EVERY year I have big plans to get professional pictures made. While visions of sugarplums may be dancing in your heads,  I'm mentally going through all of our closets putting together a suitable outfit plan for the five Burdens.

I start in November; choosing a spot in my mind for the perfect picture; like a Christmas tree farm with a backdrop of a wintry sky or a painted sunset behind a field of tall, lazy dead grass.

I even skim through the Shutterfly and Tiny print advertisements choosing a card; imagining what I'd put on it.

Didn't happen again in 2016; not for a lack of ideas or desire, but a lack of time.

A Christmas card hasn't happened for this family in the past three years.

It isn't because we aren't proud of our family. We are.

Hayden finished welding school this summer and is taking classes to get a degree in Welding Technology. That guy can cook bacon and eggs for an army of men  (and then eat it all himself).

Hallie has become the sweetest mentor for Rylie. She also got her driving permit (but neither she or I are too gung-ho for the driving part.

Rylie got a cell phone this year. Don't give her your number unless you want to be texted ten emojis, daily. She's baking like crazy. She made a little wedding cake for a couple earlier this year and has made cookies, brownies and a lot of mess.

Jason and I had a summer sabbatical that goes down in our book of memories as one of the most enjoyable, most memorable and most rejuvenating summers we've ever had. Thank you, church, for giving us that gift that took years off of our lives, put pep back in our step and grew us in our walk. We love you.

Besides sending a picture of ourselves, this card carries greetings to a whole bunch of people we don't get to see anymore (like much-loved people from our hometown, our church families (and when I say family I do mean family) in Chilton and Trinity and a host of old friends and cousins, aunts and uncles. We miss you and regret that miles and years have created a distance. You're still close to our hearts.

To some of you whom we just met in 2016 (and even some who we've never met in person) we want to say that we're glad God has placed you in our circle. I'm amazed at how God never stops placing new people in our lives to work alongside (or even over social media). Makes me expectant and enthused for 2017.

To others we want to say that we're thankful for you. For those of you who leave your mark on our lives by leaving gumbo at the door or constant encouraging comments on posts, you may not ever know how grateful we are for you (because I'm just about as good with thank you notes as I am Christmas cards). Thank you for those of you who treat us like family and for those of you who pray for us. We're better because of you.

Still bewildered that God uses us and blesses us like he does.

Merry Christmas and a Hopeful New Year!

With all of our love (even if in a slightly lame manner),

The Burdens

John 1:14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

In the summer of 2016, my older daughter and I observed a social situation where my younger daughter (who would soon be starting middle school) suffered a small but difficult rejection. Both my older daughter and I, like most growing girls, understand the struggles that life throws. Certain seasons of life seem to try and beat us up. Through our experience, we know that there is hope in the toughest of times and friendship found in the places we never thought to look.

My older daughter, Hallie, and I immediately put our heads together and came up with the idea of a "Book of Letters". We secretly burned up pages in a notebook.  We wrote, giving my younger daughter Rylie  advice on Social Media Etiquette and Hygiene. 

We reached out to her aunts, older cousins, babysitters and former teachers asking them to give her advice or tell her about an experience they had.

We took Rylie out on a special date the week before school started and presented the book to her.  The book was a smashing success in terms of supplying her with perspective, laughter and the confidence that she's not alone. She's still asking us to add to the book, and we are.

We've all three decided that a valuable book like this should be available to all middle school/junior high girls. A year was spent putting together what you know as The Village Girl Handbook. Though geared toward growing girls, its message will resonate with any girl who knows that "Life is hard, BUT GOD..."  

This is the book girls didn't know they needed from the friends they didn't know they had.

 

Our oldest didn't have many close friends in elementary. She was content racking up AR points in Reading at school, and then later at home doing photo shoots with her Pet Shop figures.  She had a whole stash of them and they were her friends. Even though the typical elements of girl drama had began to impose themselves in fourth grade, she was still happy. 

It was in middle school, after finding a few close friends, that she discovered how messy friendship can be. She experienced the backbiting and the sabotage that can go along with it in a time when girls can be so insecure. She learned that sometimes what you consider to be a close friendship, your friend may not value quite as much. 
Having been burned by my own friendships, I went into combat with her. 

