Throughout my entire life Jesus has been my friend. I cannot recall one solitary day in my childhood of thinking Jesus was not for me, not loving me, or not compassionate towards me. Combine that faith in Jesus with a giant creative heap of imagination and you have a version of little Rebecca who was absolutely brokenhearted by passion plays and Good Friday services. Little Rebecca grew into adult Rebecca, but my spirit was just as crushed at such services. I still haven’t seen the Passion of the Christ movie for the same reason I choose not to watch movies with excessive violence towards enslaved Black Americans. I don’t need that in my noggin. My heart is wrenched by such scenes.

I struggle every single year with what we Christians call Holy Week. I don’t like to be forced into imagining the torture of my friend and Savior Jesus. Every year I have an internal–sometimes external–argument where I tell my pretend audience that “you can’t make me repeat all of this again.” You. cannot. make. me. And just to be real clear: we’re all pretending! I mean, this already happened and now we live with a Risen Savior at the right hand of God the Father. I’ve skipped Good Friday services in order to not give in to the deeply sad feelings. Sometimes I simply do not want to cry anymore.

This year we attended a Tenebrae Service and while I did indeed cry, I also felt grateful for the physicality of the memories of Christ’s death. We used our senses to experience dark and light, to listen to mournful music, to witness the Light of Life exiting the building. And I felt camaraderie with my Savior in the depths of despair that life holds. This deep sadness? He knew it. These heartbreaking betrayals? He was there, too. My friend Jesus, the perfect man, knew the same suffering that I know, that my friends know.

Of course the story doesn’t end there. Praise God, THE STORY DOES NOT END THERE. With freedom and perfect abandon we Christians worship a Jesus who did NOT stay dead. He was the Messiah–is the Messiah, the great deliverer–and death couldn’t hold him down. He is the perfect sacrifice and scripture says he died and rose again with our names on his heart and with our sins on his shoulders. His perfect and sinless self for my broken and sinful self. Amen.

All of this believing and remembering (and even present-day pretending during Holy Week) takes faith; I will not say otherwise. I couldn’t buy into it without that leap of faith. I’m here, existing with a faith that ebbs and flows but is always present nonetheless. I’m here, with outstretched hands, receiving daily mercies and grace that come from a Father in heaven who loves me and knows me. I’m here, rejoicing in what I don’t see but what I know deep in my heart until I see our Triune God face to face in glory.

I’m here.

The Spirit is with me.

And today that’s enough.

Jeremy and I aren’t really resolution people. And we’re also not really New Year’s Eve party-ers. I was reflecting on that second truth as I got warm and cozy and drowsy under our down comforter around 10:00pm last night. 

I felt strangely guilty, like I couldn’t really rest because I was going to bed before the New Year was officially rung in. It was odd. I’ve worked tremendously hard to push off others’ expectations of life—when those expectations are not my own—and yet this one lingered. I do love celebrations and I love communal events, so maybe that’s why I felt the urge to participate at midnight. And truthfully, I semi-participated from my slumbering state. Lincolnites love any reason to set off fireworks, so as the clock hit midnight some very excited people in my neighborhood made sure we all knew what time it was. All I could do was roll over, shrug off the scary memories of my dog running off in fear a few years ago when those fireworks went off, remind myself we were all safe and sound indoors, and try to fall asleep once more. I did. The end.

Or rather, the beginning.

Today begins a new year. We resolve to serve God more wholeheartedly in 2022, to be better spouses and parents, to deeply examine our choices and behaviors to glory God more clearly. Aside from that, we have desires of course. We both want to eat healthier options, we both want to move our bodies more, we both want to be more diligent employees and more faithful friends. We are resolved, without specifically setting resolutions.

So today the snow flies and the temperatures outdoors are dangerously low. We stay inside, warmed, contented, and while we wonder what the next 12 months hold, we’re not grandiose in our plans nor overly concerned with what’s next. I suppose we’ll just carry on, one step after another, learning to love better and enjoy this world. God holds us tight, today and always.

Photo credit: Jen Hinrichs

After brunch on Christmas Eve.

The best recent addition to Christmas traditions in our home is, hands-down, the girlfriend stocking.

Maralee and I have been exchanging stockings for a few years. We picked up these bright and playful pink stockings from Target one year and decided to fill it up for each other. It’s always fun and special to see what we’ve picked out for one another.

This year my stocking is, apparently, overflowing and I’m having a hard time waiting until Christmas morning!

(Sidenote: I also bought some chocolate items to throw in my own stocking and guess what? Those treats didn’t survive 24 hours in my possession. I busted into them almost immediately. Good thing I’ve got a this pink stocking waiting for me.)

Christmas elves stopped by last night and this afternoon bearing treats that have warmed up our hearts this year.

Be a Christmas elf.

