MollyMadonna.com

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love better. dig deeper. never condemn.

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As a continuation of my thoughts from yesterday, I was struck again today by the power of our stories…no two are quite alike, none are worn completely on our sleeve for the whole world to see. The thing is then, we never really know what’s going on behind the eyes of a stranger. We might have a guess, but in fairness, we can’t really presume anything about them. They might be celebrating. They might be dying. They might have received beautiful news today. They might have experienced deep loss.

Tonight I want to share a story that I believe matters greatly, as all of our stories do. It belongs to a friend I care deeply about, and it’s the perfect example of why we should always get to know someone before we assume we have them pegged.

Life is too short to make dangerous assumptions. We are called to love better and to dig deeper, and never to condemn…

…

When I run into Jennifer at the grocery store, she is smiling. She has gotten out of bed today, gathered up the energy and courage to attempt a shower, put on makeup, styled her hair. She looks wonderful, but I know even before the words come out that physically, she feels like she is dying inside. As always, she hugs me in a way that says she means it, ready to dive into catching up as if it hasn’t been a month since our last face-to-face hello.

This friend of mine can’t help but be radiant. It’s who she is. These past few years have been the absolute hardest of her life, and I know this about her because we’ve cried and poured out hearts over tea for the longest time—not often, but consistently. She has let me into her story, and I’ve invited her into mine. We are walking through this life together, even when we are apart.

Jennifer is a survivor. He body is wracked with pain and a disease that has relentlessly attacked every last bit of her physical being. Beyond this, she is a mom to three precious, young children—three beautiful lives she has prayed for and fought for among years of waiting and heartache, infertility, traumatic adoption scenarios, and miscarriage. Jennifer has had plenty of opportunity to allow a spirit of bitterness and anger take root, and yet, when I look at her I only see broken, beautiful grace all over her life.

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What amazes me about Jennifer is that she never, ever gives up. Every bit of the way she orders her days is intentional and with meaning, and she would be the first to tell you that this has nothing to do with her and everything to do with God. She lives with intention and purpose, even on days when she is crawling, hands and knees from her bed to the bathroom and back again because her physical body lacks the strength to hold herself upright. This daily reality? The literal pain and suffering she carries with her?

This narrative of her story is so different from what she could have possibly imagined.

It’s so far from where she thought she’d be. How is it then that she finds so much peace? And how does she summon strength in the day to day, such that she is still a light in my life and so many others, even when she is falling apart?

I know that Jennifer has spent much time contemplating her story. She has cried out to God, asked the hard questions, waited desperately for answers. Without a closer look, there’s nothing romantic about her current reality. For some, it might even be hard to see any sign of redemption in it. But I can tell you with assurance that in Jennifer’s determined pursuit of truth, God has been faithful to show her—in precise and life-giving ways, that He is the author of her story. Her persistence has allowed her a deep intimacy with God, and when she considers the sum of her life up to now, she can recognize His handprint everywhere in it.

Jennifer has Lyme Disease. Advanced Stage Lyme Disease and a plethora of co-infections to go with it. Her body is a literal battleground between spirochetes, infection and a relentless pursuit of health, every, single day. Sleepless nights. Cold sweats. Nausea. Breathing issues. Tremors. Neurological trauma. Heart trouble. Liver trouble. Kidney trouble. All of the troubles.

And she is fighting, one day at a time, for life on this earth, for the sake of her babies and her babies babies and their babies after that. She is a treasure.

…

Friends, we cannot know each other’s stories to the full unless we are doing life together in the deep. Sometimes that means that when we catch up, it has to be for hours. Sometimes that means we text daily and know firsthand how things really, truly are.

I want to encourage three things tonight, and then to leave you with one last thing to dwell on:

  1. Let’s not judge each other, be put off by one another, be so easily offended by others, or draw dangerous assumptions about the friends and strangers walking in and out of our daily lives. I have to work hard at this sometimes, so I’m reminding myself first and foremost.
  2. Find friends who will tell you how they’re really doing—and ones who genuinely want to know how you’re doing, too. Keep them.
  3. Please pray for Jennifer, her husband Jared, and their sweet family—for healing, clarity, hope, and rejoicing in this coming year. If you’d like to know more about Jennifer’s story, or feel led to give toward the mounting cost of her medical needs, please visit her gofundme page.

