Merry Christmas!

“For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world but that the world through Him might be saved.” John 3:17

Dear Friends and Family,

Christmas is beautiful.  Our Savior’s birth is cause for celebration! I enjoy visiting homes perfectly appointed with Christmas lights and mantels that appear to be professionally balanced and proportioned.  Perched on white couches, exquisite needlepoint pillows that either Grandma (who had surprisingly impeccable taste) made or were purchased at a boutique-too-upscale-for-me elegantly announce the arrival of Christmas. Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . a wrapping paper station and its emptied contents lie in the corner of the living room.  My mantel was so overdone and kitschy that I took it all down two weeks ago and declared the stockings were enough.  One strip of lights on the tree have gone out and I keep forgetting to buy a strand.  Dirty socks and Target clearance throw pillows are on the floor alongside piano and guitar books.  I have Christmas memory photos EVERYWHERE so that almost every surface relives 2005 through 2021 Christmas pasts.  No one has asked us to sign up for a tour of homes, which is probably for the best because our boys’ bathroom doubles as a guest bath and it’s hit or (lots of) miss(es) these days. (Clorox wipes to the rescue.) Still, it is its own kind of beautiful.  A loud, sloppy, at times cantankerous, laughter-and-fussing-filled kind of beautiful.  It took many years, but I am finally recognizing that there is more than one kind of beautiful home.

I even miss the old messes.  With a 17-year-old, a 14-year-old, and a 7-year-old, fewer Lego pieces are sprinkled on the floor.  Cheerios are GONE.  Toys that light up, pop, and make obnoxious noises—poof!—disappeared, along with pudgy soft hands and noses that need wiping.  The messes now?  They are more complicated.  Projects are left on the table, incomplete but planned by a creative second grader.  Towers of books and guitar picks teeter precariously on end tables, on the bar, on nightstands.  Letters from colleges—NYU? Not my baby!—are piled up for Abby to grab on her way through the kitchen.  The joy of today is very real and life-giving, but I miss the babies, the high-pitched laughter of early childhood, and the eyelashes that fluttered on my cheek as I rocked my little ones to sleep.

I love the ages my kids are now, though.  They are ALL so much fun. All three kids are old enough to laugh at my jokes, even if the laughter has some baritone mixed into it. We have deep conversations about our faith, the world that gets more and more confused, the hope that is within us, and the challenges of sharing that hope with hurting people.  We talk about music!  We love hymns and Jesus music, but we also love Elton John’s rocket man, Randy Travis’s love without end, Billy Joel’s Italian restaurants, and Lauren Hill’s march to Zion. I have no idea who is singing what today.  I am firmly planted, musically, in the distant past.  We talk about books we are reading, we watch TV shows that make us laugh, and occasionally I get to hear about a pretty girl or a cute guy, or—from Jack—how kissing is disgusting and he is NEVER going to do that!

The teens do have it pretty tough out there today.  In our home, we also talk about mental health issues and how to handle anxiety and the broken pieces of a fallen world. We talk about being there for our friends but not collapsing under the weight of their burdens.  Our home is filled with joy—but it rides under and alongside emotions that need regulating, fears that need redirection, and thought cycles that need to be abandoned.  I have learned in parenting that intelligent kids—and all three of ours are pretty stinkin’ intelligent—and kids who think deeply often carry a burden of anxiety and strong empathy.  As a parent, I sometimes wish they were all happy, average students who just want to have fun and worry later.  But that’s obviously not who God made them to be, so Joey and I try to help them navigate this world as best as we can.  I listen to a lot of podcasts, read a lot of books, and most importantly, try to keep myself calm and healthy so I can be a model of that for them—and apologize when I fail miserably, which is often.

But fortunately, I married a saint.  I’m only half-kidding.  Joey and I just celebrated 22 years of marriage and I can’t remember him ever raising his voice to me.  (He actually gets quieter when he’s rattled, which is super scary because it happens so infrequently.) He encourages me in any pursuit I take on and is constantly reminding me to write, even though I struggle with it because so often my writing is grief-driven.  As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote, “There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.”  Joey knows if I don’t write, the dam will break eventually, and the waters can overtake me. I don’t deserve Joey or this life God has given us.  But I am thankful to my bones, and I fight for that gratitude daily.  The thief comes to seek and destroy it, and we won’t let him.  Joey defends our family and works hard at all he does.  He loves his work.  He was made to be an engineer.  I pray my children find a calling that matches them so perfectly. 

