Chaos or Tranquility

   I stayed up late last night. The dogs had even put themselves to bed when I finally climbed into that double bed my husband and I are still sharing after thirty-six years of marriage while the clock had already made its way into today. I am now tired, really tired, but last night I had put enough ornaments on the tree that I could turn off the other lights in the living room and just sit. So I did. I sat there and I thought about the paradox of Christmas. How we work ourselves to the bone sometimes to create something beautiful and then forget to enjoy it. How the glory of Christmas really has very little to do with the glittering trees and presents stacked under them. How a simple manger filled with hay in a humble stable with animals has somehow been corrupted by the wayward and sinful heart of man into something so commercial that it seems downright tawdry. And yet, and yet. I was talking to the Lord last night in front of my tree. Admiring the tree. Yes. Thankful for the beauty. Yes. Glad to be done with the work of setting it up. Yes. And then I heard the whisper. So soft. So still I almost missed it.
      I am here.
     "Here?" I asked. "Here in this mess that I have yet to clean  up and the beauty I am trying so hard to create? Here? This is more chaos than tranquility. Really."
      Yes, HERE.
   What could I say?  His words are for me both the mystery and the true beauty of Christmas. That He IS here. With me. Emmanuel. God with us. I could not help but get down off of the sofa and stretch myself out the floor before an awesome and Holy God who would come. And who would stay to make the way. And who though He departed, gave to us the gift of the Comforter, another treasured, complete, and perfect aspect of Himself.
     Emmanuel. The One who will never leave or forsake us. It is almost too much to believe. But that is the wonder of Christmas. That we believe. He understood that the wonder of Christmas would afford us the very opportunity to become like little children. Full of joy and giddy with the glory of it all. That the angels came to the shepherds. That the skies were filled with the sound of their magnificent singing. That Joseph stood watch over Mary with such tenderness in his heart. That Mary held in her arms the Babe who was the long expected One. That together she and Joseph watched the shepherds who had left their flocks, come one by one to kneel on the rough floor of that stable. To offer no gift but their worship. And there in the manger lay the King of Glory. This is not so hard to believe.  Suddenly I am five. I am twelve. I am forty. I am fifty-six. Yet  I am still the child. Desperately wanting to believe this and more and wanting and willing to go deeper still. I speak aloud my heart cry, "I need you to help me believe." And the whisper comes again.
     I am here.
     It is all and more than I need in this moment.

Thanksgiving Recap

   With a brand spanking new baby in the family, we decided to scale back our large extended family Thanksgiving celebration. At the final count we ended up with fourteen adults and four children, but that included Little One and Little Two and Little Two's first cousins from Birmingham. It was a joyful celebration that extended itself over two days. I love having a house full of people and for two days that's what we had. Here is a visual recap of our time together.

     This is a shot of the "big" table -- in the dining room. You can certainly tell that I am not shy about using color. I filled my mint julep cups with assorted mums in a range of fall colors; the leaves on the table are from Hobby Lobby, and thankfully, I did not drag out my china. I used my everyday dishes, Pomona by Portmeirion, and boy, am I glad I did. The clean-up was ten times easier. 

   From this angle you can see the other table in the living room. I tried to line them up for conversation purposes, and it worked fairly well. If you look closely, you will see that I have a mishmash of odd chairs. No apologies. You use what you have. Right?!

   I was inspired by some of my fellow bloggers to try something a little different on the other table. Off and on during the year, I searched for some vintage tins in which I could arrange some flowers. Sadly, I forgot to make sure that all of the tins were waterproof, and  I was unable to use my favorite purchase -- an ancient Lipton Tea tin. This venture did not turn out quite as expected, but I learned a lot. This old dog can learn new tricks.

   The day before Thanksgiving a friend dropped this adorable white pumpkin by my house. Of course, I had to use it on the serving table. If you look closely in the picture, you can tell that I have not finished cleaning up for the soon-to-be arriving company. That's one of those "As Seen on TV" BarkOff products on the table. I am a sucker for those kind of things. I guess I am doing my part to keep the economy afloat.

     This is my "keeping it real" shot. I make a huge mess when I cook or work on any project, for that matter. You think I would learn that it sometimes means I have to clean up twice. I also did not want you to think that I had one of those large fancy gourmet kitchens (I wish). This is the forty-plus year old kitchen that originally came with the house except for the granite countertop upgrade and a relatively new stainless steel hood. That's all the budget could handle. I am day-dreaming about Urban Grace and all of Erica's fabuloso design work, but somehow don't think it is in my immediate future.

