Happy Solstice

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I love celebrating the Solstice just before we celebrate Jesus birth. I think the festivities go together perfectly…

“The Word gave life to everything that was created,

and his life brought light to everyone.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

John 1:4-5 New Living Translation


Wanting-and-Well Wednesdays

My mother-in-law called the other day. She had gifts ready for my kids months ago but wanted to know if there was anything else they needed, or wanted, for Christmas. I racked my brain trying to think of something they might be lacking. I couldn’t think of one thing; not a single item they had been pining for or even something practical they could use. It seemed they had it all. Then we went to the store and everything changed.

I hadn’t been shopping in months. Stan is still on grocery duty so my only mercantile outings have been to the farmer’s market and the library. On this particular day I took Belén to the store so she could pick up the materials to make Susanna’s gift. (Inspired by this site, Belén is making My Dream Restaurant in a Box for her sister.) We thought all we needed was some card stock and tissue paper but when we started lacing through the aisles we found we needed more. Much more. Belén stopped to finger some furry booties that were just the kind of slippers she had “always wanted”. I started looking at picture frames and baskets and shelving and shoes and yarn and books and dishes. Then Belén appeared holding a cute agenda including a calendar and address book.

“Could I buy it mom? It’s only ten dollars!”

“For you?” I asked. “Remember we’re here to buy Christmas presents.” I put the baskets I had been eying for myself in the cart.

A moment later she showed me a lipstick holder with a mirror. I shook my head but started a mental list of items I would get later. It didn’t matter that Belén doesn’t wear lipstick, that she already has an address book, and her slippers from last year still fit; I wanted to get it all. After the lipstick holder, Belén dragged me over to an Elsa doll, the kind that flashes and sings “Let it Go” incessantly. Again, the urge to fulfill the desires of my sweet child’s heart washed over me. You know how it feels–that parental instinct, to provide and protect, on steroids. Sometimes it tricks us parents into thinking the best we can do for our kids is get them anything and everything they want. I stood there like this for quite some time. Well, okay, for about three seconds. Then I remembered they don’t really play with barbies …and I imagined the look on my husband’s face when I’d show him the piece of warbling plastic. I also remembered watching Must-have Monday on TV at the doctor’s office earlier in the week.

It crossed my mind then, while waiting for the doctor’s appointment, that we should have a day to remind us it’s okay not to get everything on our must-have lists. That we can appreciate beauty and innovation (for some this will come in the form of a plastic Elsa doll) without owning it. That getting all our must-haves doesn’t make this season, or any other, more magical. In fact, it might not increase our happiness at all. Maybe we could call this day Wanting-and-Well Wednesday to remind us our well-being doesn’t correspond to getting everything we want. And that it’s okay to sit with a want for awhile and still be happy. Perhaps next Wednesday, being Christmas Eve and all, isn’t the best day to introduce the idea. Or maybe it’s the perfect time.* What do you think?


As for more homey news, we’ve been skiing and laughing. Or rather, we’ve been skiing and Vivian’s learned to laugh. Stan and I have taken turns with the older girls the last few nights to go skiing in the dark. We read this book last winter so now the girls pretend they’re Norse children as we sail under the winter sky. Vivi’s pulk isn’t quite ready yet so she’s had to stay at home to work on her laugh. Her first belly-rumble happened last week when she was watching the girls dance in the kitchen. Since then our house has turned into the set of a musical with the plot line of Get Vivi to laugh. She’s been very responsive to everyone’s theatrical attempts and rewarded us all just enough so we keep on trying. This morning I woke her up early just so she could see the girls before they left for school, and perhaps get some giggles in. Susanna breathed in her milky breath, kissed her sleepy cheeks then turned to me and said,

“Vivian is like the old people in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and we’re Charlie. You know how the grandparents’ only reason for living was Charlie? Well we’re like that for Vivian.”

And then Vivi did this sort of kicky dance in my arms as if to say she agreed. I think Susanna might be right.


*In case you’re worried, be assured the girls’ stockings will be filled to the brim on Christmas morning.

A Startling Empathy

When I was a little girl I learned to be careful when my mom had migraine headaches. If I thought too much about her pounding head I would soon have a headache of my own, so I trained myself to pretend to listen whenever I was informed she had a migraine and would ask her how she felt while purposefully ignoring her answer. I had an empathy problem and it wasn’t that I needed to cultivate more. Rather, I had too much and couldn’t manage it.


Belén and Susanna preparing a winter solstice breakfast.


The “sunny” menu: egg yolks, pinapple, mandarin oranges, and yellow yoghurt


Even now, when I think about Ruth or Lucy my psyche starts to reel under a weight I cannot bear. Ruth, a beautiful new bride, is expecting her first child. She also has an untreatable brain tumor and is undergoing radiation to buy her enough time so she can deliver her baby… and see the face of the child that will most likely never know her mother. Sometimes, when I picture my sister-in-law, Anne, holding Lucy’s fevered body and and wiping her kissable cheeks after she throws up, I want to curl up into a ball–as if rolling into the fetal position will dismiss the reality of chemotherapy and pain.


A special solstice treat: candles in the snow fort. Can you see their frosty hair? It was a chilly evening at -26 but they stayed outside for about an hour and a half


A few years ago I visited a friend who was admitted to the psychiatric ward of our hospital, known as the Pine Unit to locals. Hospitals freak me out at the best of times (one reason I opted for a home-birth) but this visit really threw me for a loop. I held tightly to Susanna as we wound our way through halls reverberating with moans and incoherent shouts. By the time we got to Carol’s* room I felt nauseated and busied myself by taping Susanna’s artwork to her wall. When I sat down beside Carol’s bed and grabbed her hand it was as much for my comfort as it was hers. Carol tried to carry on a conversation but her words came out in gibberish and we soon lapsed into silence while I stroked her arm and tried to make some up-beat comments for Susanna’s sake.

Now I wish I’d never gone to the Pine Unit at all. Since then I’ve had a few run-ins with my own mental fragility and despite realizing anxiety is as a prevalent as the common cold, in my more pessimistic moments I’m sure I’m destined for long-term psychiatric care. As you might guess, picturing myself mute and vegetal in the Pine Unit doesn’t do much for my sense of well-being. Like I said, the psychiatric ward is definitely off-limits; I’m not willing to sacrifice my health to offer my company to it’s occupants no matter how sympathetic I feel.

And this is where God and I part ways. Because while I set boundaries to protect myself from unwieldy compassion; God is pouring herself into someone else’s darkest hour. Though I sputter and nearly drown in my own empathy; God burrowed himself into the womb of a teenage girl 2000 years ago so he could drink our pain with us. And whether you think the whole Christmas story is legend or historical fact, the narrative is startling. That the fearsome life-force of creation chose to marinate in amniotic fluid, feel disappointment, get dirty feet, and bleed, is crazy…and it also befits his name, “Emmanuel” or God with us.

The phrase God with us sounds a lot like God is for us and reminds me of a battle cry to rally the troops. But given the circumstances of Jesus’ birth…. the hay, the manure, his unprepared parents; and life… rooting for the underdog, his unexpected agenda of dying instead of taking political power; any jubilant military associations are misplaced. I don’t think the phrase is meant to imply victory but to speak to those who suffer in some way. And though I stumble awkwardly with my own empathy, the Christmas story climaxes with God not only feeling for us, but actually becoming one of us. Unlike me, He commits to and embodies his empathy, as deliberate as a uterine contraction, and as real as a mother’s urge to push.


How can that be anything but startling? Especially for someone like me, who, if I can help it, won’t be going back to the Pine Unit…

Thankful for Christmas,


*name changed