God's Not Dead- Whether I Believe It or Not

I finally got to watch the movie,"God's Not Dead."  I was going into it with my best efforts at not being cynical, but as the movie ended I was in tears and shaking with anger. So, I'm super sorry to all my amazing friends who loved this movie, but I'm afraid it has hurt our fellow Christians more than helped them. There were several stumbling blocks I found tucked away in the film, but I'll just mention one. Several times in the film when Christian characters spoke plainly about their faith in God, they used language such as "To me, He's not dead, He's alive" or "I think of Jesus as my friend." Now, maybe this is a simple case of poor writing, but those little words "to me" and "I think of" are cop outs and kinda just plain wimpy. 

When I talk about my husband, I don't say "To me, he's a 34-year-old man and he's not dead." Nope, rather I'll just introduce you to Joshua without any mention of his state of aliveness or how I feel about his existence. His existence does not depend on how I see him nor does His relationship to me. He just is alive and married to me- whether I believe it or not. And so it is with God. I do not claim that "to me" He is God. He simply is God- whether I believe it or not. And He is my friend. This truth is outside of myself and independent of me.

When our fellow humans who are atheists hear Christians talk like this, I can't imagine they are very impressed with our faith. It seems to me that they would rather hear us speak strongly like we actually believe this stuff we're talking about. (My dear atheist friends, I don't want to speak for you so feel free to chime in if you're so inclined.) Wouldn't it be better to be bold and declare that God is who He is without adding in the bits about He is who He is because I feel like it's true?

Yes, I'm being harsh with this movie. If something is going to bear the name I proudly claim then it had better be ready to withstand some scrutiny. The movie itself was sloppily written, but I could have forgiven it a thousand wrongs if only it had displayed Jesus' name boldly without cheapening our faith. I'm not saying we should toss this film out, but we do need to be discerning in the movies (and music) that we support. Just because something has a Christian label, doesn't mean it's making God happy.

My beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, please don't be content with "art" of this caliber. Don't be content to watch movies that make you feel good about being a Christian. Let's strive for excellence in our stories because these stories help shape the way we live our lives. And be careful with the words we use to display our faith. The tiniest word can have tremendous implications. We have power in our words and in our art- let's use them wisely.

A Movie Review

Movies have long been one of my favorite art forms. I love watching and discussing them, critiquing them, and diving into the reality they propose. When a great storyteller crafts their art on the screen, all the details come together to form a whole; the script, the actors, the music, the scenery, and even the hair and makeup each hold tremendous power as they work together to create this experience, this story. Once in a while, a movie comes along that combines these elements so elegantly that the resulting product attaches itself to my heart and touches my soul in a mysterious way. Isn't this what good art is supposed to do?

"Finding Jenua" was one such movie. It is a story about a young woman, Edie, who is running from her brutally painful past as she builds a relationship with an old woman, Jean, who is forgetting most of her own once happy life. This is a story about healing. We watch these two women stumbling through their pain into peace. The story is told in a nonlinear style which only serves to give more potency to the emotions that are swirling about and forces the viewer to lean in as the story slowly unfolds. My tears freely flowed as I witnessed the beauty of hope blooming before my eyes. 

Movies like this are the reason I force myself to dig up obscure independent titles on Netflix and devote hours of time to watching them. I'm searching, not often succeeding, but still searching for beauty. I know there are artists in the movie industry who are dedicated to their art and who make significant sacrifices to share their gift with the world. The least I can do is search for these artists and endorse them as much as I can. They are, after all, making the world I live in more beautiful and more honest by their efforts. And they inspire me to strive as they do and endure the labor pains of my gifts as I wrestle with my art to bring it out into the world.

Flannel Shirt

It drapes across my shoulders, this thick flannel shirt that belongs to him. The stiff fabric, starting to soften from use, billows around me making my bulky frame feel small and delicate in comparison. The collar brushes my cheek. It smells like him. A whiff of his cologne, a whisper of sweat from the last chore he did, keeping our home in good repair. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with him. A glance in the mirror tells me I don't look nearly as cute as I think I do, but I don't care. The shirt hangs open over my clothes, lending me its warmth like arms wrapped around me. His arms. Holding me though he is not near. I pull the fabric tight across my chest.

The Spoken Psalms

I've started reading the Psalms for my morning Bible reading since it turns out that trying to read Jeremiah in February is a *bad* idea. I'm reading these Psalms and realizing that they sound, in my mind's voice, like spoken word. I hear the impassioned speech of a desperate poet, trying with all his arts and knowledge to find words to communicate his plight and then his salvation. I hear his voice rise as he describes his anguish and his joy. I feel the pauses, the weight he gives to certain phrases- Selah. I hear the catch in his throat as he is overcome by emotion at the realization of his god's goodness. I can almost see his hand clenched at his chest as he breathes out the final words, "In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for YOU alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."

These are not dry words penned by a religious scholar. These are my kind of words. Words that bring tears and tug at your soul. Words from the heart of a man who suffered well and rejoiced even better. These words are balm to my own heart and they spur me on toward hope, closer to joy, and further into the presence of true beauty.  

I Met a Murderer Today

After a conversation I had today about Jeffrey Dahmer, I was reminded of a poem I wrote 8 years ago at a time when I was struck with the depth of my sin and the ridiculous expanse of God's forgiveness. I dug up the dusty words to share with you all. 


I met a murderer today
I hid my eyes and looked away.
His face was too grotesque to me,
His gleaming teeth a fright to see.
I saw the people that he killed-
Their bodies bruised, their breathing stilled.
I heard the screaming, felt the tears,
Saw the culmination of his victims’ fears.
Oh, what horrors this man wrought!
I uncovered my face and for some comfort I sought.
The murderer does the same, I see
And now I know it’s only a mirror in front of me.

