winter blues and reveling.

I have been feeling rather blue.

There are various contributing factors, of course, some of them related to life, most of them related to work and/or my professional angst and unrest, but there is also winter. And as much as I love four seasons and pretty snowflakes and big drifts of white, the cold always seems to reach its icy fingers past the warmth of my scarves and into my life.

It is very cold here in Michigan. It is also very dark. Perhaps if I were better at pretending I was warm, I might not experience the cold so fiercely, but I'm not sure I'm capable of that. Perhaps if I had a window in my office at work, I'd feel cheerier, but I don't think anyone would look kindly on my punching a hole through the ceiling to reach the outdoors. Thus, my experience of life right now is very cold and very dark.

Furthermore, my front steps remain coated in ice, regardless of how much salt I toss over them, because the roof keeps drip drip dripping whenever the temperature rises, and the cold world keeps freezing again.

And also, I am tired of darting around the track at the Y, where instead of interesting old houses and people walking their dogs to look at and my favorite bakeries' windows to peer into, I have only the same four walls to examine as I go around and around, seven times to a mile, as well as more darkness beyond the windows and all kinds of fit people to compare myself to.

But let me attempt positivity: the Y is also bright, warm and sans slippery ice. Also, on certain days, I have the mass of women (plus four or so men) doing Zumba to entertain me, which I guess is pretty great. I am particularly fond of the old ladies, who I cheer on enthusiastically in my mind.

Last night, through tears, I was talking to my sweetheart about all of the things that are contributing to my sadness, and I recalled this time last year, when I had only recently moved into my current apartment, my very first situation living alone. I was thoroughly enjoying my new living quarters, sparsely decorated at the time, and deeply appreciating being employed full time and having health insurance. But I also remember the evenings when I would come home from work, go for a long run, make dinner, sit down to eat well past nine or ten and realize how soon I would be returning to the office. I remember crying on the phone to my mother when I hit my first true season of monotony, with its sad rhythm and mornings I wasn't really looking forward to waking for.

And what then? This is always my question, because I know that this is the stuff of life, as is inexplicable joy, which hopefully comes with greater frequency than sadness, and as are those times when everything, every comment and snowflake and encounter with a stranger, feels full of beauty and meaning. But what do we do when we wake one morning, our souls aching for whatever compilation of reasons, thinking, is this really it? Is "okay" the most I can reasonably ask for? What do we do when we want nothing more than for things to be somehow different, though we cannot explain what it is that we want, or perhaps just to go back to bed until the sun is shining again?

I don't have a concrete answer.

But today, one of my dearest friends responded to an email relaying my every realized cause for sadness with an invitation to be with her this evening. So I forced myself to the gym after work to circle the aforementioned silly track twenty-one times, and after a warm shower, I put on my coziest sweater, compliments of my dear aunt in Phoenix, and reminded myself of her vibrancy, trying to bring a bit of it, as well as a few rays of the Arizona sun, into my soul.

And then came the answer to my current version of the winter blues. My dear friend and I enjoyed warm drinks and biscotti at a bookstore while tiny snowflakes fell from the sky outside, and she listened to everything I needed to say and responded with exactly what I needed to hear. She gave me freedom to feel and hurt and share and then comforted me, telling me that things are and will be okay, giving me the reasons why.

I suddenly felt the opposite of melancholy.

And this is the inexplicable joy I spoke of.

So what is the cure for sadness and winter blues? I'm still not sure. Probably something about love and honesty and the Holy Spirit. But whatever it is, I just experienced it.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and birthdays are times for reveling in the joy of being alive. It is cold and dark, and life is hard, but I will revel nonetheless. Because even in the darkness, I keep encountering beauty and love and warmth and truth spoken by those dearest to me.

All is well indeed.

not what anyone expected.

During Christmastime, with all its familiarity and the season's flurry of activity, it is easy to drift into our routine of celebration without seeing the source of celebration with new eyes. Last year, though, I was struck afresh by the hope of Advent. So this year, I was searching for something to make it new for me again. I was joyfully waltzing through the season, but I wanted it to be deep and beautiful and newly profound. And by some kind of grace, that newness finally came on Christmas Eve.

At work, I've been updating our Survey of the Bible course, and last week, I edited, revised and began skimming through the entire thing. As I followed its tracing of the drama of redemption from the beginning, outlined in the early chapters of Genesis, to the present day, I was reminded of the words of the prophets and the oldest recorded promises of God...promises about the one who would come, the Prince of Peace who would reign and make all things right. I recalled the lineage of Jesus, his family tree full of sinners and marginalized folks and very few that we would choose as precursors to the king of everything.

On Christmas Eve at my parents' church, the church I grew up in, the liturgy included a video of a little white line blazing through a dark screen, accompanied by captivating piano music, tracing a picture of Bethlehem and the star, Mary and Joseph traveling, shepherds, angels...and then, the small baby Jesus in the manger.

And it was so simple. But at moment 1:50 of the video, when that tiny manger and outline of a baby were traced on the screen above me, with the promises of the prophets still on my mind, I thought, This wasn't what anyone expected.

They were waiting for a king. They were waiting for power and grandeur and fanfare. I imagine that they watched the rulers and leaders of the day, wondering, Is he the one? Is he? How about this king? This prince? This priest?

No one was looking at insignificant young girls in Nazareth. No one expecting a king would have been paying attention to the life of a poor carpenter. Who would have connected the census to the most monumental religious event ever to occur? Who would have been watching the births of infant boys in rural villages? Who would have kept an eye on the stables in the countryside?

This wasn't what they expected. This wasn't what I would have expected.

