Christmas blessings

Hello, friends. It's been a long time since I've written anything in this space. It's been a long, hard year at our house, and continuing to show up here just hasn't worked for me. But I've missed being here and especially missed interacting with you all.

Now it's less than one week until Christmas, and I'm excited to say that I'm going with my husband and sons to see a movie tonight. See if you can guess which one:

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly,” sing Clark and Ellen as their station wagon zooms down a freshly plowed highway. Russ and Audrey roll their eyes in the back seat. The search for the perfect Christmas tree is about to begin.

Yep, we found a theater with a special engagement of Christmas Vacation on the big screen. You know, I never saw this movie when it was first released, but then I had three sons. . . and watching Christmas Vacation every year became one of our family traditions. I know, I know—it’s dated, it’s silly, and sometimes it’s inappropriate, but year after year we follow along as the Griswolds make their way through December. We laugh until our sides hurt as Clark cuts the rope binding the Christmas tree (“Little full. Lot of sap.”), pours egg nog for Cousin Eddie into a moose-shaped mug (“Drive you out into the middle of nowhere, leave you for dead?”), and investigates the noise in the living room (“Squirrel!!”). If you’ve watched Christmas Vacation over the years, I’ll bet you have your favorite lines, too.

Of all the heart-warming Christmas movies available, all the beautiful musicals, all the rollicking comedies, why does this one endure? Why do we watch it over and over? Clark Griswold is a farcical character, so why do we identify with him so enduringly?

I think it’s because we’ve all been there. In our sometimes crazy-busy lives, who among us hasn’t aspired to create the perfect Christmas?

Who hasn’t tried to create a lasting memory by tracking down the perfect tree? Or attempted a stunning lightscape in the front yard? Or labored to plan the merriest holiday party? Or slaved to cook the most toothsome holiday meal?

We have good intentions. We want to make the holidays memorable for our families. And everywhere we look, we find inspiration. With all the magazines we read, the blogs we peruse, the Pinterest boards we scour, and the Instagram photos we scroll through, we’ve convinced ourselves that every element of the perfect holiday should be within our grasp.

This influencer has a different tree in every room of her home, each one decorated with a particular theme.

That influencer boasts the most beautiful front-door wreath and garland we’ve ever seen. 

One magazine features the six most elegant holiday desserts ever created, while another provides recipes for ten kinds of homemade candy that we simply must try.

We start with good intentions, and we work hard to create something special. But as we collect more and more inspiration, our plans for Christmas have enlarged to include more, more, more.

Somehow we imagine that we can take the best elements of everyone else's holiday plans and combine them into one stupendous effort. Clark Griswold called it a "fun old-fashioned family Christmas." These days I have my own term for it. I call it the Mythical Composite Christmas.

Many years ago my husband told me that I was constantly comparing myself to everyone around me. He said, "You choose the best attribute of everyone you meet, and you assume you should share that attribute. You've created for yourself a Mythical Composite Woman made up of all those attributes, and that's who you think you should be."

I struggled with comparison for so long that I finally wrote a book about my journey of wrestling with it. InterVarsity Press published the book, called Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison*. (You can read about the book and even read the first chapter here.) I'm finally finding some freedom from the trap of comparison.

But then Christmas comes, and if I'm not careful, I'll slip right back into my old ways of trying to create the perfect Christmas. This year, I'd like to leave the farce to the Griswolds, so I'm taking my own advice.

In Mythical Me, I tell a story that I'm remembering this Christmas. One week I was rushing around like crazy, trying to pack too many activities into too little time. In the middle of one of the busiest days, a friend asked how I was doing, and I answered honestly: "Frantic."

My friend pressed for details, and I shared them: in addition to the normal activities and responsibilities of the week, my son was celebrating a milestone birthday, I was hosting a dinner party for an important client, and I was preparing for a business trip that would keep me away from home for a week. With a haircut and a dentist's appointment thrown in for good measure, I had way too many things to do and not enough time to do them, at least not the way I wanted to do them.

And how did I want to do them? Well, I had great examples. One of my friends makes each family celebration unforgettable. Another is an ace hostess. Yet another glides through business trips with apparent ease. I wanted to perform at least as well as the people I was comparing myself to, if not better than anyone else could.

Had I stopped to think about how privileged I was? Did I pause to consider how rich my life was? Not one bit. Instead, I let myself be frazzled by trying to be the best at everything.

My friend prayed for me, and I heard God's voice speak to me. Simply and clearly, God said, "I made you to bless, not to impress."

Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized that truth. The reason I was working through my long list was to bless people. When I got stuck in comparing myself to others, I lost sight of that purpose. My talented friends had inspired me and taught me, blessing me with their examples. But when I started comparing myself to them, I twisted that blessing into a kind of contest that no one could win.

This is the trap I'm especially susceptible to at Christmastime. Maybe you struggle with it too? Then maybe you'd like to join me.

This year I'm choosing to remember God's words to me: "I made you to bless, not to impress."

When freed from the burden of wanting to impress people, we are able to bless them and be blessed by them. That's the way God designed us to be, at Christmas and all other times.

May you be both blessed and a blessing to others this Christmas! 

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Prayers for the week X

Hello, friends! Thank you for joining me here for prayer.

I like to start every day with the Lord's Prayer, and I pray throughout the day for various needs. But sometime during my workday, I like to pause and just spend a moment apart—a little time to re-orient my thoughts, a brief respite to center my thoughts once again on God.

If that sounds like something that would be nourishing to your soul, too, I'd love for you to join me. Here are small prayers to share for each day of the week.

Sunday

Pause for prayer: Lord, we worship you alone. So many things in this world clamor for our attention, tug at our hearts, commandeer our time--but you and you alone deserve our worship. Thank you for being a God who is so worthy of praise. Amen.

Monday

Pause for prayer: Lord, you tell us to love you with our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. We acknowledge that this is the good and right way to live, but we need your help to put these words into action. Help us to trust you and obey. Amen.

Tuesday

Pause for prayer: Lord, when we’re stressed about all that needs to be done, we are so grateful that our standing as your beloved children doesn’t depend upon us. Thank you for your care for us and for the promise that nothing will ever separate us from your love. Amen.

Wednesday

Pause for prayer: Lord, as we reach the midpoint of this week, we are awed to think that we'll never, never get to the end of your love for us. No matter what stretches out before us, your love reaches even farther. Help us to receive it thankfully and share it joyfully. Amen.

Thursday

Pause for prayer: Lord, as we move through this day, we remember that it is only in you that we “live and move and have our being.” Help us to let go of anxiety, recognizing that we are held and loved by you. You hold everything together; help us to trust you. Amen.

Friday

Pause for prayer: Lord, as the week winds to a close, we remember that you are with us, and you’ve been with us every moment, even in those times when we felt desperately alone. Thank you for your presence. Help us to rest secure in your embrace, confident of your love. Amen.

Saturday 

Pause for prayer: Lord, you are good. You are good. You are good. We say this over and over—not because you need us to sing your praises, but because we need to remember the truth and live in it. Thank you. Amen.

In my mind's eye, I like to picture all of us pausing to pray these prayers at some point during each day. Isn't that a lovely thought?

Grace and peace to you this week!

Prayers for the week IX

A blessed Eastertide to you!

I pray that your Easter celebration is full of joy and the wonderful knowledge that Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed!

And now it is a special joy for me to share some daily prayers with you.

I like to start every day with the Lord's Prayer, and I pray throughout the day for various needs. But sometime during my workday, I like to pause and just spend a moment apart—a little time to re-orient my thoughts, a brief respite to center my thoughts once again on God.

If that sounds like something that would be nourishing to your soul, too, I'd love for you to join me. Here are small prayers to share for each day of the week.

Sunday

Pause for prayer: Lord, you are so good. You alone are worthy of our worship, and today we fall in worship at your feet as we contemplate the fact that you defeated every enemy, even death, as you provided for our eternal adoption into your family. Thank you! Amen.

Monday

Pause for prayer: Lord, some days life is so hard. On those days especially we thank you for your loving kindness toward us—love so great that you would stop at nothing to make a way for us to enter into your eternal circle of life and love. Thank you, Lord. Amen.

Tuesday

Pause for prayer: Lord, as we consider all the work that faces us, we are reminded that you chose to be a humble servant, and you invite us to a life of service as well. Help us to turn away from pridefulness and to join you in loving people exceptionally well. Amen.

Wednesday

Pause for prayer: Lord, no matter how broken and messy our lives may be, you come to us as a friend, accepting and loving us. Thank you for your constant presence and your enduring love. Help us to share your love with others just as you've shared so freely with us. Amen.

Thursday

Pause for prayer: Lord, we are overwhelmed by your goodness and generosity and all-encompassing love. Thank you that we can never be separated from your love. Help us to follow your example of humble sacrifice and service rather than grappling for power and position. Amen.

