Stairs, ramps and the right Elevator.

First holiday concert in two years happened tonight. Benjamin and I were so thrilled to hear Cate and friends perform but the concert was in the brother school and thanks to Covid, we have only barely been in Cate's school....we certainly have had no cause to enter the brother school several blocks away.

We found the accessible entrance. I went ahead to scout it out before unloading Benjamin. This pandemic has made our entering new spaces extremely rare but my memory serves. I know access isn't a guarantee.

As I entered, I noticed a set of stairs in either direction. I could see a ramp but it was in the middle of a hallway with stairs on either end. I was confused. I asked a young student if he could direct me to the accessible entrance of the theater. Simultaneously, I actually realized an elevator was right inside the door but wasn't sure where it went. I asked if this could get me to the floor of the auditorium.

Young student eager to help began making his way to me: "Oh," he seemed a bit concerned. "Folklore around here is that the last time we had a student in a wheelchair, the students just carried him everywhere." 

I assumed that meant the elevator could in fact NOT get me to the auditorium. My head was starting to spin off my neck. I could feel it. I just decided to go get Benjamin and try the blasted elevator even though this guy was insinuating it wouldn't help me. But I was panicking a bit. I didn't have a plan B.

The elevator worked. The main entrance to the auditorium was located somewhere else entirely -- somewhere reachable by elevator.  We found our way. 

But as the choir began singing the first beautiful Christmas carol, I finally realized what the young man had said just as my head started to spin....

He seemed burdened with the lore of students carrying their classmate. And yet, he took a deep breath, looked over his shoulder at the handful of students sitting outside (what I now know to be) the stage entrance to the auditorium and said, "I guess we will have to do that."

Bless him.

And as the holidays rush towards us, and as we navigate a world still weighed down by a seemingly never-ending pandemic, I think that is a message we all need right now: I am here and willing to carry you if necessary. 

Or at the very least I can help you figure out if the blasted elevator can get you where you are going.

Coming of the Light

Advent: In Latin, the word means coming. Thus, the season of Advent is when we, as Christians, prepare our hearts to celebrate the coming of Jesus. 

Full disclosure: I often begin the season with a heart toward advent. But when the busyness of the holiday ramps up, I find myself more focused on the comings and goings of my family -- Christmas parties here, Christmas concerts there, Christmas cards to create, and presents to buy and wrap -- than on the miracle of Christ's coming.

But 2020.

As much as I hate it, there are no comings to anticipate this season. I won't get to host Wade's department Christmas party. His staff, whom I adore, won't be coming to our home. I won't get to gather Cate's friends for cookie-baking. There will be no gaggle of giggling girls coming to gather in my kitchen. Family won't be traveling here. I miss my Mama and the anticipation of showing her around Delaware. The comings will just be very slim in deed.

So I am committed to focusing on advent. I am working to focus on the miracle of this season, rather than the worries, the aloneness, the scary that has been this year. I am working to focus on the coming of light.

"In [Jesus] was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." John 1:4-5

I love light. I am an 80s teen who would put my lawn chair on our back patio and lay with the sun beating down on me in such a way that I could see the light through my closed eyelids. (We won't talk about the baby oil slathered on my body or the lemon juice in my hair....) I am the homeowner who leaves windows uncovered to maximize the sunshine that can come in. I am a lover of lamps and bright bulbs and frankly drive my family crazy because I like the family room fully lit even during movie night.

This fall, I took a little corner of our yard and turned it in to a gathering spot. The area already had a fire pit but I added poles and string lights and nothing is as magical for me as having those lights aglow. We gathered back there in early fall before the lights were added, the only illumination coming from the fire. It was dark. And so the lights were added. Oh my goodness, the minute the string lights are plugged in, the entire area lights up and makes it easy to see any one gathered there.

So far, the only negative is how far the spot is from our house making the trek for s'mores fixings, or hot cocoa a bit of a hike. Recently we were out there, and once we had carted everything back to the house, I went out to turn the lights off. The fire was almost out, few embers were glowing, And so the second I unplugged the lights, I was thrust into darkness as black as tar. I couldn't see anything and just had to trust my knowledge of the yard to make my way back to the house.

When I reached the sanctuary of our warm home, I looked back at this my new favorite outdoor area, with anticipation of the next time we would gather there, with those delightful string lights aglow.