• I constantly reminded her of the importance of being trustworthy and kind to everybody. This was good. 
• In protective mode, I sabotaged some relationships that might have been mended by pointing out mistakes that she had made, or her friends had made, highlighting every rocky step. This was hurtful and graceless (I remember a year or two where the communication on her part lessened). 
• I encouraged her to take the safe route; not to trust or tell secrets, reminding her, more than necessary, of the messiness of friendships. Being supremely choosy in friend -making (what may feel like the safest route), is pretty lonely and doesn't remove the possibility for disappointment and rejection. Maybe that was a bad idea. 
• I prayed a specific prayer for her to have good friends; the kind you can trust to keep your secrets and to build you up, the kind who stick around. This was my best idea. 

Had I only prayed and lightened up a little on my strategies besides prayer, I might have saved her from a little loneliness. One can't be sure. 

Time may settle a matter but it doesn't always say how. 

I do know that my years of praying, mixed with a mother's well-intended hit and miss advice, weren't in vain. 

God answered those prayers with a group of girls as quirky as Hallie is. I have the pleasure of hanging out with some of them on Wednesdays before evening youth. 

They sit around our table and laugh obnoxiously loud. They debate everything from the most delicate and heavy topics like sexual assault to the more light-hearted; whether or not Harambe should Rest In Peace. They get loud, but listen to one another. And they respect one another. 

They've reminded me that friendship doesn't necessarily make for an easier growing up. Friendship can be risky. It's about imperfectly being there with each other and for each other through the thick of life. 

Adventures are bigger and better with friends. 

Like clockwork I reached down on the floor beside my bed for the phone, somewhere around five this morning. When I leaned back up, I had that swimmy feeling I get when my ears get full during allergy season. 

Feeling kind of lousy this morning, I made little progress in the areas where I'm already behind; housecleaning, shopping...

And then there were the mixture of events I needed to sort out for tonight. There was the church dinner at five. I remembered that the Christmas Sunday school party at six (that our youngest would be attending) would be at another location. At this same time our older daughter would be enjoying her youth Christmas party. And I had an engagement that I had previously thought would be this past Monday until I chatted with the hostess who reminded me that it was tonight. 

Only the party wasn't at six. It's at 8:15. 

I found that out by knocking on the door approximately two hours and sixteen minutes early. 

I walked back to my car with my head hung (just low enough as to not get nauseous from ear fluid) and I couldn't find my keys. I checked the ignition. I checked my purse. I checked under the seat where I pulled out an old wicker basket, an empty Ziploc container and all the pens that are missing from the house.  I checked the coin trays and frantically dumped my purse, not wanting the hostess to see that I was still parked in the driveway one hour and fifty-five minutes early. 

No luck. 

With no other choice, I got out of my car and turned on the flashlight on my phone. I went back and knocked on the door to let the party planner know I'd lost my mind and my keys (I find it less humiliating to announce my ridiculousness rather than let people discover it for themselves.)

Party planner's husband, whom I just realized I forgot to thank, came out to assist me. I did find my car key in the yard in no time (after looking in the car for twenty minutes). It's a miracle considering it's a single key in a yard full of my favorite leaves (the large-ish kind). 

I'm waiting now for the real party to start. 

Lucky for you, that means I have time to tell you about last Friday's party when I decided that I needed dark stretchy pants to wear with the boots I had on. I took a pair from one of the girl's closets.  They fit. That made me happy. I made my rounds at the party extending greetings and finding out what everybody's Christmas plans were.  

As Jason and I got in the car to leave, I felt a cold spot about the size of a half dollar where my inner thigh was touching the car seat. Perplexed I looked down to find I had a gaping hole in my (daughter's) pants. 

Did I mention I sat on a peanut cluster at church dinner tonight and left a nice dab of chocolate on the seat of my pants? 

I'm having a hard time getting this Christmas thing right. 

And Christmas is the time we most want to do it all right. 

I guess the older (and more in charge) I get I realize just how hard it is to pull off the perfect Christmas. There's the matter of bulging schedules, insufficient funds and dark news. 

