Sometimes....

It was Saturday. The mister was at work before dawn. I had planned to sleep in, but I woke up early. I filled  my five-cup coffee pot with water from the tap and the Christmas blend I had left over from 2012. The weather reports had been predicting a warming trend. I opened the front door. The sun was brightly shining and the fresh air was clean and crisp. I breathed it in deep. The lone glitter wreath sparkled where it was carelessly hung on the door. It was the only festive item I had out, and it happened by default as I had found it while rearranging the dining area.

Sometimes you don't see the stagnant until you touch the fresh anew.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and went outside. It was a quiet morning. The skies were bright blue with a few scattered clouds. I sat in silence on an old, weathered bench in the front yard. I closed my eyes as the heat of the sun kissed my face and warmth of the Son touched my soul. Then the sun hid behind some passing clouds, and the breeze turned instantly cool.

And sometimes you don't realize what was hidden until it is found again.

For most people, Christmas is just one day; Christmastide (the Twelve Days of Christmas) is not observed. I think most people spend December 26 trying to clean up Christmas and subsequently fill the recycling bin with discarded wrapping paper. This year, I am anxious to slowly unwrap it. To delve deeper. It's a real page-turner, you know. So, I spent some time reading about Saint Stephen {today is his feast day}. He was the first Christian martyr. He was a deacon who served faithfully. He called the Sanhedrin out on their crap: "And you continue, so bullheaded! Calluses on your hearts..." from Acts 7. And it's meant for me, too.

Sometimes grace, the kind that sent a babe here for the cross, hits you hard and busts open the stagnant places in your heart. And you realize the One was not hidden after all.

{And this post feels unfinished, yet I have nothing else to say. As I sit here, quietly listening to Christmas hymns, I somehow think it is exactly how it's meant to be}

Happy Christmastide. xo. Jadie

Christmas {deconstructed}

This Christmas has wrecked me. The kind of wrecking that hits hard and forever changes you. I have been so blissful, so content. Early in the Advent season, joy filled my days with family and friends and laughter as cherished memories were forged. Then it happened, interspersed with the baking, the Christmas tea, the caroling, and all of the festivities, came the grief.

The grief came when a sweet friend's father passed away, and I grieved for all of those in mourning.

The grief came when I read about a precious baby girl in Haiti who died of pneumonia, and I grieved for all of the mothers who lose their babies to preventable diseases and treatable illnesses.

The grief came when I saw the tag hanging on the cheap, artificial tree inside the Coco's from a boy, age 7, who asked for socks and a coat before a toy, and I grieved for all the children who are cold.

The grief came when I received an email from a friend who has a heart for (and has served) Ojos Negros and the pastor who serves this poverty-stricken community, where a four year old girl was found in charge of her two younger siblings, without food, while their mother was away at work, and I grieved for those without food and care.

And the culminating meltdown happened while I was sitting in the car in the Target parking lot. Silent tears that ran hot down my cheeks turned into shoulder-shaking sobs. Our tight budget wouldn't allow us to purchase much for extended family and friends, and I didn't want to get just whatever. So, I didn't.

And there is nothing wrong with giving gifts, but this year, for me, I heeded the nudge to give differently. After all, my dad doesn't need another plaid flannel, and my mom doesn't need any more tchotchkes. I decided to use my Christmas budget, as small as it was, to give. To give to different charities that are making a real difference.

I came across this quote by Mother Teresa this week: "It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you. Yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand."

And this is why the weary world rejoices.

{My friend, Dave, is traveling to Ojos Negros sometime in the first half of January. For approximately $10, a care package of beans, rice, masa, sugar, oil, and coffee can be assembled and distributed to help combat hunger this winter. Want to give a small gift that will make a big difference? Ask me for more info/contact information.}

Merry Christmas. xo.

Come What May

It has been about three and a half months since I have written anything. It is surprising how quickly the time seems to go by. In some ways, I feel as if I am not the same person anymore. I have grown a lot over these past months. And through the stretching and the growing, I have come to recognize with even more clarity how much more growing I have still ahead of me. In the meantime, I am holding tightly onto the grace that covers me. Imperfect, hopelessly flawed me.

