MollyMadonna.com

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not just for some, but for all.

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I keep writing about this “graceful December” and trying to center myself on ways that make the month a smooth flowing celebration of Advent and Christmas, and in the background at all times is this nagging question…

How on earth does a graceful December come when so many people are suffering SO obviously everywhere right now?

There’s a natural barrage of other questions that follow after this one…

How on earth can there be so much suffering? What can be done about it? How should I feel about it? How can I help? And how do I still lose perspective so quickly, when I don’t have to reach farther than my phone to see and read all about new atrocities happening every single day?

These are overwhelming times if we let our thoughts get too carried away. But if we don’t think about the state of the world at all, we are doing ourselves and everyone around us a great disservice, too.

We cannot bury ourselves in the business (or busyness) of Christmas, such that we ignore the realities facing the rest of the world while we shop on Amazon or wrap sixty two presents to fit under the tree.

I’m not trying to put a guilt trip on anyone. If anything, I’m preaching to my own choir. I’m just so struck by the dichotomy of feeling like “we” should “do something” to help…with the refugee crisis, with orphaned children, at the local mission, or halfway around the world…while also feeling this great tug toward a beautiful little Christmas for ourselves here at home.

The fact of the matter is, I want both. I want to help somehow, and more than that, I feel deeply burdened to help somehow. But I also feel deeply hopeful that our own Christmas season will be lighter this year than it was last year…that things will be cozy and joyful, peaceful and without pain.

I know this isn’t wrong. I just don’t know how to reconcile the distinct differences between my daily burdens and the burdens carried by every man, woman and child who has crossed dangerous waters or borders in search of safety and peace since last Christmastime.

My problems feel so meager and momentary and insignificant. In light of eternity, they are.

So how, then, do I pursue a graceful December when I want it to translate to something much bigger than myself? How do we–as a family, as a community, as a body of believers, flip this graceful December idea on its head and make it really count for something?

I want someone in Greece to experience this graceful month like never before. I want someone in Syria to catch a glimpse of this graceful season. I want men, women and children coming into America in search of a future and a hope to feel this grace deep in their souls.

But how do we even begin?

For one thing (and specifically), I’ve needed to feel the weight of the refugee crisis in a tangible, personal way. I’ve needed to spend time reading, watching, listening to people’s stories, and I need to keep doing so. I think we all should.

We cannot pretend to know the stories, thoughts or intentions of sixty million people, and certainly not on the basis of one (or some). We can’t just lump whole people into categories, saddling them with assumptions and accusations and a lack of grace. We can’t. We’re held accountable to so much more.

We have to commit to learning and listening well so that we can respond with knowledge, out of grace.

If you’re like me, and you’ve spent more than a few minutes questioning the motives of anyone fleeing war and terror and death in the places that they once called home, please join me in praying to have open eyes and an open heart.

If you’re like me, and you’ve forgotten for even a moment that it’s not in our jurisdiction as humans to pass judgement on the basis of ignorance, please pray with me that we will see others as Christ sees them, and that others will see us as Christ sees us, too.

If you’re like me, and you’ve been overburdened by the darkness gaining a foothold in too many places around the world (and in our own backyards), please pray as I am that God’s will would be done and His Kingdom would come here on earth, just as it is in heaven.

If you’re like me, and you’ve let anything but love creep into your thoughts about our brothers and sisters–on our streets, or coming to our streets, or all over the world, please pray with me that our hearts would reflect more of God’s heart, and that He would forgive our judgement and fear.

If I were arriving on a distant shore or in a distant land, with nothing but the clothes on my back and my children at my feet, I would be so unbelievably broken. I’d be clinging to hope for dear life, because it might feel like the only thing we had left. I’d love to think I’d have the manger and the cross in my sight, but who knows? I’m not there in this moment, and I cannot be.

Instead, I’m here. Casting out thoughts to whomever may read them and praying that the fire in my belly and the aching in my heart will move someone else to a place of repentance and determination, too.