Friday

Pause for prayer: Lord, we owe everything to you. Not just forgiveness of sins, although we are grateful for that. But you’ve done much more than that. You’ve included us in your eternal life and love. You’ve made us your children. You are so good to us, and we thank you. Amen.

Saturday 

Pause for prayer: Lord, you are good--so good that we struggle to find words to express your goodness. So we fall back on the old phrase that's been around for so many years and say "God is love." Help us to believe it as well as proclaim it. Amen.

In my mind's eye, I like to picture all of us pausing to pray these prayers at some point during each day. Isn't that a lovely thought?

Grace and peace to you this week!

The thief of Christmas joy

Even though it's 2020, and even though nothing seems to have gone right this year, here's one thing I know to be true: Christmas is coming. 

And this year of all years, I am so ready for it. I deck the halls with boughs of holly. I read my Advent devotional books. I light candles. I sing carols at the top of my lungs. I wish I could stand outside, mouth wide open, like a kid trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue—and that joy would just pour into me. I want the joy of Christmas to pervade every nook and cranny of my heart. 

Then I open Instagram, hungry for more holiday inspiration. And as I browse through all the beautiful images, I feel my joy drain away. Stolen once again.

I've done this so many times before. 

I see the beautifully decorated houses, and my own home seems plain and boring by comparison.  I get a glimpse of small but heartwarming family celebrations, and in comparison I feel cold and lonely.  I click through photos of amazing crafts and gaily wrapped packages and sugar cookies perfectly flooded with royal icing—and my efforts seem pitiful by comparison.

Even the good things I do seem to pale in comparison to others' work.  I hear that someone has raised thousands of dollars for a charity, and my gifts seem paltry by comparison. Or else I read that some parents give their children only three gifts, and in comparison I feel extravagant and embarrassed. 

Finally I realize that I'm doing this to myself.  I'm comparing myself to others at every turn. Instead of gathering inspiration online, I've gathered reasons to feel inadequate.  Rather than embracing the beauty of the season, I've turned it into a kind of competition.  

Am I the only one?  Or have you done it, too?

Comparison has always been my Achilles' heel. In fact, I struggled with comparison for so long that I wrote a book about my journey of wrestling with it and the ways I've found freedom from it. InterVarsity Press published the book, called Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison. 

In Mythical Me, I tell a story that I'm remembering this Christmas. One week I was rushing around like crazy, trying to pack too many activities into too little time. In the middle of one of the busiest days, a friend asked how I was doing, and I answered honestly: "Frantic."

My friend pressed for details, and I shared them: in addition to the normal activities and responsibilities of the week, my son was celebrating a milestone birthday, I was hosting a dinner party for an important client, and I was preparing for a business trip that would keep me away from home for a week. With a haircut and a dentist's appointment thrown in for good measure, I had way too many things to do and not enough time to do them, at least not the way I wanted to do them.

And how did I want to do them? Well, I had great examples. One of my friends makes each family celebration unforgettable. Another is an ace hostess. Yet another glides through business trips with apparent ease. I wanted to perform at least as well as the people I was comparing myself to, if not better than anyone else could.

Had I stopped to think about how privileged I was? Did I pause to consider how rich my life was? Not one bit. Instead, I let myself be frazzled by trying to be the best at everything.

My friend prayed for me, and I heard God's voice speak to me. Simply and clearly, God said, "I made you to bless, not to impress."

Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized that truth. The reason I was working through my long list was to bless people. When I got stuck in comparing myself to others, I lost sight of that purpose. My talented friends had inspired me and taught me, blessing me with their examples. But when I started comparing myself to them, I twisted that blessing into a kind of contest that no one could win.

 

I'm determined to follow my own advice this year. So this Christmas season, every time I am tempted to compare myself to someone else, I'm going to stop and pray this simple prayer:

"Dear Lord, please bless ___________. Thank you for giving them beauty to share.  And please help me to share the beauty you've given me."

That's it.  Nothing profound or deep; just a simple prayer of blessing. Praying it certainly won't impress anyone. But I think its effect on me might be profound. 

This Christmas, rather than concentrating on how other people outshine me, I'm going to remember that we all shine because God has given us light. If someone shines more brightly than I do, that's okay. There's so much darkness to overcome. Someone else's bright light doesn't eliminate the need for my little light.

Would you like to join me? Maybe we can all concentrate on blessing rather than impressing. 

In 2020, like never before, there's plenty of room for all of us to shine our lights, reflecting the glory of the One whose birth we celebrate at Christmas.  

