My Overthinking

Philly Area mom, Life forever changed by adoption

To comfort, to remember, and to believe

I texted her a question on Christmas Eve morning, nothing real important, just a question. She answered it with this.
Screen Shot 2014-12-31 at 1.19.51 PM
Christmas Eve morning. Just like that. He took him home, her dad, at the age of only 61. And, at that moment, life for her changed.

The last two days held the services that she planned for her dad. I watched as she smiled and greeted people she hadn’t seen for years, hugged many and comforted her own children. As I did, I thought more deeply about what it all meant, what it means to “pay respects” and “honor.”

Hundreds of people gathered over those two days at viewings and a church service and at the cemetery and for a meal. Some drove from across town; others drove across states. And, as different as everyone was, there was a unity between us all.

We gathered to comfort. 

My friend’s tears flowed freely, but she was not alone. Her mother and brothers, her husband and children, all grieving a great loss, none of them stood alone to face it. Friends and family dropped everything, putting life aside for a time, to hold them up. It’s what we do. It’s how we’re made—recognizing the significance of relationship and the pain that comes when a relationship is lost and knowing that in relationship, healing can begin. We need each other. My friend needed all of us beside her, and we needed to be there to say, “we know your heart is broken, and our hearts are aching to see it.” There is great comfort and hope that swells in relationships with people who cry when you cry, especially when there is no other reason for their tears except for your own.

We gathered to remember. 

The photos posted around the room of a father and grandfather throughout the years told stories, ones most of the people there will never hear but gave glimpses into the life of the man. People who hadn’t seen each other for years hugged and smiled and recalled old memories. The dichotomy of the tears and laughter felt somewhat familiar and oddly comfortable. At any given moment, a family member could be crying; the next moment, the same person could be laughing as someone reminder her of that time when…. The Bible uses some form of the word remember 231 times. There is something very significant about intentionally remembering. It helps us see everything more clearly. It helps us understand His hand in our lives and in a bigger story. When we remember those stories and special moments and when we listen as others remember, we better understand how He works and how we are created, how our earthly, horizontal relationships reflect our heavenly, vertical relationship with Him.

We gathered to believe.

I love attending weddings. I enjoy celebrating with a young couple in love, but I admit that I love more being reminded of our own wedding vows and the picture of the gospel that marriage provides. I always cry, and I always go home happy. I don’t love attending funerals. The emotions are high, and it is simply hard in every respect. Yet, there is something spiritually redeeming about funerals. We gather to comfort and remember, but we also gather to believe together. We gather so that we can borrow faith from each other and encourage each other to believe that even when we cannot make any sense of something, we trust the Sensemaker. As I watched my dear friend say goodbye to her dad, my belief grew in the One who made him, who used him for His purposes on this side of eternity, and who is enjoying him now as he also enjoys praising Him for the rest of eternity. In a most beautiful redemptive way, what could be a dreadful and sad event becomes a testimony to Him and an opportunity to say to all of those there who don’t know Him yet, “Hey—don’t miss this—there’s more to life than what’s right in front of you. This isn’t all there is.” The family can proclaim it. Every aspect of the service can proclaim it. And, somehow, that funeral becomes an outreach event allowing yet another opportunity for that person no longer here to do some real evangelism to everyone close.

Life will be different. Things will be hard; the pain will remain. The tears aren’t over.

And yet.

And yet.

There is comfort. There is joy in remembering. And, we believe.

purpose of funerals

I invite you to go by Nicole’s blog or Facebook page and give her your own words of comfort.

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Where He Was

It’s his first Christmas home, his first Christmas with a family. It will take but a few minutes for him to learn that ripping pretty paper leads to special treasures. I’m sure his little Christmas jammies, sticky candy cane lips and fingers, and the smile that fills his face will speak of only delight.

We could focus on his joy and wide-eyed excitement. We could choose to sigh a happy sigh as we see him running around with his sisters and brother, experiencing it all for the first time. But, we must also remember.

He wasn’t here last year and the year before that or the year before that when he was just a helpless newborn baby boy. When he was found alone, he was taken here like other children like him in that area go. He was put in a crib that belonged to others before him where he likely lay crying until he no longer cried because the energy required to do it didn’t earn a reward. The working staff fed him as they fed the others with watered down formula to meet the goal of keeping them alive; the government gives subsidies only for living children. The wood palate in the crib was visibly wet with urine as was the layers he was bundled in as he laid tied down to keep him from climbing out as he physically grew, his body using every little bit of nutrients given and wanting more. They’d take him out and show him off when the rare visitor came; he was one of the healthier ones. When the visitors left, he went back in his crib and the ayis who only resembled parents left and locked the doors.

That’s where he was.

It’s the type of picture in my head I want to erase and replace with the joy of Christmas morning complete with a Mom and Dad who are taking hundreds of pictures with a lit up tree in the background. But, putting it out of my head doesn’t put it out of existence. His story didn’t start with them; it started in the womb of a woman who did not keep him and continued at a place that is not safe for children to be, at an orphanage much harder than ones I’ve ever seen. It was bad. The picture is messy and reeks of broken hearts and lives. But, it’s also compelling; it also demands a response; I cannot simply turn away.