And lastly, but certainly not any less important, let’s remember this truth as we move ever closer to Christmas:

“For God did not send His Son into the world that He might condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.” Jn 3.17

God did not send Christ to earth to condemn, but to save. We can bring light and life or darkness and death to each other, through our words, our thoughts, our actions, our inactions.

I say we choose light. I’m a big fan of light.

with grace and peace,

molly madonna

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what’s your story?

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The past two days have allowed me to intersect with a number of people I’d never met, and the experience has been uplifting. It’s always good to be reminded that people are people–they wake up in the same way I do, and they return home at the end of the day just like I do.

I think sometimes we can get so wrapped up in our own stories that we forget everyone else is walking around with a story, too.

Some stories captivate us easily and quickly. Some get our attention for negative reasons, and others get our negative attention for no good reason at all. It doesn’t take much these days to wander around social media a bit and discover just how rampantly an epidemic of sour attitudes is spread, or how easily people are offended by wholeheartedly lovely things.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that the prolific presence of hate or vitriol on the internet comes from somewhere deep–each of these people weighing in have a story, too. Perhaps it doesn’t look like your story or mine, which is why we can’t understand the outrage or nastiness as we read it on the screen. It isn’t pleasant, but it’s also not personal…not to you, or me or most anyone rifling through a comment feed.

It’s easy to forget that hurting words come from a hurting place. I’m sure many among the vast global community that is the internet would disagree, but I believe it to be true. And I’m saying it here because I think it’s important to recognize that we have a choice when we engage with others in cyber space. I’ll risk saying that we even have a responsibility.

Let’s not pretend for one second that we have someone pegged on the basis of what they’ve posted online. Facebook is the perfect example. In the same way that it’s hard to know how someone is really doing on the basis of a few FB posts, it’s really difficult to understand someone else’s pain when they post a less-than-savory comment (or comments) on a feed after a story posted online. Maybe it’s a little bit easier to spew anger and hurt at random strangers than it is to recognize a deep seated craving for attention, empathy, love or help.

What I’m saying is this: while we can find community online, and while it’s become a great avenue for the widespread sharing of news–both uplifting and devastating, nothing can replace the understanding we gain from removing our devices and pretenses, and connecting intentionally with a stranger or friend.

I’ve experienced this first hand today. I would love to address every joyful and condemning comment with time and grace, but I’m not sure that would entirely honor the efforts I’m making in the holiday season to simplify, to share peace, or to offer a safe place for anyone to come and just find grace.

I had the privilege of sharing a story more publicly this afternoon–one that impacted me and my family in a humbling and remarkable way. And I hope, as it reaches whomever it’s meant to reach, that it’s met with grace on the other side.

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We can’t possibly know what’s happening in someone’s world unless we actually take the time to find out. What we drive, the color of our skin, how we dress…these all might be indicators of who we are and how we live our lives, but they aren’t everything.

I have a story. You have a story. “They” have a story. As we continue to usher in this season of celebrating the greatest story ever told, can we please not forget this?

with love and a deeper desire than ever before to meet people where they are…

molly madonna

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four year old for president: an interview.

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As you know by now, I’m nine days into my pursuit of a graceful month leading up to Christmas. The measurables I have in place to weigh outcomes are extremely scientific:

-What is the state of my heart in this season, and what is the state of my heart on the other side of December?

-How do our children respond to Christmas this year?

-What types of conversations are we having as a family and with the people around us?

-Have I been intentional on a daily basis to further the true purpose of the upcoming holiday, while toning down the commercial and material sides of the Christmas coin?

With these in mind, I’m wrestling good things every day and facing important, hard conversations with myself and others. The impact of this effort to infuse our December days with a graceful slant is worthwhile, I think, even though I can’t yet see where we’ll be at the end of it.

