365/365

Dear 2017,

Let's be honest- we had a hard start. Already reeling from tremendous loss in December, we mourned yet again in January. We didn't really recover, not exactly, but we learned to lean in hard on our Savior. We saw his grace and mercy new, time and time again, and in this crazy economy of Already, Not Yet, we kept looking forward. Here it is, the final day of the year, and yes, we find ourselves finishing the year still worshipping the One who is making all things new.

In the in-between months, we were given so much to celebrate- birthdays and graduations, anniversaries and births and announcements of a baby to come. We traveled to new places. We experienced the delight of a beignet and cafe au lait at Café du Monde in New Orleans' French Market. We took in the rainbow hues of Guanajuato homes stacked on a hillside. We oohed and aahed over the orange and golds of the Midwestern change of season.

We heard hard stories in our Reynosa neighborhood, stories of hurt and pain and loss and fear. We heard hard stories in our own families and in families of loved ones, stories of doubt and anxiety and uncertainty. We watched a hurricane come ashore just a 160 miles north of us, and experienced that strange pairing of thankfulness and grief. We followed the news of the world and of our nation, and we often shook our heads. We grieved for families we didn't even know, for tragedy that seemed senseless, for faraway places beyond our reach. And yes, sometimes we were angry- over injustice and over ignorance, over violence and over hate.

Yet even with the hard of all of that, we laughed together. We sang songs together, old and new. We shook our head at the crazy of this world, and at the reality of life that you just can't make up. We played games and watched games and were game to try new things. We know that there is adventure and joy yet to be found.

The greatest experiences yet to come will certainly be found while living another year as a Christ follower, by grace, by faith. I think my prayer on the last day of the year echoes exactly the Valley of Vision prayer for the New Year:

O LORD,
Length of days does not profit me except the days are passed
in thy presence, in thy service, to thy glory.
Give me a grace that precedes, follows, guides, sustains,
sanctifies, aids every hour,
that I may not be one moment apart from thee,
but may rely on thy Spirit
to supply every thought,
speak in every word,
direct every step,
prosper every work,
build up every mote of faith,
and give me a desire
to show forth thy praise,
testify thy love,
advance thy kingdom.

I launch my bark on the unknown waters of this year,
with thee, O Father, as my harbor,
thee, O Son, at my helm,
thee, O Holy Spirit, filling my sails.

Guide me to heaven with my loins girt,
my lamp burning,
my ear open to thy calls,
my heart full of love,
my soul free.

Give me thy grace to sanctify me,
thy comforts to cheer,
thy wisdom to teach,
thy right hand to guide,
thy counsel to instruct,
thy law to judge,
thy presence to stabilize.
May thy fear be my awe,
thy triumphs my joy.

Thank you and good-bye, 2017. And welcome 2018. We are eager to know you.

358/365

We had two days of almost too much, too much good food, too much good company, too much sweet fellowship if such a thing were possible.

We meet my aunt and are surprised by my cousin and my kids hear exactly all the same biases from him that I have uttered for years. We laugh out loud! I might have even said, "Go Aggies!" (but for one day only, says this Lobo fan!)

We surprise the couple who loved me as their own when I was a college student and ever since. Surprises are the best! George gathers us to pray before leaving. We circle up and hold hands and I listen to that so familiar voice and my heart swells with gratitude.

We sit with friends 30 years long and catch up on today while our kids play games together. Sometimes when you are growing up you think about how great it will be when your kids are friends with your best friend's kids. Amazingly, I've known that wonder a couple of times. When it really happens, that's like whip cream and a cherry on top.

We worship in the church where we married 27 plus years ago. Yes, new faces and a beautiful new (to us) pipe organ. But a few familiar faces show themselves too, and we sing Christmas hymns on Christmas eve and see the same distracting view of blue skies and the mountains to the east, besides.

We stuff, STUFF, ourselves when welcomed like kin to the family-owned favorite burger join on the east side of the mountains. The food keeps coming and we just keep eating. We couldn't have been shown more generous hospitality. I can't eat one bite more.

