VALENTINE

2 a : a gift or greeting sent or given especially to a sweetheart on Valentine's Day

February 14 is not going as planned this year.  The plan:  for J to take the day off so that we could have a date day.  We've been planning this for months.  Tuesdays are the only day that A & B attend tutorial, so they are the only option for a free date day.

The kinks in the plan:
1) A & B's tutorial is canceled for tomorrow.  The building where they meet had some flooding and won't be ready in time for students tomorrow morning. 
2) K has a sore throat, headache, stomachache and fever of 103.

Tomorrow will not be a date day after all.

I am not the only one disappointed by this turn of events.  Sweet little extroverted K is missing her Valentine's Day party.  Her gifts are ready to give. 

Glitter Putty Eggs for K's "eggscellent" friends

Handmade Cards

Her box is ready to receive cards. 

Her heart is in it. 

Sweet, sick K

Her body just won't let her participate.  A worked this afternoon to complete a poster on Clara Barton because it was due tomorrow at her tutorial.  She's a bit disappointed to actually have completed her school work an entire week early.  (Takes after her father, that one.)  B is sad to miss a day with friends.  J is disappointed.  He doesn't often reserve vacation days purely for the two of us and we were both looking forward to having the option of lunch alone together, quiet time here at home and maybe even an afternoon movie.  Instead, he'll take the morning off and spend time with 4 girls instead of just 1, then work during the afternoon.

I'm doing my best to make it up to the girls.  We'll have pink pancakes for breakfast. 

I'll give them the small gifts I have for them.

We'll do a math lesson to not completely waste the day.  But then we'll just make the most of having an unexpected day off.  We might even (gasp!) watch a movie on a weekday.

It may not be the day I planned, but at least I'll be with those I love.

ORNAMENT

2 a : something that lends grace or beauty

K hanging an ornament on our tree

Sometimes I'm not sure who learns more from my mother/daughter relationships: me or my daughters.  I learn so much from them.  And they are often the lessons that I need the most.

Friday night, B and K spent some time crafting.  B made a three dimensional Christmas tree and a snow globe that was snowing on one side and had a hand gripping it on the other side.  K made only one thing: a Christmas tree adorned with every color of glitter glue available.  And she made it with one intent: to give it to our rector, Father J.  As she piled on the glitter, as she crafted a pipe cleaner star for the top of the tree, as she waited for the glue to dry, K talked about giving the ornament to Father J.

K patiently let her ornament dry overnight on Friday.  She even ate breakfast before asking if we could please take the ornament to Father J.  While nearly every part of me wanted to tell her to wait until today at church to give it to him, I knew it would be a long wait for her.  We didn't go to our regular church this morning because B was singing at another service, so if I had made K wait, she would have had to wait until this evening's family concert.

Let me make this perfectly clear: I am not the kind of person who shows up unexpectedly at people's doors to chat, say hi... or deliver something.  But K is exactly that kind of person.  She thinks that people are the most important thing in the world.  So I swallowed my hesitancy and drove K to Father J's house (which is in our neighborhood).  He was at the hardware store, but his wife graciously accepted K's ornament and put it on the tree.  K was satisfied and I survived stepping outside of my comfort zone.

K is similarly anxious for me to get to know our new next door neighbors.  This isn't an easy task in the dead of winter.  As I mentioned, I'm not a knock on your door kind of girl.  So I have a plan: we will bake cookies and deliver them together.

It's not that I don't like people.  I don't want to give you the impression that I'm a recluse.  But I do tend to feel awkward around strangers.  My solution?  To not talk to them.  This technique serves me well.  I stay safe in my comfort zone.  Do I miss opportunities to connect with people? Yes.  Do I miss opportunities to encourage others?  Probably.  Is this wrong of me?  Not exactly.  But I do think I choose my own comfort over people.  I choose to avoid interactions that make me uncomfortable because I am thinking about me.  I'm not thinking about whether the other person might want a kind word, a simple question or a response other than a smile from me.  I am thinking about me.

K, on the other hand, thinks about other people.  She notices them.  She reaches out to them.  Her world centers on relationship.  It would never occur to her to wonder whether Father J would want her ornament.  She was thinking of him and wanted to make something for him.  So she did.  For her, it was that simple.  I can learn so much from K's approach to people.  Instead of seeing them as something to flinch from, could I actually learn to see people and interactions with others as great blessings?  Could I learn to see people as ornaments of life that lend grace and beauty, rather than roadblocks to be dodged?