      Now on to the best part -- the folks who graced our table this year. Picture on the left is our daughter-in-law's father and one of Little Two's first cousins. Isn't this little girl a doll in her mini Boden outfit?! And I just adore the grandpa name for this fabulous grandfather -- "Big." Big is short for "Big Daddy." And that cutie-patootie in the second shot is none other than Little Two. She is officially just shy of the one week mark. She was a dream baby on Thanksgiving Day, and despite the noise that surrounded her, we heard nary a peep from her.

       Below are the beautiful "B" women. Our daughter-in-law is the gorgeous girl on the far right, and the two precious little people belong to the beauty in the middle. Grandmother MiMi on the left is also a lovely lady inside and out. The Dad and I feel extraordinarily blessed to have this family connected to ours.

  

       This picture makes me melt inside. My Second Son holding his daughter, Little Two. Wow. It takes my breath away and reminds me afresh of the faithfulness of our God.

         And of course, no special occasion would be complete without the reminder that Little One was there. She loved the fact that Little Two's cousins were in attendance as she finally had a playmate her age. However, nothing could deter her from her usual search and destroy mission. Can you tell she was having fun?

  The aftermath...there is nothing more to be said. I am still working on it two days later.
 But that's also my style and my choice! No complaints here. Just a heart full of blessings
and a belly full of food! Hope yours was delightful as well!

Happy Thanksgiving to the Best Gift and the Best Giver!

        
    I learned a long time ago that I talk too much. It started with the report card in second grade that was marked with the telltale notation: Talks when she should be listening. In other years the report card had a little blank for the teacher to fill in that said  "Needs to work on:  fill-in-the-blank  and you guessed it, my blank usually said "talking." In fifth grade my teacher was Mrs. Mary Evelyn Clark whom I managed to adore despite the fact that she wrote on my grade report the words I could no longer ignore: Talks excessively. How embarrassing. And how true.
   It therefore stands to reason that my relationship with God has been governed, to a great degree, by the same struggle. I have never really had any problem talking to God. I have always been a pour out your heart and bore you with the details kind of girl. I figured that God could wade through the junk to get to the real issues a lot faster than I could, so prayer for me was a lot of prattling, some crying, some more prattling, accompanied by some more crying...I think you get the idea.
   And every year when Christmas or a friend or family member's birthday rolled around, I would get nervous. My budget was usually limited and my vision of what I would like to give was almost always limited as well. After years of purchasing things that left me feeling miserable and frustrated, I finally broke down and sent up a fully signed and endorsed (by me) petition to God regarding the whole gift-giving thing. It came in the form of a surrender. I raised the white flag, got down on my knees and said the big word, "H-E-L-P." And then I waited. That's really part of the miracle. That I waited. That I did not, once again, bombard the Holy One with details and instructions and requests. I waited. I know He heard me. He always did. The problem was that I  almost always did not take the time to hear Him. I waited some more. I remember exactly where I was when this lengthy quiet exchange occurred.  I was lying underneath the dining room table in our house in Temple Hills. It was my "prayer closet." Not a one of my four children ever thought to look for me there, so it was my private place where God and I worked a lot of things out (usually with me doing most of the talking).
    I waited a long time. I am sure (knowing me like I do) that I probably grew impatient. After what seemed like FOREVER, I heard these words spoken to my soul, "If you LISTEN, I will show you what and how to give." Wow. That doesn't sound like rocket science to some of you, but it was revelation pure and simple to me. "If you LISTEN....." What a novel idea. But I had no idea how to LISTEN to God. I had always been too busy talking.
    I could write not just a blogpost but a whole book about the process God took me through to teach me how to listen, but I have to work around to my point sooner rather than later. Thankfully, I did (despite my sin, my stubbornness, and my unquenchable desire to have my own way) learn to listen. And let me tell you, when I have actually listened and heard and obeyed (gosh, I hate that word), I can always...not sometimes, but ALWAYS tell by what happens that God was right on target. For the most part, gift-giving is so different now. Please don't think I am some holier-than-thou amazing gift-giver because God will surely humble me as soon as I write this post...and I will be the person who gives you the gift that makes you roll your eyes, shrug your shoulders in disgust, and scurry to the store to return it as soon as possible. However, I want to go on the record to say that when I listen, He is faithful. In things great and small. If I have learned anything in these fifty-six years, it is to give all the credit where credit is due.

