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Emily Stimpson Chapman

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Twenty years ago, as a grad student at Franciscan Twenty years ago, as a grad student at Franciscan University, I enrolled in Dr. Scott Hahn’s Theological Foundations class. My life has never been the same.⁣ ⁣ Although I’d been attending Bible studies for years before that class, up until then I had no idea how to make sense of what I read. This is because I didn’t fully understand the relationship between the Old and New Testaments—how the meaning of the Old is revealed by the New and how the New fulfills all the promises of the Old.⁣ ⁣ I also didn’t understand that every major figure in the New Testament was prefigured in the Old Testament, and that every Church teaching was rooted not just in the New Testament writings, but in the Old as well.⁣ ⁣ Scott’s class threw open a window for me, helping me to see the grand sweep of salvation history and, in the process, reordering my vision of the world.⁣ ⁣ Now, after 20 years of working together on a variety of projects, I get to help Scott throw open the same window for your children, with a new series of children’s books based on his bestselling adult books.⁣ ⁣ A week from today, the first of these books, “Mary, Mother of All,” will be released. Based on “Hail Holy Queen,” it aims to lay a foundation in faith and reason upon which little ones can build for the rest of their lives, showing them the deep Scriptural roots of Church teaching on Jesus’ mother and inviting them into a loving relationship with her.⁣ ⁣ Like the books still to come, this book aims to reach children’s hearts and minds with the theological richness of Scott’s biblical insights, the enchanting beauty of artist Tricia Dugat’s illustrations, and my (hopefully) fun and memorable rhymes, which make those insights accessible to everyone, young and old.⁣ ⁣ I believe, that with God’s grace, these books can change the way a generation of children know and love their faith, showing them from their earliest years the glory, beauty, and perfection of the Father’s plan as revealed in Scripture, fulfilled in Christ, made present in the Liturgy, and lived in the Christian life … all through rhyming couplets and alternating 8/9 syllabic lines.😁⁣ ⁣ To pre-order your copy today, see the link in my Stories.
She wasn’t much when we first bought her. People She wasn’t much when we first bought her. People who hadn’t treated her well had owned her for decades, stripping her of her finery: her stained glass windows and pocket doors, fireplaces and cabinetry, oak trim and grand stairway. But she had good lines and nice curves. We saw beauty in her others couldn’t. So, we made her ours.⁣ ⁣ Hiding behind walls and between floors, however, were problems we couldn’t see: collapsing and rotting beams, a leaking roof hastily patched, antiquated pipes ready to burst, old electrical wires, split and frayed. She needed more than a little work. She needed saving. So, we did that, too.⁣ ⁣ Now, she looks good. Beautiful even. It appears like the work on her is done. But she has been hiding secrets: ancient septic pipes bleeding sewage, phorid flies breeding underground, and, as we discovered this past week, termites feasting on her 133-year-old joists. More sensible people would cry “Uncle” and get out while they could. But she’s ours, and we love her, so we’re dealing with all these things, too.⁣ ⁣ How much like us these old homes are—full of stories and beauty, but also so very broken. When we first give our lives to Christ, we see the big visible sins we need to overcome. And as God gives us the grace to turn away from those sins and towards Him, we start to look more beautiful to others. But in our hearts and minds, sins still fester. So Christ goes to work on those, too.⁣ ⁣ He doesn’t do this all at once. He goes slowly, revealing to us bit by bit the depths of our anger, lust, envy, gluttony, greed,, sloth and pride. Years pass, then decades, as He helps us name these sins and the fears that lead to them. The longer we walk with Him, the more of our brokenness we see and the more we realize that conversion and repentance aren’t a one-time thing for believers; they are a way of life.⁣ ⁣ I’m not sure we would have bought this old house had we known what was to come. But Christ died on a cross knowing all—every last sin hidden in every last heart. And He pours out His grace on us knowing the same. Because, like us with this house, He sees the beauty in us even when others don’t. Because He loves us. Because we are His.