This morning, I keep thinking of that anticipation -- isn't that exactly what Advent is? We are filled with the anticipation of the one who is the light in our darkness. For all the horror of this 2020 year, the light of Jesus is no less bright. This season might -- and definitely does -- look different in many ways. But we can still celebrate the light that came into this world in the most unlikely of ways. We can still celebrate the light of Jesus. 

Jesus shines in the darkness -- even the darkness of 2020. And the darkness has not -- and will not -- overcome him.

That is worth an entire season of celebrating.

Making merry DOES NOT require motor skill development.

We are three days before Christmas and amidst my sweet little social media community of special needs mamas, there is stress, and worry, and a pervasive sadness that I understand all too well.

And as I have read the posts this week, I have felt an overwhelming need to hug friends that I only know virtually -- but I KNOW them nonetheless.

I know for instance, that standing in a toy store can trigger a wave of grief that is hard to explain. Wade and I used to visit the toy store and just stand in aisles staring at toys that we feared would frustrate our boys more than delight them. We wrestled each year looking for toys that would not just be FUN but would also facilitate motor skill development. Because when you have Cerebral Palsy play can rarely just be play....

I know for instance what it is to buy toys that force my boys to sit up to play, toys that force them to use their hands, toys that encourage them to stand and play. 

I know that sometimes we buy toys that are age-appropriate even though they aren't really appropriate. The year Santa brought tricycles was particularly hard. Claire was more than ready and the physical therapist had said they would love to work with Mason on pedaling. We knew Benjamin might never be able to learn to pedal but Santa found a beautiful tricycle with a supportive seat and after Dad tightened the handle bars down as tight as possible so they didn't move AT ALL, Benjamin could sit on that tricycle and talk to his siblings as they went round and round him on the patio.

Christmas morning watching the parade from their trikes!
(We had to wait for the Minnesota snow to melt to take the trikes outside!)

I know for instance that sometimes our children want toys that just don't work for them. We have bought video games and taken apart joysticks and reassembled them in an effort to allow Benjamin to play. We have bought video games and wept because the movements required were simply not movements he could do. Even with the adapted joystick.

I know what it means to buy snow boots that never touched snow -- even in Minnesota. 

And I know what it is to fight to make memories that outweigh and overwhelm any sadness or grief.

The Shraders holding bunny rabbits on the wagon ride to pick the perfect Christmas tree !

And so this is what I want my special mamas to know:

My babies are adults today. 20 years old. They spent some time around the island in our kitchen this week talking about Christmases-past, and guess what? Never once did they mention a toy they couldn't work or a memory that was sad because of their Cerebral palsy.  They didn't dwell on a list of "toys of the year" that they didn't receive because they weren't appropriately designed for boys who struggled with motor skills. Nor did they mention the myriad of "therapeutic" toys they DID receive because...well, because they never knew that Tarzan playhouse was to encourage Benjamin to sit up and use his hands to manipulate the pieces. Or that the Dress-Up items had buttons and zippers that little hands needed practice on. 

They just didn't know.

Oh please hear me, the memories my crew were discussing were joy-filled and magical. They loved our traditions and only gave me the smallest bit of a hard time over dragging the walker, the power sticks, three preschoolers, two adults, a camera, a tripod for camera, and a saw to the middle of the Christmas tree farm in sub-arctic temps for that perfect tree!!

I am here begging you to find your merry. Don't be rigid in traditions that wear you out -- we ultimately chose to ride the wagon around the tree-farm but to buy our tree in the pre-cut lot because the memory-making part was about holding bunnies as we rode the wagon NOT about the actual cutting-down of the tree. And guess what, that is ok.

Feel the hard. I know it is real. But also, find the joy. Because I know you know that it is real too.

I'm loving you from over here!

Your college kids are finally home. Now what?

My college crew have been home for a total of three full days. We have seen the new Star Wars movie. Broken a washing machine. Discussed the new Star Wars movie. Bought a new washing machine. Had one or two conflicts about the mess I would prefer they not leave in their wake. Discussed the Star Wars movie a bit more.

I am so so glad they are here. Mess and all.

But I finally realized today -- this third come-home-from-college-Christmas, that in the hours before they get here, I fully expect these three to walk through the door.

You know....I expect the three who were totally dependent on me. Who needed me for their every need. Who um, you know, preferred me over all the other people -- even Santa -- on the planet.

I mean, I don't expect them to be four-year-olds. Benjamin and Mason's facial hair alone reminds me immediately that they are NOT four! But it is more than that...

