The Christmas Post...

My Christmas cards went out this week, and although I still have some to pass out at church, most of them included this little blurb...okay, it's lengthy, but I usually am. Here is the Annual Christmas "Letter" from The Cooley Family:

I genuinely love Christmas cards. I love the fact that someone invested the time into writing to my family, into making us part of their family, with something as simple as a card. There’s such beauty in the written word, isn’t there? I love knowing what’s going on in your corner of the world, beyond Facebook and Instagram!  It’s crazy when I think of how social media has impacted how our world “communicates,” and the lost art of using more than 140 characters…

Christmas cards are probably so exciting to me because my parents are retired postal workers. In fact, every time I walk into a post office, the smell of paper and ink makes me smile. Taking my son to the post office to drop off packages is so fun to me; I think I was just about his age when my mom started working for the postal service, and I have so many fond memories of her office. It’s sweet to see his little face when the packages disappear into the “magic box,” and when we walk past the LLVs (mail trucks—“PawPaw drove that!”).  My earliest memories in life were from when I was around 2-3, so as Jericho approaches 4, I wonder what things we do that will leave those indelible impressions in his little brain?

I never realized how much parenthood effects the littlest moments. He repeats things (often to my chagrin); he remembers things (“Mommy, you like shopping!”); he replicates things that we didn’t know he noticed; and basically, he grows up and makes these memories from his unique perspective of how we live. There’s a lot of pressure to not mess up this amazing tiny human being with our own faults…and there is an increased reliance on the grace of God to undo the bad and to emphasize the good, in how we raise our son.

Watching Jericho transition from 3-to-almost-4, has been wild. I don’t think anything could have prepared us for experiencing this stage of parenthood. He’s such a PERSON! He’s opinionated, hilarious, expressive, messy, loving, ornery; he’s the magnification of so many wonderful things that I see in David and even in myself. And, he’s likewise the magnification of so many ornery things I see in David….(see what I did there?  Bahahahahaha!)…Okay, AND in myself. My son is every bit as stubborn as his father and as persistent as his mother…and maybe a little more.

I hope that the memories we make for him are as wonderful to him as they are to us…

Major changes for David and I are….Well, NOTHING, and for those of you that know me, THAT’S AWESOME. In January, my cancer cells decided to do this gnarly cloaking-thing, and be non-reactive to the traditional body scan they do for thyroid cancer, so I had to do THAT test, and then the PET scan, which cost a small fortune. The results showed the cells were still there, but had decreased, so in July they decided to start with an ultrasound. That test showed no activity, and we’ll repeat that at the end of this month.  It looks like, for the first time since 2012, I’m about to escape 2016 surgery-free, which is AMAZING.

I continue to be employed by the University of Missouri-St. Louis College of Optometry, as the Credentialing and Compliance Specialist. My position expanded last year to include more responsibilities in coordinating the Mobile Eye Van services to underserved public schools in our community, and I have to say that’s my favorite part of my job. It’s amazing, how many children go through school and are told that they’re learning-disabled, when they’ve never had an eye exam! I also had the opportunity to do some guest-editing for a friend’s series of children’s books, which is a dream come true (look for I Can Color a Prayer by Sarah Hanks on Amazon. There are 3 books in the series, & a 4^th on the way).

David is employed by Met-Life as a Dispatch Specialist and really likes what he does in coordinating services. He has opportunities with this company that he is excited to take advantage of, and I’m excited to see him pursue new adventures. He purchased a new-to-him truck this year, and he really loves it; I’m sure our family loves the fact that we no longer have to borrow a truck every other month or so. J

And as for Jericho, well, every day is a new adventure for him. He is excelling at academic things, but struggles a bit with his fine motor skills, so we have goals to work toward. Earlier this month, he went on his biggest adventure of all when we went on a family vacation on the Carnival Fantasy. He would LOVE to tell you all about his experiences on the “party boat” and how he met Santa on his trip! Or, he can tell you aaaalllllll about the “chicken nugget fries” that he ate EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  Sigh.

