The fragrance of Thanksgiving

I am smiling inside for two reasons tonight. One: I spent a wonderful Thanksgiving day with family that I hardly ever see and wish I could see more often. And two: because I just rediscovered one of my favorite verses.

"But THANKS BE TO GOD, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him." 2 Corinthians 2:14

I think it's one of the most beautiful and comforting verses. It gives purpose to even mundane daily life. Whatever we're doing, we are victorious as we spread around the fragrance of knowing him. I love that.

I specifically remember loving that verse in college. But I love it just as much now. As we walk around in this world, we are the fragrance of life.

Think about that tomorrow in the middle of the hustle bustle of black Friday. I hope it makes you smile inside too.

Not Me! Monday

Ever thought you'd die of mortification? Or want bury yourself in the clearance racks at your local department store hoping no one could find you? Or hideout in a dressing room to avoid heated death stares and public humiliation? Wish you could wiggle your nose and transport yourself to another location? I have. Just this week. On what started out as an unexpectedly relaxing Friday morning, things quickly went south.

Here's what didn't happen:

What I intended to be a quick trip to the mall to exchange a sweater with a hole in it, did not turn out to be so much more. After dropping Matthew off at school, I didn't get to the mall over a half hour early, forgetting it didn't open until ten o'clock.

To pass the time, I didn't end up at one of my favorite places - Panera Bread - with the entire elderly mall-walking population. I'm never enticed by marketing ploys, so it wasn't me who was drooling at the idea of their limited-time-only Iced Peppermint Mochas and cranberry walnut bagels! Not this girl. And it also wasn't me who decided after one sip of my thick, icy chocolatey, pepperminty coffee and one bite of the cranberry laced bagel that I'm glad I'm a sucker.

Once the department store finally rolled back its metal grates, it wasn't me who was lured into the clearance section by big red signs with numbers like 2.98 and 3.97 -- instead of quickly grabbing my replacement sweater and heading straight for the register. I'm always so methodical and single-minded, I would never be diverted by a sale. Especially when I am completely broke. Not me!

It was also not me who had just picked up the greatest pair of super cheap, rock-bottom-priced brown cords (in my new size!) when the unthinkable happened.

I have very sure fingers and am not known for being a klutz, so it was completely unthinkable when I suddenly bobbled my chocolately-pepperminty coffee concoction.

It was not me who watched in horror as it slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. It did not hit with a thud. The plastic cup did not burst open and bounce in two different directions. And my coveted gooey frozen coffee did not splatter with a fury with impossible height and radius -- like a CSI slow-mo scene sans the cool soundtrack.

Nope - not my special, impulse-buy!

The spatter from said treat did not land on more than four racks of clothing, ruining countless sweaters, shirt and pants. As other shoppers clamored around me, it wasn't me who stood there in shock, still holding the fabulously priced brown corduroys - which were now dripping coffee. After looking around and considering my options, I did not just hang them back on the rack because I didn't know what else to do.

After gathering the sticky cup, lid and straw out of the puddles on the carpet, I did not walk sheepishly to the register and set the offending contents on the counter. It wasn't me who was at a loss for words and mumbled the insufficient, "I dropped this..." while pointing toward the clearance section. As my eyes followed her eyes and my pointing finger, it definitely wasn't me who wanted to slink under the counter when I spotted the chocolatey trail leading back to the scene of the crime.

A sweet old lady customer at the counter did not say, "Accidents happen, dear. That's why they call them accidents." It should be noted that she had not SEEN the destruction my accident had caused.

As the saleswoman called for clean up, it wasn't me who disappeared to the dressing room to hide because I couldn't bare to just stand there. Nor was it me who panicked when I realized that I had to face the saleswoman again before leaving the store because I still hadn't exchanged my sweater!

It wasn't me who felt like a complete moron as I set my sweater on the counter and offered a feeble, "I'd like to exchange this - it had a hole." It wasn't me who ruined over 20 pieces of merchandise, and then proceeded to return something. I could never be that annoying.

As I stood there, waiting for the receipt, another saleswoman was not angrily throwing hanger after hanger on the counter, saying, "And this one's ruined, and this one...!"

I was not me who practically ran out of the store, new sweater in hand, swearing not to return for a very long time. And if it was me, I did not have a selfish moment of yearning and sadness when I hopped behind the wheel of my car and realized that, not only did I damage out all of those clothes, but I also lost my yummy pepperminty holiday treat. Not me, I would never. I would have enough sense to not wish my hand was holding another dangerous (very tasty) weapon.

Though this is my most destructive embarrassing moment to date, it still doesn't rival the Tight Incident of 1996. Perhaps nothing ever will.

If I've left you thirsty for more than just a frozen coffee, hop on over to MckMama's blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

for light

I was on a mission this morning. After I dropped Matthew off at school, I sped off to the mall to exchange a sweater (It had a hole) so I could quickly get back home to Bob and Nolan. If I was really efficient, maybe I’d even get some work done before heading back to get Matthew.

I was pulling into a parking spot when it hit me.

The mall isn’t even open yet.

Oh. So much for efficiency.

