I’m the one that manages Christmas cards in our house. My standard operating procedure for 15 years has been as follows:

1. Open the card.

2. Look at the pictures.

3. Read the card and/or letter.

4. Show the kids.

5. Put the card in back in today’s mail pile on the counter, or if I’m feeling really efficient, put it in the Christmas card box.

Sounds a little routine, right? But it’s enjoyable, and I truly love receiving Christmas cards from family and friends. It’s a tradition I’d hate to see go by the wayside.

Since my husband’s usually not home when we open the mail, we have an agreement that he can find all the cards in the mail pile or look in the Christmas box at his leisure. I strive to be his wife, not his mom, so I figure he’ll take initiative to look at the cards as he’s led.

After all the Christmas cards have come in, I bring the full box down to the basement where it’s stored until the following Thanksgiving when we take the seasonal decor out again.

Just this week, I took out the Christmas card box. I opened the box and began going through last year’s cards one last time, something I do at the beginning of every season. I admired each card, verified addresses, added new babies to the master list, removed individuals who passed away, and ripped address labels off to shred (yes, I’m a little OCD like that).

But as I reviewed last year’s cards, I was particularly struck by how some seemed so novel, as if I’d barely seen them, as if I was looking at them for the first time. Beautiful families in the prime of life, retired couples at golf courses and on the beach with grandkids, newlyweds who hand wrote each card, and wise folks who placed focus on the the real meaning of Christmas. Cards from old friends, new friends, colleagues, bosses, immediate family, extended family, and neighbors – an assortment of people we see every day and people we haven’t seen in years.

I pulled some favorites for later viewing – stunning photography, faces exuding joy, beautiful designs, letters that captured my attention with their authenticity and depth, cards brimming with personality, and pictures of dear ones I hadn’t seen for way too long.

But mid-way through the pile, I came across a stack of four or five Christmas cards that had never been opened.

And then I remembered.

I was in such a rush.

I was way too busy.

(And clearly, my husband was too busy, too.)

In my haste, I’d thrown these unopened cards in the Christmas card box to get them out of the mail pile. I can’t stand clutter and excess visual stimuli, so I just wanted to get them “where they belonged.” I assumed I’d sit down to enjoy them after the hustle and bustle of Christmas settled down.

But I never did.

So I found myself sitting in front of the Christmas card box, a full year later, with the cold realization that I never did open those cards. I never took time to sit down and enjoy them like I thought I would.

I sat in silence, ashamed, embarrassed.

I couldn’t help but wonder…

What does this say about me?

Who do I say I am?

Who am I, really?

Do I really love and care for people like I claim? Or am I just filled up with a bunch of words and good intentions?

And why am I so busy? Why have I allowed my life to get so big, so filled up?

What makes me so special to have left peoples’ Christmas cards unopened for a whole year?

There was nothing unusual or unlovable about those four or five unopened Christmas cards that made me throw them in the box and forget about them for a whole year. In fact, they were just like the others – families with littles, marriages thriving in a culture that values otherwise, blended families, and families impacted by disabilities. But that’s what embarrassed me most. I wouldn’t ever want ANYONE to feel as if they’ve been discarded, no matter how busy I am, no matter how preoccupied I am.

I opened each unopened card carefully, examined them respectfully and as lovingly as possible, and then I sat in the quiet, in embarrassment and shame, again. For I had not been who I say I am.

Jesus says clearly, “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.” (John 15:12) And just a few verses later, “This is my command: Love each other.” (John 15:17)

In our rushing, in our hustling and bustling, in our worrying about what’s in front of us and all that needs to be done, we forget to still ourselves and really LOVE the ones in front of us. Let’s be realistic, sometimes we don’t even have TIME for the ones right in front of us.

When I threw those unopened cards in the Christmas card box and forgot about them for a whole year, I wasn’t remembering that those cards represented human beings, created in the image of God. I wasn’t remembering that those cards represented OTHERS, worthy of love and care, respect, dignity, a moment of my attention, EVEN IF I was “too crazed, too busy” with life.