A word for today from St. Patrick

Last year at this time, I was in New York City. My husband and I had taken a little vacation, and the last thing we did before heading home was to watch part of the St. Patrick's Day parade.

Things sure have changed, haven't they?

In a world with so much uncertainty, it's easy to give in to fear. If we're honest, we'll admit that there's plenty to be anxious about. We're worried about our health, the health of our loved ones, our jobs, our retirement accounts, our children who are missing school, our neighbor's children who depend on  free or reduced lunches, small business owners who might go bankrupt, healthcare systems that may become overwhelmed, the state of the economy. . . the list is endless.

And yet.

Christ Himself is with us. And though we worry, we don't have to give in to fear.

I love these words from the breastplate of St. Patrick, and I'm singing them to myself today. Won't you join me?

Christ be with me,
Christ within me,
Christ behind me,
Christ before me,
Christ beside me,
Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort
And restore me.

Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ in quiet,
Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of
All that love me,
Christ in mouth of
Friend and stranger.

Click here to download a printable copy of this image.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, friends!

Epiphany for a new year

When I was a young girl, I liked to collect interesting words.

Why say that something is well established and widely recognized when you can say that it's iconic?

Isn't it more fun to speak of the epitome rather than the ideal example of something?

Perhaps it's because my parents gave me such an unusual name, but I've always liked multisyllabic words. Of course, I've embarrassed myself plenty of times over the years as I've mispronounced those words or used them incorrectly. And as I've matured, I've learned to prize simplicity of speech. But my fascination with words continues.

One word that occupies a special place in my heart is epiphany, which I've always used as a synonym for an "aha!" moment or experience, what Merriam-Webster defines as "a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something." (What could be better than the definition of a multisyllabic word that contains three other multisyllabic words?)

When I was growing up and for a number of years after I became an adult, I had no idea that "epiphany" was any more than one of my beloved big words. Although I grew up with Christian parents who attended church regularly, learning about church history was not part of my education--quite the opposite, in fact. I grew up in a church that tried to practice religion as simply as possible, using only the Bible as a guide, eschewing any kind of creed or tradition. In some ways that was a good idea. In other ways, we missed out on a lot of wisdom.

After the birth, ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ, the church was established: a group of people who had been "born again" as Jesus explained to Nicodemus in John 3, who had been given the gift of the Holy Spirit, who were united in their love for Christ and their commitment to serve Him. Over the years, church leaders developed traditions to keep people's thoughts fixed on "things above," as described in Colossians 3:2. One of those traditions was the development of a church calendar—an ordering of the days of the year around the life of Christ. 

The church calendar begins not with January 1 as the start of a new year, but with Advent, the season of waiting for the coming of Christ. Then it moves into the 12-day celebration of Christmas. Maybe you're like me and assumed that the "12 Days of Christmas" was just a fun song to sing at Christmas parties. "Five golden rings" was always my favorite line. My mother had a small collection of Christmas decorations that featured a partridge in a pear tree. 

I knew nothing of Christmastide, which lasts from December 25 to January 6, a day for celebrating the visit of the wise men. "Epiphany" is the name for the celebration of that day, a commemoration of the greatest "aha" moment ever: the recognition by Gentile wise men of the infant Jesus as God incarnate.

As I learned about the tradition of Epiphany, one of my greatest joys was discovering a hymn written in the mid-19th century by an Englishman named William Dix. Here are the words:

As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light
Leading onward, beaming bright,
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

As with joyful steps they sped
To that lowly manger bed,
There to bend the knee before
Thee whom heaven and earth adore,
So may we with willing feet
Ever seek Thy mercy seat.

As they offered gifts most rare
At that manger rude and bare,
So may we with holy joy
Pure, and free from sin's alloy,
All our costliest treasures bring
Christ, to Thee, our heavenly King.

Holy Jesus, every day,
Keep us on the narrow way,
And, when earthy things are past,
Bring our ransomed souls at last
Where they need no star to guide,
Where no clouds Thy glory hide.

In the heavenly country bright
Need they no created light
Thou its light, its joy, its crown
Thou its sun, which goes not down.
There forever may we sing
Hallelujahs to our King.

As the hymn says, one day we won't need any "created light"; for now, tools and traditions like the church calendar seem like a really good idea.

As I think about the year just begun, I'm still trying to decide upon my goals and priorities, considering what might be my one word for 2020. In the process, I'm grateful for the wisdom and faithfulness of those who have gone before me. The writer of the book of Hebrews calls them the "great cloud of witnesses." Like them, I want to keep my eyes on Jesus, "the pioneer and perfecter of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2).

