Simple Gifts #2: Space to Listen

This week we are in a deep freeze.
Outside, nothing is growing.
The weather guy said that normal snow is at a moisture ration of about nine to one,
but yesterday's snow was so fine and dry that the ratio was about 20 to one.

It's a good day to hunker down,
enjoy the sunshine that pours through our south-facing windows,
continue the battle against dirt and chaos,
and still my soul enough to listen,
both to God and to people.

It's so difficult to hold still.
To be quiet when someone is talking.
To listen with my whole heart.

I heard some advice last week about how to come alongside those who are suffering.
I wanted to add to that conversation, but there wasn't opportunity.
(I had to be still and listen).
I would have said this:
Sometimes, in a time of darkness or sorrow, certain people know just what to do.
I believe they are led by the Holy Spirit.
Different ones have different gifts, and darkness is a place where those gifts shine.

We have had friends show up at our door just to pray with us.
We didn't have to respond, which was helpful, since we couldn't.
We let them pray for us, and when they were done, they quietly left.

Two years ago, when I was twelve weeks pregnant and cherishing the mystery of an unexpected baby,
an acquaintance showed up, on a cold and snowy night,
bringing bags and boxes of toys and food (he reminded me very much of Santa Claus).
We were scraping the bottom of the barrel at the time,
and those bags of gifts, once I returned them for store credit,
meant we had presents under the tree.

But here is the gift that is the most rare,
and the hardest to ask for.
It's the gift that is needed above all others.

It's listening..

Just listening.

A few people, very few,
knew how to listen when I needed to talk.
They did not interrupt.
They did not give advice.
They did not try to cheer me up.
They let me talk until I was done, really done.

That's what I would tell my pastor,
if this was a conversation.
That in a time of suffering, or grief, or just ordinary discomfort,
be aware,
be ready to help, be willing to receive help.
All those tangible needs and provisions are always in front of us.

But what is beneath,
under the talking and the noise,
is a yearning to be heard.
Every one of us has that yearning.
And so I would say,
Be the one who has created space to listen.

This is my gift to you.
It's an Advent gift,
because it requires intentionality,
and time,
and space,
and most of all,
it requires the Presence of Jesus.

This is my prayer
on a winter day that is cold, white and icy,
in the time of year that is most dark and most busy.
"Jesus, how can I make the space
to listen with my whole heart?" 

"Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.
Give ear and come to me,
hear me, that your soul may live."
(Isaiah 55:2-3a)

Simple Gifts #1

I feel kind of bad, because I'm always on a bit of a rant about music.
I don't know if it's a first-born tendency, or just the way I'm made,
but for some reason I have a terrible time letting this go.
I'm the same way about baby names (I want to tell people, "Name your baby this, not that.")
And about decorating.
I want to follow strangers around Goodwill and beg them not to buy the stuff, the worthless
and exhausting stuff, that they have piled into their carts.

Not just Goodwill, either.
Macy's and Marshall's and Target and every other store is filled with things
that simply should not be brought home.

It's better to have space, and simplicity,
than to cram the house from stem to stern.

So here's my little gift to you,
take it or leave it.

Make your Christmas simple.

That's it.

I'm learning this as I go, and it isn't easy.
For one who loves to make everything beautiful and memorable
(while not spending money),
this idea of simple is hard to follow.

It helps to have a baby who's into everything.
It helps to have a husband who puts down his foot about getting boxes from the highest shelves.

It helps, so much, to wake up singing,
"In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
In the morning when I rise,
Give me Jesus."

A wonderful thing about December is that my usual rant about music abates somewhat.
Except for the occasional rendition of "Christmas Shoes,"
a song that should go away forever,
the radio is a safe and happy place these days.

Yesterday I listened to my new Emmylou cd, a birthday gift from my sister.
We played it all day long.

I hope you love it too. This track has background vocals by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and (gulp) Neil Young. I know Selah sings this song. But most of you have probably heard their version, and not Emmylou's. 
I'll link it at the end of the post. 

Malachi thinks Daddy's mandolin belongs to him.

His big hands remind me so much of his Grampa Murphy's hands.

In the weeks before I wrote this, Nate cleared tons of stuff out of our basement and garage.
I took two trips to Goodwill to unload things.
It felt great.
Then I threw away my dried hydrangeas (I recommend throwing out all dried flowers, you won't regret it).
Then I cleared off a kitchen counter. Just one.
But it was a start.

How are you keeping Christmas simple this year?

I'd love to know.

Listen to "Light of the Stable" here.

