of Christ in a unique way?”

I did a lot of brainstorming about why we wanted to homeschool, what our goals were for our homeschool days and years, and what our major influences were in creating curriculum and learning experiences. We want to homeschool because we long for a different pace of life than what we see in the world around us. We want family relationships to be more important than external ones. We want to engage in hard things together - to learn together - to love one another and the world around us.

We want our children to grow up to be confident but humble people. Independent but empathetic. Well-rounded Fine Arts lovers as well as mathmeticians and scientists. We want our children to see glimpses of God in the subjects that we study and the people that we meet.

After several days and lots of prayers, this is what we came up with for our homeschool vision.

“Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. ~Philippians 4:8”

Vision of Rowe Academy:

We will offer a different lifestyle than the one society pushes on us. We will embrace time together as a family. We will encourage tough conversations, forgiveness, encouragement, lifting one another up, cherishing our bonds with each other. We want our lives to illustrate our calling to live in this world but not of this world.

We will equip our children to become independent thinkers, with the ability to critically evaluate information they are given as well as empathize with people who live a lifestyle that may look different than their own.

We will enter into the mission of Christ in a way that the typical public school schedule does not. (We are still trying to figure out what this looks like. My dream is for us to find ways to engage in regular volunteering during the week, connecting with people who don’t look like us, being active in a community in an intergenerational way, etc.)

We will gift our children with an age-appropriate, faith-based, liberal arts education that spreads a feast of information. We will strive to craft a curriculum that acknowledges the importance of good literature, creativity, and art as well as science, math, and technology.

We will foster an environment of lifelong learning. We believe it’s just as important for the adults among us to engage in formal learning exercises as it is for the youth among us. We will engage in family learning activities, where we as parents model learning by example.

We’re nearing the “end” of our first formal year of schooling, and I love that I have this vision statement that I can turn to when I’m evaluating how the year went, and what I want to do differently next year. It’s incredibly helpful for me to keep it posted near my computer, so that when I plan each term, our vision stays front and center. Because we spent the time to create this big picture of what we want homeschooling to be about in our family, I feel more confident saying “NO” when opportunities arise that might not fit in with the vision we have for our children’s education.

This was a fun exercise for me, and one that I encourage you to spend some time thinking about in your own homeschool planning sessions. I’m no expert in homeschooling - but I am the closest thing to an expert in my family. And that, my friends, is all you need to come up with your own homeschooling vision.

So tell me … what IS your homeschool vision?

the first meeting

We walked in and looked around. I don’t think they are here yet, he said.

I turned to the hostess. There will be four of us please.

As she brought us to a table for four, we sat nervously. Watching through the large windows as cars drove up, we silently wondered … would they show up?

He grabbed my hand. That’s him.

I gave it a squeeze. Here we go. It will be okay.

They walked in. We stood up. We shook hands, made introductions, and took our seats. Conversation began as though we were catching up with old friends. Much easier than we anticipated, we talked about our jobs, a recent family wedding, hobbies, and so much more.

An hour and a half later, we exchanged phone numbers and hugs and vowed to keep in touch.

As we got in the car he looked at me and said, That was way easier than I expected. Come to think of it, I can’t even remember what happened so many years ago.

Father and son. They had been estranged for five years or so. No phone calls, no emails, no birthday cards or Christmas gifts. No family celebrations or holidays. No invitation to our wedding day. Nothing but silence. A few ill feelings. Lots of wondering about why and what might have been.

But lately, things had been popping up all over the place. Gentle reminders that he was out there somewhere. Small stirring in our hearts to take one of the biggest risks of our lives – reaching out in an attempt to bring healing.

It wasn’t easy. And it didn’t happen over night. But over the course of time, God gave us the strength to make the first move.

Some four months later, healing is still taking place. What once was silence is now filled with frequent emails, phone calls, and family meals shared around the table.

What had been a huge hole in our hearts is now filled with an incredible amount of love and thankfulness. Love for a family we were once afraid of. Thankful for forgiveness and second chances. Grateful for the opportunity to leave the past behind and move forward into a new stage of our relationships. A better stage. A healthier stage.

Not long after that first meeting, he looked at me and said, I’m scared. What if something bad happens?

