As we celebrate the birth of the Christ child this evening, we are also eagerly awaiting the birth of another sweet babe.

Ava likes to put her face right up to my stomach and say, “Mama, don’t you wish it was like an oven so we could turn the light on and take a peek?”

Hoping that your Christmas is filled with laughter, wonder, and worship.

Merry Christmas to you and your families!

Rachel, Nate, & Ava

I love that in Minnesota, Christmas truly falls in the dead of winter. All vegetation is either encased in ice or locked under the frozen ground. Snow covers the rooftops, the sidewalks, the railings and the lampposts. And by 4:30 in the evening this world of white is shrouded in darkness. These are the darkest days of the year.

The celebration of Christmas is the bright, shiny moment during our dark winter months. I love how this reflects the story of Christ’s birth. While we were still lost in darkness, the Light of the World came to us as a babe to bring us new life.

Each year I like to pot paper white bulbs, small white flowers that bloom while everything else is dormant. It’s like bringing a little bit of life into a sleeping world. Not only do they fill your home with fragrance, they also make great little hostess gifts, neighbor gifts or teacher gifts.

Besides her classroom teacher, this year Ava has two dance teachers, a choir director, two Sunday school leaders, a reading teacher, and two teacher’s assistants. So last weekend, we had a little paper white potting party.

First you need some bulbs. Most nurseries carry them. I usually pick up mine at Home Depot–so romantic, I know.

Next you fill your pot with moist dirt. I found these perfect little pots at IKEA.

Then with a twist of your hand, you nestle the bulbs into the dirt. Make sure the stem is facing up.

Now for the messy part. Cover the dirt with moss. We used Spanish moss, but any moss will do.

Add a little embellishment and a gift tag with instructions.

Paper white care could not be easier:

• Keep in a sunny spot.
• Keep soil moist (water 1 or 2 times a week).

Finally, prepare yourself for this conversation.

“Wow. Thank you. What is it?”

“A paper white.”

“A paper weight?”

“Paper WHIte. It’s a little white flower that will grow and bloom.”

I realize that it little late for you to give these as gifts this year, but it’s not too late to bring some winter blooms into your own home. Let these little budding flowers nestled in moss remind you of the new life offered to you from the little babe in the manger.

Before Thanksgiving, Ava’s Kindergarten class was studying the early explorers. They stowed away on the Nina to learn all about Christopher Columbus adventurous voyage and then they packed paper trunks to join the pilgrims on the Mayflower.

Yesterday, I was helping out in her classroom and noticed that they still had some pilgrim art on the wall. I wandered over to see if I could find Ava’s. Each child had colored a pilgrim couple and attached to the drawings were quotes from each student describing what their job at the new settlement would be.

Many of the boys were going to chop down wood to keep people warm or go hunting for meat. Some kids would plant food; some would gather it. One sweet girl wrote that she would build a church. It was clear that if you wanted to bring twenty-two five-year-olds to an uncharted land, this would be your crew.

As I searched the wall for Ava’s name, I found one that said that she would grow food for people to eat.  I was so proud at that moment. All my instruction last summer on seeds and soil, water and weeding had taken root.  But as I studied the picture I realized the coloring was off. It wasn’t quite detailed enough.

Then I found my Ava’s. While all the other children had colored their pilgrims in the traditional drab hues of browns, grays, and blacks, Ava’s pilgrim’s had rose stripes, gold sashes, and aqua polka-dots.

And if Ava had landed at Plymouth, she would have “helped them make ribbon for clothes.”

Something tells me she is not going to be a contender in Survivor 2024.

But if you need a hand with accessories, she’s your girl.

The month of October is marked with two emotions: fear of all the spooky displays in every shopping center and excitement about an evening of costumes and candy.

This year Ava started planning her Halloween costume as soon as the streamers from her birthday party came down. To say that she loves to play dress-up would be like saying that a bird loves to build a nest. It’s her nature. It’s her calling. And it’s in her genes.

Her mother had a suitcase of dress-up clothes in her closet until she graduated from high school. And spent more than a few evenings creating characters in front of the mirror instead of applying Pythagoras’ theorem to flight patterns of migrating hummingbirds.

So an evening dedicated to parading through the neighborhood in the costume of her choice with everyone under four feet participating is an event worthy of great anticipation and planning.

This year she shifted through all the possible varieties of fairies, butterflies, and princesses with such speed and furry that it became a revolving kaleidoscope of tulle and glitter. And if the girly-ness index was not already topping out, one night she suggested she could be a giant red heart with a rainbow headband.

Sometime in September, she landed on the idea of being a peacock, a bright purple and teal bird with tulle, wings, and flamboyant feathers.  I fully endorsed this idea until I realized it came with a $69 price tag from Pottery Barn Kids or required that I restore my relationship with my sewing machine. So I put all my powers of procrastination towards the peacock and her purple feathers.

