I have several friends who are pregnant or who just had babies, so I wanted to write something to encourage them. This is partly because some asked for advice about specific issues, and partly because when you become a mom, tips and tricks from other moms can be so helpful as you start navigating a new relationship with a tiny human who can't communicate by talking and who is utterly dependent on you.
So, I started thinking about what kind of advice would be helpful. It soon became clear that this was difficult to determine, because sometimes, as a new parent, you just want someone to tell you what you should do. At the same time, there is nothing more annoying than people who freely tell you what to do when you haven't asked. There are so many exceptions to every pattern, and so many different types of parents and kids.
I started thinking about the best advice I'd ever been given as a parent, which turned out to be "Take care of yourself" more than anything about my kids. (Obviously, this applies to pursuing spiritual wholeness and caring for my physical needs AS WELL AS the needs of my children, not at the expense of my children. Phrased another way, my children should not be the center of my universe any more than I should be the center of my universe.)
And I remembered an interesting thing that happened a while ago. A friend asked, on Facebook, for advice regarding a specific issue with her newborn. The people who were most anxious to speak up and give her advice were parents like me: young and relatively inexperienced, with one or two or three small children. The older parents had little to no advice to offer. They simply offered encouragement and prayers for the new mom.
I began to realize that all the parenting posts I read are written by people who have just a few more years of experience than I do. Of course, this is partly generational, but I started wondering, where are the parenting blogs written by people whose kids are in their forties? (I'm actually asking this question, so if you know of any, feel free to let me know!) So many of the blogs that offer advice and solutions are written by people whose kids haven't grown up yet. And simple, long-term observation will show you that you can't judge by someone's child at two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, or even eighteen, what that child will be like as an adult. Observation will also show you that some responsible, kind people have irresponsible, terrible kids, and vice versa.
So I want to know, what advice comes from parents with grown children? It seems like the best people to offer parenting advice are those whose kids are already living their adult lives. It seems like those people would really have some insights on what to do or not to do, if parenting were a formula where you could put a certain parenting style in to get certain types of children out.
But older, wiser, experienced parents do not have many answers. They may give occasional advice, they offer encouragement, they offer community because they can relate. When you tell a mom whose kids are grown and gone about how fun and precious your children are, she can relate. She'll tell you how wonderful these years are and how quickly they go by, how you blink and suddenly your children have aged two, five, ten years. When you talk about how hard it is, how some days you wonder if you're actually going crazy or if you'll ever sleep again, and how sometimes being a mommy is the loneliest job in the world even though you're with people all day, the older mom knows. She sympathizes; she makes you feel like it's okay to be weak because she tells you that having small children is hard, and she reminds you that someday it will be over.
When you want to know what you should do, when you ask for advice, these older moms may offer practical suggestions, but at the same time they will say something along these lines: You just have to figure out what works for your family. Try different techniques. Every child is different. You're doing a good job. Trust your instincts about your child. Pray a lot, and remember that God is in control and He loves you. Or sometimes, older parents will say that they don't have any advice at all, but that they will pray for you. They do not offer solutions, in the way that we like to look for an X-step solution for every problem.
I came to the conclusion that being a good parent takes a lot of prayer and reflection, but there are very few one-size-fits-all solutions. My guess is that if you're the kind of person who is reading mommy blogs and worrying about whether or not you're doing a good job, you probably are doing a good job. The moms who are clearly NOT doing a good job, whose kids are candidates for state removal, are probably not reading the latest research about how to stimulate their kids' brains or wondering which type of discipline is most loving AND effective at curbing children's natural selfishness.
All that to say... I don't actually have any advice for new moms.
No, wait, that's not quite true (hope I don't look like a hypocrite now!). Here we go:
1) Take care of yourself as well as your kids.
2) Find other moms to talk to, ones in your stage who can rejoice and commiserate and offer tips and tricks because they're in the middle of it, and ones who are older and have the wisdom, peace, and perspective that come from life experience and time spent with Jesus.
That's all.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Life Update
Okay, it's been several months since I posted. I kept thinking to myself, "I need to blog," and not doing it, and feeling bad for not doing it. Finally I got to the point where I realized that I was actually too busy to blog and needed to not attempt to post anything again until July when I would be done teaching my summer course.
So, now we're in July, and here I am. Before I write about anything else, I thought a quick life update about the last few months was in order.
Since the last time I blogged in February, a variety of things took up most of my time:
1) Moving.