I replied, Something bad will happen. That’s life. But we’ll pull through it together. And the good will outweigh the bad.

So every day, we embrace the risk. We take the chance. We continue to reach out. Looking forward to family holidays, new births, shared experiences, we place our trust in the One that brings healing. We do our best to love the way He has loved us.

And every day, we feel a little more whole.

This post was originally published at Bibledude.net. Photo by Juri Gianfrancesco on Unsplash.

An Incredible Journey Begins

It’s 8:00pm. The kids have just gone to bed and my sweet husband is downstairs cleaning the kitchen. I tiptoe down the stairs, relishing the first calm and quiet of the day. I climb onto the barstool at the counter, take a deep breath, and throw out an idea I’ve been mulling over for a day or two.

“I have a crazy idea. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to … but you should want to.”

“Um, okay … what is it?”

“Well, I spend a lot of time teaching our children, right? Why don’t we spend some time teaching ourselves? We can use a mid-level curriculum from Ambleside, and set our own reading schedule. We can use the same Composer, Poet, Artist, and Geography lessons as I’m already using for the girls - and we can add in some higher level History and Literature. It’ll be fun!”

“Okay. Sure.”

“Wait. What? Okay? Really?! You’ll do it with me?!”

And just like that, we committed to not only educating our children at home, but also doing some intentional work on educating ourselves.

Our entire educational philosophy centers around the idea that “Education is an atmosphere, a discipline, a life.” (Charlotte Mason, Vol. 6) I’ve spent hours coming up with a curriculum and schedule that puts that philosophy into action for our children. An atmosphere of appreciating rich ideas. One in which we live a life slower than the one society tries to push on us. An atmosphere where we are learning from every little thing we do. An atmosphere that is God-focused and Christ-centered.

Discipline to do hard things. To try new things. To persevere in the midst of adversity. Grace to make mistakes, and then discipline to do the hard work of fixing those mistakes - or to do better the next time around. Discipline to form the habits we need to keep ourselves healthy - in mind, body, and soul.

A life that is continually growing, shifting, and learning something new. A life in which we are not afraid to be wrong - one where we intentionally engage in meaningful conversations and dialogue with others. A life where we are open to new ideas in a variety of subjects. A life in which we are not afraid to change our mind once we hear or read a story that enlightens us to a new point of view.

It came to me, one night as I was lying with my 4-year-old waiting for her to fall asleep … if that is the education we are striving to provide for our children - shouldn’t we be providing it for ourselves as well?

The truth is, I have always loved learning. You know how when you ask most kids what they love most about school, they answer “Recess or P.E.”? Well, those were my least favorite. My favorite part of school were the books. I always loved to learn something new. I loved to read books about faraway places. I was a true Rory Gilmore. I can remember a time when my aunt told me I would end up being a "professional student.” And in so many ways, that prediction has come true. I guess my excitement over learning is contagious - because somehow I convinced my husband to come along with me for the ride.

So I started doing some research and we decided to start with the booklist for Ambleside Year 6 (which for most homeschooling families is somewhere around 6th or 7th grade). We have chosen to focus on History, Biography and Literature in addition to supplementing the Bible, Poetry, Art, Composer, Nature Study, and Geography that we are already using with the girls. We’re one week in, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we’re really loving the experience.

For history, we’re alternating between Augustus Caesar’s World and The Story of the Greeks. For Biography, we’re looking at Never Give In: The Extraordinary Character of Winston Churchill. And for Literature we’re reading The Age of Fable as well as The Hobbit. In one week - and after narrating just a few chapters (side note: have you ever tried narrating a book? It’s HARD!) - I’ve already begun to learn more about the world than I remember learning in high school. I’m piecing things together in a way I never did as a younger me. I suspect that has more to do with my age and life experiences than it does with the curriculum itself - but what I am sure of is that we were never created to stop learning. I’m excited to see where this journey takes us over the coming weeks, months, and years.

How are you educating yourself these days?

