Bluebells, Herefordshire, England

Wherever you are, be all there. Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.

Jim Elliot

Don’t strain your eyes to see the future – for you will not be able to see clearly what God wants you to see now.

Elizabeth Elliot.

Looks like the Elliots had a good handle on contentment…living life to the fullest. It sounds like they didn’t worry much. I’ve a note written in the back of my Bible that our pastor mentioned in a message: “If you worry, your view of God is that He is not there”.

Wow. When fear invades thoughts, do I believe that God is there?

My husband and I were saying that other day that this Air Force life is one of extremes. Extremely adventurous and exciting things…extremely hard things.

I have to admit, sometimes I find my thoughts in these places:

-fear of the future

-fear of deployment

-fear of having to handle life ALONE

-fear of failure in being all my son will need me to be

-fear of the danger in flying

-fear of the unknown

-fear of moving overseas

-fear of moving across the country by myself

I am sure that your fears are very different from mine. Perhaps you’re worrying about needing a job, singleness, or other strains are bearing down on you.

When stormy thoughts and imaginations of what things could possibly be like come, it drains you. You can’t “see clearly what God wants you to see today”. You miss out on HERE and NOW. I am not the wife my husband needs me to be, or the mommy that my son needs when my thoughts are out there getting lost in worry.

Fear is abuse of the imagination as you picture worst that can happen, when the best may very well be what is in store.

So many times I want to know what is down the road. I am a very organized person—planning is essential. Right now we don’t even know what is 4 months down the road!  Will my husband be off training somewhere without us? Will my son and I be able to go along? Will he be in survival training which is pretty much a horrible time? Will we still be living in here or moving very soon after graduation? What state or country will we be living in next?

I think that if we knew the future, we would faint at the very thought of it. If I had known what 2008 would be like I would have most likely had a nervous breakdown!

But here’s what God’s Word says…

…and as thy days, so shall thy strength be. (Deuteronomy 33:25)

God gives strength for each day when that day comes, not beforehand. What a realization this was! When saying goodbye comes on a deployment day, I will have strength for that day. When I have to handle life alone, I will have strength for that day. If we move overseas, I will have strength for that day. And not only for these big things in life, but in everything HE GIVES STRENGTH! What a promise from God!

Are we assured that we are safe in the hands that hold the stars? Can we wholeheartedly surrender to God, leaving quietly with Him all of our ‘what ifs’ and ‘but what abouts’? ALL can rest quietly in His very capable hands.

Elisabeth Elliot

In my flower garden, some plants have been flowering beautifully while some are bent over, brown, dried up. How disappointing the brown ones are! I have put such time, attention and love into those little seeds, then the little plants, watching them grow and practically cheering them on. It was so exciting to think of how beautiful all the different types of flowers will be!  Now, pitiful describes them best.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “Bloom where you are planted.”  I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

Am I blooming right here, right now, where I am planted? Am I bringing beauty into my little corner of the world? Or am I dried up and pitiful from the strain of worry? Am I a disappointment to God, to Him who has planted me here? Is He looking down thinking…”how beautiful you could have been!”

As I’ve been reflecting on life and where God has us right now I am realizing more than ever that I need to leave EVERYTHING in His hands. Worrying and becoming fearful will accomplish only one thing. It will steal my joy. It will filter out the beauty and only allow the negative is seen. It will prevent me from living life to the fullest today.

I can rest in Him and find joy in the everyday things of life. In where I am right now—even with all of the uncertainties of the future. My eyes are not clouded by worry anymore. God has a perfect plan that only HE could plan so wonderfully! Whatever comes our way will have gone through His hand first. Nothing can touch us without God being a part of it. I can trust Him…in all things. Life is beautiful.

My name is Christine Brown and I’m 24 years old.  The love of my life is a pilot in the Air Force, and we have a 1 year old boy, Tyler.  Some of my interests include decorating, cooking, photography, and scrapbooking.  Loving God more and loving others as He did is my continual pursuit.

photography copyright Philip Ivester, 2007

My mother always told me that her mother always told her: it is selfish to be self-conscious. I have always struggled with being self-conscious.  Maybe everyone else does, too.  But I’m always slightly jealous of those who appear so self-confident.  Because I myself am feeling self-conscious about not being self-confident!  It’s all about self.

Whenever I actually make the conscious effort to be others-conscious, I feel at ease making them feel at ease.  And I’ve found that the easiest way to start is with a simple smile.  The Bible says, “A joyful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22).  And after all, “Never frown: you don’t know who’s falling in love with your smile.”

It takes trust to live without worry for tomorrow. It takes the touch of a Master Physician to put balm on the wounds of yesterday. It takes courage to let go of all these things to really realize that all that He asks of us is to live today. He isn’t concerned about us understanding what is hidden behind the unknown of tomorrow any more than He wants us to be so broken by yesterday that we fail to learn to live today in a way that will truly make it beautiful and worth remembering. He wants us to trust Him to know the end from the beginning, to accept not only joy but sorrow as from a Father’s hand.

But God wants something more from us than just acceptance of the changes in our plans that He allows. He wants us to accept with joy. He wants us to be able to kneel down and build an altar, so to speak, and to lay our will as an offering on that altar, and to get up and go on, not just in submission, but with joy to be living the life that He has chosen for us.

God wants us to be happy. He wants His joy to well up in our hearts and spill out because there is not room to contain it. He wants us to choose this, even when nothing seems to match up with the kind of happiness we wanted. Sometimes we have to choose to find those beautiful things, choose to look at the bright side, choose to be happy even when there seems to be nothing to beautiful, nothing bright, and nothing happy.

“Every day may not be good, but there’s something good in every day.” ~Author Unknown

Tomorrow will be here sooner than you think, there’s no fear for that, and we cannot change yesterday no matter how many tears we cry. God has given us today. In this day He has woven a multitude of little blessings, little pieces of joy worth collecting. It is up to us to find them, and it isn’t any easier at first than it is to find that thimble in a field, yet as we train our minds and hearts to be receptive to the littlest of blessings, we find that we live in a world that is still a beautiful place, filled with evidences great and small of Someone who loves us.

If we make it our habit to find something beautiful in every day, our hearts learn a new language and our trust in Him to provide grows stronger, but even nature knows that one cannot receive unless they also give. So it is with us.

There are souls in this world which have the gift of finding joy everywhere and of leaving it behind them when they go. ~Frederick Faber

And that, by God’s grace, is what I want to be. Today.

It puzzles me why we beg God to speak to us and then we fill our lives with so much noise and distraction that prevents us from hearing what He has to say. It’s almost like asking God to call us and then having our music blaring so loudly that we can’t hear the phone ring. A bit silly, don’t you think?

While thinking on these things I penned these words…

Speak to me
In the silence, or in the noise!
Because Lord, sometimes I’m just not still.

Sometimes I’m just not still. Don’t you hate that? Though we don’t mean to, sometimes we tune God out. We get carried about by the bustle of the life we live. School, work, deadlines, homework, bills, activities, social events, church events, family outings, errands, chores…stuff has to be done! And as the clock ticks, we wonder how we’re going to squeeze it all in and we forget about the One thing our whole existence should be built upon–Jesus! We forget that we will be restless and unsteady inside unless we have our Cornerstone, our Rock, and our Foundation set and in place! Most times we long to hear the Lord speak to us, but there is too much noise ringing in our ears that it’s nearly impossible to detect His voice. We’ve got to learn to be still and be silent. We need to learn to put our relationship with the Lord first. When we learn to shut off the noise and center our focus (and our ears!) on the Lord, then we grow a little more and the lines are open to where we can hear His voice more clearly.

