Christmas was slow this year. Actually calm and gradual. One lovely day slipping into another. Late nights and later mornings and bananas for breakfast at 11am. My mind was quiet and my heart beat soft.
And after Christmas, the cottage. The magic of 2 feet of snow. Dave sledding down the roof with the kids. "Haven't you always wanted to do this?!" he shouted to me. No. No. My childhood fantasies never included roof sledding.
Days of snowshoeing and sledding and skiing. Nights of charades and cocoa and cuddles.
Good, good, memories. Grant telling me he just wants to hug me because I'm so plump. Okay, maybe that wasn't one of the best memories. But his Christmas present to me was. A letter. Just little boy chicken-scratch on half a piece of paper, but oh, the gift of it.
"....Overall, pretty much what I am saying is that your a faithful woman that loves God so much and you are loving, kind, etc. as God taught you to be....Keep it up!"
As God taught me to be. Yes. None of us exit the womb Christ-like. We have to be born again for that to happen. And it's a process. Sometimes a painfully slow one. But I have a good teacher. A God who walked this road before me, felt the needs in the squalor around Him, tasted the ecstasy of beauty, loves and laughs and lives.
Yes, I celebrate the present tense, I celebrate the God that always is.
The God that is with me this week as I forge into school and lessons and life with many little people (my mother included).
I'll keep the course faithfully, spurred by a 10 year-olds' encouragement to....
Keep it Up!
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