Bob suggested that I grab something to drink and relax while I waited for ten o’clock to roll around. I slowly adjusted to that idea -- the idea of having a relaxing moment to myself. Without feeling bad about it. Bad meaning guilty. Blah, guilt. The curse of motherhood.

As I explored the empty mall along with many elderly mall-walkers, I found that Panera was the pre-ten-o’clock social hub. I ordered myself a frozen chocolatey-pepperminty holiday coffee concoction and took a seat.

Hmmmm. What to do? I was alone with nothing but my drink and my purse. I quickly ruled out eavesdropping. The guy next to me was complaining about being overcharged at Kroger and pondering the inner-workings of UPC codes.

I rifled through my purse and found what I needed to pass the time. A pack of blue Post-it notes and my favorite writing instrument, a Pentel Sign Pen. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them, but I figured anything was bettering than dwelling on the validity of UPC pricing and grocery store conspiracy theories.

I dabbled at some poetry. One poem’s subject matter led me to thinking about gratefulness. As I followed my stream of conscious, at the bottom of one sticky note I scribbled “I am grateful for –“

…and paused as I flipped to the next note. I wrote the first thing that came. It wasn’t what I thought I would write. I thought I would write something about my kids, or the peace and quiet. But instead, these words came:

My mind flooded with all my favorite verses. And lots of gratefulness. I have never known a world without Christ. I have never been in the dark, lost and hopeless. I am extremely thankful for that.

I was reminded of the beautiful imagery that Christmas lights provide. The lesson they teach. We are celebrating the moment that the true light, Jesus, entered the world.

“The people living in darkness have seen a GREAT LIGHT; on those living in the land of the shadow of death A LIGHT HAS DAWNED.” Matthew 4:16.

Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas everyone.

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Tune in Monday for my Not Me! post if you’d like to hear how my unexpected moment of solitude and revelation quickly paved the way for one of my most embarrassing moments to date.

Ushering in the Season

Bob and I used to have an unwritten rule that we both saw eye-to-eye on. No Christmas before Thanksgiving. It's just not right. Since we both love autumn, we try to savor and squeeze every last ounce out of our favorite season. November belongs to fall. Therefore any pre-Thanksgiving lights, decorations or Christmas music are berated as premature season-stealers.

But apparently we have a kryptonite. His name is Matthew. And he loves Christmas. Just as much as he loves Winter. And he wants it all to start right now.

Today he said that he only likes Thanksgiving because he's thankful that Christmas is coming. And wondered why Thanksgiving takes so long to be over.

And if you saw his smile when he sees Christmas lights, you'd know why, this year, we are in the mood for Christmas a little early. Silly rules have been tossed aside and new traditions are being written.

We had a magical moment on our way home one dark evening earlier this week. Matthew was fascinated and enthralled by the miscellaneous early Christmas lights we saw along the road. Instantly a game was born. Whoever sees a decorated house first yells out, "Merry Christmas!"

So with the delicate, wintry piano music of George Winston as our soundtrack, we took a meandering path home, searching out lights. Matthew's little voice exclaiming, "Merry Christmas!" each time was so pure and precious. I loved saying, "Merry Christmas to you too, Buddy" in answer to his excited and sincere exclamations. I immediately conceded to say goodbye to autumn and greet the Christmas season with a open arms and a happy heart.

Even in November.

Today

I haven't felt like writing lately, because, after all, who really feels like writing that they are running on empty, feeling like a failure as a mom and crying at the drop of a hat? Blah. I don't. Most of it can be chalked up to adjusting to Bob's new retail schedule, teething exhaustion and good ole female hormones. Once I realized that (and ate a bunch of chocolate candy and oatmeal raisin cookies and vented to my sister on the phone) I felt a lot better. At least for now.

Today.

On a quick five minute drive to grab some food this morning, I heard a little snippet of a Focus on the Family interview. It was about parenting. And it was just what I needed to hear. The woman stated how much better her tough days went when she prayed something like, "Lord, THIS DAY, help me to reflect you to my children. Help me to speak kindly today, etc." She talked about how it was a DAILY battle. I felt a renewed energy. Yes! I can do it TODAY. I don't have to worry if I can do it all over again tomorrow, and the next day and the day after that.

We had fun today, in wonderfully ordinary ways.

Meet Ova. Matthew named another "pet". One of the cool new dinosaurs that he received as a birthday gift from his Silly Uncle Bill and Aunt Anne was still lacking an official name. Today something inspired Matthew to change that. This Egg Stealer is now the proud owner of an impressive string of names.

First name: Ova

Middle name: Egg Steal

Last name: (the obligatory) Johannes

You can call her Ova. If you happen to cross paths.

A Spontaneous Science Lesson. As I was cleaning up lunch, I shoved a bunch of garbage into a white plastic bag. Matthew asked why he could see my hand through the bag. "Because it's TRANSLUCENT!" When he's in the right mood, he eats up new information like that. By the huge smile on his face, I knew that today was one of those days. So I expanded the vocabulary lesson to include TRANSPARENT, OPAQUE and REFLECTIVE. We practiced it randomly the rest of the afternoon. I love spontaneous learning moments.