So remember to be still. Take the time to get alone with God every day and listen to what He has to say. Unplug the phone. Turn off the computer, the TV, and the cell phone. Go for a walk. Pull over on the highway and sit still. He has so many amazing things He wants us to know and learn…so many exciting adventures and treasures…and all we have to do is just sit still and listen.

by Kristen Lisemby

My little family is pulling up our roots (my roots anyway) in California, loading up a moving van and driving a bit north and a bit east, eventually landing in a tiny Rocky Mountain town (my husband’s roots).

You may remember that my husband is a Marine–a job that requires extended periods of time in a combat zone. We’ve done the deployment thing before… and it’s time to start over. In about six weeks, my beloved will be heading to Afghanistan for 13 months. It will be long, and it will be hard, but we’ve experienced enough of God’s sufficient grace to know that we’ll get through it.

Which brings us to this move. We have about a week until we haul ourselves and all of our belongings into the mountains, where the boys and I will have the opportunity to be near John’s family for the next year and a half. I love the mountains, I love the snow (which we’ll have more often than not, living at over 10,000 ft. elevation!) and I love my parents-in-love. While I’m not at all looking forward to leaving the people and places we love here in California, when it comes to living in Colorado, I’m basically, in a word, thrilled.

But the moving part? The sea of cardboard boxes? The Everest of packing paper? Not so much.

Combined with John’s extremely long pre-deployment training hours and me still just as busy as ever caring for our little people, I was beginning to freak out get a bit overwhelmed.

Until the knock at my door last week that brought me a blessing. Two of them, actually. A pair of sweet fifteen year old girls with smiles on their faces and hearts eager to just… help.

They fed the boys lunch. They read books. They played with toys. They made cupcakes and let my three year old crack the eggs. They cleaned up messes and wiped hands and faces. They raced up and down the stairs, running for tape and permanent markers, blankies and stuffed Pooh Bears.

I packed boxes. I checked off a long list of phone calls. I wrote about ten urgent emails. I packed more boxes. I sorted through paperwork. I organized and threw out old craft supplies. I folded laundry. I packed MORE boxes.

We had long conversations about life and struggles during nap time. We packed up all the books from our last two bookshelves.  We stacked boxes and labeled them. They helped me figure out what to keep and what to toss. We did a lot of laughing.

I could have kept them for days.

These girls aren’t perfect. They didn’t step straight from a nineteenth century story book. They’re normal fifteen year old girls living in 2010, complete with texts messages ringing in every few minutes. They like to laugh and they deal with the same everyday issues every other young lady faces. I’d even guess they might not always be quite as eager to wipe faces and play with Legos in their own homes.

But they both have hearts that love Jesus and are quick to do whatever needed to be a blessing. They shared their hearts with me that day and I saw beauty and maturity in that glimpse. God is at work in these girls’ lives. They put themselves aside for a day in January and sweetly gave their time and energy to a busy mom of two little boys.

When I was a teenager, I made a trip to visit some friends in Texas, splitting my time between two sisters who were each married with active little ones and only lived a short distance apart. In preparing to head out there, my young self was anticipating being busy making meals and cleaning the house so these young moms would have some free time to spend with their children.

What I didn’t expect was the reality of mothers needing time to catch up with all the million and ten other things that never get done because they do spend most of their time playing and cuddling and feeding and changing and training their busy tiny people. While I did make a few meals and bake a couple desserts and do a bit of shopping and mop some floors and change several diapers, I spent the majority of my time playing and cuddling and feeding and changing the children. It freed the mothers to get caught up on other important things and feel a little more rested.

I consider myself very blessed to be surrounded by willing mother’s helpers. I’ve had several here in San Diego. When I get to Colorado, I know of two other young ladies who are just as sweet and just as eager to help (also YLCF readers, incidentally!).

But I know not every mother of little ones is in the same situation. Perhaps you know of one such mother. Maybe she’s busy and weary, waiting for a single young lady to step forward and offer a few hours of time so she can catch up. Perhaps she’s overwhelmed with a move or a new baby or a husband’s busy schedule–or maybe she would just like to take a nap or make dinner with two hands! She could be wishing, right now, that there was someone who could spend a few hours playing with her little ones and maybe vacuum the living room carpet.

And maybe you are just the girl for the job!

I’ve been given a gift with these various young women. Mothers, don’t afraid to accept help, and young women, don’t be afraid to offer it! Get out there and get helping!

Sometimes it is easier to act like a Christian than to be a follower of Christ.  But in his new book Dug Down Deep: Unearthing What I Believe and Why It Matters, Joshua Harris sounds a compelling call to dig down deep into the truths of why we believe what we believe so we will know how to live.

Every person reaches the point where they have to make their beliefs their own.  I remember that point in my life: I was on my own for the very first time, at Summit Ministries in Manitou Springs, Colorado.  I could have been whoever I wanted to be.  But what my parents taught stuck.  In two weeks away from home, I not only determined that my faith was truly my own, but I learned a whole lot about having a biblical worldview.

Now, seven years later, I am a parent myself.  It is an awesome and humbling thought to realize that I have that same responsibility with my children.  The question continually plagues me, how did my parents do it? How do I teach my daughter to love the Lord and His Word?  How do I get her to build her life on that firm foundation?  If she doesn’t see it in me, how will she make it her own?  Only if my faith is dug down deep can my children see and follow it.

But Dug Down Deep is a book for more than just parents.  It’s a book for the young adult I was not so very long ago, trying to figure out exactly what I believed.  It’s for the pastor or teacher who wants a less textbook-like approach to outlining theology.  It’s for anyone who wants an overview of the Christian faith.  It’s for everyone who wants to be challenged in what they think about God.

The best thing about the book Dug Down Deep is that it continually points you to the Book of books.  It is the sort of book to be read with a Bible in hand, the sort of book that will make you set it down and pick up the Bible instead.

Jesus said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15).  These words always bring me back to the simplicity of sanctification.  This is why I obey.  This is to be my motivation.  People who love Jesus do what he says.  They learn to obey him in the big and small parts of their lives. (Dug Down Deep, pg. 173)

(Thanks to WaterBrook Multnomah for providing this book for review!)

One is a missionary in Africa. One is attending West Point.

None of them would be where they are today if it had not been for the love of Uncle Dick and Aunt Dixie in adopting each of them. That love which is a physical picture of a spiritual truth. That love of our Lord who adopted us (Romans 8:14-17, Galatians 4:5-7, Ephesians 1:5).

Uncle Dick and Aunt Dixie worked as missionaries in Haiti years ago. They raised many children together, including my Haitian cousins. Then Uncle Dick was called home to Heaven. And Aunt Dixie’s love for his memory and for Haiti became Hope in Haiti, an organization that builds schools and sponsors children in rural mountain villages of Haiti.

I’m guessing that Uncle Dick is part of the welcoming committee in Heaven this week for the believers and little ones from Haiti that are crossing Jordan’s shores.

Meanwhile, Aunt Dixie’s is part of coordinating a relief effort to give Hope in Haiti once more.

Has your heart broken this week at the news coverage? Or are you already calloused to the images, deaf to the news broadcasts?

Have you come face to face with how different their reality is from ours? Ashleigh has.

Few of us actually landed in Port a Prince the day before the earthquake. But my friend’s sister did. Annette is right there, to be the hands and feet of hope.

