The Beauty of Christmas, 2017

The World Upended

The ethereal hails the dust of earth

The One who lit the stars shivers in darkness beneath them

A dirty peasant girl’s bastard child is

God with us.

~S.B.S. (December, 2016)

My friends, the beauty of Christmas isn't family togetherness, twinkling lights, or the story of a cute baby among barnyard animals. 

The beauty of Christmas is that the most powerful being in the universe shocked the hell out of heaven and hell, not by a show of might but by becoming the most vulnerable of humans: the baby of an impoverished, teenaged refugee. 

Why? It was a crucial step in the ultimate, ongoing, undeserved rescue plan for you and me, who--even in our moments of best intentions--make an ugly mess of everything we touch: every opportunity, every relationship, every governing system, every inch of this planet. 

When will the final rescue occur? How will it happen? I don't know, but I suspect it will be an even more audacious, amazing, beautiful show of love.

Epiphany

I took meticulous notes on a sermon yesterday and then left them in the train. On purpose. 

It’s probably the most shamefacedly passive evangelism known to humankind. It’s probably ineffective too. But at least it’s more effective than my usual method. Which is nothing. 

I was visiting my sister’s church in New York City. We took a crowded bus through crowded streets, stopped in a crowded bagel store (because half a block from the church our daughters remembered they had been too busy playing to eat breakfast), and then sat down in an embarrassingly empty church. 

My sister looked around. “The college students are on vacation. But I hope more people show up,” she whispered. 

None did. The carved wooden pews made to seat hundreds of worshipers held thirty people and their piles of coats, hats, and gloves from braving a bitter cold Sunday morning.

The service program was a thick booklet printed with the order of service, the Bible passage being discussed, the words to the hymns, and announcements about prayer groups and service opportunities. The last page included how-to-accept-Christ- into-your-heart instructions and prayer.

A seeker church, I thought. A service aimed at those who have not yet accepted Christianity as life-giving, life-changing truth.

Reading the program from that perspective, my eyes were opened to the wisdom and beauty of the hymns’ words. The modern ones and the old told the same beautiful story of the Epiphany: God’s amazing and costly gift to us reflected in the treasures that foreigners from the East brought to Bethlehem. 

Perhaps that’s what planted the idea in my heart, the idea of an unexpected and precious gift.

I took meticulous notes on the sermon, starting with the introductory question: is religion simply a product of culture and upbringing, such that people from Muslim regions and families are more likely to be Muslim and those from Christian areas more likely to become Christians? 

Then I carefully copied the pastor’s reasoning, based the seventh chapter of John’s Gospel: to be convinced by the Christian faith, you must undertake the difficult experiment of following Jesus’ example fully and living as He did. Not simply seeing, smelling, and touching the feast before you but putting it in you, tasting it, letting it work throughout your body. I wrote fast and then revisited my messy scrawl in hope that these words would speak to someone who thinks we are Christians by default, not people who have thoughtfully, carefully studied our faith. Thinking people who, at some point in our lives, took a deep breath and made that plunge into intentional Christian living.

The pastor also related Jesus’ example of holy living to current events, the French cartoonists who were gunned down last week for lampooning the Muslim faith. I wrote in big letters: Jesus was a religious extremist who died for those who mocked him. That might speak to someone struggling to get a handle on all the hatred in our world. Or someone who thinks the world would be more peaceful without religion.

The service ended. I stuck the program in my purse and prayed that I would have the guts to leave it somewhere. 

Even that is a struggle. Why? Because it might be littering, which I consider very bad. Or would it be recycling, which is very good? 

I’m embarrassed to report that these inclinations warred in my conscience for many long minutes. Leaving the bulletin in a bagel store, subway car, or other public place would be the ultimate recycling, right? Letting someone else benefit from the packet of wisdom in the program. Enabling someone else’s epiphany. Or it would be littering a city that needed grace on all levels, including the physical grace of not adding to a litter problem.

I decided to wait and see if an opportunity arose. On the way back to my sister’s apartment, we stopped at a doughnut shop, and I ate the best doughnut I’ve ever tasted. We sat at a big, busy table in the tiny shop. There was no place to leave the program. Plus, my fingers were so sticky with chocolate glaze that the program would have been ruined by my touch.

This is silly, I thought. Why am I even considering this? 

Maybe because God has used me in silly ways before. I once left a sleeping bag in a church shed after hearing the rumor of a homeless man camping out there. Years later, I learned that he found the sleeping bag and was blessed by not only its warmth but the warmth of a stranger's concern. 

Or the time I saw an old lady pause on the sidewalk and, for some reason, stopped my car to ask if she was okay. She said had walked too far and was very tired. I gave her a ride home, over a mile away and up a long, steep hill.

I am not bold in big ways, but I serve a God who uses our weak and our little. He uses our two copper coins when that’s all we have to offer. Lord, use me. I am yours. Please let me be a blessing in this world. 