What is love? That’s the question at the heart o What is love? That’s the question at the heart of Deus Caritas Est’s opening paragraphs. It has to be. For none of us can understand what God gives to us (or what we’re called to give), if we don’t understand the nature of love.⁣ ⁣ And many of us don’t understand. We grew up in broken homes or broken churches, where those who were supposed to model God’s love for us were too broken themselves to do that job well. Insecurity, fear, pride, anger, vanity, greed, lust, and ignorance infected hearts and relationships, handicapping our experience of love from the start.⁣ ⁣ We’ve also grown up in a world thick with false images of love. Or perhaps not false, but one dimensional. Hallmark movies and romance novels, pornography and erotica, even hapless parents on television sitcoms—each glorifies a part of love, but never the whole. They get some things right, appealing to deeply human and truly good desires—to be the beloved, to give ourselves to another, to be loved for who we are. But they do so at the expense of equally important and even more fundamental truths: that love is an action, not just a feeling, that love requires sacrifice and suffering, that love never uses the other person or treats them as an object.⁣ ⁣ Most of all, those counterfeit images of love ignore that love seeks the good of the other—the true good, the ultimate good, the eternal good: virtue and joy and life with God in Heaven.⁣ ⁣ Love is passion. But it’s also patience. Love is desire. But it’s also sacrifice. Love is tolerance. But it’s also correction. Love is freedom. But it’s also boundaries. Love is jealous. But it’s also selfless. Love is a gift. But it’s also a choice.⁣ ⁣ In short, love is so much more than our past or our culture often lead us to believe. And God wants more for us. He wants to give us more, and He wants us to give more. As Benedict points out, contrary to what the Church’s critics say, the Church isn’t interested in diminishing our experience of love. She’s interested in expanding it, elevating it, and leading us into love’ fullness.⁣ ⁣ How that happens and what that looks like is what we’ll discuss next week.
Just a little reminder from my book “The Catholi Just a little reminder from my book “The Catholic Table,” that the numbers on your scale are the least interesting thing about your beautiful, wonderful, sacrament of a body.
“What I missed, during those early years of stud “What I missed, during those early years of studying spiritual maturation, was two-fold.⁣ ⁣ First, I missed who was in charge of this process. I confused the spiritual stages with items on a to-do list. I thought my plans, my resolutions, my discipline were the engines of my progress. And that’s not the case at all.⁣ ⁣ Second, I didn’t realize that nothing about the pursuit of holiness is nearly so neat or tidy as the books and charts which describe those stages make it seem. In their writings, Saints Teresa, John, and others all pointed out that people might move back and forth between stages or even be in two stages at once. But those cautionary, qualifying words never grabbed my attention. They also never made it into many of the secondary sources I read about holiness.⁣ ⁣ I can’t entirely blame the authors for that. They wanted to explain the stages of the spiritual life clearly and succinctly. Telling people that you can be living a life of deep, habitual virtue and still struggling against the very same temptations you struggled against on Day 1 of your walk with Christ is disorienting and discouraging. So too is telling someone they can experience great joy and great desolation at the same time. Or that the trials of the Dark Nights aren’t necessarily a phase to simply get through, but often a way of life that can last for decades. ⁣ ⁣ But that is how it is for many of us. Or most of us. Or maybe all of us.”⁣ ⁣ Sharing this month’s essay for full subscribers to my newsletter a bit early, so I can get started on Deus Caritas Est next week. Link is in stories and bio.
Six weeks ago, we put this tree up—a new one, bo Six weeks ago, we put this tree up—a new one, bought to replace the one we lost in the sewage flood. And I really didn’t like it. So much so that I wrote a whole Instagram post about it. That was before my mom’s health declined. Before the trips to Illinois. Before we moved my parents. Before round 732 of sickness. And, of course, before the poop flies. Gosh, how was that only 6 weeks ago?⁣ ⁣ Anyhow, it’s now the middle of January and I have zero inclination to take down this tree. Partly because every January I go traditionalist and insist on keeping Christmas to Candlemas. Partly because it took me a solid 3 weeks to outfit this house for Christmas and I want at least that much time, in my house, to enjoy it. And lastly, because there is no way in hell I am going to bring a single bin or box from our poop fly infested basement upstairs right now. It’s entirely possible it will be Christmas until Easter here.⁣ ⁣ But that’s okay. Because I have come to love this too perfect, super fake tree, which has glimmered gently through all the darkness of these long weeks. It has delighted the children and comforted me. It has done its job well, bearing witness to the Light who is our hope, shining and sparkling in silent defiance of the unrelenting Pittsburgh grey.⁣ ⁣ Someone asked me yesterday why, given the shape of these last months, I wasn’t angry at Jesus. But honestly, it hasn’t even occurred to me to be angry. Partly because stress isn’t tragedy, and while we’ve had lots of the former, we’ve had precious little of the latter. Life is still so good. Challenging. But good. ⁣ ⁣ Also, I think, because this tree keeps reminding me that Jesus is here, keeping vigil with us in the darkness, blessing us with glimmers of light, beauty, and joy, even when the sun is hidden. I see those glimmers every day: in the patience of my husband, the shouts of my babies, the gift of my work, the company of friends, and the kindness of strangers—the kindness of you. My life is far more beautiful than I deserve. Even with poop flies.⁣ ⁣ He’s there for you too, you know. Even if you can’t see Him. He’s there. Offering you Himself. And, like this tree of ours, He’s not going anywhere.
