When I was a young adult, coming home for Christmas meant my parents’ house. That’s where Christmas was. That’s where it had to be, where it always had been. I got married and shortly after that we moved to Indiana. Those first couple of years, we came back home for Christmas…and it was still my parents’ house.

But a shift was coming. A new wind was blowing and I wasn’t ready for it. When I was pregnant with our second child, I had experienced a miscarriage and then a tubal pregnancy (requiring emergency surgery) between the two children. My doctor thought that it might not be a good idea to travel all day in a car in the middle of winter to get home for Christmas, especially since I was in the first trimester of the pregnancy.

Suddenly the song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” was where I was living.

“I’ll be home for Christmas – you can plan on me.
Please bring snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree.
Christmas Eve will find me where the love light gleams…
I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

What had always been an unbearably sappy song became my theme song and I would sing it along with Amy Grant with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Did I mention that I was pregnant? That’s right – emotions on steroids. I couldn’t imagine a Christmas so far away from home.

It turned out that we didn’t go back to Minnesota for Christmas until we moved back here nearly 10 years later. I cried that first year, missing my parents, missing my siblings, missing our traditions, missing the cookies, missing the singing of Christmas carols, missing…everything. But God had set me in a new place, with a wonderful husband, a sweet little boy and another one on the way. We had to learn how to make our home the place where Christmas was.

And we did. We borrowed a lot of traditions from my growing up years and added our own. At some point I realized what a blessing it was to be able to stay home on Christmas Day, to enjoy the sweetness of celebrating our Lord’s birth with our growing family at home – our home. Out of death came life. Out of sorrow came joy. The uncomfortable thing became comfortable; what seemed out of place fell into place.

And now, we are the parents of adult children, some of whom are married and starting families. Our home can no longer be the center for them – they have started a new thing. It’s the way it should be. As long as they can come to our house for Christmas, I will rejoice and be thankful. But I don’t want to forget that God has put them in a new place with new beginnings, to start their own traditions, and to make their homes the place where Christmas is for their children.

To paraphrase what John the Baptist said, “They must increase and we must decrease.”

But I’ve also learned something else. Seeing them increase is a glorious thing, just as it was for John to see Jesus increase while he decreased. That’s what he was there for – to point the way to Jesus. And as parents, this is part of what we’re here for – to point the way for our children to live independent lives for His glory. And Lord willing, our children will be raising new little ones to follow Jesus. Hallelujah!

And decreasing – well, that’s not all a bad thing either. I love the full house at Christmas time, but boy is it nice to return to our regular quiet routine after all the celebrating is over and the guests are gone.

To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.

Amen and amen.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. He must increase and my blog must decrease.

Watercolor Wednesday has a nice ring to it, but I think this will also include any other artsy/crafty things I’ve got going on. It’s kind of weird sharing these things because it seems like an invitation for admiration, but I don’t know why sharing artwork should be that much different from sharing any other kind of produced work. I love looking at other people’s art, so maybe some of you feel the same way.

Okay, with all that navel gazing out of the way, here’s the “rest of the story” about my experience with the Jump-Start with Jenny lessons on YouTube that I did. The 30 days of lessons ended up taking 4 months, but my goal was to finish it. The last 6 lessons were way more detailed and required a fair amount of sketching ahead of time. The last project was “artist’s choice,” so I take full blame and/or credit for it. 🙂

I think my least favorite to work on and to look at is the Urban Sketch – it was from a photograph I took in Mantorville. All in all, I learned a LOT and recommend the lessons.

Sometimes I get caught up in the existential crisis of “what’s the point of all of this,” but there’s a joy that comes with being creative and in learning a skill and that seems to be enough “point” for now.

Bah – more naval gazing.

Let me know if you have a favorite of the above – maybe I’ll just send it to you! I don’t really have other plans for these.

Reporting live from the Lynniebee Cluttered Craft Room…

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, if I can find it.