The Clothesline

This post was originally published in April 2015 when we lived in the cutest little bungalow in Atlanta. Since we left that house, I've longed for a new home that had the same feeling of home. This weekend, we hung up our clothesline in our new home on the North Shore of Massachusetts. It's funny ... that simple act of hanging a clothesline ... it feels symbolic in some ways. No longer are we wandering along a road, searching for a place to hang our hats. We are finally settled. And it feels so so good. Although our house isn't 100 years old, and there's no road that runs directly beside our new clothesline, so much of this post rings as true today as it was 3 years ago. And yes ... the picture is new :-).

I stand outside basking in the sunshine while I hang clothes on the line. Get a pin, hang it up, get a pin, hang it up. There’s something so calming about doing the laundry this way.

It’s such a sensory experience. I feel the dampness of the clothes as I pull them from the basket and put them on the line. I smell the fragrance of detergent and fabric softener. I hear cars driving, people walking, and the occasional airplane overhead. I see the many different colors in the clothes we wear daily.

And it’s no different in the taking them down. The dampness is gone – replaced with warm dryness, and sometimes that stiffness that only the sun can give. The smell has shifted to the clean smell of sunshine. We hear the siren of a fire engine; the neighbors’ dogs barking as people walk by. The sun is so warm you can almost taste it – making you long for a very cold glass of water.

As I do this work – the work of hanging up our laundry – the little ones play around me. Throwing sand out of the sandbox, picking leaves and flowers off the plants that have been patiently waiting  for the arrival of spring, inspecting the world in only the way tinies can.

People walking by sometimes stop to chat, commenting on the clothesline or the flowers we just put in. Sometimes it’s a familiar face, other times it’s a complete stranger just finding their way to their car parked down the street.

I can’t help but think back to when the house was built, over 100 years ago. Some mother did just as I now do, grab a pin, hang it up, grab a pin, hang it up. Talking to the neighbors as they walk by. Watching her little ones run around in this very same yard – I can’t help but wonder what it looked like back then.

In just a few short weeks, we have made doing laundry this way a part of our life. I find myself checking the weather at night to see if there will be sunshine to dry my clothes the next day. Hanging clothes up on the line even on cloudy days, in hopes that even a little bit of fresh air will do a tiny bit of good. I get disappointed if a day goes by and that little clothesline of mine is empty.

It’s funny how something so simple – and seemingly old fashioned – can bring such a smile to our faces. This business of hanging up clothes forces me to slow down and enjoy my surroundings. We’re all so much happier when we are outside; it just makes sense to do the daily business of life outside. The things of nature – the trees, the wind, the birds, the squirrels, the neighborhood owls – they all remind us that we are just one tiny part of the vast world that we live in.

God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.

Some Thoughts on Spring in New England

When a person loses the ability to take pleasure in the mundane - in the cigarette on the stoop or the gingersnap in the bath - she has probably put herself in unnecessary danger. ... One must be prepared to fight for one’s Simple pleasures and to defend them against elegance and erudition and all manner of glamorous enticements. ~Rules Of Civility

I’m just gonna be real for a second. Spring in New England sucks. It's not the deep dark days of Winter that get me down in New England. At least not this year. This year, I found those early Winter days to be magical - the early darkness of days, the forced slowness and calm, the limited sunlight. I knew it doesn't last forever, that the light returns, and that Spring DOES show up. But the six weeks between we set our clocks back and Memorial Day ... that's the real struggle. We are in the hardest six weeks of life for me here. It's the time when we think Spring should be here. We should be able to go outside in something other than snowsuits and boots. We might still need hats, mittens, and coats - but we shouldn't have to be getting all suited up just to go on a walk. The sun might feel warm, but the wind tells a different story. Instead of seeing flowers and new birth, we look outside and see a sea of white. It almost always snows in March ... and the last few years it's snowed the first week of April as well.

Meanwhile back in Georgia, people are packing away the heavy coats (if they ever got them out at all), are spending long days full of sunshine and playing outside, and are maybe even planting Spring gardens. They are cutting fresh flowers for their centerpieces and getting ready for the start of farmer's markets. 

But I embarked on a journey to embrace the seasons this year ... and to find the beauty in it all. What I'm learning is that my way of embracing these terrible early Spring days is by hibernating. It's my time to just be still inside my house. I ignore the world around me as much as possible. It's the time of year when I regularly say no when people invite me to hang out. I know that better days are coming, but right now ... I just can't bear to do anything except hibernate in my own hole and pretend the world outside me doesn't exist.

