Christmastime

It is officially the Christmas season! I'm grateful for this special time. For Christmas trees, and in particular the Fraser Fir now adorned with white lights and shiny Christmas balls that is keeping me company tonight.
And for Christmas Carols, that make any day brighter and warmer.
But mostly, for Jesus and for his precious life. And for the way this whole season carries residual magic from when God was born on earth. It's not a Hallmark thing, or even a media thing. Christmas has always been special, since before TV sing-a-longs and Rockefeller Center. Even since before Mariah Carey's seasonal album.
I think there is something precious and pure about the Advent that nature itself celebrates. Air molecules, mountain peaks, the deer that survive hunting season all sense the profundity of this time. That angels perhaps sing another rendition of the song that terrified the shepherds. The seen and unseen worlds connect in a way closer than normal, in memory of that day, two-thousand-and-some years ago, when Jesus put one foot in each.
The first Christmas was a celebration complete with choir harmonies, lavish gifts, and brilliant stars. A moment in time when all was as it should be. Not easy, and not an escape from reality. But rather a taste of what life is meant to be. The way things really are, or at least the way they will be when the darkness is over. There was not sadness on that night. It was a tiny sliver of Heaven on Earth and that is what calls to the well of my soul.

And, skip.

'Tis the season for those cheesy jewelry commercials featuring a guy of variable age who buys a diamond set in yellow gold and a woman who just about wets herself when she sees the box. If the most exciting part of a new piece of jewelry is the box, something is wrong. If every kiss you ever have truly begins with a jeweler, mall or otherwise, something is wrong.

All this makes me grateful, once again, for DVRs. You can fast forward through all commercials. Especially those designed to replicate what men who don't know what to buy think women fantasize about.

The extra

Can you imagine starting Black Friday without leftover dressing and green bean casserole?
This girl can't. Some things get better with age. I submit that Thanksgiving dressing is one of them. I'm not sure if the actual taste improves, or if it's the knowledge that 363 days stand between me and another serving, but let me tell you, I licked my fork clean.

I'm so glad that on Thanksgiving, we have more than enough. I suppose I'm grateful for that on every day, but I'm particularly aware of it now, sated as I am with leftovers.

And, on a somewhat parallel note, I am so glad God is bigger than what I need. WAAAY bigger. I can't conceive of what He has in store, can't need more than He can provide, can't even wrap my head around the bounty of who God is. As much of Him as I gobble up, there will always be more and new for tomorrow. It's like that verse in (wait for it...getting on biblegateway...) and I think Paul says it perfectly, so I"ll pass the pen to him.

Ephesians 3:19-21 "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. "

40,000 down, 10,000 to go!

I write today from the cozy and familiar cafe table of Borders. It's not my Borders, but it's been so long since I got to enjoy their trademark ambiance that I'm soaking it up. I can see, just beyond the magazine racks, countless volumes waiting to be read.
It is grand. And inspiring. And as I continue to scrape my way towards fifty thousand words this month, I need all the inspiration I can get.
So, thank you, Jesus, that you are everywhere and for the creative ideas you foster and for Borders. And for the unique and unbeatable combination of coffee and milk. And for laptops.
All my love.

Lugging

I am working my way westward to Oklahoma City today to see the family for Thanksgiving. This means Dirk the Blue Impala and I get seven hours of quality time today. Dirk is already loaded up and riding a little bit lower than normal. He's got my red suitcase that could easily hold a small country in the trunk, two computers, and enough Monsters to wake Lazarus. Again.

One of the reasons I like road trips is the ability to bring way more clothing than even the highest maintenance diva would use on a tour around the world.
And the aforementioned supply of Monster. Were I flying, I would have had to consider each article, choose separates that could be combined into multiple outfits, and squirted all my liquids into 3 oz. containers. But with Dirk, I just turned on a Christmas movie and tossed stuff at my suitcase until it was full.

I am rather hard pressed to think of a deeper spiritual justification for cramming the Impala with quantities of stuff that will probably come back unused. But here goes: God is big enough for all our baggage! And then some! And then some more!

While Dirk has a massive trunk, even he reaches capacity at some point. I haven't found that point yet, but as he's bound by the laws of physics, I know it's out there. But God invented physics, and He's bigger than a trunk. And not only does He want me to cart my luggage to him, but he'll carry it for me.

Dearest Lord, thank you that I am never too nuts for you. That my baggage, both real and imagined, is safe within your hands. That you are ripped and so my stuff is never too heavy for your broad shoulders. All my love!

Nearly dead

It has been a grueling week in my corner of the world. God has been good and hidden little raisins of delight amidst the gruel, primarily in the form of people who are too funny to adequately describe. All the same, I'm so glad it's Friday and so grateful to be living in a society where weekends are free days. And, I thank God on High that Blackberry batteries die if you choose not to plug them in on a Friday morning...

Spared

In church on Sunday the pastor was talking about Nehemiah 9. (Quality book of the Bible that I think is underplayed.) To end the service we had a time of confession...silent, thank heavens, but still, we all sat there for while with the singular intent of purging our souls.

It
was
so
cool.

Confession is so underrated. It is one of the most freeing things we can do. Yet it gets ignored because, a) it's a little uncomfortable. I don't like looking at the ugly side of me. And because b) we forget how powerful the Holy Spirit is. Or at least I do.

I tend ask forgiveness and focus on the fact that God, in his grace, delivers me from the death my wrongness deserves, as in, I get to go to Heaven instead of Hell. But an equally, if not more, beautiful deliverance is that from the sin itself. I no longer have to walk in that way. Even thoughts, slippery fish that they are, can be contained and directed by the Holy Spirit.

Perhaps this is a duh for most people, but I was just struck with amazement that God will forgive me three and a half million more times for doing the same dumb thing. BUT that He doesn't have to, if I truly release myself to the Holy Spirit.

It's not an "Okay, Kimberly, get up and try again." It's more like, "You know what? You lay there and rest in my shadow, kiddo, and I'll deal with this issue." That's not to say that resting in God's shadow is an easy thing. I can't hardly keep my mitts to myself. But, it is a stunning promise to know that when I fail to manage my own life according to God's standards, I'm only doing what he expects. And from that place in the dust where I land after my best efforts, He can use me and work in me and pour love over me more effectively than when I strive in my own power.

Thank you, Lord, not just for sparing me the consequences of sin, but for sparing me from the control of sin. Thank you for your might and for the moments when I actually see you at work in me. You are most beautiful. All my love!