I’ve been thinking about how I want to use this blog this year, with the idea of being a little bit more focussed on certain types of writing. I’m thinking of setting aside each day of the week like so:

Monday: Random thoughts
Tuesday: Gleanings from what I’m reading
Wednesday: Watercolor/Art
Thursday: Poetry or photo-oriented writing (like most of my posts last year)
Friday: Fiction (short)

It’s not set in stone yet – just thought I’d give it a try and see how it goes. I’d certainly be open to any feedback you have, my illustrious readers. It would be really fun to have an alliteration for each day (already have Watercolor Wednesday and Fiction Friday).

Elisabeth Elliot, Keep A Quiet Heart
“So many lives seem honeycombed with small failures, neglectful of the little things that make the difference between order and chaos. Perhaps it is because they are so seldom taught that visible things are a sign of an invisible reality; that common duties may be ‘an immeasurable ministry of love.‘” P. 84

I used to tell my kids that if they did nothing else before they left their room in the morning, they should at least have a discipline of making their beds every day. It’s surprising what can flow from the discipline of doing small things. A funny story about that, though. One day I came downstairs and told my son Josh (about 10 at the time) that I’d noticed he hadn’t made his bed and it had grieved me deeply. This was said tongue-in-cheek, of course. He ran upstairs to make his bed and then came down with a triumphant look on his face. “Mom,” he said with glee, “I noticed you didn’t make your bed this morning and it grieved me deeply.” It’s so rare that I don’t make my bed in the morning that I still can’t fathom how I overlooked it that day; God has a good sense of humor.

J. Alastair Groves & Winston T. Smith, Untangling Emotions
“…Paul Miller once quipped that anxiety is wasted prayer. …doing anything with our fears, especially chasing your thoughts on the hamster wheel of anxiety, short-circuits the very purpose for which God gave us the capacity to feel anxious. Our anxieties are meant to lead us straight to him. Every time.” p. 109

As I told a friend recently, I live in the land of “Worst-Case Scenario,” and it’s not a fun place to be. I love the idea that anxiety is meant to lead us to God. As I’ve gotten older, I have been learning to take these things straight to Him, but I still get on that hamster wheel now and again.

Emily Dickinson, excerpt from Poem #257, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
“The Rainbow’s way–
A Skein
Flung colored, after Rain”

Nice bit of imagery, that.

Addison Leitch (second husband of Elisabeth Elliot – heard this in one of her speeches on the podcast)
“When the cross of Christ cuts across the will of man, somebody has to die.”

Think about that last one for awhile.

Thanks for reading all the way to the end. I’d love to hear your thoughts on these gleanings, if you have any. Also, feel free to share your gleanings with me!

I’ll probably delete this while writing more quotes down in the morning.

Happy New Year! It’s deeply ingrained in my psyche to think about new beginnings, goals and resolutions at this time of year. As a family, we used to have a form that we each filled out on December 31 (or thereabouts) with space for resolutions in five areas:

Spiritual
Physical/Heath
Personal
Hobbies to Pursue/Skills to Learn
Miscellaneous

Like most people, I start out well, but some things peter out over time. It’s dangerous territory to resolve to do something daily; if you skip one day: BOOM – game over. However, I still love to take time to think strategically about the year ahead in each of those areas and to make plans, holding them all in subjection to Christ. As I always used to tell my kids, “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail!” Ha ha – just the kind of thing that parents love to say and that kids hate to hear.

With that in mind, here are some of the things I’m thinking about for 2021:

Take some online courses: art, literature, maybe history
Goodreads Book Reading Challenge: 100 books
Blogging: what to do? M-F again? More specific writing goals? Keep it random?
Bible: continue with Bible Reading Challenge (in my fourth year of this)
Exercise: 3-4 times per week
Continue with Hiking Club: 40 miles more this year?
Knitting: gotta start using up my stash. One project a month?
House: get rid of stuff. One room per month?

My daughter helped me go through stuff in the craft room while she was here, which gave me a good start on that last item. We’d like to downsize at some point and definitely don’t want to bring all the accumulation of the last 15 years with us. Here’s the first bin of give-away for 2021:

Lord willing, it will be followed by many more.

What are your plans for 2021? Let me know if you have thoughts about this blog, too.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…

At the beginning of 2020 I started something new. I wanted to stretch myself as a writer and have an outlet for all the words that seem to bubble up inside me. The goal was to do a daily blog post, but in February I decided to take weekends off, having found that even I, the Wordy One, needed a regular break – a time to let new crops of words germinate and grow.