The incarnation is like that. God Himself, the One creator of the universe, could have found another way, couldn’t He? He spoke things into being, surely He didn’t have to enter into our mess. Surely the One who parted the Red Sea and brought manna down from heaven to sustain His people could have done something spectacular to save us from ourselves. And, I guess He did, but not in the way any one expected. His spectacular was messy and ugly and smelled like manure and moldy hay when He became one of us and laid down His sweet head in a feeding trough for cattle.

The nativity we’re used to seeing with an angelic little Christ child complete with halo and a drape to cover his little parts, the nativity scenes that fill our home this season just don’t seem to do that event justice. God became man. And, honestly, the depth of that is so entirely hard to understand that it seems easier at times to simply focus on the pretty little nativity scene and sweet sounding songs than to dare to look longer at the reality of it all. I want to turn away from it, acknowledge that it happened and it’s true but then stop looking at it because it’s just too hard to understand the hows and whys of it all. But, I can’t turn away. It demands a response.

The joy of Christmas. The glow of the colored lights of the tree reflecting on the windows. Laughing with my family about Christmas memories from our childhood. Seeing all our Christmas cards filling our dining room with pictures of families with children from all over the world. Staying up late with my husband painstakingly making Christmas trees out of peanut butter cups and one more batch of Reindeer eyes. I am going to enjoy all of it, all that has come to fill our Christmas. But, just like how we can’t forget the reality of the earlier parts of his story even though it’s hard, I can’t and won’t forget the reality of the Christmas story even though it’s hard. Only then, when we just glimpse at the reality of the incarnation can we have a merry Christmas.

nativity scene

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Three gifts of Seeking-to-be Wise Parents

Americans spend about $450 billion on Christmas each year. Astounding really. Even more astounding when you have someone living with you witnessing this time of consumerism for the very first time. Way back when, about 13 years ago, when we were expecting our first, we didn’t know this number. But, we knew we didn’t want to get wrapped up in wrapped up things and that we wanted to “do gifts” a bit differently.

We decided we wanted gifts to really mean something. We decided we’d use gift giving as a teachable moment for our children. And, so, we give them 3 gifts. That’s it. 3 gifts. From us. Not from Santa. From Mom and Dad. These three gifts symbolize those of the wise men. And, each year, before we open gifts, we read the Christmas story and remind each other about the wise men and the gifts they brought to baby Jesus, the incarnate God, sharing the significance of each one individually before they open their three gifts.

only 3 gifts for ChristmasThe wise men brought Jesus myrrh. 
Myrrh was a valuable gift of practical use—it was used medicinally for all sorts of ailments from coughs to open wounds. It was a good gift to bring a mother of a new baby. And, in addition to daily use, it was used for embalming and anointing the dead. And, so, it was a prophetic gift, already setting up the Gospel story from the beginning. God’s son would have to die.

Our children’s first gift is a practical gift, something they need and can use daily—a piece of clothing, some sheets for their bed, a bike helmet, something like that.

The wise men brought Jesus frankincense.
Frankincense is the purest form of incense and was primarily used in worship. When burned, the white smoke and sweet smell it produces is a symbol of our prayers going up to heaven and creates a meaningful experience for everyone present. It’s a symbolic gift too, pointing to Jesus fully being God, Emmanuel, God with us, the only one worthy of our worship.

Our children’s second gift, likewise, is an experiential gift, something not tangible but something meaningful to us as a family—tickets to a theater show, a coupon for a night out with Daddy for ice cream sundaes, a night out at the ball park, something like that. This gift may or may not cost a whole lot, but the value of it is precious. Typically, I make up some sort of graphic on the computer that is like a gift certificate for whatever their specific experience gift is and give it to them in an envelope along with a business card, ticket, or brochure for the event. These are the gifts our children remember year to year and often cost us the least.

The wise men brought Jesus gold.
Gold was as valuable then as it is now. It was a precious gift, one that some say financed the holy family’s trip to Egypt. But, it was also a very symbolic gift in that gold was given to princes when they were born. And, that is what Jesus is—royalty, a King in the line of David, King of the world, King of the whole universe, and King of our hearts. When we become a follower of Jesus, we are adopted into God’s family and we too become princes and princesses, heirs to the throne. We don’t deserve it; no matter how good we are, we won’t ever be good enough to deserve it. But, because of Jesus, God sees us like He sees His own Son. And, we become like Him.

Our children’s third and last gift is a gold gift, something they really really want (or we think they’d really want since they don’t make a traditional Christmas list). Sometimes these gifts are a little more costly—like a lego set or a sweet new scooter. And, sometimes, they really aren’t costly at all, but just something we know they really want, something that is like gold to them (last year, the boys’ gold gifts came from Craigslist and cost a grand total of $25 put together—secondhand pet box turtles). It’s the gift that we just want to give to them because we love them and want to bless them. And, we tell them so before we give them.

