Childhood

For the month of December, we are featuring essays around the theme A Quiet Christmas.

For a limited time, we have 11 Ways to Minimize Holiday Stress available for free to subscribers. Get your copy today!

Check out our most recent episode of the Kindred Mom Podcast, called “Tips and Traditions for a Meaningful Christmas”. Listen here or subscribe in any podcast app.

Our first Christmas as a married couple, I purposed to immediately begin making family traditions. We filled our tiny one-bedroom apartment with a real Christmas tree cut down from the South Dakota Black Hills and lopped off the top so it would fit inside our living room. We each had an ornament or two from our childhood to hang on our homely tree, but that was about it. We wandered the aisles of Walmart trying to figure out how we wanted to decorate it because, for the first time, it was our decision alone! We could do whatever we wanted with this giant tree that was rapidly losing needles on our rented carpet.

Around that time, I heard a brief spot on the radio that talked about thoughtfully curating your decorations to tell a story of God’s faithfulness to your family, and an idea blossomed. I decided to look for at least one ornament to put on the tree that would remind us of an event of significance from that particular year. God’s hand is intricately involved in every facet of our lives, but often we chalk circumstances up to simply ‘life’ or even luck. To consciously say, “That was God working in our family!” is a way to visibly  trace God’s faithfulness. Be it the purchase of a new home, the birth of a baby, the provision of a new job, or even a family vacation, God has His hands through it all. Acknowledging his hand with these simple, tangible reminders has become a treasured tradition for our family.

Being the creative people we are, our first ornament said “Our First Christmas Together” with the date and cute little bears in a snowy sleigh. Two years later, we were a tad more creative when we added the fluffy snowman representing our last Christmas before moving to South America as missionaries. We happily named him “Fred” after the light-up snowman of the same name that we had to sell as we prepared to move overseas.

We have an almost identical snowman, except this one’s in full Peruvian regalia to remind us of our first year as missionaries in Peru. There was no snow, no family, no pumpkin pie that year. Yet, we came to realize we didn’t need all the usual signs of Christmas around us. We shifted our focus to celebrating Jesus’ birth and that was enough.

There’s the ornament from the year we were on furlough and had no money so I decided to be crafty (which I’m not). This was also our first year as parents, so I purchased three acrylic snowmen, painted them, and put all of our initials on them. These are the only homemade-by-mommy ornaments on our tree!

My kids’ favorite is a little puppy that barks and says “Merry Christmas” when you push his tummy. It reminds us of the year we were nomads, not exactly sure why we’d just left the current mission field and having no idea where we were going next. The ornament was in a grab bag given to us at a family Christmas party. The irony is that it wasn’t even our family’s Christmas party! They were simply gracious hosts that made us feel welcome.

Our desire is for our children to see Jesus all throughout the Christmas season. We want them anxiously counting down to the arrival of Jesus’ birthday, not just a day of presents and Santa. We want them to see that God was not only faithful to all of humanity by sending Jesus as He’d promised; He has been faithful specifically to our family, by providing homes, friends, vacations, and siblings. Even just this week, our seven year old took the time to share stories of our family ornaments with friends who came to visit. The little ornaments on our fake tree that do more than decorate; they proclaim, “God is good! God is faithful!”

Twelve years in, our tree is not only filled with ornaments; it’s filled with memories. My three children are beginning to understand that tree-decorating is not just a time to slap ornaments on a fake tree; it’s a time for us to reminisce and tell stories. I feel like an Israelite mother, using ornaments instead of stones to recount stories of all God has done in our lives. I have the privilege of telling our children the meaning behind each ornament we hang. I want them to hear the story of God’s faithfulness to our family through the years. The family tree has morphed into a tree filled with history. Additionally, each child gets one ornament per year to remind them of different milestones in their own lives.

The simplicity of our tradition is what I love the most. There are no strict guidelines to what we do. Some years, the ornaments are gifts; others are Amazon purchases. Some are well planned out; others are last-minute craft store buys! The point is not to have a fancy, coordinated tree. The point is to have a tree that points us, and in particular our children, to Jesus. His faithfulness is year-round, not just on the holiday itself. As we hang each ornament on our tree, we proclaim to our children that we are loved, we are not forgotten, and God is faithful each and every year.

 Lisa Biegert is a wife, mom of 3, full-time missionary and journalist with BCM International, and children’s ministry director. She finds her greatest delight in sharing Jesus with children. Lisa and her husband, Brian, live and serve fellow missionaries at a missionary housing facilityoutside of Scranton, Pennsylvania. You can follow their family ministry at www.brianlisabiegert.wordpress.com, read Lisa’s personal blog at www.thetaskathand.wordpress.com, and discover more about BCM’s global ministry in the BCM World magazine. Connect with her via Instagram and Facebook.

For the month of December, we are featuring essays around the theme A Quiet Christmas.

For a limited time, we have 11 Ways to Minimize Holiday Stress available for free to subscribers. Get your copy today!

Earlier this week, we released a new episode of the Kindred Mom Podcast called “Tips and Traditions for a Meaningful Christmas”. Listen here or subscribe in any podcast app.

