Christmas Greetings

The snow came softly this morning, while I still lay wrapped in quilts, dreaming. But as soon as my eyes opened, I knew it was there. Even our heavy, dark curtains cannot keep out the distinctive radiance of fresh, pristine snow.

I lay still, relishing the silence of woods still asleep under their downy blanket, until I just needed to get up to confirm what my senses already told me.


So begins another Christmas Eve. The pleasure of gathering gifts, the fracas of crowded stores all done. Yesterday we donned boots and gloves and found this year's tree next door in the Hundred Acre Woods. It lies on its side in the house, waiting for Sweet Daughter to come help us decorate. I pray for her safety today as she drives a significant distance to join us at Sanctuary.

This morning as I take a few minutes to read and meditate, I turn to one of my favorite poems, written by Lucy Shaw. I have shared this one before, but rather than providing a link to that page I will savor her words as I type it once more.

Mary's Song

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast

keep warm this small hot naked star 

fallen to my arms. (Rest...

you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies

the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies

whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps

whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so slight it seems

no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps 

to sprout a world. Charmed by dove's voices,

the whisper of straw, he dreams,

hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes

he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,

all years. Older than eternity now he

is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed

to my poor planet, caught

that I might be free, blind in my womb

to know my darkness ended,

brought to this birth for me to be new-born,

and for him to see me mended

I must see him torn.

May you find joy in Him, the greatest gift of all time and...

Merry Christmas from Sanctuary!

A Letter To My Husband

We've spent over two-thirds of our lives together, you and I, and there are days when I can hardly believe this simple truth. We made a covenant to love each other through thick and thin, to grow old together. We looked into each other's eyes and made these promises before God back when we were young and idealistic and had no idea of all the things life could, and would, throw at us, like waves at the pier we love to walk on. And somehow, wrapped in God's grace and mercy, we learned when to ride and when to duck and when to hold our breath until the tumbling stopped.

So many memories. Today I will pick just a few, my bouquet for you.

We ate cake and ham buns and potato salad after we said I do and drove across the border into Canada for our honeymoon. We had one night in the Hyatt Regency and then camped in the back of our car and cooked food on a mini-barbeque until we ran out of money and stayed in my sister's basement while waiting for our apartment to be ready.

Remember the cold winter day when you walked home from college and told me to bundle up...there was something you wanted to show me on campus? We crossed the street in front of our apartment and took the elevator up to where you led me to a girl with a box of kittens. You told me I could pick one to take home. You tucked her under your warm coat and she kept poking her tiny head out as we rode the elevator down. We named her Louie in honor of your best friend.

After we became new parents, come Saturday morning you would tuck First Born Son in his stroller for the long walk to a donut shop in Pacific Beach so I could catch up on some desperately needed sleep. I think you probably saved my life.

When I asked if you could go pick up some things at the store when we took Newborn Daughter home, your eyes lit up like Youngest Grandson's do when when something good is about to happen. Like some cuddly stuffed animals or something? you asked, and I had to reply like some diapers and wipes. You went anyway.

Your steadfast faith in the sovereignty of God gave me strength through our greatest challenge as young parents. As I lay in the recovery room with half of my body numb and all of my heart breaking, you gently cradled our Amanda in your arms as she quietly slipped away from us. Even now, all these years later, it comforts me to know she went straight from her daddy's arms to her heavenly Father.

You took me and our children on these amazing trips all over the U.S. and Canada and Europe, giving us experiences on planes and trains and ferries as well as by car. You gladly assumed the role of designated parent to accompany them on all the amusement park rides that would leave me queasy. You brought adventure into our lives and gave us the thrill of experiencing so many new and wonderful things, many of which I feared we might not survive. But we did.  Just like you said we would.

When we were helping College Daughter furnish her first apartment in Savannah, Georgia, on that infamous day,  9/11/2001, you looked me in the eye and calmly told me we needed to leave her and drive non-stop in our rental car across the North American Continent because you had to report into work in person. You patiently answered all my questions regarding her safety, over and over and over, until I agreed we could leave her there. Then we stopped at K-mart, picked up snacks and pillows and did what we had to do.

You bought us the Grandma Van so we could continue having adventures with a whole nother generation. Things like camping in the woods and by the ocean, crossing mountains and exploring ghost towns. And somehow you always knew when this grandma needed a night in a motel so everyone could have a dip in a pool and a hot shower and no one would have to sleep in the 'well'.

You shared my dream of a place called Sanctuary and took us traveling on most of California's backroads until we found it. You indulged my eclectic way of furnishing it, slowly over time, with countless stops at yard sales and thrift stores and even an antique store or two. And now, this is the place where I want to finish growing old with you. Up here in the woods with the deer and foxes and bears, where we can warm ourselves by the wood stove in winter and hike by the rivers in the summer. I think Robert Browning said it best:

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
the last of life for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
who saith "a whole I planned -
youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!"