It's my time to practice my bread making. It's my time to use up the contents of my freezers (yes ... there are multiple.) To clean the house from top to bottom. To rearrange furniture. To read books. To pray. To write. It's now, more than any other time of the year, that I just long to be alone. Now is the time that I'm doing all I can to take pleasure in the simple - in the mundane - in the quiet.

I know that soon, the snow will melt. The sun will shine it's warm rays and the wind won't be quite as crisp. I know the flowers will bloom and we'll be out of the house more often than not. Come summer, our days will be full of fun. Full of friends. Full of sunshine and picnics and beaches.  

There is a season for everything ... this is my season for being still. 

Diving in to Homeschooling

When we first decided to Homeschool, I had no idea what it would look like for us. When we did Homeschool Preschool, I bought a curriculum that I only sort of liked. I never loved it - it never felt like it had much flow to it - and I always felt disjointed and off base. I didn't decide to homeschool because of some deep educational philosophy - I decided to homeschool because it simply felt like that's what God was calling us to. I had read many books over the very early years of parenting, and traditional school just didn't seem to jive with the kind of parents we had been striving to be. I can't really put words around it in any other way - it was something that had been on my heart for years, and was a feeling I just couldn't shake. When I told a dear friend that, she said Then Crystal, I think you have to listen to that.

Now I understand how that argument can be challenging for some. I guess it's all too often that parents use "But God called me to it" as a reason for homeschooling - when really what they want is to keep their children from the world. There are too many cases of child abuse and neglected disguised as "God called me to." But I do believe God calls some of us to a life of homeschooling - and I had come to a place where I felt like I should really start listening.

I started questioning friends who homeschool on how they knew it was the right decision for them. As I heard their answers, I felt this deep gut truth ... that homeschool was the life God was calling us to. It probably helped that Kindergarten at our local public school costs $400/month in our new town - and that's $400 that we don't really have. So I informed my husband that I wanted to homeschool for Kindergarten and see how it went. He agreed that it was the right choice for now - and that we would reassess for First Grade.

And then we moved. And God gave me this amazing group of women who homeschool based on the educational philosophy of an old British lady named Charlotte Mason. I had never heard of Charlotte Mason until I met these ladies - but when they invited me to be part of their study group, I eagerly said "YES!" I was probably 5 pages into the book we were studying when I said to my husband, "I found it! These are all the reasons I want to homeschool! She put words around it all ... here it is!!! It's right here! This is what I've been feeling for so long!"

After a significant amount of reading, podcast-listening, and researching, we've decided that homeschooling based on Charlotte Mason's philosophies are the perfect fit for us as a family - not only for Kindergarten, but for the early years of education. Her educational philosophy meshes quite well with the pace of life we have tried to live for several years now, and it has been a breath of fresh air to find other homeschooling families with similar philosophies and lifestyles.

Charlotte Mason believed that formal lessons shouldn't start until a child was 6. The months of October - December consisted a lot of re-orienting ourselves to a new town and yet another new life, so it was easy for me to do "School Lite." A is just Kindergarten-age, and no formal schooling is required in the state of Massachusetts until first grade, so I embraced living into our transition. We used Five in a Row - and we all enjoyed it - but it never felt like enough for my  incredibly bright, extremely inquisitive 5 1/2 year old. 

Since A turns 6 in February, we decided to use the New Year as our launching date for formal lessons. I made book lists, requested books from libraries, ordered math and handwriting curriculum, and started to put a plan down on paper for a Charlotte Mason inspired Kindergarten Winter Term. D gave me some quiet time last weekend to get everything together, and A started getting really excited to "start real school."

With Day One in the books, I'm feeling so good about the direction we're taking. We had such a peaceful morning - who knew that was even possible?! We had tea together, we read books, asked questions, sang songs, talked about life, played with numbers, and began our introduction to cursive. A loved every minute of it - and I have to admit - so did I.

Stay tuned for more about why we chose Charlotte Mason and how we're structuring the rest of our "Kindergarten" year. 

Thoughts on Christmas Eve

When we got on that plane in Atlanta just over two years ago, I had no idea how much our life would change. I can remember a late night conversation with D that went something a little like this ...