When I see "New Year, New You" messages all around me, I want to experience yet again the aha! moment of recognizing Jesus as Emmanuel—God with us. I am so grateful I don't have to make myself new; that's the work of God who is with me.

When you don't feel thankful

Thanksgiving is this week, but in my heart it's more than Thanksgiving week. It's also an anniversary: one that I'll always remember, although sometimes I wish I could forget it.

It's the 20th anniversary of my mother's death.

I had left the room for a few minutes when my mother died.

It was 1999, and I was a young mom with three little boys—a young mom who desperately needed the help and support of her mother. But that’s not the way things worked out. At just 58 years of age, my mother’s life was ending. My father kept a vigil at her bedside, supported by my two sisters and me.

On Mama’s last night, my sisters left the hospital for a much-needed break. My father never rose from the chair at the side of Mama’s bed. I asked if he wanted something to eat, then hurried to the hospital cafeteria to fetch some food I could bring back on a tray.

When I got back to her room, my father’s chair was empty. I could hear the shower running in the attached bathroom. And I knew.

One look at the bed confirmed my fears. My mother was gone. I’d left the room for 15 minutes, and in that time her eyes had fluttered open one last time, then closed for good. 

After he finished his shower, my father came back into the room where I sat, horribly alone. He touched my mother one last time and said, “Well, we gave it a good fight, didn’t we?”

That was all. 

Here's my mom back in 1995, with my two little red-headed boys:

Her hair was as white as snow, even though she had just turned 54 years old when this was taken. At this point I imagined how proud my mother would be as she watched my boys grow up.

But that's not how things worked out.

Here's the very last photo I have of her, taken just four years later:

This is her with her two brothers, reenacting a favorite photo from 25 years earlier:

I guess my family always took pictures on the front porch, no matter where we lived. It's just the way we did things.

But we didn't know what to do when my mom died. I guess I'd imagined that it would be a solemn, holy moment. I had read stories over the years of how families joined together to make a beautiful occasion of the passing of a soul from this life to the next. I had sort of pictured that my sisters and I would sit at my mother’s feet, collecting last bits of wisdom and sending my mom off with words of thanks and hymns of praise. Somehow I’d always thought this would be a special, sacred time, when we would all feel the presence of the Lord and weep together.

As it turned out, my mom slipped away while I was out getting sandwiches. It was not what I had imagined. 

Perhaps most cruel was the fact that this happened two days before Thanksgiving. Even as we fought our own fatigue and heartache, my sisters and I were clear on one thing: our job was to support our father during those days. 

Circumstances required that I be Daddy’s companion for the first dark hours after my mother’s death. Late that night I drove him to my house, three hours away from the hospital. He and I spent the day before Thanksgiving shopping for a dark suit for him to wear to my mother’s funeral. 

Honestly, I was ready just to skip Thanksgiving that year, but my husband refused to let the day pass by with no commemoration. He arranged for a turkey dinner to be prepared at a local store, then invited my sisters and their families to come to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone gathered at our house on Thursday, and we forced ourselves to name things we were thankful for. We offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God and ate our store-bought dinner. 

Of course, even in those difficult days, there were things to be grateful for. The doctors had thought Mama might linger for days at the end, but that didn’t happen. After months of suffering, Mama was no longer in pain. Although we’d made no advance plans for the funeral, my brother-in-law was able to find not only a good funeral home but also a burial plot. Despite the fact that her death occurred during a holiday week, the small-town funeral director attended to every detail with exceptional care. 

My husband had been right in insisting that we not let Thanksgiving go by unheralded. Even though our hearts were heavy with grief, even though our meal lacked the usual homemade delicacies, that time of giving thanks refreshed our spirits. Together we voiced our gratitude, however feeble it was, and we gained courage for the next step. 

Bone-weary and grief-stricken though we were, my sisters and I did what had to be done that week. We honored our mother and cared for our father as no one else could. I’m convinced that part of the reason we were able to do so was the time we spent giving thanks. As we made our way through all those heart-wrenching tasks, we needed to be reminded of what God had done for us. We needed to remember that life is full of blessings, not just heartaches. 

