A Few of My Favorite Things

Do you love reading online Gift Guides as much as I do? Does Christmas challenge every atom of  your inclination to minimalism and simplicity as much as it does mine? Gosh, there are so many beautiful things out there in the world. Things I want to give, and, let's be honest, get.

People, I still buy stuff. I buy stuff from Target and I buy stuff from local shops and I buy stuff online and I buy stuff from those ads on Instagram that have obviously been listening to my innermost thoughts about organic pillow cases. Sometimes, I regret buying the thing. But SOMETIMES, I absolutely love the thing. And I want to tell you about a couple of those things. Someone else should benefit from my internet searching into supply chains and employee wage structure and ingredients and blah blah blah.

These are some things that I actually own, and have purchased or been gifted within the last year or so. I love and use every single one.

I just bought these lovely ear hugs from ABLE when we were in Nashville this weekend, and I love 'em. I love the brand, I love their mission, and today is the last day for their big Black Friday/Cyber Monday sale, so get that discount! I hear great things about their leather totes and purses, too.



Speaking of totes, I have two of these beautiful canvas totes from Mery Bradley and I have used one of them (depending on my outfit, of course) every day since they arrived. I've had the black one for about three years, and Les got me the map convertible tote/backpack for my birthday last year. I usually avoid buying any new leather, but when I recalled my previous purses that met the landfill, the pleather or cloth handles were usually what did them in. So I found these lightweight canvas totes with durable leather handles and I love them. It is on the splurge-y side, but if you can use it every day for years, I think it's worth it. I have not bought another purse since these arrived. My trial and error for the "perfect every day bag" is over! Inside pockets, perfect size to stash my stuff and not look like I'm carrying an overnight bag, and random strangers frequently ask me where I got them.  Shipping from Argentina is surprisingly fast, but not Prime fast.
   

While you're on Etsy, consider finding a maker who can make you The Thing You Want but you cannot find in stores. I love the idea of a cozy turtleneck sweater, but I actually hate sweater material anywhere near my face. And I wanted something tunic length, and, you know, organic cotton and ethically made and something that actually fit my shape and didn't look like pajamas. Surprise, surprise, I hadn't found that thing after years of searching in stores and online. But a stroke of inspiration lead me to find a maker on Etsy who crafts clothing with organic cotton and had something similar in her shop. And you know what? I sent her my ideas for a "dream" top, and she made it for me. And I want to wear it every day. I loved it so much, I ordered a second one in a different color when I saw she was having a sale this weekend.


This is true "slow fashion" - she makes each item to your specifications - so if you order from her or another made to order artist, your items won't arrive in time for Christmas. It took about 5 weeks to get the first shirt. But that anticipation was a novel delight in the age of instant gratification.

Adult Stocking Stuffers? Yes, that's a thing. Here are a couple of things I'd love to see at the bottom of a sock.



Little Seed Farm elasticity serum gets smeared on my parched face every morning. Winter is brutal on my skin, and I use this in the morning and a thick-as-paste moisturizer from Juice Beauty at night, and it does the trick. This is also where I get my favorite glass jar/metal lid natural deodorant, if you want to give anyone the gift of clean smelling pits without the plastic waste.

Shampoo Bars! Yessssssss! My favorite change of 2019 has been ditching the bottles for shampoo and conditioner bars. I've even gotten Les on board. You can find a zillion varieties online now, but for simplicity's sake, I have been using the shampoo bars I can find in local brick-and-mortar stores. I've seen these J. R. Liggetts bars at Whole Foods and Target, and pretty much any natural/health food store. Or you can buy online.

They smell great, work beautifully, last about as long as a bottle of shampoo. Longer if you use them and then let them dry between showers (we keep ours in a basket on top of the toilet), rather then leaving them wet in the shower soap dish.

I buy conditioner bars from the Package Free Shop, but there are lots of other options out there. I honestly find that when I use the shampoo bar and wash my hair every other day, I rarely need a conditioner bar. Especially with my ultra short hair now.

B O O K S

Gift some great books from your favorite independent book seller! We love Anderson's Bookshop out here in the burbs, and they have a Cyber Monday sale going on today, plus a 12 Days of Christmas discount on specific types of items every day for the next 12 days.

My favorite books of the past year-ish, in no particular order:


This is the book I have needed my whole life. I ugly cried through parts of it, just knowing that RHE will never write any more books. She was a treasure. All of her books have added something to my life, and breathed oxygen into my faith. I also read Searching for Sunday this year, and I could write the same description for my experience of that book.



Oof. What a book. Who doesn't wrestle with the gut punch of Bad Things happening to Good People? I'm eager to read her newest book, too.



I rarely read fiction, but I loved this book. Weird, funny, mysterious, and really well written.



You must read this book. Read it now, before the movie comes out. It reads like a mystery novel, but it is a non fiction cold shower about the racism and injustice baked into our legal system.



I was browsing in Anderson's one day and the shop keeper walked up to me and asked me if I was looking for anything in particular. I told her that I needed a laugh, but it had to be excellent writing. And non fiction. And preferably something portable that could be read in snippets while my kid is distracted or playing happily for 5 minutes. She had just the book. I loved this book. It's set in Chicago in neighborhoods where I lived, the author is roughly my age, and it was like we lived parallel lives in the same city at the same time. Hers was packed with way more romantic entanglement and alcohol, so maybe don't get this book for someone who would clutch their pearls at descriptions of casual sex or the like. But it is as well written and funny as the shop keeper promised.



I said this list was in no particular order, but that was a lie, because I saved the best for last. This is the best book I have read in a long time. If you have any interest whatsoever in the environment, in the plants and animals of North America, in the Native American world view, in botany, or if you just love evocative, intensely beautiful writing, read this stunning book.