After enjoying the doughnuts, we stopped in stationary shops and a book store. The program stayed hidden in my purse. It would be wrong to clutter someone’s store. Besides, the best drop spot would be a place without reading material, like a bus stop where someone bored with waiting might peruse an odd paper left by a stranger.

And then it was time to return home via taxi, Penn Station, and the train to Princeton. Our schedule was tight to make the train, and Penn Station makes me panicky. I didn’t remember the bulletin until my daughter and I were safely on the right train. 

Mixed in with all my good feelings about the trip and special time with my sister and her family was a sadness that I was leaving the city without completing my silly plan. How hard is it to leave something behind? 

The train ride back west was long and quiet. My exhausted ten-year-old daughter slumped against the window and closed her eyes. I listened to the chatter of two moms and their daughters returning laden with purchases from the American Girls doll store. Tomorrow morning this train would be packed with commuters headed into the city.

Commuters. I pulled the program from my purse. I shoved it between my seat cushion and the solid arm rest with a corner conspicuously sticking out. 

Maybe the ticket collector would find it and recycle it as soon as the train reached the end of the line. That’s okay, because that’s exactly what would have happened to it at my house. But here, at least, it stood a chance of being more than a recyclable.

Maybe it would be found by a bored commuter on Monday morning. A message in a bottle. A call to taste and see that the Lord is good. A chance for epiphany. 

My part was not costly. God’s part was. May God’s treasure shine in this dark world. May it shine despite me, if not through me.

Day 39: A Convicted Heart

As I've been telling my kids (more and more bluntly as I realize how short their time is before Mom's perspective on their lives is relegated to somewhere deep in the compost pile), we speak to God through prayer and He often speaks to us though the Bible. That's why it's important to read your Bible regularly, Kids.

Last week, I read these verses from Revelation 21, which spoke to me in a new way:

⁶ He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. ⁷ Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. ⁸ But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”

 Now, I haven't spent much time in the book of Revelation since my preteen years, when I turned to the exciting dragon part on Sunday mornings when the sermon dragged on too long. (Kids: this is great way to stave off boredom during sermons without getting in trouble. No parent will give you The Look for reading your Bible! Oh wait, not sure I should be sharing that advice.) But I can tell you that these verses come almost at the very end of the whole Bible, during the most cathartic conclusion in all the world's literature. And this is a true story, no matter how symbolically you interpret Revelation to be. It's His ending, our ending, my ending. I am thirsty for His living water and eagerly anticipate taking my place in the world's only genuine Happily Ever After.

But this time, a different part of these verses jumped out at me: a sure sign that I the reader should be paying attention. Look back at the very first sin listed in verse 8. "Cowardly"??? What is "cowardly" doing among the despicable sins consigning certain sinners to the fiery lake. Is cowardliness really on par with vileness? murder? sexual immorality? idolatry? When I think cowardly, I think of the harmless lion in The Wizard of Oz, not burning sulfur. This gave me pause.

I am a convicted coward. I do not doubt my salvation or my place by Jesus' side in heaven, but cowardliness is a signature trait of my writing.Why is it so hard for me to write this blog compared to writing a work of fiction or a promotional piece for a pharmaceutical company? I was especially struck by my tendency to call my cowardliness by more innocuous or even virtuous names. Usually, it's "self consciousness" or "shyness". Sometimes, I smugly call it "modesty" or "humility". Oh, I'm not going to tell people about my cancer blog -- It wouldn't be modest to share the link. That would be self-promotion. Or pride. No, I'll just share it if someone specifically asks me about it. However, if I truly feel called to write, then writing is not an act of self-promotion but a calling. Right?

I am convicted to explore my motives and tendencies in prayer, to set them at God's feet and ask Him to blow away the chaff and leave me pure motives in keeping with His will. I will pray for boldness, the courage wield my pen without hesitation, to promote my Savior and His Kingdom, whether though my own experiences or through fiction or through some other means.

Whew, this is a big one! Lord, please help me. I don't even know where to start.

Day 38: Children Who Walk in Truth

3 John 1:4, I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

Sometimes parenting feels like a crapshoot -- sometimes more crap, sometimes more shoot. I know several parents of strong faith whose children grew wayward as they hit their teen years. Some were outwardly rebellious but others hid behind a pious facade. I think of the pressures facing teens, the siren song of the party peers, and I think what a limited time our family has before we reach that stage.

Of course, parenting is not a crapshoot. My child's every move is within God's realm. But I often find myself fearful -- am I missing an opportunity that will make a difference in their lives? Are my own insufficiencies and sins obscuring the passing along of my beliefs or making me appear hypocritical instead of a sinner in desperate need of grace? 

I look at Huckle, who regular sighs on Sunday mornings. "Mom, church is sooo boring." Am I stifling his faith? Should we be doing something differently?  How should I respond? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

I look at Sally, who still freezes up when asked to pray aloud and does not show any curiosity about the faith. Is her heart hard, or is she just introspective? Should I sit tight and simply wait for her faith to grow? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

On friends' advice, we no longer make our children take turns praying aloud. Instead, we model prayer and a prayerful approach to life. This is working for Sally. Huckle still likes to take a turn (especially since his prayers are often shorter than Mom's, especially when he's hungry) but also likes to listen. And then I hear with pleasure his new prayers picking up phrases and concepts I used. Joy! My son is listening even if it sometimes seems as if his body never stops moving.