Except then it was Christmas eve dinner, and I do. All the traditional New Mexican fare, and who wouldn't try one of everything? We go for a walk around the neighborhood looking at lights, searching for the traditional luminarias. Electricity is no substitute for folded paper bags with sand and a candle. But still, it is good.

Finally, we end Christmas eve with the one constant. No matter where we are, no matter who we are with, Christmas eve ends with new pajamas. We finish the day with exactly enough.

357/365

(DPP23- "How did you become the woman with 86 Christmas bears?!")

It started as an innocent purchase in 1993 to celebrate the birth of a granddaughter coming to town for Christmas. You've seen them, probably, those of you who shop at K-Mart. They sit there on the shelves waiting for you every year. Most of us see them and say something like, "Oh how CUTE!" But then we keep walking.

No, not this GrandT. She saw the Mama Bear and Papa Bear and Baby Bear in coordinating Christmas hats and scarves, each with the date embroidered on the foot. She said something like "Oh how CUTE!" And then she put them, all three, in her cart.

And the next year, it happened again. And the following year. And it was if K-Mart started noticing that she would buy- and some years they might have two baby bears. Or an aunt and uncle bear. Not one to miss an opportunity, she would bring those bears home, too.

Fast forward to 2017. 24 years later. No one is really sure how many make up the Christmas bear population. The guesses number somewhere between 72 to 86. At any rate, it's more than can be displayed in the house. A few bears stayed in hibernation in their red and green plastic storage box caves this year.

The good news is that although the Christmas bear population has grown, so has the number of grandchildren. It is well known that at some point, probably not anytime soon, the bears will be relocated among 8 grandchildren. No bear family will be separated.

But as a warning to those of you who might be tempted by such a thing- perhaps you should keep walking!

356/365

(DPP22- what?! TWO light shows in ONE season?!)

"You are NEVER going to guess what I did this morning," I announced to my family at lunch.

"Got a tattoo."
No. I have nothing against tattoos on other people, but have no desire to ink myself.

"Got a massage."
No. I have never had a massage. Well, I did have a touch massage last year, given by a kind lady visiting the mission, but it didn't really seem like much to me. I came close getting a massage at the beach last summer, but I'm not ready yet...

"Got another piercing."
No. Although that is not a bad guess because the last and only "another piercing" I received was a second hole on my left ear about 25 years ago, and I was with the same friend...

They got close when they guessed "paintball," but not quite.

"I went to the shooting range."

"YOU shot a gun?!"
"Mom is packing heat?!"
"Whoa." (followed by some laughing as they considered it all...)

It sounds a bit ridiculous to me, too.
Sort of like tattoos, I have nothing against reasonable people going to the range to shoot guns, but I have not had any desire to do it myself.
But, one of my most dear friends in the world is shooting these days. And the range was right up the street from the hotel where I was staying.
So, on a Friday morning just before Christmas, I visited the shooting range.

I'd like to throw around the names of the firearms I shot, all 9mm, but I don't really remember. I got registered and the really professional young lady behind the counter gave me some safety instruction and got my ear protection (I was already wearing my glasses) and then, I'm stepping into the range.
It was loud.
I realized instantly, I know what gunfire sounds like. And when you know the sound of shots, not from hunting, not from hypothetical-at-the-range-firing, but from real life, maybe it changes your perspective about guns.

I did ok at the range. Not great, but ok. I got better as we went along. We shot at a paper outline of a guy, and if had been real life, I probably would have scared him, maybe wounded him.
But here's what I realized- I am not confident that I could ever shoot to kill.
I'm not saying that other people shouldn't. I, too, hear stories about mass shooters and am grateful when someone takes them down and saves other lives in doing so.
But I don't think that I'm the girl cut out for concealed carry. Or any carry. I have always figured that the problem with having a firearm is that I might try to use it. My morning at the range reminded me, for plenty of reasons, I'm not the girl to use it.

(And for the record- none of this should be considered a comment on gun rights or gun control or any of that. It's just a few thoughts about myself after I spent a morning at the range.)

355/365

(DPP21- maybe a non-traditional Christmas?)

Sometimes Christmas gets complicated.
This year I put up a teeny tiny little tree, really- it can't be more than 12 inches tall, with a thin string of lights and little bulb ornaments, at my Mexico house. I hung some lights from my front curtain rods, but you know, I might just leave them there even once the season is over.