Of Magic and Mugs

This past New Year's everyone in our family got a special new mug for coffee, tea, and cocoa. When I was purchasing the mugs, I ended up with an extra snowman mug that I then set aside, thinking it would make a cute gift for someone else at some point. Totally not a big deal. Fast forward to today when Zoe's adorable penguin mug was scattered on the floor in pieces after an unfortunate accident. She was in tears and understandably so. But when I was able to hand her a brand new mug in the shape of a cheerful, rotund snowman, her eyes lit up and wetly sparkled with almost unbelieving delight. My simple error in buying one too many mugs resulted in a magical moment in our house.

My life is filled with moments like this. Most days I hardly notice the magic happening, but it's always there, buzzing in the air. I'm convinced that when I first emerged into this world, kicking and screaming, that God chuckled to Himself. He knew all the little pockets of mystery that awaited me, all the glimmers of magic and miracle, the dusting of the eternal on every surface of my life.

I've been so grumpy today. I don't wanna do, well- anything. But God (there it is again!) took the ugly minutes and breathed His Spring-like breath on them. Out they blossomed, like so many lilies, reminding me that yes, today is beautiful. And, yes, there is magic in my home.

Snow Angel

I wrote this yesterday after playing outside with my children. Lying on a mattress of fresh snow and feeling the snowflakes falling on my face made me feel like a kid again. 

I made a snow angel today,
A clumsy act of former times.
In the frozen white, long I lay
Stealing this moment my only crime.

Eyes shut tight with smiling lines
Then the hush a whisper brings.
Joy curled round me- frosty vines,
On my face, the icy brush of angel wings.

My Children

I'm amazed at my children. I often look at them and think in wonder, "How on earth did I end up with such incredible children? What did I do to deserve these little people?" If you could see us on any given weekday, you'd know that I am hardly mother of the year or even mother of the week. I yell at my kids, I'm impatient with them, time and time again I put my own needs and wants before theirs. 

And yet, do you know what my kids say to me almost every day? "Mommy, you're the best mommy in the world." They can't claim ignorance. They are front seat witnesses to my sins, my short comings. They are the ones feeling my temper and suffering from my selfishness. But their wide, twinkling eyes see with the filter of grace. They are not oblivious to my wrongdoings, but they choose to see goodness instead. They choose to focus on the times when I am being a good mommy. They choose to look past my sin, cover it with their child-like love, and magnify my feeble attempts at doing right by them.

My babies are teaching me how to love. They are teaching me what grace is. I have four little examples of Jesus running around my house. I don't deserve this in the least. I could focus on my guilt, I could duck my head in shame, but instead I will embrace these gifts. I will embrace the love of God in these children and claim this grace as mine, given to me by the Father of Lights. I will watch my children shine, beaming heavenly brightness in this dark world. And I will be ever thankful for the perfect love that theirs is a droplet of- the love that covers ugliness with beauty and turns this sinner into the best mommy in the world.

My Dad

As I was writing about my mom recently, it made me think about how great my dad is. My mom couldn't have been the woman she was if he wasn't the man he is. He was her foundation, her springboard so she could fly.

When you first look at my dad you'd think he is simply a serious, deep thinking, solid, wise, Reformed pastor. Well, yeah, because he is. But what you may not notice at first is his fun side. His laugh has cheered many a gray day for me. He gets excited and giddy as a schoolboy when he buys a new electronic "toy" like a tablet or phone. He tickles grandkids and lets them pile on him until only a glimpse of his salt and pepper hair shows me he's still under all the wiggly bodies. His hugs feel like coming home.

Growing up in my dad's house was pretty awesome. Mom made life full of wonder and Dad made life full of knowledge. That's a pretty unstoppable duo. Dinnertime conversations often revolved around math concepts, fascinating new words (remember "lacrimatory"?) or theological questions one of us kids would bring up. If all of life was school, then dinnertime was Advanced Placement.

When I was a preteen, I would often come to my dad with the many concerns of my dramatic life. He would gently counsel me, always pointing to scriptures in his old Bible, with the cover made of duct tape. His door and his Bible were always open to me. Because of that, my heart was open to him.

It's been almost thirty years now since the day my dad held me in his arms in that big rocking chair, just moments after I was born. My parents often told the story of how Dad got to hold me first when I was born until my mom demanded, "Give me my baby!" I always liked hearing that story. It summed up how my parents made me feel all through my childhood and beyond- I was wanted.

My dad is one of my best friends. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm his favorite kid. (Of course, my siblings say the same thing, but in my case it's true.) I don't know how it's possible for a man to make all his children know they are his favorite, but the thing I do understand is that this very trait makes me understand my eternal Father's love a bit better. It's because of my dad that I can comprehend, in the smallest way, what God's love for me looks like. I know what unconditional love feels like.

Thank you, Father, for my other father. He's the one who showed me what you look like. Thank you for loving me enough to give me this gift of a parent, mentor, and friend all bundled up in the package of a bearded man with a contagious laugh and an unconquerable passion for you.

My Mom

I was thinking about my mom's career and marveling once again. My mom was a counselor for the Women's Care Center here in Erie. Scared, pregnant young women would come to her, needing help, and she would lovingly help them get through the situation they were in and give them a boost into a better life. Sometimes she would help facilitate adoptions, other times she would invite them to come live with us until they could get back on their feet. I don't actually remember the Christmas Eve that a prostitute had dinner with us, but it makes for a great example of the way my mom brought her "work" home with her. She loved this job- this stressful, sometimes terrifying job that allowed her to help people and show them the gospel in action.

So when she left that job to stay home and homeschool us, she made a sacrifice that I'm not sure I'll ever understand. She was saving lives when she pointed scared, unsure mothers toward adoption. She broke cycles of abuse and misery when she gave hurting women a new home. And yet she knew that her children were more important than any of that. This blows my mind, quite frankly.

I know I was a big part of the reason for this career change. I was in 5th grade and struggling in school. I cried on the drive to school in the mornings. I cried at home. I was friendless and despondent. My parents saw the situation and weren't content to leave it alone. (I want to mention briefly that I had an incredible teacher at this time. None of my struggles were because of her. She was the kind of teacher that made you want to dive into books full of adventure and expand your imagination and when she read aloud to us, it was the greatest treat. But even with an amazing teacher, I was not doing well. I needed more.)