We've struggled for so long - even in this neighborhood that we love so dearly - at finding the kind of community we really want. If we can find community there ... if we can find a church there that really fills us up ... one that really challenges us ... one that helps us go deep. We can make life there work.

I dare say that two years and four moves later, we've finally found it. It wasn't until we find our little neighborhood in Beverly, and our church in Salem, that we became really confident that this move - away from everything and everyone we've ever known - wasn't just one big disaster.

It's not perfect - no church is - but we finally found a place that helps merge our love for tradition and liturgy with our love for creative worship. A place that challenges us to go deep in our faith, and to put that faith into action. A place that instantly connected us with other people, who have very quickly become the exact kind of community we've been searching for. We may have only been there for a couple of months, but we have already become deeply committed. It is so so good to find a place that feels like home.

So you can imagine I was quite excited when an all-church meeting was announced for mid-November. I couldn't wait to hear about what was coming up in the next few months. A thousand questions crossed my mind ... 

Will they celebrate Advent? Or will they jump right in to celebrating Christmas?

Will there be mid-week services?

Will there be a candlelight service? What will Christmas Eve look like?

Will there be a Christmas Pageant?

And as the Pastor told us how we would have a very short Christmas Eve service in the middle of the afternoon, and then we would be invited to go out into the community to bring worship to other places, I found tears streaming down my face.

I was heart-broken. I was angry. I was terrified.

As I got in the car, I turned to D and said - through tears - I have to give up Christmas Eve this year. And I don't want to. Why is it that God always calls me to do something I don't want to do?!

His reply revealed just how much he knows me ... I couldn't help but think of you as he talked about Christmas Eve. I thought, Well This isn't going to go over well. I wonder what we'll decide to do."

I grew up in a very traditional, very liturgical church. We went to church every single Sunday, where worship was the same week after week. My favorite services as a child were the big ones. They called them "Festival services." There were trumpets, a loud organ, a procession ... have you ever watched the Vatican Christmas Eve mass on TV? It was kind of like that. And I LOVED it.

Christmas Eve was my favorite worship service of all. I have incredible memories holding a burning candle as the lights were dimmed while everyone around me sang Silent Night. It sounded like what I think an angel choir might. And I remember a very similar Christmas Eve service, when my oldest was 2. She held her candle so tight, and sang the words she knew so loudly, that it brought tears to my eyes.

And now ... now I was being asked to do something very different. There would be no candlelight service with Communion and all of my favorite songs. Instead we were going to bring worship to people who we had never met before.

I was heart-broken. I was angry. I was terrified.

But not once did I ever think we’d skip that part of Christmas Eve worship. Because I heard God loud and clear in the words that the pastor spoke over and over again. Christmas is about the day God came to us. It only made sense that we would bring Jesus to the ones who might be lonely and forgotten on Christmas Day. And that they might bring Jesus to us.

So we signed up for the morning shift and were assigned to a group home for senior women. On Christmas Eve morning, my sweet A looked at me and said,

But Mama. I don’t want to go. I just want to go to church.

I sat down next to her and gave her a big hug, and I said,

You know what? I don’t really want to go either. I hate going to new places to meet new people. But how do you think we would feel if we couldn’t go to church? Especially on Christmas Eve?

I’d be sad Mama.

Me too. And how would you feel if someone said they would bring church to you?

I think I’d be excited to have church at my home.

Me too. So today, that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to bring church to people who haven’t been able to go to church in a really long time. Because sometimes God calls us to do hard things.

I’m not really sure if I was talking to her or if God was using my words to her to speak to me … but in that moment, I caught a glimpse of what the Kingdom of God is all about.

And as we walked in to the home that morning, I think we were all a little terrified. No one really knew where to go, or what to do. But we finally got settled in, around tables with some of the residents, and as I saw my husband begin to play guitar, and my girls begin to sing, I was overcome with a wave of emotion. As I talked to the women at my table, I began to understand why going out of my comfort zone was so important for me this year. I needed to see Jesus. I needed to experience him in a very different way.

That night, at our Christmas Eve feast of potato soup and bread, we did a little debrief of the day. A said, I was brave today. And I had to agree.

You were so brave today Autumn. Are you glad we went?

Yes Mama. Those ladies were so happy to see us!