So this year, regardless of my mood, regardless of my circumstances, I’m going to still myself longer, sit in the quiet a little more. Because I want to open every card and ponder the significance of each life that’s blessed mine. I want to love as He loves.

And maybe next Christmas, the cards will look a lot more familiar than they did this year.

Amy

I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve been clear about the title of this series for a year, but I’ve never been clear about the details.  As I write in the quiet of my home late at night, I still don’t know how this series will play out.

But I’m launching it anyway.

Because as I’ve thought and prayed about what this series should look like, the enemy has stirred me up. I’ve been doubting, second guessing, over-thinking, dreaming up visions and shooting them down as if they’re nothing, wondering what the point will be. That’s what he wants, folks. The enemy’s out to destroy us. He knows this blog is dear to my heart, and he’s taken my insecurities, doubts and uncertainties and turned me upside down and inside out, every which way.

But he’s not going to win.

Did you hear that? He’s not going to win.

Last Christmas, I played Winter Snow Song by Audrey Assad and Chris Tomlin on repeat in my car, and it’s on repeat again this year. My husband and kids would be bored out of their minds if I played it on repeat with them in the car, so I play it when I’m by myself. That way, I can turn it up loud and nobody’s there to suggest otherwise!

The song moves me every time. It speaks of Jesus, how he came unassuming, in the quiet, “like a winter snow.” Jesus, son of God, made his debut as a babe in a lowly manger. He could have come any other way – loud, boisterous, He could have taken our hearts any way He pleased. But He didn’t. He came in the quiet, and today He gives us a choice, free will to believe, to follow, to trust in who He is.

So we wait. It’s a season of preparing for His birth. Jesus. Son of God. Born in a lowly manger.

He came in the quiet.

He waits in the quiet.

We find Him in the quiet.

In the hustle and bustle of our lives, stress-filled to the brim, in all the questions and doubts and uncertainties of our future, He’s there. But we must be quiet. For He’s in the quiet. In the still, in the moment – we find Him best.

In the quiet. It’s how He works, often without us knowing. He saves us, rescues us from our misery, from the complete destruction that would become of our lives without Him. He’s the light of the world and whether we believe it or not, He works all things together for our good.

So let it be.

All of December, I’ll listen for Him, watch for Him, wait for Him…

In the quiet.

I want to find His still small voice.

I want to get down, dirty and real. It’s time to throw it all up in the air, to Him, for one month, and see where it lands.

In this series, I’ll share how I’m finding Him in the quiet, EVEN IN the hustle and bustle of life, EVEN AMIDST whatever craziness is happening at the moment.

It might be rough, it might be raw, it might be simple, it might be deep, but what I’m hoping most is that this series will be a true integration of real life and Him.

Because as desperately as I’d like to hit the pause button on life right now, it’s going to keep going. I must find a way to find Him more. When I find Him, I find peace. When I find Him, I find joy. When I find Him, my heart is stilled, quieted. When I find Him, my hope is renewed, my faith is restored.

So please join me on this journey? It would be a delight to have you along for the ride. I’m not sure what I’m in for, I can’t promise what I’m going to deliver. But one thing I know for sure – He’s calling me to the quiet. Because that’s where He is, today, tomorrow, always. And maybe He’s calling you there, too.

Amy

I felt a call to write nine years before I actually started writing.

The call began in 2003 and continued to unfold year after year for nine years straight.

All those years I kept the call a secret, mostly to myself. To be completely honest, I didn’t even know if it was a call, so why share with anyone else? I thought I was imagining things, making believe things I wanted to do, to be. I thought maybe I was just dreaming, my ideas far flung, crazy, unrealistic, unattainable.

In 2010, I purchased a domain name and set up a blog titled “Perfectly Unbalanced Supermom.” I never wrote a single post on that blog. After letting it sit empty for two years, I let the domain expire.

