Today is December 13th. On November 10th I placed an order for Tamales for Thanksgiving... I guess I better pick those up today.
My email box has a red icon with the number 135 boldly typed on the inside.
I tried to make Spritz cookies the other day. Tried again. Both batches were picked up by the trashmen today, along with the zucchini muffins I attempted yesterday which my daughter spit it out along with the words, "YUCKY!"
... she was correct.
I amknee deep
waist high in the toddler years. In parenting two (which is 4x the amount of work as 1).
I have days where at 5:35 pm I realize I haven't brushed my teeth, deodorant is questionable, and the thought of "how long has my hair been plastered with spit-up?" runs across my mind.
...waist high.
As I type this Charlie, my 7 month old, is pounding on the table laughing at me. I probably have plastered spit-up in my hair, maybe he notices it... maybe not?
Isn't it amazing what competes for our attention? Our time?
If I thought about my day, if I really broke it down for you, you'd wonder why I'm even typing in the first place.
A sinner. A selfish person. A wife. A mom.
Here I am, competing for your time, with words that may not influence you in any way.
But here I am praying circles around these words. That what I'm about to type may resonate with the one person who needs to hear it.
Remember Easter.
When we are overwhelmed with choices...
Easter was real.
When we are overcome with anxiety...
Easter was real.
When the holiday season seems too fake...
Easter.Was.Real.
...but it started in a manger.
It started in a manger full of hay, a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths like the perfect lamb set aside for the passover sacrifice.
Christmas was real.
The hope that pours down from the realness of the manger to the grace given by the cross and sealed with an empty tomb is here now. It doesn't need to fight for your attention, but it can wrap you up in peace if you let it. It can calm the busyness. It can slow the day. It can change your perspective.
If you let it.
Jesus was in the manger.
Jesus was on the cross.
Jesus is not in that tomb.
In his birth and in his death He came to give you life, and life to the fullness.
Not a life where you have to beat yourself up for the $30 in tamales you still have yet to pick up.
Not a life where you feel guilty each time that red dot adds another white number to the corner of that square icon.
Not a life where comparison trickles in and you see yourself as a failure at 5:35 at night because good grief you've been going since 3:30 that morning and haven't stopped to breathe, and you look in the mirror questioning what you even accomplished today.
No he came to give you a life where you are victorious because your Father is victorious.
A life where you can have a personable relationship with the most creative creator ever!
He is offering you a life where you get to partner with him to cover world changers in prayer as they throw oatmeal on the floor or take a sharpie to your coffee table.
Unlike the squirmy boy propped up on my lap, close your eyes, breathe in deep, and call upon the peace that the birthday boy we are all so thrilled to celebrate wants to offer you. Because even greater than his birth was his death, and even greater than his death was his resurrection.
Thank goodness Easter is real.
My email box has a red icon with the number 135 boldly typed on the inside.I tried to make Spritz cookies the other day. Tried again. Both batches were picked up by the trashmen today, along with the zucchini muffins I attempted yesterday which my daughter spit it out along with the words, "YUCKY!"
... she was correct.
I am
waist high in the toddler years. In parenting two (which is 4x the amount of work as 1).
I have days where at 5:35 pm I realize I haven't brushed my teeth, deodorant is questionable, and the thought of "how long has my hair been plastered with spit-up?" runs across my mind.
...waist high.
As I type this Charlie, my 7 month old, is pounding on the table laughing at me. I probably have plastered spit-up in my hair, maybe he notices it... maybe not?
(side note, gosh he's cute!)
Isn't it amazing what competes for our attention? Our time?
If I thought about my day, if I really broke it down for you, you'd wonder why I'm even typing in the first place.
A sinner. A selfish person. A wife. A mom.
Here I am, competing for your time, with words that may not influence you in any way.
But here I am praying circles around these words. That what I'm about to type may resonate with the one person who needs to hear it.
Remember Easter.
When we are overwhelmed with choices...
Easter was real.
When we are overcome with anxiety...
Easter was real.
When the holiday season seems too fake...
Easter.Was.Real.
...but it started in a manger.
It started in a manger full of hay, a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths like the perfect lamb set aside for the passover sacrifice.
Christmas was real.
The hope that pours down from the realness of the manger to the grace given by the cross and sealed with an empty tomb is here now. It doesn't need to fight for your attention, but it can wrap you up in peace if you let it. It can calm the busyness. It can slow the day. It can change your perspective.
If you let it.
Jesus was in the manger.
Jesus was on the cross.
Jesus is not in that tomb.
In his birth and in his death He came to give you life, and life to the fullness.
Not a life where you have to beat yourself up for the $30 in tamales you still have yet to pick up.
Not a life where you feel guilty each time that red dot adds another white number to the corner of that square icon.
Not a life where comparison trickles in and you see yourself as a failure at 5:35 at night because good grief you've been going since 3:30 that morning and haven't stopped to breathe, and you look in the mirror questioning what you even accomplished today.
No he came to give you a life where you are victorious because your Father is victorious.
A life where you can have a personable relationship with the most creative creator ever!
He is offering you a life where you get to partner with him to cover world changers in prayer as they throw oatmeal on the floor or take a sharpie to your coffee table.
Unlike the squirmy boy propped up on my lap, close your eyes, breathe in deep, and call upon the peace that the birthday boy we are all so thrilled to celebrate wants to offer you. Because even greater than his birth was his death, and even greater than his death was his resurrection.
Thank goodness Easter is real.
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