The Christmas season is my favorite time of year! I have always loved the fun of the holidays: beautiful lights and decorations, joyful and loud caroling in the car, crafts and homemade presents to work on, yummy treats to bake and enjoy, the quiet times of reflection while curled up by the tree with a hot beverage. Before I became a mama, I imagined a future of sharing all the best traditions with my beautiful, peaceful, well-behaved little children, who would share my joy and wonder of the season. We would create beautiful holiday memories and traditions to enjoy together for years to come!

After the first and second babies were born, I learned that having little ones underfoot was more limiting to Christmas traditions than I anticipated. My perfect Christmas plans became less “peace and joy” and more “stress and mess” with babies and toddlers “helping”. As the third and then the (surprise!) fourth babies joined us, I realized “peace on earth” was not going to be a part of my holiday season without some big changes for our family.

I started by asking the children what were the two most important holiday traditions to them?  What had to happen for it to feel like Christmas?  Their reply?  Christmas presents, and stockings. Obviously. At that moment, in their simple expectations, I found freedom.

Suddenly, the pressure of creating all the perfect family memories by doing all the perfect Christmas things went away. I could take a step back and focus on what matters most to me: spending time with my kids, and focusing on a quiet, peaceful holiday. By giving myself permission to stop doing the hard stuff, I got to work simplifying Christmas at my house.

First, the holiday family portrait and holiday cards? The ones that I can barely smile for because getting us all dressed, and combed, and happy at the same time is so hard, and when did stamps get so expensive? Gone! I don’t have time for that.

Next, the gorgeous, sweet smelling, cut-your-own live pine tree in the living room? The one I water every day but still becomes a dry and crunchy needle mess by the 25th? Bye-bye! Target has some decent-looking fake trees now.

Decorating holiday cookies with all the cut-out shapes, and gooey little fingers, and sprinkles on the floor, and sugar, sugar, sugar? Lord have mercy! I choose not to do things that make me yell.

The 150 piece Bethlehem village with the light up buildings, or the grandparent-gifted Lionel train that is way too nice to get broken? The ones that haven’t seen the exterior of the attic for about 9 years now? Nope! They can stay put a while longer.

How about my perfectly decorated Christmas tree with all the color-coordinated glass ornaments carefully curated over the years? The one that kids can’t stop touching? Not worth it! It still twinkles pretty without fancy decorations when the lights are low.

Finally, the 9 different Advent/Jesse Tree/12 Days of Christ in Christmas ornament sets and books? The ones I bought before I even had kids, because I already loved them so much and wanted to ensure they always knew the true meaning of Christmas? Baby steps! It’s okay to only do one advent activity with just the kids who are interested. If I have the time.

All of these things were very important to me at one time. Some still are, and I grieve their absence every year. I am sure some will re-appear in our Decembers after we move past the house-full-of-littles stage of life. But for me, for my family, these were the choices that brought calm and simplicity back to the season.

It turns out, that when I reconsidered my December priorities with four little ones at home, I found the freedom to enjoy the holidays again! When I focused on what was important to them, instead of what was important to me, we found joy together! When I ditched all the previously important traditions that somehow made my days with kids harder, we started to find new traditions that work for all of us.

Now, every year our family looks forward to holiday activities that were not previously on my radar screen: Secret Santa gifts between the kids; staying up late to watch “The Muppet Christmas Carol” on December 23rd; making and eating buckeye bars, which are oh-so-much-easier than traditional buckeye candy; driving around the neighborhood to see the lights; watching a Pentatonix music video before bed; going to a Christmas Eve service and sitting way up high in the church balcony.  And of course, Christmas presents, and stockings.

Having children has taught me that things don’t have to be perfect to be good. When I let go of my own expectations about what Christmas “should” look like, I discovered a new way to celebrate. Now our holidays are much less scheduled, less busy, less urgent. There is joy, wonder, and anticipation in our home for everyone. Sometimes we crank up the carols and have a raucous Holiday Dance Party.  And sometimes, every so often, we have Peace on Earth.

Victoria Weaver is a mama to two girls and two boys, and has a side job as a full-time engineer for a major healthcare company.  She has become a master of simplification as she balances work and family; always pointing to her amazing “house spouse” husband when people ask her how she does it.  After moving her family from the east coast, to the west coast, and back east again, she is settled (for now!) in the Greater Philadelphia area.

You can find more of Victoria’s thoughts on simplifying life at www.greenideareviews.com. 

For the month of November, our community is covering the following topics: Postpartum Experiences/Postpartum Depression, Teamwork & Communication in Parenting, & National Adoption Awareness Month/World Adoption Day (Nov. 9th).

If you haven’t downloaded your copy of the resource we created to offer practical tips and helps for  overwhelmed, exhausted, and lonely moms, Manage the Mayhem of Motherhood: 52 Ideas to Help You Flourish is waiting for you! 