I have been promising details, so here is the star I have been promising details, so here is the start of them. Next week, I will begin leading a slow read of Pope Benedict’s encyclicals, starting with 𝘋𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘴 𝘌𝘴𝘵. The first reflection will be on sections 1-4. It’s about 2.5 pages of reading, so it shouldn’t take you too long. In Stories, I’ll share links to where you can read this encyclical (for free) and a few more details. I do hope you join me. ⁣ ⁣ Just a heads up: I won’t do this perfectly. I will probably get behind from time to time. I am a one-woman operation and there are still three children ages 4,2, and 1 in this house. Plus, one of my goals for this year is to not kill myself over self-imposed deadlines. 😬⁣ ⁣ But, even with imperfect me as your guide, I believe this type of a reading will bear great fruit in your life, helping you to understand more fully and deeply the God who is Love. And I know it will be good for me. It already has been.
A morning prayer: May Ellie always feel as loved a A morning prayer: May Ellie always feel as loved and safe and sure, as she does in her father’s arms.  And may you too always feel just as loved and safe and sure, in the arms of your Heavenly Father. ⁣  ⁣ (Sidenote: I know adoption and trauma can go hand in hand. But when I see Chris come home from work every day and sweep Ellie up in his arms so they can dance to this song together, I have to believe adoption and healing can go hand in hand, too. Ellie comes from a long line of women who were not valued, who were not treasured, who were not safe— not in the arms of the men who raised them and not in the arms of the men to whom they later gave themselves. Ellie is the first in her biological family for generations to know a good father’s love. And I hope and I pray and I beg God, that this will make all the difference in her life, here on earth and in eternity.)⁣
I was supposed to be at SEEK today. They asked me I was supposed to be at SEEK today. They asked me months ago, and even though I have given up speaking for this season, I said yes. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. But then my mom got sicker. And sicker still. And I couldn’t justify the time away to speak when I was facing so much more time away to help my parents. I couldn’t do both. So, I pulled out of SEEK. And I am incredibly glad I did.⁣ ⁣ It would be great to be in St. Louis this week, speaking to thousands of young adults. But it’s been more great to have been free to go back to Illinois so many times over the past 6 weeks to be with my parents. And it’s even more great to be here today, at home once more with my babies, caring for them and enjoying these fleeting, precious days.⁣ ⁣ For everything there is a season. And I’ve had seasons of traveling and speaking and saying yes to every opportunity that came along. Those seasons were fun and exciting, but also completely exhausting. Plus, looking back, I’m not entirely sure how much fruit they bore, in my heart or in the hearts of others.⁣ ⁣ This season, a season of caregiving and saying no, is much less exciting and even more exhausting, but I don’t doubt the fruit of it. SEEK will be fine without me. My family won’t. I’m necessary here in a way I’m not necessary anywhere else. Honoring my parents, helping my sisters, caring for my babies is glorious if not glamorous work, and I’m blessed to get to do it. I’m glad God has called some people to travel and speak at SEEK. I’m also glad He made it clear to me that is not my call. Not now anyhow.⁣ ⁣ I’m not sharing this for those in a season of yes’s. I trust your discernment. I’m sharing it for those in a season of no’s—no’s to travel, no’s to professional accomplishments, no’s to opportunities that the world tells us are more important. Those things can be good and they can be important. But so is saying no. So is sitting with aging parents, rocking sick babies, and wiping kitchen counters. So is doing the quiet hidden work God has asked you to do now, in this season. Applause will always fade away. But the fruit of your yes to God’s call, whatever that may be, will endure forever.