I think we each have our own personal hindrances to encountering God fully.  For me, my tendency to choose intellectualism over relationship is the barrier.  I have to work to remind myself that God doesn't just want me to know about him.  He wants me to know him.  If I had to guess, I would imagine K will never have this barrier.  Will she face her own struggles and need to grow in other areas?  Absolutely.  So I hope God is gracious enough to give her a daughter who teaches her some of the lessons she needs to learn.

GIFT

1. something given; a present

I'm not a natural when it comes to giving gifts.  It's not that I don't want to please others.  It's more that I can barely get my mind to focus for long enough to think about the right gift to give.  I just don't care that much about things.  But I realized a while ago that my daughters don't necessarily feel the same way.  It started with A making gifts for nearly everyone in our family.  She did this for a Christmas or two before I realized that this wasn't just a crafting spurt for her, but an expression of her love.  I remember saying to her one Christmas as she pestered J to take her to buy me a gift, "Honey, you don't have to give me a gift.  I know you love me."  This yielded nothing more than a puzzled look and continued insistence on a shopping trip.

This month, A and I have been doing a unit study on Advent symbols.  Wednesday she studied gifts and as a part of her lesson read O. Henry's Gift of the Magi.  You may not recognize it from the title, but it's a short story about a couple trying to buy the perfect gift - she decides to buy him a chain for his pocket watch and he buys her combs for her hair.  In case you haven't read it, I won't say more.  (Except to say: click on the link above and read it - it's free via public domain.)  After A read the story, I asked her how the story made her feel and whether she wished for a different ending.  She was quite adamant that the couple in the story should have given their gifts because of "how giving a gift makes you feel."  When I asked her how she feels when giving a gift, she paused, then said, "It makes me feel like I've really shown them that I love them."  That's pretty different from giving a gift because it's expected of you, doing it to fulfill a duty or just because it's that time of year.

In the past, I've found it challenging to pick the right gifts to give teachers.  I've tried giving Thanksgiving gifts instead of Christmas gifts to make it clear that we are thankful for all they do and to take care of remembering them before the craziness of Christmas sets in.  We've made various gifts from cookies to bath salts.  This year's offering was fun to make, but took a lot of time.  There were several steps involved and the girls enjoyed some of them, but not others, which left me completing the project.  Yet I found myself working on small collage elements to go on each gift card after the gifts were wrapped and under the tree.  Not because it was necessary, but because I enjoyed it.  As I worked on the two dozen tiny cards, I wondered why I was doing this.  It wasn't really necessary.  But that's the whole point of a gift, isn't it?  Not that it's necessary, but that you enjoy giving it.

I'm thankful that this Advent season has brought the unexpected and delightful gift of stillness to my heart.  It's this gift that has enabled me to help my daughters create two dozen teacher gifts, wrap them and ready them.  And to do so with a joyful heart.  I figure regardless of what the teachers think of their presents, that's a gift - not just to them, but to us.

GRANNY

1. Informal: a grandmother (specifically, my father's mother)


I have my Granny's hands.  Not the shape, but the skin.  When you put lotion on your hands, what happens?  Do you simply rub in the lotion, perhaps pause to take in the scent, then finish with softer, moisturized skin?  Not I.  If I attempt to use a lotion with scent, my hands immediately inflame.  Tiny red dots appear, accompanied by burning.  This is one of the things I inherited from my Granny - hands that want nothing to do with lovely scented lotions.  But I also have her hands in the kitchen, when I dice onions to use in a gumbo.  When I stir dough to make cookies.  When I place the food on the plate and put the plate before my girls.


My Granny died a few years ago, on the day my youngest daughter was baptized.  I miss her often, but especially at Christmas.  When I was at that awkward age, between girlhood and adolescence, I started joining my grandmother as she baked the cookies for our family to eat on Christmas Eve.  As best I recall, I joined her that first year because I wanted to make cookies to give to my friends.  But it became much more than that.  When I would come home for Christmas break in college, we baked together.  As a newlywed, we baked together.  I still make the cookies we made together two decades ago, even if I won't have a crowd to feed them to on Christmas Eve.  We eat some.  We give lots away and do so with great joy.  

One year, we were traveling on Christmas Day and every time we stopped for a restroom break or to gas up the van, we gave a bag of Christmas cookies to the people working at the restaurant or gas station.  You would have thought we were giving people gold, they were so excited.  One gas station owner wanted me to let my girls pick a candy bar each in exchange.  I assured him that wasn't necessary, but I still remember how pleased he was to receive that little gift.  I'm sure it would have made my Granny smile to see a stranger in Georgia eating her cookies for a late afternoon Christmas snack.