There are the thousands of things I can try and get done by (apparently) busting the seam of my pants. Go go go... But I'm so tired. 

Then there are the things I can do little about like the Hatchimal request I found out about from our youngest yesterday when I mentioned them being The Toy to Get -and by that I mean the toy that's near impossible to get). 

I doubt the first Christmas went as planned, well as far as men's plans go. 

In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps. Proverbs 16:19

(I'm glad he led me to my keys.)

Here's the thing. 

Christmas is really not so much our party to plan. 

We're attendees and recipients. (Oh come let us adore him.)

Let us be as eager to attend Christ's coming as I've been about this party I've already tried to show up to twice this week. 

Just when you think you've heard everything...

Today I read about a body shaming Santa in North Carolina. After taking a picture with a nine-year-old boy who asked for a drone and an iTouch, the mall-employed Santa gave some unsolicited (and in my opinion unkind) advice, telling the overweight boy to lay off the hamburgers and fries. 

Now folks from the left and right are using popular divisive phrases like snowflake, safe space and body shaming. 

And as always, two camps form. 

You have the camp who blames the mom for her son's weight,  deciding in their limited knowledge that her son couldn't possibly be overweight if she had ensured he exercised properly and received a healthy diet. (I'm sure every member of this camp is as fit as a fiddle.)  There are even those callling for a CPS investigation on mom. 

Many in this same camp belittle the boy not only for his size, but for his openness about his disappointed reaction. 

The other camp is calling for the firing of Santa. An apology given by the Santa to the boy apparently isn't enough. Only knowing that 1,000's of people hate this man would calm many in this camp. They want this unfortunate event to be the ruin of his reputation. 

Especially at Christmas can't we just form a larger third camp where grace informs our words? Cant we speak a little more wisely concerning the experiences we observe personally and through social media? (I know. Sometimes we can't.)  In that case, couldn't we just be a quiet camp? 

As intelligent as we are, none of us know how much to blame this mother (or her son) is for his weight. 

As strong as some of us are, we can't say that those careless words spoken by Santa shouldn't have stung. 

As protective of children (and the insulted) as some of us are, we have to realize when the consequences we call for are a little dramatic. 

• What would be best would be if this boy could walk away from this situation a little more sure that his mom loves and (without vengeance) supports him . 
• Wouldn't it be something if he could be reminded that sometimes people say things they shouldn't and that he should always remember to use his own words carefully as to avoid embarassing or insulting some unsuspecting person? 
• Wouldn't it be dandy if the mom taught her son how to properly accept an apology? 
• Wouldn't it be admirable if the mom didn't invite the media mob in on this story. What if she quietly (with the help of a close support group) spent more energy encouraging him, modeling to her son that you don't need a jeering squad to prove you've been ill-treated. 
• What if adults decided not to perpetuate the false idea that there's always a score to settle? 
• Wouldn't it be something if the boy came out of this experience a little stronger and Santa a little wiser! 
• What if Santa had a chance to go back to his job the next day giving a little more thought to his small talk and advice instead of being forced into resigning from his job? 

But why ask all these questions when it's so much easier to think we have all the answers. 

A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but perverseness in it breaks the spirit. Proverbs 15:4

Tuesday night is TV night in our house. There's not much on television anymore as far as I'm concerned, but Tuesday, if you haven't noticed, has quite the line up. 

I like to fix tacos or something easy,come Tuesday, so that by seven I can have the kitchen cleaned and be sitting in our oversized comfy brown chair. 

First comes The Middle, a show that I'm only a little bit embarrassed to say reminds me of my family.  I'd like to think that I'm Frankie Heck with a little better sense of style. She avoids participating in the PTA, she can't cook (she actually stores a couple of quilts in her oven) and she ardently loves her family; a love that sometimes spills out in the form of mild violence. She's forgetful and not into cutesy; she's too busy.  Frankie attempts to balance "work and all of the household duties" with "making her kids face responsibility and the realities of a cold, cruel world", all while occasionally fitting in a few quiet moments with snacks, her sock feet and the remote control. 

Next up is The American Housewife". 