Last week, I asked how many of you, like me, are a Last week, I asked how many of you, like me, are a planner married to a non-planner. I could write 5 posts about the responses I received. But today, as Instagram is awash in resolutions and plans, I’m popping in with one thought: It’s okay if you’re not racing into 2023 with a white board full of goals and strategies.⁣ ⁣ Don’t get me wrong: Planning can be good. Goal-setting can be helpful. Strategizing can be fruitful. But plans can also become idols. Goals can be empty. Strategizing can be a distraction, pulling our hearts to the future, when they need to be in the present. Planning also can be more about us than God, rooted in a refusal to trust or an unhealthy desire to control what cannot be controlled.⁣ ⁣ I am a planner. My husband is not. But that doesn’t make me holier than him. It doesn’t make me wiser than him. It doesn’t make me more loving, more virtuous, or a better leader than him. Quite the opposite. Chris is my superior in all those respects. He excels at responding to the needs of the present moment. A to-do list never stops him from prioritizing time with us. When the unexpected happens, he handles it with more grace and less anger than I do.⁣ ⁣ Yes, the non-planners of the world have growing to do. There’s almost always a defect in excess, whether that’s an excess of plans or no plans. So, if your New Year’s Resolution is to grow as a planner, don’t let my words stop you.⁣ ⁣ But as you make those plans, make them prayerfully. Hold them loosely. Don’t confuse them with the Gospel or mistake strategies for grace.⁣ ⁣ Most of all, beware the tendency to bureaucratize faith. Christianity is a love story. A mystery. A miracle. Not a personal development program. The Protestant Work Ethic might help you build a fine business, but it won’t light up the world or your soul like practicing the presence of God will. That practice requires letting go of our plans and trusting in a different plan, one we cannot see and have not devised. That tends to come more easily for people like my husband. They are better at imitating the lilies, the birds, and the little ones. That is their gift. And if I have a goal for this year, it’s to become more like that.
I will never forget the moment, in 2005, when he s I will never forget the moment, in 2005, when he stepped out onto the balcony, all dressed in white. I will never forget the morning, in 2013, when I woke up to headlines that I didn’t believe could be accurate. And I will never forget today, reading the news that he has finally and truly left us.⁣ ⁣ I don’t know if Pope Benedict should be canonized. I can’t even pretend to understand how and why he could leave us as he did, in 2013. But I do know I love him. I know he loved Jesus. And I know his mind was one of the finest the 20th century—or any century—produced. My love for Christ and His Church are infinitely richer for that love, that mind, and the words born of both.⁣ ⁣ I’ve been wrestling for weeks about what book study to do here in 2023. I loved the slow and steady discipline of reading “To Know Christ Jesus” with you and wanted to do something similar this coming year. But nothing seemed right. Then, this morning, when I heard the news, I knew immediately what I needed to do.⁣ ⁣ This year, for myself, I’m going to reread the encyclicals of Pope Benedict XVI. They were life-changing for me once. And I want to spend just a little more time with him, through his words, while I can. If you want to read his encyclicals along with me, I would love that.⁣ ⁣ Like with Sheed, each week I’ll post a reflection on a section here. I’ll also share it free to all newsletter subscribers as well, since I know many of you will be taking vacations (temporary or permanent) from Instagram. All the encyclicals are free. My posts here will be free. The posts in the newsletter will be free. So this will cost you nothing but time. The reward, though, will be great. I promise. Even if you don’t read a word I write, his words will leave you and your faith forever changed.⁣ ⁣ I’ll start with Deus Caritas Est (God is Love) in mid-January. More details will be forthcoming. For now, I’m praying for the soul of the pope I loved so, so much. I have missed you, Papa. And now I will miss you more.