A Snow Day

Thanks to our fresh snowfall yesterday, we now live inside a Christmas postcard.
I walked to the woodpile last night, hoping to pull some white pine branches for decorating the front porch.
I got so excited, walking through the fresh deep snow, that I had to run.
The yard glowed dim and blue, the pine trees bowed down heavy with their soft blanket.
I was alone for the only time all day.
It's wonderful to be alone, if only for ten minutes.

The white pine boughs were frozen solid to the earth,
so I gave up on that idea and trudged back to the house,
trying to step in my footprints, so as not to smudge the perfect surface of snow.

Today is going to be cold.
So cold that we might stay in all day.
Yesterday we went sledding with the baby.
He took off his little blue mitts and plunged his chubby hands into the snow,
again and again,
until he was crying from the cold.
Anna Kate took a few runs down the hill in her sled,
then she gave Malachi a ride.
He liked it.
I think he loved it.
But his hands were getting so chilled by then that we lay him down in his sled
and trundled him back to the house.
He cried the whole way.
He looked like a little Michelin Man,
as wide as he was tall,
with a pink nose and red cheeks,
wailing loudly from the sled.

And that was our grand outing.
I did not get any pictures, because the snow was still falling thickly.
Also, getting oneself and a baby stuffed into snowpants,
coat, hat, boots and mittens is a bit of a workout.   

The side yard, before I ruined it with footprints.         

Since we got about eight inches of snow, and our snow blower isn't working,
Nate and Anna Kate spent an hour shoveling.
When she came inside, hungry, she got herself a plate of Christmas cookies
and settled in to watch tv with the baby and me.
I could see right away that wasn't going to work for him.
He started clamoring for her cookies.
I ran to the kitchen to get some, since his sister refused to share,
and when I came back downstairs, he was just succeeding in climbing onto the couch.
She was huddled in the corner, trying to protect her snack,
and he was yammering at top volume as he finally achieved his goal.

She said sadly,
"That was the most unpeaceful cookie I've ever eaten."

Here's to quiet snow days, naps in the afternoon, and evenings filled with peace for eating Christmas cookies.

Let me know what you do on quiet (but busy) days like this.

Here's the recipe for the cookies we cannot stop eating. 

Something Missing

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We did.
We went to my parents' house in Red Wing.
When we were there for Thanksgiving two years ago, I was pregnant but had not told a soul.
(Not even my husband.)
We laughed about that, since Malachi was about the size of an olive then,
and now he's a big, busy toddler. Like my dad said, he spent the whole day
scouting out the house. He loves to explore new places.

My birthday happened to fall right on Thanksgiving Day,
and I have to admit, it was fantastic to spend it with my folks.
We missed so many holidays and birthdays while they were in Peru and Dallas.
It was a warm, cozy, yummy, family sort of day.
There were nine of us
(and seven of those were Murphys),
but it felt just right.

Malachi scouts out Grampa's cheesecake.

The day after Thanksgiving, we hosted a little leftover party at our house.
(Nate's mom brought the leftovers).
Isaac has been taking swing dance all semester,
so he gave lessons.
His Gramma was a natural.
We all miss Grampa.
I choked up when Julia and Nate started singing "Country Roads,"
one of his favorite songs, on the drive to Red Wing.
And later, when Mom Murphy gave me a lovely card, it was signed from her alone.
Tears.

So we had a full Thanksgiving,
but in some ways, a partial one.
Something was missing.
Someone was missing.

I know this strange feeling will pass,
but for now, it reminds me of when my grandmothers passed away.
It was hard to believe they were really gone.
They had always been there.

We had all the kids home for the long weekend.
Besides lots of swing dancing, they fit in a fair amount of homework,
some games, and good conversations.
I thought Malachi would be so easy to buy for this year.
Now I'm worried that all he wants is his own computer.
More specifically, he wants a mouse.
Not the kind that squeaks, either.  

Our Christmas house is, like our Thanksgiving, partial.
This is our little tree, and it's missing its topper.
Now all the boxes are back in the garage, on their high shelves,
and I don't think any amount of begging is going to get me that tree topper.  

Our scrawny silver entryway tree is parked
in a big planter, and held in place by driftwood.
Here it is dusted by this morning's snow.
Usually it has three huge lime green ornaments on its branches,
- yes, that's right, three! -
but not this year.
Those are missing too.

If you are missing somebody or something this year,
(and who isn't?)
may the sights
and smells
and lights
and friends
and silence
and music
and the cold
and the warmth
be received like Advent gifts,
day by day reminders
that in our longing to "be with,"
to have nothing missing at all,
we reveal our need for Jesus,
Emmanuel,
who came to be with us,
fill our longings,
and make us whole.