I learned the basics of how to cook from my grandmother.  I learned to start a second type of cookie while the first batch was baking.  I learned how to use a candy thermometer (although I'll confess I don't own one - the pralines we made together are no longer a part of my holiday repertoire).  I learned to make a variety so that your guests and family can have several yummy bites.  And I still use her mini muffin tins to make pecan tassies each year.


I also learned Christmas carols from Granny.  She had a beautiful voice and lead the choir at our church for years.  I didn't inherit her love for music (I think my brain is missing a crucial piece when it comes to understanding music), but I love, love, love Christmas carols.  And I know a lot of them.  On command, I can sing two or three verses of many favorites.  This has served me well as a mother, putting my children to bed during Advent.  Joy to the World?  Off we go with three or four verses.  Silent Night?  O Come, All Ye Faithful?  I've even recently added a few with O Come, O Come Emmanuel being a newfound favorite.  And while I didn't inherit Granny's voice, her understanding of music or her interest in it, I think B did.  

B is singing in two different choirs this holiday season - one at our church, one at another church.  She loves it and she does it well.  For several years, we've worked to find an activity that B will love as her own.  She was good at soccer, but didn't want to keep playing.  Basketball she liked, but it required constant coaxing to get her to fulfill her commitment.  But choir?  She knows when her practices are, has her songs memorized, does it all with joy and anticipation.  It thrills my heart for several reasons.  Primarily because she's found something she loves.  But also because I see Granny in her.


A few weeks ago, I came across a note in Granny's handwriting.  It was tucked away in a book of hers that I had and when it fell out, I immediately recognized the writing.  It made me remember a story my mother once shared.  When I was in college, my mom stopped by my grandmother's office.  As she walked in, Granny was writing a word, then sweeping her hand across it to see if the ink got on her hand.  "What are you doing?" my mother laughingly asked.  "Oh.  I'm putting together a package for Shannon and she doesn't like it when the ink gets on her hand when she writes.  I was checking to see which pens to send her."  (As a Leftie, this is a big problem for me.  When writing papers in high school and college, my left pinkie would be smeared with ink by the time I finished a paper.)  It's a sweet memory to think about my grandmother, hours and miles away, doing something so little, so simple, so sweet.


Can you tell I miss her?

ALPHABET

1. the letters of a language in their customary order.

 

When we visited my parents for Thanksgiving, we exchanged Christmas gifts.  One lovely gift that I received and already love is book of Celtic Daily Prayer.   It's beautiful inside and out - gorgeous cover, thoughtful words, meaningful content.  Many things about it resonate with me, but one of today's readings particularly struck me.  It tells the tale of a Jewish farmer who mistakenly is stuck in his field during Sabbath.  When his rabbi admonishes him and asks whether he at least spent the time praying, the farmer says, "Rabbi, I am not a clever man.  I don't know how to pray properly.  What I did was simply to recite the alphabet all day and let God form the words for Himself."

 

This stopped me in my tracks.  I make things so complicated sometimes.  

 

 

 Why not just give God what I have and let him form the words?  

 

Why not give him my small successes (laundry, grocery shopping, home schooling and garlic cheese grits for dinner all in one day), my roller coaster of emotions (content with a quiet morning, thankful for a productive day, excited to have my daughters home, frustrated at their sniping at each other), my good, my bad and especially my ugly.  He knows what words need to be formed from the alphabet of my life, from the alphabet of my heart.

 

 

I'm trying to be intentional about Advent this year.  I figure my girls are old enough to do more than just sing Christmas Carols with me.  They can take turns reading scripture, listen to me read A Little History of the World to better understand what the world was like when Jesus was born, read Monday compline with me.  I'm lighting every candle we have, trying to make our environment beautiful and thoughtful.  I want the letters that comprise my alphabet to be ones that show my great anticipation in this season - for Christmas Eve's traditions, for Christmas morning's celebration, for Christ's return one day.

 

But here's the thing - the farmer didn't even construct words with the alphabet.  He simply offered them, as they were and trusted God would know what to do with them.  Even as I write this post, I'm trying to make my own words instead of just saying the alphabet of me over and over.  I want to be able to let God write my story instead of trying so desperately to wrestle the pen from his hand.  I want to have my alphabet on my lips and nothing more.  Nothing more. 