I don’t know if I’ll take a better picture of I don’t know if I’ll take a better picture of my babies … this Christmas or this lifetime. So, the merriest and most blessed of Christmases to you. Our pipes are still frozen, but we had an amazing feast with amazing friends and God is with us, so Alleluia. Also, am I the only one who thinks Toby and Becket look alike? 🤣
It happened only once.⁣ ⁣ Once, a virgin conce It happened only once.⁣ ⁣ Once, a virgin conceived a Son and carried God in her womb.⁣ ⁣ Once, at midnight, in the piercing cold, God’s first cry echoed through a stable.⁣ ⁣ Once, God was a toddler. Once, God was a child. Once, God was a 12-year-old boy who left His parents to teach in the Temple.⁣ ⁣ Once, God said goodbye to the man who raised Him as his own.⁣ ⁣ Once, God turned water into wine and called 12 men to walk with Him.⁣ ⁣ Once, God traveled through Judea, Galilee, and Samaria, preaching, teaching, and healing.⁣ ⁣ Once, God was condemned.⁣ ⁣ Once, God was whipped. Once, God was crowned with thorns. Once, God carried a cross so heavy, He stumbled under its weight.⁣ ⁣ Once, God breathed His last.⁣ ⁣ Once, God rose from the dead.⁣ ⁣ Once, all that we think of as⁣ salvation history wasn’t history. It was happening. In a real time and a real place before the eyes of real men.⁣ ⁣ But God doesn’t want you to just experience His life as history. He wants to invite you into that history. He wants you to witness it. He wants you to participate in it and be changed by it and receive the graces won for you in every part of it.⁣ ⁣ To make that possible, He has given us the Sacred Scriptures, inspired, inerrant, the Word of God, which draw us into a living encounter with Him.⁣ ⁣ He also has given us the Sacred Liturgy, where Jesus comes again, not in a lesser way than He came on that first Christmas, but in a way even more miraculous. In the Liturgy, time and space open up, allowing us to be mystically present at the One Sacrifice on Calvary and also one with all the angels and saints, as Heaven comes to earth, and the Bridegroom gives Himself to His Bride—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—in the Holy Eucharist.⁣ ⁣ Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You’ve spent a year walking through the Gospels with Frank Sheed and me. Now, as we prepare to celebrate Christ’s birth once again, do more than celebrate it. Enter into it. Be swept up by it. Kneel, mystically, at both the foot of the manger and of the cross. Worship and adore the God Man, who is there in the flesh, loving you, interceding for you, forever and always.⁣ ⁣ God is calling you to the Supper of the Lamb. Go.
The disciples didn’t recognize Him. Again and ag The disciples didn’t recognize Him. Again and again and again. They knew Jesus better than anyone. They knew His mannerisms, His walk, the sound of His voice. But after His Resurrection, they didn’t recognize Him.⁣ ⁣ Theologians have their theories about the properties of the resurrected body that made this possible. I suppose we’ll find out how it happened someday. But the fact remains: Jesus’ closest followers didn’t recognize Him. And while we may not know how that was possible, we can still find meaning in the fact of it. For how often do we too fail to recognize Him?⁣ ⁣ Once, long ago, people could look on Jesus with their actual eyes. They could see Him as surely and clearly as I can see the chair in which I sit. But now, after His Ascension, He can only be seen with eyes of faith. He can be seen in the poor, the hungry, the vulnerable, and the lost. He can be seen in the men he commissioned to carry on His work. He can be seen in His saints, in those who conformed their hearts to His. And most of all, He can be seen in the Eucharist, in the real Food and real Drink that is His Body and Blood. But seeing Him like this isn’t easy. It’s not natural. It requires grace. And training. Part of the training of every disciple is to learn to see the hidden Jesus.⁣ ⁣ In those days between Resurrection and Ascension, Jesus gave His disciples that training. For 40 days, Jesus taught His followers to look at the world with eyes of faith, so that they could continue to see Him, continue to follow Him, continue to hear His voice and help others to do the same. They had to let go of seeing only surface realities and learn to recognize the deeper grace at work in the world ⁣ ⁣ So do we. We don’t get to touch the wounds in Jesus’ hands and feet. But we do get to hold Jesus when we hold a child. We get to feed Jesus when we feed the poor. And above all, we get to receive Jesus in the Eucharist, where He is really and truly present, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. He is there, whether we see Him or not. So, if you are struggling to see Him, ask Jesus to do for you what He did for His disciples: teach you to see.
When to fight suffering and when to accept it; the When to fight suffering and when to accept it; the nature of Hell; how to make a good Confessions. This month’s free newsletter is chock full of the light questions you guys sent to put me in the Christmas Spirit. 🤶🤣 I did toss in some holiday recipes, though! So, there’s that. Link in stories.