Thankfully the week of Halloween she abandoned the extravagant pheasant and was sure that she wanted to be the Princess in the Pea.  I was thrilled, as I was sure that we could pull this together from out of her overflowing dress-up box. Plus it fit with her history of storybook characters, Madeline and Little Bo Peep.

On Friday morning I joined the throng of over eager Kindergarten parents volunteering for the fall festival party. Ava was first in line for the face painting booth and was delighted by the butterfly affixed to her right cheek. That was until she saw the kitty nose and whiskers painted across the sweet faces of several of her friends. She was fixated. She was sold. She was going to be a kitty on Halloween.

“And then Mama, when I ring the doorbell I can go like this,” she said as she put her two little hands under her chin, “and say ‘meow, meow.’”

As we ate dinner that night, Ava and I starting dreaming up her costume with alarming consistency. I remembered that she had a black velvet dress at same moment she announced it. “And you/I have that black sweater with a white fur,” we said in unison. Before we started in on dessert, we had come up with everything but the ears and tail.

The next morning she came running into my room. “Mama, remember we have those furry earmuffs? We could use those for the ears,” she said at the same moment that I was looking for them. It’s frightening really. It’s like talking to the five-year-old version of myself.

Thanks to a bit of hot glue, a needle and thread, and a quick trip to Joanne’s for two furry boas and some black felt, we had a kitty on our hands.

A kitty with a craving for candy.

“Meow, Meow.”

Thankfully she found two pint-sized queens with similar sweet tooth’s ready to round the kingdom in search of sugar-coated alms.

Collecting hand-outs wears a girl out, as does the inevitable sugar crash.

Look at those three sleeping so soundly, blissfully unaware that their parents are upstairs stealing sweets from their stash.

Shh, I’ll never tell. Will you?

It’s no secret that I love summer. I like it hot. Very hot. So hot you have to swim to cool off hot.

I like it sundress hot. Flip-flop hot. Tall glass of ice tea hot.

When the temperature drops, my mood wants to take the same path.

This year, I’m flirting with the idea of embracing fall. It would be so much easier if I didn’t know what comes after fall. But fall with it’s cool mornings and warms colors is enticing. Perhaps if make a list of all that is lovely in autumn, I wouldn’t dread it so much.

Here’s my start:

Crisp, tart apples

Pumpkins on doorsteps

Leaves, leaves, leaves

Steaming apple cider

Hay rides

Cozy scarves

Butternut squash soup

Oh fall soups are good. Very good.

Do you love fall? What’s on your list?

Ava received this delightful CD for her birthday called “You Are My Little Bird.” Accompanied by a acoustic guitar, Elizabeth Mitchell and her daughter sing a round sweet songs about birds. Since Ava’s name means bird, the CD quickly became the number request from the backseat.

One afternoon last summer I was driving to some unknown necessary destination and Ava was adding her harmony to Bob Marley’s tune. That day as the high summer rays mingled with the slow Marley rhythms, I heard the message of the three little birds. It reminded me of another verse–

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life…. Look at the birds of the air: they neither so nor reap nor gather in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? –Matthew 6:25a, 26

We were in the sweep of many life changes and unanswered questions. Should try to sell our house? Where should we move? In what sort of neighborhood will we raise our family? How will that effect Ava’s schooling options? What kind of vehicle should replace Nate’s dead car with? What is our family portrait going to look like? Oh, what is it going to look like?

Worry was my morning tea.

So many decisions hinge on other decisions, and there have been so many times this year when I have felt completely stuck. If only I knew how “A” was going to turn out, I could decide what to do about “B” and “C”. It’s hard to live in the in between, the space between the Q and the A.

This year has been a lesson in letting go. I have an ideal answer for every one of those questions and more. I know how I want everything to turn out. And it’s hard not to believe that my ideal is “how everything will be alright.” Yet the longer those question marks hang on the end of those phrases the farther away my ideal floats.

What do you cling to then?

Marley was close, but he missed the how and who.

If I close my fist around my answers all I’m truly holding onto is anxiety. I cannot will the world to be my way. The harder I try the more anxious I become.

And through it all I hear the Lord, the great comforter and giver all good gifts calling me to open my hand and surrender these questions to him.

“Let this go, Rachel. Trust me.”

“But I’m not sure I like your plan.  I think I like mine better.”

“I love you. Trust me.”

“But this doesn’t feel like good gifts.”

“Trust me.”

Even as I surrender these things, it surprises me how often I have to do it. Some days I trust in his goodness. Some days I’m overcome by the images of my ideal. Slowly I’m learning to turn over those pictures to the One whose big picture is best.

I want to rise with Ava in the morning and sing a melody pure and true.

Jesus is the who and the how. Because of him every little thing is going to be alright.

And he does give good gifts, just look at my little bird.