We’d grown up singing “Count your blessings, name them one by one, and it will surprise what the Lord hath done.” Turns out that song is true: when we stopped to count our blessings, we were surprised how many there were. God had provided for us even in the darkest days, and we could trust that He would keep on providing. And that’s proven true for me in all the years since then, as I’ve faced countless life circumstances that didn’t turn out the way I’d once imagined they would. I’ve now been married 34 years, and my three little boys are young men. Every year has brought its own difficult circumstances, but there have always been reasons to give thanks.

When Thanksgiving time comes around, I’m sometimes tempted to redress my grievances rather than count my blessings—to bemoan the unfairness of my mother’s early death, to weep for all the questions I wish I could ask her, to rail against the fact that my children have almost no memory of their grandmother. Sometimes I let myself wallow a bit; I know that I must allow myself to experience those feelings when they arise.

But I’ve learned that the strength I need does not come from wallowing in my pain. It comes from placing that pain on the timeline of my life, remembering the joys as well as the sorrows, understanding that God has been good and faithful in all times, and giving thanks to him for every good gift. 

Giving thanks is a choice we can make even when we don't feel thankful.

Has your holiday season ever been interrupted by grief or sorrow? How have you reminded yourself to give thanks?

Real life, midsummer edition

We knew in advance that the summer of 2019 was going to be a busy time for our family. Our family calendar included so many red-letter events, we ran out of red ink. We knew it was coming. We tried to prepare ourselves.

But wow.

How do you prepare yourself for so many things happening all at once?

Over the course of the last few weeks, every one of our sons has experienced a once-in-a-lifetime event. Here's photographic evidence.

One wedding:

One college graduation:

One master's degree graduation:

Sandwiched in there somewhere, my husband and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. (34 years! Can you believe that?)

And in the middle of these big events, several other notable things took place, too:

The funeral of my beloved aunt (in Kentucky).

The high school graduation of my precious niece (in Mississippi).

 A charity gala (in Washington, DC).

The annual Renovaré Ministry Team Retreat (in Colorado).

An author photo shoot to prepare for the October release of my book, Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison (which is available now for pre-order!).

And boom! Just like that, it's the middle of July!

That's a lot of pictures of me, huh? Some of these I posted on social media. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you might have seen some of them.  But even this many pictures don't tell the whole story of the past few weeks.

I strive to be utterly authentic on social media, but I've only posted a few times over these past weeks. I've hit some highlights, and that's about it.

When I was writing Mythical Me, I studied social media. I discovered that peer-reviewed studies have now confirmed what many of us have long suspected to be true: social media posts share mostly "best-foot-forward" moments. This is one of the reasons that comparing ourselves to what we see of others' lives on social media is so dangerous. As one author put it, we're "comparing our behind-the-scenes to others' highlight reels."

There have been so many behind-the-scenes moments in my life over the past few weeks, you'd hardly believe it. In fact, we're living in a protracted behind-the-scenes time right now. One of my sons has been seriously ill for the past three weeks, and he's been living at home so that I can care for him. We're praying for healing and hoping for the best, but these weeks have been tough–the sickest I've ever seen him.

I just realized that I haven't posted anything on social media since my son got sick. It's not that I'm trying to hide the messy details of my life. It's more that I've been too busy to attend to Instagram or Facebook.

But if you were looking at me strictly from my social media presence over the past few weeks, you might think my life is practically perfect.

Nope. Far from it.

Here's the truth: my life is deeply blessed. I have a precious family, dear friends, a great church home, meaningful work to do. In addition to that, I have the stability and security of a loving marriage, a good job for my husband, a lovely home, health insurance, money to pay our bills. So my life is not only blessed but also highly privileged in many ways.

But perfect? No.

No one has a perfect life, no matter how their lives may look from afar. But as my friend Myquillyn likes to say, "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful."

We all have blessings, and we all have struggles. My life is a mixture of both, and I know yours is, too. God give us the grace to be thankful for our messy, beautiful, real lives.

Tell me: what has your summer been like? I'd love to hear!

Old Story for a New Year

Happy New Year!

No doubt you've heard that greeting many times over the past few days. Perhaps you stayed up late on December 31 and greeted 2019 with kisses and toasts, or maybe you pulled the covers over your head and slept the old year away. Maybe you've made a list of resolutions for the this year, or perhaps you've chosen one word to guide you in the months to come. But one thing's pretty certain: you've been exposed to the word "new." A lot.

We love the promise of newness, don't we? A blank slate, a fresh start, a reboot—these ideas appeal to us like few others.

But as I contemplate the start of this new year, something has started to bug me.

