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Trade in Fminor

I so enjoy spending time with L.D. We made play-dough this afternoon, and then we sat at the table and drew maps of some made-up world (his nation and my nation are allies, of course). I haven’t made a map in so long, I’d forgotten how much fun it is. There are no rules, really; you can create any lands, peoples, creatures, cultures your mind can conceive.

But there’s so much my mind misses!

Once, I wrote about a Derek Webb song that challenged my musical insight. It boasted an Fminor directly after an Fmajor. Awkward?–perhaps at first. But the realization that I’d never played those chords alongside one another before opened a new realm to me. It wasn’t just about an Fmajor and an Fminor; it was the awareness that there were countless chord progressions I’d never even tried. Suddenly, the possibilities were limitless.

L.D. played an Fminor on me tonight.

“Aunt Sarah,” he whispered (we were whispering, you see, so no one else could hear about the trap doors and the secret underground tunnel that my nation was only to use at dire need), “where are you going to put your trade routes?”

Really?

Trade routes?

Where, indeed! I’m not too proud to admit that in the last five years of creating worlds and maps (and sometimes the stories to go along with them), trade routes have never occurred to me. Of course it’s important!–why have I never thought about it?

What an Fminor!

(And yes, that is a purple argyle sock island.)

It Is Here

It Is Here

In growing tensions,

silly smiles,

and fading boundary lines;

In excuses,

unmet eyes,

and frail from which we hide;

In sorrows which

we dare not speak,

unmastered shame we bear;

In holy friendship,

holy fire,

and holy, humbled fear;

In stories told

and then retold,

we hear the theme of grace;

In dimpled chins

and sea-kissed eyes,

each face reflects a face;

In memories–

in histories–

whether right or wrong,

In all the good

and all the bad,

it’s here that I belong.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

The best thing about Christmas is…

 

The best thing about Christmas is the gifts. I’m not even joking.

I told you two weeks ago that the best gifts are those we give, and in a world where we are less and less connected with each other, where we trust so few of the people around us, where families and friendships are broken over silly trifles, perhaps the greatest gift you can give someone is yourself, your love.

It doesn’t always evidence as a big gesture—you don’t have to change the whole world all of the time (though I admire the spirit that wants to). Sometimes it breaks through a cloudy day with just a smile and an arm around another. Sometimes it is listening to someone dream. Sometimes it is a cup of coffee well past your bedtime that allows you to share your heart with another. Sometimes it is a game of Scrabble, decorating Christmas cookies together, watching the John Wayne marathon, tossing a football around in the yard, unwrapping four bags of Rolo’s together to make pretzel turtles, or shopping for yarn. The point isn’t necessarily what we do, but that whatever we do—we do it with others. When you give someone your time and attention, you give them yourself, the greatest gift you have.

Those really are the best things about Christmas—the memories we create by spending time together. This Christmas has been such a blessing for me. Though my heart has been heavy with those missing from our gathering (Steven’s family, Rodger, even Sanka), my heart has been birthed with new hope. We have each other. We belong together. God gave us the gift of this family—however difficult it may be to unwrap at times.

As always, kids…keep writing. Keep remembering. Keep living. And keep giving.

All my love,

Aunt Sarah

Sunday, December 18, 2011

One Winter, it snowed so hard that…

In spite of the fact that I’ve lived in Upper Michigan, all of my life, I don’t have many good Winter stories. Okay, okay—there was the time I got the Ford Escort stuck on a drift of snow with all four tires off the ground; and there was the time the bank sign across from the high school read 60-degrees-below and they had to send us all home from school (except they couldn’t, because the busses wouldn’t start); and there was the first Winter I spent in Hancock, when the ceiling caved in; and the Winter a few years ago that your Grandma and I drove through the McDonald’s drive-through in a storm (the sides of the truck were pressed against the walls of the snowdrifts—we were jammed in like sardines!); and there was something about a washing machine with a full load of clothes (frozen) and your Uncle Donuts. If you really want a good one, you should ask your Grandma Heidi about the Winter her brother John was born (that makes him my uncle, your great-uncle). Now that is a “one Winter, it snowed so hard that” type of story.

But as fun as it is to tell those stories, my heart is more enthralled by Winter than entertained by Her. I always love to look at the trees in Winter. With the heavy snowfall and the forceful winds, I’m amazed that trees have the strength to just stand. That’s all—they just stand. It reminds me of what Paul wrote about the armor of God. He had just finished telling us that our struggle was not just in this world, in the day-to-day, but in the spiritual world as well, and he writes:

          Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

And after you have done everything, to stand. As a family, as individuals, we have seen many changes this year. We have faced struggles and sorrows that we could never have anticipated. Are there any magic words that will help ease our sadness? Are there any special prayers that will move God to take away our trials and make life easy? I doubt it. But He does give us the example of the trees. I hope that every time you see a tree, its branches weighed down with white, you will remember to stand—no matter what life brings your way, no matter how you feel, no matter how you want to give up. Just stand.          Somehow, sometime, in some way, Spring will find you.

All my love,

Aunt Sarah

Sunday, December 11, 2011

The best Christmas gifts are…

There are several gifts (not only Christmas gifts, but birthday gifts, rainy day gifts, no-reason-at-all gifts) that were so special to me that I’ll never forget them: The decorating tips that Steven gave me; the night sky bandana from Maggie’s clan; the opal ring from Momma; the socks from Jesse (when I jokingly asked for thick socks and was surprised to find that it was exactly what he gave me); the journal that Jenn gave me for my birthday—she had remembered it from an outing some time past and that I had fiercely coveted it. Those (and others) are the gifts I love.

The best Christmas gifts (the best gifts, period) are those given from the heart. Why did I love those gifts? Because they showed that someone knew me well enough to know what would bring me delight. Great gifts are chosen with care, are a result of sacrifice, and reflect the giver.

I forget that. A lot. Just today, I was feeling discouraged because I don’t have cool gifts to share, and those I do share—I feel insecure about. I want to be the person that everyone gets excited about receiving gifts from! I want my friends and family to be trembling with anticipation as they wonder what I came up with this time. But I’m not. I’m just me. And maybe I’m weird, but I really enjoy giving the gifts that I give. They really are chosen with care. They really are a result of sacrifice (have you ever tried stitching a journal together?—trust me, it’s a sacrifice; so is dipping bags and bags and bags of pretzels without eating them all). They really are a reflection of me (well, maybe the pretzels aren’t a reflection of me, but…you get the idea).

Those are the best gifts—not the ones we receive, but the ones we give. My hope for you this Christmas is that you’ll know the Giver of all good things and the great Gift He gave to us, and that you’ll find ways to give to others—whether tokens or time or fellowship—that truly reflect the giver (that’s you!) and the Giver (that’s God!).

Happy Gifting (that’s Christmas!)!

All my love,

Aunt Sarah

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