This is supposed to be a graceful December, remember? Not just for me in this little blue house, not just for you. Not only for Americans or Europeans or Africans, but for the whole world. The WHOLE world. God didn’t plant a seed it my heart for it to fall to the ground and die.

It can’t.

There are babies, women, teenagers, men, grandparents, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and friends all aching, very near and far away. Let’s be in prayer together to pursue what God has for us to do…

How can we be the hands and feet of Christ as we walk through this Advent season? As we welcome Christ as a helpless babe? As we welcome our Refugee and King?

let’s dialogue. i want to hear your heart!

molly madonna

 

A few links I’ve found helpful/thought provoking today that might help you as you process your own thoughts, too:

-Mandy Patinkin’s reflections after spending some time with the International Rescue Committee on the island of Lesbos

-A corresponding video to Mandy’s post above

-The amazing HONY’s coverage of the refugee crisis, from a refugee perspective. I am captivated and heartbroken by this man’s story (it’s worth reading all 7 captions in the series!)

 

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what child is this?

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  What child is this, who lay to rest 

                               On Mary’s lap is sleeping?

                                                    Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,

                                                                                      While shepherds watch are keeping?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this tiny baby in the manger–how he came so humbly into the world and in such an unassuming way…the image of a young Mary cradling her newborn, resting on piles of hay in a humble stable with Joseph beside them…

It all captivates me year round, but especially at Christmastime.

When I lived in Egypt, we visited places that somehow drew me closer to the scenes we see everywhere depicting the Holy Family’s journey to Bethlehem. I’d never imagined walking through places where I could actually envision Mary on a donkey, full with our Savior, and I don’t think I realized what my heart was doing as we wandered through a small desert town ten years ago. Now though, I can’t separate the two in my head–this experience of dusty feet and a vast starry sky in my memory and the story of the long, long road to a safe place for Mary to give birth to Christ.

Tonight, I am especially captivated by Jesus, Mary and Joseph in the stable, because I’m trying to reconcile the true Christmas with the one I’m experiencing here in the world in 2015. I can’t help but think about the simplicity of what happened; even though I know that Mary was in labor and Joseph was hurriedly seeking a place for her to give birth, I don’t recognize any striving in the story.

Mary and Joseph were acting in obedience to God–clearly blessed by a high and holy calling on their lives, and yet, very, very human. As it was the first Christmas, I suppose there were no traditions of the holiday to consider, but still…

Where was the striving?

On the night Christ was born, the Glory of the Lord shone brightly on the hills of Bethlehem and Mary and Joseph set eyes on their baby boy. No doubt he was perfect in every way, but still a baby who needed to be cared for and loved, nurtured and fed. He was human and divine, and the young, newlywed couple became mother and father to the Son of God.

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When this took place, Mary and Joseph were not preoccupied with everything they had to do back at home or how well prepared they’d be for visitors. They lived out their reality by living in it–by being present in the moment and not allowing anything else to overshadow it. I’m sure the two felt the weight of what had just happened, and yet, nothing about their story tells us there was panic or alarm.

Why would they strive or worry when God had orchestrated this plan from the beginning? When they knew that they had partaken in a miracle, and that the whole world would change because of the new life in their arms?

Why, when I’m trying to celebrate this most holy night in a reverent way, do I find myself striving each Christmas season? 

The very first Christmas and its amazing, beautiful, life-changing story had nothing to do with striving. It didn’t speak hurry and stress and worry then, and it doesn’t now.

I am quite-imperfectly pursuing a graceful December in hopes of living out more of the peace that came on the night Christ was born 2,015 years ago. It doesn’t feel as simple as just resting and letting all of the Christmas “things” go (although Christmas would come anyway, details or not), but I’m certain that it can be more simple than a whole month full of days consumed by the dazzle of consumer Christmas and the striving to accomplish every last Christmas task.