A few nights ago, we somehow finished our bedtime chapter of The Wizard of Oz early, giving Sally a bonus 20 minutes before bedtime. This is practically unheard of -- usually we're running late and Mom is frazzled because YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN BED 20 MINUTES AGO AND LOOK AT THIS MESSY ROOM! Sally and I looked at each other incredulously. Where did this extra time come from? How should she spend it? "I know!," Sally said. "I'll do my devotions." And she picked up her little pink Bible, a devotion book that has been collecting dust on her floor for a few months, and a book of children's prayers, bought in an earlier, failed attempt to give her words to pray aloud. And, without my prompting -- and almost without remembering my goodnight kiss -- Sally set to work, spending her extra 20 minutes with God. Joy! Great joy!

I pray that my children hold fast to their faith and continue to grow in wisdom and truth.

Lord, my precious children are in your hands. Please hold them tight and never let them go.

Day 37: Unexpected Blessings

Yesterday was a day of unexpected blessings from my son Huckle.

First, as I was driving down a traffic-clogged interstate on my way to a morning Bible study, my car was passed by a minivan making a strangely muffled yelling sound. I looked over and there was Huckle waving madly and trying to yell through the closed window, on his way to a class field trip. I had just been praying, as I passed his school 10 minutes earlier, for his safety -- how fun to see an answer to prayer in action! (And what a blessing that my son hasn't hit an age when seeing Mom in public is humiliating!)

Then, when the kids came home from school, Huckle had very little homework (due to the field trip). That's a big blessing -- his homework trowels a thick layer stress onto our afternoons and evenings. Huckle loves ALL his afterschool activities and has an hour of homework every night. That combination means Mom must practically sit on him to see that all is done before bedtime. Not pleasant. For any of us. Especially with Husband out of town many weekday nights -- I'm the one and only Bad Cop in this here town.

With no homework and a Mom moratorium of after-school activities for the night, Huckle was at his most pleasant and creative. Gadget-loving Huckle had had his eye on an electronic engraving tool in the basement given to us by a gadget-loving friend who moved away. So we pulled it out and set to work writing our names on the kids' stainless steel water bottles and then decorating old boards. Using an electronic tool + creating = one busy, happy boy practically floating with enthusiasm. Then -- I hope you other moms are sitting down --10-year-old Huckle REORGANIZED A KITCHEN CABINET. Is that not strange?? But he loved it and did a great job. Funny (and encouraging) that, on a night off, he would choose to work for me, that slave-driver who is always nagging him to work, work, work.

Needless to say, this experience has me rethinking his busy schedule and wondering how we can have a Happy Huckle every evening...

Day 36: Cloudsourcing

Husband now backs up my computer files via "cloudsourcing."  Here's the definition of cloudsourcing, in case you aren't a techno-geek:

Cloudsourcing is a process by which specialized cloud products and services and their deployment and maintenance is outsourced to and provided by one or more cloud service providers.

All the mystery is cleared up now, right? Your metaphorical clouds have parted and all that? Nope, I don't get it either. I also don't understand how cloudsourcing could be more secure than leaving my files quietly stewing in my private computer. Doesn't it sound as if my precious writings and all those photos of my kids are being chopped into bits and thrown into the stratosphere? I imagine a few of my words and a picture of my cat's left ear falling in someone's backyard next time it rains. However, it's good to be current, to keep up with security measures as identity thieves and hackers grow more bold and clever. I suppose keeping files only on a personal computer is the modern equivalent to keeping one's money under the mattress.

But never mind the actual definition of cloudsourcing -- what I really like is the word. It's probably a play on "crowdsourcing," which I do understand: outsourcing a task to the undefined public rather than specific people (eg, paid employees). [Appropriately enough, that definition is based on an entry from Wikipedia, a crowdsourced encyclopedia.]

I also love analogies, and I think the words "crowdsourcing"  and "cloudsourcing" make a great one.

Question: Would you rather have your joy crowdsourced or cloudsourced? 

Crowdsourced means your joy is dependent on people, that undefined public. If your happiness comes from other people's good opinion of you or from the pleasures of friends and family, then your joy will be incomplete. I'm constantly guilty of focusing on this. For example, I struggle with caring too much about other people's good opinion. I shamefully admit this: I worry about making a good impression on strangers in the grocery store. I waste time wondering how they perceive me. Do I come across as intelligent? Kind? Beautiful? What will they think when they see 4 cartons of ice cream in my cart? Do I look as stylish as that lady over there? Why, oh why didn't I change out of these ratty yoga pants before running out to buy fruit?? It ruins my day when someone honks their horn at me while driving. I get defensive. I don't like to be considered in the wrong, even if I didn't do anything wrong.