   So Happy Thanksgiving God! You are the BEST gift and the best giver of all time! You really do give amazingly good gifts to your children. The list is so long I can't really do much except hit a few high points: You have given us the gift of salvation, the gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift of your Word, and the unbelievable gift of yourself. You are a giver through and through. I will unashamedly take all that you have offered. I thank you for giving me grace and mercy when I deserve the opposite. These gifts of yours are what get me through each day. Your grace is also what helps me to understand the price you had to pay to give me a life with you. A price so great I can scarcely comprehend it.  I know that you have told me that I will be your daughter forever. I am counting on it and am thankful for this incredible gift of adoption.  I also thank you for the grace, mercy, and love that were poured out on calvary. I have still got so much to learn from you. But I love listening to you almost as much as I love talking to you. And you and I know that is saying a lot. So I am here. Talking as usual. I need to go sit in your presence, not asking you for anything. Just rejoicing that I am your child and am always welcome. Just sitting. Just waiting. Exhaling. Inhaling. Thankful. Incredibly blessed. Yours. Sigh.

My Little Thanksgiving Secret

    When I married my husband I did not know how to cook. Yeah right, you are thinking. Women everywhere say they don't know how to cook, when what they really mean is that they are not gourmet cooks. However, although I am famous for my ability to exaggerate, I am not stretching the truth here. Scrambling eggs was beyond me. When I got home from my honeymoon my mother-in-law taught me how to cap strawberries and how to scramble and fry eggs; she gave up when we got to the omelet. To this day, regrettably, I still cannot make a decent omelet. From those humble beginnings with my mother-in-law, I sort of muddled through, and it was relatively easy in the early days. My husband ate only one vegetable (green beans), three meats (or at least at the time I thought they were three different meats) -- hamburger, steak, and pot roast, and he loved baked potatoes accompanied by iceberg lettuce wedges dripping with Thousand Island Dressing (this culinary delight of his is actually making a comeback in some fairly nice restaurants...including of all places, The Palm.)  I used my Betty Crocker Cookbook a lot along with my Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook.
Somebody who really knew how to cook had given me a copy of Joy of Cooking when we married, but it was years before I mustered up the courage to open that tome (thankfully, later Irma and I became good friends!) And I usually called my mother when I got stuck. But I was always something of a rebel (that's what kept me out of the kitchen in the first place), so at some point I began to be one of those cooks who never really follows the recipe. There have been occasions when it has gotten me in some serious trouble, but most of the time I am happiest when experimenting with a recipe and making it my my own.
     Both my mother and my mother-in-law are the complete opposite. They follow the directions to the "T." Not me. A few years back when it was determined that I would begin to host my mother-in-law and my husband's family for Thanksgiving dinner, I started to sweat. And it was only August. I wasn't worried about the turkey despite the nightmare stories I had heard from my friends.I even solved the how-to-thaw-a-giant-frozen-turkey when you have one relatively small refrigerator by simply buying FRESH turkeys! Sure these fresh turkeys cost more, but they saved me a lot in headaches and freezer/refrigerator space. Again, I digress. So the turkey wasn't the issue. Neither were the green beans, the sweet potatoes, the shrimp appetizer, and the various and sundry sides that accompany our traditional Thanksgiving meal. What I was sweating was the GRAVY. I have never been able to make good gravy. And my mother-in-law, bless her soul, was a gravy pro. She would even brown her flour ahead of time so that the color of the gravy would be perfect. And it always was. My gravy on the other hand was never dark enough in color and no matter how gradually I added the flour, I always had some clumps of that yucky white stuff that I was trying to whisk out or spoon out at the last minute. So I knew that if something did not materialize in the gravy department, come November, I would have a potential disaster on my hands.
      Enter my Thanksgiving secret which became my Thanksgiving solution. No, I did not buy the McCormick package of gravy mix, or the jar of stuff that you sometimes see in the grocery store. I went the Cadillac route and broke down and bought the Williams-Sonoma Turkey Gravy Base. It was worth every penny.

 The stuff is not cheap. In fact two jars will set you back about twenty dollars. Twenty bucks for turkey gravy? You betcha. That first year I hosted, I held my breath when my mother-in-law sidled over to the stove, put a spoon of "my" gravy in her mouth, and took her first taste. I could hardly believe my eyes. She pursed her lady-like lips and pronounced it "perfect." That was high praise from one of the finest old-fashioned Southern cooks around. I grinned. The evidence of my crime was already disposed of and carefully hidden in the bottom of the garbage can. There was no one or nothing to give me away. I had even gussied up the base by adding rich cream, plenty of my own turkey drippings, and a tablespoon or two or three of sherry. Let me tell you, that gravy had depth. If only I could have kept my mouth shut, no one would have ever known. But I have never been any good at keeping secrets.
   So if you are worried about making the gravy or are just too lazy to stand there and stir and thicken and stir some more, all at the very last minute, I suggest you march right out and buy yourself some Willliams-Sonoma Turkey Gravy Base as soon as you can. It is a seasonal item. Don't ask me why, but they only stock it at Thanksgiving. I guess folks in other parts of the US don't eat turkey at Christmas which is why I have to buy four jars instead of two. I know. I know. Forty bucks on gravy. But trust me on this one, you cannot make it any better. Or at least I never could.