The three who came home are amazing young adults -- on the cusp of 21 -- only three semesters from college graduation. They have -- all three -- done amazing things in their college tenures and I grin from ear to ear hearing them discuss, debate, and dissect everything from politics to you know, Star Wars.

But in an effort to be completely transparent, I will confess that the learning curve for having college kids has been far harder to adapt to than the actual being college students part seems to have been for Benjamin, Mason, and Claire. And as such, the having-these-young-adults-home-part has been harder to figure out.

I want to do it better. I want tangible tools to handle it emotionally -- in a way that is healthy for me and by amazing trio -- and eventually for my baby Red! So I googled it. I did. Someone out there HAS to have wisdom on handling college.

They do. But it is all about how to help our kids handle it. The experts say parents should hold in our emotions so not to stress them out. We should also keep an even disposition so that they not sense any angst we are experiencing.

What? How? What do you mean?

Ironically, these internet "experts" offer no real how-to, just a lot of should and should nots.

As such, I feel compelled to offer some words -- not necessarily of wisdom, I think I am far from figuring this thing out -- but words, nonetheless:

1. Give your college kid -- and yourself -- a couple of days to adjust to life back together. Whether you wanted to or not, you developed a new routine with them away. It might take you a minute to readjust that routine. And yes, they have grown accustomed to making all their decisions without your input. The back-in-the-parents-home part might be a challenge for them as well.

2. Don't expect them to rush in and be ready to bake gingerbread houses and Christmas cookies. At least not the first day. Your college kiddo is coming home off of exams. He or she might need to sleep before a recognizable disposition is visible. Possibly for days. I am not even kidding.

3. I am not a big supporter of holding in emotions. I think it is a dangerous habit, and frankly can lead to emotive-explosions down the road, possibly completely misdirected explosions. But I would caution that expressing too many emotions while your college kid is exhausted will lead to completely different explosions. You will want to avoid these at all costs! ;)

4. Throw out expectations. Really. The process of growing and evolving as a parent is not pain-less. Oh for the love, it is so NOT painless. But the for sure way to make it even more painful is to expect our child to return home unchanged by their college experience. If we try and fit them back into the mold they fit in prior to college, we are negating the growth and frankly failing to grow ourselves. 

5. Hear them. Once they wake up, they will want to talk. Undoubtedly, they will want to tell you all about their semester, what they are learning, where they are spending their time, and the things they are processing as they grow. Listen. You might want to jump in with some serious opinions. And more than likely they will want to hear those. But listen first. Hear them. Help them process by being an accepting sounding-board.

And then finally, pull out the flour, the sugar, and the sprinkles. Because no matter their age, somewhere deep inside, your college kids want to know you are still there ready to bake Christmas cookies. Ready to fit in the exact mold they expect YOU to fit in.

Checking In.

Maybe we need an agreement....if you notice me unusually quiet over here, you probably should send someone to investigate. It is never a good sign if I have little to say. Never.

And it isn't that I have little to say now...I have things to say. But man, the things are hard and messy and make me cry a bit. The last few months have just been tough.

Not there-is-a-health-crisis-and-we-need-to-pull-ourselves-up-and-fight-through-it tough -- though there were TWO of those. Not all-my-friends-left-me-and-I-have-no-one-to-talk-to tough. Though we left so many in Arizona, we also have lovelies here in Mississippi.

No, the tough isn't earth-shattering, or life-or-death or even bad stuff happening. It is none of those things. The tough is simply the fact that my amazing trio have left for college and I miss them.

Period.

I miss them.

I have been at a loss for what to do with myself. Oh, I am still busy with Benjamin's routine and Cate's. They keep me hopping.

But I am no longer homeschooling four young Shraders. My days are no longer packed to overflowing with their stuff, their lives, their studies, their presence.

Oh how I miss their presence.

My mother always said God sent me triplets because having one baby would not have kept me busy enough. We have laughed about it for years. And it was funny. Right up until move-in day at Mississippi College and Millsaps, and first day of classes at Belhaven.

Sigh.

So please know I am here. I am eager to share with you how great the trio are doing in college (We have made two dean's lists and a president's list, thank you very much!) and how Little Red has not only adjusted to school but absolutely loves it!

But today, I am getting ready to make some memories while my crew are home from school and I don't want to waste a single minute!

Oh I hope your Christmas has been merry! And that your New Year is looking bright!

From our house to yours.