Curious about how our kiddos are feeling as Christmas approaches, I asked Henry if we could talk for a bit after dinner tonight, and he obliged. I floated him a number of questions, the answers to which varied in humor, wisdom and emotion. I’m thankful for this barometer and little window into his mind, and I thought you might find a four year old’s perspective on current affairs somewhat helpful (maybe uplifting?), too. Here goes (my interjections are in parentheses):

Q: What do you think of when you hear the word Christmas?

Henry: Ummmm, Santa Claus. The Grinch. And celebrating Jesus’ birthday…

 

Q: What do you think of when you hear the word grace?

Henry: Grace babies. Do you know a baby that’s named Grace? That makes me think of her. What does grace mean?

 

Q: What is the best thing about Christmas to you (be honest)?

Henry: Um, Jesus’ birthday. (Why?) ‘Cause I think it’s the best part of Christmas ’cause celebrating Jesus’ birthday is important because Jesus is the most important thing in the whole world…on the whole planet!

 

Q: What would you tell another person who doesn’t know about Christmas yet?

Henry: That you celebrate Jesus’ birthday. (Is that all you know about Christmas?) No. I know you get presents and you decorate your Christmas trees and you celebrate Jesus…

 

Q: How do you feel, knowing that there are people who had to leave their homes because they were no longer safe there?

Henry: Sad, ’cause they’re refugees. And I don’t like how refugees don’t have safe homes. I wish they had safe homes.

 

Q: What should we do to help them?

Henry: Send them food and water. And toys, ’cause they don’t have toys. They lost their toys.

 

Q: What do you think about them coming here?

Henry: Good. But I hope they won’t bring any bad. Well, by…they might bring their bad with them. (What’s their bad?) Well…how their homes are not safe. Like that bad.

 

Q: Do you know what made their homes unsafe?

Henry: Um, danger and fighting.

 

Q: How do you think you would feel if you were a refugee?

Henry: Sad. (What would you be thinking about?) Danger. If we lived in danger. Like, fighting and stuff. Well, like it would get dangerous-er and danger and danger and danger and danger…like a ton of danger. (Would you be afraid?) Absolutely! (What would you be afraid of?) Tornadoes and stuff. That’s part of their danger.

 

Q: What do you think the hardest part of being a refugee would be?

Henry: Not having a safe home. And having to be wet in the water. Without our swim suits on.

 

Q: How do you think refugees are celebrating Christmas?

Henry: No. I do not think they’re celebrating Christmas. ‘Cause they don’t know about Jesus if they don’t have a safe place. (Do you think Jesus would give them a safe place if they knew about him?) Mmmhmmm. (Do you think Jesus knows about them?) Probably, ’cause he made everybody on the earth. (What do you think Jesus wants to do about it?) Help them. Save them. (How?) By like giving them good stuff from Heaven. Well, he takes some stuff in his hands from Heaven, and sends it down to the sea. Like the refugee rescue ships…This is hard for me…The things are good in heaven. (So you think Jesus wants to rescue people who need him?) Yes. (Why?) ‘Cause it’s good that he rescues us.

Photo credit: Embolden Studio

So there you have it. Real thoughts from a real little person who is obviously impacted by and processing this season and Jesus and the world along with the rest of us. I feel like I should note that we don’t have a T.V. at home, so Henry’s ideas about the refugee crisis aren’t based on a news reel running in the background of his day. He asks a lot of questions and hears every last word that’s floating around him, and we do our best to address things with him in an age appropriate, honest way. We definitely don’t get this right all of the time, so we’re regularly assessing what information is OK for him at this stage and what’s too much for a four year old. Tough stuff, isn’t it? Parents of grown/older children, tips are welcome 🙂

Turns out I prefer Henry’s approach to *at least* a handful of current presidential hopefuls, so maybe we should consider lowering the age requirement for the job? Kids hearts are the best.

Wishing you a string of graceful days as you process life and faith with the ones you love, too,

molly madonna

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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