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If you are looking for something particular and you'd like some help finding it from a small business or sustainability-minded company, let me know! I love the thrill of the hunt, and love to find new outside the Big Box businesses to support.

BONUS IDEA: Gift a year of MommaStrong! For just $5 per month, you get a new 15 minute interval workout every day. This has been the best thing I've done for my body this year. It is not a weight loss workout. It's a damage repair and strengthening routine. The scale hasn't moved, but my posture, core strength, upper body strength, flexibility, stamina, and even sleep have all improved. And I no longer pee when I sneeze! You don't have to be a mom to benefit from this workout, but it does focus on the parts that tend to need some extra attention after pregnancy and birth/c-section. There are options for mommas-to-be, new moms, and moms who are not so new. I can almost always find 15 minutes to do the workout, and you don't need special equipment.

Another little piece of my heart

There are a lot of shitty things (I said it! Clutch your pearls!) about pregnancy loss. Today I'm pissed that my phone was smart enough to magically transform all the advertisements in my feeds to pitches for maternity clothes the second I added a pregnancy tracking app but is not smart enough to dial it back after 4 days of frantic "first trimester bleeding" google searches.

This time was slower and more drawn out than the first shocking, quick loss four years ago, but fast or slow, the anguish of watching a beloved little hope of life drip out of your body is a unique misery.

We were so very surprised to discover I was pregnant. Shocked, anxious, delighted, terrified, and full of nervous energy. I was not surprised to discover I was miscarrying a few weeks later. I tried to channel my inner Han Solo, but of course, I had gorged myself on all "the odds" the minute I saw those two pink lines appear. Pregnant at 40 is not exactly a walk in the park.

This lost pregnancy is something I can point to when people ask when we're going to have second or chuff my shoulder and tell me the stories of their college roommate's sister who had a baby at 46. "Look", I can say, "we tried, and it didn't work out".

Also, why is it still OK for casual acquaintances to inquire about one’s child bearing plans? Or strangers? Like, absolute strangers ask me why we only have one. Can you think of many things more sensitive or emotionally fraught than asking a person you barely know why they don’t have one/more babies? Seriously, people. Please stop. 

Trying to trust God with our "family planning" has been one of the hardest, most humbling spiritual and emotional experiences of adulthood. The pastor who conducted our pre-marital counseling wisely told us that in his considerable experience, nothing in married life will demonstrate our lack of control over our lives than whether and when we have children. People who desperately want to have children and do not, people who do not want children or who do not want them right now find themselves expecting, people who try to time their children around a timetable and are crushed when the plan does not play out the way they intended.

Nine years after that counseling, and I'm still smarting from the truth of it.

I spent about 11 days in pregnancy limbo. Bleeding, but no cramping. Hormones rising, but not fast enough. Being told by one midwife that I should not have “false hope”, and by an OB that we should keep checking hormones because “we’ve been surprise before”. Up and down, back and forth, clutching to hope and then peeling back away. Hours of almost every night of those 11 days were spent in panic-wracked midnight internet searching, blanket over my head, hands clutched around the glow of my screen, tears rolling across my cheeks and onto my pillow.

I started out looking desperately for a little hope that maybe, somehow, this would turn out OK. Some medical website that could tell me that some bleeding a lot of bleeding in the first trimester could be no big deal. A stat that would reassure me that my hormone levels could miraculously skyrocket after starting to tank. Inevitably, I ended up down a rabbit hole of pregnant mom chat boards. All of us, all of us dying to know that someone, somewhere, had gone through what we're going through. Someone knows what this is like. Someone had the same exact story - the anxiety, the heartbreak, the uncertainty, the desperation. Some of these anxious mommas went on to have healthy babies, some did not. But there in the dark, I found the words of comfort I needed: "that happened to me".

All those nights I lay crying under the blankets, I reached out to God in my typical, somewhat “unorthodox” way. Not with classic hymns or prayers or even scripture, but with my own personal mantra. U2 lyrics, naturally.

When I was all messed up
And I had opera in my head
Your love was a light bulb
Hanging over my bed

These words have comforted me over and over and over again in the dark and scary places, when my mind wanders down the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I’ve been there a few times now. The chaos and the clatter, the tragedy and the wailing – the opera in my head – are quieted by directing my gaze straight up, where I have always been able to see some glow of God’s love for me. Light my way.  

Here's what I want to tell you if you are in, or have been in, the shadowy trenches of miscarriage:

If you're angry, frustrated, confused, and heartbroken, you are not alone.

If you're relieved, calm, and resolved, and eager to move on, you are not alone.

If you're doubting yourself or you feel guilty or ashamed, you are not alone. And it is not your fault.

If you feel embarrassed for excitedly telling people about the pregnancy before it was "safe" and just want to swallow your loss and never mention it to another person, you are not alone.

If you want to tell everyone and write a blog post and get a tattoo or a piece of jewelry to remember and keep remembering, you are not alone.

If your desire for another child was galvanized by this loss, and you cannot wait to try again, you are not alone.

If you look at the grief stacked up on your soft heart and cannot bear to try this all again, you are not alone.

Over the past four days, I’ve felt every single one of these things, and around again, in swirling overwhelm.

Reach out to people and let them know that you need a hug, a drink, a latte, a walk, a chat. Reach out to someone you know who has been through miscarriage. Reach out to me, if you’re nervous about asking someone else you know. There are members of this semi-secret tribe of miscarriage mommas all around you. Every time you share your story, you’ll hear more and more from others who can tell you in real life “that happened to me, too”. Letting these stories shine out in the light of day may help another woman who is stuck in the dark and the secret.