More often than not, I didn’t know what these fingers were going to type when I opened up the WordPress app. I usually started with a photo or two and let my imagination take it from there. I was surprised at how often poems emerged. It felt a little bit like Aaron’s pathetic excuse for making a golden calf: “The people gave me gold and I cast it into the fire, and this calf came out.” I looked at a photo, cast about for words, and this poem came out. Some of those poems probably deserved the same fate as the golden calf: burned in the fire, ground into powder, scattered on the water and then put into a drink that I’d be forced to drink as penitence.

Many of you faithfully read my posts all year and even made comments and sent emails, thus making it more of a conversation. Thank you! Thank you!

I haven’t decided yet whether or not to continue the experiment in 2021. But if I do, I’ll look forward to more conversations with you.

The LORD bless you and keep you.
The LORD make His face shine upon you
And be gracious to you;
The LORD lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.

Belated Merry Christmas! Let us all look forward to 2021, holding fast to the confession of hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. Amen!

I’ll probably delete this…

I can’t decide if I am just really busy these days, or just using my time badly, but I’ve had a hard time writing blog posts this week. Could it be the approaching holiday? Anyway, here’s what I’m going to do today: I’m going to cycle back through my photos, pick one at random and see what I can find to write about it. We’ll either be calling it “The Writer’s Challenge,” or “Writer’s Block Disguised as a Blog Post.” Or maybe “Mischief Managed.” I borrowed that from J.K. Rowling.

So here I go – I’ll be right back with a photo.

The Magpie’s’ Story

I am related to the common crow, but clearly I drank from the better parts of that genetic pool. We’ll call him a distant cousin – very distant. I wouldn’t nod to him if I saw him on the same branch on which I was perched.

Having established that, allow me to clear my name of centuries of false accusations. I do NOT – I repeat – I do NOT steal shiny items from people. I speak for my whole family, even the nefarious Uncle Ned. No, you can’t steal something that belongs to you. We magpies have always maintained that the Shiny Items of this world are a permanent part of our Family Treasure. It’s written in our founding documents somewhere, all properly notated, with all the legalese you could possible want (various repetitions of the phrase “per stirpes” give it just the right amount of gravitas). If you have a Shiny Item such as a watch, a spoon, a necklace, or bottle top, we consider it ours and it is our solemn duty to bring it back into our possession. This is not stealing – it is reclamation.

So, other than that, what can I tell you about myself? I’m one of the smartest birds around – I can even recognize myself in the mirror. And when I do, I sing a little song that some of you may know:

I feel pretty,
oh so pretty!
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any bird who isn’t me tonight!

Someone else stole that song from the Magpie Musicians’ Guild and the next thing you know, some twit named Maria is singing it in a tragic movie called “West Side Story.” I tell you, we magpies are weary of our property being stolen.

There’s so much more to tell you, but I’ve got to fly away – I see something glinting in the sun over yonder and feel certain there’s more of our Family Treasure just waiting to be reclaimed. You’ve been a great audience – farewell!

I’ll probably wake up tomorrow and wonder if I really wrote all that nonsense, and then I’ll decisively delete it before the Magpie Bloggers’ Guild comes after me with a lawsuit.

I recently received this beautiful bird as a gift – it’s fashioned from a gourd. To my delight, it came with a haiku written by the giver!

Bird in the Garden
Or the Garden in the Bird
The Gourd lives two lives!

Get you some friends that will write clever haiku for you, that’s what I say.

Short and sweet tonight – very sweet.

I will probably
Completely obliterate
This post tomorrow.

She sits atop our Christmas tree every year and has done so for nearly 30 years. Every once in a while one of our children would offer up a thought that we should dispense with the angel and put a star up there like all the best trees had. Specifically a star that would light up, so as to signify the Star of Bethlehem. The idea has merit, of course, but I wouldn’t trade this angel for a star. No siree. In fact, if you see a lighted star at the top of our Christmas tree in future years, it’s a sure sign that I’ve gone on to glory and am no longer around to supervise.

The angel represents the angels that heralded the good news to the shepherds out abiding in their fields. But that’s not why I keep her up there. No siree.