Anyways, after 6 years of not taking a vacation (and no, medical leave does NOT count as a vacation!), we decided that if the price was right, we would take a much-needed break. We explored as a family, and made some amazing memories.

I think that’s really what it’s all about—the memories. Facebook and Instagram puts a lot of pressure on society to present these images of a life that’s altered, filtered, and condensed into something palatable, but that’s not what our memories are made of. Our memories are made of the messes, not of the finished product…the paint on the floor, not the canvas on the wall. There is a tendency to be stand-offish, and not to get involved in the mess of intimacy with each other.

I love the mess (just look at my house). I love to know that my husband and my son, and our extended families, are all parts of actively creating memories with each other. Sure, there are a lot of funny pictures, but behind those pictures is a nucleus of people who ferociously love one another, and who are grounded on the amazing foundation of Jesus, Who gives us memories to celebrate, and Hope for a future with Him. He makes the messes into a perfect tapestry of testimony, and I can’t wait to see the Ultimate Finished Picture.

I’m sure that when Mary and Joseph went on their mess of a journey to Bethlehem, they were not prepared for what the Ultimate Finished Picture would look like. Every time I reflect on Mary’s trip as a young, heavily pregnant mother who had to give birth in a disgusting stable, I cannot help but think of the mess of it all, and what she must have been thinking. I wish the Bible gave more insight into her personality, because I’d like to think she was a normal human being. She was highly favored by God, and devoted to His Will…but she was a human being, about to give birth and making a really uncomfortable journey on a DONKEY that ended IN A BARN. That’s messy.

But it was God’s Will.

He makes messes into amazing things.

I am a mess. We all are—in spite of our lives on social media, we’re all a hot mess that only Jesus can untangle. I like being part of your mess, and I like knowing about your mess. I love watching how God makes our messes into amazing things together.  

This Christmas, let’s thank Jesus for the memories and the mess. Let’s thank Him for the Hope for our Future. Let’s thank Him for the journey, blisters and all.

Let’s thank Him for the messy birth in a messy stable, and for the messy Cross…

Let’s thank Him for the Holy Resurrection…for the fact that in Heaven, because of His messy Sacrifice, there are No More Messes…

I am grateful for Christmas…I am grateful for our lives, for our memories, and for the opportunity to celebrate one more Christmas together.

Merry, Messy Christmas to You and to Your Family, from my Hot Mess of a Family. J We love you!!!

"Storyteller...."

I am a born storyteller.
I don't say that in an arrogant way; it's just part of who I am, and how I live. I'm from such a colorful family that I think I came into being a storyteller in the most organic way possible. We're just a fun, crazy, vibrant bunch of people that live in superlatives. I can't tell you about anyone in my family in a simple, short way. We're all too complex...but then again, isn't everyone?
I married another bright, colorful, emphatic person (although people don't always see that in David, trust me when I say that he's funnier than all of us. You just have to wait a little bit...) from a hilarious family. We're all as they say, the "salt of the earth." We're honest (to a fault), ornery, ferociously loyal, and just...well, we're just US. You can't survive in that kind of family without learning to relay your experiences to others (if anything, just for the moral support, LOL!), and in doing so, you have to learn to fully describe/justify/embrace the crazy, so you become (in the best of ways) a STORYTELLER.

I love songs that talk about the stories of our lives. I fell in love with a song called "Happily Ever After" by He Is We a few years ago; the lyrics caught in my head, and I find myself humming them in various moments:

"We all have a story to tell. Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?"

Everyone has a story to tell...and sometimes, all we want to know is the final answer.  Do we end up happy?