As I think back on my Bible study and meditation for last month, everything pointed to the coming of Christ. The whole season of Advent was meaningful for me, as I reflected on the promise of Immanuel—God with us. I tried to put myself in the place of the ancient Israelites, watching and waiting for the Messiah. The old stories rang fresh in my mind, full of promise and hope.

And then on Christmas Eve, gathered with friends and family for a special service, I celebrated the coming of the Christ child into the world. "Joy to the world; the Lord is come!" we sang as we raised our lighted candles high into the air. Just like every year, we marveled how those little candles made the darkened sanctuary so full of light when they were all held aloft together. Indeed, the Lord had come; we could feel it.

But now, a couple of days into the new year, we're ready to put all the Christmas stuff behind us for another year. We take down the decorations. We throw out any leftover treats. We hang new calendars and get ready for the business of making ourselves new.

Up and at 'em! Make your goals! Get yourself organized! Make it happen! The message of Christmas may have been that the Lord had come, but the message of New Year's seems to be that it's all up to me.

Already, just a few days into the new year, I'm weary.

Over the centuries after the coming of Christ, church leaders developed traditions to keep people's thoughts fixed on Him. As I was growing up, I knew next to nothing about these traditions. Because they aren't mentioned in the Bible, our church didn't observe them. I had never heard of a "church calendar." The very idea would have seemed preposterous.

In the church calendar, the new year begins with Advent, the season of waiting for Christ. Then it moves into the season of Christmastide, which lasts all the way to January 6, a day for celebrating the visit of the wise men. "Epiphany" is the name for the celebration of that day, when the baby Jesus was first recognized by Gentiles as God incarnate. In the mid-19th century, William Dix wrote a special hymn for Epiphany:

As with gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light,
Leading onward, beaming bright;
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

Isn't that a wonderful prayer?

In these days of endless new-year-new-you messages, the idea of a church calendar doesn't seem preposterous at all. It seems like just what my soul needs.

Oh, I'll take my decorations down. I'll hang my new calendar up. But this year I'm choosing to remember that the celebration of Christmas is not just for December 25. We celebrate Christmas not just because Jesus was born, but because He lives and reigns. The promise of Immanuel was first for the people of Israel, then for the whole world. God himself is with us.

I don't have to make myself new this January. God himself is with me, and He is making me new. When I'm tempted to despair, I remember "though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (II Corinthians 4:16). The work of creating a new me this year is being done by the One with the strength and power to do it.

It's the old, old story, and it's what I need for the new year.

How about you?

The journey from comparison to contentment

I know you've seen signs like this on Facebook and Instagram:

Makes it sound so simple, doesn't it? Just change your attitude, and your heart will be at ease.

Some days that's much easier said than done. The last few days have been easier-said-than-done days for me.

Here's the photo I posted on social media on Friday:

You can probably tell that this an open suitcase. You may not be able to tell that it's sitting on my dining room table. Last Wednesday evening, right after we printed out our boarding passes, my husband and I were filling this suitcase with everything we needed for a trip the next day.

A big trip. To London.

That suitcase never made it to London, because Hurricane Michael made its way through North Carolina on Thursday, the day we were scheduled to fly. Our flight was cancelled, and there were no other flights available. (Believe me, we looked.) We had to cancel our much-anticipated trip.

First I was mad, then I was sad. And then in the very next breath I was embarrassed for feeling sad. What I was I thinking, I said to myself, when others were suffering much worse than disappointment over cancelled plans? Surely I had no right to feel sad, I thought, when others' suffering was so much worse than my own.

On an on went the conversation in my head until I finally recognized it for what it was: the same old comparison game. I was downplaying my feelings of disappointment by comparing my loss to the devastating losses that hurricane victims in Florida and Georgia were suffering. This is just one of the things I've learned from writing a book on comparison: we sometimes use comparison as a way to manage our feelings.

Well-intentioned Christians do this a lot, I think. When we're uncertain or embarrassed about our feelings of disappointment or sadness, we stuff them down and compare our losses to those of other people. Have you done this?

"I shouldn't complain about having the flu when she is facing surgery."

"I shouldn't be disappointed about not getting that promotion when he doesn't even have a job."

"Why do I feel so sad about this? After all, it's not nearly so bad as that."

Here's something I've learned: feeling management doesn't work. Feelings buried alive never die. You can't hang an attitude of gratitude hashtag on your heart.

Far better, I believe, to admit our true feelings to God and ask for His help in dealing with them rather than to minimize them by comparing our situations to those of other people. I believe and trust that God is able to comfort us when we’re hurting, to give us perspective on whatever we’re facing, and to give us compassion for our neighbors.