My mom stayed at home with my sisters and me (my brothers were older and mostly done with school) and our unconventional education began. We traipsed about historical locations and read plaques and pamphlets ad nauseam. We baked bread once a week, all gathered around the long, flour-covered dining room table, thumping and bumping the bread dough. We wrestled with math, grappled with grammar, and splashed into literature. These were the days I learned to love Shakespeare and dislike Dickens. We would read history out loud while my mom knitted and interjected her comments on various eras. We studied Greek and Latin root words and that is when I fell in love with the mystery of our language. I learned how to cook, how to keep to a budget, and how to refinish furniture. These were the days when I learned that all of life is school.

Please understand me, I'm not saying that all women need to quite their jobs to stay home and teach their children basket weaving. This is just my family's story. For my mom and for her children, it was the right choice. She left a job she loved to be with her kids whom she loved more. She gave us a great childhood and an amazing and unique education. I'm eternally thankful for this gift. She didn't just give us her time and energy, she gave us herself.

Thank you, God, for my mom's willingness to sacrifice for us. I'm starting to understand that now. Help me to be more like her.

Nighttime Walk

Moving in the dark, He speaks to me

Over the sound of the wind-
Through the wind.

He walks with me, He talks with me.
I tell Him my worries,
He speaks love.

I'm sorry, I've damaged again,
I mutilate, I tell Him. See, I mutilate
What I touch.

A wicked witch, I groan, yes, a beast
This fairy tale cuts me down,
My heart sinks.  

I contemplate, I gaze inside, inspect all corners.
Blackness, darkness, wretchedness
Covers all.

His hand comes as the wind whipping my hair,
"Uncover these eyes," He commands.
Scales fall hard.

They say the sun can dazzle, its fire too much to bear
What brightness it boasts falls short.
Oh, this light!

There is good in the blackness, there is good
In my depths, there is cleanness, brightness,
There is good.

I know it is Him, all Him. I whisper,
"What good is in me, is You, my love,
It is you."

They say the sun can dazzle, its fire too much to bear
His smile beams, a thousand suns
Shine on me.

I bask, I warm. His arms surround.
Whispers travel as clouds, enchantments
Brush my ears.

"'Princess' is hardly enough, 'Queen' can't compare.
What shall I call you,
My Beloved?"

I look behind, for surely He speaks to another.
But no, Charming's gaze, like magic
Draws my own.

They say true love's first kiss is all in all,
I know, they are close, but that is too small.
I know it.

"This prince's happy ending has not yet come."
He waits for her, He says- for me.
Still He waits.

What reward can my prince hope for?
For all these years of bitter waiting?
He smiles still.

"Turn the pages, Princess, look through them, Queen.
See the story's ending. See it coming-
E'er after."

Bliss, bliss, yes this. The Prince is waiting
For his prize. The battle was fought,
Blood ran swift.

Bliss, bliss, oh, more than this!
The pages flutter, the pages flip.
He reaches

He takes my hand, away we run, the Prince and I, 

His prize, I, his bride, I, His happily ever after. 

Close the book-

The story is here, in the wind that rushes
His caress tells me I am (can I speak it?) I am-
Beautiful

That is all I need, that is all I know.
My name is Beauty, not the Beast.
The wind blows. 

The Lesson I Learned From My Keurig

This morning I was taking pictures of my coffee maker like a crazy person in my pajamas. See, there's this little metal piece that covers a drip tray that catches all the little spills that happen around a coffee maker- excuse me, I mean a Keurig gourmet single-serving coffee brewing system.

You can see that this metal tray has a star punched through it with little holes that allow the gourmet beverage drips to pass through, collect below, and bother you no longer. But why is it in the shape of a star? A grid of these holes in straight lines would also serve the same purpose just fine. Yet, the makers of Keurig chose a star design. Why? Because it's pretty. It makes the user feel a little classier, a little more special. It adds charm and whimsy.

Well, the reason I was taking pictures of this tiny detail of my kitchen was because I wanted to mark the moment I saw a real-life example of how I want to live. Sure, a life of straight lines would work just fine, but why not do a star instead? A nicely decorated house would serve my family well, but why not paint murals on the walls or use chalkboard paint with abandon? A well-ordered day would be a useful thing, but why not occasionally toss the chores and schoolwork out the window and go run on the beach? Or make lunch in the shape of silly faces? Or write a poem about a dream you had? 

I never want my life to be straight lines. Yes, we need order and structure, but we need beauty and whimsy just as much- and sometimes more. If ever given the choice between straight lines and a star, I want to always choose to add that touch of charm, that gentle kiss of beauty that makes life pop off the page and become worth living.

Why Are You Cast Down, O My Soul?

I'm having a rough day. I'm feeling down, discouraged, uninspired. My self esteem (whatever that is) has plummeted and I keep telling myself that I'm unlovely, unneeded, unwanted- a failure. Days like this are not abnormal. I know there are many of you who, unfortunately, can relate only too well with what I'm describing. But the thing that hit me today was the sudden realization that I haven't had a day like this in a while. There was a time when this was my everyday. Depression covered my eyes like a gray curtain that I could never dream to have the strength to pull back. 

That was my then, but not my now. Now I'm happy. I really am a happy person who loves her life. My brow furrows as I type those words that I know are true even though it feels strange and foreign to say that today. But the sunshine reminds me that what I'm feeling isn't what is true. I am lovely. I am wanted. I am not failing in every part of my life.

So I lift my chin high, push back my shoulders and stubbornly refuse to believe what my heart is telling me. I'm not listening to you, Deceiver. I know what is the truth- clouded and blurry though it may seem right now.

Days like these are becoming rarer and rarer in my life. I'll focus on that. On how I'm being rescued, instead of on the trace remains of this curse that haunts me. 