I was sitting at a table in a Starbucks seven hours away from home. We’d come under the pretense of wanting coffee, but the real reason was we needed to feel normal for an hour. After ordering, we crowded tightly around the table. Our seven-year-old was watchful as I gently pulled the week-old baby from his car seat so I could feed him. To anyone watching, we were just a family of four enjoying a Sunday afternoon at the coffee shop. Except, my husband didn’t smile once, and from the time we’d buckled the kids into our van until the moment the barista shouted that our coffee was ready, I had been unable to stop weeping.

I was broken inside, shaken by yesterday’s call that announced how rapidly everything was falling apart. For hours, I had been unable to stop the flow of impending grief from running down my cheeks. Pretending to sip my coffee, I watched a couple in their late sixties at the next table over ask one another awkward questions. “Where did you grow up? What’s your favorite hobby? Do you drink decaf or regular?” They fiddled with their coffee cups and looked at the floor when conversation lapsed— the telltale signs of what was clearly a first date.

“What would it be like to start over?” I wondered. “What is it like to be on the other side of adulthood only to wake up one day and find you’ve got to start completely over?” I looked at the baby in my arms. Would I be starting over again tomorrow? If it all fell apart, would I be willing to start over again tomorrow?

I’ve spent nearly half my marriage in the adoption process and here’s what I know: it is not a one-time decision. Adoption is a thousand-times decision. I never woke up one morning and decided, “yes, today is the day I have decided I will adopt, and I will stay committed to the process from this day forward.” No, that wasn’t it. Gradually, I came to adoption. Slowly, the way you fall asleep at night. There’s a space between sleep and wakefulness where your decisions lie down next to your dreams. That’s where I first came to adoption. It took a while for the letters that formed the first yes to line up next to one another. And that first yes couldn’t be the only yes. Adoption requires a lot more agreement than that.

My husband and I made the decision to adopt when we ordered that first informational packet from the agency. We decided to adopt when we filled out the application. And again, when I sent the first check to the agency. We renewed our decision when the stack of home study paperwork arrived in the mail. We were deciding to adopt when I checked the batteries on the smoke detectors and he spent a day baby-proofing the kitchen cabinets.

We committed to adoption on the day the social worker came to inspect our house, our marriage, our finances, and our childhood memories. We put our decision in writing when we applied for a loan. Again, we said yes when we bought the crib. We said yes to adoption when we met an expectant mother and a caseworker at a McDonald’s three hours away. We said yes when the baby was born, when the papers were signed, when we realized we had no idea how to swaddle an infant or clean around the umbilical cord stump. We said a lot of yeses.

We decided to say a lot more yeses when the baby became a toddler and we ordered another informational packet. We renewed the decision with every immigration form, every financial sacrifice, every probing application question. Every next step was a crossroad where we looked both ways and whispered that today we were all in. We said yes to adoption when our first baby turned three, then four, five, six, and seven. We said yes when the program abruptly ended, forcing a change of plans. We said yes to five years of waiting.

Every day was an opportunity to jump ship. There were plenty of times we could have said no. And some days I really wanted to say no. We kept saying yes, though, because there are two of us in this marriage and when one was tired the other said yes for both of us.  A thousand times we said yes. Until one day I was sitting in a Starbucks holding a baby whose future might never again mingle with mine, and I had to decide again. Do I say yes to adoption? Is my availability worth the excruciating risk of loss?

I watched the grandparents on their first date. I looked down at the baby’s face; he would never look like me. If forced to part ways, he would have no memory of the weeping woman in the coffee shop. Was it still worth it to say yes to him? Could I say yes tomorrow, knowing the risk of loss?

To adopt is to expose yourself to risk at every step of the process. To say yes to adoption is to embrace the uncertainty of loving a child without the guarantee of permanency. Adoption means valuing a stranger more than your emotional safety.

As I studied the unfamiliar face of the newborn in my arms at Starbucks that day, I was cognizant of one thing: this wasn’t really about me. It was about offering my motherhood to a child who needed it, for however long he needed it. Adoption isn’t merely a path some people choose to become a parent, as though it’s just one option of many. It’s a path we fight to stay on. It’s a commitment to be available, to give the love and care a child might need from us, to offer what we cannot guarantee will be returned to us. That’s just parenting in general, though, isn’t it?

It took days, weeks, and eventually months for my tears to truly dry up after that afternoon at Starbucks. I survived the riskiest year of my life, and the cost left me a little bit broken. I can be honest about this more than two years later: adoption broke me. But I am a better mother for being a little bit broken. I find healing every morning when my nine-year old tumbles down the stairs and heads straight for the cereal. I find healing each time my two-year-old son climbs in my lap and says, “Wub you, Mommy,” wrapping his chubby arms around my neck. I know that the thousands of yeses to adoption have led to this day. The gift of mothering my sons is the culmination of a thousand yeses.

If I woke up one day and found I had to start completely over, what would I say?

I would say yes. A thousand times, yes.

**Tune in to the Kindred Mom podcast on 11/7 to hear more from Glenna on this topic.

Glenna Marshall is a writer, speaker, and singer-songwriter who loves to encourage women to know the Lord more deeply by seeking Him in His Word. She lives in Southeast Missouri with her pastor-husband and two young sons where she is busy writing her first book (P&R Publishing).