(musing)

Our lives are picture books for all to read. I pray mine is full of both delicate water-colored flowers and messy scribbles - the story of a Love well-lived.

Reminders of Communion.

In the midst of celebrating Christ, I’ve missed Him. Like crazy. I’ve missed just sitting and basking in the warmth of His presence and writing. I’ve missed the liberty that comes in communion with Him.

Today I wanted to breathe in His presence, as I craved the tender-hued hush of words falling onto the page. Even if the words are just those - words. Phrases aren't necessary any more. And paragraphs? I don't know if I'll ever see them again. But words can be enough in this season. Anything to commune with Him. So I prayed He would speak as I ran on the winding roads overlooking the lake, I prayed He would speak as I drove to meet friends for an afternoon outing. I prayed He would speak in the quiet places and in the chaos.

And He did.

He spoke through birdsong and dancing leaves in a grocery store parking lot. He reminded me beauty and song can be found in discarded places.

He spoke in a pink-dappled afternoon gathering as I watched friends savor the quiet peace of a pedicure. He reminded me all good gifts - including those friends - come from Him and are for His glory.

He spoke as I made a pot of soup for dinner, reminding me of His power in working all things together for good.

And through it all, He reminded me of His attentiveness. His love. His presence. His communion.

Just a Little More. Christmas.

I awaken with a familiar pang - my mom used to talk about it every holiday. She felt the blues so strongly in the days following - she hungered for the days of family and love and togetherness to stick around. But for our family, those days were rare. With an alcoholic husband, parents who never came to visit, and relatives and friends who needed more than they gave, my mom's everydays were difficult days.

Things are different for me. I have a good husband, a great son and daughter-in-love, a precious grandson, friends who have become family and family that reminds me of my roots. But the blues are

just as strong, and I find myself needing just a little more Christmas, just a little more kindness and togetherness. Just a little more holiday. Just a little more holy day.

The more I ponder the season, the more I hunger for holy moments that begin earlier and linger longer. I long for candles and choirs and whispered prayers of loved ones. My heart hungers for the awe that comes in a night sky blazing with starlight and the angels singing. And my soul needs to feel the joy that comes from the surprise and delight of unexpected gifts - gifts given not out of obligation but out of love.

I’m ready for Christmas to be here - again.