Crowdsourcing joy is ridiculous, when you really think about it. We people are fickle and imperfect and selfish and -- well -- mortal. Even if you add together every person you love -- parents, friends, spouse, children -- this crowd cannot provide unending joy. They make mistakes. They have their own interests. They need to sleep.

You know where I'm going with cloudsourcing, you clever person you! I need to cloudsource my joy. I need to shoot my needs heavenward; I need to make God my focus. That sort of joy is unending and overflowing, like a sky full of clouds heavy with rain. When my joy is in Christ, then all those little bits of me can rain down on others as blessings, turning upward-facing joy into outward-facing joy.

How does the Bible suggest one makes one's "joy complete"? It's more than just loving God. It's living in unity with one another in God's love.

Philippians 2:1-4, Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves...

John 15:10-12, If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.

I strive to go into that grocery store unconcerned about what others think of me, because I'm content and full-up in the Lord so that His joy overflows out of me and blesses all those shoppers in line behind me. Even the one wondering how someone could allow 4 cartons of ice cream in her home.

Day 35: Anniversaries

October and November are, for me, a minefield of reminders of difficult times. For example:

• October is the month my first baby would have been born if he hadn't died in utero during pregnancy. I will never forget the pain of losing my first child.
• October is the month my first-born son spent 10 days in the NICU with a rare infant botulism infection. I will never forget the terror of seeing my 4-month-old baby helpless, paralyzed, covered with tubes and hooked to monitors. 
• November is the month my ob/gyn found a lump that turned out to be breast cancer.

In early October, I often pause and consider the upcoming anniversaries, like pressing my finger on a scar to check if it still hurts.

Here's the thing: I cannot forget, but it doesn't still hurt.

• I no longer feel acute pain from losing a child. I remember clearly the moments of learning my child had died, of waking from the D&C procedure with feelings of profound emptiness and loss, the months of crying and waiting for my body to recover. I hurt and mourn with those who suffer a miscarriage, but my scar no longer hurts when I touch it. I look forward: before me stands a joyful meeting in heaven and an eternity together -- all my children. I look backward: behind me stands a young couple facing their first major trial together -- a practice run for the full-on heart-intensiveness of parenting. I see the kind people who ministered to us. I know the healing joy of birthing my first-born the following year, the fierce mother-love of holding a precious baby-treasure, never to be taken for granted.
  God provides.
• I no longer feel terror over the botulism infection and the near loss of my first born four months after that healing birth. I remember clearly the frightening trip to the ER as our baby struggled to breathe and weakened quickly, the terror in the hospital as test after test was run to determine the correct diagnosis, the sight of my baby in a big hospital bed only eating and breathing and surviving through the workings of machines, the warnings that my child might face physical and mental challenges. But I look at my son now: Huckle is tall and strong, a 10-year-old of integrity and wit, strong-willed and intelligent. I look forward to seeing the man he will become, God willing. I look back and see the hospital staff and facilities that more than met our needs -- we never even saw a bill. Although infant botulism is rare, this hospital had seen it before and knew to test for it. Our son came through unscathed.
  God provides  
• I no longer consider myself a cancer patient. I made it through surgeries and chemotherapy and came out scarred but more aware that my body is a tent, not a permanent dwelling. I cannot find inner strength in health or self, no matter what our self-help culture suggests. I look forward to my permanent, heavenly home and my permanent, heavenly body and an eternity with the God who loves faithfully and fully. I look back and see the friends and family who ministered to me and the strength I drew from God.
  God provides.

I look back and I look forward as I press my scars and assess the damage. I don't feel damaged; I feel healed and full of joy in both directions: joy in seeing God's provisions throughout my own history -- especially my wanderings in the deserts -- and joy in knowing God will provide in my future. I know He will provide because I have learned His character through my trials.

• He is not a Precious Moments god, cute and starry-eyed and weak and whoops-you-dropped-your-ice-cream-cone-but-I-love-you-anyway.
• He is a kind and sympathetic friend who sits beside me and holds my hand and loves me. But He's much, much more. 
• God is a warrior -- huge and terrifying and awesome and fierce. He fights on my behalf, ever vigilant, ever in control. He always prevails. What joy that I am on the winning side! And so I will, as written in I Timothy 6:12, "Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses."
• Finally, I have learned firsthand that God is a "compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness" (Psalm 86:15). What a joy to be the recipient of such goodness, to try to mimic my Father in this world and to be with Him in the next.

Day 34: Joy's Source (post 2)

I'm still chipping away at John Piper's book "Desiring God." For such a joy-seeking title and pursuit, it's a dense and academic read. However, it's also thought-provoking and convicting.

A prayer for today:

Lord, 
I long to feel sufficient desire for You, 
to thirst for Your presence, 
to crave membership in the audience of Your throne room, joined with the ecstatic throngs who revel in praising You.

Yet here I sit in my daily life:
No crisis of health or finance or parenting or career. No anxieties gnawing at my heart.
The leisure to perform my duties at a less-than-frantic pace, to plan my day with a cup of tea beside me and fuzzy slippers on my feet. 
I am comfortable. 
But this is not joy.