Christmas Eve was different for me this year. It was calmer. Quieter. More still. I missed my family - I missed the bigness that used to surround Christmas Eve. Both at Church and at home.

But this year we began a new tradition - that of showing our children what Christmas really means. This year we remembered that Christmas isn’t really about the fanfare or pizazz. This year, we experienced firsthand how God didn’t wait for us to come find Him, but instead - he came to us.

Maybe my kids won’t grow up with memories of trumpets or candlelight services on Christmas Eve. But they will grow up with memories of doing hard things because Christ did hard things for us. They will grow up with memories of visiting the ones who are often forgotten and neglected on the most special days of the year. They will grow up seeing glimpses of the Kingdom of God. And for that, I am so thankful.

This was originally written as a spoken reflection for a worship service at High Rock North Shore where several of us reflected on our Christmas Eve experiences. I have very gently edited it to try to make it relevant to all readers - whether you attended worship with us this morning or not.

Photo by Gareth Harper on Unsplash

A Love Letter of Sorts

We sold our little house in the country today. And as I walked out the door for the last time, I couldn't help but feel just a little bit teary-eyed over my final look at the kitchen. Of all the things in that house, it was the kitchen that I loved most. And it was the kitchen that loved me best. I learned so much in that kitchen. About life. About love. About nourishment.

It was in that kitchen that I learned how to cook. I mean, I used to cook at our little house in Atlanta - but it wasn't until we moved here that I really took seriously the charge to feed my people well. Cooking became my creative outlet. It became the thing I did when I didn't know what else to do. When I felt lonely and depressed, I turned to the kitchen. And she never let me down. 

That kitchen saw me in all my best - and all my worst. I can remember falling to the floor, sobbing, as I cried out to my husband - and to God - time after time.

I don't know how to be ME here. I don't even know who I am anymore. I HATE it here. HATE it. Is it ever going to get better? I just want to go home!

And yet as that final moment came in this place that I couldn't get away from fast enough ... I couldn't help but remember the time that we hosted our very first "Sunday Funday." We had just come home from our first trip back to Georgia, and it was our attempt at really building community in that community-lacking town. It was in that kitchen where I learned how important it is to invite people over - even when the house wasn’t in its best shape. I learned how to feed people - not only with amazing food, but with friendship. I learned how to let people in, how to help them make themselves at home.

I learned that people here in New England don't just show up on your doorstep unexpectedly - but if you invite them over, they will come. Sometimes even at the drop of a hat. They will come to help you fold laundry. They will come to have tea and cake with you. They will eat the food you created when you were feeling a little down in the dumps. They'll help you pack your boxes. They'll learn to love you something fierce. And when they do - they'll never let you go. 

There was something about leaving this cute little house for the last time that made me well up inside. In so many ways, leaving this house made me feel like a big fat failure. I wanted so badly to love it there. I wanted to come to New England and settle and live. I wanted to give my kids stability. I wanted them - and me - to find friends that would last forever. I had no intention on moving a gazillion times and never really being able to feel at home. And there was something about leaving that house that made me feel like I was giving up.

It reminds me a little of what I felt like when my divorce was final. I knew it was the best decision. I knew there was so much life ahead, so much better life - so much love and joy that we are already experiencing on the other side - but in that moment of locking the door for the very last time ... I just felt awful that I couldn’t make it work. 

That house ... it was such a safe place in the wilderness for us. It was a gift really - but then the wilderness always is. It was a safe place to wrestle with what we really wanted life to be about. A place where we learned to really listen to God's call. A place where God formed us, crafted us, refined us. We really learned who we were ... and in so many ways were reminded Whose we were.

As I drove away, I couldn't help but think about that old Kenny Rogers classic,

You've got to know when to hold'em,
know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
Know when to run...

It was our time to walk away. Sometimes failure isn't a bad thing. Sometimes admitting defeat is the only way we can move forward and live the fullness that God has promised. And when it comes right down to it, that's really what the Resurrection is all about.

So ...

So long little kitchen. So long little house. We loved you well for the 15 months that you were ours. We will forever be grateful for the way you loved us. For the things you taught us. For the protection and joy that you gave us. We can only hope your new owner loves you even better than we did.