That's the greatest thing about knowing Jesus: Yes. Yes, we end up happy, and we end up happier than anything we could have ever realized on this earth. That's the assurance we have, and I've had to embrace that assurance just to keep breathing, more times than I could tell. No matter how this life ends, we have that hope, and I can tell you, it is more than a figment of my imagination. Heaven is real; Jesus is real, and His salvation is tangible. I've felt Him embrace the most broken of hearts...I have no doubts in His existence, and I have no doubts in what His love can do for your life (end mini-sermon :))

Someone posted on Facebook today, and asked what the greatest thing we've learned in 2015 was. My first reaction was, "Well, honey, the year's not over yet!" I've learned that no matter how much I want something to be over and done with, it's not over until the clock strikes midnight on 12/31. Frankly, I'm DONE with this year. It's been a difficult year, but it certainly hasn't been my hardest. It's just been confusing and frustrating, but far from heartbreaking. I answered the post and said three things: 

1. I've learned about brokenness in new ways (that word, "cancer" will do that to you, even when it's an easily-treatable one. It still hurts.).
2. I've learned about motivation (knowing that you have a toddler to take care of, will motivate you when you think your strength is gone).
3. I've learned a whole, new definition to the term "teamwork" (I am terrible about telling my husband what a team we make...how helpful he can be...how shrewish I can be, about things like socks on the floor, when he's come home and taken over caring for a Tiny Tornado because I'm too exhausted to move. Knowing he's coming home, and that my little family is complete, is a joy to me every single day. I love that man, and I wouldn't have picked anyone else. Also, my mom and dad have stepped up more times than I can count, in helping us through this year...I can't imagine life without them).

There's a lot more I could say, that I've learned...I've learned about different ways to have fun, I've strengthened some relationships, and ended others. I've embraced changes and fought changes, and just...changed, hopefully, for the better. I've let go of a few wishes and allowed "pause" to affect my dreams. My dreams have changed, and I can feel even now changes coming to the desires of my heart...Things I never thought I wanted are knocking on my heart's door, and I don't know how it's going to play out, but I know if it's of God, He will work it all out. There are mysteries to come, and changes to come, and I know 2015 has been a year of preparation in some ways...although I don't necessarily know for what.  

I went to a birthday party yesterday for my Aunt Mary. A lot of people never realized that my mom was adopted into the family, years and years ago, and that she and my Aunt are actually step-sisters (mom's adopted dad married Mary's mom, Henrietta. Henrietta was the only Grandma I ever knew, and I miss her a great deal). Aunt Mary is so much like my Grandma; from her colorful personality, her constant joy, and her endless travels, she resembles Grandma as much in spirit as she does in body. Now, mind you, in my eyes, my Grandma was a saint. For me to say someone reminds me of Grandma is the highest compliment I can give, and in my lifetime, I've only said that about two people: Mom, and Aunt Mary. That should put it in perspective.

There were pictures everywhere from Mary's life, with her kids; we hadn't all got together in years, and I couldn't believe the changes in all of us; we all grew up! My cousin Jonathan had a full beard! AND KIDS!!!!! And I have kids! What happened to us?!?!?!?  Meanwhile, Aunt Mary pretty much looks the same, minus the beautiful, white hair.  It was wonderful, to see everyone gather and show love for such a wonderful person...such a beautiful story, and such a vibrant soul. I love my Aunt Mary and all of my cousins, and to all be together in one room just evoked the spirit of my Grandma in the very best way. It was pretty rad, truth (photo of Mary and the Grandkids from Cousin Judy!)

That being said, my Mama made an UH-MAZING cake, and she did it the only way she knows how: BIG. Four separate layer cakes, frosted and piped in homemade buttercream:

It was gorgeous, tasted awesome...and crashed to the floor.

Those top two tiers? The made-from-scratch carrot cake and the red velvet cake? Yeah--they crashed right where Mom is standing in this picture, shortly after Mary got to blow her candles out. The entire room gave a collective "OOOOOOOHHHH!;" I went running to clean up, and Mom? Mom just charged in, cut up the surviving cakes, kept smiling, and looked fabulous. No tears, no swearing, and no throwing of sharp objects.