Katie Otto and her husband have three children just like the Hecks. Katie is a slightly off-color no-nonsense disciplinarian who is very aware of her children's shortcomings (unless someone does her kid wrong at which point she will go to great lengths to defend her  little cherub). In one episode she realizes that her youngest daughter hasn't been invited to a party for someone who she thought was her good friend. Ingenious Katie joins yoga class and gulps down vegan smoothies in order to become friends with the mom of the girl whose birthday is coming, hoping to secure an invitation to the party for her daughter. 

At 8:30 comes a show I found on Netflix this summer. Fresh off the Boat is a sitcom about an Asian-American family who relocated to Orlando in the 90's. I dig the music references and the yellow and white striped wallpaper with vertical rows of ivy in the kitchen that reminds me of my Aunt Sally's house back then. Mom, Jessica Huang, is both frugal and brutal when it comes to caring for her family. And she's unapologetic about it. She keeps on top of the kids' grades and chooses strange ways to make her point like the time she makes her boys eat a gianormous box of generic oat cereal before she'll buy any more cereal from Costco. 

The dads in all three shows are similar in that they're level-headed, devoted to their families  (even if they're not micro managers) and are good loyal men who come home after work, dealing well with their wives who have crazed moments. 

These dads are a far cry from some of the TV dads of the 80's-90's; a decade when many dads were dim witted and seemed like an extra child in the family. Bravo producers, for providing us with dads who play a strong, if sometimes less visible,  role in families. 

So what about these new crazy moms that Tuesday night's entertainment provides? 

I think they're a breath of fresh air. I hardly relate to Mrs. Cosby (The Cosby Show) or Jill Taylor (Home Improvement) who had spotless homes and could discipline their children without ever raising their voice. (Might I mention that their appearance was always impeccable?) Sheesh. 

Here's what I'm learning from Frankie Heck, Katie Otto and Jessica Huang 

• We moms will try anything including vegan smoothies, letting our ponytailed hair down or getting along with that girl we wish our son wasn't dating if it seems best for our family. 
• We get it wrong. A lot! And we'll admit it, pull up the straps of our boots and try at it again. 
• PTA, cooking supper and suffering our children's seemingly unbearable behavior now and then isn't at the top of our list of favorite things to do, but our families are worth the work, even if we throw in some complaining. 
• We love our families (despite our inability to remain calm and collected). Overreaction, crazy schemes and most of our other embarrassing behaviors are weird ingredients in our love. 
• We appreciate our husbands. And (usually after we've messed something up due to impulse or strong emotion) we listen to them. 
• We're ok. There are no perfect families; no problem-free marriages or error-free parenting styles. Glaring errors can be the good kind because they're the kind we can work to fix. 

Thank you ABC for highlighting family, for making me laugh and for the free therapy that reminds me that I'm doing alright even when I'm not doing it all right. 

I'm scurrying this morning. I've been preoccupied with Christmas decorating, amongst other things Christmas,  all week.  We're still at the point when things look worse than when I started. Boxes are all over the floor. Last night's dishes still aren't taken care of, and they're paper. The bare branches of the bottom of the Christmas tree look a little dejected. Since the kids have grown, all the ornaments go front and center. I fill in the sides and top, but I'm too lazy to bend down and fix the lower quarter. 

Jason's coming home after being gone this week. I thought I'd surprise him with a nice, clean and decorated house. (He's not a fan of decorating, but isn't everybody a fan of decoration?)

Trying to make everything look good I decided to try to sew a button on my red and black flannel shirt 

1. Because it's Christmas-y (and it's missing a button)
2. Because apparently I've gone into  "Fake Martha" mode where I pretend to have an interest in being busy all things home. 

I enlisted the kids' help this time. Our youngest is the only one who volunteers. I bribed one with food and Christmas money giving her various tasks, one being the task of setting up our dollar store nativity set. Not only did she not dust the table that it goes on (like I told her), she didn't place the characters the way they go. Joseph isn't looking at Baby Jesus like he's supposed to. He's looking at the shepherd. Here's why. 

The shepherd looks drunk. 

He's fallen back on two of the wisemen. They hardly look strong enough to hold him up. 