From Abbey Road to the desert, and wherever you call home sweet home, we wish you a merry Christmas!!

Can you make room?

Driving from Chicago to Mississippi for Christmas at home seemed like a wonderful idea. It was the triplets' second Christmas and we were eager for them to experience Christmas surrounded by family.

We loaded the van with luggage, gifts, car seats and babies and headed south as soon as Dad was out of classes. We had no idea how these angels would travel and so had no hotel reserved along the route. We would drive as far as we possibly could and then stop for the night.

Except when they got fussy and we pulled off the interstate at the first exit, we discovered not one of the hotels at the exit had a vacancy. Not one.

We got back on the highway and continued heading south. I had soothed the exhausted one year olds and was certain that the proximity to a local college was the only thing filling those particular hotels. We would find an opening for sure at the next exit.

Except we didn't.

Not at the next exit either.

When we finally tumbled out of the van with a room secured for the night we had learned a valuable lesson that we operate by still today. We never -- not ever ever -- leave home without reservations. (And we have not had Christmas in Mississippi since that trip.)

Christmas at Grammie's -- when we finally made it to Mississippi!

Today, my quiet coffee-drinking time by the fire centered on the next verses in Luke:

"So Joseph also went up from the town of Galilee to Judea to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them." (Luke 2: 4-7 NIV)

Can you even imagine? Thanks to the Christmas travels of 1998, I actually can imagine. I can feel the angst as Joseph went from inn to inn inquiring about a room. My shoulders feel tense imagining the stress he must have felt wanting to provide comfort and rest for his beloved.

And as a woman, I can imagine the relief of finally being able to get off the donkey -- or out of the van -- and relax on the bed of hay that Joseph prepared for her. I can hear Mary assuring Joseph that all was well, that she was perfectly comfortable sleeping with the animals surrounding her. No really, the smells were comforting.

What I can not imagine is what happened next! The time came for the baby to be born! She gave birth to Jesus. Wrapped that sweet baby boy in some cloths and made a bed for him in a feeding trough. And I bet she was assuring Joseph of how perfect the make-shift hotel room was the entire time.

Today, can I encourage you to take a deep breath. First, let's make certain we are making room for Jesus this season. Can you clear out the busy? Put down the rush-to-get-the-list-completed of December and make time to reflect on what we are truly celebrating?

And then my dear ones, let's take a lesson from the mother of our Savior: there is no evidence that she let her expectations rob her of the joy of this moment. I doubt she envisioned giving birth to the King of Kings surrounded by cows, sheep and horses. I doubt she imagined that the crib for her firstborn son would be used to feed those animals mere moments before.

Just as I can imagine the stress of finding no room at the inn, I can imagine the whining, complaining and just plain awful attitude I might have had if I had had to sleep on hay, much less give birth there.

Put down your lists. Lay down your expectations. May the baby born in Bethlehem fill you with his perfect peace today as you make room for Him.

Christmas at Grandmar's in Mississippi. I think these faces are saying, please please don't put us back in that van!

Preparing for Christmas.

This morning as I sat in front of the fire, enjoying the quiet before my house awakened, I wanted to prepare my heart for Christmas. As I began reading in Luke 2, I couldn't get past the first three verses:

"In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register." (NIV)

I was a young newlywed the first time in my voting history a presidential election did not turn out as I hoped. Granted, I married young. So this particular presidential election was only my second. But still.

The memories of sitting in front of the television as the results came in -- as state after state lit up in opposition to my candidate of choice -- are vivid even today. Young me thought the world as I knew it was about to be changed forevermore. Married to an aerospace engineer employed by NASA (you know, the same man I am married to today...he changed careers! smile), I was certain our future was doomed. Doomed. I felt strongly. And I felt emotional. 

I thought at the very least we would be transferred and have to move to *gasp* Houston, TX! And at the worst, hubby would lose his job entirely. I was overwhelmed with my worries about the future.

(Completely aside: I know these were silly worries all. Each of my husband's team is still employed at NASA all these years and all these many presidents later. And three years after fearing a big move, hubby and I would voluntarily begin a trek of moves that took us from Alabama to Chicago, to Minnesota, Texas and Arizona!)

But this morning, as I read how Caesar Augustus issued the decree for the census, I couldn't help but flash back to the fear and doom of those days following that presidential election. I know Mary didn't  have television. I know she didn't get word of the decree via Facebook. But even still, I can't help but wonder if she felt the fear, the sense of doom when she learned a decree had been issued that would affect her very future. Was she afraid when she learned that she and Joseph would have to travel to Bethlehem to be counted?