I'm impressed, to say the least. 

When I say that I'm a natural-born Storyteller, things like this explain why: My mom used the experience of a destroyed cake to talk about how God makes messes into miracles. She used the experience to give Him glory, even in the middle of what could have been a total disaster. She was able to laugh, when anyone else would have fallen through the floor in embarrassment. She lived her faith, even in that small of a thing...this is the example that God gave me. This is what I have in my life, to point me toward Him.

How could I not have a story to tell?

We laughed through it; we have QUITE a memory of the party and of the day (so many laughs!); and we were definitely tired by the end of it all (except for my pickle-thieving toddler--he was wired. Cake.).  But more than that, I have a new point of reference for the year. My whole year kind of feels like a cake that crashed to the floor, in a lot of ways. It's been a really tough year for me, physically, but more than anything, spiritually, in ways I haven't really discussed. I feel like I've put so much effort into "life," but in a lot of ways, it's a bit of a smashed cake. 

We're gonna laugh about it, though. 

We're going to look at the bright spots: My son, and his ever-changing personality...his discoveries....the adventures of life with a toddler.  My husband, and the ways he's expanded into doing things he didn't realize he could do, both at home and on the job. My parents, and the ways they've been absolute rocks through the storm.

We're going to laugh about not only the "smashed cake" of the year; we're going to laugh at the work that went into it, and the love, and the heart...we're going to focus on the ties that bind us to each other on this journey, and we're going to embrace the good, the bad, and the hilariously broken.

We're going to tell the story together, of 2015, and we're going to love every page.

After all--we all know how it ends. He loves us....smashed cake, and all.

"Storyteller"
Morgan Harper Nichols

On a Sunday evening I'm looking back
Over all the years and where I've been.
Looking at old photographs, I'm remembering
You were right there and You have been ever since.
With every page that turns I see Your faithfulness.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
There were some nights that felt like
They would last forever.
But You kept me breathing.
You were with me right then.
And all that You have done for me,
I could never hold it in.
So here's to me telling this story over and over again.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
You hold the broken
You hear my every cry, every cry
My eyes are open
I know that it is well, it is well
[x2]
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
For years and years and years I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell

Christmas...A New Understanding

Christmas…

It’s always been my favorite time of the year.

When my parents were blessed with their house, one of my childhood dreams was fulfilled: A fireplace! With the fireplace crackling, and the snow falling outside of the picture window, every Christmas imagination I’d ever had, came true…We had an enormous Christmas tree full of sparkling things, and the world was absolutely perfect.

Christmas with my family is a gift from God.

I remember the first Christmas after Hannah died; as much as it hurts me to think about those memories, it serves to put Christmas in the light it’s meant to be seen through.  Jesus, the Son of Man…the Man Who wept at Lazarus’ grave…

His arms were around me that day, and I know He cried, too…

I cried myself to sleep that day, as my family helplessly stood by…

So many tears were shed in that first…second…third year…

I spent as many nights as possible in our family room, just staring at the fireplace, wishing I were anywhere but in the life that I had. 

David and I had nothing left…

Of course, we had a family that loved us; we had a roof over our heads, and I had a job. The lights stayed on, the cars stayed running, and life carried on

With a huge, missing chunk and an ugly hole in our hearts…

Time keeps ticking, though, and the years have gone by.  I’ve never forgotten that Christmas, though-the Christmas where the grief was so tangible, where the feeling of being abandoned, but of being held, was so strong…It’s very easy for me to go back to that place, and to remember that intensity.

If I could go back to that grieving mother…to that grieving family…and say anything

I don’t think I would.

We were all shaped that Christmas; we were all molded. From the grandmother that felt as if she were watching her children in a burning building of pain; to the mother that felt like her heart had been ripped out; to the father who didn’t know how to handle his wife or his own grief, and only knew to be strong arms; to the sister who saw it all spin helplessly out of control; to the grandfather who had let down his walls to fall in love with a tiny baby, only to see her fly away…

We were all molded and shaped.

