Good Mothers

I'll admit it. Baking with my kids is one of those things I just don't do. It's time consuming. It's messy.

I think nothing of mixing, rolling, creating with my kindergarteners on Tuesdays, but at school I put on my Fun Hat. I rarely wear the hat home. Baking is an activity I think "good mothers" do. Like crafts. And handmade wrapping paper. And as I passed the Christmas candy-making off to Juliana this year (who did a beautiful job, by the way), I carved out some time today to make cookies for Santa/ birthday treats for Jesus.

We made my favorite, and really the only cookies I ever bake from scratch, chocolate peanut butter cookies. The last time I can remember making them was for Juliana's graduation from her toddler reading class at the library. I'm not kidding. I just don't bake cookies.

Holt cracked his first egg. This is his kind of cooking activity. It involves breaking something. Juliana did a lot of overseeing and mixing with the beater. They all three rolled up their sleeves and rolled the dough into balls. Holt came and went as he found our activities to be interesting, like sticking his hands in raw dough.

Mouse was the last one to leave the scene. She pulled up the stool and waited patiently for them to emerge from the oven.

The cookies are cooling. Kitchen cleaned. Memories made. And one big fat pat on the back for me.

Slippers

Juliana and I were blessed to be able to attend (for free! Thank you, thank you, Kelly!) the Nativity Ballet this past weekend. If you're ever anywhere near North Georgia during the holidays, you must see it for yourself. It tells through dance, the story of The Birth and even presents the Gospel and Good News of The One who came to save.

The moment I took home with me is in the last scene. In the finale, the man who plays Jesus returns to stage. All the dancers enter, sit, remove their ballet slippers, and raise them to Him. Use my gift for Your glory.

And I've found myself replaying that profound moment ever since. I have so many friends with such obvious gifts. My husband has obvious gifts, my oldest as well. My son has a brain that works in amazing ways. Who knows what talents will emerge in Mouse. I'm struggling to figure out what I was given (because the Bible confirms I was!) and how to use it. I want my own slipper to raise.

And did I mention I'm approaching 40? Call this a mini midlife crisis, but what am I doing with my talents? I want to hear those words, You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your Master.

Christmas Mouse

Joyful Noise

Juliana sang the special music at Damascus Road Baptist Church in Canton two Sundays ago. Birch was preaching there for a friend who had asked if I could perform a solo. Take a moment and enjoy that scenario.

Instead, I sent my beautiful daughter in my place who did the most breathtaking (biased, I know) a cappella version of O Come, O Come Emmanuel. I was nervous as she's never done anything without accompaniment, and to me, this is kind of like singing naked. It's just you and your voice... nothing to cover anything up. I think I held my breath the entire three verses. It's the first time I've ever been lead in a worshipful moment by my child. It was truly a Christmas moment to remember.

The Year of the Lego

In the morning Holt gets up, puts on his glasses, visits the bathroom, and heads to the couch with the laptop to peruse his favorite place in the world...Legoland on the web. He revisits the laptop off and on all day. It's his magnet. He knows every Star Wars lego kit by name, number and price. He has replayed each video on the site. He has agonized multiple times each day over which ones he should save up for, which ones Santa might bring, and whether or not the ones that are sold out will ever become available again. 7 year old stress.


We had a very simple birthday gathering for him this year, just us and John and Lora. Holt had an Upward basketball game that morning and we celebrated after. He wanted a Star Wars cake (and on a side note, I was somewhat surprised to see that Ahsoka, who I've heard him talk about continuously and who Birch bought to put on his cake, was a woman. Who knew?). Birthday moments to remember: Mom was a hero. Her lego set was on the sold out list. Major score. And when he opened ours, he rejoiced,"This one's 59.99 plus tax and shipping!" Priceless!

He also got a really cool retro lego airplane kit from his Nana and Pop, and at the end of the day, according to Juliana's calculations, Holt was the proud owner of over 1200 lego pieces. Guess how many I've already stepped on?

Good and Faithful Servant

I can't begin to do her justice with my words.

You would've had to have known her. She was born in 1916 and was one of four children. She survived the Depression and had plenty of stories to share about it. She liked to tell of how little money she and my grandfather had the day they got married. For their honeymoon they went to the movies. They moved to Florida and started a family. My grandfather worked at the Palm Beach Post. Grams worked for Jordan Marsh as a shoe salesgirl. She spent too many years bent over, slipping shoes onto others' feet. She knew more about the value of a dollar than anyone else I've ever known.

She was a servant in the name of Jesus. She served tirelessly during Wednesday night supper. She counted the offering on Monday afternoons. She counselled. She told the Good News.

She wasn't typical. Huge Understatement. And she wasn't like anyone else's grandma. She didn't spoil us or think we could do no wrong. I felt the sting of the sole of her slipper on the back of my thigh on more than one occasion. One morning when I refused to get out of the sleeper sofa at her home, she folded me up in it. When my father bought me my first car in 1986, she told me I didn't deserve it. I was hurt by that remark, but I've since come to see its wisdom. I didn't. That's what made it such a great gift.

When something was really funny, she would laugh until she cried. Really cried. When she disagreed, she told you flat out. When you needed it, she quoted scripture. When you didn't ask for her opinion, she gave it.

There was a magnet on her refrigerator that stated, "God said it. I believe it. That settles it." The middle line bothered her. She told me that it didn't really matter if we believed it or not. If God said it, it was settled.

The year my marriage went sour, she called me every day. The list of people like that was a short one. I remember my mom once telling me that she had called her crying after one of our conversations, telling my mom it was so difficult to handle my pain. I've never once seen or heard her cry out of sadness. To know that I had merited such a response... humbling. She loved me. I miss her.

She was our matriarch, the one who drew a line in the sand and declared ours to be a heritage of faith. The week before she died, my cousin Karen and I were standing on either side of her bed. She looked from one of us to the other and said, "Such beautiful granddaughters I have... all three of them...and every one of you a Christian." This was her legacy to claim.

To quote Karen, she had finished the race strong. When told others were praying for her, she would remark, "They need to pray for themselves." She knew she was soon for Heaven, and there was no fear, only peace. It was truly her Homecoming.

There will never be another like her, leprechaun in size, mighty in spirit. In us she lives on and it's her story we also tell. We claim, "Jesus is King. He is Messiah", and in that, her lineage, that ripples behind her, will span into countless tributaries and outnumber the stars.