I’ve decided to talk about it openly because even though I knew other people who had lost pregnancies, both times it happened to me the strongest feeling I felt was “alone”. Les was supportive and loving and grieving himself. My close-by girlfriends rallied with time together and favorite treats. My far-away girlfriends sent texts and love. But still, it’s something you ultimately have to face in private – either in your doctor’s office or your bathroom or a combination of the two. It is your precious body that goes through the physical loss. It still feels pretty dark and lonely.

You will get through it.

Today, I felt calm and resolved and ready to move on to brighter things. Until my damn pregnancy tracker app – which I deleted – sent me an email with the “due date countdown” as I crossed another week milestone according to their data. I unsubscribed from all the things and felt calm again. And now I wonder if I could make some money creating an app that would automatically scrub your media feeds and email from ALL THINGS BABY after a loss. Anyone know how to make that happen?

I ordered a simple charm from an Etsy artist. A gold disc with three stars stamped into it – two next to each other for the twins, and one off to the other side for this loss. Maybe someone will ask me about it, and I’ll tell them what it means. And for a second or two, I’ll speak about the brief existence of these glimmers of life, and maybe someone will feel less alone when they hear the story. It’s part of my story – our family’s story. I don’t know whether God will grow our family, or if we’ll stay small, but in this season, I’ll try to trust and be present in our now-family and not become paralyzed by the uncertainty of a maybe-baby.

It has been a rough few weeks for our little Wolf Pack. We’re on the upswing now, but corporate anxiety takes its toll. Even Pia was tuned in to the “differentness” of our behavior and conversation, our prayers and tears since late July. I suggest you try not to have a family crisis while trying to potty train and start a brand new daycare. Not the best combo.

If we’ve seemed weird or secretive or cryptically “off”, now you’ve got the scoop. Thanks for all your care and support. Love to all you mommas of babies not born.

Painless Changes You Can Make to Tread More Lightly on the Earth

Happy Earth Day, fellow Earthlings!

Isn't spring just the BEST? Everywhere you look, you'll see blossoming trees, bright flowers, birds chirping, and green finally taking back the turf. It's the perfect time of year for Earth Day, dontcha think?

I'm setting some new goals to use even less plastic, waste less food, and shop smarter this year. Maybe you're inspired to make some personal changes to benefit the environment, and wondering where to start. Let Earth Day inspire you to make simple, lasting changes! I keep chipping away at wasteful habits and made some changes over the past year. These are all things that I actually do regularly (I would never pretend "always" or "perfectly") so I can attest to their simplicity and painlessness.

1. BYOB
Bring your own bottle of water. Everywhere. I have a couple of glass bottles that fit easily into my work bag and my everyday bag. If you don't carry a bag, at least have a reusable bottle at work and in your car. Repeat after me: "I don't need a plastic water bottle, and I will avoid them at all costs."

2. Swap your paper towels for cloth

A sampling of our kitchen cloths

A week's worth of kitchen cloths.

Granted, the basket of used cloths is not the prettiest, but this is the full week's worth of kitchen towels and washcloths, ready to go down to the laundry room. If I could be less forgetful, I could keep the dirty towels tucked out of sight, but we tried that and I consistently forgot to throw them in with the load of bath towels each week. If you're wondering whether adding washable cloths to your laundry routine will just require more water and nix the green effects of ditching paper towels, I'll say that our kitchen towels will never make or break our load of hot-water laundry. I only wash towels and linens on hot water, and switching to cloth in the kitchen has never once required its own load. I still keep a roll of paper towels, because, let's be honest, with a kid and a dog there are rare instances of needing to dispose of your cleaning tool immediately, but we've had the same roll of paper towels for more than 2 months now.

3. Refuse plastic bags, even if you forgot to bring your own
Raise your hand if you have a plethora of reusable shopping bags, but manage to forget them 82% of the time. I even have a couple that roll up into a tiny bundle to fit into my purse, and I STILL manage to be caught empty handed once in a while. Guess what? You can still say "no" to a plastic bag. If your items will fit in your hands, just carry them on out to your car, or shove a few of them into your backpack/baby bag/purse at the checkout. Or, and I promise you I actually have done this, just tell the cashier you forgot your bags and push your whole cart of Target loot out to the parking lot and put it into your car (GASP!) without bags. Get your bags at home (or boxes, or whatever - I find IKEA blue bags ideal for this!) and haul everything into the house. No extra plastic bags have entered your home. You might feel like a weirdo the first time you do this, but it gets easier.

4. Experiment with your shower routine
After a lifetime of struggling to find the right products to "manage" my coarse, thick, oil-prone hair, I feel like I have finally found my dream hair-washing routine. I have experimented with various phthalate/sulfate/paraben/petroleum/animal product/animal testing - free shampoos and conditioners for years, and I was stuck in the same cycle: Wash hair, hair feels dry and crunchy, condition hair, hair feels grimey and full of build up. Put up with grimey/dry hair until next shower. Repeat. I tiptoed towards "No Poo" (when you stop washing your hair all together and just rinse with apple cider vinegar once in a while), but couldn't do it. Then, I discovered this stuff.

A shampoo bar! Paper packaging! And the ingredients are all familiar and pronounceable! And best of all, it's so gentle, I don't need to use conditioner at all. Ever. I can actually get away with washing my hair every other day, and it is shiny without being oily, and clean without feeling dry. I've found one other ultra-gentle shampoo that is a liquid that comes in a plastic bottle that Les also likes, so I alternate between the two. Consider experimenting with your products to see if you can find your sweet spot and ditch something you thought you needed. It's thrilling to realize you can pare down and prefer the results to the multi-product, questionable chemical routine you thought you had to keep.