It is easy to miss the love. Reading through the e It is easy to miss the love. Reading through the events of that first Good Friday, looking at the imagery filled with blood, agony, and the very worst of human cruelty, it’s easy to find ourselves wondering what happened on that Friday to the God of Love—to the One who gave His only Son, as a brand new babe, to the world?⁣ ⁣ No one misses the love on Christmas. It’s there, bright as a star, lying in a manger, under angel wings. But on Good Friday—a day so unnaturally named—the love seems to give way to wrath. God’s anger at humanity seems to pour out in concentrate on the one Person in all the world who least deserves it, the one innocent Man, the Beloved Son Himself.⁣ ⁣ But love doesn’t always look like a sleeping baby. Sometimes, it looks like a roaring fire. It looks like blood and suffering, like a life offered and a life accepted. Love, quite often, looks like sacrifice. And that’s the love we see on Calvary.⁣ ⁣ We see the Son loving the Father, trusting the Father’s will, submitting His whole being—Body, Mind, Soul—to the Father’s plan, confident in its goodness, even when nothing about it feels good ⁣ ⁣ We also see the Father loving the Son, honoring His obedience, accepting His offering, transforming it into redemption for the entire human race. No child could ever look more beautiful to a parent than Jesus looked to the Father on the cross.⁣ ⁣ And we see both Father and Son, with the Spirit, loving us. We see the Trinity giving all for us, enduring all for us, doing all for us. Jesus didn’t die on a cross for the fun of it. The whole march from cradle to tomb was not for God. It was for us. The Father gave His Son and the Son gave Himself to restore for us what had been lost, to open a door for us that had been closed. And God did that because of love—because of the total, complete, overflowing love He has for us.⁣ ⁣ There was anger on Calvary. But it was not God’s. It was man’s. From God, there was only love, overwhelming love, transforming love, redeeming love. The cross is love. And while we might miss that love, it never misses us. Love always finds its way.
Poor Pilate. I don’t think I’m supposed to thi Poor Pilate. I don’t think I’m supposed to think that when I read the Gospels, but I do. The ignominy of putting Christ to death has rested on his shoulders for 2,000 years. But what choice did he have? And why should he have chosen differently?⁣ ⁣ Pilate faced a near impossible dilemma: kill a man that the most powerful religious leaders in Jerusalem wanted dead or commit career suicide. And unlike the people he governed, he hadn’t been waiting for a Messiah all his life. He had no vested interest in deliverance, no knowledge of prophets, promises, and covenants to give him pause. Of course his career mattered most to him.⁣ ⁣ Could he have chosen differently? Sure. Should he have chosen differently? Absolutely. Just the same, I feel for him.⁣ ⁣ I feel less for the mob. Fickle, fickle men. Days earlier they greeted Jesus with cries of “Hosanna” and hailed Him as the Son of David. They brought their lame, their sick, and their dying to Him, looking for miracles. They crowded in on Him, praising Him, pledging fealty to Him. Then, as quickly as they gave their hearts, they took them back and took up a new cry, “Crucify Him.”⁣ ⁣ There are few things more dangerous in this world than a mob. Not just to life and property, but to souls—the souls of those in the mob. Sometimes, a wrong may need righting. But mobs don’t right wrongs. They commit them, perpetuating injustice in a quest for justice. They fan the flames of anger. They increase the thirst for revenge. They justify that thirst. And they get out of control, giving cover to other evils.⁣ ⁣ There is seeming safety in a mob. Going along with the crowd is always easier than going against it. Humans also like drama, and mobs—whether they are in the streets or on the Internet—offer drama aplenty. But the mob giveth and the mob taketh away. The mob that cheered Jesus one day, crucified Him the next. Just so, the mob you march with one day, may march against you the next.⁣ ⁣ So, the next time you see a mob marching to crucify someone, pause. Remember the crowd gathered at the Praetorium. Remember whose blood ended up on their hands. And run the opposite direction. Run hard. Run fast. Your soul may depend upon it.
