Our First Christmas

For the past few Christmases, I've noticed how one particular carol seems to stand out during the season. Usually it starts out by grabbing my attention with its frequency--coming on the radio, in a store where I'm shopping, or in my own Christmas music playlist. So I start listening closer to the words, and out of it suddenly blooms a meaning or lesson I'd missed in my passive, mechanical hearing of the song in the past. Songs like "Good King Wenceslas," "The Little Drummer Boy," "Joy to the World," and "Oh Holy Night" are just some examples.

This year it was tougher to decide. The song that kept coming up was "Silver Bells," with its pretty descriptions of Christmas time in the city. It was a little ironic, considering I spent much of my Christmas season working at my internship in downtown Seattle, and I started noticing that the stoplights do indeed "blink a bright red and green." But all this song does is paint a highly idealized picture of Christmas in the city. So I'm not sure it counts as THE song.

Then there's "It Must Have Been the Mistletoe" which is all about our first Christmas. Equally ironic/appropriate. But once again, it's a pretty little song with very little depth. "Our first Christmas [has CERTAINLY been] more than we'd be dreaming of." And that's about it from this song. I like it! And it's been fun in the context of our first Christmas together EVER (not just as husband and wife). But it's not quite the meditative music I was looking for.

So what was it?

I'd heard this song before. It happened to come on the radio as we were headed to my in-laws' for my first Pacific Northwest Christmas. I got "Holy Spirit chills" at the words and the depth of what Christ's coming to Earth means. I can't fully fathom it! But this song has an angelic quality to it, that tugs at the heart to worship. And it helps that this video was paired with one of my favorite Christmas movies (and depictions of the Nativity). So moving. Listen to it again and let it sink in. Doesn't it just make you want to dance? (Maybe that's just me...)

He is here with us. In our first Christmas, in our new family, in our new home here on the west coast. He is there with my family on the east coast, with my parents on their 30th (plus some) Christmas and first with a truly empty nest, in my childhood home. With all those I miss terribly at this time of year, on both sides of Heaven. I needed this assurance this year, more than ever before, it seems. He's here with us in the homesickness, life changes, joys and challenges of marriage, and everything we face on this earth. He became fully human, and was yet fully God (still can't grasp the fullness of that one either!) so He understands it all. I find such great comfort in this.

It turned out to be a very blessed first Christmas. If I tried to list the ways, I'd probably reach the blog post limit! But at the heart of them all is this--God is with us!

The Inn

I can't wrap my head around this blessing. There is room for us, this Christmas. We moved into our new house only a few days ago, exactly a week before Christmas. In a mad flurry of boxes, bags, and willing hands to move us, I lost it. It was too much! Too much space. Too much stuff. Too much farther from the east coast I'd secretly (or perhaps openly) dreamed of returning to before babies. In that breakdown moment, standing in our now emptied kitchen at our first apartment, my husband held me. He stroked my hair and told me it would all work out. That we'd make it home. That God's presence there, with us, would make our house a home. We could rejoice in the room God provided for us.

I didn't realize it until now, a few days later when things begin to settle and the kitchen is in enough order to make a decent meal. There is room here. I'm not just talking about the extra space, and there's certainly quite of bit of clutter we need to deal with. I mean there is room for Christ here, in our home and family. It's something we talked about early on, as our house-search began. We greatly desired a home, not just because of the convenience or ability to modify it as we wished, but most especially because of how God could use us in a home. We and others have prayed over and over that this house would be filled with the Holy Spirit's presence, that whoever enters our doors would feel His Love, Peace, and Presence here.

We desire that this house will be a meeting place, a sanctuary, a place to worship God, a haven for all who seek it. We desire JOY and PEACE to burst from the every corner. And I'm so grateful for how faithful God has been to us in this time of transition. He provided for us, just as He has been doing since the beginning of time. His greatest gift, the sending of His Son to be born into human flesh, is true provision for us. He provided us with payment for our sins and an eternal, heavenly home with Him! Let there be room for the Christ child in our hearts and homes this Christmas and every day of our lives.

I can't do this without Him. I've felt the weight of responsibility and adulthood in purchasing our first home. I've been struggling with releasing expectations for our first Christmas together. And on top of all that, I'm trying to prepare my heart and keep the right focus in Advent. I feel like I can honestly say that there is room here now, in my heart and in this home. Not by my own strength or even by all the gracious efforts of my husband, family and friends who helped us move and challenge me to run after Christ daily. But only by His grace and provision.