Moving was the big one. Let's just say that I never want to move again. This dream is not realistic, since we are renting now but would like to buy a home eventually, but even the thought of moving again makes me exhausted. There's something about packing up everything you own that makes you realize that you own way too much stuff. There's something about unpacking everything you own that tempts you to just throw away about half of it, except you think to yourself, "I really should give away or sell what I can... someone is bound to want a rocking chair or dresser or baby girls' clothes, and eventually I may need these anti-diahrreal pills or more than two shirts." So you can't just throw it all away. I know, First World Problems. "I just hate it when I have an abundance of everything I could ever want or need."
Compounding the annoyance of putting All The Stuff away is the fact that I have no organizational skills and a hard time making decisions. (I think these two weaknesses are part of a vicious cycle for me.) When I'm not sure where the best place to store something is, or what the best way to organize a variety of items is, I just don't do it at all. If I'm honest, I'm kind of hoping a solution will just appear in my mind (it has happened before), or that Ian will get tired of the mess before I do and handle it. But then I eventually feel trapped in chaos when there are no cleared horizontal spaces. This chaotic feeling makes it even harder for me to make decisions.
This need to spend a lot of time doing what I like least and am least talented at is part of why I didn't have time to blog.
2) Working.
Ian's job had him working almost sixty hours every week. It's crazy when your husband is gone before the kids get up (and our kids are EARLY risers) and comes home basically one hour before bath and bedtime. I have a whole new level of respect for single parents. I really don't know how they do it.
On top of this, I was also working, teaching two classes at the community college here. Originally, I had lined up a babysitter to watch the girls an extra two hours a week beyond their time with my parents, but that fell through toward the beginning of the semester, and since there wasn't that much to grade yet, I never got a replacement. Thus, instead of blogging during nap times or after bedtime, I was grading or answering e-mails. These things take up more time than you would think, especially when one class is online and so homework and emails are the only available communication you have with students.
3) Small Children Thrown Off Their Schedules.
With our move, Alexandra and Kaitlyn started sharing a bedroom. They're both pretty good about taking naps, but the first two weeks when we lived in our new place, they did not nap. I think the change in place was a big part of it, but it took me several days to figure out that they simply could not take naps in the same room. Alexandra likes to sing herself to sleep, which would keep Kaitlyn up; when Kaitlyn talks to herself, Alexandra comes out to complain about it. We've had many instances of the following conversation:
Me: "Alexandra, what are you doing out of bed?"
Alexandra: "Kaitlyn's talking and keeping me awake."
Kaitlyn from the bedroom: "Ma-ma! A-je-jan-ja!"
Alexandra: "See?"
Thankfully, we were able to borrow my parents' Pack N Play, so when the girls each had their own room for naps, nap time started happening again regularly.
Of course, I don't have to explain to anyone who's had small children how sacred nap time is. It's a break, a time to rest and recover, a time to not be one-hundred-percent at the disposal of somebody else. And not only does nap time give a parent a small time to recover, nap time also (at least in our household) makes the evening much more pleasant, because the small children are rested and happy instead of tired and cranky. So in the two weeks without nap time, surrounded by stuff that wasn't put away and on my own for twelve hours a day, I became very exhausted and discouraged. I needed to spend any free time I had resting and not blogging.
But now, stuff is put away, our house is (mostly) organized, the kids are taking naps again, and my spring and summer courses are over. Let the blogging recommence!
So, now we're in July, and here I am. Before I write about anything else, I thought a quick life update about the last few months was in order.
Since the last time I blogged in February, a variety of things took up most of my time:
1) Moving.
Moving was the big one. Let's just say that I never want to move again. This dream is not realistic, since we are renting now but would like to buy a home eventually, but even the thought of moving again makes me exhausted. There's something about packing up everything you own that makes you realize that you own way too much stuff. There's something about unpacking everything you own that tempts you to just throw away about half of it, except you think to yourself, "I really should give away or sell what I can... someone is bound to want a rocking chair or dresser or baby girls' clothes, and eventually I may need these anti-diahrreal pills or more than two shirts." So you can't just throw it all away. I know, First World Problems. "I just hate it when I have an abundance of everything I could ever want or need."
Compounding the annoyance of putting All The Stuff away is the fact that I have no organizational skills and a hard time making decisions. (I think these two weaknesses are part of a vicious cycle for me.) When I'm not sure where the best place to store something is, or what the best way to organize a variety of items is, I just don't do it at all. If I'm honest, I'm kind of hoping a solution will just appear in my mind (it has happened before), or that Ian will get tired of the mess before I do and handle it. But then I eventually feel trapped in chaos when there are no cleared horizontal spaces. This chaotic feeling makes it even harder for me to make decisions.