My ever diligent daughters put up our regular fake tree at our Texas house. They argued for a real pine. Maybe next year. This year white bulbs won the right to light up the branches. The girls hang up an assortment of ornaments, but the truth is, we have more ornaments than tree, and a good many remain in the red and green storage box. For several years, when we pull out the crate, I think, "I should sort through those...," and every year, when we go to put them away, I think, "Maybe next year..."

This year we are making the pilgrimage back to my hometown, to Albuquerque, for Christmas. But life isn't simple there, either. We'll spend time in several houses, and spend time here and there, among beautiful decorations, honoring old traditions and sharing time with family and old friends, but with new faces, in new places, too.

The consistent?
We celebrate not what the decorations look like, not where we are, not even who we happen to be with this season.
We celebrate the arrival of the coming King.

In the devotional I am reading this season, I am reminded and encouraged that, 

Regardless of whether or not this season leaves you feeling grieved or joyful, barren or expectant, Christ’s birth intersects our circumstances with a steady, unwavering hope. May the belief in His spoken promises light our path. May our souls praise the greatness of the Lord, and may our spirits rejoice in God our Savior (Luke 1:39). Amen.

That is all I need at Christmas.

354/365

(DPP20- O fair New Mexico, we love, we love you so...)

So, just to be clear, I basically am eating my way through New Mexico.
First stop, Clovis, New Mexico, at the Java Junction for a latte. We figured that the money was better spent on coffee than the Rock and Roll Museum. I only second-guessed myself for a moment.

We had our first green chile cheeseburger in Moriarity, not even waiting to get to Albuquerque. And green chile enchiladas followed that same evening. With sopapillas, of course. Only a New Mexico can appreciate the delicacy of a fresh sopapilla dripping with honey alongside your chicken enchiladas drenched in green chile sauce.

The days since have included green chile stew, pizza with green chile, posole, green chile chicken noodle soup, tamales, tres leches cake, another green chile cheeseburger, more green chile stew, more posole, biscochitos, and fresh tortillas. It started slow but eventually I fell completely off the Healthy Living wagon.

Dare I say, totally worth it. I've lived a lot of places, and I'll wager New Mexican food against any cuisine in the world.
O fair New Mexico, I'll miss, I'll miss you so...

353/365

(DPP19- West Texas! You put on a great sunset show.)

When I was growing up, I could look across Albuquerque, over the city from the Sandia foothills to the West Mesa and beyond, sometimes all the way to the Mt. Taylor stratovolcano nearly 100 miles west. I'd watch the sky change from blue to bright and brilliant orange and red and yellow to dark purple and black and dream about driving into a sunset that would never end.

On this day, we drove west, west, west across Texas back to New Mexico. And indeed the setting of the sun seemed to last about an hour, changing from spectacular to glorious to fading splendor. The glow fell from the sky to the horizon and below, lighting the skies and creating a glimmering mirage across the roadway. Every turn brought a new view, almost as if we were racing to keep up. Maybe in my imagination, I was. Finally the skyline turned dark, and between low lying fog curtains, I could look up to the sky and the lights of the stars were shining bright, sparkling brilliant without the competition of city glare to interfere.

That drive was as close to the dream as I think I'll ever get.

352/365

(DPP18- 20something years of the annual ornament exchange and a sweet Mexican angel from an even more sweet friend!)

Only two items remain on the list as I drive up to the drug store. I'm hoping that they will have what I need- a quick in and out visit. I pull into the parking lot and slide into the space. And as I open my door, I notice the man sitting on the curb two spaces down.

"Do you have any money?," he asks me as I walk by to the store doors.
"I'm sorry, I have no cash," I tell him honestly.
"Oh that's ok, Mama. God bless you."
"Thank you," I tell him. "And you too."

(just for reference, "Mama" is something of a term of endearment where I live. Even little girls are frequently called "mama" or "mamita." It's really a sweet thing most of the time. And so, I wasn't offended at all.)

I enter the store and sure enough, the one thing I need is in stock, right where it should be. But, the man out front remains on my mind and on my heart. I approach the check out counter, but then turn into the food aisle.