But the hands and feet need the rest of the body. They need us to hold them up in prayer. They need us to hold them up financially. They need us to hold them up by spreading the word. They need us to petition to let adoptive parents bring their children home to the states now.

That is how to give hope to people just like my cousins Micha, Jeremy, Evens, and Jesse. That is how to give Hope in Haiti.

As I prayed and pondered my little talk in the days leading up to the party, I stood face-to-face with the 12 year-old Lanier that was. Skinny and shy, the one that always got put at the top of the cheerleading pyramids because I was the littlest one on the squad and too timid to protest. Called down by teachers for daydreaming and teased by the boys for dropping my books roughly once per class period. A veritable mouse, with a whole country of imagination at my easy access. And a brand-new daughter of God, to boot.

What would I tell myself at 12 if I had the impossible opportunity of such an interview? What kind of vision would I try to cast? What would I underscore as the Most Important Thing?

What would I say to these lovely young friends of my niece, with their confident smiles and easy comradeship and eyes bright with hopes for the future? After scrapping several drafts, I sat still and tried to listen to God. And this is what I came up with:

I want everybody to think about what they want most in the whole wide world. Close your eyes, if you want to. If you could have anything, what would it be?

(I let the girls volunteer their deepest wishes and many of theirs put mine to shame. Like world peace and no more wars.)

These are all good desires.

But there are bad desires out there—and the scary thing is that many of them are in our own hearts, right alongside the good ones.

So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin…

Romans 7:21-23 (NIV)

We’re talking about a battle here.

In II Timothy 2:22, the Bible says that we are to ‘flee the evil desires of youth’. We’re always going to be struggling against evil and sin, but some of the most critical battles you are ever going to fight in your whole life are right now—when you’re young.

Have you ever wanted anything that you knew was bad or disobedient?

We all do. We all get tricked by our own sin into wanting things that God says are wrong or not good for us. Less than His best.

Sin means literally to ‘miss the mark’. To miss out on what God had for you.

To make things worse, as you all grow up, the world is going to try to cram a whole lot of things down your throats, things that are supposedly worth running after. Things that are supposedly true.

Like:

~What you look like on the outside is more important than who you really are on the inside—you should dress, talk and act just like everybody else.

~True love isn’t worth waiting for—it’s better to go from boyfriend to boyfriend than saving yourself for the man that you are going to marry someday.

~Your worth lies in what you do—how smart you are, what a great ballet dancer or basketball player or horseback rider you are—and not in the fact that the God who made the universe is absolutely in love with you. That you are the most beautiful thing that He has ever seen and that He loved you so much He sent His Son to die for you.

It’s so easy to convince ourselves of these things when the world around us seems to be shouting them at us every single day.

But God has an answer. It’s in that same verse in II Timothy 2: 22

He says to FLEE evil desires. Run away. Literally vanish. It’s like someone offered you drugs, or something you knew was not right, and they just looked up and you were GONE. Into thin air. It can take more courage to run away.

But He doesn’t just say to flee one thing. He also says to FOLLOW something else. And that’s the good part.

~righteousness

~faith

~patience

~love

All things that characterize a relationship with Jesus Christ.

But there’s more—

He says to follow these things WITH those that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.

You don’t have to do it alone. In fact, what the Bible says is that one of the very best things you can do for your faith is to surround yourself with people that love Jesus.

God blessed me with some very special friends in my teenage years, and without them I don’t think I would be fully ‘me’.

~My friend Amanda taught me that it’s a whole lot more fun to be yourself, exactly who God made you to be, than trying to squeeze into everybody else’s mold.

~My friend Rachel taught me to love the things that God loves and to desire Him with all my heart and soul.

Sometimes we still have to stand alone, though. Our friends aren’t always going to be there. Before I met Amanda and Rachel, my two best friends were Anne Shirley and Jo March.

And that’s why I want to encourage you to make friends of books.

Not just any books—you have to be as careful with book friends as you are with ‘real’ ones. Are they following the things that you want to follow? Are they people you would want to be like?

And beyond all of these, there is the best Friend you will ever have. He’s not only going to point you in the right direction. He’s going to help you get there. I was about your age when I really started to get to know Jesus, through His word and through talking to Him in prayer. And I am here to tell you, it changed the whole course of my life.

You’re never too young to spend time with Him every day.

You are about to enter one of the most beautiful and the most dangerous seasons of your lives. It’s like you’re walking across a battlefield.

But God has clearly marked out the dangerous places for you and He promises to guide you safely through them if you ask Him and obey Him.

And He also promises to give us the desires of our hearts—the things we may not even know that we want ourselves but are really and truly what we’ve been made for—if we delight ourselves in Him

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Psalm 37:4 (ESV)

There is nothing that this world could ever offer you that is so worthy of following as Jesus Christ.

Let me tell you, He doesn’t want any of you to live an ordinary life. It can be the most beautiful adventure–with heaven at its end.

He says in John 10:10 (ESV): I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.

Do you know what that means? It means to the hilt!!

Life that is *really* life.

And it’s the adventure of a lifetime.

Of hard-fought battles ‘almost’ won,
Of loving words I ‘almost’ said,
Of things I ‘almost’ thought to do,
Of times I ‘almost’ stood – but fled.

The mounded dust of wasted days,
The skeletons of moments past;
A life I ‘almost lived for Christ,
But found that ‘almost’ doesn’t last.

written by Joanna Lynn

Little Gidding, Cambridgeshire, England

The following was written by a dear friend of ours and his sending it to Philip and me was something of a New Year’s gift. I know that you’ll all be glad that he gave me permission to share it with you:

Are you a Psalm skimmer?  I confess that I am.  I often find myself skimming through a psalm until I get to one of those familiar nugget verses, land there a little bit, and then keep skimming.  This is NOT how one should read the Psalms.  Every word is to be chewed and savored.  Time must be allowed for this.  Giving the Psalms (and all of Scripture) a quick glance like one would do to a blog or email is the quickest way to divorce God’s word from God’s Spirit.  We have taken something sacred and made it common.  As a result, we no longer experience the presence of God when we read.  God will not be rushed.  He will not be treated like a Facebook friend.

Maybe this is just a symptom of the times.  “Face time” is no longer required for relationships.  We’ve actually digressed in our interpersonal skills.  Think about it.  People used to walk next door and sit down and talk with their neighbor.  With the invention of the phone we could call them and listen to their voice.  With the invention of email, we could just write.  With the invention of texting, we could reduce our relationship to short little abbreviations.  At times I feel like we are becoming the ghosts of C.S. Lewis’s Great Divorce.  There is little physical substance to our relationships.  Is this really progress?  Face time is too rare.  It is rare because it requires two things – “face” plus “time”.

I fear that this new way we now relate to one another has spilled into our relationship with God.  This is not just dangerous, it is spiritual death.   Our relationship with God requires face time.  Scripture cannot be merely scanned in order to get the gist of its meaning.  Waiting for God cannot be like opening a slow webpage – “God you’ve got a few seconds before I move on.”  God is never in a hurry and we cannot rush him.  The Psalms remind us of this.  They are full of patient waiting, worshipful meditation, and adoration.

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the LORD more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. – Psalm 130.

During this new year, take time to take time before the LORD.  Ask God to reveal to you the things that drown out his voice.  Ask Him to show you the things that are controlling your day.  Ask Him to show you how to change and to give you the strength to do so.  This might be occasionally turning off your phone, or leaving your computer at work, or driving without listening to the radio, or killing your TV. Is there something in your life that you cannot turn off?