Oh, and we use package-free bar soap now, too, and love it.

Our current pile of soaps and my bin of shower wash cloths. No plastic "loofahs" ever again.

5. Carry a handkerchief

I was grossed out, too, when I contemplated it. But the fact is, most of my tissue-using in the spring is from allergy-inspired drippage. Just obnoxious little drips that drive me insane but do not require a whole tissue to address. One of my friends made me a sweet little set of reusable cloth "anything wipes" for Pia's baby shower, and now I keep one in every coat pocket, and in my purse and in Pia's baby stuff backpack. And they can go right into that load of towel washables after they've been used. They're softer than paper tissues, too! Your nose will thank you. If you don't have a thoughtful and talented friend to make some for you, you can buy washable baby wipes just about anywhere and use those. Or find some pretty vintage handkerchiefs and feel fancy AND green.

This Earth Day, I'm promising myself that this is the year I reform some of my plastic-dependencies and commit to finding non-plastic alternatives for things I regularly discard. There are blogs and books devoted to "plastic free life" now, so time to dig in and see what I can find.

My other Earth Day Resolutions are:

* Make sure all the closet-purged clothing that is too worn to be donated finds its way to a textile recycling option rather than ending up in the garbage bin. Read more about why here, or google "textile waste" and heave a big sigh.

* Make the sun work for me more often, whether it be drying clothes or "bleaching" stains, or disinfecting hard-to-wash kid stuff.

* Minimize disposables in every area of my consumer life.

* Fewer and fewer animal products. I'm not in the "full vegan" life stage right now, but I could do with less dairy and fewer eggs. Only second-hand leather and silk from now on.

What are some changes you want to make? Let's encourage each other to simpler, gentler, greener living.

Blue Christmas

These were the notes for the talk I gave at the "Blue Christmas" service at Redeemer Fellowship of St. Charles on Dec. 11, 2015.

The little birds. We didn't put up a tree this year, because of Pia The Destroyer.

My dad died in 2001 after a long illness. I was 23. In 2007, my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, and she joined my dad in heaven in 2009 when I was 31 years old. Last year, I miscarried twins in the first trimester of my first pregnancy. I am not an expert on grief. I’m not a pastor or a counselor. I am a fellow griever. A miss-er. A person who knows better than to ever say “I know how you feel”. I don’t know how you feel. I can only speak from my own experience with loss and the perspective of a few years out from the constant throbbing of fresh pain.

My dad was a Jesus freak, as they say. He loved cheesy jokes, camping, vacations to national parks, being an elder at our church, and he loved my mom. He had had Type 1 Diabetes since he was 5 years old, and the disease began to advance rapidly when I was in high school. He deteriorated slowly but surely . When my father died, I felt relief. He had been so sick for so long, and he was eager to “Go Home” to heaven. We had stopped praying for healing for him, and instead prayed for comfort, peace, and for ourselves. We had had plenty of time to say what we needed and wanted to say. We had stopped hoping for more time, and longed, instead, for his time to come to meet the Jesus he loved so dearly. When he did finally die, my grief was primarily for my mother. They had had a love-filled, purposeful, self-sacrificial marriage. Imperfect, of course, but exemplary. She had cared for him with superhuman patience and grace for the last years of his life. Now her partner was gone, and her loss was gaping. I remember those first few years being more about comforting her than processing my own grief. My dad had been ill for so long, I struggled to feel sad. I felt sad for my mom, but I felt relieved and happy for him. I imagined him in heaven, thanking God in person for making Yosemite so beautiful, and telling cringe-worthy dad jokes to any who would listen.

When my mother got sick a few years later, I felt rage. I was so angry, God and I weren’t on speaking terms for a while. My mom was the most faithful, joyful, patient person in my world, and God had stricken her. Kicked her while she was down. After the rage, I felt lost. In the final weeks and months of her life, I could not pray. I begged others to lift her up, to lift us up. All I could do was cry and sing “Kyrie Eleison” as I lay in bed with tears streaming down my cheeks. I could not bring myself to say “Lord, have mercy” in English. The words burned my tongue. When she died, I slumped into a heavy grief. Even though her death was a relief of her suffering, I felt unmoored without my mom. Her death left me an orphan. I don’t want to use that word too cavalierly, but I was parentless at 31, and I felt suddenly homeless and empty as well.

After my mother died, I slogged through those first Thanksgivings and Christmases with a heavy heart. Everything everywhere reminded me of my mom, and the fact that she would never make her spritz cookies again, I would never hear her sing Christmas carols again, and I would never again get to come home to her cider-scented house and pilfer some of her favorite mint M&Ms from the candy dish on the sofa table. And every time I see a huge Christmas tree, I think of the year my dad bought the biggest Christmas tree he could find, and it was so enormous, he had to cut it apart with a chainsaw in our living room to get it out of the house. My mother had this beautiful, simple, sonorous alto voice. If I close my eyes and sit quietly for a minute, I can hear her actual voice singing her Christmas Eve solo of “Oh Holy Night”, or her favorite song, “Angels We Have Heard on High”. Listen to the harmony line next time. It’s incredible. She loved it so much, we sang it at her memorial service even though she died in May.

This year marks six Christmases without my mom, and fourteen without my dad. This is the second year we’ll hang two little bird ornaments on our totally normal-sized Christmas tree to remember our twin stars. The stories keep their memories bright and alive to me, and they also shred me a little bit. They still shred me a little bit. Sometimes the weight of missing my mom, my dad, and the tiny twin babies who did not get to meet us here on Earth still seems too heavy to bear.