When you find yourself on the cusp of a milestone, you pack all the necessary devices to capture the moment. Like the first-time parents that we are, we arrived at Ava’s school with more cameras than children. While Ava’s first day of Kindergarten is well documented in still and motion pictures, there are pictures that I want to retain that can’t be captured by a camera.

As I lay in my bed that night waiting for sleep to find me, images of the day swirled in mind my like a kaleidoscope. At each interval a picture would come into focus, I would fend off sleep with more chuckles and tears.

Ava threw open her door that morning like leading lady making her grand appearance on stage. “I’m so excited!” she declared still holding onto the handle with one and the other stretched out to the ceiling.

Her enthusiasm sent her dashing through the morning of “A”-shaped pancakes and starched-new uniforms. She came into my room shaking her curls and twirling her tartan skirt.

“Oh Mama, you look beautiful. But you need a little spray for your hair and some make up on your eyes. ‘Kay. Oh, you smell so good, Mama! So get your spray hair and then you’ll be ready,” she said as she waved her hand and spun out of the room.

If there was ever a day for your Mama to look good, it would most certainly be the first day of Kindergarten.

The three of us walked into her school hand-in-hand, but I don’t think Ava’s feet ever touched the ground.  We headed toward the great common room where the students were to meet their teachers. And all the bravado of the morning melted in the wake of the frenzy that was spread out before us.

In the blur of the pandemonium, I felt the weight of familiar little hand press into mine as she leaned her head into my side. Together we watched big school kids dash by with even bigger backpacks; new parents exchange hellos as jittery children darted between their legs; and the occasional weeping little one clinging to the hand of confident older sibling.

In the midst of the chaos we had carved out our own circle of calm.

When her final classmate arrived, Mr. K asked his kindergartners to line up. I let go of Ava’s hand and said, “It’s time to get in line now.” I thought we would be following her to her classroom to hear a story. She grabbed onto my hand again, and once again I let it go, encouraging her to get in line.

And before I realized it was the end, she was marching away.

In less than a moment I heard the beep of HungryMan’s camcorder signaling that he had stopped recording. I realized that there was nothing left to record. She had turned the corner and was gone.

Then came the tears.

“Rachel, we’re picking her up in three hours.”

“I know, but she was holding my hand, and I let it go.”

And then more tears.

The two of us walked out to our car, where I sat down and cried. I really didn’t expect to cry, but there I was laughing at myself as the tears kept coming wreaking havoc on the commissioned eye make-up.

And three hours later, my sweet bundle of happiness came skipping back into view.

“Oh Mama! It was so much fun! It was better than I thought. I love kindergarten! I love Mr. K. He’s the best teacher. He’s better than a girl teacher! It was so much fun. I want to do it again!”

There was so much to say; there was no time for breathing.

In those short three hours, she had accumlated enough stories to share for the remainder of the day. And each new tale is concluded with, “I just really love school, Mama!”

When this day’s joyous pictures blend and blur into other happy school memories, the moment I will cling to is her warm little hand holding mine.

And as this is only the beginning of so many independent adventures, know sweet Ava, my hand is always here.

Early this morning, we were off to the doctor for Ava’s five-year-old check up and the much dreaded shots. She shed not one tear, and was doubly awarded with four brightly colored bandaides and four trophy prizes.

Her doctor confirmed our suspicions that she is growing like a weed, more than ready for school and is very allergic to cats. The doctor wrote her notes on the screen of a tablet PC, which Ava declared as “magic.” A delight which was only surpassed by the promise of a medicine that could help her play with cats.

We had planned to run a few errands after the appointment, which now included acquiring magic cat potion, and make our weekly trip to the library. But it was too cold. Or as they like to say in Minnesota, we were not dressed for the weather. That’s right. It’s the end of May and somehow we thought we could wear sundresses, flip-flops, and light sweaters. How silly of us.

So we headed home for a few additional layers.

After adding leggings, a fleece, a scarf, and exchanging her flip-flops for some boots, she stopped on the stairway to make this useful observation.

“I look like a cowgirl today, don’t I Mama? Don’t you think these boots make me look like a cowgirl? Yep, I’m a cowgirl today.”

Yes, that was my first thought. I hear cows are particularly fond of sparkly hearts and shiny gold buttons.

You know I don’t think that this girl has ever seen a real live cowgirl and hardly a cow at that.  At her age I had been to more rodeos than tea parties, and every other person I knew owned a pair of battered wranglers and Justin boots. I remember when my Minneapolis cousins would come visit us in Montana, I would be mesmerized by their city words and city clothes.

Now look at me, I’m raising my very own city slicker. Those boots have hardly seen a speck of dust let alone an entire range.

After dazzling more than one librarian with her not-so-western ensemble, we returned home to snuggle and read through our bag of books. Thanks to our favorite pig, Olivia, Ava finally has the words to pair with this outfit:

“And of course, you can always accessorize!”