This year, I haven't joined in on the "30 Days of Thanksgiving Challenge" posts on Facebook as I have done the last few years. But, I am so thankful, even if I am not posting it daily on FB. I am even thankful for the hard things because it's going through those things that cause me to pause. And when I pause, I can see how all of the struggles - the hard, stretching things - shape and mold. And each chisel strike might be painful, but when the healing comes, I am ultimately more whole.

So, without further ado, here is a list (not comprehensive by any means) of things in which I am thankful. So, so thankful.

• Grace. The grace that Jesus gives. Grace extended to others. And learning to be gentle and give myself grace as well. 
• My mister. He recently told me that he is happier than he has been in at least ten years and my heart swelled. And for the fact that we haven't given up after all these years. He has been so supported as of late. What can I say? After 23 years, I'm still smitten. 

• My boys. And all the ways in which being their mom has shaped me. Their health. Their future. They're amazing. 
• My friends who are part of my crazy family. The shoulders that have helped bear the burdens and been soaked in tears. My comic relief. My cheerleaders. My confidants. My kindred spirits who tell it like it is when I need to be reminded. 

• Those friends who have walked away, and by doing so have helped me to learn (and I am still learning) how to let go and to wish them well. 
• Creating new memories and accomplishing new things, like completing my first 5K. 

I am just genuinely content and hopeful. And I haven't felt that way in a very long time. This wild, messy life is a gift from God. And in remembering that, there is joy. Such joy. Come what may. 

A Fat Heart

It's a vacation day. I am listening to Mumford & Sons and various hymns. The mister is at work, the boy is next to me organizing his deck of Magic cards, and the youngest cat rests lazily nearby. I smile to myself at the simplicity of it all. 

I spent yesterday cleaning out the rest of my closet, getting rid of the clothes that no longer fit me. And, yes, this is a great thing, but it's hard. I felt like I was packing up my security blanket. In some regards, I think the extra weight has been like a security blanket for me. It was an outward representation of how I have always felt on the inside from a very young age, and which the world constantly echoes: "not good enough." And childhood abuse seemed to indelibly write "not good enough" on my very soul. 

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, to get to a place where I have let grace have its way in my heart. A place where I stopped believing the lie. I still have a very long way to go, but this I know: Jesus is enough. And His enough can heal even the most broken. His enough can reach in to the very core and redeem the darkest of things. This I know. 

My worth is not a number on a scale or a number written on a tag inside the clothes I wear. I want my worth to be my life used to love. A life that seeks out the hurting and speaks truth in the face of all the lies. I hope that as I continue this process, my heart will always be fat. Very fat. 

"Even though some of you are pretty thin, you all have fat hearts, and that's what matters." ~ Fat Amy from the movie "Pitch Perfect" 

A Sunday Confession

I've got a confession to make. And I am not quite sure where to begin. It feels kind of like ripping off a band-aid. The kind that has been stuck there for awhile and you know it's going to sting but you just gotta do it anyway. 

I've been extremely bitter lately. I've been a bitch. I've been a bitter bitch. 

There. I've said {written?} it. 

And I am not really sure how it got to this point. This point where I am ungracious {read: not really extending grace to people who are challenging to love}. I halfway joke about being "unchurched" but it's not really funny. 

And I have been so angry lately at the loud, outspoken people who think that demeaning people and shaming them will lead them to Jesus. {And I am having trouble myself living out this great commandment to love}

It's such a vicious cycle spinning around this fallen Eden of ours. 

This morning, though, I woke up with something in my eye. I couldn't see anything causing the irritation. But it burns and waters and just really hurts. {Okay, God, I will deal with my own specks before pointing out - even searching out - the logs in others' eyes}

I'm just a sinner, a dirty whore who's been forgiven, and longing for Eden. And trying, although I fail miserably sometimes, to love people along the way. 

And if I have failed to love you as I should, my dearest friends, please forgive me. This repentant heart of mine wants to, by grace, love better. 

 And this has resonated with me: "I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us." ~ Anne Lamott

Amen and amen. 

Love {without expectations}

I have been praying lately for the capacity to love. Just love. To love freely without expectation. To love like Jesus. To love others more than myself because it's the slightest expectation that can cause so much disappointment. Expectations are like toxic parts of our flesh vying to be fed, to be acknowledged.