This need to spend a lot of time doing what I like least and am least talented at is part of why I didn't have time to blog.
2) Working.
Ian's job had him working almost sixty hours every week. It's crazy when your husband is gone before the kids get up (and our kids are EARLY risers) and comes home basically one hour before bath and bedtime. I have a whole new level of respect for single parents. I really don't know how they do it.
On top of this, I was also working, teaching two classes at the community college here. Originally, I had lined up a babysitter to watch the girls an extra two hours a week beyond their time with my parents, but that fell through toward the beginning of the semester, and since there wasn't that much to grade yet, I never got a replacement. Thus, instead of blogging during nap times or after bedtime, I was grading or answering e-mails. These things take up more time than you would think, especially when one class is online and so homework and emails are the only available communication you have with students.
3) Small Children Thrown Off Their Schedules.
With our move, Alexandra and Kaitlyn started sharing a bedroom. They're both pretty good about taking naps, but the first two weeks when we lived in our new place, they did not nap. I think the change in place was a big part of it, but it took me several days to figure out that they simply could not take naps in the same room. Alexandra likes to sing herself to sleep, which would keep Kaitlyn up; when Kaitlyn talks to herself, Alexandra comes out to complain about it. We've had many instances of the following conversation:
Me: "Alexandra, what are you doing out of bed?"
Alexandra: "Kaitlyn's talking and keeping me awake."
Kaitlyn from the bedroom: "Ma-ma! A-je-jan-ja!"
Alexandra: "See?"
Thankfully, we were able to borrow my parents' Pack N Play, so when the girls each had their own room for naps, nap time started happening again regularly.
Of course, I don't have to explain to anyone who's had small children how sacred nap time is. It's a break, a time to rest and recover, a time to not be one-hundred-percent at the disposal of somebody else. And not only does nap time give a parent a small time to recover, nap time also (at least in our household) makes the evening much more pleasant, because the small children are rested and happy instead of tired and cranky. So in the two weeks without nap time, surrounded by stuff that wasn't put away and on my own for twelve hours a day, I became very exhausted and discouraged. I needed to spend any free time I had resting and not blogging.
But now, stuff is put away, our house is (mostly) organized, the kids are taking naps again, and my spring and summer courses are over. Let the blogging recommence!
Monday, February 17, 2014
What Love Looks Like When You Don't Celebrate Valentine's Day
Ian and I haven't really celebrated Valentine's Day the last couple years. I am usually down for any kind of celebration, and I remember wondering a few years ago why someone wouldn't want to celebrate Valentine's Day. I didn't want to become an old, married, unromantic couple. However, since we've had kids, things have changed. Valentine's Day just seems... unnecessary. A stereotypical Valentine's Day has little to do with the way our love has deepened.
Now, Valentine's Day IS special for us because it's an anniversary. It was Valentine's Day nine years ago when Ian left a single red rose and a Valentine's Day card (unsigned) on my car windshield. I discovered the gifts when I went outside to my parents' driveway to leave for sociolinguistics class. There were, in my mind, two guys who might have left the rose for me, and Ian was one. I really hoped it was him. I really hoped it wasn't the other guy.
Even though he was part of the group that had dinner later at In-N-Out and then went to see Hitch at the theater, I was afraid to ask him about it and be disappointed, so I didn't find out who it was for a few days. However, that was the start of being more than just friends, so Valentine's Day is special to me in that way. That memory lights up my soul. But last year, I was the one who suggested not celebrating in the traditional ways, because at this stage of our relationship, cards, flowers, chocolates, jewelry, or other gifts on a specific date of the year are not the primary ways that I feel love from him.
Nowadays, I know he loves me because he works sixty hours a week to support our family.
Nowadays, the four dollars I spend on a mocha when he stays home with the girls to give me time alone at the coffee shop means more than four dollars for a fancy card (although I do love the sweet things he writes on cards).
Nowadays, I'd rather he buy organic berries for our daughters than a box of chocolates for me.
Nowadays, I'd rather have a date night with him than jewelry or other gifts. I'd rather sit on our living room floor after the girls go to bed, eating cheese and drinking wine, than get earrings or necklaces or bracelets.
Nowadays, he says "I love you" by straightening up the house rather than by bringing home flowers, even though after working those sixty hours, the flowers would be a lot easier.