The sun is shining today. I think a ray just broke through the clouds.

Happy New Year

Why do I tend to think in terms of endings and not beginnings? What if I could look back and see this past year as half full instead of half empty? What if I could see this new year as full of growth, new creations, new hopes and dreams coming to fulfillment? And when the new trials come, (for they will most certainly come, in a kaleidoscope of shapes and sizes, sometimes in a trickle, sometimes in a torrential downpour) what if I could see them not as failures, not as obstacles, but as the very stepping stones that are leading me onward, upward, homeward? Further up, further in. 

The past year is laid out behind me. I see the shadows that covered parts, the rays of sunshine that lit my way in others. And I see, even on the cloudy days, the sun was shining the whole time. Hidden, perhaps, but always burning bright, hot. I see the new year laid out before me. I feel my fears rising. What is hiding under those clouds? Will this next year be hard, will there be more struggle than peace? Will I be ready for it?

But what if I could see the year as half full instead of half empty? 

I see the sun today. What if I could always remember it's there? He's there. And live like it.

What if?

I've been around long enough to know that a new calendar year is not enough to give me hope. But I've been around long enough to know who really can give me a solid, intrepid hope. And so I'm ready for this next year. I tilt my face upwards, to feel the warmth.

Rebekah

(Merry Christmas, Bekah! I figured that, as a writer, you'd appreciate the gift of words.)

Once upon a time there lived a girl. She was quiet, never one to draw attention to herself.  She tended to watch, to observe the people around her. Her eyes were what you might call "soulful." Blue-gray, poetic as the ocean after a rainstorm and just as deep.

This girl wasn't like most other girls, for inside her chest, at that place where her beating heart and living soul intersected, there was a light. Imagine a flashlight in a dark room or a ray of sun bouncing off the lake at sunset. Now stop imagining that any light that we've seen can compare to what shone from this girl.

She loved to share this light. Sometimes she would use her camera to snap photographs and on each image you could see a glimmer, a glow of radiance that mirrored her own shimmering beam. Other times she would use words to create new worlds and these creations sparkled like stars on a crisp, clear night.

Her hands were beautiful, ready to serve, to help, to heal what she could. Her arms, always ready to embrace a hurting soul, her lips, speaking truths and comforts.

You may think that I am describing a fairy tale princess or perhaps a queen from some mythical land far, far away. But no, this creature lives here in our world. She lives in and amid the darkness, the pain, and the tears. But that is why her light is so dazzling, so needed. The brightness in her chest was placed there by her King and every day, she goes out, ready to send its beams to the dark corners of this broken universe.

I've known this girl for years and, amazingly, her light keeps growing with each passing moment. It has touched my own soul. In this corner of the big, messy world, I see hope rising and taking over. This girl, this ordinary, but faithful girl, has brightened my life, my own little messy world. She's a gift. And I thank the Father of Lights for her and for her brilliant light.  

Isaiah 11

Malachi saw a hawk in our yard yesterday morning. I excitedly ran to get my camera while he watched it from our kitchen window. As I came back into the kitchen, he ran to me, tears in his eyes. "It's eating a baby bird!" he sobbed.  A quick glance out the window at the storm of feathers scattering on the snow told me he was right. One of the fat sparrows that enjoy our feeder and bring smiles to our faces with their antics had become the meal of a hungry raptor. The logical adult in me was ready to explain to him how this was the natural order of life and how that bird had to die so another could live and that's just how life works. But then I remembered. That's not how life is supposed to work. We weren't supposed to have to kill each other to survive. We were meant to live in symbiotic harmony, not in a linear food chain.

How is it we forget that? How have we become so hardened to this death- so used to life submitting to decay, beauty fading away, and temporary being the norm? Don't we say we have eternal life in us? How can we, who taste the perfection of eternity every time we sit in God's presence, see the vicious tearing of flesh as acceptable, as normal?

I understand that right now, this is how our world works. I understand that Yahweh was the first to slice flesh and watch the blood drain out. I understand that we cannot shy away from this wretched truth that slaps us every morning and chills our bones every night. But let's not embrace this condition as reality. Our reality is life- true life. No more killings. No more goodbyes. Just life. A permanent world- not this ephemeral vapor that I see out my window. Let's hold on the horror that death brings. But as we do, let's not let it paralyze us, rather let this grim world lift our gaze to the one who has conquered our bitter foe. Life is coming, I can see it rushing toward us, all the more bright in this thick darkness.

I held Malachi and I cried with him. Don't lose your hatred of death, little man. Hold on to the horror. Because true life is as beautiful as we imagine it might be. We are destined for a far better world than this one.

If We Were There: an Advent Story

To our precious children. May this story always bring you to your knees.

The early morning sun peeked through the crack under the door and shone into Lily's half closed eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to go back to sleep for a few more minutes, but the sounds from the kitchen told her that her mother was already up and working and she knew she needed to get started on her chores. She looked down at her little sister, still sleeping soundly next to her. Zoe was only four years old and was allowed to sleep in. Lily felt her heart start to complain, but said a quick prayer instead and gave her chubby sister a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Time to get started on another busy day," thought Lily as she got up off the large mat her family used as their bed.  She yawned and headed toward the kitchen.

**************************

"The dew seems extra cold this morning," thought Malachi to himself. He was huddled by the fire his father had made in the middle of the field. All around him, sheep were grazing, bleating, and munching on wet grass. He had been so excited the day his father told him he was finally old enough to be out in the fields all night with the other shepherds. Now he wasn't so sure this was as fun as he had imagined. His father and another shepherd were walking toward him, talking quietly to each other. Both men sat down and started preparing a simple breakfast of hard cakes and dried fruit. Malachi stretched and got up to give his father a hug.

"What was that for, son?" his father asked with a smile.

"I'm just happy to be here with you, Father. That's all." And he realized he really was.