Of course, they have grandparents and aunts and uncles, all of whom dote on our children. And, now that they are older, we let them choose small gifts for each other that they pay for with their own money (which is a teachable moment in an of itself). So, yes, they do actually get more than 3 gifts. Deprived they are not. Believe me.

We are doing what we can through our gift giving to set them up to better understand that Christmas is not simply about festive music on the radio, Rudolph, sparkly trees, cookies and milk, and boxes wrapped up with fancy bows. They sure do make Christmas fun; we don’t deny that. But, they aren’t what defines Christmas.

It’s about Jesus.

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The only Santa Claus here is Drew Claus {we don’t do Santa}

In typical Ashlyn fashion, tonight, she insisted on instructing little Caleb on advent and our Christmas tradition of a reading every night at dinner.

Every night, we will read a story from this book. And, it’s not just any book, right? It’s a special book because…whose birthday is it on Christmas?

Caleb responded without delay.

Santa Claus.

I’m not sure what was funnier—his answer or the fact that I was sure he had said “son of God” with his little Chinese accent. Oh, this poor boy thrown into American culture is utterly confused. Yesterday, he learned about Rudolph and his mom learned about wreaths. Today, he’s sure that fat old man with facial hair is having a birthday along with Jesus.

The kids corrected him kindly, and his lesson from Ashlyn continued. While Caleb may still be figuring things out, he’s learned that we don’t do Santa in our house. (go ahead, get your gasps out now.)

why we don't do santaThe kids know that we shop for gifts for them, and we fill their stockings hung by the chimney with care. We tell the kids that some families like to play a game with their children, pretending that Santa is real and brings them gifts at Christmas. But, he’s just that, a game based on a really nice man who lived a long time ago named St. Nicholas who gave money to poor families.

We’re cool with him though. We still wave to him at the mall as we explain that it’s really a man dressed up like Santa. In fact, we’ve got one of those real-deal costumes ourselves in our cedar closet that my granddad used to wear. We’ve even got a mini version that Drew wears year round. Caleb and Drew Claus have had a few hot cocoa parties together already. We still read Twas the Night Before Christmas and sing along to Here Comes Santa Claus. But, we’ve just never been into the whole game for a handful of reasons.

* Keeping up the Santa story can distract us from talking about Jesus’ birth and the significance of the incarnation. Talking about the history of Santa is a great tool to talk about giving and compassion. Some families certainly do that really well. When we do talk with our kids about families who do the Santa thing, that’s what we focus on, never giving the impression that those families are somehow inferior or not as spiritual or something crazy like that. But, as our children get older, my desire for them to really understand the most significant demonstration of giving and compassion has grown. For me, playing the Santa game can mean more conversations about presents and traditions and less about who God is and the most amazing gift ever known.

* I know it can be fun, but it’s not truth. In fact, we know people who have created quite a Pinnochio-style web of lies to protect their children’s belief in Santa. As their children have started connecting the dots, the stories the parents have come up with to keep it all have gotten a wee bit silly. Perhaps it’s my overthinking coming into play, but we’d rather have our kids know they can totally trust us rather than build a complicated story that others reinforce which they later find out isn’t actually true. If we lie about Santa being real, would our children question whether we are lying about other things that are unseen? If we ask them to believe in a Santa they cannot see and they find out we have lied, will they doubt whether our testimony that God is real is true?

* We want our children to understand the value of the gifts they are given, from us or other family members, and recognize that some gifts are a real sacrifice financially and have taken a lot of effort. We want them to learn gratefulness for this sacrifice particularly this year since life looks a lot different in our home. While I know Santa can be used as a picture of generosity, telling our children that Santa gave them their gifts instead of the family member who lost his job that year but still figured out how to give them a gift or the cousin who is young and used her allowance to buy just the right little thing takes away from their understanding of generosity and sacrifice.

* We do not want them to fall prey to a works mentality. We’ve all heard it–“Stop that or else Santa will put you on the naughty list!” We don’t want our children to think that blessings depend solely on whether they have been good or bad. We want them to understand what grace is–God’s unmerited favor, kindness from God that we don’t deserve. There is nothing we have done or can ever do to earn this favor. The classic lesson that “being bad” may put them on the “naughty list,” translating into less presents or a lump of coal could really hinder their understanding of grace.

It’s how we do things here. But, we respect that others do things differently—especially those who have overthought it all as I have and have come to a different conclusion. Some families really know how to do Santa well and still teach generosity, compassion, and grace as they do it. And, I know friends who have fond memories of leaving out milk and cookies and all that and want to give their kiddos the same. I get that. We’ve got some traditions we can’t let go of too. And, don’t worry—we have told the kids that some families really like the game. They have strict instructions not to tell other kids not living in our home that Santa isn’t real in case their families are playing the game.

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