…...The Thrill of Hope, a Weary World Rejoices.

We are weary. So weary. Grief and sadness, tragedy, darkness, loss, suffering and pain. The first few Christmases after my mother died, I felt all of the weariness but none of the thrill, none of the hope. It felt more like the world was rejoicing without me. There were plenty of people to rejoice with those who felt like rejoicing. Where were the people to mourn with those who mourn? I found solace in anonymity, and opportunities to sit in the shadows and grieve on the fringes of faith. I went back to the big Chicago church I’d been part of for years before her death and I’d sit and let the hot tears stream down my face while the rejoicers sang their Happy Christmas Songs. I’d wring my hands and strain my ears to “hear” my mom’s alto in the harmonies. Or I’d go to an unfamiliar, big, loud, contemporary church service with a praise band so exuberant, I could literally yell Christmas carols at the top of my lungs, and raise my arms, and cry, and have no one think that any of those things were at all strange. Lots of people around me would be doing the exact same thing, and I could blend right in. Maybe they were moved by a joyful Spirit, maybe they were hurting like I was. But shouting O Come, O Come Emmanuel! and really meaning it was a huge relief to the heaviness of my heart.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel

Until sharp grief broke into my life, I didn’t understand why people would pray “Come, Lord Jesus”. I didn’t want Jesus to return just yet. I liked the world. There were a lot of things I still wanted to do on earth. I still wanted to get married, travel, adopt a dog, have fun with my friends. The hurting world longed for Jesus to come again, just as Isreal longed for the Messiah, but I was still in the comfortable, insulated world. I was afraid of death, and not particularly eager for the New Heavens and the New Earth. My mother’s death broke through that veneer of comfort, but also the fear, because my greatest fear had actually happened. When my mom came home with hospice care, a dear friend described the anticipation of the death of a follower of Jesus this way: “It’s when our greatest fear and our greatest hope are standing together at the door.” It was true. When she died, the flicker of hope actually returned after the dark two years of her illness. And I didn’t fear death any more. She and my dad had both run towards Jesus when the time arrived, and my longing to see them again, healthy and whole, and my new empathy for the grieving, groaning, sighing world put the “Come, Lord Jesus” prayer on my lips.

• For we do not grieve as those who have no hope...

I was too afraid in those early years to approach the other Mourners - my friends and acquaintances who I knew had lost people that they loved. I was too afraid of my own grief, and of ripping the scabs off everyone else’s carefully tended wounds. It hadn’t yet occurred to me that I had any solace to offer anyone else, or that sharing my grief gave others freedom to talk about theirs. As I was trying to organize my thoughts for this talk tonight, I asked my husband what I should say. What, I wondered, do I have to offer anyone? He advised me to share what I would tell a friend who had come to me to ask for help getting through their first Christmas without someone they love.

Here’s what I would say.

God hates death. Hates it. We were not made for death, for the tearing apart of the good gift of earthly love. Death grieves God. Jesus wept over the death of his friend Lazarus, and for Mary and Martha’s broken hearts. He raised the widow’s only son from the dead, just because he knew her grief would be too much to bear. If anyone had the absolute right to say “He’s in a better place”, wouldn’t it be Jesus? The Orthodox church remembers the death of Mary, the mother of Jesus. The icon of that feast day depicts Mary at her burial, with the disciples and others mourning around her, and Jesus above all of them, grieving. I’m new to Orthodoxy, and I have to say the icons have taken some getting used to, but the first time I saw this icon, I was immediately moved and felt, much to my surprise, much much closer to Jesus. Jesus had a mother! And he grieved when she died! Just like I did when my mom died. He felt sorrow over the end of her earthly life. The Bible doesn’t say anything about the death of Mary, but I believe that it’s safe to conclude that Jesus would grieve for his mother if he grieved for Lazarus. Remembering that Jesus grieved has helped me give myself the time and space I need to grieve. The World expects you to pull yourself together and get on with your life within a few weeks of a loss. Most of us haven’t even begun to process our pain in that time. Give yourself extra grace at Christmas time, when memories bubble up and you need time to sit with them a while, and the cultural push to celebrate! buy stuff! nonstop fun! attend all the social social engagements! makes it easier to just swallow hard and keep moving.

Our culture is terrified of death, and so it sanitizes it, ignores it, minimizes it, and does everything possible to avoid it. People may expect you to act like everything is Merry and Bright, even as we acknowledge that the holidays are extra painful for the grieving. But even if we corporately understand that holidays can be tough, grief still makes people uncomfortable, especially at the festive holidays. Find a few people who love you and who you trust and tell them your stories. If you are here tonight to support someone who is grieving, make an effort to ask about the person she is missing. What is your favorite Christmas memory of your dad? Did your sister make any special food at Christmas time? What would you have given your son for Christmas this year? Give space and time to listen. Don’t worry that you’ll remind your grieving friend of the person they lost. I guarantee you, they are thinking of that person constantly, and in my experience, most are eager for a chance and a comfortable space to talk about them. If talking is not a comfort to you, maybe consider writing. I started writing a letter to my parents each year, recapping the highlights reel of what they missed, everything I wish I could have shared with them. It has been cathartic. When I read the past letters every year, I also have a pretty good summary of the things I really cared about over the years, and answered prayers, and God’s hand at work in the arc of my story. I did get married. I did travel, adopt a dog, and in April we welcomed a healthy baby girl. Writing to my mom and dad about the adventures and joys and sorrows has helped me feel closer to them and calmer about everything that they are missing.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Over time, I’ve developed some other comforting traditions to remember my mom and dad, and even our Twin Stars, to help me navigate Christmas time with a little more Joy. Six years ago, I wouldn’t have believed this would be possible. Your grief may still be sharp around the edges. If so, be so gentle with yourself, and I’d encourage you not to feel pressure to come up with any traditions, or to feel any particular way. Eventually you may think of things you’d like to incorporate into your Advent and Christmas. For one thing, I started leaning into Advent. Advent is a season of waiting, longing, and hope. An advent calendar or a devotional may help walk you closer and closer to a day of celebration. The paper advent calendar on my wall right now has a word or phrase for each day, designed to be a minimalist meditation. “Take heart, hope is on the way” is how we start each December 1st. I’ve also really really gotten into Handel’s Messiah. Did you know it was originally composed for Easter? But the songs are just incredible - songs of prophecy, longing, meditation, all building to celebration and joy and Hallelujah. It’s easier than ever to organize Christmas music into Advent music and let “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” and “He Shall Feed His Flock” pave the way for Joy to the World.