**************************

All around, sleepy travelers were taking down tents and putting out cooking fires. Evangeline sat and rubbed her feet while she watched her parents preparing for the day's journey. They had already been on the road for two days and Evangeline's feet were sore and dirty. She kept asking her mother why they had to make this long trip to Bethlehem.  "Because," her mother explained, "we have to add our names to the census. Everyone does. And since Bethlehem was where your father was born, Bethlehem is where we will go."

Her sandals were starting to get worn down and one of the straps looked ready to snap.  She sighed and carefully put them back on her aching feet. Just then her father came up behind her and lifted her up onto his shoulders. "Good news, little daughter! We should arrive tonight! No more sleeping on hard ground for us; tonight we lodge in the finest inn we can find!" Evangeline laughed and clapped her hands.

"Now, quick, go help your mother finish packing." She ran off with a smile. Tonight their hard journey would be over.

**************************

Zoe wandered into the kitchen just as Lily came through carrying clean bed linens. "Oof! Careful, Zoe!" Lily managed to not bump into her sister, but just barely. "Why don't you go play outside?"

Everyone in her family was always busy these days. Zoe tried to understand that her parents and sister had a lot of work to do, but she just wanted to play with them. She didn't know why so many people were staying at their inn all at once. She saw her father working in the stable and walked over. She didn't like the smell of the animals, but she wanted to ask her father a question. "Daddy, why are there so many people here?"

Her father smiled at her. "It's because of the census, little one. Remember when I told you everyone has to go back to their hometown and be counted? Well, everyone who comes here to Bethlehem needs a place to stay. And what better place than our beautiful inn?" He winked at her. "Now come here and fill this old cow's manger with fresh hay while I muck out her stall." Zoe wrinkled her nose, but did as her father asked. "Here you go, cow," she said as she heaped the hay into the old feeding trough, "I hope you're hungry."

**************************

It was getting dark and Evangeline felt ready to fall asleep as she walked. "Are we almost there?" she asked her mother yet again.

"Almost, sweetie." Her mother looked just about as tired as Evangeline felt. She could see lights up ahead. They were nearly to Bethlehem and  everyone in the caravan was ready to stop their long journey and find a bed.

After what felt like an eternity, Evangeline's little family reached the city and came to the first inn they could find. Her father went inside while Evangeline and her mother stayed outside with all their luggage. Evangeline looked around her. "So this is Bethlehem," she thought. "I'm not so sure I'd like to live in a place that's this busy." Her father came back looking discouraged. He spoke with her mother in a low voice while her mother sighed and wearily closed her eyes. Evangeline could tell something was wrong, but she knew better than to ask questions at that moment. Her dad looked at her and then forced a smile. 

"Well, how's this for a surprise? We get to sleep in a stable tonight! How fun! Shall we pretend we are adventurers from long ago, caravanning with our livestock? Or perhaps we can pretend we are animals ourselves!" He sounded  lively, but Evangeline could tell he was doing it for her sake. Her mother looked close to tears. They picked up their belongings and walked wearily toward the stable behind the inn.

**************************

Lily watched as her mother had to turn yet another family away from their inn. "We're sorry, but we don't have any more rooms. We even have guests sleeping in our own living quarters. You are welcome to bed down in our stables for the night, though. My husband keeps them clean and in good order. I'm so sorry. All the inns are full tonight, but at least this way you'll have a roof over your head. Please let me know if I can get anything for you. Goodnight."

Zoe tugged at Lily's sleeve. "What's wrong, Lily?" she asked with wide eyes. "Oh, nothing. I just feel bad for those travelers. They look really tired." She looked at the family walking slowly away from the inn. There was a little girl who looked about ready to drop from fatigue. Lily had an idea. "Hey, Zoe, let's gather all our extra blankets and take them out to the people in the stable to make them more comfortable." Then she realized all their blankets were already being used by guests. "Um, well, how about we get our other clothes and maybe we can find some rags somewhere. I'm sure anything would be better than just scratchy hay."

The two girls hurried off to find as much soft cloth as they could. Zoe giggled as she thought about sleeping next to a cow. Then she thought about how bad their cow smelled and stopped giggling. "Maybe we should give them something to cover their noses," she said as she wiggled her own. "Our stables are stinky with poo. Who wants to sleep next to poo? Yuck!"

**************************

It had been a long day of walking and watching sheep. Malachi had hoped for some excitement like a lion trying to get one of the sheep, but he had no such luck. All was quiet as he got ready for another night of sleeping under the stars. His father had gone on ahead to scout out a different field a few miles away and wouldn't be back until morning. Malachi felt very grown up as he sat by the fire listening to the other shepherds tell stories of the things they had seen in their years of herding sheep. Some of the men were quite old and had seen some incredible things, though Malachi suspected that their stories were a little dressed up and exaggerated. Not that he minded, of course. They were good stories and Malachi loved a good story.

**************************

The stables were indeed stinky as Evangeline's family tried to arrange the hay into a makeshift bed. She was trying hard to not be grumpy, but it was hard. A cow lowed a few feet away and startled her. Then she heard something else. It sounded like someone crying. There were a few other people in the stable with her family, all trying to get a good night's sleep, so Evangeline tried to be quiet as she tiptoed away from her parents toward the furthest corner of the stable. She peered through the darkness and saw a woman lying on the hay, moaning and clutching her belly. At first Evangeline thought the woman must be sick, but then she noticed how big her belly was. "Oh! She's going to have a baby!" Evangeline realized.  Just then, a man appeared and rushed over to the woman. He held a cup to the woman's lips and helped her drink from it. Evangeline heard him speaking softly to the woman, but she couldn't make out the words. The woman started weeping as she rocked back and forth in pain.

Suddenly, her mother's voice called in a loud whisper, "Evangeline! Where are you?" She crept softly back to her parents. There were two girls standing by her mother holding a motley assortment of rags, old tunics, and stained cloths. They were offering these to her mother to use as bed linens. The smaller girl looked at Evangeline.  "Hi," she said with her fingers in her mouth, "my name is Zoe and this is my sister Lily. Who are you?"

