On understanding...

I don't understand.

Something I've been saying in my mind a lot lately. It's difficult to get around.

Life goes on, but it doesn't erase. It keeps moving but it doesn't have the capacity to make it go away.

You go through the moments and you do what you can. You laugh sometimes and you cry just as often. You still shower, make dinner, clean the house. You have beautiful moments where you see the love of God come shining through and redeem the brokenness around you.

But the moments of heartache, you can't avoid. Something happens. Some trigger. And your mind starts replaying what has been. And then come the questions. And you have no answers. Or inadequate ones at best. So then comes the inevitable: I don't understand.

Exasperation. And frustration. And more than anything, brokenness. And then it comes: I don't understand. God, I don't understand.

And I still don't. I've found some good. I know Him, the One I have believed in. I trust Him. And He's teaching me to trust Him more and more.

And I find truth every day as I watch my amazing loved ones walk through this.

Yet I don't understand. And it bothers me. I want to tie it with a bow, lend it meaning and be free to move on with full assurance of purpose. But it doesn't come. It's clouded with ambiguity and for every certainty, a thousand uncertanties come crowding in.

I don't understand.

And it bothers me.

Yet when I consider some of the other things that baffle me, I'm reminded how limited my own understanding is. I cannot conceive of a reality unbounded by time. My mind lurches at the proposition of numbering the sand on the shore or the stars in the sky. And to my finite understanding, the premise of a million galaxies stretching out into infinite space is beyond all comprehension.

This is certainly not the only case in which I simply do not understand. There is far more to this life that I don't know than what I do know.

And to the many things of this life that I do not understand. For once, it is comforting to add another.

"And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." - Philippians 4:7

There are an endless number of beauties and horrors that defy my capacity for comprehension.

But one stands out most exceedingly incomprehensible of all.

Him.

Who He is.

How He brings peace even in the midst of turmoil.

Once more: I don't understand.

I still don't.

And for now, that's ok. It has to be.

A beautiful disaster...

Walking out into our living room today, there was only one phrase that sprang to mind: a beautiful disaster.

It is strewn all about with piles of gifts meant to be taken to one place or another, as well as all the trappings of a pretty gift: scissors and bows, scotch tape and shiny tags, wrapping paper and ribbon.

A lot of love goes into the way that our family does the holidays. True, we trek around from place to place and have our least favorite little idiosyncrasies for each spot. 7 AM is my resounding least favorite part of this whole process. But what child can be asked to wait any later than that when there's a glimmering pile of presents to be discovered? Certainly not I at their age.

But beyond all the hustle and the bustle, the buying and the baking resonates something profoundly good. A pause in the full-tilt pursuit of the ever elusive something we're all running after, just to be with one another, as we find ourselves in this moment.

For me, that is some of the greatest magic of Christmas. A sudden, cinnamon dusted moment that beckons us back to the deeper truth of what this life really is.

We sing songs, we decorate trees, we [alright, alright: I] drape white twinkle lights over everything that will stand still. We bake sweets and then eat them with reckless abandon. And we exchange gifts. In short, we celebrate.

We take a moment to savor the sweet and to embrace the beautiful. To remember that life is very good and traced throughout with wonders like peace, hope and joy.

God created the world and it was good. God wrought us from the dust and we were good.

But then we broke it.

So God sent His Son in the form of a sleeping baby, with all the bright hope and newness of unspoilt life that that image carries, to restore the goodness and to rekindle the light and to set us free to live God-ward in a whole new way.

And there is beauty in that. Redemptive loveliness scattered lavishly over this whole season. And I'm grateful for the chance to stop and see what is good.

The truth is, there's been a lot of seeming disaster in these days we've been walking through. To the naked eye, there's dust and ash laid over everything from all of the breaking that's occurred. And as much as I hate to admit it, there are some moments when my eyes grow cold and that is all that I see.

But my God is kind and rich in mercy and He awakens my soul to perceive His goodness again and again. He wipes a tear and lifts my head and at the perfect moment reveals again that despite all the brokenness I carry, He has come to again make all things beautiful. The world is traced through with His glorious, redemptive fingerprints. And that work continues in me. And in you.

And that, that God-breathed beauty rising from the brokenness, that is something to celebrate.

So Merry Christmas to one and all.

May He bless our eyes to see, in this season and always, the surpassing beauty His love can bring.

Here...

All the loves are here. The talking, the planning, the processing, the quiet certainty of our little family. It's here. And I feel like I should write. I feel the need to make words happen. To put ink on paper and to mine out the meaning from all this mess.

But nothing makes sense. Even with all of us here. Even with a few days and a million, million tears. Nothing makes sense. And I have no truth to offer yet.

But I'm here. And I'll be here. And I love you so.

Mothers...

All of the young mothers who've come to visit us have been so sensitive. They've all been so careful to ask about bringing their little ones along. So many young loves guarding your heart.

I find it really amazing that you've wanted every one of them here. That you've invited them in and held their little hands and kissed their little cheeks and smiled at their precious laughs. How you've loved them and opened your heart to the beauty of them; I think it's a testament to the mother that you are. To the loving, nurturing wonder of you. You've been a mother from the start. A little two year old, big sister mom to me. And you are a mother still. And you are a mother always. It's signed into who you are and you still have so much love and nurturing to give, even in this moment. And the heart of you amazes me, as always.

And speaking of mothers, we've got a really great one, you and I.