I’m not trying to be lax about the holiday. I just want to celebrate it well. And I don’t want a 2015 version of Christmas to detract from the ancient miracle that we seek to remember in the carefully placed nativity scene.

I want my babies to know the baby in the manger. The child who laid to rest on Mary’s lap, asleep.

The whole world was waiting for a Savior then, and it still is today. But now there should be even more peace than on the day of His birth, because we know that He has come and He will come again.

There is no striving in the birth narrative. Just grace. A humble place for the King of All Kings to enter the world as one of us–a place of welcome. Of reverence. Of rest.

  Raise, raise a song on high,

                                     The virgin sings her lullaby

                                                                          Joy, joy for Christ is born,

                                                                                                           The babe, the son of Mary.

May we find respite from striving this Christmas. And may we take rest in the lap of a Holy God who sent his Son as a baby, that we might have life and life to the full!

molly madonna

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come to the table.

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I grew up in a big family, and we all lived in close proximity. We all genuinely enjoyed each other, too, so our holiday get togethers were naturally life-giving, high energy affairs. My Gramma Donna loved do life around a meal, and she and my mom and aunts would sit down after dinner at one family gathering to plan for the next…who would bring appetizers, fruit, dips, salads, breads, desserts. We were approximately twenty strong in total, with always enough food to feed at least twenty more.

Not one of us ever left a visit to Gramma’s empty, and our bellies were full, too.

Something I learned from watching our family over so many years was the value of showing up. For decades, everyone came to sit down together in one place, and multiple times a year. We didn’t just celebrate Christmas and Easter, but Thanksgiving and birthdays, anniversaries and summertime.

We gathered because we liked each other. Because family was important. Because Gramma glued us all together and it was a sweet, sweet space to enter again and again.

We didn’t have Pinterest growing up, and if we had, Gramma wouldn’t have needed it anyway. Her table was always simple and lovely, leaving room for an impromptu game of cards between meals, making it easy add a chair or swap a place at dinner time. Her heart was into the details, certainly, but she was practical, she used what she had, and she spent her energies focused on loving and feeding the people who sat with her–not on the table itself.

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As such, everything about her called us to come to the table, no matter the visit. Oh, to steal away some of those hours again now, in the place that was always home to me no matter where I’d been or where I was headed next!

Gramma’s table was extraordinary because it welcomed. It was perfectly set, not with china and silver or handmade centerpieces, but by a woman who loved well and who was deeply loved in return.

We would always come back, because we couldn’t stay away.

Now, in my own house, four years removed from the last time I ever sat at Gramma’s table, I want so much for mine to look like hers–for Henry and Eloise to grow up knowing that our table is at the center of our home and of who we are. I want friends, new and old, to gather here and feel the deep sense of belonging I felt growing up around Gramma’s table. I want our space to be one of invitation and welcome, and I want that to be the case no matter how simply or elaborately I set the dining room for a meal.

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Advent is a season of invitation for all people. Not just for those who believe that Christ came to earth as a baby, then suffered, died and rose again. For ALL people. If Christ could come down from heaven and take on flesh, then surely he can and wants to welcome strangers to His table.

I imagine, as we’re invited to partake in the celebration of Christmas as believers, that God is setting a table, preparing a feast for all of His children and then many more.

Isn’t this what grace is all about?

This season, as we turn our sights toward physical preparations for the celebration that is to come, let us also prepare our hearts as simply set tables–ones that welcome without condition, without presupposition, without inflexibility. In this graceful December, I pray that we would be able and willing to add one more chair, to adjust our mindsets as easily as our place settings, and to be people of invitation and welcome, not only at holiday meals, but in our souls as we seek to fully celebrate our Savior King.

saving a place for you here,

molly madonna

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graceful like a figure skater.

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This post was written by guest contributor, Lindsey Hoffman.