Our culture's view of romance promotes the idea that if you love someone, you will spend a lot of money on them and do out-of-the-ordinary things for them (and little special things aren't enough; the grander the romantic gesture, the more romantic it's thought to be). Many brag about husbands who bring home flowers every month, while not many brag about a husband who washes the dishes every evening. And I guess last year, we just decided that the time and money spent on a traditional Valentine's Day celebration wouldn't make either of us feel more loved.
I'm not saying there's necessarily anything wrong with celebrating a relationship according to stereotypical Valentine's rituals. Ian is surprisingly romantic, and I do appreciate that he brings me roses occasionally and gives me free jewelry that he gets from the store where he bought my engagement ring. (That may sound unromantic, but if you know how cheap I am, you know there's nothing I like more than a nice gift he didn't spend money on.) But all in all, the sacrifices he makes and his everyday love and patience mean more than Valentine's Day gifts.
He did give me a card this year, which was a total surprise (and definitely welcome). Maybe someday we'll go back to our traditional celebrations, but for now, I'm actually very content being that old, married, "unromantic" couple that doesn't celebrate, because nowadays, I've got a different view of romance.
Now, Valentine's Day IS special for us because it's an anniversary. It was Valentine's Day nine years ago when Ian left a single red rose and a Valentine's Day card (unsigned) on my car windshield. I discovered the gifts when I went outside to my parents' driveway to leave for sociolinguistics class. There were, in my mind, two guys who might have left the rose for me, and Ian was one. I really hoped it was him. I really hoped it wasn't the other guy.
Even though he was part of the group that had dinner later at In-N-Out and then went to see Hitch at the theater, I was afraid to ask him about it and be disappointed, so I didn't find out who it was for a few days. However, that was the start of being more than just friends, so Valentine's Day is special to me in that way. That memory lights up my soul. But last year, I was the one who suggested not celebrating in the traditional ways, because at this stage of our relationship, cards, flowers, chocolates, jewelry, or other gifts on a specific date of the year are not the primary ways that I feel love from him.
Nowadays, I know he loves me because he works sixty hours a week to support our family.
Nowadays, the four dollars I spend on a mocha when he stays home with the girls to give me time alone at the coffee shop means more than four dollars for a fancy card (although I do love the sweet things he writes on cards).
Nowadays, I'd rather he buy organic berries for our daughters than a box of chocolates for me.
Nowadays, I'd rather have a date night with him than jewelry or other gifts. I'd rather sit on our living room floor after the girls go to bed, eating cheese and drinking wine, than get earrings or necklaces or bracelets.
Nowadays, he says "I love you" by straightening up the house rather than by bringing home flowers, even though after working those sixty hours, the flowers would be a lot easier.
Our culture's view of romance promotes the idea that if you love someone, you will spend a lot of money on them and do out-of-the-ordinary things for them (and little special things aren't enough; the grander the romantic gesture, the more romantic it's thought to be). Many brag about husbands who bring home flowers every month, while not many brag about a husband who washes the dishes every evening. And I guess last year, we just decided that the time and money spent on a traditional Valentine's Day celebration wouldn't make either of us feel more loved.
I'm not saying there's necessarily anything wrong with celebrating a relationship according to stereotypical Valentine's rituals. Ian is surprisingly romantic, and I do appreciate that he brings me roses occasionally and gives me free jewelry that he gets from the store where he bought my engagement ring. (That may sound unromantic, but if you know how cheap I am, you know there's nothing I like more than a nice gift he didn't spend money on.) But all in all, the sacrifices he makes and his everyday love and patience mean more than Valentine's Day gifts.
He did give me a card this year, which was a total surprise (and definitely welcome). Maybe someday we'll go back to our traditional celebrations, but for now, I'm actually very content being that old, married, "unromantic" couple that doesn't celebrate, because nowadays, I've got a different view of romance.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Living the Dream: Baking Edition
Sometimes your dreams come true and you don't even realize at first what's going on, because real life looks different from your dream and takes more patience. (This is surprising and a little disconcerting when you never realized before having kids how impatient you actually were.)
I love baking, and growing up I always thought that if I had a daughter, one of the most fun things I could do would be to teach her how to bake. I guess I pictured that maybe she would be about six or seven years old, and we would talk about cups, teaspoons, and tablespoons, and she would measure out flour, sugar, salt, molasses, cinnamon, etc., and I would show her how to use my KitchenAid mixer and the finer points of each of its attachments. It was always very formal in my mind. I don't know why; maybe it's because I'm an idealist, and experiences are always wrapped up in nice, neat, perfect packages in my imagination.