Christmas almost always gets out of hand. 

 If things are going well we're busy purchasing presents and figuring how to split our time to be a part of all the festivities. We're reminded, even if tired and rushed, that we have financial means and we have "people". 

There are those out there who can't wait for this season to be over already. Christmas is a dark time for those who are suffering hardship. There are those who are concerned with how they'll pay the bills and put gifts under the tree. Others have scary medical results hanging over their heads. Still others will face Christmas without loved ones for the first time because of distance, divorce and death.  I still carry with me some of the darkness that can surround the holiday. My family suffered a major loss when I was sixteen. Not one Christmas since then has been the same even though I love Christmas and still experience an unexplainable joy. 

For some, these days are merry and bright. For others the dark is darker. 

Here a few obvious things I'm remembering this Christmas. There's not one of these things we aren't aware of, only some we could use a little more practice in. 

• Don't sweat the small stuff. Shattered ornaments and back orders shouldn't rate high on our list of grievances. Keep the trivial, trivial. 
• Don't overwhelm yourself with too many obligations. We have a tendency to pack our schedule so tightly that enjoyment battles fatigue. 
• Be mindful of the lost. Pray that the message of salvation would find its way to their hearts. Provide plenty of opportunity through living out the gospel and by extending invitations to your church and Christmas functions. 
• Be mindful of those who are hurting. There are so many friends who will spend their first Christmas without their parents, a spouse, a sibling or a child. Pray for them. Visit them. Love on them. 
• If you are "the hurting", keep hope at the forefront. The first Christmas isn't set in sunshine and jolly. Night and uncertainty shrouded the coming of Christ. 

But the darkness was overcome. 

Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:

“Sovereign Lord, as you have promised...

...my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:

a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

    and the glory of your people Israel.” Luke 2:25-32

That's good news for drunken shepherds, fake Marthas and anyone else facing December. 

Her name was Mrs. Fellers. I wasn't crazy about meeting her. Not only did I not want to take piano lessons all that much,  a friend named Jesse who was already taking lessons from her told me that she would hit you with a fishing rod if you missed your notes. My brother got to take art lessons. How was that fair? 

I vividly remember the house where I took lessons. My mom, always early, would pull into the little driveway where we'd wait until the the girl before me finished with her time slot. Wait my in the car, I'd look out of the window to the house on the left, Mrs. Feller's neighbor. Three kids lived there who always seemed to be playing outside; taunting me from the other side of the chainlink fence. 

Just as clear is the memory of my first day of lessons. The studio where I'd play, which was attached to Mrs. Feller's house, was plain and small with not much more than a piano and a chair. Mrs. Fellers, an older woman who wasn't much taller than I was, wore bright lipstick and slacks and had hair that didn't move. In the corner, propped up against the piano was a fishing rod. It was missing a reel and string. Clearly it wasn't for fishing. 

The few years I took lessons, I showed up weekly to Mrs. Feller's studio with my bag in tow containing my two piano books. Every Tuesday afternoon she had me take out my books and play for her what she had assigned as homework. At first I didn't do so bad even though I rarely practiced. I'd learned to play by ear. I was a pro at memorizing the music without really realizing the notes I was playing. 

Time would tell that I wasn't a pianist even though I faked recitals well, carefully tapping the keys I'd put to memory while really getting down on the pedal. 

I guess I should mention that even though I didn't embrace piano, I never got whacked with the fishing rod. She used it to point out the notes that I neglectfully ignored. 

Mrs. Fellers was truthfully a nice lady. Not only did she patiently model the music for me when I forgot the notes, she made Christmas fudge for her students.   I looked forward to that gift every year. It came in a plastic tub, always with a metallic bow on top. 

I didn't get the full experience of piano because I lacked passion and because I wasn't prepared. 

The fudge was sweet, but I missed out on something sweeter...learning to play the music. 

Christmas is upon us.  Are you prepared? Not your house and shopping (those motions we go through like toy soldiers). The celebration of Jesus birth is near. Emmmanuel. God, with us. Are you anticipating his coming? Will he see your passion for him play out in notes that aren't memorized, but fully known? 

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14