We do have our struggles, though.  Joey is a completely different human than I am.  His creativity lies in the work of his hands and the dirt God has graciously provided for our family.  Mine lies in laughter, my pen, and the stories I tell the kids in my best moments.  His dream is a day spent entirely outside, piddling.  That sounds like work to me.  He likes for everyone to be asleep by 9:00.  I like to snuggle and talk and talk and talk.  He sees things black and white and I see so much gray that we painted our walls that color.  But together—we have a little bit of all of it.  The structure, the chaos, the work ethic, the fun.  And while both of us have to give, we get so much in return.

And oh, the kids!  Abby—how can she be 17 and a junior in high school?  She is a precious jewel.  She looks like me from a distance, but up close, you see a whole lot of Joey.  She somehow received his left brain and analytical mind but my longing to put thoughts onto paper and to right injustices that are bigger than us all.  Abby is very academic and loves languages, history, literature, and math.  She wants to be anything but a business owner or scientist or doctor—or really anything that makes a lot of money.  In other words, she is brilliant but may be poor.  She loves to listen to podcasts about history or mission work.  She felt a call to missions this past summer while at youth camp, but she isn’t sure what that means yet.  We are visiting colleges and helping her process what her future may look like.  She still loves running Cross Country and track, baking, and doing math FOR FUN. She plays the keyboard and harmonizes in the youth praise band, and she is a voracious reader who loves nothing more than falling into a good book.

Josiah, the tallest in our family, is 14, is right at 6’1”, and he wears a size 13 shoe. Someone recently said, “It’s like y’all are raising Paul Bunyan!” and I laughed so hard I spit my coffee out!  Oh, how I wish I could see Daddy seeing him.  I feel like, in many ways, he would see himself as a 14 year old again.  Josiah continues to love reading (praise God) and Minecraft, and he still loves Looney Tunes and Scooby Doo.  He is a loud, fun kid, but he is quieting just a bit.  He craves being with people ALL THE TIME.  He is 100% extraverted.  He is learning to play the saxophone and the bass guitar and is in two bands at his middle school: symphonic and jazz.  He has a quirky personality and definitely doesn’t worry about what is cool.  I pray he never loses that confidence to be his own man, even if it means he is different and his path is less populated.  But those who are in his circle know that if you are his friend, you have a friend for life.  If you show an interest in him, he will remember it and honor you.  He does not forget a kindness.  And he easily forgives people who wrong him.  I wish I was more like him.

Jack, our 7-yr-old second grader, is 52 pounds of fun!  He is very active and loves any form of ball.  He played soccer in the spring and flag football this fall. He loves mysteries and any books that talk about bodily functions, watching YouTubers Mark Rober and DudePerfect, and doing ANYTHING with Joey.  He loves to listen to music with Josiah and he loves snuggling or running with Abby, whom he absolutely adores.  If Abby chooses to stay close to home for college, Jack will be one of the main reasons.  Jack is also very loving with me.  I get lots of kisses, hugs, and I love you’s every day.  Holding him is one of my favorite things to do in the world, and I dread the day he runs out of room on my lap.  God gave us an amazing caboose, and we are so grateful for how He completed our earthly family when Jackson Glen was born.

Our family has had a good year.  We still miss my Daddy, their PawPaw, more than I can say.  What that loss did to our family—it is almost unspeakable.  But as all of you who have lost someone you could not imagine ever losing know: life goes on.  And Daddy would want our lives to go on.  He would want the kids to live with joy and wonder and hope and beauty.  He is more alive now than he ever was, and that truth allows us to still find peace during this season filled with memories that have the power to both hurt and heal.

So as Christmas comes, I pray that the memories of past Christmases warm your hearts, even as they sting your eyes and “make your throat hot a little,” as Jack says.  If the grief is still fresh and raw, I am so sorry.  Nothing I say can really make it better.  I hope you feel the prayers of those who love you most and that you will feel God holding you up.

Warmest wishes for a beautiful Christmas and New Year,

The McMaths