A good friend of mine in high-school was (still is) a figure skater. I rarely had the opportunity to see her in her element on the ice, but occasionally on a Friday night she and I would watch her competition tapes. We’d do this while baking cookies and dreaming about the future, or we’d just skip the baking altogether and go right for the cookie dough. To this day, she probably has no idea just how I marveled at the art she so seamlessly commanded. I would watch as she did circle after circle on the ice, swaying this way and that, completing jumps and spins as if it were as easy as setting a top on a smooth surface and letting it go. I was amazed.

Elegant. Natural. Rhythmic. Refined. Smooth. Beautiful. She was a picture of grace.

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I wanted to be that picture of grace, too. This friend made every movement appear easy and natural.  For a split second I would daydream about my own debut on the ice. “Maybe it really is as simple as she makes it appear,” I’d think. Only then would I remember all of the times she’d practice–often after school and sometimes in the early mornings. She dedicated so many hours on and off the ice to become the skater she is today.

All of the grace and beauty I witnessed in her wasn’t without years of labor and dedication.

Sometimes this friend had a crowd to cheer her on, but most days it was just she and the ice and her coach. She used to tell me how she’d set goals for herself when it was her day to practice alone. She determined ahead of time to push herself hardest on the days when no one else was watching. There was something in her that propelled her to refine her skill and build fresh perspective–something I knew nothing about when it came to ice skating.

It’s been several years since I had those far off thoughts that skating might actually be a natural talent for me. I’ve learned by experience since then that simply skating across the ice at a steady pace isn’t as easy as it looks!

I think about this when I consider the season of Advent–often times we enter into this time of year with the goal of coming out a graceful figure skater, when in reality we feel and look more like a roughed-up hockey player.

It’s easy to preach to ourselves come October/November that this year is going to be different. We will move about, grace-filled and elegant, carrying a calm, quiet, steady presence everywhere we go. There will be no last minute shopping or impulse purchases for the sake of convenience. We will create plenty of margin for togetherness and carve out space for cherishing the Advent season for everything it is. We determine that the outcome will leave us more graceful this time around, but often times (at least for myself personally) I don’t put in the effort to walk away from December as a graceful figure skater. Not even close.

Year after year, I find myself attempting this balancing act of festive splendor and cherishing the gift. The one true gift.

My  desire is to have an outwardly simple Christmas season while I focus more inwardly on the reason for Advent. Somehow though, when Christmas is over each year, I realize that most of what I wanted from the season ended up forgotten again or muted out by my intense focus on balancing “all the things.” I am left feeling discouraged instead of redeemed.

This year, I am clinging to a simple truth, which might just be the start of graceful living:

“Stay awake and pray, so that you won’t enter into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” –Mt. 26.41

This is exactly where I find myself this December. My spirit is willing to embrace the truest parts of the season, but my flesh is so weak. I can’t expect to celebrate the gift of Jesus and savor Him as the sacred blessing that He is if I am counting on my flesh to carry me through.

It doesn’t matter what my intentions are–if I just expect my spirit’s whispers to magically be heard over the noise of my flesh, the whispers will be drowned out again. Just like my friend who has dedicated years of her life to achieve such a graceful presence on the ice, I need to spend time investing in the heart behind my celebrations.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter if I scale back on the decorations or buy less of this and make more of that. It counts for nothing, unless my heart is in the right place.

I can do all of the right things outwardly this season and set goals to become better here and less stressed there; but the thing is, no amount of goal setting and scaling back will eliminate the balancing act. These things will only add to it, unless my heart behind each decision is intentional. The simple thing that Jesus told His disciples to do years and years ago is the profound thing I need to hold onto and practice this December.

Prayer.

Prayer is a perspective changer. It gives me the freedom to drop all of the agendas and return again to the cross. Instead of waking up each morning bombarded with my lists and the spirit whispers that my flesh overtakes, I’m laying it all down to find Christ. As I return to Him again and again, He is reminding me that if I entrust myself fully to His hands, He will indeed lead me on the ice and turn all of my slow, rusty strides into something graceful.

