blessed beyond measure

...and thou shalt call His name Jesus, for He shall save His people from their sins. Matthew 1:21 Maybe it is age maybe it is the rough road we have been walking maybe it is two sweet little blond things but Christmas is different this year. We wish you all the peace, hope, joy, love, blessings immeasurable found in a tiny heart Whose blood would indeed save us all. The merriest of Christmases to you. More to come next year... Hallelujah, we've been found A child is born to save us now Jesus Hallelujah, light has come A savior who will set us free A promise for those who believe

(Please forgive the poor quality. All I had was the Flip, and they stuck the parents pretty much across the room from the kids. I zoomed as much as I could.) (And please forgive the shaky camera. Aden is on my lap. If you know Aden and laps, you need no further explanation.) Quick note on Santa Claus... Around here Santa is merely a story. He's in the movies and books, there are songs about him, but he's not real. Don't be a hater; we have our reasons. In hindsight, it would have behooved me to prepare Trey for this visit. Santa walked in and sat in the chair right beside Trey. Who froze, staring straight at me with eyes round as saucers. I tried to nod and mouth "it's OK", which was of no help whatsoever. His teacher had to physically turn him around to take the gift Santa offered, and then Trey turned back around and ran like the wind. Nice. Merry Christmas, Santa.

Eighteen months since he came. How? How? Oh, I love this little man. He drives me absolutely crazy. Separation anxiety is severe right now. Even when we are at home with no indications of anyone going anywhere, every few minutes he has to touch me. Just about every other word he utters is "mama". And though it can suffocate me at times, and though I would love for him to spend time loving on other people also, really, I am soaking. it. up. No more bottles. They, along with turkey feathers, fell prey to the recession. I would be sad if it weren't for this amazing thing that has happened. He lets me rock him for a few minutes. Every night. The time that would have been spent with the bottle, he snuggles up to my chest, shoves his thumb in his mouth, and listens to me sing. If I stop singing, he will hum. Magic. Oh, I love my sweet guy. Aden: Waves at and loudly greets anyone who passes by him. If they don't return the greeting, they get the death stare. Has ...

We're trying something new, and rediscovering some old favorites. We're wandering endlessly around Walmart, unable to find command hooks to make the stockings unreachable. We're inventing new ways to play (this is apparently how Luke 2 looks to Aden) and fashioning unbreakable ornaments for the tree. (As if I'm willing to risk my grandmother's handpainted resin ornaments and my great-grandmother's 60-year old glass ornaments to the tazmanian devil and his excitable copycat big brother.) We're baking up perfectly imperfect milk-free Christmas sweets that will be gone long before Christmas comes. We're making a very simplified fuss and living the dream.

Here is the all-important disclaimer I promised my husband: I was raised in a die-hard Hokie home, and married into a die-hard Wahoo home. The two do not mix. And so, the views reflected by the stocking cap below do not necessarily reflect the views of the Harris household in its entirety. There. A while back, Aden had the afternoon with his Giga and Poppop (I got to tag along), and we ended up down at the farm. This is the before picture. Not kidding. Wide open spaces for wandering and exploring, grandparents for loving on, and an old tractor to ride on. Aden plastered himself to my arms at the sound of the rumbling engine, so I did my motherly duty and chauffered him around. Yes, it's a nice chuckle that a former "indoor girl" is now a boy mama, and must embrace dirt and bugs and wheeled things. Har har.

So we're riding to church Sunday morning. "Welcome to our World" comes on the radio, one of my favorite Christmas songs ever. And, as always, by the time the song reached the "tiny heart whose blood will save us" line, I was a puddle of weepy mush. (I cry at the drop of a hat these days, and even moreso at stuff that always made me cry before.) Song ends, and I am still pretty choked up. Mama: Trey, do you know how special it is that Jesus came here for us? Trey: Yes, I know. I do know. (long pause) What's wrong? Mama: Nothing, buddy. I'm just happy about Christmas and celebrating Jesus. Trey: (another long pause) But you're crying. What's wrong with you? Mama: It's just something girls do sometimes, to cry when they are happy. I'm so happy and thankful for Jesus. Trey: (yet another long pause) Why do girls do that? Mama: It's just one of those things. Trey: But why? Luckily we happened upon a speed limit sign, and...

Be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 I have written approximately 46 blog posts over the last two weeks. Maybe, just maybe, for this one I'll be able to hit publish at the end. Hard to say. We're walking through the valley. Oh, things certainly aren't as bad as they could be. I am well aware that my worst day would be a walk in the park for some people. But I don't know if ever before there has been such suffering around and among us. Satan is wreaking havoc. Friends - multiple - who have lost a child, hearts shattered at what should have been such a joyful season in their lives. Our church, torn apart. Family, hurting. And we struggle under the weight of it all, piled on top our own issues, which were no small potatoes to begin with. So yes, we are walking through the valley. The verses from 1 Thessalonians flash through my mind every few minutes. Joy, p...