Once again, I have settled for a cup of lukewarm tea instead of craving Your promised feast, Your Living Water. I have settled for a brief hiatus from suffering and conflict: sufficient health, sufficient happiness, sufficient peace. Temporary "okay-ness". 
Once again, I have set my sights too low.

Teach me to set my heart on You and You alone:
my Treasure, my Goal, my Feast.
Teach me to settle for nothing less than You. 
Keep me discontented with life's little pleasures to remind me of Your eternal pleasures: A life with You. Real joy.

I will run with perseverance the race marked out for me. I will fix my eyes on You, the Author of my salvation, my Prize, my Treasure.

Day 33: Tracing JOY to its Source

During the summer months, I became more and more convicted as to WHAT gives me joy. The sources of joy I typically describe in my "100 Days of Joy" experiment are the gifts, not the Giver. They are sweet gifts, often quiet and unexpected and certainly worth celebrating, but real joy will elude anyone whose only sources are temporal things/circumstances/feelings. Am I confusing joy with happiness?

This week, I began reading John Piper's book Desiring God. This excellent book (which will probably take me months to read) has even further revealed the emptiness of pursing joy from secondary sources and has reminded me to pursue the true Source of joy. Piper says,

Test yourself here. There are many professing Christians who delight in God's gifts, but not God. Would you want to go to heaven if God were not there, only His gifts?

Piper reminds us that the gift of conversion results in us, like the man in the parable of the hidden treasure, joyfully selling everything we have to buy the only treasure we really desire. That treasure is fellowship with God; the selling is not necessarily literally getting rid of our possessions but prizing fellowship with God above all other blessings.

Do I find such perfect joy in God that I don't need anything else? Not family, not health, not material possessions or success or the opinion of others? I certainly believe in God and aim every day to live a life that glorifies Him. But can I honestly say that my joy is fulfilled in knowing God? 

I am convicted. I will continue to faithfully celebrate God's blessings every day with my "100 Days" entries. But, at the same time, I will trace these little joys to their source by praying that God performs a miracle in my heart. I want a joy that is complete in simply knowing God.

Day 32: Renewed Goals

I'm back! My summer slump is over (I hope). I plan to be productive and continue practicing my writing with this blog. Even more, I want to renew my focus on finding joy in all circumstances. I've got stories to tell from the summer, and I plan to search for joy every day.

But today's goal is just to write a post, short and simple. I am thankful for renewed goals, new chances, a return to our fall schedule when I can more easily set aside writing time (without "Mom? Mom? Mom, where are you? Hey, Mooooooooooooom!").

Day 31: Unexpected Solutions

Oh, the lazy days of summer. They feel packed, even though not much happens. Does that make sense? I think the slower pace I expect makes "less happening" still feel like "too much happening."

This week I'm celebrating the joy of an unexpected -- and better -- solution to a dilemma.

I planned to tithe this week. My original plan was to spend it at church as a Vacation Bible School leader.

Well, with the lazy pace of summer, I didn't manage to sign up to help at VBS, and the requests for helpers eventually stopped coming.

Great! I thought. I'll tithe my week in a way I prefer. I'll write up those interviews I'm supposed to be doing for Intervarsity. No offense, kids, but VBS is exhausting. Exhilarating but exhausting. And ours is 9am until 2pm. Plus, if I'm going to get serious about writing, I need to get serious about making myself write every day.

As VBS got closer, I grew more excited about a whole week of writing, every day from 9am to 2pm.

Then, two Sundays ago, another call went out. The church needed a few more leaders. Would anyone out there be willing to serve?

I sighed. There goes my great plans. I thought about not responding, but knew I must. Tithing my week meant doing God's work where ever He wanted, not where ever I wanted. His week, His choice. So I emailed the VBS leader and asked if she still needed help.

Now here's the cool part: she needed someone to help with crafts on Wednesday and Thursday, the days the other leader wasn't available. How perfect! How affirming! This week, I was able to participate in the excitement of VBS on two full (exhausting) days and to write the other three days.

Well, sort of write. My stubborn heart still refuses to sit still for the hard stuff, so my writing time was also laundry time, email checking time, packing for trips time, errand time, etc. All the same, more writing was done that would have happened if the kids had been home.

This unexpected solution serves as a reminder of God's ways of answering our problems. He isn't limited to the solutions we see. He can give more than we can possibly ask or imagine.

Day 30: Well-Timed Rain

I woke up early to water my fern garden, because it's been hot and dry here for days. It was already being watered by a gentle rainshower that lasted at least 1 hour. Perfect! Instead of watering, I had a quiet hour of reading and responding to emails.

Day 29: All Sorts of Fireworks

A big town near us hosts fireworks on a Thursday night before Independence Day to save money, so we've already seen our annual pyrotechnical display, though the 4th of July is two days away.