But I must be willing to show up. Day after day and often times moment by moment.

Living out a graceful December is probably the least attractive life choice this season. It isn’t easy to do a heart check when my cart is full of Christmas decor that I don’t need at all, and then to begin my stroll back around the store to put everything back in it’s place. It isn’t easy to say no to things that I recognize deep down will only pull my attention away from the heart of my celebration this season. It isn’t even easy to stick with a more organic gift giving posture for family and friends this year, especially when I set my sights on doing so months before the universe began shouting about all of the other appealing gifts out there.

Graceful looks different for each of us. Something that could spiral my graceful strides out of control may be the very thing that sets your heart back to an elegant rhythm again. That is the beauty behind our unique nature, and I love it!

Each of us will and should approach this Advent season differently, but what I’m suggesting this December is that the heart behind our celebrations will either leave us feeling refreshed and grateful, or weary and undone.

Graceful December, for me, looks like waking up every day of the Advent calendar and getting on my knees before my flesh has time to speak.

It looks like opening the Word and getting lost in the Advent story all over again, and like creating gifts for the ones I love and praying for them as I do. It looks like putting down my pride again and again and serving others, not just pleasing them. It looks like white lights hung all around my house with simple decor. It looks like spending time with my people and truly being present. And it looks like painful heart checks that may feel hard in the moment but will leave me less self-focused come January. It looks a lot like laughter, tears and failures, but it will be worth it because Christ is worth it.

Today I will pray because my spirit is willing but my flesh is weak. Today I will choose to embrace a graceful stride and ask Him to bring it back again tomorrow. Today I will live in the moments of now and cling only to God’s leading embrace.

I won’t plan out tomorrow or punish myself for the times I fall down.

I will get back up and find His graceful example again. I will put in the time when no one else is watching. I will, because Christ came as a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

Won’t you join me, dear friend? It doesn’t matter how yesterday left you feeling down and overwhelmed. Today is a brand new opportunity to lace up those ice skates and begin again. God desires to lead you and make your every move elegantly beautiful.

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He is orchestrating something glorious as we show up to the rink this December–each of us moving about the ice and doing the heart work of etching out “G R A C E” in jumps and stumbles and spins, and all the while, directing our audience’s attention back to Christ.

For to us a child is born,

   to us a son is given,

   and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

   Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the greatness of his government and peace

   there will be no end.

He will reign on David’s throne

   and over his kingdom,

establishing and upholding it

   with justice and righteousness

   from that time on and forever.

The zeal of the Lord Almighty

   will accomplish this.

Isaiah 9:6-7 NIV

lindsey headshot copyA kindred spirit and a very dear friend of mine, Lindsey Hoffman blogs at Becoming Autumn, where she shares her gift of writing and inspires with her eye for design. I invited Lindsey to join us here this #gracefulDecember, because she has taught me so much about grace as we’ve journeyed through peaks and valleys together, great and small. Lindsey is a light to all who meet her–her heart for Christ and for His Kingdom are evident in the way she loves her husband, Chase, her family and friends, and anyone who has the pleasure to sit with her for only a moment. She is one of the most intentional, prayerful, beautiful souls I’ve had the pleasure to know. As is evident in her words and wisdom, she exemplifies a spirit of humility that I pray will bless each of you in this graceful season. xo! molly madonna

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words to speak.

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I have loved words my whole life. Books, poetry, song lyrics, inscriptions, conversations, prayers. Not yet realizing their power, words shaped me from an early age and became a part of me at my core. I spent my time telling stories, keeping journals, reciting Shel Silverstein at the top of my lungs for anyone who would listen. (We have video of the latter, and it’s fairly embarrassing.)