Our relationship with God requires quiet moments, patience, and passionate pursuit.  He is our Rest, our Joy, and our Treasure.

In Your presence there is fullness of joy – Psalm 16.

On the cross, Jesus endured the absence of his Father, so that we might enjoy His presence.  What a gift!  Take time this year to receive it.

written by Rev. Joel Brooks,  Redeemer Community Church

photography credit, Philip Ivester

But I doubt if there is much we wait for that compares to the days before a baby arrives. We wash the little clothes, prepare the crib, watch for every possible symptom of labor. The days drag on, and on, and oooooon.

Then they are born.

And that’s when someone pushes the fast-forward button.

I know every mother sits and tries her hardest to figure out the answer to this question, but can someone please tell me how we got from this sleepy little boy:

To this one:

…in the course of, like, one day?

It just doesn’t make any sense to me.

Two years old. That sounds so… big. There’s no way I can call him a baby anymore. He’s a little boy now.

I was looking through the pictures this morning of when Troy was born and marveling at how tiny he was. His little features, the blonde hair I was so surprised to see, the little fingers and toes. I reminisced about the days of learning to nurse him, and lazy mornings just playing in our jammies when he was just learning to giggle.

But then I realize with a start that as fast as these past two years have gone, I’m sure it’ll just snowball from here on out, time going faster and faster until these little boys are both grown.

It won’t be long until Troy is not just a little big boy, but a true big boy. When he’ll no longer say, “Luh loo, Mommy,” but, “Hey, love ya, Mom.” He’ll soon forget about Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and The Doodlebops and move on to movies with real people. Instead of spending ten minutes figuring out how to put a chunky puzzle piece in place, he’ll be needing help with multiplication tables and spelling tests. He’ll be done taking his little brown and white plastic doggie for walks and he’ll be spending hours playing Frontier Man in the backyard. He’ll read books on his own and draw his own pictures.

And then, I’ll turn to stir a pot on the stove, turn back around, and find a grown man standing in front of me. I pray he’ll be a man who loves Jesus and trusts Him for his salvation. A man who has harnessed his strong spirit into strength of character. Who will, in turn, raise up another generation of little ones and lead them to Jesus.

I know when this little guy is tall enough for me to rest my head on his shoulder, I’ll be thinking back to his sweet little smile and when he said, “Yes man!” instead of, “Yes ma’am!” I’m praying I don’t look back and regret spending too much unnecessary time at that stove or running errands or, most definitely, on the computer. That I have plenty of memories of books read, crafts and messes made, times of training, and lots of those great big smiles.

Going into my oldest’s third year of life, I’m realizing that what every parent has always said is only too true–time does indeed fly by. So I’m going to make the most of this next year with my little guys, cherishing every little second. Because there’s nothing I would rather do.

Originally written and published at Heart and Home on March 27, 2008

LET me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul;
Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils; but with a whole
And happy heart, that pays its toll
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down,
O’er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,
My heart will keep the courage of the quest,
And hope the road’s last turn will be the best.

Henry Van Dyke, Life

The guys used to start out the day with a game of football in the mud and cow pies. One year, the muddy football game was replaced by inner tubing in the snow. They must have become either older or smarter, because they have shied away from those escapades in recent years. No matter the weather, however, the guys always play a game of Monopoly which lasts half the evening. We girls tried in vain to hide the game, distract them with food, or beg them to skip it, but it was all to no avail: the Monopoly game must be completed before they could participate in the rest of the evening’s festivities. Only after someone had nearly taken over the bank could we talk them into joining us in a game of Pictionary or Dutch Blitz.

There was always plenty of food. Mrs. K. brought the pies. My mom made almond roca. Melissa and I even tried to make peanut brittle a time or two. We made up the Chex mix. Chips, dip, a veggie tray, and a few traditional salads complemented the mini meat and cheese sandwiches on rolls. Then there was the perennial favorite of “banana bungalosh:” a blend of mashed frozen bananas and juice served with 7-Up.

Usually the evening was not without time spent in the living room pouring over photo albums. The gentlemen always got in a good discussion or two on theology and politics. And there were always a few good-natured fights about who would do the dishes. Once in a while we were even the recipients of a special performance, in the form of humor or monologue.

We always rounded out the evening with a good ol’ jammin’ session: Melissa on the piano or bass, Abbie on the fiddle (sometimes joined by Aunt Terri and Papa, as well), Will or James on the banjo, James on the trumpet or Will on the saxophone, LeAnn’s brother Rhett on the cello, with a few guest appearances on the guitar, and always a few of the younger guys joining LeAnn’s Grandpa Cliff on the harmonica. From patriotic songs to folk music, we called it “cousin cacophony” for a reason. But we had fun making a joyful noise. It was beautiful to sit back and listen to the blend of voices and parts as we sang all the verses of the hymns and ballads.

We kept an eye on the clock while we were jamming, though, and when it got close to midnight the guys grabbed the blackpowder guns, we girls donned coats, and we all went outside to yell and holler and make too much noise at the stroke of midnight. There were usually a few more songs—and a few more pictures—to finish before everyone went their separate ways in the wee hours of the morning.

One of our longstanding traditions was the kiss picture: all the married couples were told to smooch long enough for all the shutters to click. It was always funny to see who stopped kissing too soon, or which person was looking at the camera instead of their spouse! But as I took the pictures, I was always looking forward to the day I could be one of the married couples in the kiss picture, instead of one of the singles taking the picture.

There was one year that we met at LeAnn’s grandparents’ home instead. I remember that time specifically, as I watched with delight the sparks flying between LeAnn and my cousin Robert over a game of Guesstures. It was just a few years later that Robert and LeAnn announced their engagement in 2002, wedding the families who have been friends for more than 40 years (sometime I’ll have to get LeAnn to tell you their whole story). I remember watching that next year as Robert moved from being one of the guys shooting guns and yelling, to kissing his new bride out under the stars as the clock struck midnight. December 31, 2004, brought the special announcement that Robert and LeAnn’s first little one was on the way!

The next year, I was thrilled to have Merritt fly in for the New Year’s party of December 2005, introducing him to my special friends and family. Only two years later, Merritt and I were returning to the ranch for another New Year’s party, this time with our baby girl! Last year, we got to meet Robert and LeAnn’s newest little guy, who was born into the family just weeks after his grandmother went home to Heaven.

This year, my cousin Robert has a new job that takes his family to a new town, a new church—and far away from the long-held family traditions. Merritt’s and my own growing family makes it harder to travel—and we know we probably won’t be making many more such trips on future New Year’s.

We knew it couldn’t last forever. We knew eventually we’d be pulled in too many directions, the miles separating us too much for everyone to meet back at the ranch on New Year’s Eve. In fact, LeAnn’s Grandma Marcyenne was the first to break up our party: she was singing with the angels last New Year’s Eve.

This New Year’s Eve, Merritt and I will have just returned home from celebrating in my brother’s wedding in Virginia and then spending Christmas at my childhood home (another break in tradition—growing up, nearly every Christmas was spent at Papa and Grandma’s ranch). I hear rumors that the newlyweds might be able to make the traditional New Year’s Eve party. And my cousin James has been bringing a sweet young lady to the party for a few years now. But some of the rest of us not-so-newlywed—but no less in love—couples will be far away from the ranch this year.

It’s time to start some new traditions, make some new memories. I don’t know what LeAnn’s plans are—most likely, they will include unpacking boxes! But Merritt and I hope to begin some traditions with his family, inviting people to our farm for a hymnsing and some games on New Year’s Eve.