I can't know. Scripture skips right past any emotions and right to the facts. Much more would happen to impact Mary's life. Much more already had.

I turned back a chapter to meditate on how Mary reacted when the angel told her she would give birth to Jesus:

" 'I am the Lord's servant,' Mary said, 'May your word to me be fulfilled.' " Luke 1:38 (NIV)

And right there I knew was the answer. Mary may in fact have had trepidation. She may have had worries. But her response was no doubt indicative of her heart -- she submitted to God's will.

Truly, is there a better way to prepare our hearts for Christmas? I want to follow Mary's example. I want to lay down any anxieties, any worries, any fear of what tomorrow holds. I want to make room for the Lord's work to be done in me.

I want to be a servant.

May Joy always always be available to you!

Claire and I have a new favorite form of exercise -- barre class. Now don't even try to envision me doing this. Honestly, I am a meme waiting to happen in my little short body that was never lithe and elegant like a ballerina and certainly isn't today. But oh man do I love these classes. We stretch and bend and push the focus muscle groups until they are trembling in exhaustion and just when I think I can not take another second, the instructor says in her soothing voice that we should move to our happy baby pose, or our child's pose, or downward dog....all yoga moves that feel better than they should after the workout.

But perhaps my favorite part is that in any given exercise, the instructor is always certain to tell us to reach past our point of comfort. But rather than telling us to reach, to push ourselves to go go go, she calmly urges us adding that we should take it to this next level "only if it is available to us today."

Sigh.

I love that.

Only if it is available to me today.

Cause y'all, frankly there are days when I just can't push myself. And really, I am not simply referring to this exercise class. I have days where I just can't think past the first cup of coffee. And it might not even be the myriad of medical appointments weighing me down, it might just be the overflowing to-do list on my desk; or the overflowing laundry hamper in every single bedroom. We all have days where pushing ourselves in whatever the given area is just simply NOT available to us that day. Right?

As we decorated our Christmas tree this week, I smiled as I pulled out this ornament:

Two Christmases ago, we were in a dark place as a family. We had just learned Benjamin's spine had taken a horrible turn and would require surgery and we were wrestling with finding the joy of the season. I was honestly afraid it was not available.

We forced it as far as we could. We baked cookies with the letters J, O, Y. We immersed ourselves with the word JOY. We played music. We baked more cookies. And my girl, my sweet sweet girl made me this ornament as a Christmas gift. I simply love it.

And so I am here to tell you that sometimes we DO have to force joy. Sometimes, we have to grab the bar and exhale and bend up and over to reach all the way to our toes. Sometimes, even when it seems that joy is not available, we have to push and prod and find it. We have to. We must.

Oh my dear ones, I am praying that joy is available to you today and every day this wonderful Christmas season!

Counting memories and an S or two.

It is not a secret in this house that if you need me to do something, you MUST write it down. Wade can ask me to do him a favor as he leaves for work but by the time I get to a "favor-doing" place in my schedule, it has long since left my memory. Once before Cate could even write well, she drew me a picture of a task she needed me to complete. Like I said, it is not a secret!

The emails from my dear friend Carol have been such a balm to my spirit. I had forgotten so many of the sweet moments and will be forever grateful that she had the foresight to save and print my emails as a way to jog my memory years later...just when I needed it most!

December 16, 1999 -- "The kids are soooo much fun this year, Carol. They talk about Santa all the time and they have quite a list for him! It is so cute. I just love being their mommy. Maybe it's the holidays but I'm in one of my 'overwhelmed-with-gratitude' times! I'm so blessed. Little tidbits from the Shrader house: Benjamin calls Rudolf -- 'Rudolf, my doggie' and he has a stuffed one that he drags with him everywhere!  Claire sings 'Oh you'd better watch out, you'd better not cry' at the top of her lungs these days -- not always in appropriate places either!  And Mason does NOT want to sit in Santa's lap because 'Canta Cause cares me.' Oh the joy!!"

I think my favorite thing about this email when my trio were two and a half is that not once did I talk about their Cerebral Palsy. As a matter of fact, there are many of these emails where I talk about our days, talk about my friend's days and talk about our amazing kiddos and never once mention Cerebral Palsy.