In 2012, I realized I could no longer keep the content I’d been composing in my head to myself.

Someone wise counseled me – “It’s time to stop wondering if it’s a call and start figuring out what you’re going to do about it.” I’ll be forever grateful for that individual and their willingness to speak truth to me when I needed it most.

In July 2012, I launched my blog.

I made it clear to my husband that the intention of my blog was NOT to share cute updates about our family with friends and relatives. I didn’t want to just share sweet photos of my kids at the zoo and how we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the picnic table at the park. I didn’t want to just tell you we celebrated our daughter’s birthday. I didn’t want to just tell you that my husband and I went on a cruise and stopped at St. Thomas and Martinique and Cozumel. I wanted it to be more than that, much more than that.

I was clear about something else before I started. If, after one year of blogging, the only people that were reading my blog were my mom and my aunt, then I would NOT have achieved my goal. While I LOVE when my mom reads the blog, and I’d be honored if my aunts would pop in and read once in a while, I wanted to reach a larger audience. I wanted to move people beyond my immediate family. I wanted to make a difference in the life of someone who was just an acquaintance, someone I’d never met in real life at all.

16 months into blogging, I can tell you with confidence that I’ve met the goals I set for my first year! I’m allowing myself to dream, and I’m dreaming bigger and with greater clarity than ever. It’s a faith journey, and if I meet any of the long-term goals for my blog, it would be God’s doing, not my own. Because this path has no guarantees.

So I’m on my way, but I’m not finished yet. In fact, I’ve only just begun.

I come to you, my readers, for your wisdom, for your knowledge, for your insight. I want to know who you are, I want to know what you think, I want to know how I can help you best, I want to know what you think about my writing.

Because as much as I needed this blog for me, my long-term vision has much more to do with you.

So today, I’m launching my first Divine In The Daily Reader Survey! If all goes well, as planned, I’d like to survey my readers once a year, around this time right before Thanksgiving.

I’d be SO grateful if you’d take a few moments to click on the link and complete the reader survey. I’ve included a variety of questions to accommodate all of your different personalities. For the open-ended questions, feel free to write as little or as much as you’d like, or even leave a question blank if it doesn’t suit your style or mood today.

And rest assured, the survey is completely anonymous! 

To complete the Divine In The Daily Reader Survey, click here.

Thank you in advance for your time and thoughtful responses. Your feedback will help me move forward with even greater clarity, and for that I am appreciative.

Amy

After we folded and set out a couple hundred place cards in preparation for the wedding, Jerry, father of the bride, overheard my son ask me for money from the ATM. My son had seen all the video games upstairs and wanted money to play them at the reception later that night. I explained we were going to have to find an ATM that was affiliated with our bank because there was no way I was paying all those ATM fees!

Great uncle Jerry came to the rescue.

He pulled two $10 bills out of his wallet, one for my son and one for my daughter. They could use the money for video games if they promised one thing – that they’d never smoke tobacco. Jerry extended the deal – if they haven’t smoked AT ALL by the time they’re 21 years old, he will pay them $100 each.

So the kids took their $10 and looked forward with anticipation to the night ahead.

But here’s what Jerry didn’t know – that $10 offering of his extended joy to more than just my son and daughter.

You see, my son? He’s not much of a social butterfly. Mingling, conversation? It’s not his gig. So those dollars were actually pretty crucial to him having an enjoyable evening at the reception, crucial to getting him engaged with others in a way that made him most comfortable.

We changed that $10 bill in for $1 bills, changed those $1 bills into quarters, and played bubble hockey most of the night.

He invited me first. I was a little reluctant as I was enjoying myself already in adult conversation with people I hadn’t seen in a long time. But when this little boy invites you to do something, you better do it. So I took him up on his offer and played my first ever round of bubble hockey!