We’re all missing that little puzzle piece.

The greatest gift, and the worst gift, I received that Christmas was a pair of earrings that said “#1 Mom.” I literally buried them in my jewelry box.

I wore them on Mother’s Day this year for what I believe is the first time.

Why would I bring this up?

Just as the snow is falling; just as the trees are being lit?

Why would I reintroduce such a sad memory?

Because it’s with me every Christmas.

Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t appreciate.

Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t compare to the most heartbreaking Christmas of my life;

Every time I do, I will rejoice and be thankful that those are days I never have to go through, again.

Every time I think about the Worst Christmas, I will celebrate The Best Christmases of My Life…which is pretty much every one I’ll have from this point, on.

I reminded my mom of my Best Christmas Ever: I was incredibly sick; I’d been sick in my bedroom, and I was miserable. I came down our stairs to find an enormous Sylvester, and a full set of furniture for my dolls. I grabbed Sylvester (and Tweety, naturally); curled up on the couch, and went to sleep.

The site of those amazing toys made me so happy; I still remember the intensity of that emotion, even though it had to be almost 30 years ago.  I can jump right back into that memory, and it still makes me smile….

Because of the hardest Christmas ever, I am afraid to hope for this Christmas. I’m afraid that once I verbalize my dream, it will be snatched away. It’s a struggle I’ve had since before Bug was born. Although I’ve not held back any emotion or love from him, it’s made me not want to verbalize my hopes and dreams for certain things. It’s also made me stomp my foot, stand my ground, and make myself say it anyways. I don’t know how long he has; I don’t know how long I have. I’m increasingly aware that we’re all on a countdown, and God alone knows when it stops. Rather than hide under the fear that keeps us from declaring and from going forward, I’d rather set my face and take my chances…even when I’m scared to death to put my heart out there.

I want to embrace the excitement.

What does he think of this season? I want to see it how he sees it…He laughs as we drive home in the dark, when we pass the houses with all of their lights. He’s fascinated by the sequined tree skirt, by how it catches the light. He wants to touch everything, to feel the textures…and of course, he wants to put EVERYTHING in his mouth.

He’s incredibly active, crawling, touching, standing, picking up, reaching, smacking, slobbering, and the sweetest of all—he’s hugging. The days when I pick him up at the babysitter’s are when it hits me the most, how much he’s grown: He crawls toward me with a big smile, clapping to see my face. This week, he grabbed my ears and pulled my face close to his, so he could bite my nose.

It’s the most beautiful moment of my day.

How could I hold back?

How could I let fear stop me from embracing these moments?

From hoping for a future?

From believing for His plan, for His hope, for His destiny for me? For my child?

How could I let the fear and pain of Christmases past, cloud any of the joy in Christmas today?

I can’t.

I won’t.

I will celebrate this Christmas; I will embrace this season…I AM embracing this season.

I’m finding that like last Christmas (only amplified), that songs about The Child are affecting me deeply. I can’t imagine what Mary went through—no clean hospital, no knowledgeable staff or medications; no ERs or nurses, or even her mother to hold her hand…no sterilization, no clean towels…

Not even a bed, to lay her Newborn in.

“Away in a Manger” has never made me cry before…I can’t even listen to it this year.

How could He bring Himself into this world? “No crib for a bed?”

My son relies on my husband and I for everything—food, shelter, water, love…clean diapers, toys, health.

The Son of God needed someone to change His diaper, to rock Him to sleep…

Did she understand?

He had to learn to walk…to fall down, and bump His head…

To cry…

To be hungry…

To be broken…

How great is our salvation?

I think about my son, and I think about The Son, and I’m stunned…why, oh why, did He do that? How could He? How can He see us as worthy?