Thanksgiving Prayer

Thanksgiving Prayer

For each new morning with its light,

For rest and shelter of the night,

For health and food,

For love and friends,

For everything Thy goodness sends.

                                                         Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

These are a few of the things for which I am so very thankful today:

    My crazy family in their extra-terrestrial blue Snuggies from Christmas last year; it is a family tradition to receive some type of sleepwear on Christmas Eve so that Santa and his Elves can easily recognize to whom they are leaving the gifts. Obviously, I went over the top with this one. I could not believe how much they embraced it; oh, and please note the free booklights that came with the Snuggies illuminating some of the faces. Finally, don't tell anyone, but Little One is wearing a dog snuggie -- alas, they don't make them small enough for infants!

The newest family member...Little Two!

My husband of thirty-six years loving on Little One

My Momma (she's the one in the middle)

My sisters, my cousins, and my dear grandmother, LouLou,
who went to heaven one year ago today...

Another Shameless Promotion

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     For those of you who have asked, the rocking chair in Little One's nursery is the very one in which I rocked all four of my babies. The Husband and I inherited it from an elderly aunt of his in the early years of our marriage, before we had any children. It has a wonderful, comforting old creak. I refinished it myself and had it reupholstered with a beautiful vintage inspired fabric that I found at the wonderful Textile Fabrics here in Nashvegas. If you live nearby and you sew, you know this store. The dress that Little One is wearing in this shoot is one that I smocked and put together for The Daughter twenty-eight years ago. It's officially a "hand-me-down!"

 All photos are from katherineholly.com

And She's Here

     Son Number Two and his beautiful wife (Isn't She Lovely) are the oh so proud parents of Little Two who made her debut at 12:30 am on November 19, 2010. It was love at first sight for all of us. She has her mother's big dark eyes and a head full of dark hair. From henceforth Little Two will be our "Thanksgiving" baby since her birth lies so close to this favorite holiday of mine. Our hearts are overflowing with joy and  gratitude for this special bundle of love. Once again I stand in awe of the faithfulness of God. To be able to hold the child of your child is to join yourself to the mystery of the ages. It brings to mind that scripture in Psalm 145: 4 "One generation shall praise your works to the next; they will tell of your mighty deeds."

    This son of mine has always wanted to be a Daddy. He is one of the most competitive individuals I know and does not shrink from a challenge of any sort on the athletic playing field. He is the smallest of the sons (the other two top 6'4" while Son Number Two is a commendable 6') but that has never stood in his way. His exploits in athletics are near legendary even in our family of athletes: All-State and All-City in football, All-Mid-State in Basketball where he held the scoring record for our school (48 pts) for a number of years, and All-State and All-City in Baseball. Tough used to be his middle name. But you put a baby or a child near this son and he turns into a puddle. He instantly becomes mush. He will even fight me, the Baby Whisperer, for the right to hold a baby. He can burp a recalcitrant infant with the best and can rock and soothe like a champion. He is the favorite "Unky" on the other side of the family where his niece continually begs him to drive to her house in another state for a playdate.

Little Two holding tightly to her Daddy's hand.

     As I watched him change his daughter's diaper in the hospital yesterday, I thought to myself that Little Two is one blessed child. She has two parents who will share the duties, who will love and encourage her, and who will take the time to teach her that she is fearfully and wonderfully made. Her mommy and daddy are a team. I raised my own children in a more traditional era, but I was thankful to have a husband who did not shirk from many of the more mundane duties of child-rearing. It helped me keep my sanity during the survival years when I had three children under four years of age. I know that there are many wonderful parents who do not have this same benefit, this same blessing, and it makes childrearing doubly hard.
    The Number Two Son and the Lovely Daughter-in-Law are certainly in for their share of sleepless nights, some bone-wearying and heart-wearying challenges and some days when they will be so tired that they can barely put one foot in front of another. But when it is all said and done, there are few joys in life greater than the gift of parenthood. Being a parent is the event in my life that I credit with opening a door of understanding into the heart of God, and I am confident the same will happen for these two.
    Little Two, you have an incredible gift in the two parents God has chosen for you. Be patient with them as they learn how best to love you and trust that they mean well for you no matter how many mistakes they make. You will always be their first-born child, and from you they will learn the depth of the life-changing love that a child brings to the heart of a parent. Because of you, Little Two, life will never be the same. Instead of a couple, you have made your parents part of a wonderful thing...a family.

Day One in the life of Little Two