A few small moments each Christmas help give some structure to our remembrances. A friend sent us two handmade bird ornaments when we miscarried. We keep them on our bookshelf all year, but when we decorate our Christmas tree, we add them together, near the top, and look forward to the day we will meet our babies in person. I bake orange cinnamon rolls to enjoy warm from the oven on Christmas morning as an homage to the ones my mom would buy from the bakery each year for Christmas. We make a donation to a charity close to my dad’s heart in his honor. And I make a Christmas List of gifts I would give my mom and dad that year, as I see things I know that they would like while I do my other gift-giving prep. Let these ideas take shape for you as they come, if they come.

Maybe Christmas is just going to be dimly lit for you for a long time. That’s OK. The Bible is full of stories of people who waited for a very long time for God’s promise to be fulfilled. But if God promised it, you can wait in Hope. Here are some things that God has promised to we who mourn:

Psalm 34:18  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Matthew 11:28  “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Revelation 21:4  “ ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

The rest of that passage from Revelation holds my personal favorite promise in all of Scripture:

Behold! I am making all things new.

ALL things. Even my broken heart and crushed spirit. Even my mom and dad, and our twins. Even the whole world. Even you and your heart.

Emmanuel - God with us.

Jesus wasn’t just born. He lived on Earth, he died, he rose again, and he returned to the Father, he sent his Spirit. God is not just close to us, he is in us! God didn’t have to be born a baby. Presumably, he could have come up with a different way to save us and draw us to him. But he was born, and grew, and became an adult and lived WITH us, here on earth. He had a mom, and a step dad. He celebrated and grieved. He still celebrates, still grieves. At Christmas, we remember that God Came Near. And he came to bind up the brokenhearted. And to wipe every tear from their eyes. He is with us, and because he is with us, we can sing, even if our voice shakes.

The Freedom of Fewer Choices

How much do I love shopping at Trader Joe's? Sooooo much! There are too many reasons to list. Here are the top 3:

1. Every single time I've been there with Pia, one of the TJs "crew" has offered to help me take my groceries to the car and they've loaded up the trunk and whisked away my shopping cart before I've even gotten my wiggly babe into her car seat.

2. Black bean and cheese tacquitos. Chocolate honey mints. Reduced Guilt Chunky Guacamole.

3. A break from the Decision Fatigue of every other grocery store in town. When I want to buy, say, cereal, there are roughly a dozen options from which to choose. Pasta sauce? Eight options. Pickles? Spears, slices, or whole. Ketchup? One option: ketchup. I can be in and out of TJs with (usually, almost) everything I need for the week in 30 minutes, AND stick to a list and budget.

Bonus: The store is not jam-packed with displays and aisles. It feels open, navigable, and easy. You could fit the entire store into the Halloween Candy section of Target.

Does Trader Joe's have everything I could ever need for a recipe? No. But by narrowing our ingredient options, we've actually gotten more creative in the kitchen, and we are able to go to Whole Paycheck less frequently, which saves us a whole lot of money. And time. Shopping at TJs is efficient, cost-effective, and delicious.

I am pining for the day that our home will be conscientiously curated to contain only those Useful, Beautiful things that Spark Joy, like the Joy that is sparked by finding Gluten Free Candy Cane Joe Joes.

Like my favorite grocery store, I've found that my house is much tidier, more efficient, and happier to live in when I have fewer options. This is and has been an ongoing process, but every little step I have taken in the direction of Fewer has been rewarding so far.

Exhibit A:

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to apply the now-famous Marie Kondo lessons of Tidying Up to my closet. I haven't actually read her book (who has time to read entire books during baby naps??), but I have read a couple of reviews and articles about her New York Times bestseller, and concluded that I had gleaned enough to take a stab at purging my closet of anything that didn't Spark Joy.

I took every item of clothing out of my closet, laid them all on my bed, then picked each item up and held it in my hands before deciding its fate. I made four piles:

• Sparks Joy AND it currently fits!
• Sparks Joy but doesn't fit my new, plush, post-baby body
• No Joy here, but I've barely worn it, so I'll try to consign it
• No Joy, but it's in good shape, so I'll donate it

No surprise, most of what Sparked Joy and Fits consisted of cardigans and a couple of forgiving dresses and skirts. I'm still about 15 pounds from my pre-baby weight, so I'm going to remain hopeful that some of those Joy-sparking clothes with buttons and darts and zippers will fit again. I didn't part with them; I put them in a plastic tub in the storage closet. Here's what was left:

Disregard the upper-right piles - they are Les's pants!

I've been operating from this wardrobe of roughly 30 items + basics like tank tops, t-shirts, leggings, etc, for three weeks now, and I love it. When I rush to the closet in the morning to get ready for work, I know that everything in front of me fits, flatters (reasonably well), and makes me happy when I wear it. Soon I will add the winter sweaters that spark joy, but those are still packed away for now.