I don’t like our Christmas tree. I really, reall I don’t like our Christmas tree. I really, really don’t like it. All my life, I was firmly in camp “real tree.” Then, three babies came in 2.5 years, and I lost my ability to keep up with the basics of real tree maintenance (like taking it down before it spontaneously combusted). So, we bought a fake tree, a floor model on clearance from Target that was full and a bit wonky, but a good substitute for this season.⁣ ⁣ Last month, however, our river of sewage swept that tree up in its wake, and it got tossed into a dumpster along with our basement floor and 132 year old pipes. We debated going back to real, but I still don’t trust myself, so we took advantage of a Black Friday sale to buy this one, sight unseen, off the Internet.⁣ ⁣ It came out of the box on Sunday, and it is perfect. Too perfect. Too symmetrical. Too straight. Too fake. And I really don’t like it.⁣ ⁣ But I’m also fine with not liking it. It’s a tree. Not a cancer diagnosis. In the grand scheme of things that could go wrong this Christmas, it is the most miniscule of problems. And just as my fondest memories from childhood are the nights we would decorate the tree and my parents would end up fighting about the lights, I’m guessing that decades from now, when my babies are grown and gone, I will long for this ridiculous tree and the little people gasping in awe at it, oblivious to its faux perfection.⁣ ⁣ All of which is to say, don’t let Instagram perfection or your own unrealistic expectations mess with your head this Christmas. There will always be something wrong or that doesn’t go according to plan. Perfection only exists in pictures (and my tree). Every problem, every inconvenience, every plan gone awry is just another strand connecting your Christmas to that first Christmas long ago, which was shot through with problems, inconveniences, and plans gone awry, but still utterly beautiful because God came bursting into the world. ⁣ ⁣ That’s all you need for a beautiful Christmas too: Him bursting into your world anew. In prayer. In the liturgy. In the laughter of loved ones and the joy of children. In good food. And in accepting with love all the imperfections of the season.
How much sorrow should we feel for our sins? That’s a question none of us can answer.⁣ ⁣ On one hand, excessive sorrow over our sins is a dangerous thing. It freezes us in the moment of sin, preventing us from receiving God’s grace and rejoicing in it. It’s a kind of spiritual sickness, which blinds us to the new life we have in Christ.⁣ ⁣ Jesus did not carry the weight of our sins—the weight of all the sorrow, regret, guilt, and remorse—just so we could be perpetually paralyzed by that weight.⁣ ⁣ Nor is accurately perceiving that weight even possible for us. God, in His mercy, spares us from knowing every ramification of the wrong we have done. In this life, that is blessedly hidden from us. We could not bear the seeing.⁣ ⁣ And yet, some remorse must still be felt. Some guilt and sorrow must still touch us. If it doesn’t, there can be no joy—no joy in what Christ has done for us, no joy in what we have been spared. Nor can there be gratitude. We can’t give thanks if we don’t have some idea of what we’re giving thanks for.⁣ ⁣ The Christian has to live in that tension, finding the balance between sorrow and joy, practicing a kind of holy forgetfulness, which recognizes the tragedy of our sin but lives in the glory of our redemption. ⁣ ⁣ In different ages, the devil has made finding that balance difficult in different ways, tempting some to excessive guilt and others to excessive forgetfulness. Right now, it seems that he has found great success in tempting our age to excessive numbness, to knowing neither true sorrow nor true joy, but to living instead in some kind of deadly in between, where rather than face our guilt or receive our redemption, we use sex or shopping or work or drugs or food or scrolling to lull ourselves into an anxiety-riddled, despair-laced stupor.⁣ ⁣ It requires great courage to escape that misery. It requires going to Gethsemene, as Jesus did, and letting the wake of the wrong we have done break on us. It also requires letting Jesus to keep us company there, allowing Him to comfort us, strengthen us, and fill us with grace. That is how we go from Gethsemene to Calvary to Easter Sunday. That is how we go from death to Resurrection.
My niece took 500 pictures of us, and there’s no My niece took 500 pictures of us, and there’s not a one where one of us doesn’t look tortured. 🤦🏼‍♀️🤣 So, from my blessed chaos to yours, thank you. Thank you for letting us be a little part of your life. Thank you for sending me your questions—about God and salvation and suffering and trust and sacraments and babies and adoption and cooking and skincare and car seats and strollers and long underwear and countertops and books and lipstick and paint colors and risotto and marriage and infertility and a hundred things more. Thank you for reading my words. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for being a part of our life. Thank you for letting me walk with you and Jesus for just a little while. It is all a great and unmerited gift. One which I never expected. One of the many gifts I never expected . We are offering up a prayer for you tonight. Please offer up just one more for us. #happythanksgivingday
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