Fireworks seem a little silly to the adult in me, who knows how much those gaudy explosions cost. But the adult in me also values nostalgia and tradition -- I love that Americans publicly gather for mutual awe. It is sweet. And it really does inspire awe (once you shush the adult in you that keeps grumbling about literally burning money). Each year the display amazes with its power and color and variety. For Husband and I, we're watching for something new. This year it was fireworks that exploded in fountains and then each "drip" of the fountain blossomed into a  mini-firework partway down the sky. Last year it was fireworks that resembled cascading waterfalls. A few years ago, it was a new orange-colored firework we didn't remember seeing in earlier shows. Best, of course, is hearing your children ooh and aah. Motormouth Huckle kept a running commentary about each firework -- types he liked best; how this one compared to the last; thoughts about seeing fireworks from an airplane. I love to hear his thoughts. Sally doesn't need her ears covered any more, as she did when younger. She would sit on my lap and I would help her guard against those cannon-like booms (not against her brother's half-hour discussion). Now she has her own chair in our row and doesn't cover her ears and thinks her own thoughts, including thoughts about how much she doesn't like the loud booms.

This year, my favorite light display wasn't in the sky; or, at least, it was barely in the sky. This year, we chose not to sit with the crowd on the lawn of the local high school. Instead, we parked at the township building separated from the high school by a cornfield. The location was quiet, only a dozen other families, most quiet crowd-avoiders like us. Dusk fell. It was dark enough that the kids asked, "NOW will they start? Isn't it time? Could it be any minute now?". It was still too light for the fireworks. We faced east, looking over the cornfield toward the high school on one side and a dark line of trees on the other. There was nothing special about the cornfield, and yet I now rank it among the most amazing sights I have ever seen. Just above the knee-high stalks were more fireflies than I have ever seen all together. In the quiet of the evening, in the dusk of the day, the field sparkled, like a crop of star spangles ripe for Independence Day. The glows were not random flits in all directions, as on our lawn. Rather, the thousands of flickers were uniform in height, skimming the tops of the cornstalks as if tethered by stems, and were synchronized in direction, with each light ascending. I don't know why the fireflies only lit their ascents and not their descents, but the result was lovely. No booms, just a field where the works of fire were small and natural and more beautiful than my words can describe.

I have added this image to my mind's collection of memorable settings, like William Wordsworth describes in his poem Daffodils. It sits beside a favorite memory of the first snowfall in a redwood forest -- craning my head to see the treetops in a sky full of large, lazy snowflakes, drifting white against the still dark needles, silently filling a woods that has stood for a thousand years. When I am old and sitting in a nursing home, perhaps I'll find the words to describe these experiences.

Day 28: Library Reading Program

The first days off school were days of bickering. The kids complain during the school year of not having enough free time; then, when they hit the motherlode of free time in June, they squander it arguing.
I prayed for peace in my household.
The library reading program was the answer to my prayer. Not only do my kids love reading, they love getting rewarded for something they consider normal behavior, ie, reading. The day we signed up for the library reading program was the day Huckle and Sally switched from 3 hours per day bickering to 3 hours per day with book glued to their faces.
Peace. Quiet. In fact, sometimes it's hard to get them unstuck from their books. Both are devouring Hardy Boys mysteries. Sally started by reading the first chapter and then skipping to the end. Then, after seeing the formula long enough, she realized she can handle the inevitable kidnappings and thefts. It's all part of the genre. So now she plows straight through them., like her play-by-the-rules brother who would never peek at the ending.
A week into the reading program was enough to restore balance in their time. They are no longer racing through books to earn little bouncy balls and other toys. But they also are bickering less, as if they've remembered how to spend their lazy summers and even -- sometimes -- enjoy each other's company. This morning they started a board game and made it a full hour without fighting.
Maybe summer wouldn't be as argument-filled as it began. Joy!

Day 27: Garden O' Raspberries

This morning I picked two cups of raspberries in our garden. Joy! It's my favorite food season. It took us seven years of raspberry-patch growing to have this abundance, enough for every family member to feel sated and generous with friends and neighbors, enough to experiment with recipes rather than hoard our precious berries and eat them one by one.

I have wonderful childhood memories of standing in my family's raspberry patch, picking a bowlful for breakfast. They fast like summer mornings, scratching legs and dewy feet, a shiver in the shade of long morning shadows before the heat takes over. They taste like lazy summer days with no place to be and no goals beyond finishing a library book and hunting for another.
  

Day 26: Examples of Godly Living

Anything powerful can be used for evil, including religion. That's what outspoken atheists emphasize when they write that humanity would be better off without any religion. They blame strong Christian sentiment for wars and acts of hatred.

But Christianity does not condone violence; in fact, the Bible states that vengence is to be left to the Lord and that people are to live in peace as far as they are able in this world. Rather, violence comes from a minority of extremists who warp and misinterpret Scriptures for their own purposes, as others do with laws or rational human thought. Anything powerful can be used for evil.

When a society has forbidden Christianity or muzzled the church, has the resulting culture been more humane? I think of the atrosities of Communism's rational, ordered societies. If you remove religion, something else will be used to oppress and subdue.

