Sunday, March 7, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thanks, mom. I loved it.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
For today's installment, I bring you family amazingness with a side of dysfunction and hilarity.
Santa came too. And got crushed. Poor Santa.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
It started as a tradition to send cookies to my grandparents when they lived in Florida. We'd make them every year, and send them in the same cookie tin. Inside the tin was a piece of cardboard with each year written on it. And each year the cookies arrived in Florida, my grandpa would cross of the year and send the tin back. And the tradition continued the following year. It was like a cookie-making tally sheet. Keeping track of all the memories you couldn't fit into a round tin. And it continued until my grandparents passed away.
Now, we no longer send any cookies away in a round tin, but there are some things you can count on in the cookie-making-process.
1. I will (and have, since I can remember) eat dabs of flour. It's gross, I know. But for some reason, I can't help it.
2. There will be Christmas music playing in the background.
3. There will always be at least one battle in which the cookie gets stuck in the cutter, and the cutter inevitably wins. And words are exchanged. The end.
4. I will always "accidentally" make a Tiny Tim cookie, and say "God Bless us, each one!" When he comes off the cookie sheet. Exhibit A:
This year, since next year's cookie baking will look quite different, there were some tears shed. It's one of those realities that sinks in and then you move on from it. Next year will be different. It will be okay. Hard. But different. I hope to make these cookies next year in Uganda. I hope they have Vanilla. I hope my mom can survive without the Tiny Tim cookie cutter because I definitely have it in a tub of "Stuff to take to Uganda."
Enjoy some pictures from our cookie-making tradition. And know they are amazing. So amazing that you cannot have any. That's all. Just sayin'.
Pre sprinkled. Sorry you can't see the final product.
2010 - Done
Thursday, January 14, 2010
It's been more than 48 hours. And I still can't turn away. The earthquake in Haiti has me undone, searching for words to process what has happened. I have missionary friends there, all of whom are safe and accounted for, but as I watch CNN, I'm reminded that not everyone is. Talk of mass burials. Children trapped in collapsed schools. People frantically searching for news of the whereabouts of loved ones. It's mind-numbing. I feel helpless. Sure, I can pray. And give. But at the end of the day, it seems to fall so short. Suffering. Agony. Cries in the darkness.
Even as I type this, the lyrics of a Chris Tomlin song are pumping through my speakers, "Rejoice, oh world. Your Savior has come...born that we may have life." And it's at moments like these that I realize how true these words are. In the midst of pain. In the midst of raw emotion. Yes, even in the midst of death. Jesus was born that we may have life. And I'm no theologian. And I don't pretend to think that this would be some spiritual band-aid for those who are devastated. But I realize that, just as the devastation is great, and the darkness is deep, so too is the hope. Hope in the face of missionaries and aid workers. Civilians who lend a hand, and an entire day to see a neighbor freed from the rubble. And with each rescued one, I hear the words "Rejoice oh world, your Savior has come...born that we may have life," and they take on a whole new meaning.
(image acquired from www.thetelegram.com)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Obviously, this is the Christmas tree. Every year, we say it's the prettiest tree we've had. And we said it again this year. Even though the bottom third of the tree is lacking in the ornament department due to two dogs that shall remain nameless. In their defense, they did not take the ornaments off the bottom. We didn't trust them to leave the tree alone, so we started the ornaments higher. There are many special ornaments on this tree that I will share in later posts.
Advent is the season where we prepare for the arrival of Jesus. It is a season of waiting and anticipation. And, in our house, as a reminder, we don't put Jesus in the manger scene until Christmas morning. Each time I walk past it, my favorite Christmas song "Come Thou Long Expected Jesus" comes to mind. And this year, for some reason, as I looked around me at the world around, I took notice of the affect of Jesus' absence in the lives of so many. And I longed for His arrival in my own life even more.