The Gospel for When January Feels Mean

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The Gospel for When January Feels Mean

Every year between Christmas and New Year’s, I start to feel panicky. I can hear January lacing up her Nikes, and I know she’s coming for me. GO AWAY! WE WERE ALL HAVING SO MUCH FUN UNTIL YOU SHOWED UP. I’m afraid of her because I think she’s mean and will knock these Christmas cookies out of my hands and make me eat fistfuls of lettuce instead. I turned off the lights, and I’m pretending no one is home, but MAN she is persistent. It must be the endorphins. JANUARY, GET YOUR GIANT LIST OF GOALS OUT OF MY FACE BECAUSE IT’S BLOCKING MY VIEW OF THE HALLMARK CHANNEL.

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With Is Heaven's Word (And We Can Extend It to Our Persecuted Brothers And Sisters)

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With Is Heaven's Word (And We Can Extend It to Our Persecuted Brothers And Sisters)

Togetherness is one of the most important ingredients for Christmas. After all, it’s the time we celebrate and remember that God sent his son and said he’d be called Emmanuel, God With Us. “With” is the loveliest preposition there is. It’s heaven’s word, and God shouted it through the gift of Jesus Christ: “I want to be with you!”

God designed togetherness—and that’s why our hearts swell when we are near our loved ones decorating a tree, singing hymns in candlelit services, drinking cocoa, or the zillions of other less-picturesque things we do together at the holidays. All of it is a snapshot of the togetherness God extended through his son Jesus and the togetherness we’ll one day experience with him in heaven. But for many believers, these peeks of heaven are not possible at Christmas.

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The Bible Is a Story

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The Bible Is a Story

My elementary school music teacher loved strawberry pie. She craved it, she told us, until one fateful day when the last bite of a long-awaited slice was corrupted by a bad strawberry. The rotten taste shifted her life’s pie-eating trajectory, and years of bliss were negated by one wayward berry: She no longer craved strawberry pie. “That’s why the last note of a song is so important,” she said.

I can’t remember a thing about my elementary school music teacher, except that strawberry pie anecdote. I’m as concerned as you are that this story has been tucked away in the crevices of my brain for two decades. Why is it so easy for me to remember? Why am I able to respond so fully to the question, “Caroline, can you explain Mrs. McNatt’s aversion to strawberry pie?” yet the question, “What’s the equation of a line?” leaves me flummoxed and RIDDEN WITH SHAME?

Is this evidence that my high school education completely failed me? No, I think it’s less serious than that. 

I think our brains are designed for stories.

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The Light Man: A Creative Retelling of the Big Story of the Bible

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The Light Man: A Creative Retelling of the Big Story of the Bible

I have a story to tell you. Or rather, I have a story for you to tell your kids.

But before I tell you the story, here’s a little backstory:

I love to make costumes for my kids. They’re always simple and a little janky up close (the costumes, not the kids—gotta look out for those misplaced modifiers). The tradition is probably not sustainable longterm, but for now it brings me tons of joy, and (for now) the kids love it, too. This year at my sewing machine, a story started to take shape. (It’s it interesting how creativity has a way of spilling out in all different directions? I ignored the laundry.)

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The Dress Didn't Fit

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The Dress Didn't Fit

The dress wouldn’t zip. It didn’t matter what I did. It was the bridesmaid dress for my sister's wedding, and I had to be in it, standing by my sister's side in front of 200 guests within 72 hours.

Sweaty and stuck, I willed the panic away and called my mom for a game plan. We decided I’d head to her house, where she and my grandmother could help me get into the dress. Maybe I just needed another set of hands to get the zipper going. If we couldn’t make it work, Mom said, we’d create a gusset ourselves with extra fabric or find a seamstress. 

I touched base with a few friends on the way to Mom’s house, joking that I was willing to go Middle Ages on this problem and remove a rib if necessary. I told Adelaide, “Pray for Mommy’s dress,” and she did. “Dear God, help Mommy’s dress. Amen.”

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