I also think of all the acts of lovingkindness performed in Christian faith that fly under the radar of history or publicity or atheist thinkers. Today I think of the selflessness of my friend Dolly, who left this morning on an errand of mercy. She changed all her plans and inconvenienced herself to help a friend of a friend, someone she barely knows but who has been on her heart. This friend of a friend, named Mercy, had a setback in her cancer treatment. Dolly is driving 5 hours to stay with her and care for her.

Millions of these selfless little acts are performed every day by Christians reaching out in love, quietly obeying God's call to care for the oppressed, the "widows and orphans" of our culture. This is not a political movement; these acts are not done for show or human approval. But they affirm the church's work in the world, the role of the Christian in bringing about God's kingdom on earth, a kingdom in which evil is subdued and love reigns.

Today I pray for Mercy, that she is comforted and encouraged. I also pray for mercy, that God forgives our world and us individual Christians for our failures to follow his loving will.

Day 25: The Perfect Jog?

This morning, I might have had the perfect jog:
1. I jogged longer than I intended
2. I jogged faster than I intended
3. The temperature was neither too hot nor too cold
4. The last half-mile included a free spritzing shower

I woke up before the kids, which means I didn't have two little ducklings following me around the block (which the neighbors think is funny but takes extra energy; and, actually, Huckle keeps up quite well though I expend a fair amount of energy worrying if he's expending too much energy pushing himself to keep up with me. And then I expend energy checking on Sally).

I also woke up before my will power was awake enough to realize it was being dragged out of the house. And the heat wave of last week is over, so the morning was cool though humid. Even if my will power had been awake, it wouldn't have been able to argue that it's too hot to run.

I started around the block, not sure if it'd go the standard (and lame) 2 miles I've been doing or if I'd manage to get up to 3 miles, my old standard distance. That's when I noticed the dark clouds covering a third of the sky. I ran faster, thinking I didn't want to have done the hardest part -- the getting out of the house part -- for nothing.

I ran a mile and still no rain. The dark clouds were closer and more threatening. The air had that pre-storm stillness. Rain was inevitable and could begin at any time. I decided to get in another mile down my 3-mile course to make it worth my while. I knew I could turn back at any point. I kept a steady speed, assuming my run would be cut short. It wasn't.

I started the third mile. It felt good to let my legs stretch long in a cantering stride rather than the shuffling I often allow myself. It felt like I was racing the weather and winning. When the rain did start, I was already headed for home, having down my full course satisfactorily.

The last half mile, the thick humid air was broken by rain. It felt great. I ran even faster, enjoying the cooling drops, the long strides, the heading home to tea and breakfast. The rain was building in intensity, with the downpour setting in when I was 3 houses from home. Perfect timing to cool me down and speed me up for a sprint to the finish line.

Home by 7:30; sporting wet running clothes and a sense of accomplishment. A good start to the day.

Day 24: Summer Hours

It's been 10 days since school ended, and FINALLY Huckle and Sally have stopped waking up at 6:30am. They were rising early on purpose last week; I don't know why after all the complaining at 6:45 on school mornings. Maybe they wanted to maximize summer. Or maybe they thought exciting things happen in the 15 minutes before their usual wake-up time. Anyway, I'm glad they are taking it easy and sleeping in today. I'm sure it helps that they were swimming at a neighbor's pool party until 9pm last night.

Lazy summer mornings are a childhood treasure. Some days that translates into kids stumbling downstairs in their PJs and throwing themselves onto the couch to stare into space for an hour (sometimes I have pity and let them turn on a cartoon!). Other days, Huckle is riding his bike around the block before breakfast, loving that summer means changing up the order of our activities, like leaving the house without having filled your stomach and brushed your teeth. For me, it's a relief to not have to pack lunches first thing in the morning and keep people on schedule to leave for school.

In the summer, we sleep in, pack a picnic lunch around 10:30, and head to the pool at 11. I get to talk to friends while the kids take swimming lessons. Then we all eat lunch together on the grassy lawn under shade trees before the kids hit the pools in earnest. This is the first year that the children of our "group" are all old enough to be independent, something that impossible or light-years away when I had a baby and a toddler or a preschooler and a toddler. What a joy to be able to read a book outside or have a conversation with friends I hardly see during the school year, while our kids go from pool to pool in a pack or go their separate ways, reporting to us for a snack, a rest, a request to watch them on the high dive or swim with them. It's all good. 

Day 23: Conversation

My 100 Days of Joy have been spread thin over the last few weeks due to the end-of-the-school-year craziness and now my inability to concentrate as Huckle and Sally adjust to The Unscheduled Life. Oh, all year they long for lazy summer days, but when those days first come, it's "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" until they remember all the things they wanted spare time to do. Right now Sally is buried in a Hardy Boys mystery (she reads the beginning and the end; not sure if she then skips back to hit the middle or just moves on to the next book) and Huckle is sewing a pouch. I won't be surprised if they've switched in half an hour.

