It Doesn't All End Up on the Fridge.

      I was just trying to be frugal. . . I needed a new Christmas picture for my unwritten cards. And so I curled long strands of hair, all three heads of them, gave my little man a home-cut before church, dressed them all up, and we walked into our classes with smiles and little blond hairs from Rowan's last minute hair cut all stuck to my tights. After, we drove through for some cheap sustenance, and then a certain someone spilled her nachos all over the backseat of the van. I briefly lost a wandering child in our quick trip to the store. And though frazzled, four children and I headed off for some photography-by-Mom at the park. 

      It was a pretty warm December day, so I envisioned them having fun, running out energy, taking some cute pictures of the happy play, and thought of airing out four children who should then sleep better and longer this night. Well. One daughter has to pee, and the park bathrooms are closed for the winter and nothing is close. This one daughter is not country enough to go behind a bush, though I tried and coaxed. One boy wanted nothing to do with the camera-- shocking I know, and one girl is still upset that nacho cheese touched her water cup over an hour ago, a little girl who did not want to smile or place her bottom on anything that might be wet, cold, or grassy. And my oldest little girl tells the others that the ground is covered with bunny do-do, so that now no one wants to sit anywhere. Picture the game Wac-a-mole, except no one was getting wacked. Just a lot of bouncing up and down, and "I've-got-to-peeee" thrown in throughout. 

       So to anyone expecting a cute Christmas picture in their letter this year, don't. Do expect to smile and receive one of the following Kodak moments. :) All of life just doesn't belong pinned up on a fridge. Life is real, squirmy, ornery, and more times than not, does-not-go-as-planned. And as often as my grandiose plans fail, I think of how intricately God's plans, weaved through all of time and humanity, have never failed. Each prophecy is fulfilled. Each promise is kept. His beautiful, unknown plans are always carried out in His perfect timing. And when my ideas fail so horribly, I might ask, are my plans really God's plans at all?

Lamson family Christmas picture - 2011

 

                                                                                        Ewwww!

                                                                                                             

                                                                     

                   

                                  

       And much later, in the quietness and warmth of home, away from fresh hair-do's and poses, was a simple song to baby Jesus. This "unplanned" moment, this poorly lit, poorly captured moment may not land on a fridge either. But it certainly landed in my heart. His too.

       When I force my plans, I loose sight of His. When all I can do is pray and wait and breathe-- that is when I am alive in the moments He has given me. When I can let go of the past, let go of the future, and hold on to these present moments-- only then can I let go of my will. That is when I see small pieces of the present plan He has given me. And living in His plan isn't unbending and rigid. Living in His plan is fluid, it sees with His eyes the moments worth investing in. It hears with His ears the speaking hearts that need love. It reaches out with His hands for the opportunities worth the "interruption." Living a planned life is simply planning on living each moment for Him. Living in His plans means that I don't mind if my own plans fail. For when my will is unbending, it isn't His will at all.

        ¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
   and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

 ¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

 ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.  (Luke 2)

     

May we all rest in this peace, that God's great plan for mankind has already succeeded. 

May we all rest in Him.

 The only Christmas picture that really matters--
A plan, a promise fulfilled.

When it's All Homemade Stockings.

Sometimes I wonder if our place was handed down from Old MacDonald himself. With the landlord’s bootleg, crooked-piped-wood stove that smokes on the inside as well as the outside, the one that melts snow on the rooftop so that it drips down inside our home, to the water pipes that freeze on every ice-cold-night, and take about two days to thaw, to the field mice who seem to coexist with our two cats fairly well now… to my kitchen stove with only two knobs and no handle, the outlets that only allow only a few things to be plugged in at a time without going dark, the coffee can vent system, and door-knobless-doors... I mean, I wonder?