I keep her up there as a remembrance of the hot glue sacrifice required of my fingers to make her. My friend Sue and I worked on these together back in the day when my Craft-O-Meter was still low, but on the ascendancy. Each layer of her beautiful gown had to be hot-glued to the waist and there was only one way to make sure it stayed where it was supposed to. Fingers, do your duty! Each fresh layer caused fresh pain. But when the angels were done, I felt as if I’d created a masterpiece. She was resplendent in her glory! All those labor pains were worth it.

Her halo is askew, her hair looks a little wild and I’m frankly surprised she’s survived all these years, but each year I’m proud to put her on the top of our tree. She looks over all our Christmas proceedings and if you harken, you can hear what she’s saying:

“Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you. You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”

And then suddenly, you’ll see she is being joined by a multitude, an army of angels praising God and saying:

“Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, goodwill to men!”

I can still feel the hot glue burning my fingers; I can still hear her singing. It’s all good.

I will probably delete this in the morning, yes siree.

P.S. Sometimes I wonder if her sister angel has survived the years. Only Sue can tell.

So, a little bit of a blog cop-out here, but I’m getting ready to go to bed and just remembered that I haven’t posted yet today. So instead of giving you up-to-date content, I’m going to delve back into the rich vein of stuff that I recently rediscovered in my Paper app from 6-7 years ago. What follows are two entries in the book called “Journal.” The first one is my entry, signed by “Me.” The second one is a false claimant to the title of me, posing as “The Real Me.” Ha!

Gives you a little idea about the generally odd sort of world we had here back in the day. I guess it’s probably still pretty odd here because I’m still here.

Signing off, I’m the actual Me, not the false Real Me. Got it?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Me, not the false Me. And trust me, I know who the false Real Me was, but she’ll remain nameless. Oh, did that give it away?

I was born and raised in Minnesota. I lived through mild winters, cold winters and colder winters. I know about wind chill and I’ve experienced frostbite. So there was really no excuse for me to take a walk today improperly attired when I knew what the temperature was.

Heavy coat: check.
Warm hat: check.
Warm, comfortable boots: check.
Mittens: check.
Scarf to wind around face: AWOL. Absent WithOut Leave.

I wanted to think writerly thoughts as I walked. I brought my camera, expecting to take many photos. I took one inside before I left, sort of a throwaway capture just because it was by the door and the look of it pleased me.

I dropped off the outgoing mail in the mailbox and headed down the street. From that point on, my thoughts were wonderfully focussed:

MY FACE IS COLD MY HANDS ARE COLD MY FACE IS COLD MY HANDS ARE STILL COLD THESE MITTENS AREN’T WARM ENOUGH WHY DIDN’T I BRING A SCARF? MY FACE IS COLD…

And so on.

I took my mittens off to take two photos but my heart wasn’t in it.

MY HANDS ARE REALLY COLD…is all I got out of that.

I was impressed with how many Christmas wreaths were out in the cemetery. I consider myself to be a sentimental sop, but I’m not sure I’d remember to do something like that for a loved one’s grave year after year. Hat’s off to all of you who do.

That’s the muse-o-day for today.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning and you’d better believe I’ll be wearing a scarf when I do so.

Is it better to skip a blog post or do a skimpy one in a hurry? Asking for a friend…

My day was busier than usual, so here I am at the end of a long day waiting for supper, which my husband is out hunting and gathering (i.e. picking up food at a local restaurant). I’m already into a second paragraph in a blog post about nothing, so I’m going to go with option #2: a skimpy post done in a hurry. We’re all friends and I can’t imagine that there will be any condemnation coming from any of you (right?).

Besides, as soon as the sun goes down, my brain checks out and there’s very little left to work with – and it’s winter, so this little scenario gets played out earlier and earlier every day.

I guess the least I can do is show you what I did in an earlier, more productive part of the day when my brain was operating on all cylinders. I started a Christmas stocking for the darling granddaughter!! It’s not finished yet. There will be more decoration and some words on the front.

It doesn’t really compete with those hand-knitted ones that take months, but this is the kind I usually make, so I’m sticking with what I know. 🙂

That’s it – skimpy, fast – done.

I’ll probably…you know the rest.