I doubt we’ll rival the musical presentations that were done at the Brink ranch. No one can play the piano like my cousin Melissa. And no one in Merritt’s family can play the harmonica with their mouth, let alone with their nose, like some in my family have been known to do. The practicality of partying until 2 or 3 in the morning is questionable when there are little people who are ready for baths and bed much earlier. Perhaps one of our new traditions will be going to bed before midnight! Regardless of when we go to bed, we’d better choose carefully whom we invite to the parties on our farm, in case some of our children should grow to love each other through the next fifteen years of celebrating New Year’s together. All too soon, my girls will be my age, and I want their memories of times together on New Year’s to be as special as mine are of the past 15 years.

This year on New Year’s Eve, LeAnn and I won’t be with all our relatives celebrating the longtime traditions of singing hymns and shooting guns as the clock strikes midnight. We will be far from the homes we loved, and the night will be far different from the traditions in our memories. But we will be with our nearest and dearest: our husbands and our children. When the clock strikes midnight, hopefully the little ones will all be sleeping, and we’ll be welcoming in the New Year by kissing our husbands and letting them know that we wouldn’t go back, we’d rather be with them.

And it only takes a moment remembering all those New Year’s Eves without anyone to kiss to remind me that there is no where else, no one else with whom I’d rather be spending New Year’s Eve.

Wishing you a wonderful New Year’s Eve making many memories as you celebrate traditions new and old…

From Gretchen, Ashleigh, Chantel, Jeannie, Elisabeth and Lanier, fondest wishes to you all for the Happiest of Holidays and for all the best of God’s blessings in the New Year! We hope that you have enjoyed celebrating the birth of our Savior with families and loved ones, and that this blessed Christmas week to come would be a time of refreshment and joy as you continue to reflect on the stupendous Gift of His coming to us.

We’ll be back around New Year’s…look for a post from Gretchen! An in the meantime, click over to Boundless to enjoy the gift of two very special posts by our own talented Elisabeth that will doubtless bless your hearts as profoundly as they did mine:

Tonight in Bethlehem

Part One

Part Two

adapted from my journal

On Christmas Eve morning I was up at five. I wondered if any of my neighbors were astir at that hour, but all the other houses through the trees were dark. It was my own, private, precious hour with Jesus—on a day when His humanity is nearer to my heart than any other. I would not have traded it for silver and gold. It shines in my heart yet as an unspeakable gift from Him—I have no words.

When I first stepped into my dark kitchen that morning a silver tide of moonlight was pouring in from the windows above the sink. The moon itself, a tremendous and luminous sphere, was sailing calmly through an untroubled sky of velvety blue, with a single star—the star of the morning—waiting attendance upon the regal passage. It was so beautiful—the light all tangled up in the branches of the water oak outside and casting its pale glory over frost-encrusted yard and pasture and silent winter garden—that I literally caught my breath. It hurt me to look at it, and yet I could not get enough. I lighted the gas jet under the tea kettle and just stared and stared. I hated to turn on the lights in the den to banish such a radiance.

After my devotions, I fell to setting the tables, moving about as quietly as I could, yet with a growing mirth at what day the coming dawn was hailing and what happiness would soon be filling these rooms and sitting at these tables. As I worked, I was blessedly conscious of what was happening outside—the moon dropped almost reluctantly into the west, behind the great oak at the corner of the pasture by the cemetery, and from behind the woods to the east the day began to spring. The sky paled to a breathless blue, the gate of the day grew rosy, and soon a glory of another kind was spilling over treetops and lawn and setting all the frost crystals to glittering like so many diamonds. It was utterly pure and beautiful, my own special possession. And to think that I might have missed it—to think of how many other glorious dawns I have passed in the ignorance of sleep!! I always say that I love a cloudy Christmas Eve best, and a gloriously sunny Christmas Day—but I’d not send back the sweet splendours my Lord sent this year.

And so, just before ten, I got into my new red dress—finished at the characteristic eleventh hour—and dashed into the kitchen, just in time for Once in Royal David’s City, broadcast live right into my den all the way from King’s College in Cambridge. That sacred moment always makes the world seem smaller and our beloved England so much closer to us in time and space. We sat on the sofa hand in hand and listened, breathless, as the airy strains grew into a full choir and finally swelled with the organ and audience and what seemed like all the combined worshippers of ages past. I listened, as I always do, with a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes, to the Bidding Prayer, particularly at the thought of all those dear ones of my own “who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light”. And then it was time to turn the sausage and flip on the coffee pot and check on the bacon sizzling away. And just as I was tucking the plum pudding back into its buttery mold for one last steam, the doorbell rang, and our merry old Christmas Eve party had begun…

It was my brother-in-law and his wife, but there was a whole parade of cars behind them: my family, Philip’s family and friends that are such family no ties of blood could make nearer and dearer. And soon the rooms rang with “Hello! Hello!” “Merry Christmas!” “Oooh—don’t you look pretty!” “Christmas Gif’!” and “Where can I put this?” There seemed to be children everywhere—which is fitting as this day is for them above all others at our farm-in-the-city. One of them came up and asked me if there were to be peppermint sticks in oranges this year. I smiled knowingly and replied that they should go and take a look at the coffee table in the den where two crystal bowls boasted the coveted treats—“But you’ll have to wait till after breakfast!” In the twinkling of an eye, as it were, my home was full of laughter and the snap and crackle of open fires, fragrant with cider and the pudding that was steaming away and the traditional sausages…

Philip asked the patriarchs to say the blessing and I thought that was quite fitting and sensitive of him. As I looked around the dining room, filled to capacity with the progeny of these two men, I had to smile to myself at what they would have thought when they first met at college all those years ago if they could have looked into the future and seen such a gorgeous (and enormous—35 of us!) assemblage. And I smiled, at the same time, at the sweet sounds of Ding Dong Merrily in High pouring out of my radio in that quiet moment, all the way from England…

I spent most of the breakfast bustling about, making sure everyone had tea and coffee and juice, catching a five year-old cherub who threatened to topple out of her chair at the childrens’ table, lingering to laugh at an old and loved story at the adults’ table, and sitting down in my place at the ‘kids’ table’ just about the time I needed to pop back up again and take out the pudding. But I love it, of course. Every minute of it. And when brunch had been dispensed with and the pudding slipped miraculously from its antique mold, we warmed some brandy in a skillet and Philip called all the children into the kitchen to see the great event—after igniting it I poured the blue elven flame over the pudding on its silver holly trimmed tray amid gasps and exclamations—it was quite lovely!—and Philip bore it in triumph into the dining room to a chorus of delighted voices and a spontaneous burst of applause.

Then all of the children—from the smallest to the tallest—came asking for their oranges and peppermint sticks, and to look around at all those beautiful girls in their smocked dresses and handsome little men looking like pint-sized versions of their Daddys in sweater vests, intent upon a pleasure so simple as sucking the juice of an orange through a soft peppermint ‘straw’ made.