What do you buy a homeless guy to eat from the drug store selection?
Who knows what soda he would prefer? Caffeine or no caffeine? Coke or Sprite or...? No, water.
Something with protein. But maybe jerky is too hard to chew. What kind of nuts? There are none of those little tuna & cracker packages. I'll go with trail mix. With chocolate. Because who doesn't want chocolate?
And something sweet. Cookies? But what kind? Oreos? Chocolate chip? Lorna Doones? A candy bar? I finally settle on powdered sugar donuts, because everyone likes a little tube of powdered sugar donuts, right?

I pay for my purchases, and put them in two different sacks. I walk out the doors. There's a fair amount of traffic and people are coming both in and out. Everyone is ignoring the guy on the curb. In fact, as I walk out, I see a car leaving from the very spot in front of the man, as if he is invisible, as if he doesn't even exist.

He gives me a wave, but I stop in front of him and hold out the bag.
"Here are just a few things for you," I tell him.
"Oh Mama! Thank you!," he says as he receives the sack.
"What's your name?," I ask, as I hold out my hand.
He tells me his name and I introduce myself too.
"How long have you been here? What brought you to the Valley?"
He explains that he is from our area, and has family here even now. He was recently released from 21 years in prison, and is still looking for work, for a place to live. I figure that he has probably burned some bridges along the way.
"Will you spend tonight at the shelter?," I ask him as I point up the street.
"Aw no, Mama," he answers. "That guy, he gets in my face. But hey! It's a great night to be outside."
I laugh, because I imagine that he's not much of a rule follower and because really, it is a pretty nice night.
"Ok then, God bless you."

I get into my car, and I drive away. I spend a few miles remembering other people I've known who have spent time on the street. I think about the life that led to this guy passing another night on the curb, thinking about all those who will ignore that he even exists tonight, thinking about circumstance and choices and mercy and grace.
I arrive home, and walk inside, continuing on with the busyness of the day, and quickly, I, too, forget.

I hope you find family and joy and hope today, Abel.

351/365

(DPP17- even better than the Best Christmas Pageant Ever.)

They had been practicing for a good while, our boys, strumming their chords and keeping the time in steady rhythm. A couple of weeks before, we started singing alongside of their music, and then that week, we brought in the keyboard and the cello that would accompany them on Sunday morning. They were ready.

But still, we never know exactly who will show up or what will happen on any given day with these guys. We set the meeting time for Sunday morning and hoped for the best. And when we pulled our big van out of the gate, we could see the boys, sitting on top of a neighbors car, ready to go.

Well, most of the boys. Two brothers and another boy were missing, but another friend had joined us. They looked good this morning, dressed in performance attire, black pants and a black shirt, black shoes. One decided on his bright red sneakers rather than black, because it is Christmas, after all. We gathered the guitars from inside the community center and loaded up.

Before we rounded the corner to look for one of the absent, he came, walking with his mom and older brother and little sister. They were all coming. We greeted one another with smiles. And the van got a little bit more full. We were 10 now. The boys strummed their guitars along the way and sang a few of the lyrics they knew. Most of these boys participate in the tutoring program. They read the signs along the way out loud, practicing their new skills.

We arrive at the church, early for practice, and they willingly help with extra chairs and carrying in food for ladies with hands too full to open the door. They are decked with fleece scarves to spruce up their black. Everyone is ready. But there is time to spare. Time to wait. They wander down the street for tacos. We hope that they come back in time...

The service begins, and the boys fill the row in front of us. I feel a tap on my shoulder and one of the missing has appeared. He greets us with a grin and slides in next to the boys, sharing chairs. They participate in the up and down, the liturgy of worship, the reading of the Word, the singing of the songs. We separate them to individual seats before the sermon begins.

And then, finally, it is time for the program.

One of my favorite Christmas stories, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, tells the story of year when the six delinquent Herdman siblings participate in the small town Sunday school Christmas play. In the story, the kids rock the traditional production with their unexpected behavior and reaction to the miracle of the Christmas story.
"And lo, an angel came upon them...," reads the narrator.
"SHAZAAAMMMM!," exclaims Gladys Herdman.
I wondered what might proceed when our boys joined the shepherds and kings...