Then he invited daddy and uncle Steve to play. I’m not sure daddy had ever played either, but uncle Steve? He’s a pro at these kind of things. Everyone had fun, and it was a perfect way to engage in something other than conversation.

Later, after dinner, he invited me to play again, not once but twice. At that point, it was a jaunt because we ate downstairs and the games were upstairs. But hey, the special time with my son was well worth the walk. When he took off his coat and wanted to try the foosball table, too, I knew this was serious business.

This business of seeing, of hearing the voice in the crowd that needs something different to be at ease, to feel better about their day – it’s what I love. And this business of playing, it’s something I really need to do more of.

So thank you, son, for inviting me to play.

And thank you, Jerry, for providing the $10 that allowed us to do so. The way you noticed my son’s need did not go unnoticed by me.

(Now let’s hope they claim their $100 deals!)

Amy

I still don’t know how she did it.

She was a mom of three and she worked full-time our entire lives. She never tried a part-time gig, never took years off to stay at home while the kids were little, and I don’t remember a single time she complained about having to work AND raise kids. She did what she did, she did it well, and it’s all she knew.

It’s quite likely that I idolized my mom when I was a kid. Her work was only a block from our house, so she’d literally RUN home from work to get dinner made and on time bake in the oven. (If you know my mom, you know I’m not exaggerating about the “literally RUN” part!) We had casseroles, whole chickens with mashed potatoes and pan-roasted gravy, pot roasts with carrots, and homemade pizzas to name just a few. Mom would complete the meal with sides and desserts and all the proper fixings. I know we had grilled cheese and tomato soup and tuna sandwiches, but let’s just say those nights were the rare occasion. And my mom would NEVER dream of serving us Hamburger Helper, Rice-A-Roni or any such thing.

In my subconscious, there are probably many days I still idolize the way my mom did “it all.”

When I’m overwhelmed with my part-time job, when I can’t keep the house clean like mom always seemed to, when I don’t serve my in-laws three square meals a day when they come visit like mom did for her in-laws, I believe I’ve fallen short.

When I throw Tyson chicken nuggets in the oven and warm up some frozen store brand peas, lies creep in that I’m not a good enough mom.

When I toss a baked potato in the oven, my son asks “why can’t you make mashed potatoes like grandma,” and he goes over to whip them up for himself, lies creep in that I’ve fallen short.

And even when my daughter comes home and says her friend’s mom “cooks different” than I do, “she makes everything homemade,” truth sets in that I’m definitely NOT doing “it all.”

I’d make more whole chickens and mashed potatoes with pan-roasted gravy and all the fixings…if only…

So I’m grateful for the moment it occurred to me, just today, that my mom is human.

The kids came grocery shopping with me last night. They wanted to buy Banquet TV dinners, specifically the $1 turkey dinner variety. I let them buy these dinners once every 3-6 months and they think it’s a treat. While I think turkey dinner is one of the most tolerable of TV dinners, they’re still not the best, so I grabbed 2 Banquet pot pies instead.

The kids ate their TV dinners for breakfast this morning (true story!), so my baby daughter and I ate pot pies for lunch.

As I took those pot pies out of the oven, flipped them over on the plate, and cut them up just the way I did when I was a little girl, I realized something.

These are Banquet. Pot. Pies.

$1. Banquet. Pot. Pies.

While they might not be the most nutritionally sound food in the world, and any foodie mom would die that I was serving Banquet Pot Pies to myself AND my child, the reason I wanted to get those pot pies last night is because I had fond memories of eating them as a child.

As obvious as it might be to you, I had to come to my own realization.

These are Banquet. Pot. Pies.

$1. Banquet. Pot. Pies.

My mom served these Banquet. Pot. Pies. To us.

That moment it occurs to you that your mom is human? It’s a beautiful thing.

So thank you mom, for serving enough Banquet Pot Pies that they formed a lasting memory in my brain. The gravy, the vegetables, the meat, the way my fork cut through that crust? All proof my memory might have failed me…just a bit.

Amy