PUZZLE

1. a toy, problem, or other contrivance designed to amuse by presenting difficulties to be solved by ingenuity or patient effort

Not a lot of school work was done in my home last week.  Monday morning our home contained two sickly members (B and I) and one (A) who was more than happy to skip school work while B and I nursed our Sprites. But by mid-morning, B wanted something to do.  We had just returned from running errands when she and A decided to tackle a puzzle I borrowed from my mother-in-law.  It's a 600 piece global puzzle that B and I completed a few summers ago in a Milwaukee basement.  I had asked to borrow it because I thought A might enjoy this as a hands-on complement to her geography class.  She's not as keen as B on puzzles, but she does seem to be really enjoying geography, so I thought it was worth a try.

I remembered the puzzle being large, so I encouraged the girls to start with it on the dining room table.  (I figured the likelihood of us using the table to actually eat when I felt so ill was low.)  They wanted to start on the floor.  Not wanting to control their fun, I let them get started there.  A few hours later, K's return home from school prompted a move - there's nothing like trying to keep your six year old sister off the puzzle to get you to move it.  We attempted to transition it to the card table, only to find it wouldn't fit.  After a bit of moving, a bit of re-matching pieces and a bit of frustration, the workspace was the dining room table.  (I didn't even say I told you so.)


I have fond memories of completing this puzzle the first time with B.  We worked on a glass table in the cool of my in-laws' basement.  B and I are a good team for this puzzle - she's better than I at spatial concepts and I'm better than she at geography.  When I was on my silent retreat I completed a puzzle and thought of B as I sorted the pieces into colors, then worked to reconstruct the image.  That was pleasant, but I confess to enjoying this puzzle with my daughters much more.


A started by pulling out her geography folder and opening it to a map of the US.  She then scoured the 600 pieces to find the ones that compose our country.  She meticulously put these together and only after doing that was she interested in helping B and I complete the border for the puzzle (which you may notice is missing a piece). 

The puzzle wasn't done when it was time to leave for my parents' house for Thanksgiving.  I made a modest attempt to at least straighten the dining room table - putting the ocean pieces that had been sorted alphabetically back into the box - but I left it largely untouched.  And it greeted us when we returned Saturday evening.  We walked into the house uniformly tired, cranky and thankful to be home.  After eating, the girls wanted to watch TV. Since they used no electronics on the eight and a half hour drive home, I thought it was only fair to let them unwind with a show before bed.  A bit before eight, their show ended and I encouraged them to get their pajamas on.  While watched TV, I'd been working on the waters surrounding Asia.  B saw this, changed into PJs and joined me.  We sat there, working together, asking for a piece here or there, offering help and finished the puzzle that evening.  It meant a slightly later night for our girls, but it was well worth it.

Toddlerhood was a hard parenting stage for me.  But I love, love, love having daughters old enough to work together on a project, who are learning every step of the way.  I especially like working on a project that highlights an area where B is already more gifted than I.  I can find a puzzle piece, but I have to turn it every which way to get it in.  B can look for the shape of the puzzle piece and get it right the very first time.  I think it's great for my nine year old to realize that while I may have more wisdom, she will be able to do things in her life that I could never do.  Not necessarily because she's smarter than I am (although she may well be), but because she's different.

When I started writing this post, I wasn't sure whether to entitle it "MAP" or "PUZZLE," but when I found the definition of puzzle, I knew that must be it.  Because putting together a 600 piece puzzle does require patience, but it also provided hours of amusement along with insight into who this puzzling daughter of mine is.  She's smart, she's patient and she's very fun to be around.

Pointing to Tennessee on the Puzzle

 
Now that we've finished this puzzle, I just might have to search for one of the US for us to do together... or an Advent one to keep as a quiet pastime that helps us relish the quiet, the beauty, the waiting of this season.

THANKSGIVING

1. a national holiday celebrated as a day of feasting and giving thanks for divine favors or goodness, observed on the fourth Thursday of November in the U.S. and in Canada on the second Monday of October

B woke up at 5:20 this morning.  Given that we spent nearly nine hours in the van yesterday and the girls went to bed after 9:30 last night, this was not good.  J and I told her to go back to bed and try to fall asleep.  We even suggested she sing her choir songs in her head to help her find sleep again.  Instead, from the room next door, I hear B urgently whisper her older sister's name once, then twice. Knowing this was a recipe for disaster, I crawled out of bed, put on walking clothes and told B to join me for an early morning walk.


As we walked, B commented on the many things she likes about Alabama: the quiet, the way we can see the stars so clearly, hearing an actual rooster welcome the day, huge pine cones, etc.  These ideas were shared on the front end of our walk.  But the time we were heading back, she had something else to offer, "You know what I don't like about Alabama?  It's moist."  She was right.  While it was only 6 AM, it was already muggy.  Not the weather you normally associate with Thanksgiving - at least not if you don't live on the Gulf Coast.