How can He see our broken hearts, and our broken messes in life, yet find us worthy of such sacrifice? How can He see our pain, and cry with us? How can He see our joy (compared to what He knows), and laugh with us? How, and why, can He love us?

He became like us…one of us…He knows us from the inside out, and still redeems us…He still gives us hope. He still has faith in us, which is amazing…

It’s the time of year when the whole world sparkles; it’s a season of hope, yet our news is full of people in pain and in sadness.  Celebrating the season doesn’t make the darkness go away…it does remind people of family and tradition, of stories and of imagination, even in the secular world.

For me, it reminds me of childhood…of deep and painful memories…of healing, and most of all, of hope…

My son will most likely not remember his first Christmas.

I, for one, will never, ever forget it…

I have never been more thankful for my Savior, than when I see Him reflected in my own child…I have never appreciated His sacrifice like I do in this moment. This Christmas feels like MY first Christmas…it feels like I’m seeing it through a completely different set of lenses. The emotion of this season is overwhelming…I want to shake people, to ask them if THEY GET IT. Do they SEE it? Do they feel it? When they hear “a Child, a Child, shivers in the cold; let us bring Him silver and gold,” do their hearts break for a King that became helpless? For a King Who cried when He needed His mother’s touch?

He became we…

I know this blog is long…I know I’ve gone on for a long time, but I’m entrenched in this…

It’s not just about Christmas…

It’s about motherhood…about being His Child…about seeing Him in my child…about seeing Him with new eyes, and with a new heart….It’s about realizing His true humility, and the reality of what He did at the beginning of His story on earth…

It’s about rediscovering joy in the midst of heartache, about finding the new with respect to the old…

It’s about believing in the possibility of the unexpected…about declaring that the formerly-impossible is happening.

It’s about the gift of the present…the Presence…

It’s about the celebration of the Sacrifice…how it gives us such Hope, Peace, Joy, Happiness…

Christ is Christmas…no amount of pain or joy can change that.

May this season be one of eyes being opened to the Truth of the holiday…of hearts being broken for Him, and repaired by His love…of Hope for the future, and of Destiny in His grace…May you celebrate The Child and the Sacrifice with true understanding…

May you have the ultimate Joy this season…

All I Want For Christmas...

