Pa-Rum-Pum-Pum-Pum

Christmas is over. Time to pack away the ornaments and silence the carols until next season. To be honest, I'm glad. I look forward to January's clean slate and fresh calendar every year. But before we move on completely, can I talk about one last Christmas song?

It's "The Little Drummer Boy." My friend can't stand him, with all his pa-rum-pum-pum-pums, but honestly, his is one of my favorite (albeit imaginary) stories. I often tear up at one lyric: "I played my best for Him."

And how does the infant Christ react to the drum solo? With pleasure. He smiles.

That scene echoes my heart's prayer. To do my best, and to please the Lord.

Paul wrote to the believers in Corinth, "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God" (1 Corinthians 10:31). What do you do? What are your gifts? Do you teach, sing, bake, or sew? Perhaps you love to play drum solos with lots of pa-rum-pum-pum-pums. Whatever it is, make 2010 the year to play your best for Him. For His glory, and for His pleasure.

Call Me Neighbor

For years, I wanted to visit San Francisco. While I credit my teenage devotion to the ABC sitcom Full House as the spark that lit the fire, I'd like to think it wasn't fiction alone that kept it burning. That instead, it was the true life tales told of breathtaking views of the Bay, gourmet meals crafted by master chefs from locally-grown ingredients, and the international intrigue of a melting pot population.

After much wishing, finally, I was here.

And on this Saturday morning, as my husband Ted enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in, I ventured out for coffee.

Rounding the corner to Starbucks, the perfect in my morning came to a screeching halt at the sight of a large, hunched over form.

I hesitated, my defenses rising. It was either forge on ahead, coffee still my goal, or turn back and avoid what I knew was coming -- a request for money.

The desire for coffee won. With my uncertainty somewhat in check, I put one foot in front of the other.

Two steps later, it came. The request.

"Help a homeless woman?" the form implored.

I glanced down. A large green comforter adorned her shoulders, under it a floral blanket like the ones I remember using at my grandparents' house as a kid. Both kept watch against the early morning chill. Next to her sat three or four plastic grocery bags, each home to a handful of aluminum cans on their way to recycling.

The woman's appearance and the timbre of her voice caught me off guard. A chiseled, masculine face, large hands, and a voice that reminded me of John Travolta in his role of Edna Turnblad in Hairspray left me wondering if "she" was a "he." The presence of a purse at her side and a scarf carefully draped over what appeared to be long, gray hair was not enough to convince me that her femininity was genetically-given.

Uncomfortably, I replied, "No."

I quickly climbed the small staircase to Starbucks. Taking two steps at a time, I put into practice what Lot's wife lacked the self-control to carry out: I didn't look back.

The above account is taken from my August article "The Starbucks Neighbor." But as this week's article "The Least of These," shows, I'm not the only individual to struggle with whether or not to reach out. In it, Sarah Forgrave tells the story of her encounter with a homeless man outside of Nordstrom. It's a moving account and a challenge to us all to be willing to step up and be a neighbor more often.

I encourage you to grab a warm cup of coffee, hot chocolate, or tea and read Ungrind's last article of 2009. Then come back here and share your thoughts and stories on what it means to reach out to others throughout the year.

Lend Me An Ear

"How many days until Christmas Eve?" the question, posed by my 5-year-old, broke through my sleep.

Groggily, I opened my eyes and muttered, "Can we count after Mommy gets up?"

"Sure," came her reply.

There's no doubt Christmas has generated excitement at our house. From gingerbread houses to cardboard carolers, advent calendars, and homemade presents, my kids are eager to celebrate the holiday.

This week I want to spread the Christmas cheer that's evident at our house with a gift to one reader. We have one copy of Leigh McLeroy's book, Treasured: Knowing God By the Things He Keeps to give away. It's a book regular contributor Danielle Ayers Jones was pleasantly surprised by, as she notes in her review of it on Ungrind.

To enter for a chance to win a copy of Treasured, leave a comment on this post. We'll randomly choose one winner on Wednesday, December 23rd and announce the winner here on Fresh Brew. My apologies to our international readers, but this contest is only open to those residing in the United States.

Not all of our attention this week is devoted to Treasured, though. We also have an article from Jessica Boling. Be sure to read what she has to say about listening in "The Quiet Gift." It has reminded me of the importance of lending my ear more often.

In the meantime, I'm off to create a countdown calendar to Christmas for my daughter. Sure, I'd like to sharpen my listening skills, but I'd prefer to do it after I wake up.

This contest is now closed. See who won here.

The Cross at Christmas

"Does your family have any special holiday traditions?" my hair dresser asked. It was early Saturday morning and I was in for my quarterly trim.

"Well, we ..." I began. My mind went blank as I struggled to think of an event or activity, aside from decorating, that we practiced every Christmas season without fail.

I'm not sure why I felt tongue tied in my hair dresser's chair. Sure, I won't receive any gold or even bronze metals in the "Best at Establishing Christmas Traditions" category, but Ted and I have slowly incorporated them into our family life the last seven years.