After all the excitement of the pudding and the crackers had died down and the jokes had been told and re-told and the charms passed off to admiring children who thought they were treasures indeed, I settled down in the hall with the ladies for a much-appreciated cup of coffee and a good chat while the men and children went out in the yard to play and to say ‘Hello,’ and ‘Merry Christmas!’ to the chickens. When I chanced to step out on the back porch it was a sight to warm the heart for days to come—a lovely day, as the dawn had promised, lightly overcast with clouds scudding across a wintry sky, chill enough for all the lovely velvet Christmas coats to bloom out in all the colors of jewels, and a pale December sunlight falling with a mellowing touch upon all the bright heads. They were all running around, screaming and laughing, chasing and being chased by the adults, paper crowns askew and baby dolls dangling by the arms…such a beautiful tableau of innocent happiness…I loved it. I just stood there, leaning over the rail and taking it all in. And then Philip got the idea that each one of them should have a chance at ringing the old school bell at the back of the house in honor of Christmas and a great pealing ensued which drove me from my post and down into the yard with them all to take part in the fun.

I gave everyone their favors when it was time to go—paper cones filled with fudge and caramels—and the children were so excited. How refreshing it is in this age of materialism to see children thrilled over peppermint sticks in oranges and bits of paper and tinsel crammed with homemade candy!

As the dusk fell upon our darling day and a purple and golden twilight descended, the light of the fire and the Christmas tree and my little Advent wreath in the window shone out with an ever-increasing warmth and I longed, oh so fiercely!, to make time stop for even a moment or two. We had done our favorite day homage, old traditions had been honored and new ones introduced for consideration. Children had been exalted to the guests of honor in tribute to our blessed Child-Savior and adults had celebrated the ties that He had forged. The whole day had been a Christmas gift from the Host of the feast. An invitation to the children and the childlike to enter into His joy.

A gilt-edged shadow of the happiness that lies in store for us all when faith is made sight.

Thanks be to God.

Now Christmas isn’t so predictable.

Sometimes I’m with my family; sometimes I’m thousands of miles away.

Sometimes I have a Christmas tree. Sometimes I don’t.

And sometimes I have a carol-singing joyride to Jaffa Gate, Jerusalem, to get one – only to learn that my housemates are allergic, and gleefully give it away to friends who have none.

Sometimes it’s shirtsleeves weather, cypress wreaths, and stone houses. Sometimes it’s the real fragrance of evergreen, and a real white Christmas…

(And once, there was snow in Jerusalem, just two days after Christmas).

Sometimes it’s long on adventure and short on stuff. Like the year my stocking arrived in a tiny box at the post office – and I spent Christmas eve and Christmas morning exploring Bethlehem on foot.

Or the year we got all ten of our selves to Israel for Christmas – and not much else.

Christmas Eve was carols in Jerusalem; Christmas breakfast was pancakes, pomegranates, Swedish tea, Mexican hot chocolate – and the Nativity story.

Sometimes strings of Christmas lights help me feel Advent-wonder. Sometimes it’s Hanukkah candles.

Either way, I know it’s due to the mighty acts of God that there was a Jewish nation into which my Savior could be born.  I know it’s thanks to my stubborn, greedy grasp on my own way that He had to lay aside His glory and became the smallest, most invisible form of human life…

Be born ignominiously. Raised in obscurity.  Rejected, killed, and ALIVE.

And I know He did it all for sheer joy.

Based on my Christmases past, I know I can’t count on who I’ll have with me, where I’ll be, what I’ll receive, or how I will feel. But one thing is always certain: He is.

He is.

He is Emmanuel.

And God-with-us. Is with me.

But then the morning came when I flipped on the outdoor light in preparation for Scott’s early morning departure for work to find that rain had faded into white, and even yet, out of the darkness snowflakes were falling and making my world a wonderful, fluffy white. (At least for a little while!) It was that day, too, that I realized that Thanksgiving was almost here again. Somehow. Surely it hadn’t been over a year since my man asked me to be his bride? Blink. Wait, how could it be just a year ago. Longer, surely much longer ago than that.

One thing was sure, though. It was snowing at last, and as I stood there, admiring the way that God turns barrenness into beauty, a parade of memories began to march, or perhaps tumble through my mind, bringing alive the “old days” now past in of some of the Christmas Classics that cannot leave off from echoing through my memory’s hall.

It really does sometimes seem like yesterday, especially as these first snows of winter fall, that I danced  around the house with my brother and sister  while we sang a bit  of “Let it Snow” in anticipation of those first Alaskan snowflakes (though I wonder now that we weren’t singing something else- such as “snow, snow go away, come again some other day”, long as those winters felt sometimes!) and then  fell down on our backs on the lawn, laughing, and trying to catch the first snowflakes on our tongues.

Though snow usually fell long before Christmas, and often long before Thanksgiving, there was something about the snows before Christmas that seemed extra special then, and now even more so.  Those fires in the fireplace in my childhood home (fueled by wood that we’d spent the few months of summer gathering from our own acreage) are now replaced with fires in the pellet stove in my new living room, and yet the warm, glowing light remind me of those cozy home fires and I hear my brother’s voice all over again, singing as only he could do, about those chestnuts we never did get to roast on our open fires (and that I still dream of doing…some Christmas season, if and when I can find some chestnuts).  Jack-frost nipping at our noses and anywhere else he could nip (ever have your eyelashes freeze shut? I have!), and dressing like Eskimos (I wore a kuspuk quite often as a child) were reality for us, but somehow it was those chestnuts we always thought about.

I  can still  hear that particular crunch of dry, powder snow  as it is trampled underfoot, and feel the icy wind  biting at my nose and cheeks again as we walked from house to house around the neighborhood- and farther- keeping that beautiful tradition of caroling alive and sharing a little of our Christmastime joy with strangers.  I hear the Drummer Boy (Johnny Manthis, once again accompanied by my brother), and remember understanding for the first time what it meant to “give my best to Him” who was born to die so that I could live.

I still feel the chills down my spine and the threat of tears every time I hear it that I felt that first time I stood and heard the Hallelujah Chorus live in an old church in Anchorage as a 9 year old. Only now I  sing along, and imagine that in Heaven, the Angels must be singing too.

But while I think of the beautiful blessings remembered last Thanksgiving to this one just past, and while I write my Christmas greetings to the people near to my heart though scattered around this old earth,  and glance out my little window at the picture of my world- a world just now turning white, unlike the world of my childhood- it is Bing Crosby whose voice floats into my mind, and memory after memory of happy, carefree childhood white winter days come with it, when the snow was already quite deep, and  the only kind of Christmas I ever knew were  always white. I’m dreaming of a White Christmas.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten,
and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow

Happy, beautiful, white Christmases. Days  filled with family, love, rejoicing and thankfulness for the gift of God’s Son to make our hearts “whiter than snow”. These were days to give, to share, to sing and be still and know Him. To hear the snowflakes fall, and the winter birds sing. Tree tops always glistened and once or twice, we did hear the sleigh bells ringing through the cold air and the snow crunching under horse foot, fulfilling a childish desire to really go sleigh riding. These are some of my heart’s happiest memories.

Thanksgiving is past now, and the air is even more chilly than before, and there is snow on the ground- and it seems to be here to stay. Yet, still through my mind the memories, and the songs echo keeping those memories of Christmases of the past fresh, and the happiness, that real joy that comes from sharing, and the reason why I always dream of “white Christmases” is alive just as it was when I was a child.

Life changes just as the seasons come and go. This year my siblings are far away, my family scattered like autumn leaves, married, expecting little ones, unable to make the trips to all be back together again.  It won’t be just like the Christmas times I’ve known before. It’ll be my first…away from home, but at home, where I’d rather be than anywhere else, at the side of the man I love more than anyone else in this world. I’m looking forward to creating our own memories to tuck into my treasure chest in Memory’s hall.