Last year, around this time, all I wanted for Christmas really WAS my two front teeth (I was having some dental work done)!
This year, as the clock ticks on, I realize that my little Christmas list is about to be forever changed...
I've never really been the kid who sits there and tells Santa everything they want (although I did love to look through the Sears catalog when I was a child). As long as I can remember, I've been happy that someone thought of me. It's what means the most--that someone thought of me, and that they paid attention to me. My mom is one of the best gift-givers around. Even when she misses the mark, there is still no such thing as a bad gift from my mother--probably because she knows me better than anyone on this planet.
God is like that (only SO much more): He knows what we want, and what we need, better than anyone else. His Father's Heart is so intuitive--He knows the request before we make it. He knows the need before it presents itself. He knows the heart's cry before the tears meet our eyes. Much like my mom got to know me really well from the womb, on, the Lord has known us from before conception. He knows our deepest things, good and bad....and He loves us, anyways.
When I was a little girl, all I wanted to be was a wife and a mother; I've blogged about this before. It's my one, genuine heart's desire. There are other things I would like to DO, but nothing has burned into me like what I want to BE. I consider myself a "passable" wife, if not occasionally, a bit of a shrew (okay, sometimes, more than a "bit." Add the "ch.":). I'm not the best housekeeper; I'm terrible with money (perhaps, because there isn't any, LOL!); and I'm nowhere near the cook in reality, that I thought I would be. But I love my husband...and we always make it work, by the grace of God. God takes care of us, even when it's seemed hopeless. I love being married, and I love the institution of marriage. I love it when people say we're a "cute married couple," even when they've heard us argue. David is my other half, plain and simple. Life with him is never dull, and I never want it to end--that's the kind of marriage I wanted, when I was a child.
I have it.
I am a wife--
And I'm about to be a mother...again.. Of course, as I say that, I hear the whispers of "anything can happen. Don't get your hopes up." I hear you, whispers--but I choose to ignore you. Not because I think that David and I are immune to heartache; I know better. I choose to ignore the negative possibilities because I have hope. Because I believe that God is good, regardless of the outcome. Because I believe that He is working miracles, even now.
This time, I get to keep my dream. 
There is a genuine fear that rushes through me, in that statement...like, I'm afraid to be that bold. Since Hannah died, I've struggled so deeply with fear, to the point that I was even afraid to admit that I loved my family, because if I admitted it, God would take them away. A missed phone call became the end of the world; a noise in a car engine meant a terrible accident was coming. Not a day went by, for an extended period of time, that I wasn't choked by some kind of fear. Anxiety has, in the past, been a constant companion.
I'm not going to say that I'm free and clear from all of that, but I will say that I've come a long way. I am learning that there is freedom in boldness: Embrace hope. I will be the mother to a beautiful baby boy that will grow healthy and strong, that will go to the nations! He will be a place of worship, and he is dedicated to the Lord--this is the statement I make every day. These are the words that I type in boldness, and the more I say it, the more the fear diminishes. 
This is a time of crazy faith, of insane boldness, and of true, genuine recognition of my own insufficiencies...this is a time of putting one foot in front of the other, and of being thankful for every single day.
Christmas this year marks a time of major transition. After 7 years together, this will be our last Christmas with just the two of us. These are the last nights that I have with my husband, alone...as crazy as it sounds, it's a tiny bit bittersweet. I cherish my time with him, even when it's just sitting in front of the TV. I find myself not wanting to leave the house (I've heard this is normal, at this point); I don't want to share him with anyone.  I'm cranky, emotional, and clingy--I don't really think David is enjoying my current phase, but I'm not giving him much of a choice. I'm overwhelmed with little tasks that need to be done, and with the daily issues that seem to keep creeping in (for the love of God, can my car stop breaking?!?). Every time I look at the bank account, I fall on my face in exasperation; my calendar at work has exploded, and I only have a few weeks left here, for training, planning, and for covering my leave.  I feel like the world is exploding...
But then, I catch my reflection...
Yes, the world is exploding. 
But I'm having a baby.
The thing, that they said would never happen?
It's happening.
It's really, truly happening.
I can see it...I can feel it...He's coming. 
Anticipation is outweighing Anxiety.
Hope is overcoming Fear.
Walls are falling, and victory is coming...
And I don't think that's just for me.
There are a lot of people out there who are struggling, and in need of a major breakthrough. Whether it's spiritual or physical, you just can't give up hope. 
God hears you...He really does...
Don't give up.
There really isn't much that I'd like for Christmas. Although I could still look through the Sears catalog and pick a few things, my taste these days, tends to be a bit more toward the practical: I'd like for my closet to be accessible...for my car to work...for the bills to be paid...
I'd like to spend time with David, without a TV running in the background (that's not always his fault--I'm guilty of this one!)...to hang out with a few friends that I haven't seen lately...to sleep through the night...to have a clean house. 
In a few weeks, I'd like to meet the little guy that's currently kicking my desk...I'd like doctors' reports that are miraculously normal. I'd like to have a baby dedication in front of my church, where we all stop to appreciate the wonder of life...I'd like for us all to understand the miracle of our kids.
That's what I want for Christmas...for the New Year. Simple things, for a simple girl...supernatural things, from a supernatural God. 
I believe that He cares for us.
I believe that He meets our needs.
I believe that He is worth hoping in...and I hope that you do, too.

I'm sure I'll be back on here before Christmas, but if I'm not, May you have the most wondrous of Holiday seasons...may Hope find you, may your heart be renewed, and may your spirit recognize everyday miracles...Merry Christmas, to you and yours...