Every year, we decorate the house, using the same artificial Christmas tree that adorned the reception hall at our wedding. We take our kids to a holiday event at our zoo. There's the advent calendar we read each day as a family. Cookies are baked, a gingerbread house decorated, and a handful of Christmas movies watched. Ted and I also attend a local Madrigal dinner.

I realized though, as I drove home that Saturday, that while we do have traditions, I don't communicate enough the reason we celebrate them to our kids. Yes, we talk about that night in Bethlehem, and we teach them that Christmas is ultimately about Jesus. But I often fail to point them to the primary reason we make a big deal out of Christmas: the cross.

The truth is, I've fallen into a Tevye mentality. Like the Jewish father in Fiddler on the Roof, sometimes I cling to tradition because that's the way it's always been done. In my life experiences, cookies have always been baked during the holidays, trees have always been decorated, and presents have always been exchanged. And Christmas, well, it's about the manger, not the cross.

But Christmas is about both the manger and the cross. In their song "It's About the Cross," the CCM group Go Fish sings:

It's not just about the manger
Where the baby lay
It's not all about the angels
Who sang for him that day

It's not just about the shepherds
Or the bright and shining star
It's not all about the wisemen
Who traveled from afar

It's about the cross
It's about my sin
It's about how Jesus came to be born once
So that we could be born again

The beginning of the story is wonderful and great
But it's the ending that can save you and that's why we celebrate

This year, after we read the Bethlehem story to our kids, maybe we'll also read the Easter story. Perhaps with this we'll start a new tradition at our house, one that reminds our entire family that Jesus' birth was only the beginning of God's greatest gift.

Cry Baby

Last night I convinced Ted to watch the film, Julie & Julia with me. It didn't take much, considering that he owed me.

At our house, we don't keep a running score in the area of media consumption. It's not often that I say, "I watched Ice Road Truckers with you, now you need to watch Penelope or Pride & Prejudice with me." There are exceptions, though. One such exception occurred earlier this week.

I watched Disney's 1979 science fiction film The Black Hole with Ted. He first saw the movie as a teen, and that experience stands out fondly in his memory.

As we watched, he quickly realized that his likes and dislikes have changed significantly since he was thirteen. He didn't enjoy the film this time around. Let's just say his memory failed to record the humanoids, the ESP conversations between the leading lady and a robot, and the bizarre heaven and hell sequence in this Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea inspired film.

Once the credits rolled, it was Ted who determined he indeed owed me.

While Ted didn't care for the political leanings of Julie & Julia, his pay back wasn't as painful as he anticipated. As he watched, he resonated with the male characters, specifically Julie's husband, Eric Powell. Several of the couple's conversations -- about purpose, about blogging, about discouragement -- hit close to home. Like Julie, as well as Alida Oegema in this week's piece "Run and Release" on Ungrind, I tend to wonder why life is or isn't moving in a particular direction, and what I'm meant to do with the talents and desires I have.

As a result, I respond emotionally. Unlike writer Alison Frenzel in Ungrind's other article this week "Cry Baby," I struggle with being too sensitive. Too many times I feel as Julie Powell did as she sat curled up on her kitchen floor -- like an emotionally disturbed toddler. Producing tears, or displaying emotion, are not problems for me. And Ted is always there to help me regain composure and dignity.

I've discovered that keeping score on what we watch may not be a bad thing. Maybe I'll volunteer to sit through another science fiction flick with him. It may result in a viewing buddy on the film Amelia when it comes out on video. I never did make it to the theater to see that one.

Painter and Potter

The woman who lived here before us was an artist. In one corner, she kept an easel, palette, and canvas-in-progress. After we purchased her house and prepared to move in, I told my husband, "I should get an easel like hers, so I could paint there, too."

Andy gave a confused look.

"But," he said slowly, "you ... don't ... paint."

Well, there is that.

Why do someone else's gifts seem more interesting, more exciting, even more apparent than my own? Why is it easier to focus on the gifts I don't have, than to put the ones I do have into practice? If God made me to teach or write, then why do I try to paint?

Paul urged, "But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?" (Romans 9:20-21).

He is the Potter, and I am a lump of clay. A gifted lump of clay, of course, but a lump, just the same. Clay does not decide how it should be fashioned, nor does it dictate how it should be used. Clay obeys the Potter. He is the Potter, and I? I ... don't ... paint.

Giving the Perfect Gifts

Ah ... December, the month of searching for just the right Christmas gifts for family and friends. A month where I'm also freshly reminded that God gave me the perfect gift in Jesus.

It's easy to stop with the gift of Christ though, forgetting, as James 1:17 states, that "every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above." It's easy to lose sight of the fact that God has also given me gifts and talents to glorify Him. And the challenge can come in understanding and using these gifts and talents for the purposes He has planned.