The program was amazing. The set looked great. The littlest kids sang their hearts out. The older youth performed their lines with enthusiasm and sincerity. And when the play came to its climax, our musicians entered the stage and took their seats and readied to play. The angel and Mary and Joseph took center stage. The shepherds entered, and their was our guy, covered with a robe and headdress. The kings took stage left, and there was another one of our boys, with a royal turban and holding out a shiny package with a grin.

At the end of The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, Barbara Robinson wrote,
"It suddenly occurred to me that this was just the way it must have been for the real Holy Family, stuck away in a barn by people who didn’t much care what happened to them. They couldn’t have been very neat and tidy either, but more like this Mary and Joseph.”
Probably not too many of those in the congregation knows much about those extra boys playing guitar and donning costumes. But we do. We know that they come from a place where few care much about what happens to them. They aren't often considered neat and tidy.

Among all the miracles of Christmas, isn't one the unexplainable wonder that this baby Jesus came, in ordinary flesh, to a very ordinary place, for incredibly ordinary people like us? He makes no requirements that we act well, because he offers enormous grace in the forgiveness of sin. He makes  
no demands that we bring anything before him, except faith in him. His love reaches to the heavens and he offers the promise of eternity for those who believe. 
"SHAZAAAMMMM!," we should all exclaim!

350/365

(DPP16- Annual Cookie Exchange: I think Mary Berry would give us a star.)

I thought I might miss it this year. I had put the date on the calendar a month ahead of time. But then the day changed, and I wasn't sure if I could make it.

Miss the Annual Cookie Exchange?

Call me a Church Lady; I don't care a bit. I am all in for the Annual Cookie Exchange hosted by the ladies at my church. I will happily fit every stereotype in the book. I sort through my recipes to decide this year's offering. Inevitably, I have to visit the baking aisle again to restock the supplies. Yes, I even wear an apron while cooking.

This year's contribution came in a plate of Cherry Chocolate Shortbread cookies. I made a log of buttery dough, marbled with maraschino cherries and dark chocolate chips. They looked good. They tasted good! Yep, I'll say it- I even impressed myself.

Everyone brings a plate of cookies and we line up to get a taste of the assortment. I refrained from trying every single type. Barely. I mean, some treats waited for the taking! The Holliday girls brought Citrus Butter Cookies and Marshmallow Wreaths and Cocoa Mocha Crinkles dusted with powdered sugar. There were layered bars and pecan bars and chocolate chips and sugar cookies and Mexican wedding cookies and, well, simply LOTS of cookies. Let's say, hypothetically, you were limiting your sweets intake to one day a week... THIS is the day to partake.

But as good as those cookies are, just as sweet is sitting around the table with my friends and catching up on life and letting the busyness of the world pass by for a short time on a December Saturday afternoon. I remember my grandma spending days baking cookies before Christmas time. She would stack the containers in her shower stall, and then make plates for friends and family. I don't know how the Christmas cookie tradition started, but I am glad that it continues even now.

349/365

(DPP15- Lots of smiles at the Instituto Isaias 55 Christmas Program today!)

The kids file in and begin filling the front row seats, littlest to big. One look shows the varying degrees of anticipation and excitement and anxiety on their faces. The older students might display a hint of "another year of the Christmas program?" boredom. The youngest of the bunch cries and sits in his mama's lap. She tries to take him up to the front to join the other kids, but he's having nothing of it. The rest of the crowd laughs, probably because we all have one kid who put us in exactly the same situation.

We start with the youngest who dance and could never ever have a bad performance simply because they are that cute. The middle grades own the floor with the mime performance and dancing. The older kids fill the most space and know the steps the best of all. This year the adult sign language class joins the fun and "sings" a Christmas carol too. Every performance ends with the hands raised and waving, a rowdy deaf applause.

The room is packed to the gills, full of students and staff and parents and friends and even the city mayor. Maybe we don't think about deaf kids dancing and performing. Yes, they do! After all the certificates and awards and recognitions have been made, we feast on a Mexican banquete-  traditional tamales and every kind of contributions from families. Little kids run around with lips stained green and red from cupcake frosting. Isn't the last day before vacation a great day?