About a month ago (three and a half years earlier than in my mind), Alexandra decided she wanted to help me in the kitchen. And I realized that teaching her, passing on life skills, probably wasn't going to be about formal teaching much of the time. It was going to be about spending time with her and enjoying letting her do things with me. (The enjoyment is important, because who wants to work/learn with a cranky, impatient parent?)
Baking with Alexandra is slow. It's slow because I have to drag a chair over to let her stand on to wash her hands, and also to work at the counter. It's slow because she can't measure things out yet; I measure ingredients and let her dump them in the bowl. If it's a liquid ingredient, I usually have to help her pour it in, either because it's heavy enough that she can't quite lift it on her own, or because she doesn't yet know how to pour liquid at a speed where it won't just dribble down its original container or splash out of the bowl and make a huge mess. It's slow because I have to watch her carefully and correct some of the things she wants to do ("No, we can't put the mixed dry ingredients back in the sugar bag." "We only need to crack two eggs, not three." "No, we shouldn't shake all the milk off the whisk when we're done using it."). It's slow because since she's only two-and-a-half years old, I don't let her use the sharp utensils and I need to make sure she's paying attention and not going to fall off the chair. And even though she can recite all the dangers of a hot stove-top to me, of course I watch her like a hawk when she's stirring a simmering pot.
Also I don't like cleaning up large messes. So it's slow because I'm trying to help her learn to be neat along the way... Just being honest.
But last night, we made cinnamon-raisin bread together. We went slowly, and I gave her many little tasks that she could handle on her own, and helped her with other tasks that took a little more finesse. I didn't worry about how slow we were going and how there was going to be more of mess than usual to clean up at the end. My little girl wanted to help me bake, and as we worked together, I realized that I was living my dream: Bit by bit, just by being myself and her being herself and letting her help me in any way she can, I am passing on life skills to my child.
And probably the most rewarding thing was when we were done and she was in bed, Ian said to me, "You should have seen her face. She was so happy to be helping Mommy make cinnamon-raisin bread."
I hadn't been looking at her face, because I was watching her hands and the recipe and my own hands. But that comment, added to the obvious pride she felt this morning when we pulled the bread out of the oven and she ate a breakfast that she helped make with her own two hands, confirmed that whenever it's possible, I should most definitely slow down and let my little girl help me.
I love baking, and growing up I always thought that if I had a daughter, one of the most fun things I could do would be to teach her how to bake. I guess I pictured that maybe she would be about six or seven years old, and we would talk about cups, teaspoons, and tablespoons, and she would measure out flour, sugar, salt, molasses, cinnamon, etc., and I would show her how to use my KitchenAid mixer and the finer points of each of its attachments. It was always very formal in my mind. I don't know why; maybe it's because I'm an idealist, and experiences are always wrapped up in nice, neat, perfect packages in my imagination.
About a month ago (three and a half years earlier than in my mind), Alexandra decided she wanted to help me in the kitchen. And I realized that teaching her, passing on life skills, probably wasn't going to be about formal teaching much of the time. It was going to be about spending time with her and enjoying letting her do things with me. (The enjoyment is important, because who wants to work/learn with a cranky, impatient parent?)
Baking with Alexandra is slow. It's slow because I have to drag a chair over to let her stand on to wash her hands, and also to work at the counter. It's slow because she can't measure things out yet; I measure ingredients and let her dump them in the bowl. If it's a liquid ingredient, I usually have to help her pour it in, either because it's heavy enough that she can't quite lift it on her own, or because she doesn't yet know how to pour liquid at a speed where it won't just dribble down its original container or splash out of the bowl and make a huge mess. It's slow because I have to watch her carefully and correct some of the things she wants to do ("No, we can't put the mixed dry ingredients back in the sugar bag." "We only need to crack two eggs, not three." "No, we shouldn't shake all the milk off the whisk when we're done using it."). It's slow because since she's only two-and-a-half years old, I don't let her use the sharp utensils and I need to make sure she's paying attention and not going to fall off the chair. And even though she can recite all the dangers of a hot stove-top to me, of course I watch her like a hawk when she's stirring a simmering pot.
Also I don't like cleaning up large messes. So it's slow because I'm trying to help her learn to be neat along the way... Just being honest.
