Moments in Grace

It happened on that busy pre-Christmas Saturday, amidst the whirl and spin of preparation.     The light bulbs began raining. Or more specifically, it began raining out of the light bulbs. That’s what my four year old said as he ran for help, when, as he was sitting in the living room he saw water raining from the ceiling out of the living room light bulb. No one believed him at first.   But he was thankfully persistent and in a moment people came running to see this spectacle of amazement, this miracle of sorts.   Because who ever heard of raining light bulbs? And where was Momma?   Well, I was Christmas shopping on the one day that there was time for that.   And Daddy was in charge.   He said it happened in five minutes.   In five amazing minutes our two year old, who apparently was raised by chimpanzees, climbed up on the toilet, then from the toilet he climbed up onto the sink, from there he reached up in...

She was pacing plank floors, at every turn stopping to watch at the window, wait.  The rain was coming down in rivulets on glass falling free from low December clouds.  She turned to see me come into the room and our eyes met for just a moment and I could see, sometimes the waiting isn't what brings you low it's the worry. "Are you getting nervous, Hannah?"  She looks away from me, into the drops pressing on glass. "Yeah.  I guess I thought she'd be here by now,"  "Me too.  But babies take time." We wait together, watching for signs of my eight year old niece's grandma to come to get her and her siblings so that they can meet their new baby brother or sister at the hospital.  Waiting and worry, they go all too well together.  Do all Christmas babies come this way?  With so much wondering and waiting and even worry? And hadn't I been doing some worrying and waiting of my own just a moment ago? When you're wa...

We were hunting. Hunting for the perfect Christmas tree. Out on the tree farm, looking for Christmasy goodness in piny green. We rode the wagon filled with straw, far out into the back acreage, this Christmas tradition. When we come around the bend of trees, into the open field, we see. This year's pickings are slim. The field looks empty, hollow, and how are we going to find a tree here? We drove, with the six kids, 30 minutes out to the farm to go to our usual place, rode the wagon way out to the back forty only to find....pitiful, piny trees. We look and look and look. More people come up in wagon loads and we realize that if we don't make a choice quickly, there's going to be nothing left worth getting and it's either pick the least pitiful one or try to go somewhere else. We make our choice. "Do you think that if we turn it, the holes will be toward the wall, and you won't notice?" I ask hopefully. "Maybe....