In "You-Niqueness," Amy Storms explains how to recognize and enjoy the gifts God has given to each of us. Amy writes:

Piano-playing and cooking aren't my uniqueness. My "affections and successes intersect" when I teach, and when I write. I love both of those things, and I have success at both, too. I love seeing the "Aha!" expression in my children's eyes when they catch on to something I've taught. I love to craft words, and proofread them, and even delete them in frustration and start all over again.

And Melissa Brotherton, in "The Spiritual Exercise Plan," shares how she's set up a way to help develop the gifts God's given her. She writes:

Jesus instructs me in Mark to "love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength" (Mark 12:30). The truth is that what college I graduated from or how many hours I spend at church each week aren't necessarily indicators that I love God with all of my strength. It is impossible to follow the command to love God with all of my strength if I don't have a plan to cultivate and develop the talents and abilities He's given me.

How much more of an impact would I make if I focused on the talents He's provided me with? What else could He be doing through me if I was intent on developing my gifts and abilities, seeking ways to use them? I'll never really know until I take the steps to discover my strengths and make a plan to develop them.

This Christmas season, as you make your gift list, I hope you'll take a few moments to jot down the gifts God's given you. As you do, share with us here at Fresh Brew what you've discovered.

Beauty Will Rise

Since we're talking about gifts this month ... I bought myself an early Christmas present, Steven Curtis Chapman's CD Beauty Will Rise. The songs were written after the tragic death of his 5-year-old daughter Maria, so get your Kleenex out!

Steven Curtis Chapman is one of my favorite singer/songwriters and this particular CD is very moving. I've been listening to it as I feed my 7-week-old and can't help but cry in thanksgiving for every moment I have with my baby and children.

In the song "Beauty Will Rise," Chapman writes:

Out of these ashes
Beauty will rise
And we will dance among the ruins
We will SEE it with our own eyes

There is nothing like the strength of the Lord that comes during times of pain. When we suffer most, perhaps that is when Christ is closest to us if we allow Him.

I found that true four years ago when I miscarried a little girl at 26 weeks right after Christmas. God was so close to me during that time of mourning. And I can attest that joy does come in the morning. Not only did God comfort my heart during that season, He gave us a little girl just one Christmas later (she just turned 3!). What a gift!

Out of our ashes, beauty will rise. Out of our weakness, His strength will rise.

Happy 30th Birthday, Christina

When Christina Holder first sent me her article, "Dear Daughter on Your 30th Birthday," I cried. The piece addresses the emotions Christina's felt as she approaches her 30th birthday and still finds herself single.

I don't personally know the pain of turning 30 and still longing for marriage. I'd been married almost six years when I hit the age last year. But my heart ached as I read the piece. I've often struggled to understand, as Christina, why God hasn't given her and other wonderful women I know marriage earlier as they've desired.

I originally planned to publish it on Ungrind later this month, closer to Christmas. My well laid out schedule met upheaval, though, in one conversation with my husband, Ted. I learned that he was publishing another piece by Christina on Boundless today. It's titled "Requiem to My Twenties" and relates so closely to "Dear Daughter on Your 30th Birthday" that I decided to uncharacteristically publish on a Thursday. In many ways, "Dear Daughter on Your 30th Birthday" is an extension of "Requiem to My Twenties."

When time allows, I encourage you to read both pieces -- whether single or married. And, while you're at it, feel free to leave a birthday greeting for Christina here or at her blog, Beautifully Broken.

From Strength to Gifts

Last Saturday I did something I've never done before -- I cooked for five hours straight. My efforts poured themselves into a long-cooking ragu alla Bolognese, which I then incorporated into a lasagna. Both recipes came from a cookbook my mom gave me titled Lidia's Family Table.

As I carefully served dinner that evening, I admit that I was nervous. My fear only intensified as I listened to my 5-year-old tell me repeatedly, "This doesn't look like lasagna."

Fear in the kitchen is common for me. I struggle with insecurity and inadequacy each time I venture out of my culinary comfort zone. The number of recipes I've butchered over the years is countless; one of the many reasons Ted is considered the resident chef at our house.

The good news is all my hard work that day paid off. After tasting the lasagna, Ted told me, "I feel like I'm eating in Italy," and he's actually eaten in Italy before. I wanted to cry -- happy tears, of course.

I bid farewell to some of my insecurity with that lasagna. While I'm certainly bound to mess up more dishes in the future, I'm learning not to expect failure. Perhaps someday I can be gifted in the area of cooking. Stranger things have happened.

And it's this idea of gifts that is our focus this month on Ungrind. We don't have any articles on cooking, but we will discuss the areas God has gifted us in and how we can better identify and develop them. We'll also examine God's comfort, the importance of listening, and the joy of reaching out to others.

Today we kick off our month-long discussion with two articles: "I Am Woman" and "Facing Our Beauty." Both pieces tie into last month's theme of strength, nicely transitioning us from November into this last month of 2009.

So head over to Ungrind, read the articles, and come back here to discuss.