But this was it. This was what every single prophecy pointed toward. The tiny baby conceived by a virgin, born in a stable, placed in a feeding trough, resting on a mattress of hay, comforted by the moans of cattle, gazed on by dirty shepherds, with a lineage marked by prostitutes and sinners and nobodies...this was the Savior.

And frankly, a god who would orchestrate a story as unexpected as that to bring about our salvation is the kind of god I want to follow.

I want to serve an unpredictable, unconventional god. I want to serve a god who would write that kind of narrative, full of adventure and heart and nothing anyone anticipated.

And that's what I have been dwelling on this season. I know that all of this has been said before, in one way or another, but as I step back and think rationally, I am remembering once again that this is one incredible story.

So. Merry Christmas. For me, these past days have been marked by quality time and good food and much laughter, and I hope you've been experiencing the same. I've been enjoying time with my family, all the five of us together, and I still have a few more days to revel in the joy of these dear ones and others close to my heart.

By the way, I know I didn't deliver on my promises of fall summaries and snapshots. Something of the sort might still appear, but this coming year, I'm resolving to keep shorter to do lists and minimize the demands I place on myself. So in the spirit of just living, I shall make no promises!

An now, enjoy these last few days of 2010, my friends.

happy december!

As if prompted by the turning of calendar pages and the pending opening of that first tiny door of the Advent calendar, snow began to fall on Tuesday night, and December greeted me with a thin blanket of white and a shaken snow globe of sky.

After a rainy Tuesday, I had gone to bed hoping for snow to greet me in the morning. And as soon as I could force myself out of my warm bed on Wednesday, the first of December, I scampered to the front window to peek outside--and lo! a winter wonderland. (I know, I'm five. But really, people, it's enchanting.)

Over the past few days, I pushed inches of snow off my windshield, narrowly avoided slipping on icy steps, holiday shop hopped and purchased a Christmas gift. This weekend, I plan to go to a holiday artists' market, make Christmas cookies and help pick out another Christmas tree.

And so, with those festive activities, snow, the month of December and food bloggers the world 'round posting cookie recipes, the season now begins in earnest! To inspire you, two photographs from Thanksgiving weekend:

(What, isn't this what your family does at the Christmas tree farm?)

I plan to return with a few fall summary/flashback posts this weekend, and then, I promise you, I will focus solely on the current season.

In sum: It's December! There is snow! Life is beautiful! Merry Christmastime!

the thanks giving post.

Though Thanksgiving has come and gone, I want to voice my thanks before continuing on with updates and new reflections and the Christmas-themed posts sure to ensue.

I got out of town and had a wonderful holiday weekend with family and an extension of my family (aka my brother-in-law's family...my family in-law in-law?) and also that boy I'm so fond of. We went to fetch the Christmas tree for my parents' house and decorated it with twinkly lights and cheery ornaments, which means that I will soon begin waxing poetic and becoming wildly excited about any- and everything even remotely related to Christmas. That's right. Be ready.

But first, some giving of thanks.

It's unfortunate that we need a national holiday to remind us to be thankful, but it seems that we do. (We don't need a national holiday to remind us to eat, so I'm going to stick to giving thanks as the primary purpose of the day/this post.) I probably complain more than I give thanks, which is a horribly skewed way of going about things in a life that has been filled with far more goodness than suffering.

And I want to live a life of gratitude.

There is much to be thankful for, after all. On the most elementary level, I am thankful for the material things that I have but don't need or deserve and so many go without--big things like plenty of food for the table and a little apartment all my own; simple and ultimately unnecessary things like cooling racks for hot loaves of bread; the electric blanket and humidifier that, though also unnecessary, make my Michigan winters much more bearable; shoes for my feet to stay warm and my body well, because it could be otherwise.

And of course, there are the good people surrounding me. There's this one girl who has now lovingly listened to a year's worth of joy and heartache and anxiety, who picked much of my summer sustenance with her very own hands, with whom I've never cooked a disappointing meal and whose single-syllable laugh I at some point unconsciously picked up. There's this other lovely lady in my city but from my hometown who absolutely makes my "short list," whose presence seems to ensure an eventful evening out and with whom a bottle of wine, a dessert (two desserts?), a platter of cheeses or a Valentine's day celebration was never unhappily shared. There is an incredible woman who believes in me more than I believe in myself, has a strength and vitality I strive to emulate and is the kind of mother that makes me want to be a mother.

I have a father who is a source of constant joy and offers much-needed guidance for my professional life on a regular basis, and my mom--who is also one of my very best friends--listens to me talk nonstop whenever I need to. (Seriously. My parents are awesome.) My sister and brother-in-law are living in the same country I am living in, which is something to be thankful for in itself, and on top of that, they are great house guests, read even my longest emails without complaining and are full of wisdom and hope.

There are good folks at my workplace; wise mentors from college and church; dear old friends now living in other cities, states and countries far off; kind landlords who fix even little things like broken doorknobs; new, inspiring acquaintances in this city that is my home.

And there is also a boy who makes me laugh until my face hurts, sees the bit of goodness in everything, listens to every last story even from a boring day, runs with me in the dark, cares about the world and appreciates a good meal or a well-made scone just as much as I do.

Along with all of that, I give thanks for the great big things, the things I ought to be expressing gratitude for with every breath: justice in my daily life, freedom, opportunity, health, peace in my neighborhood--and a good and sovereign God who holds everything, even that which is not just or peaceful or right.

Finally, I am thankful for a vast miscellany of other gratitude-inducing aspects of my life, such as my (currently) pest-and-rodent-free apartment, the fact that said apartment is in a house painted purple, my job (for both its good days and its bad ones), my little office with its fake plant, local businesses where they know my name and cardigans and baked goods and music and artwork and poetry and cookbooks and hope.

May I remain thankful all the year 'round.