All this "Mom? Mom? Mom?" disrupts the solitude on which a big chunk of my joy is built, and so I am seeking other forms of joy. Today it's conversation with Huckle and Sally. Their conversation styles and topics differ tremendously. It gives me joy to interact with each in their own way.

Seven-year-old Sally is a quiet one. She thinks long and hard before bringing up a topic on her own. She is more likely to disappears into her room to play stuffed animals or quietly work on a craft at her desk than to seek me out for a talk. She's a solitude-seeker, like me. But when Sally does open up -- on her own time and on her own topic -- I love to hear her thoughts. She has studied her friends and classmates to know what they like and how they think. She has opinions about playground rules and kids who tease. She has a strong sense of justice and she often goes against the flow to do the kind thing. She knows who she plans to marry and has been certain since the day she met him two years ago. Sally is an easy companion. (Although she is also a complainer, especially when tired and hungry. We're working on that.)

Huckle is the none-stop motor mouth in our family. Since the day he learned to talk, it sometimes seems as if he hasn't taken a breath. He keeps a running commentary of his every thought, every sight. He is a wonderer. Even when he was two years old, I would stop him now and then and tell him "Mommy's ears need a rest" -- he is that relentless of a talker. At one point Huckle went through a phase when most conversations began with "What would you do if I..." followed by some little kid fantasy about finding a diamond mine in our backyard Digging Spot or inventing a car that ran on grass clippings or flying a plane around the world. Huckle would spend a good 5 or 10 minutes describing his invention or accomplishment and then pursue an answer: he needs a response. And so Husband and I developed a standard answer: "We'd call this newspaper." If that didn't satisfy Huckle, we would go over to the phone, pick it up, pretend to dial, and say, "Hello, newspaper? We just saw the most amazing thing. Our son just..." Huckle would watch us proudly. Afterwards, he would ask, "Did you really call?" We would answer, "No. But if it really happens, you can be sure we'll really call."

Huckle is our talker. Most of our conversations with him are 90% listening, but he doesn't only want us to listen. He needs a response. His love language is engaged conversation. And I appreciate that. I also appreciate knowing what he thinks. Huckle has no secrets -- I know his thoughts on God, on sin, on his own sin. I know his fears and joys. These days, my ears still often need a rest, but I find great joy in Huckle's conversation too, as he grows older. We go deep into controversy and science, politics and religion. Huckle's conversation is tempered with a great curiosity about the world, so he asks good questions and gives thoughtful responses. There is great joy in sharing your worldview with your child.

Huckle also has an incredible memory, which adds to the richness of his conversation. His school practices "narration" the retelling of a story or information. The teacher reads a paragraph and then the students tell back what they heard. Every one of Huckle's teachers has commented on his incredible gift of narration. He doesn't just tell them the gist of the paragraph; he repeats back word-for-word what they said. I didn't think much about it until I came across one of his papers last week on which the teacher had asked the children to write their narration instead of give it orally. He filled the whole page with a word-for-word regurgitation of the text (something informative, like how to make friends) with a few underlined blanks toward the bottom where he couldn't recall a word or two. 

I was thinking about conversation while transporting Huckle's classmates to our house for his birthday party last week. In earlier years, the boys have shrieked or made gross noises or any other noisiness when all together in my car. When we reach home (only 10 minutes away), I need an ibuoprofen. But this year, now that they are "mature" ten year olds, they actually had a conversation! It was fun to listen in as they told cat stories, each relating a cat their family once owned, what made that cat interesting, how it was found and how it died. They each were eager to tell their story and yet they took turns and listened to one another. I was impressed! Where were the fart noises? Would we make it home without me needing an ibuprofen? Ah, my son is growing up. There's still Sally's classmates to count on for the noise and headaches.

Day 22: Distractions

A busy week can be a wonderful distraction from sadness. This week, two of my dearest friends are moving: one permanently and one for the summer. If I thought about it, I would feel vulnerable and sad. Both friends have been tremendous gifts to me in their kindness and gentleness and words of encouragement and faith. They have been strong supports through rough times. Both have taught me how a close friendship means hurting with one another -- how that pain is a privilege to share,  not a burden. If I dwelt on these thoughts, my friends' moves would devastate me.

But I haven't had time to dwell on these thoughts. It's the busy end-of-the-school-year time, and all thinking time has been redistributed into doing time. I've hosted a brunch, given a science lecture and demo, performed many class parent duties, co-chaired Field Day, hosted a birthday party, plus all the usual keep-the-family-running-smoothly duties.

These duties were pleasures, none of which I would have traded in. But I now also see them as important distractions that kept me from focusing on my sense of loss. There was sufficient time for goodbye meals and many ways to assist with packing and childcare; there were wasn't sufficient time to sit on the couch and mope.

Today the diversions continue. Today is the 8th grade graduation, a happy-sad time that gets me weepy for the way life goes on and kids grow up and our sweet 8th graders will be facing the big world. But I won't be teary-eyed on the sidelines today, because I'm giving the invocation. (Well, at least I won't be teary-eyed at the beginning -- I'll be nervous!) I'm grateful for duties that keep me from dwelling on sadness.