But I’m still dreaming of a White Christmas- not just a snowy, white Christmas,  but the kind of happiness that White Christmases always have been to my heart… a Christmas as filled with love and joy and thankfulness, with sharing, with quiet moments to soak in the reality of what the world somehow has commercialized into a mere shadow of what it ought to be… and somehow I think this Christmas will be more beautiful than any I’ve ever known.

I’m looking forward to a cozy fire, to the Christmas Greetings from friends and family that make every day cheery when I see them in a little (but growing!) line on our window sill, a happy home filled with the music of the season, a few special foods, and  lots of quiet moments truly seeking to grasp the ultimate gift ever given- our Savior, and to be still in our hearts and know Him.

It isn’t the gifts, it isn’t the food, it isn’t the place or the people, or the snow that make my Christmas White- though they make it happy indeed, and the memories even more beautiful and special- it is the simple joys and the happiness that comes from inside that will always be my white Christmas, no matter where I am, and even if I am all alone.

Whether you “celebrate” Christmas, Hanukkah or neither, from our home to yours…

May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white.

God bless each of you this season, exceedingly, abundantly above all that you ask, think or even imagine. Happy White Christmas, this year and always.

The question has been presented in various forms over the two years John and I have been married. I heard it again last weekend at the wedding we attended.

Before I answer, I ask myself, what do I do?

Thinking over my days I remember the many little things that fill them. Waking up while the morning is still crisp, snuggling with my husband and baby boy, eating breakfast of cereal with banana before John leaves for work, reading my Bible with Troy on my lap… doing dishes, laundry, vacuuming, dusting, mopping, ironing…. planning menus, making grocery lists, having dinner ready when John gets home from work… holding and loving my precious baby boy, kissing poor tiny fingers pinched in baby toys–which will soon be scraped knees and cut fingers, changing many diapers a day, looking into Troy’s sweet little eyes as he nurses… enjoying conversations in the evening, ranging from computer networking to Bible doctrines… watching Troy enjoy his bath, then rocking and singing him to sleep… listening to John read God’s Word and praying together before drifting off to sleep…

“What do I do?” I reply with a smile. “I am a domestic engineer.”

“Oh. Wow.” The eyebrows go up. “And… do you enjoy that?”

Again I smile, unsure if this friend of a cousin understands what I mean in using the little phrase my mom coined when I was a little girl. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

A friend stopped by yesterday. We haven’t seen much of each other lately due to many short trips both of us have made. This was the girl who, in our high school years, was envied by many of the teenage girls in our church. Perhaps because of her naturally tiny shape, stylish clothes, coquettish ways? I don’t really know why we girls think some of the silly things we do.

We had a bit of an awkward visit yesterday. I listened for the first hour while she talked about all of the excursions she and her single sister have been making… weekends at the beach, visiting friends around the state and country. She told me about the cosmetology school she enrolled in, the house she just bought. She laughed as she told me about all the many guys who are just “crazy about her.” She talked of the clothes she’s been buying and the brands she loves.

Then she paused, sat back, and looked at me. “So what have you been doing? What’s up with you?”

“Well,” I began. “Not much. We just got back from a wedding in Minnesota, and we’re finally done with all these trips! I’ve just been kinda recovering from that… you know, laundry and cleaning up and stuff.”

I was met with a blank stare. For a moment there, I felt exactly like I did at fifteen when this same friend, who has become a dear friend in more recent years and with whom I laugh about our high school years now, would talk to me only if she had to, since I far, far from “cool.”  She said nothing. Just looked at me, waiting for me to say something else.

I took a breath. “Aaaand, taking care of Troy…. and…. stuff like that.” I laughed. There really wasn’t much else to say!

A  little half smile and a shrug. “Oh.”

This was one of those rare moments when I feel that my life is monotonous… humdrum… a little, perhaps, boring? I wanted to crawl upstairs with Troy and hide in a corner. The blank look, the shrug, the half smile. I felt so… insignificant. I didn’t have any wild times to talk about, or guys to report on,  or new clothes to sport. I just had the rhythm of my little life, not too full, not too crazy.

She left shortly after that, and I sat down on the couch where my friend, whom I do love dearly, had been sitting. I pulled Troy near to nurse him and thought about the visit. My heart was full of many different emotions, for many different reasons, not all relating to that conversation. But I still felt a tiny bit bruised from the encounter, and was rather surprised at my own reaction.

Then I looked down into the eyes of my baby boy. He was gazing up at me with more trust and little baby love than I ever could have imagined. I ran my hand across his soft head and held his hand in mine. My eyes started welling up.

As I sat there, John arrived home for his lunch break. He came and sat with me while I still fed Troy, and we talked together about his morning at work, my visit, and a few other topics. He put his arm around me and said, “The house sure looks nice. I like coming home when you have the music playing and candles lit.” I smiled at him, happy he had noticed my cleaning efforts of earlier in the morning.

It was quiet for a minute, then John looked down at Troy, stroked his little foot and said, in his cutest little mushy voice, “Isn’t he just the cutest thing?”

As I sat there, contemplating the events of the first half of the day, I became overwhelmed at God’s goodness to me. He has indeed given me everything and so much more than I ever could have asked for. He blesses me each morning with new mercies, a husband’s love, a little baby blessing to love and nurture, and a home to keep for His glory. What more could I want? The day to day tasks of my life may not hold much significance in the sight of others, but I can go to bed each night knowing that my husband considers himself a blessed man, and we are raising our little man to love Jesus with all of his heart. These are the things–the occupation–I have been given, and by God’s grace, I want to be a good steward of them, so that in the end, I can stand before Him and be told, “Well done, good and faithful servant… He who is faithful in what is least is faithful also in much… In as much as you’ve done it unto the least of these. you’ve done it unto Me.”

Written August 2006

I believe if I were charged with having a goal, it would be to live without fretting—to live more fully in the moment, not always huffing about as I’ve done in recent years…to live humbly—and appreciatively—with whatever God furnishes.

Jan Karon, Light from Heaven

I just love Father Tim.  He always speaks to the very essence of the matter, and with such humble sincerity that you can’t help but cherish the wisdom of his words.  And these in particular I’ve taken very much to heart this Christmas season.

This same sweet friend joins me and another in a yearly triumvirate of holiday accountability and prayer.  We three share a passionate sentiment for Christmastide and all its tender joys; we view the month of December as sacred in its entirety, and at least two of us weep when the Christmas tree finally comes down—after New Year’s, of course!  But as women of like passions we face like temptations.  As lovers of beauty and order we battle with the mockery of perfectionism.  Energetic and excited over plans we’ve been dreaming of for eleven months we are always taken aback by the onslaught of holiday possibilities.   Treasuring the birth of our Savior as the most unfathomable miracle of all time, we still confront the barrage of distraction and derailment our culture is only too willing to supply.

But the knowledge that I’m not alone—in my sweetest joys as well as in my struggles—has given me courage to keep true to the desires I have for a peaceful, Christ-centered Christmas.  The advice and encouragement passed round the table at our little pow-wow back before Thanksgiving is still refreshing my spirit with gentle nudges throughout my days.  I see their raised eyebrows in my imagination when I’m tempted to stress over non-essesentials.  Their emails and phone calls have been the Lord’s own whispers of love to me.  And the prayers of such godly women ‘avail much’.

