Oh my... get ready to cry.
This girl is precious and so is her Christmas wish.

Sick day.

Homemade craisins!

Experimenting with my new dehydrator (thank you, Shawn!)

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Sewing up a storm

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Day 3 of being sick

I'd really love breathe through my nose again, but for now, I'm getting quite a lot done around here.

Happy Thursday!

Meet me in St. Louis.

Yesterday marked our 3rd wedding anniversary.

It's hard to believe we've already been married that long, but I have to say, it's been the best 3 years of my life. Waking up next to Shawn every morning and journeying through this life together is the greatest privilege. 

We celebrated by taking a quick trip to St. Louis, which was a first for both of us. Unfortunately, I got sick for the first time in over a year with a terrible head cold, so I spent lots of time in our hotel room while Shawn ventured out in the freezing rain to find me some Tylenol PM and cough drops. Fun, fun. 

But we enjoyed it anyway, exploring the super cute Central West End and staying in the Hyatt right next to the Arch. We walked around the Arch, but when I looked straight up at it and saw just how high it was, it didn't really appeal to me to go up to the top. Has anyone been up to the top? I hear it sways. Noooo thank you.

We also discovered that St. Louis has some very yummy food (and is so affordable!). We found a couple of great gluten-free options and ate like kings. Gluten-free crepes with goat cheese, basil, mushrooms, and tomatoes? Yes, please.

On our drive home yesterday, Shawn asked, "When are [our friends] Colin and Justine heading back from Kansas City?" 

I said, "I think today," to which he responded, "I think they're right behind us."
What are the odds?!

Merry Christmas.

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Each year at Christmas, I pray and ask the Lord to make the story of His birth come alive in my heart. And every year, He answers. This Christmas, I am thankful to have had some time to really dwell on the true meaning - the only meaning - of Christmas. At times, it's hard to capture my feelings about it because what God did on that first Christmas is too unbelievable, too mysterious, too glorious to put into words.

I've pondered the reality of what it must have been like, which must have been such a far cry from the nativity scene that sits on our coffee table year after year.

In that nativity, Mary looks much too clean: no sweat dripping down her cheeks from being in labor, no dirt on the hem of her robe. I can't smell the stench of the donkey or hear the moaning of contractions. And Joseph hovers in the background, a seemingly emotionless bystander of this miraculous event.

And in my mind, though this scene is so beautiful and reminds me of His birth, these molded pieces of plaster do no justice to how it really was.
There must have been tears.
There must have been gritted teeth through the excruciating pain of childbirth.
There must have been the fear of inadequacy in Mary's and Joseph's hearts that every new parent faces, but so much more than that. They were to parent God.

I picture the real shepherds, so weathered, so poorly educated. Maybe they had matted hair and bad breath. Without the bombardment of lights and technical effects that we experience today, a heavenly host of angels coming from the sky must have been completely shocking. They were "sore afraid." I would have been, too. I love that God chose that these shepherds would be Jesus' first visitors; the VIP guests, if you will. They weren't who we would've expected for the first people to meet the King of the World, if we had written the story. We wouldn't have allowed them to get their unclean hands on the Christ child.

But God was and is the Author of His story, our story. I love that He never misses a chance at imagery. It's possible that these shepherds, who were near Bethlehem which is only a few miles from Jerusalem, were guarding the temple lambs that were to be sacrificed for the sins of the people. I wonder if they knew that, when they looked into the manger at baby Jesus, they saw the sacrificial Lamb who would permanently, radically take away the sins of the entire world.

Somehow, I think they got it. At least a part of it. Luke writes that the shepherds returned from greeting Jesus and were glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, just as it was told to them. I don't really picture them closing their eyes and lifting their hands in worship. They had to be jumping, screaming, overwhelmed with the Good News!

And then there's baby Jesus. When I think of that tiny, Jewish, crying baby - that helpless, perfect child... I can't help but get tears in my eyes. What would it have been like to hold Him close? What would it have been like to see this beautiful baby and know that my sins would be cast on Him and would cause Him a gruesome, bloody death? When I think of Him, I am filled with praise. I might have rocked Him, humming "O Come Let Us Adore Him." I might have swaddled Him a little tighter to comfort Him. I might have let His tiny hands curl around my fingers.

Praise to our Lord, this strange God. He is strange to us because we never would've chosen this way to save the world. Praise for a compassionate God - compassionate because we never could have saved ourselves, and He knew it. We celebrate Christmas, not because it's a time of generosity or of goodwill. We celebrate Christmas because God did something for us that we never could've done for ourselves.
He gave us Peace.
He gave us Himself.
And because of it, our future as His children is incredibly bright.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Our hometown hero.

I had the privilege today of standing in the rain with a few hundred people who gathered to celebrate the homecoming of a hometown hero.

"This is a real hero you're about to see," mothers told their children.

A real hero is right.

Andrew Wilson graduated from the same high school that I did, and chose to go to Afghanistan to serve in the military this past year. While on patrol on October 19, Andrew was hit by an IED explosion and lost both legs as a result. He's had 11 surgeries with more to go, but he came home for Christmas today. Led by a full police escort and dozens of veterans on motorcycles, he waved at the crowds from his limo window and hopefully felt the pride his hometown had for him. Because for miles, people like me had tears in their eyes as they waved their flags and cheered him on.

We are so proud of you, Andrew.

Welcome home.