And perhaps the fact that I was feeling blessed and overwhelmed with gratitude is a bit sickening sweet to some of you. Perhaps it is akin to today's "hashtag blessed" that gets so much ridicule. Maybe.

But I will argue that it was simply a frenzied young mama using a coping skill that she wouldn't even recognize as a coping skill for almost a decade -- counting the good life offers rather than counting the woes.

I will argue that sitting down to type to my girlfriend every day kept me healthy in ways she probably did not even understand. I desperately wanted people to know how wondrous my children were (are). I would type negatives, I did. But I so wanted her to know the joys of these kids that I far more often focused on the positives. And with that, I redirected my own thoughts toward the positives.

Years later, a famous talk-show hostess would do the same when she encouraged her viewers to keep a gratitude journal. I had beat her to it. I had been emailing my heart out to my sweet friend for years -- counting every single good thing.

Counting every single good thing is a win. 

But so is remembering the year Mason couldn't say his Ss....that Canta Cause Cares Him!!! I count three...you?

Miracles of Christmas. Yes, please.

My hubby is out of town and a dog with some strange gastro-issues kept me up half the night last night.  I will yawn all day and may require more than my standard two cups of coffee...but I won't be upset. I really believe poor Pluto's tummy trouble was God-ordained. 

As I struggled to fall back asleep the second time, I reached for my phone and clicked on Facebook. (Mindless scrolling can usually make me tired enough to drift off again.) But last night (or early this morning), there were two urgent requests for prayer. I was able to use the quiet of the wee hours of morning, to pray mightily for my friends.

My heart is heavy yet with the hurting, the sick, the ones fighting such enormous battles. I can hear Annelle from Steel Magnolias in my head describing her faith during the scene where the women are gathered around M'lynn after Shelby's death (Really, if ya'll can't conjure that scene from memory right here on the spot, you should come on over and we'll watch SM a few times this morning!). Annelle says Shelby just wanted to protect everyone she loves and it is easier to do it in Heaven. She goes on to say that may sound simple, or stupid, but it is what gets her through times like this.

I'd love to identify with the more sophisticated characters in that movie, but Annelle nails it for me. (And now I hear her saying, "I will not let my personal tragedy interfere with my ability to do good hair." Oh I love that movie!) 

See, my go-to reaction in times of crisis often seems simple -- possibly stupid to some people, even. I need to cry out to Jesus. I need to feel the peace that only He can offer. But it is also my nature to want to help, to fix the pain for others, to remove it. And yet, words are inadequate. Completely inadequate.

I didn't mean to include this photo but when I accidentally clicked it, it started snowing...and I have no idea how that happened! (Little Red thinks I should click outside our desert-facing window!!)  It seems appropriate since that photo was taken in Minnesota and I am fairly certain it snowed every day for five years! :)

When my Dad was first diagnosed with cancer, some of my brothers' young friends came to visit. They were awkward, shuffling their feet and eager to exit. They just had no idea what to say to their teenager friends who were struggling under the weight of their father's very serious diagnosis. Young Talley looked at me and said, "When this is over, I will be better at comforting others. I will know what to say." And he looked at me with hopeful eyes as I shook my head no and asked him, "What could anyone say to us to make this better?" And we both cried. (Ok, I cried. Tal was a tough teenage male...he probably didn't cry.)

My point is: there are no words. There is no way for me as a human being to fix it for my loved ones when they face the hardest roads imaginable. I can not love them or hug them enough to heal their children, mend the longing for health, or stitch their broken hearts. I am helpless. And this morning, I am aching with the frustration of that inability.

And so I sit here and I am trying to get my mind on something else. I scrolled some blogs and came across this tour of homes for bloggers. It is lovely and something that really is fun, I know it is. But today, I was frustrated by the fact that the bloggers were only showing little vignettes of their homes and I couldn't see the whole picture. Everything looked perfect, beautiful, photo-worthy. And I was struck by the fact that the first Christmas was far from photo-worthy. It was smelly and messy and unkempt.

Baby Jesus was born in a stable without decorations, without pretense, without any idyllic-Norman Rockwell circumstances.

And the the mission of that little baby born in a stable 2000 plus years ago was to show us the power of healing. He came to bear the weight of all the sins of this world for us.

He healed the sick. He made the lame walk (All those kids with Cerebral Palsy!). And the blind to see.

And yet, he said the real miracle was that by faith in HIM, we are forgiven of our sins and can live in Heaven with Him for eternity.