After we'd given everyone enough time to wake up, B and I returned inside, where I found myself making cranberry apple dressing to be a part of our Thanksgiving lunch.  I had intended to make the dressing, along with my Granny's cranberry salad, before leaving Nashville.  But a stomach bug left me feeling like the least interesting part of this Thanksgiving would be the food.  I did manage to construct the dressing without feeling nauseous, but I have a feeling I'll be less focused on the food today than in year's past.


All of this has made me think about what Thanksgiving is and isn't.


It's not about crisp autumn air when it's humid and nearly 80.
It's not about turkey and fixings when plain buttered toast will do.


It is about taking a day to remember all there is to be thankful for - from big things to little ones, life's everyday graces.  Because the big things merit thankfulness, but they are often enough to get my attention anyway.  It's the small things that I take for granted, that I want to be more awake to, more aware of, more regularly thankful for.


I figure it's no coincidence that Thanksgiving immediately precedes Advent.  While it isn't technically a part of the liturgical year, if ever there was a time of year to be thankful, it's Advent.  And I love the way Thanksgiving helps prepare our hearts for the coming of this special time of year.  Thanksgiving has always been J's favorite holiday.  For the first few years of our marriage, this puzzled me.  Who could possibly like Thanksgiving more than Christmas?  Christmas with its traditions, carols, trees, decorations and parties.  Christmas with giving and receiving, eating the same food's year after year, celebrating the birth of Christ.


But I get it now.  Thanksgiving is essential to Christmas and I love both holidays.  We can't properly celebrate Advent without having a mind set on giving thanks.  This is part of the reason we do a Thanksgiving letter annually instead of a Christmas card.  (Another reason is that it's far easier for my children to complete the writing prompt, "I am thankful for..." than "During 2010, I....")

So I hope today finds you thankful for wherever you are - with friends or family, in cool climes or warm ones, feasting or fasting.  And I hope setting your heart on Thanksgiving will prepare you for all of Advent's many graces.

INDEPENDENT

1. not influenced or controlled by others in matters of opinion, conduct, etc.; thinking or acting for oneself.

I am raising such independent daughters.  In the main, I consider this a good thing.  A great thing, even.  But that's when I take the long view.  In the short term, it can be frustrating, disappointing or even a little sad.  Sometimes it's all three of these things at once.

Tuesday was K's Thanksgiving Luncheon at school.  I had RSVP'd to her teacher that I would be there, but hadn't mentioned it to K.  She was pleased to see me when she walked into the hallway and chattered away as we walked to the cafeteria.  As a treat (is this really a treat?), I let K buy her lunch.  It's the first time this school year she's purchased lunch instead of eating a lunch packed at home, so she was excited to stand in line and give her money to the cashier.  After she had her tray, there was much debating about where to sit.  She wanted to sit by P, then by M.  The tables were rather full at this point.  I asked K if she wanted to move to another table.  That wasn't a good option since she wanted to be sitting with her friends.  We finally settled down beside K's friend P and K started to eat  her turkey and dressing.  

After a few bites, K leaned over and said to me, "You can go now."
Me: "Go where, honey? Do you need me to get you something?"
K: "No, you can go sit at another table."
Me: "Don't you want me to stay with you while you eat your lunch?"
K: "Is it OK with you if you go?  I want to eat with P."
Me: "Well, OK.  But if I go, I'm not going to go sit at a table by myself.  I came to eat with you."
K: "I can sit by you next Thanksgiving, right?"
Me: "Sure you can.  Are you positive that you want me to go?"
K: "Yes. You go home."
Me: "Can I have a hug and a kiss before I go?"

After several hugs and kisses, I headed out.feeling a mixture of pride, disappointment and amusement.  I'm frankly a bit proud of K that she was willing to admit she'd rather have lunch with her friend than with me.  I was a bit disappointed that she chose the friend over me, but felt far more amusement at the situation than anything else.  It's rare that I join my children for lunch at school.  It's hard to talk over the din in the cafeteria, they enjoy their time with peers and I would rather eat my lunch at home than pack it up to eat in a cafeteria.  So as I signed up and joined K for lunch, I was thinking this was a treat for her.  Turns out that was more my impression than hers.  Which was fine.

Until my cell phone rang about ten minutes after I'd left.  Turns out K changed her mind and had been crying since I left.  Ahh, the joys of parenting, where conceding to a child's wish leaves her in tears.  Oh, well.  We can sit together next Thanksgiving, right?