But their greatest gift has been the silent example of their lives, which has bidden me to sit quietly at the feet of Christ each morning and savor the wonder of His coming to dwell among us.  And that single thing has already made this Christmas the best I have ever known.  Perhaps it is simply the knowing of Him that comes of such stillness, but I seem to see His beauty everywhere I look this season: in the first light of a winter’s dawn sparkling and glittering over a frost-encrusted world, the bright rays slanting through the cedars and the golden mist stealing up from the pasture; in the shining crowns of holly perched on the brows of all my pictures and the gorgeous shining tree all spangled with tinsel and fragrant with gingerbread; in the miracle of friends and relations and the miracles He’s wrought in our family just this year…

Tuesday was a day of Bustle.  It was a busy day in the midst of a busy week, and I realized at its close that the only thing that kept it from careening along in a frenzy of huffing was the slim cord of a prayer taught me by an older friend long ago: Gather my thoughts and order my steps.  From a round of crucial errands He did order my steps, providentially, by an insatiable craving for a peppermint mocha from Starbucks.  Who should I run into in the parking lot but my mother—actually I almost ran over her; she went back in with me and we sat chatting over pleasant holiday things for nearly an hour, pretending that we both didn’t have miles to go before our tea at home that afternoon.  It was a pause that refreshed, and that sent me on my way with a smile on my face.  I dashed all over town: my favorite tea shop for some Winter Garden tea for a special visit next week; an enquiry after Christmas crackers; one last gift for two dear little friends ages three and-a-half and five and-a-half.  And last of all, my wonderful farmer’s market, bright with beautiful seasonal produce—crates of clementines, fragrant pineapples, pomegranates, kumquats, lady apples, forfelle pears—and fairly glittering with imported holiday goods.  I wandered dazzled as a child among the colorful aisles, savoring the excitment of such once-a-year treats as Wensleydale cheese with dried cranberries and real English bangers and blood oranges.

Not a Christmas goes by that I don’t read or quote the third stanza of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, which never ceases to pierce me with its poignant entreaty:

Oh ye beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing!
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing!

What a timely word for a tired age!

All too soon this precious holiday will join the ranks of Christmases past whose memories lie too deep for words.  And my sweet friends and I will sit together over our ‘Twelfth Night Tea’ and sigh over how sweet it was, and discuss what we’ll do differently next year, and share what precious things the Lord taught us as we celebrated His holy Advent.  And we’ll do our very best to keep all these things and ponder them in our hearts.

We live in a fallen world. One of the evidences of this is that we really have no adequate term to describe the way in which young Christian men and women should get together. Perhaps some time after Christians return to a more obedient practice, we will have been doing it long and well enough to be able to name whatever it is we are doing.

In the meantime, we must use such terms as we have, hence, biblical courtship or biblical dating. We must reject the pattern of abdication, disobedience, and sexual immorality which we see all around us; hence, our rejection of recreational dating, or the modern dating system.

But in doing this, we are bound to use whatever terms we select in a qualified sense. Some couple who “date” are in closer conformity with biblical principles than other couples who embrace the “courtship” model. So in this book I shall routinely refer to courtship, or biblical courtship, and sometimes to biblical dating. If a courting couple goes on a date, we should not all panic and relegate this horror to the same category as nation rising up against nation, or kingdom against kingdom. The end is not yet.

-Douglas Wilson, Her Hand In Marriage (book not endorsed by ylcf.org)

My cousins called me the “Pintship Preacher.” At the ripe old age of thirteen, I was an absolute believer in courtship. The only problem was (in retrospect), believing in courtship presents a slight problem when you aren’t exactly of courting age. I soon learned to term it “waiting instead of dating”. But that really raised the eyebrows of the people who already doubted I’d find a husband in our small town. I told them God knew who my husband was and I was waiting on Him to bring us together.

Well, God turned out to be a pretty good matchmaker. He even found me a guy who had also grown up homeschooled and believed in courtship. Well, sort of. In reality, the young man who became my husband had the old-fashioned belief that God was the ultimate Author on the subject of relationships. In fact, I think Merritt had only read about one other book on the topic in his life. (Almost shocking to a girl who read little else.)

Not only that, but he shattered half the preconceived notions and “convictions” I’d had about romance and relationships. He did ask my dad permission to “court” me. He even got my dad’s permission before he put a ring on my finger. But the “perfect formula” of a guy talking to my dad before I’d ever noticed the guy existed? I know it does happen, but it was certainly not the way God wrote our story. And let me tell you, God writes better loves stories than I could ever dream up, even my wildest imaginations.

Elisabeth could tell you all about it. She’s the official “courtship story link collector” for ylcf.org. But sometimes, when she writes a couple asking for permission to share the link to their story, we have to laugh at their surprised responses: “We never really considered our relationship a courtship…”

I refer to the time when Merritt officially had my dad’s permission to court me as our “courtship.” My mother and grandmother use the same word to describe the years leading up to their marriages—many years before Joshua Harris was born! In fact, not even Bill Gothard originated the word courtship. (And both Joshua Harris and Bill Gothard have admitted to learning a thing or two since they first starting using the C-word. I have, too.)

A few generations earlier, in the year 1828, Noah Webster defined courtship as: “the act of wooing in love, soliciting a woman to marriage.” Thus, those same couples who are shocked we want to use their love story on our courtship stories page realize that their story actually does fit the definition of the word “courtship”—at least in our favorite dictionary. “We never really considered our relationship a courtship…though by your definition, it seems to meet the criteria quite nicely,” agreed one such couple.

When I was a teenager, just as all the internet abbreviations like LOL were being added to our vocabulary, there was another new one, that didn’t (necessarily) have anything to do with the web: DTR. It’s a conversation known as “Define The Relationship”, initiated by either party, in an effort to determine where the relationship is going. Maybe it’s time for us to have a DTR about the word “courtship.” Or rather, an un­-DTR.

The truth is, courtship is not about what you call it. It is not even about how you do it. As much as we want our daughters to have godly, pure, Christ-honoring relationships, we don’t plan to raise them to believe in “courtship.” The word “courtship” is subject to definition. “Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other,” does not need any definition. If you’re looking for a DTR, there it is, right in Ephesians 4:32. And for further explanation, see Hebrews 13:4: “Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled.”

Call your relationship whatever you like. But whether you court, date, betroth, or dort, do it all to the glory of God!

Meanwhile, we’ll be sticking with the word “courtship” (of Noah Webster’s definition) to describe the memorial stones of God’s faithfulness that we’ve collected here on ylcf.org: the stories of how God brought each man and woman together in His own way, in His own time.

I’m an ardent fan of (and believer in!) Christ-centered relationships and purity in such, but I’m not a fan of formulas, plans, or even, sometimes, books giving the so-called “how-to,” unless they are strictly adhering to the basic principles found in God’s Word…

My biggest pet peeve lies in the “terms” debate. “No, I’m not dating him,” they say. “We are courting.” Oh, thank you… that’s clear as mud. The very terms mean so little anymore; they’ve been twisted to mean so many very, very different things.

Who cares what we call it? And who cares–really–how it all plays out? As long as God is leading, guiding, directing and being sought every step of the way… it’s all good. God doesn’t work by formula. He works by principle.

-Ashleigh in “So do we call it ‘courtship’ or is it ‘dating’?” at Heart & Home
(follow the link to read the rest of Ashleigh’s thoughts and all the great discussion that followed her post)

P.S. Thanks to Ashleigh for creating a new logo for our Courtship Stories section. It’s coming soon–and yes, it will still feature the word “courtship.” And just in case you haven’t noticed yet, you can subscribe to the YLCF Courtship Stories feed in your feed reader. Not only will it tell you the names of the latest couple featured in YLCF’s index of Courtship Stories, but it gives the direct link to their story, as well!