Gone are the sentimental items, the stash of overly-fussy wedding guest dresses from the season of my life when I attended 10 weddings every summer, and anything that I really wanted to like and wear but never or very rarely did. As I hear Kondo's book suggests, I thanked the items I discarded for their service or for their part in a previous season of my life, and stacked them neatly for re-homing.

Last year, I had a 40-Item Wardrobe for a season, and that was totally painless. Maternity clothes created their own capsule-wardrobe-by-default, and I did just fine for more than 6 months. I know I can live and work and play and go to church with a limited but versatile mix of clothes, but I still want More and New and Better and Different all the time. That's the part I can't quite seem to wrangle. And I do not promise that I will never buy any more clothes. No. But anything new must be versatile enough that I can wear it for at least two out of three main fashion venues: Regular Life, Work, Church. And, thanks to Ms. Kondo, it'll have to Spark Joy as well.

All You Need is Less

The world is shredding my heart these days. I look around at our comfortable life and our comfortable faith in our comfortable part of the world, and I feel really uncomfortable. And I want to feel that way for as long as it takes for us to make real changes and take real action, rather than just cry a few tears and heave a big sigh and then sink right back into our easy chairs with a tub of ice cream for a nice, brain-numbing Netflix binge.

There are a lot of ways to move from sugarshocked immobility to meaningful action. Give, pray, and get involved with organizations who know the issues well and can connect you with volunteer opportunities. (We've had terrific experiences with World Relief and Exodus, so if you're looking for an endorsement of a refugee-serving organization, check out either of them. Two thumbs way up).

Every time I think the plight of so many in the world, I feel newly convicted to pursue minimalism. And then I see something pretty or fun or on sale in my new, softer size and I buy it anyway. Just like a diet, my minimalism always starts tomorrow.

What does a new pair of jeans have to do with compassion? Let's set aside compassion-related environmental and labor issues that come into play when I buy buy buy anything and everything I want, and think more broadly about how Stuff can clog up our hearts and lives.

Les and I have been talking about how our Stuff and our Love of Stuff gets in the way of living the life we want, and feel convicted about living. Here are some ways:

• Clutter in our home makes us self-conscious about hosting and hospitality. (Well, clutter, and our Ornery Chihuahua-based home security system). Fewer possessions = less clean up when you want to invite someone into your home. We could just get over our hangups about what our home looks like and what our Fur Baby acts like, and we want to do that, too, but fewer piles would go a long way towards a more hospitable house.
• Money we spend on Stuff prevents us from being as generous as we say we want to be.
• Our Things are distractions. We'd rather be comfy in our home, doing our own thing, than out loving our neighbors. We do need time at home to recharge and relax as a family. Balance is important. We're in a slow, "home base" season with a new baby. But eventually, we need to get back out into Community and not just cling to our creature comforts like Pia clings to her lovey.
• Stuff takes up space. Duh. But seriously. Do we have room to host a Safe Families child, or will our guest room be full of boxes of crap for all eternity? Will we be tempted to upgrade to a bigger house when Pia is older because we don't have room to contain all our family's possessions? Will our cars deteriorate faster because we have to park them outside all winter because our garage is being used as an attached Stuff Storage Unit?
• Stuff takes up time. What are my plans for the weekend, every weekend, lately? Cleaning out the box-filled guest room, organizing our one small storage space, purging unneeded stuff from the garage... cleaning, organizing, tossing. Not my idea of a particularly fun time. Clutter hangs over us in our free time. And every time I have to rearrange a kitchen cabinet when I unload the dishwasher, I fantasize about donating half of the contents of our cupboards, and having clear, usable counter space. In my fantasy, a clean, spare kitchen makes it easier to cook and clean and entertain. 
• Stuff Begets Stuff. Did you know there's actually name for the fact that buying a new dress often leads to buying new shoes and a necklace to match? It's called the Diderot Effect, and it played out in frustrating fashion in my life last week. I bought a new (Target clearance section) watch because our office building has NO clocks, and I feel rude checking my phone all the time in meetings. The watch didn't fit, so now I need to buy a little kit with tiny tools to take links out of the band so I can wear it. Grrrr. And the dress + shoes + necklace? Story of my shopping life. Pretty soon, you're over-consuming just to use the one thing you wanted to buy in the first place. Yuck.

There's a famous Bible story in which Jesus tells a wealthy man to sell all his possessions, give the money to the poor, and then come and follow him. It's a pretty famous story, usually called "The Rich Young Ruler". One could gloss over it and say "I'm not wealthy or powerful. This story has nothing to do with me". I remember several years ago when I read this story in The Message translation for the first time:

Mark 10:17-27 The Message 

To Enter God’s Kingdom

17 As he went out into the street, a man came running up, greeted him with great reverence, and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to get eternal life?”

18-19 Jesus said, “Why are you calling me good? No one is good, only God. You know the commandments: Don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t cheat, honor your father and mother.”

20 He said, “Teacher, I have—from my youth—kept them all!”

21 Jesus looked him hard in the eye—and loved him! He said, “There’s one thing left: Go sell whatever you own and give it to the poor. All your wealth will then be heavenly wealth. And come follow me.”

22 The man’s face clouded over. This was the last thing he expected to hear, and he walked off with a heavy heart. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about to let go.

Did you catch that last line there? He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about about to let go. That's me! A punch in the gut.