God can do all that and more. So much better to trust God with our feelings than try to manage them by saying “I can’t be sad because someone else is more sad.”

This I know for sure: the back door of comparison is not the way to contentment.

Linking with Kelly Balarie
Holley Gerth

Another chance to be grateful

Isn't it interesting how the smallest circumstance can cause a shift in your thinking?

Not long ago, the events of one morning conspired to prevent me from taking a shower. Nothing was wrong, really; I just wasn't able to bathe before I needed to be dressed and out and about. I'd taken a shower the morning before; I wasn't disgustingly dirty or stinky. I just wasn't freshly clean.

By midday I felt sticky and itchy. Oh, how I longed to smell fresh and soapy. I wanted my skin to feel smooth and satiny. I coveted a deep breath of the aroma of a freshly-laundered towel.

In a word, I was cranky.

So I took myself off to my nice, big, clean shower. I stood under the steady stream of steaming hot water. I lathered up lavishly with my fragrant body wash. All was right with my world again. "Boy, I'm thankful for a good shower," I thought to myself.

And then it hit me: the ugly truth, right square between the eyes. Actually, I'm not at all thankful for a good shower. To tell the truth, I rarely give it a second thought. Only on a day when I was prevented from having it at the usual time did I stop to realize what a blessing a bath is.

How many, I wondered, how many busy women just like me would love to be able to bathe once a week? Even once a month?? How many would give nearly anything to stand in a shower of clean, hot water? How many would consider it the height of indulgence to wash their bodies with the soap I use every single day?

I am struck by the fact that this everyday blessing which I take so lightly is actually a great luxury. I think wryly to myself that there's nothing wrong with me that flood or fire wouldn't cure. And then I wince at the knowledge that there are millions who have endured flood or fire or even worse, while I sit here securely in my nice snug house.

Dear God, what would I have left if I were to lose all the things for which I never stop to give thanks? I realize now that I must begin my prayer of thanksgiving with one of confession.

I never intended to be blasé and complacent. I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I realize now that ease has affected my perspective. I spend too much time thinking of all the things I don't have and not nearly enough time being grateful for all that I do have.

I want my perspective to change—indeed, I need my perspective to change. Dear God, I confess my poor attitude, my thankless heart, my ungrateful spirit. Change me, Lord.

How about you? Are you, like me, grateful for another chance to be grateful?

Joining these lovely parties:

Share His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

A new book for you (and a giveaway!)

Many years ago, I attended a blogging conference. Before I attended, I believed that the conference would answer all my questions about blogging and that I would leave with everything I needed to become a highly successful blogger, blah, blah, blah.

Honestly, the conference was pretty good. I most certainly did not have all my questions answered, but I was glad I went—not because of the information I collected, but because of the people I met. And here's one of the best of those people:

This is Shelly Wildman, and today I'm especially proud to say that I know Shelly. Because today, Shelly's first book launches into the world. First Ask Why: Raising Kids to Love God Through Intentional Discipleship isn't a typical how-to-parent book (I'm not a fan of typical parenting books, actually). This book is different.

I met Shelly when were both in the thick of parenting teenagers. Shelly has three daughters who are almost the same ages of my three sons, so we had lots to talk about. And I quickly ascertained that Shelly was remarkably intentional about how she was raising her daughters. More than anything else, Shelly wanted her kids to be followers of Jesus, and it seemed that all her parenting decisions were made with that in mind. This is what Shelly shares in First Ask Why: the wisdom that she's gained through years of intentionally raising her kids to be disciples of Jesus.

I've known Shelly long enough to know that she's the real deal, and I'm so glad she's written a book to share her parenting wisdom with the world.

I was blessed to receive an advance copy of this book, and I can tell you that it would be an especially good read for parents of kids ages 2-12. But it would also be helpful for parents of kids of any age. It would be a great book for grandparents to read. I'm also thinking that it would make a great baby shower gift!

I don't have to purchase my own copy of the book, so I'm going to buy a copy for one of you. Just comment below or on Instagram or Facebook if you'd like to win a copy. I'll order it and have it sent straight to you. (Bonus: Shelly is donating all the proceeds from the sale of the book to a wonderful organization that is dedicated to helping kids who live in high-risk, inner-city neighborhoods have abundant life.)

You can order the book through Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, or Christian Book Distributors, or ask for it at your local bookseller. (These are NOT affiliate links; I just believe in this book and want to make it easy for you to order.)

Happy reading!