Evangeline smiled and replied, "I'm Evangeline. Thanks for the blankets, but I think maybe there's a woman over there who needs them more than we do."

Lily walked over to the woman lying on the ground and gently laid the pile of cloth down beside her. The man looked at her gratefully and started putting rags under the woman's head to cushion her. She tried to open her mouth to give her thanks, but shut it quickly and grimaced with pain. Tears streamed down her face and soaked the crudely made pillow.

Lily hurried back to Evangeline's family. "What's wrong with her?" Lily asked Evangeline's mother.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong, dear," she replied gently. "Her child must be born and there's only one way for that to happen." She looked over at the careworn couple on the ground, "She just needs time. She'll be okay."

Zoe covered her eyes and pressed up against Lily. She didn't like seeing anybody in pain. "Let's go inside, Lily. I'm sleepy." Lily looked at Zoe and tried to give her a smile. "Sorry, Zoe, Mother says we need to sleep out here tonight, too. There's no more room inside. Here, I saved your favorite blanket for you." She held out a small woolen blanket that was coming unraveled at the edges. "It'll be fun- like a little adventure!"

Zoe didn't look convinced, but she took the blanket and laid it on a clean patch of hay. "Will you snuggle me, Lily?" Lily looked at Evangeline and the two girls shared a smile. "Okay, Zoe, I'm coming. Goodnight, Evangeline. I'm glad we got to meet you."

The smells of the stable seemed to lessen as exhaustion took over. Lily wrapped her arms around Zoe as the girls drifted off to sleep on a bed of hay. Evangeline tried to get comfortable on her own strange mattress. The sounds of the woman in labor continued on. Evangeline whispered a prayer, "Oh, Yahweh, please make that baby get born soon. Please keep this mother safe and please make her stop crying and please..." She drifted off to sleep before she could finish.

 **************************

Malachi rolled over and tried to rearrange his cloak to cover more of his body. It sure got cold out here in the fields at night. He had fallen asleep shortly after eating his sparse supper, but the frigid air woke him up and made it impossible to get comfortable again. He heard a sound nearby and stiffened, ready for anything. What was out there in the dark? A lion? A hungry bear perhaps? Malachi groped around for his staff and gripped it tightly, preparing to jump up and fight. He slowly raised his head and stared out into the darkness. There was the sound again! Something was moving out there. His heart pounding in his ears, Malachi slowly stood up and lifted his staff to throw it at the monster he was sure lurked nearby.

"Hey, kid," a gruff voice startled Malachi. It was the night watchman who had been sitting a few feet away from Malachi watching his preparations for a fight with an amused grin on his face. "Kid, go back to sleep. It's just the sheep you hear. Just the sheep."

Malachi quickly lowered his staff. So maybe it wasn't a wild beast this time, but who's to say what was roaming around in the night? He held his staff under his cloak as he lay down again. "I need to be ready for whatever happens tonight." He rested his head on the ground, determined to stay awake the rest of the night, but eventually even the cold couldn't keep his drowsy eyes from slowly shutting. His gentle snoring drifted on the wind to the old watchman as he sat with a small smile on his lips.

**************************

Lily bolted upright. Something had woken her up, but she couldn't figure out what. Everything was dark and for a moment she forgot where she was. Zoe started whimpering beside her and she quickly put her hand on her little sister's back to comfort her. Suddenly, a cry shattered the silence. Was someone in trouble? What was happening?

Another cry. It sounded like a woman. Then Lily remembered. The woman in labor! Was she having the baby now? Was she okay? Lily realized Zoe was awake and sitting up next to her. "Lily, what's happening?"

"Shhh," Lily shushed Zoe and whispered, "Everything is going to be okay.  A baby is being born. Right now."

A rustling sound told Lily that Evangeline was also awake and listening intently. The three girls sat in the dark, fetid stable and listened to the scared young woman weeping and moaning. Evangeline crawled over to Lily and Zoe and whispered, "I'm going to get closer. I want to see if she's okay." Lily wasn't so sure this was a good idea, but she found Zoe's hand in the dark and half crawled, half walked over to where the man was kneeling beside the pregnant woman.

Someone had brought a lantern and set it next to the woman's feet. The flickering light cast strange shadows on the walls and glinted off the man's forehead which was flecked with sweat. His cheeks and nose were streaked with dirt and his brows were furrowed deeply. A grimace showed on his face every time the woman groaned. Lily stared at his eyes and realized that he, too, felt every pain that this woman felt and the tears on her flushed face were like torture for him. Lily saw how tightly he held her hand. It was all he could do.

Evangeline's eyes widened as she saw the woman shut hers again. She wasn't breathing and her teeth were clenched with effort. Suddenly, her head fell back onto the pillow of disheveled rags. Her face softened as she gasped and breathed deeply. Before the girls had a chance to worry if something was wrong, they heard the most beautiful sound their ears had ever known. A baby crying. The man, almost prostrate on the hard ground, was holding in his dirt-stained hands a baby, wet , bloodied and crying. The child stretched his arms wide as he filled his lungs with newly discovered air and let out the scream that only a newborn can make. The woman held her own arms out as the man breathlessly laid the child on her chest.

"Why are you crying, Lily?" Zoe whispered as she saw her sister's tearful face in the lamplight. Lily smiled and held her little sister close. "I don't know why, Zoe." The three girls looked at each other. They had never seen anything like this before. And somehow they knew they would never see anything quite so beautiful again.

**************************

He was dreaming. Malachi saw in his dream a lamb, the whitest lamb he had ever seen. The lamb kept getting whiter and brighter and started to glow. It was so bright, that even in his dream, Malachi threw up his hands to cover his face. All of a sudden there was light everywhere. Malachi jerked awake, his eyes looking wildly about him. The sky was on fire! No, wait- no flames, just light. What was going on? All around him, the other shepherds were awake and staring up, wide-eyed, at the bright sky, trembling in fear. Malachi looked up, too. He had never been more afraid in his life. Suddenly, a man appeared, standing in the middle of their camp. But was it a man? His clothes were glowing bright as sunlight and his face- Malachi found he couldn't look at the shining face of this mysterious man. The man spoke.

"Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly, the sky exploded. Malachi covered his eyes and wished his father was near. And then he heard voices, hundreds of voices, all shouting,

"Glory to God in the highest,  and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"

Malachi looked up and his eyes widened in wonder. All around him there were bright men standing in the field, their clothes glowing, their voices shattering the silent night. The words that were streaming from their mouths were praises, all praises. Malachi felt his chest expand. He wanted to join them. He wanted to shout these unknown words into the sky just as they were. He stood up, his staff  lying forgotten on the ground. He raised his hands.

The glowing men shouted again and just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Malachi saw them lifting off the ground, held up by nothing, flying heavenward. He watched them until he couldn't see even a glimmer of light shining down from them. He looked around at the camp. The shepherds were huddled, talking excitedly. "Did you hear that?" "What do you suppose it means?" "What has the LORD shown us?"

One man stood up and shouted over the noise, "Listen to me! We must go and see this thing that Yahweh has made known to us. We must go into Bethlehem and see this child."

**************************

Zoe couldn't take her eyes off of him. This was the cutest baby she had ever seen. She watched him cry and watched his daddy try to comfort him. His mommy was still lying on the ground. She looked so tired. And she was a mess. There was mud, hay, and blood all mixed on the ground around her. Zoe felt bad for her. She tugged on Lily's arm. "Lily, can't we help her?"

"Um, maybe I should try to hold the baby so his father can help the mother get cleaned up." Lily started to stand up, but Evangeline stopped her. "Wait a minute. Look what his father is doing."

The man was gathering up bits of cloth from the ground and tore off a few strips from his own tunic. He started wrapping them around the baby, pressing the child's arms close to his body and making the cloths as snug as he could. He lifted his eyes and looked around the stable. There, next to the exhausted, but joyful woman he saw the cow's feeding trough, full with the hay that had been placed there earlier that day. The father gently laid his infant son in the manger. He reached his rough hand and softly touched the baby's cheek. He turned to the child's mother and smiled down on her. She raised her shaking hand up to touch the manger where her newborn son now slept.

She stroked the rough wood. Her weary eyes were almost shut with exhaustion, but a small smile rested on her face. As she drifted into a healing sleep one word came, whispered, out of her mouth,

"Jesus."

**************************

The three girls knew it was no use trying to go back to sleep so they crept outside the stable to quietly discuss everything they had seen. They spoke in hushed tones so as to not wake the new baby or his tired mother.  They heard a commotion from in front of the inn and looked up to see what was going on. There was a group of filthy men quickly making their way toward the stable.

"Who are they?" Zoe asked.

Lily noticed their shabby clothes and unkempt beards and hair. "I think they're shepherds, Zoe. Quick, let's get back inside the stable. They don't look like nice people, do they? I don't think I want them to see us."

The girls quickly got up and hurried back to where Evangeline's parents still slept. The noise from the shepherds got louder and soon the whole crowd was right outside the stable door. Evangeline whispered angrily, "They're going to wake up the baby!"

But, as if on cue, the whole assembly of ragged men became silent. The shepherds walked quietly into the stable and carefully made their way past the huddling girls to the back of the stable where the baby slept soundly. As the group walked past, a young shepherd boy turned his head and noticed the girls cowering in the shadows. He smiled at them. "Hey," he said, "can I ask you a question?"

Evangeline spoke up, "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Well, it's like this," the boy began, "I am Malachi, of the house of Joshua, the shepherd. We were out in the field tonight and, well, something happened.  I can't explain it, but I think the LORD told us to come to this stable. I think we're supposed to see a baby or something."

The girls looked at each other, wide-eyed and speechless. Lily found her voice, "How is this possible? Who is this baby?" Malachi saw the wonder on the girls' faces and asked, "What happened here tonight?"

Silently, all three girls pointed toward the cow trough in the back of the stable.

Malachi turned and saw the man and woman, sitting on the ground and there, lying in a manger, was the child that the gloriously shining man had told him about. Malachi didn't understand this. What was so special about a little baby? What were the words that had shattered his sleep tonight? 

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

This was the Christ? The Savior? This baby was going to save them all?

Malachi looked again at the newborn face, surrounded by hay and the smell of manure. "How can this be?" he wondered. He felt something catch in his throat and a strange feeling started to grow in his chest. He felt lighter, braver. What was this feeling? He closed his eyes. Ah, yes, it was hope.

He sank to his knees.

Beside him, Zoe knelt down. Her eyes were locked on the baby. She didn't want to look away or even blink. She didn't know who this baby was, but she knew one thing for certain, she loved him.

Lily slowly lowered herself down, not wanting to disturb the moment. She saw the look on Malachi's face and she knew there was more to this story that she hadn't yet heard. She wanted to hear it all. She wanted to know everything there was to know about this special child. She didn't understand it, but somehow she knew, without a doubt, that this child would change her life. Somehow he already had.

"For to us a child is born,  to us a son is given..." Evangeline whispered the words before she realized she was saying them. It was something her father had often read to her from the Holy Scriptures. This child was a gift.  A gift to them. As she looked across the crowd of kneeling shepherds, she too sank down. "This child should be treated like a king," she thought, "Maybe he is a king." 

She heard the shepherds call this precious baby the Savior. She lifted her head to see the royal face again. His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment then closed again in blissful dreams. He seemed so fragile. His head looked downy soft; she wanted to stroke it. His hands, that had somehow worked free of the cloths that wrapped him, were delicate, clenched into tiny fists. Could this tender head wear a crown fit for a king? Could these frail hands really save anyone?

The children looked at each other, each seeing the amazement on the others' faces. One by one, they all turned back to see the baby. He slept on, unaware of all the attention he was getting. They knew, in their hearts, that tonight the world had changed. It didn't make any sense. None of them understood the mystery sleeping before them in a manger full of hay. But they didn't need to understand.