348/365

DPP14-

(with prior planning, you might just get your guy to take you to the Festival of Lights.)

I love a parade. I love a drive to nowhere. I love stopping to take a picture. I love Christmas lights. My guy- not so much any of these things.

Every year, the little town right next to the border puts on a big light display- the Hidalgo Festival of Lights. It cannot be compared to any other display that I've ever seen. "5 million lights, 500 displays!," they boast. Every year, they announce a new theme, but in addition to the new display, they bring back all the old ones, so it turns into an eclectic mix of anything and everything, all lit up Christmas.

This year, it is an "Intergalactic Christmas" in homage to the new Star Wars film. And as such, there was a display with nearly life-sized Hans and Chewie and Luke and Leia and R2D2 and C3PO and Darth Vader and Darth Maul all singing Christmas carols in a show of intergalactic peace, next to lit up x-wing fighters and ti-fighters and rovers. Across the street are the Toy Story characters. Down the road you'll see minions and Angry Birds and the Justice League superheroes with a Hidalgo police office figure. There are the 12 Days of Christmas. There is the Butterfly Garden. There are dinosaurs and skateboarding elves. There are the symbols of Texas, a huge armadillo and a boot and a yellow rose, all lit up. There's town mascot, the World's Largest Killer Bee, lit up right there in front of the town hall. There are Christmas trees and candy canes and presents. There are even a couple of nativity scenes along the way.

But of course, as my guy reminds me with a groan, there is also traffic. And people. People who cut off the flow and cut into the line. There is the inevitable figuring out where exactly to get in the queue. There is the slowing down and the people who shine their brights into your rear view mirror the entire way. (um... that was me one year. I am sorry. It really was a mistake...) The first time I mentioned visiting the lights this year, I'm pretty sure he ignored me. The second time, on our way back to Mexico one evening, when I asked, "How 'bout driving through the lights tonight?," I received a flat-out, end of conversation, "No." But the third time, the third time, that was the charm.

We didn't actually drive the entire 9 mile route in and around the town this year. We visited on a weekday at 6:30, before the crowds, before the traffic, swelled. We parked and walked just a few blocks and around the square. We sat on bleachers in a crowd of Winter Texans and listened to a boys' choir from San Luis Potosí sing Mexican villancicos. And it was all good. We made it home without one single conflict! I love Christmas lights. And I love my guy.

347/365

DPP13-

(A player in the making.)

These boys.
We were in the garage, practicing Christmas carols for Sunday worship, when we found out about the mini-soccer tournament. That is, the mini-soccer tournament that would be start at 3 this same afternoon.

One of the boys brings in formidable, but definitely used, trophy and gives us the task of shining it up. A few minutes later, Mario shows it to Tim.
"Do you think we can make it look nicer," he asks?
"No problem," Tim answers, "When do you need it?" (clearly thinking that it would be by the weekend...)
"An hour and a half," Mario replies.
We all laugh out loud.
The guys go to the kitchen and start washing the trophy.

At three, we walk over to the field, ready for a tournament. We see our neighborhood boys, from ages 8 to 18, gathered to play. We wait on the other team to arrive. About 20 minutes later, they pull up and pour out of a van. About 10 minutes later, the ref arrives, and shakes the hand of everyone gathered to watch. I think that might be good policy, for a ref to start off friendly with the crowd. About 10 minutes later, the boys line up and finally, about 40 minutes after we expected, the game begins.

Clearly, the other team has older players. Most of them have uniforms and even shin guards. And they probably have practiced on the big field more often than our team has- which would be rarely, if ever. Our guys play together frequently, but in the side-yard mini-field of our community center, always against each other. Half a dozen of our little spaces could fit on each side of today's field. Our youngest boys, yet too young to join the team, have no respect for the game going on the field. They use the same field for their own amusement, hustling off when the action gets too close or when the crowd chastises enough them to move away.

At half time, our guys are only down 0-1. The younger boys start running up and down the bleachers, having lost interest in the game.  During the brief break, two more of our older boys show, and things start to look up. But a few defensive lapses and just a plain good shot falling at just the right angle into the top of the goal leave the final score at 0-3. Our guys come off the field.