I wanted today to be different. I didn't want to be disappointed. I prayed specifically that I could be content, even if my family didn't honor me on this day meant to celebrate mothers. So, even when I found out that my husband had sent texts to our boys days ago to ask them what they wanted to do for me, and nether of them responded, I was thankful that the waves of disappointment didn't come. Those waves have overwhelmed me in the past.

I got up early and put on make-up and a pretty dress. I drove to Trader Joe's for flowers. It had been a few months since I had visited Bernice, who never married or had a family of her own, and the other ladies who lived in the care facility next to church. I felt guilty for not visiting sooner. Feathered pink tulips in hand, I walked to the door. Miss Debbie, the caregiver who works on Sundays, hollered for me to come in. She was busy with one of the new residents, but soon came to the hallway where we chatted and she gave me updates on everyone.

Hilda, a sweet lady in her late 90's who always wanted the Bible read to her, had declined over the past few months. She was propped up in her bed and had just finished some oatmeal. I greeted her and reintroduced myself because she had no recollection of me this time. She held out her hand and I gently took hold of it. Her gray eyes reminded me of my grandmother's. She asked me where she was and I told her that she was at her home. She then said something that I wasn't prepared to hear. She said, with obvious pain, "No one wants me." I responded that of course that wasn't true. I reminded her of her daughters. Two of them, I think. But as I glanced at her dresser, I saw mother's day flowers that were already starting to wilt. She felt alone. She felt unloved.

And my heart broke into pieces and tears threatened to spill over as I desperately wanted her to know the truth. I leaned in closer, because I needed to know she could hear what I was about to choke out: "Hilda, remember when you told me you talked to God when you looked outside towards to trees? Well, God hears you. He loves you. He wants you. He knows when you're sad. And He promises to never leave us. So, you are always wanted and never alone."

I hoped her heart had heard. I hoped her weary soul could feel Jesus' embrace. Her eyes closed. She was still gripping my hand when she asked where she was going. I asked her if she had plans to go somewhere. When she answered that she didn't know, I knew what she needed to hear. "Heaven," I said reassuringly. "You're here now but heaven awaits you." Those words seemed to appease her. With her eyes still closed, she breathed deep, and let go of my hand.

As I walked to church, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and sadness. Gratitude to God for loving us and redeeming us, but an aching for those who are hurting. For those who are broken. For those who have been (or are being) exploited. For all who feel worthless. For those who feel ashamed because of the abuse they've incurred. For those who feel like they don't belong. For the people we refuse to call our neighbors. Lord, have mercy.

Help me (us) to love the hurting, the broken, the exploited, the abused, the outcasts, and those deemed unlovable.

Amen.

Of Pain and Compassion

Pain. It comes in many forms and levels of intensity. I was thinking about the difference between physical pain and emotional pain. I ran across this quote from C.S. Lewis: “Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.” 

Right now, someone I am close to {who likes to keep things private - hence the anonymity} is in a lot of physical pain. It's intense. It has been over two weeks and the prescribed pain pills barely took the edge off. This has impacted every facet of his life. Once this passes, God willing, the memory of the pain will begin to fade. The same principle is true with the pain of child birth. It hurts a whole heck of a lot, but is soon forgotten. 

Emotional pain, however, can be so insidious. There are no visible scars, but the ramifications from these wounds can have such a profound impact. Emotional pain, much like physical pain, changes us. But instead of being temporary, these changes can be far-reaching because pain has a way of shaping us. How we are shaped by it can be positive or negative. It is so easy to let a seed of bitterness take root in our lives. Slowly, over time (and usually without realizing it), it becomes like an aggressive weed, choking out the beautiful all around it; marring the soul. 

And, because pain isn't pleasant, people cope with it differently. Alcohol. pills. food. poor relationship choices. shopping. and so on. Then there are Jesus' promises. I admit, that accepting them isn't always easy. Nor does it always feel tangible. In fact, there have been times where I viewed them as trite {God can bind up someone else's busted heart, but mine is still hemorrhaging}. But...

His response to our sin, our pain? The gruesome cross. 

I have learned that there is purpose in pain. I was reminded of this last week when a sweet friend had simply said, "It makes me sad when you are sad." It touched my heart and made me realize that without pain there could not be true empathy. And we don't have to have answers or remedies for those who are hurting, just compassion {the literal translation in Latin is to suffer with}. 

My challenge for us: Be courageous and look for ways to show compassion to those hurting this week.