They bowed their heads and worshiped.

Young Love

I had briefly met a married couple in passing several years ago and their love story was so beautiful that it stuck with me. I wrote this in their honor.

He straightened his tie as best he could without a mirror and shifted slightly in his chair so as to not wrinkle his freshly ironed shirt. Today everything had to be perfect. He didn't want her seeing him even with one hair out of place. Not that she'd mind, of course. She never seemed to care about the little imperfections that always bothered him. She had a way of laughing off gray skies, spoiled plans, and his perpetually unruly hair. His face cracked into a smile as he thought about her twinkling eyes that  always managed to make every problem seem insignificant. When she laughed he completely forgot there was anything wrong at all.

He thought back to their first date. It didn't seem so long ago. It wasn't really anything special, just a group of friends enjoying dinner together in a crowded dining room, but he knew he was with her. And she knew it, too. How quickly their hearts connected. He knew she was meant for him the first time their eyes met across the table. She told him later that she knew she was going to marry him from the first moment she saw him, nervously flattening down his rebellious hair and checking his watch every few seconds. How did she know that then? he wondered. Well, she had been right, as usual. He fingered the little black box in his lap, resisting the temptation to open it yet again and polish the simple gold band that was snugly secured in dark velvet.

She had wanted simple. She never needed much to make her happy. He had wanted to give her a ring that somehow started to express how lucky he felt every time he realized that she actually wanted to be with him. To live out the rest of her life with him. But neither of them had much by way of material possessions. He tried to think of a way to get some extra cash to get something a little nicer for her, but when she heard about his plans to sell his high school ring she promptly scolded him for being ridiculous. It was their first and only fight. He had hated every second of it.

"When you've been through what we've been through, you don't just throw out your past like it's a cheap bauble and nothing more!" Her voice had been raised and he could see his next door neighbor craning his neck trying to get a good view of the quarrel. "You listen to me, Paul," she went on, "we promised that we would never say we were starting over. We promised to always hold on to the lives we had before we met each other. That was the deal. I'm not willing to forget my life before I met you and you better not be willing to throw away even the smallest connection to your past either!"

He remembered the way she had cried after her outburst. He felt so foolish. He should have known better. He knew how much it meant to her to be able to reminisce about every small detail of her life before she had met him. They had both been through so much that it made sense. Both of them had seen their share of heartache and yet she always told him, "Every day I've lived has turned me into the person I am now and I'm happy being this person." He knew how much her past, the good times and the horrible times, meant to her and he never mentioned selling his ring again.

He cracked open the little lid and caught a glimmer of light bouncing off the smooth, golden surface. He felt butterflies fluttering in his midsection. Not that he was nervous at all; there was nothing to be nervous about. He realized the feeling he was experiencing was happiness. Pure happiness. Oh, it had been such a long time since he'd felt truly happy. But life is full of second chances. He'd had to learn that the hard way. And what a second chance this was! Her face shimmered in his mind's eye. No, that hadn't know each other for very long, but he already had memorized every curve of her face, every slight imperfection that somehow made her look even more perfect. The lines that stretched from her eyes when she laughed looked like wings and they made him feel like he was flying. The butterflies in his belly started up again.

A head peeked around the door to his room. "Good morning, Mr. Roberts! I hear today's your big day! Are you ready to head down to the chapel?" She said it in the overly cheerful manner in which everyone around here spoke. She walked around to the back of his chair and grasped the handles firmly. "And off we go!" As she pushed his wheelchair through the halls she kept up the chatter with the people they passed. "Mrs. Carson, you sure look fancy today! Oh, Mr. Mells, you'd better stop flirting with all the girls in here!"

He tried to shut out the prattle. The attendant was pleasant enough, but today he wanted peace and quiet. He shut his eyes and pictured her face again.

"Here we are!" The chapel door creaked open and he saw in the few sparsely filled pews his family and the few friends he had left. His great-granddaughter, Sophie, (was she sixteen already? Seems only yesterday she was turning six) got up from her pew and planted a gentle kiss on his wrinkled cheek. "I'm so happy for you, Papa," she whispered. He smiled up at here and patted her hand. His throat didn't seem to want to let any words out.

He was rolled up to the front, right next to the reverend who would be performing the ceremony. He looked down again at the ring box, still clutched tightly in his shaking hand. He wished for a brief moment that his hands would be well behaved  like his legs. They didn't move anymore. They just sat there useless and still, but at least they didn't shake uncontrollably.

The piano behind him started to play and suddenly there she was. The chapel doors had opened once more and his bride, his love, was being wheeled slowly down the aisle. Her chair was narrower than his and slightly lighter. They had often joked about having "his and her" wheelchairs, but at that moment he didn't see a chair. She looked beautiful, her silvery hair was freshly styled and gave the appearance of a halo. The look suited her. She had picked out a pale lavender suit to wear and her delicate hands held a bouquet of baby's breath and forget-me-nots. His eyes traveled down to her feet and the bright, ruby red heels that bedecked them. "These feet aren't any good for walking anymore so they may as well look pretty!" She said this every time he noticed a new pair of glamorous and terribly impractical shoes on her feet. He realized he was grinning like a fool.

She finally met him in the front. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. How was it possible for an eighty-seven-year-old man to feel so light? He almost got up from his chair right then, but he caught himself just in time. That's what she did to him. She made him forget his worthless legs and his withered hands. He didn't hate his colorless hair when he was around her and his faded eyes grew brighter when he looked at her. How can people call these my twilight years? He had wondered this every day since that  first dinner date. Life didn't seem boring around her. Every day seemed brighter and full of possibility.

The reverend shuffled his notes. In the brief pause he caught her eye. He slowly raised his trembling hand and gently grasped hers. "Hey, baby, " he whispered softly, taking in the sparkle of her eyes and the way her hand gripped his tightly, "after this, you want to go dancing?"