Supposedly that was when the next team would take the field. But the next team never shows. So after a few minutes, the same two teams take the field and do it all over again. This time, our team scores and we gringo fans holler loudly in support, much to the amusement of the other team's fans. Even with the goal, our team loses again.

But then, out come the trophies! (though not our polished up contribution...; what happened to that one, we're not really sure...) Our boys gather around and mug for the camera phones and everyone takes a turn holding on to the shiny Cup, on the field and all that way back down the street home. The rest of us laugh and shake our heads and smile at them smiling.

These boys! Oh how we love these boys.

346/365

DPP12-

(I heard today that bougainvilleas bloom brightest when under stress. I want to remember that...)

I have been known to say to my children, "life is not a crisis." Well, at least it shouldn't be.

As we go through the days, even from hour to hour, sometimes it does seem as the challenges outnumber the victories. I agree that it can be easy, if not just terribly tempting, to be overwhelmed by the "what if's." Certainly, there is not a one of us, least of all me, that has a perfect record in staying calm, in finding logic, in simply doing the next thing well, moment after moment, day after day.

When I heard that the bougainvillea blooms brightest when under stress, I started to think. Is this true? I looked it up. And sure enough, in several places I found, verbatim, "Bougainvilleas do best under stress." They prefer heat. They tolerate drought and do fine without water for extended periods of time. They grow best in a container, where the plant can become root bound. Really, all those qualities defy good growing rules. And yet, look at the bright blooms!

If forced to live in the plant world, I'd choose to be the bougainvillea. I want to flower in the most surprising conditions.

345/365

DPP11-

(All was calm, all was bright.)

... by the end of the day.

If you stopped by a bit earlier, "all is calm" probably would not have come to mind.

There was the scrambling for teams for soccer. And the actually scrambling during soccer. (Thankfully, the boys were kind to the middle-aged lady playing in street shoes.)

There was the inevitable scuffle in the street before we opened the gate. There was the dividing up groups and there were the few who were kicked out for Unnecessary Roughness.

There were the multiple boys who traded in their lotería cards mid-game because they weren't winning. (I feel you, boys. I know. I know.) They still didn't win.

There was the sweet girl who really looked like she was going to toss her cookies, before she ever ate a cookie. She almost, but never, did, get sick (I know. I took her to the bathroom.). And still, she refused to leave, still trying to participate.

There was the jockeying for tamales, the trading of juice jugs, the grab for cupcakes.

There was the absence of some we hope will come, and the surprise of others we don't expect.

There were the hard realities of life in a hard place today. Hard stories. The things that make us shake our heads and say, "Come Lord Jesus."

And still, at the end of the day, the tree glowed beautiful, and still, there was the hope of not only of the baby born long ago, but also the Risen King.

All is calm. All is bright.

344/365

DPP10-

(a spot for afternoon tea)

After worship and a Treat of a Lunch, today was
perched on the couch,
reading,
pre-Olympics,
bright sunlight,
hot tea,
finally tackling the procrastination of weeks,
smoking up the house to roast squash,
and very good butternut curry soup.

and it was good.

343/365

DPP9-

(Today the sun came out and the ornaments were shining in its glow.)

I spent the morning playing with little friends. These three almost mirror the distance between my own first three, and they make me smile for just that reason, even besides the fact that they are also just that cute. I remember almost palpably what deployment is like, especially in this season, how long the days are, how days are giving and giving and giving of yourself. The chance for a couple of hours away seemed priceless at times.

Sometimes I hear about a mom who has multiple kids close together and I think,
Wow! That's a lot.
And then I laugh at myself. Yes, it is a lot!

That's a lot of messes.
That's a lot of personality.
That's a lot of conversation.
That's a lot of listening.
That's a lot of laundry.
That's a lot of dishes.
That's a lot of preferences to remember.
That's a lot of activity.

That's a lot of laughing.
That's a lot of joy.
That's a lot of patience.
That's a lot of grace.
That's a lot of mercy.
That's a lot of beauty.
That's a lot of gifts.
That's a lot of sweet.