This is my domain, and it’s not from lack of trying that I feel I’ve gone back in time. When I’ve done laundry in the bathtub, washed countless dishes in the sink, when I’m bringing in wood (that I’ve chopped) to heat the house, and even resorted at times to melting snow for water…I can now at least pity the pioneer woman. Although they never knew what they were missing I suppose? I know that toilet is supposed to have water and flush. And if that yellow tub is just there for pretty, than it's failing already. Friends come to my home and say, “Oh, I wish I lived in the mountains. I wish I could live here,” and I smile to myself, wondering how long anyone else could take this house with all its peculiarities.

And as I’m a die-hard romantic, I still try to make something beautiful of all these loose ends. I tried again today. I redirected school this morning to sewing a new set of matching white stockings to “hang by the fire with care.” Little Rowan is two and still didn’t have one to hang. Last year I gave him the furry dog bone stocking of Shadow’s. But neither boy nor dog minded. Between sewing wrong sides together numerous times, Rowan pressing the pedal all the way down at all the wrong times, four sets of little hands in the project, and a toy truck running over my sewing machine, well, they came out looking pretty much like everything else. My perfectionism got in the way. And then upon seeing the results of the first two attempts, the only thing left worth holding onto was the experience of making these little stitches with love, with the little ones I love. A little uneven and homemade—but here they are, all lined up, all six of them, and as I see it: I can’t help but feel blessed to be given this much. I have loved ones for each newly hung stocking to belong to. 

 And as I survey this humble, rickety little home, I must feel the same. It’s imperfect, not even code, yet it’s a domain where I can raise my babies, teach and love them. I look too at my heart. It’s as imperfect as everything else. Yet God keeps working, loving.

So, it’s all really a choice of what I will hold onto, what is worth holding onto? Straight stitches? A perfect house? 

 This time of year, I think of Mary. And I want to be like her-- and hold on to the best thing of all: Jesus. And I want to hold on to what He has given me. And it’s not found in a Better Homes and Garden magazine, or even on Old MacDonald’s farm. It has nothing to do with these fingerprinted walls, but much to do with who is in them. Nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Him, who lives in my heart. That’s what’s worth holding on to. A silver, crinkly-foil-covered-star, dangling by yarn from my ceiling reminds me-- He is the one who has come, born in a manger, to take a hold of you and me.

For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.

Isaiah 41:13

 ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

(Luke 2)

Who do You say that I am?

“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”

We all long to know. Even my Jesus wanted to know. He asked His closest friends—“who do you say I am?” 

And Peter knew. He saw Him for who He was, “You are the Messiah.” 

We yearn to believed in. We yearn to know that someone knows who we are and willingly stands beside us. Without it, life feels lonely. Just as my children want to know someone is on their side, someone is there to sit in the crowd, cheer them on, we all long to know that we are believed in, that someone has confidence in our worth. When we feel doubted,  when we are given false names, false worth, our hearts weaken. It's just too often man made names speak untruth.  We are given names that at times make us question on the inside who we are. As if we don't doubt ourselves enough without others adding their own labels. Without Him, I am liable to call myself plenty of damaging lies. But the only question that really matters is, “Who do You say I am?” 

He sees us for who we are: Sinners, yet redeemed, unworthy, yet died for, hopelessly flawed, yet fiercely loved. Only when we truly know who He is, can we ever truly know who we are. 

“You are the Messiah.” Peter answered. “The Messiah.” There is only One, has only ever been One, can only be One. And because He is the Messiah, because I believe in who He is, I am called by a new name. And when I long to be truly known, I can say with David:

¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain. (Psalm 139)

When I need to know who I am, I will remember the I AM. I will remember He is the God-Who-Sees, as Sally Clarkson so beautifully reminded. He sees me. He knows me and calls me by my true name. He calls me by His name.

Isaiah 43:2 Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

Redeemed, Ransomed, Precious, Loved, Called by His name

Isaiah 43.1-7

Who do you say He is today?  He is my Messiah, my hope, my strength, my peace...

                                                                                                                                      Undeserved, yet wholly loved