A Spontaneous Race. Our cars raced. The dinosaurs cheered us on. A good time was had by all. Especially the dinosaurs. They really enjoy a good race. Who knew?


A Shared Bite. Nolan and Bob shared a cookie. Nolan was thrilled to share with his daddy and feed him bite after bite. I could have watched the precious scene forever.

Lots of picture perfect moments. Everyone was happy today. Lots of smiles. And kissable little cheeks.

And the scale smiled too. Despite the oatmeal cookies and chocolate, today was a momentous occasion. A few weeks shy of Nolan's first birthday, I saw a special number on the scale: my pre-pregnancy weight. I jumped for joy. It's been a long road. This was a mark to be celebrated. And why not with chocolate?!

treasure

This afternoon we joined my dad for pizza over at my grandpa's house. It's the house we will be living in, eventually. It's a long way from being inhabitable, so every Tuesday my dad plugs away. One of his current projects is the basement and its collection of years of stuff.

Matthew loves playing in the dirty basement. In fact, Matthew loves just being in the presence of his grandpa. So it's so nice that my dad kindly squeezes in a pizza break to spend time with us on his day off. Over our pizza today Matthew told his grandpa about levers and Sid the Science Kid. We talked about the word fulcrum. Then my dad taught Matthew about how to find the center of gravity of an object. With a butter knife. Believe it or not, it was one of the highlights of Matthew's day.

Somewhere along the way, I told my dad that I made bow-tie pasta last night and that Matthew wondered why it was called that. I had a hard time answering him, because he barely even knows what a regular tie looks like.

Right then my dad went off in search of a real bow-tie to show his curious grandson. He disappeared into my grandpa's old bedroom. When he called Matthew's name a few minutes later, he didn't have a bow-tie in his hands. He had something way better.

It was a fragile piece of plaster from 1954. A child's handprint marked the surface. The name "Terry" was printed on the backside, above the date. It was an imprint of my dad's hand when he was a five-year-old boy.



Matthew set his warm little fingers against the fragile mold and, almost magically, it was a perfect match. It was as if he had just pressed his palm into the plaster himself.

He giggled and smiled my favorite smile.

His hands were grimy from his playtime in the basement. I was worried when I saw his dirty print over my dad's precious boyhood imprint. But then I looked up at my dad.

He didn't mind a bit.

I guess there are benefits to having grandparents who never threw anything away. Amidst a collection of useless stuff you find some priceless treasure.

Today God's provision was wearing a pink coat...

The craziness just keeps coming around here.

As we were warned that it would.

First it was the late night delivery of groceries on our doorstep, which has already provided for us in so many ways. My favorite is the material witness of God's goodness and provision to my four-year-old. Some lessons are so much more powerful when you experience them in real life. True object lessons. When Matthew woke up the morning after, I said, "Look at all these groceries that God gave us last night!" He didn't skip a beat, before speculating with childlike excitement, "Maybe God made them all fall from the sky and land right on our porch!" I smiled. "He could have. But this time, he had some awesome people buy it at a store and deliver it to our door." But he was pretty much right on: God pretty much did plop a giant blessing on our porch that night.

But it didn't end there.

That same week --two days later actually-- a dear friend handed me an envelope full of money. It's so hard to take things like that. She said, "Just take it." Which I did and just thinking about it now I get tears in my eyes.

And the craziness didn't even end there.

That Sunday my dad handed me another envelope full of money. He was just passing it on to us. It was given anonymously. There was $200 and a note that said they hoped this would bless our family.

We were beyond overwhelmed. And didn't even know what to do but shake our heads in wonderment.

And guess what? It didn't end there either.

Maybe after all these unexpected gifts, I should have expected the unexpected. But honestly, I felt like we had already been given so much that I couldn't even fathom more.

So, instead of any other emotion, today left me shocked. And overwhelmed.

I walked out of the bathroom at church and saw my husband calling me over to meet someone. Her name was Kelly* and she was wearing a cute pink coat. That's what I was thinking while we were being introduced, What a nice coat. I wasn't thinking that what she would say next would be, "I'm going to give you groceries next month."

I didn’t know what to say as she detailed what she would be giving us. It was too much. I had to hug her. Then, apparently, I had to sob on her shoulder for a minute. Sometimes there aren't words. Except that I know I said thank you way too many times.

I'm the type of person who hates to ask for help. Even when someone offers it, I have to think that they really, really – I mean really-- want to before I take them up on it. Or that it's not inconveniencing them too much. Or I have to feel completely desperate. Perhaps it's human nature to be prideful and think - Not us. There has to be someone who needs it more.

I'm already beginning to see that it's the trials in life that show you more than you will ever see in the good times. Like who God is and that he is everything he says he is, all the time. Who your friends are. And the hardest of all, who you are. The way I am. The ways I need to change. To humble myself.

And I'm sure it won't end here either. I’m not sure if I should be scared or excited – but before this ride is over, I’m sure I’m bound to be shocked again.

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*Bob called me from work tonight, after reading this post, to inform me that our sweet pink-coated blessing is named Becky, not Kelly. I guess it just shows how truly overwhelmed I was in the moment. Sorry, Becky.