But last night, we made cinnamon-raisin bread together. We went slowly, and I gave her many little tasks that she could handle on her own, and helped her with other tasks that took a little more finesse. I didn't worry about how slow we were going and how there was going to be more of mess than usual to clean up at the end. My little girl wanted to help me bake, and as we worked together, I realized that I was living my dream: Bit by bit, just by being myself and her being herself and letting her help me in any way she can, I am passing on life skills to my child.
And probably the most rewarding thing was when we were done and she was in bed, Ian said to me, "You should have seen her face. She was so happy to be helping Mommy make cinnamon-raisin bread."
I hadn't been looking at her face, because I was watching her hands and the recipe and my own hands. But that comment, added to the obvious pride she felt this morning when we pulled the bread out of the oven and she ate a breakfast that she helped make with her own two hands, confirmed that whenever it's possible, I should most definitely slow down and let my little girl help me.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Why I Don't Get Tired of Christmas Music
I love Christmastime, and I'm thankful for it. Not because I like shopping (I hate it) or coming up with gifts (I've never been very good at it and the selection process makes me terribly insecure). I like decorating for Christmas, but that's just because the colors and sparkles are beautiful and it's hard to mess it up. Christmas treats are a short-lived joy, because they are amazing but always end with a sugar crash.
No, my favorite thing about Christmas is the Christmas music. I like many of the sentimental, ambience- and tradition-minded songs, including "White Christmas" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." But the songs that I love most are the old Christmas hymns that are full of Gospel truths and constantly being re-interpreted by various artists and played everywhere at Christmastime.
Even though my secular, consumption-minded culture has usurped much of the holiday, you can catch glimmers of its original meaning in those Christmas songs played on the radio. They may just be a holiday tradition for some people, but if you pay attention, really pay attention, to the lyrics, it's like you're hearing the best, most poetic sermons set to music, played everywhere. You can be driving in your car or walking around the store, getting groceries or toilet paper or gifts, and in the background your hear Biblical truths about Jesus and His Kingdom:
These songs are replete with truth and hope, which is something I always need; even when I don't realize that I am drained, hearing the Good News is the best refreshment for a weary soul and the best reminder of what's really important in life. And if you get tired of a particular musical interpretation, there are always new versions coming out, once again making these truths sound as enjoyable and remarkable as they actually are.
And it's everywhere at Christmastime. Listen for it.
No, my favorite thing about Christmas is the Christmas music. I like many of the sentimental, ambience- and tradition-minded songs, including "White Christmas" and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." But the songs that I love most are the old Christmas hymns that are full of Gospel truths and constantly being re-interpreted by various artists and played everywhere at Christmastime.
Even though my secular, consumption-minded culture has usurped much of the holiday, you can catch glimmers of its original meaning in those Christmas songs played on the radio. They may just be a holiday tradition for some people, but if you pay attention, really pay attention, to the lyrics, it's like you're hearing the best, most poetic sermons set to music, played everywhere. You can be driving in your car or walking around the store, getting groceries or toilet paper or gifts, and in the background your hear Biblical truths about Jesus and His Kingdom:
- The miracle of the Incarnation ("Veiled in flesh the Godhead see" "See within a manger laid Jesus, Lord of heaven and earth!" )
- The identity of Jesus (King and God and Sacrifice, symbolized in the Wise Men's three gifts) ("Born a King on Bethlehem's plain; gold I bring to crown Him again" "Frankincense to offer have I; incense owns a Deity nigh" "Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering gloom. / Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying, sealed in the stone-cold tomb.")
- Jesus took the punishment our sins earn us ("with His blood mankind hath bought.")
- Jesus gives us a relationship with God ("God and sinners reconciled!")
- Jesus restores us back to God's original design ("No more let sin and sorrow grow, nor thorns infest the ground. / He comes to make His blessings flow far as the curse is found...")
- Jesus frees us from the sin and struggles within us ("Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day / To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray.")
- Jesus teaches us how we are to love others ("His gospel is peace. / Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother / and in His name, all oppression shall cease.")
- Jesus prays for us ("...for sinners here the Silent Word is pleading.")
- Jesus is the Way to the Kingdom of God, both now and in the future ("He has opened heaven's door and man is blessed forevermore")
These songs are replete with truth and hope, which is something I always need; even when I don't realize that I am drained, hearing the Good News is the best refreshment for a weary soul and the best reminder of what's really important in life. And if you get tired of a particular musical interpretation, there are always new versions coming out, once again making these truths sound as enjoyable and remarkable as they actually are.
And it's everywhere at Christmastime. Listen for it.
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