The image of the Inns of Bethlehem keeps running through my head--all shut up tight with no room for Mary, Joseph and soon-to-be-born Jesus. It's a powerful image reflecting the sad state of my heart far too often. Christmas is a time of opening up--symbolized in the way we open our homes to others, open our purses in giving generously, and open presents in gratitude. In the truest sense, for me, it's a time of opening up my heart. I'm convicted of the times I've slammed the doors shut in the face of a stranger and friend alike. I'm grateful for Advent reminders, to repent and come humbly to the manager, the dank, dingy stable where God became a child among us. I want there to always be room in this "inn" of my heart, and this "inn" of our home (which we hope to fill with guests in the future). THANK YOU, LORD! You are WELCOME here, Jesus!

Remind Me

For all the times I've cringed over my silly schoolgirl rantings or bit my lip at pages where I poured out the pains of my heart, I don't regret all the time I've spent keeping journals. I'd kept a "diary" as a child (Lisa Frank designed, if that gives you any point of reference), but my first real journal came from my mom. I was eleven, and the book, with it's floral print cloth cover and lined pages, beckoned me to write like no other blank sheet of paper ever had. I'd written a fair amount in the years prior, but never so singularly focused on recording my thoughts, musings, and experiences of life.

Thirteen years later, and with one small bookcase worth of completed journals, I still add to what I've affectionately called, since the beginning of my journaling journey, "The Tiffany Archives." My latest is a large, black book with my name engraved on the cover. (Oh, how blissfully far I've come from the days of Lisa Frank!) As I flip through it, I realize I've learned to be more contemplative in my writing, not just jotting down the boring details of the day with lightening speed, and wrongly claim I'd captured it. I started viewing my days as opportunities to experience something "journal-worthy" and then approach my entry as a blank canvas to paint a brief tableau, however poor, of what my experiences have meant to me, how they've moved me. I'm still learning, and I hold firm to the fact that keeping journals has done a world of good for me as an aspiring writer.

But there's much more worth in the practice than just improved writing. To be honest, I dreaded rereading my journals and hardly ever cracked open their covers again once I'd finished them. With the exception of treasured family vacations, Christmases past, or my first date with my now husband, I was afraid to relive the rawer moments of my life. I knew from the way I laughed at my first diary, with its one line entries, that I'd chagrin at my childish upsets and "I'm so grown up, look what I know" philosophizing.

A few months ago I decided to start from the very beginning--that flowery book mom never used and passed along to me. As I read, I found myself caught up in my own life story. I don't say that in a narcissistic way. No self-love here, trust me! If you read even a page of those early journals, you'd know there is no room for pride here. I would scribble my rage, or write all prim and proper, using big words I thought sounded impressive, but were totally misused (...come to think of it, I still do this!). As I was sifting through the pages upon pages of emotion and jumbled thoughts, I realized how rare and special this is--to see yourself grow up, to watch an unfolding of thought, emotion, and character in a way photographs and home videos can't capture. What else can capture your thoughts, deepest feelings, and ideas...in your own words? In the present moment, penned on paper for you to read down the road?

I've enjoyed watching myself grow and become (there's that divenire again!). I'm fond of likening it to metamorphosis, but then again, I've always had a fascination with butterflies. As I've read, my husband has asked for snapshots of who I was then. Unfortunately, some of the descriptions have been as follows: whiner, brat, selfish, and full of puppy-love. I was quite the ugly grubbling...still am at my worst moments! And the change to become a butterfly is a slow (and often painful) process. I've seen it happen in some more positive moments: practicing compassion, sharing others' heartache, learning to be still and meditate on what God has done for me. It's a humbling process.

It's my birthday. And on my birthday, it's inevitable for me to examine my past, particularly in the last year. It's been a particularly eventful year, life changing and character shaping in ways I couldn't have imagined! Once I've sifted through the heights of joy and depths of heartache I've felt this year, I go back through the past twenty-something, through journals and scraps of memory. Trying to sort out, "Who am I?"

Today, God has reminded me who I am...to Him and in Him. It's enough to make me feel so unworthy and so in awe of the life He has given me. It's been a great one! Imperfect. Sinful. But SAVED. And BLESSED beyond measure. It's been a joy-filled journey, one I want to continue in the power of His Spirit, with hope and gratitude for His Grace.

Whether it's my birthday or some seemingly insignificant day of the year, I need reminders of who I am to God. Re-reading journals, listening to uplifting music, and reading God's Word have all helped me with that. Let these videos remind you who you are too...