Do I think we are all supposed to sell everything we own and give the money to the poor? No. But I do think we are called to let go of the things that we're clutching so tightly we can't take hold of Jesus, or stretch out our hands to help someone else. If we're using our hands to hold on tightly to our stuff, we can't very well be Jesus's hands in a hurting world.

There are a lot of reasons I would rather hold onto Stuff than to Jesus. For one thing, my stuff doesn't ask me to do hard things, or make hard choices, or love people. My stuff makes me comfortable. Jesus, if you take him very seriously, does the opposite. I want to project a certain version of myself to the world: a put-together, reasonably fashionable, interesting person who you should like/hire/show kindness to (or pity, depending on how much sleep I've had). My closet and my piles indicate that I think my stuff will present, or maybe even create, that likable, capable person. Somewhere I think I know that my actions and my character speak louder than the trendy necklace I picked up to go with that new shirtdress, but another part really believes that the necklace will help. Fashion is fun, and putting your best foot forward is important. Getting dressed in clothes that fit and make you feel great in the morning can be a sanity-preserving ritual. Some days, though, when I'm sputtering on 4 hours of broken sleep, I am reminded how little the looks matter when the inside is all crusty and gasping. My identity is not my reflection in the mirror. Jesus is enough. He has to be, because I sure am not, no matter how well-curated my outfit is.

Sometimes we hold onto things because they represent part of our identity, or our idealized identity. I am a writer, I should have a lot of books. People who are serious about their health have lots of workout clothes and cookbooks. I am creative, so I need a whole room full of craft supplies, just in case I ever decide to learn how to block print, silk screen, or use oil pastels. None of those things are wrong to buy and use. Hobbies are great! Supplies are necessary for good, creative work. But I have to ask myself: why am I holding on to *literally* boxes full of unused or once-read things? What pains me about letting go of them? They have become representations of pieces of myself that need shoring up. Maybe especially in this new-mommy stage of life. I DO WORK OUT! I DO COOK! I DO PAINT, SEW, and MAKE STUFF! I do. And honestly, I'll probably keep a lot of those items. But I'm trying to learn how to keep the things that add value, beauty, knowledge, and utility to my life and let go of the things that simply add to the pile of things that I keep as props for the character I'm trying to play for the world (or my ego).

We're making some de-stuffifying plans over here, and I'll try to write about our process as we go. I do not have it all figured out. We both loooooove us some Stuff, but we're trying to be more intentional about what we allow into our lives, and what needs to go.

I Marie Kondo-ed my closet this weekend, so that'll be the first project to share! Stay tuned.

The Not-So-Brave New World

I have had roughly 437 ideas for blog posts since my last post in November. None have come to fruition. I've thought about writing about "green" baby products, pros and cons of various baby slings or parenting philosophies, or my take on the whole "anti-vax" debacle. I could have written some pretty funny posts about our Bradley Method natural birthing class, or my maniacal nesting-induced stuff-purging and organization projects. I've thought about writing about my genuine surprise that I am not more anxious than I am, and that I do not hate the extra-plush body that I'm walking around in for this season. I haven't written any of it.

The truth is, whether it be hormone related or just the fact that this is a sensitive and thoroughly new time and space for me, I have not been able to bear the idea of feedback, whether positive or negative, about the twists and turns we have chosen on this path. I physically cringe at the thought of reading any affirmations or skepticism or criticism. "You'll be great! You are going to be awesome parents!" feels just as scary as "Good luck with that co-sleeper. I hope you do better than we did!" or "You are a lunatic for trying cloth diapers", etc. Positive feedback hits my thin and stretch-marked skin as pressure and expectation. Skepticism and criticism are scalding and send my brain into a tailspin of self-doubt. Thankfully, I haven't really encountered any direct, personal criticism or skepticism, but I chalk that up to keep most of my opinions and our parenting plans out of the spotlight of the internet. And while part of me feels pleased with the sweet affirmations of my friends and family, another, shakier part freaks out with wondering whether we can live up to the hopes and expectations of others, or ourselves. We can't, of course.

I've already endured about seven months of "Let me tell you about my harrowing, near-death birth experience" stories, which have almost completely unraveled me on any given day. Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for all the experienced momma-friends who are brave and real and who do not sugar coat the hard stuff. I'm grateful for the advice and suggestions and wisdom they hand down, and I am eternally grateful for their promises to help me navigate the coming months. But there's something about writing from this trembling pregnant place of "doing the best we can with the information we have" for the entire interweb to read and, let's just say it, judge, that has me camped out in my safe little corner, stockpiling books and articles and notes from conversations with friends, keeping my opinions to myself.

A dear friend of mine flew under the radar for almost the entirety of her first pregnancy. She rarely returned phone calls, and didn't reach out to make plans for lunches or coffees or walks by the lake that we had enjoyed together for years. When she did call or text, we'd meet up briefly and she didn't say much. After her son was born, she told me that she had felt an intense self-protective quietude during her pregnancy, and spent a lot of time thinking and praying and reading and just "being pregnant" with her baby. I have not been anywhere near that introspective or meditative, but I finally understand the impulse to draw inward and just marvel. I'm too extroverted to go completely radio-silent, but I am much more selective with what I share and what I keep to myself.

The reality is, Les and I are imperfect, broken, excited, naive, first-time-parents-to-be. We're going to screw up. We're going to do things we regret. There will be wonder and awe and joy and tears and all of that. All of it. We'll be about as amazing as any parents who try to approach this adventure humbly, with our eyes fixed on Grace, who muddle through the best they can. Maybe once the navel-gazing season is over, I'll feel braver about writing more from my heart. For now, please accept this as an admittance of not-so-bravery on the "being authentic/putting your feelings out there" blogging front. There is a lot brewing over here, but I'm keeping most of it to myself for now.