In our house we, only half-jokingly, call a certain period of time, say 1999-2004 or so, as the Forgotten Years. Oh the fullness of it all, caring for the 5 born in 5 years, a dad away more than home, extended family far away. But oh the fullness of His grace to us, always providing, always with us, always near.
That's a lot of blessing.
That's a lot of peace.

341/365

DPP7-

(Who knew that when we finally got this guy groomed, it would be the coldest day of the year? Sorry Dillon, but hey- at least ya got your pants on!)

The day starts with salt instead of sugar in the oatmeal- really, no joking. As far as disappointments go, that ranks pretty high. There's not much recovering from that sort of accident. I keep trying to make arrangements for my day back at the other home, but nothing seems to come together. And the day continues to become wetter and darker and colder as each hour passes.

Some days might best be described as Roller Coaster Days, highs and lows from one turn to the next. The frustrating turns happy at the next errand on the list. For who doesn't smile when busting a newly coiffed dog out of the groomers? He captures the attention of the girls working the registers and the little kids waiting on their moms. He's a people-person, that dog, much more so than his two chaperones.

Then comes the slow couple of hours holding and feeding a baby, holding and sipping a warm cup of coffee, holding and exchanging words with those whom time always passes too quickly. We ponder this and that and laugh out loud, at ourselves and each other, which is the very best kind of time spent, I think. Wouldn't be wonderful to leave every stop with your heart full?

But then, there comes the hurry to stop on the last errand before grabbing dinner to support a local fundraiser, all in time to make the 6pm cheap movie. Everything looks to be falling into place- until the car battery dies, one hopeful turnover that doesn't quite catch, and then, nothing. Our first rescuer doesn't quite succeed, though not for lack of trying. Thankfully, the best place to be stranded with a dead battery in need of replacement is the Sam's Club parking lot. The automotive guys play hero for us, one guy even pulling up his own car to jump start us on this cold, windy, and wet evening. We move the car to the garage bays and they provide a new battery in a matter of minutes. We finish the transaction and sit in the car for a few minutes, heater blasting, just to warm up.

We miss the start of the movie by then. After stopping by the fundraiser to buy dinner, we head home. We are content to be on the couch with a movie there, thankful to be out of the weather, grateful to pull back into shelter after this up and down roller coaster kind of day.

340/365

DPP 6-

(my little Christmas tree)

"Now Christmas is built on the beautiful and intentional paradox; that the birth of the homeless should be celebrated in every home."
GK Chesterton

339/365

DPP5-

(today's art probably should be called crafts)

Our last art class of the year. I don't believe in magic, not in the mysterious supernatural sense of the word. But no doubt, art class has been a special place this year. For a few minutes, for a couple of times a week, our kids become creators.

On this night, we ushered in three groups. I knew that the project might go quickly. But our first table-full, girls only, worked deliberately and made every minute last. The second group, the older boys, wrestled their way in the door. I rarely think that they are going to enjoy the project ahead of them. And yet, evening after evening, they surprise us. They settle in and do the project, usually with their own unique style and twist. Yeah, sure, some of them humor us, but we see others really striving to do good work. None of those guys want to take their work home, but they sure scramble to see it hung up in the room.

The last group, the little boys, they are a work themselves. They have a lot to say. (understatement!) We wait for them to stop talking. No one wants to sit next to one kid, with good reason- he's known to lash out, very unpredictably. Tonight he doesn't get his own pair of scissors. We shuffle seats around and create spaces. The little boys, they don't listen to instructions much. They are do-ers. They do. Their trees might be called... abstract.

Over the last year, we've made collages and self-portraits. We've drawn all kinds of animals and buildings and scenes in nature. We've drawn with crayons and pencils and markers and painted with acrylics and tempera and watercolors. We have used white paper and colored paper and newspaper and magazines. We've done a LOT of projects. Without hesitation, I know that we would all say that we are still learning how to do this time well. We are still learning, period. And although we have had ups and downs with these kids this year, days when we are excited to come back and days when we almost crawl home, all of us want to keep on.
(maybe without hot glue...)
(maybe without glue sticks...)
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