I am thankful for that stable. I am thankful for that precious baby who grew into a man willing to sacrifice his life for mine. I am thankful that in the midst of every crisis, He is here to offer hope, joy and love.

I am praying for some miracles this season. And finding the joy of the miracle born on Christmas day. 

What I need you to know about Christmas cards...

My triplets were babies in a world before digital photography. When I desperately wanted a cute Christmas card photo, I would go through roll after roll of film. Anxiously hoping to have ONE where all three looked at least amused if not out and out happy.

My triplets were babies before Facebook or blogging -- which probably worked out nicely for you since I would no doubt have been an overload-sharer about every single milestone!

But here's the thing: Way back when my littles were actually you know, little, I was completely desperate to show off all that they were, all they COULD do and dreadfully anxious to have photos that didn't look like they had Cerebral Palsy.

Please take a minute to hear my heart. I had one shot all year long to show who these beautiful babies were to our friends and family who didn't get a chance to see them often (or ever). I had one chance to give them a visual of who my trio were aside from the prayer requests they received via email and via grandparents for various surgeries, therapies and procedures. One shot.

I wanted the joy of my babies to be apparent. I wanted to share the abilities. I so very much wanted everyone to KNOW them for their smiles, their antics and their intellect...not their disabilities.

And so my husband and children grew into thinking that I was completely militant about Christmas cards. They would painfully grin through the arranged photo shoots. And really, nothing says Merry Christmas like gritting your teeth and screaming "SMILE FOR THIS PICTURE. IT IS ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!"

You know, just the merriest of moments.

But it wasn't just our friends and family that I needed to show how much we COULD do: Every single Christmas that we lived in Minnesota (from 2 year - 7 year old triplets) I insisted we trek out to the Christmas tree farm to chop down our own tree. Yes. Chop. Yes, we carted three preschoolers, two walkers, a camera tripod, a camera and don't forget the axe out on the wagon the farm provided so that we could pick a tree, chop it down, snap several photos (praying one was good cause remember....it was FILM!) and then make the trek back to the wagon and parking lot carrying all of the above PLUS a full grown TREE!

I wanted a Christmas memory like my friends could make. I wanted to ignore the obstacles. Overcome, I thought. Overcome.

Or stress out, Mom. Stress every single member of the family completely out. Sigh. In my defense, the kids only remember the furry little bunnies they got to hold on the wagon ride. They are not too scarred. And my dear Wade. Well, he loves me still. And gives me credit for wising up our last year in Minnesota when we rode the wagon out around the farm, circled back on it to the tree lot and picked an already chopped tree that could easily be loaded! (I learn, people, eventually, I learn.)

And today, I am telling you all of this, because it is Christmas card season. My mailbox has been offering the sweetest of treats for the last couple of weeks. I love love seeing all the faces, the smiles, the friends that God has brought into our lives all around the country!

But those days can be hard for the Mama desperate to have a Christmas-card-worthy-moment. You know the jump on the beach shot that we will never have. The hiking-the-Grand-Canyon photo that will escape us all our days. Posing photos around a wheelchair, crutches and four kids can be tricky. Getting a shot that screams how amazing my kids are can be almost impossible.

So, for mamas everywhere, I am asking us to give grace during this season. You know that mom who  seemingly-brags for pages on end. I think perhaps she just needs you to KNOW her children. Her one shot at helping you see past their differences.

Or can we offer grace to the Mom who can not bear to send you a card because she is so busy juggling therapies, surgeries and doctor visits that there is no time to make merry. Please send her one any way.

I beg you to look at the sweet faces on every card you receive and KNOW that each child has immeasurable gifts. Immeasurable. Don't judge the card based on some standard that Pinterest has set, look instead at the faces that love you enough to include you this year.

Because those faces -- the ones playing instruments, hiking mountains, breaking athletic records, or sitting in their wheelchairs, balancing with their power sticks or fighting sensory over stimulation to have their photo snapped at all -- are precious in the sight of the baby we truly celebrate this season. Every single face, precious to the savior born in a manger on a night void of cameras -- film or digital -- Facebook or internet. And yet His is the name we celebrate more than two thousand years later.

His is the name that matters most -- Jesus.

I'm praying for your heart this season. Praying that you will enjoy the cards -- those you send and those you receive -- celebrating that each should represent joy and love and a wish from your loved one to you:

For a Merry Christmas and a Christ-filled New Year!!