Each time I sat down to write, I felt good about putting pen to paper. I had created something. It always welled up from somewhere unknown and bubbled out of me, onto the page and into the world, whether anyone else would ever read it or not. Looking back, I had no idea I’d ever write to share thoughts intentionally with others. I had no inkling of a space called mollymadonna.com. I knew I wanted to write books somehow, but I didn’t know how I’d ever walk that path.

Over time, I grew up. My words did, too.

Fastforward to now, and I am constantly exploring the power of words–written and spoken–in my adult life. I have more influence than I’ve ever had, if only because there are two precious little people who cling to my words and depend on them to shape how they feel about themselves, about each other, and about the world, every, single day.

The weight of responsibility that I feel to love well through words grows greater all of the time. Recognizing how much my own words and their delivery matter to our children continues to stretch me as I evaluate my communication with everyone I meet.

Sometimes, I get these words just right, and quite often, I get them woefully wrong.

When I speak out of urgency, frustration, worry or exhaustion, no one gets the best version of me. I know that I’ve been entrusted a voice that I might steward it well, and I’m challenged on many days to refine and revise and edit–just like I did writing papers all through high school and college.

As it is with so many things in life, honing words in person or in print are muscles I need to exercise regularly to keep fit. The way that I speak to Jason, our kiddos, or the customer service agent on the other end of the phone actually makes a difference.

I have the ability to speak life or death every time I open my mouth…every time I pound out letters on the keyboard.

I love the weight of this responsibility, and yet I find it one of my greatest challenges. There are moments every day when I have to work harder than I’d like to admit to speak life-giving words. And there have been so many times when I know my words weren’t life-giving at all. Human nature, I realize, but I’m working hard to shift this reality to something better–something that could honor God and be found worthy of His affirmation.

This is why #gracefulDecember comes as no surprise to me now, for such a time as this.

There just isn’t room in this broken and hardened world for me to take liberties with my words.

I know we live in a time and culture defined by individuals pursuing freedom of self expression and the right to “be” whoever and whatever they want to be. I know that the popular thing to do is to preach tolerance and self-discovery and carte blanche on everything, everywhere. And I disagree.

If I expect that I might have an impact or influence on my children or the world, I am also going to be sure to set my words and actions on something foundational, moral, Biblical, and perhaps, unpopular. I did some deep digging and self-exploring for a handful of years when I was younger, and  where I ended up in that pursuit was unhappy, unfulfilled, mad at the world and confused. I thought maybe my own way was a better way, so I turned my back on Truth for a while to find it.

Thank goodness words and story win my heart every time, because the story at the end of that path would have been a dark and dreary one, and the story God was moving me to return to is full of light.

Pursuing the story of Light in a darkened world is not a small or easy choice, but a redemptive one. This is why I’ll keep loving words and trying to love others through them, too.

In the midst of a busy holiday season, there are pressures on everyone that don’t exist at other times of the year. There are pressures we don’t see when we’re brushing past others in the grocery store after work or in the hallway at school drop-off.

Some people are coasting on the sheer joy of the holidays, but I’ve not met too many of those. Most of us are doing our best to be joyful, to be “Christmassy,” to live in a spirit of giving and charity and hope–all while juggling things beneath the surface or behind the scenes that we don’t share in the check out line or out loud at a holiday party.

As we wander through this season of Advent, moving ever-closer to Christmas and the hopeful light it casts on any of us waiting to receive it, let’s not forget that this time of year brings so many other things to light, too. Loneliness. Loss. Heartache. Financial burdens. Challenging family dynamics. Time constraints. Deep, hard-to-face emotion.

Our words have power–perhaps more in this vulnerable holiday season than at any other time of year. Let the words that we have for the world and for one another be filled with grace in these precious days. We must hold them thoughtfully and offer them up with the hope that, if only for just one person, they might speak light and life in this graceful December.

“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” Ps. 19.14

celebrating this, my 500th post to you, and the opportunity you’ve afforded me to share the words on my heart, here in this space, for so long. may they always speak in a way that honors, uplifts, encourages, and gives life!

molly madonna