There comes a time when truth hits the road. How do you love like Jesus every day after Christmas?

Fill yourself with joy – for someone else.

Be present.

Recognize the miracle each human being is.

Offer a helping hand.

Be happy for others.

Capture the moment.

Be there, no matter what.

Know that a miracle is always possible.

Stand in for the Heavenly Father.

Quietly rest your hand on another’s shoulder in time of need.

Believe He makes all things new.

Love like a grandma, even when you’re not the grandma.

Reserve all judgement. You might find yourself in someone else’s shoes someday.

Love extravagantly.

Remember, we’re all really the same.

Give thoughtfully, generously, creatively.

Think of others who love from a distance.

See through the eyes of a child.

Forget what’s already happened. Smile, for today’s a new day.

Love, even if nobody notices.

Then rest in peace, knowing they’re in their Father’s hands.

Amy

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

We were college sweethearts, among the first of our friends to get married.

I was just 5 days from 22. He was 24. They say youth is a predictor of divorce, of marriages doomed to fail, but I say the success of marriage has nothing to do with youth and everything to do with faith.

Because today, as we mark 15 years of marriage, it’s not been so much about romantic wedded bliss as it’s been about living out our marriage vows day after day. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, till death do us part.

15 years of to have and to hold means an arm’s around me as I lie awake worrying in the middle of silent night darkness, long embraces after exhausting and pain-filled days, hands squeezed together hard in labor and delivery rooms where the fruit of love becomes real life x3. It means you promise to lead the way, support through change, and assure “I’d love that for you and our family” when God-sized dreams are uttered in quiet moments of speaking truth.

15 years of to love and to cherish means a kiss every morning before work, no matter what. It’s dancing in the hallway when make-up runs and nipples sting from a blocked duct and a toddler dancing to the iPhone in our bed at 7 a.m. It’s committing to change for the sake of the union, making me feel like I’m the one for you, trusting through trials, and believing, really believing till death do us part is possible.

15 years of for better for worse means Mexico and Hawaii and the Caribbean and five vacations to Disney only to realize it’s been six years since we’ve had more than 24 hours alone, just the two of us. 15 years means 15 Christmases, 15 Easters, 15 birthdays, and 15 anniversaries. 15 years of opinions divided, families split, friends divorced, grandmas and grandpas passed away, and letting go of our time to give them more time.

15 years of for richer or for poorer means beautiful dresses for birthdays, apartments and houses, gazebos and decks, once-in-a-lifetime orange carpet experiences, and jobs that provide. Christmas parties with wine and cheese turn to mac and cheese with hot dogs, piled up medical bills after baby’s born, income that’s less because I’m staying home more, and decisions to live with a little less because we’re giving more.

15 years of in sickness and in health means loving and encouraging when the scale says + 5, +10, +15, waking in the middle of the night to puke-filled beds, cleaning up other kids’ puke at birthday parties, and patience when an 8:30 bedtime means it’s been a hard day at work. It’s a treadmill in the basement for you and seven years of gym membership for me, pizza rolls and potato chips, asparagus and grilled chicken, just two Oreos left in the bag and fruit for dessert tonight. It means you watch the kids while I get away for a moment because I can’t do this anymore.

15 years of from this day forward, till death do us part means we refuse to be another statistic. We’re committed, day after day, to making this work. It means we keep our eyes on the prize, which is, God willing, wrinkled hands held with wedding bands thinned, failing eyes fixed, and “I love you” uttered quietly but assuredly while one of us passes from this life to the next. And once we’ve both passed, from this day forward means our children and grandchildren live in peace, assured beyond all doubt that we’re dancing together in heaven.

Yes. That’s what 15 years looks like, that’s what 15 years believes, that’s what 15 years hopes.

Happy 15th Anniversary to my loving husband, Seth.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.  1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Amy

In Loving Memory of Charlotte 6/21/12 – 4/27/13

Today, a mama’s 1st birthday wish for her angel baby Charlotte is that we “will continue to follow and share her story.” Charlotte’s mama wants more than anything for us to “Spread the word about Spinal Muscular Atrophy so that other families will be spared the pain of missing their baby on her 1st birthday, and instead will have the gift of watching them blow out their candles.”

Sweet Charlotte was diagnosed with Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA) Type 1 just three days before she turned six months old. Shortly after Charlotte’s diagnosis, her page popped up in my Facebook stream. I clicked “like,” not having any idea the tremendous blessing that simple “like” would bring. Through a willing heart, the power of photographs, and her gift for words, Charlotte’s mama taught me how to face the most grueling of life’s battles with faith, hope, and love. Although I’ve never met Charlotte’s family, their Facebook page allowed me to catch glimpses of their beautiful baby daughter’s last days on earth and passing to her heavenly home. Tears streamed down my face as mama and daddy sat with Charlotte in the hospital day after day, as mama danced with Charlotte to “Blessed Be The Name” in the living room, and when two big sisters pulled Charlotte on one of her last wagon rides beneath a bright sunshine.

Baby Charlotte passed away when she was just 10 months old, on April 27, 2013.

It’s hard to understand why God allows such suffering, but perhaps Charlotte’s mama understands best, as she wrote so eloquently in part of her Facebook post from last night, June 20, 2013:

“As the girls and I played with Mr. Potato Head the other day, picking out his various parts and choosing which eyes, nose, and mouth he needed, Grace said to me “I bet this is how God made us…choosing which parts he wanted us to have.” I fought back tears as I told her I agreed; that probably is how God made us. I imagined him picking out Charlotte’s parts…beautiful hazel eyes that were windows to her loving soul with long, curly eyelashes to frame them, a smile like her mommy’s that she would give freely and often, a dimple on her right cheek that would only be noticeable when she was uncharacteristically upset, long legs that her family can now picture her using to run and jump with the angels, and golden hair, almost auburn, that never lays flat and curls backwards at the top of her head…what an angel he made and sent to us; every part of her handpicked by him. Her stinky hands that I now long to smell, her gentle coo that I can close my eyes and hear, and even the SMA he handpicked for her to have. He chose her to carry the burden of this disease and while I many not understand it, I know it was planned. While my human capabilities prevent me from seeing the magnitude of his purpose, I know he has one. I am eased by the belief in a God that doesn’t make mistakes but instead makes miracles. I am forever thankful for my miracle and tomorrow I will celebrate the life of his wonderful, marvelous work, Charlotte.” (written by Charlotte’s mama)

Baby Charlotte, dance free, forever, in your heavenly home. Free of all hindrances, free of all pain, free of all earthly burdens. Dance for your daddy and your mama and your big sisters, too. Dance for the life you lived, dance for the life you live.

This is our birthday celebration, for you, sweet Charlotte. Happy Birthday, baby angel.

You will be beyond blessed by Charlotte’s Facebook page, please follow here. 

Charlotte enjoys SMA-free days in heaven with other angel babies like Benjamin. Read Benjamin’s journey through SMA, shared in a guest post on this blog by his mama Nicole in September 2012 here.

For more information on Spinal Muscular Atrophy, visit the Families of Spinal Muscular Atrophy website here.

The God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. 1 Peter 5:10

Amy

*The photograph of Charlotte used in this post is from her Facebook page. There, you will find countless beautiful photographs of Charlotte and her family.

As a mother of a tween boy, I often wonder what my son needs to know if he becomes a father one day.

It’s simple, really.

No need to overanalyze.

Show up. Step up to the plate. And be there.

So Fathers? Let’s do this.

Because mothers need you. Children need you. The health of our nation depends on you.

And if you have the privilege of becoming a grandfather someday? Do it all over again.