What 43 year old Rebecca would tell Newlywed Rebecca about the holidays:

Hello there!

Do you remember crying for no reason during the month of December as a kid? Well, hang in there cuz those feelings won’t really go away. You will feel both love and struggle when the holidays roll around—but don’t worry, you’ll soon realize that’s pretty normal and it’s okay. Your personality will want to decorate beautifully and host with great warmth and prepare all the yummy seasonal cookies and dishes to share. You’ll also want to donate to every charity under the sun, you’ll feel badly when you pass those Salvation Army bell ringers without putting something in the bucket, and you will **never** want to be pressured to buy a generic gift from a box store. So basically, if you want to enjoy the gift-giving process, start early, girlfriend. But that other stuff? Let’s talk.

You won’t be able to do it all. Truly, no one can. So pick what you love doing the most and enjoy the heck out it. If you want to host, make sure guests bring something to share because you will not be happy if you have to clean to host, prepare ALL the food, and then entertain everyone during the event. Internally you will refer to this as “The Rebecca Show” and you will wonder why you killed yourself so everyone else could have a good time. You are an extrovert and will put on a song and dance in the moment, so just stop before you start and enjoy a few small moments instead. Quit making Christmas cookies because you don’t like them anyhow. Do it for your kid but not because you think it’s the right way to live in the month of December. Don’t sign up for a cookie exchange with anyone—it’s not your thing, let it go. And when you have a little bit of expendable income, go buy a variety of treats from a local bakery. The two things you really should nail down are these: 1) figure out what charities you and Jeremy want to donate to and 2) figure out who you’d like to serve this month. Playing Santa to a family in need or making treat plates for church elders or college kids will be one of your very favorite things to do. Make sure you have energy reserved for such things.

Note that you do not have a lifelong commitment to Christmas decor. You don’t have to keep something that someone gave you or passed down to you. (Marie Kondo will help you figure this out.) However, what may appear to be a ratty Christmas tree in Year 2 could turn out to be a very sweet and sentimental and adored tree in Year 22. Life is weird like that. Buy new decor items on sale right after Christmas, give away what doesn’t bring you joy anymore, and move on with your life. Some of the most cherished pieces in your home will be made by your daughter’s small hands–and other homemade items will be saved but never put up again. That’s okay, too.

Finally, you will probably never settle into a fantastic Advent routine and you’re going to have to be okay with that. I’m going to go ahead and suggest something and it’s that Advent is a little overblown in your circles. I’ve written about how Advent is about remembering something that the Christian celebrates every day and it is the truth that Jesus came to earth to save us from our sins. It’s a reality fully connected with the great news of Easter where we serve a risen Savior. This is your daily grace. This is your daily rhythm as a Christian and come what may in December… whether you have enough money or not, whether you are sick this month or not, whether you decorate beautifully or you can’t bear to put up the lights, whether you’re fostering a newborn or grieving your infertility in a month of expectation, JESUS IS RISEN. Your Advent traditions and reflections are just that. They are moments for introspection and while they should be encouraged, they will never achieve the heights of the gospel that you embrace day by day. Instead of being beholden to traditions, try to be present instead and rest in the truth that Jesus adores you and died for you and thinks your life is important.

Merry Christmas, you pretty young thang. God is faithful and will carry you. Your task will be choosing to remain faithful to him through this crazy life of yours.

The candles have been used and re-used for years for several years because we are inconsistent Advent candle lighters and because we care little about perfection when it comes to Christmas decor. Our stockings don’t match. Our tree is filled with ornaments from friends and family and isn’t magazine-worthy (and I adore it!). And our Advent wreath candles are quite wonky this year. We’re all quite wonky this year.

One of my absolute favorite classes in college was Art History. I still laugh about it some 20 years later because the professor asked us—on exams—to identify the artist and title of works based off little teeny black and white photocopies of the images. Oh my goodness, it was insane. And yet I learned so much that semester and I adored it.

I hesitate to even mention this great artist’s name as I think about the shots I’ve taken over the course of today, but here goes nothing: Caravaggio. I loved his work right away. Chiascurro drew me instantly to Caravaggio. How could I not love the play of light and shadow?

Today I found myself saying, if I want to take dramatically lit photos EVERY SINGLE DAY this month, I can! I feel this need to diversify for some reason, but I’m casting that boundary aside and I’m going to shoot whatever I want. I will say this, if you want to mess with light the way you mess with playdoh—keep shooting. Keep experimenting. Keep playing. Move your body, move your angles, see what comes through your lens. Happy December, friends.

After hanging three paper chains and nine new snowflakes I knew I would capture a piece of this activity for today’s image. There’s something lovely and slow about taping little fragments of paper together. There’s something creative and calming in using scissors and paper to make unique snowflakes for our windows. In this world where I am use to rushing—and yes, I’ve been forced into slowing down in 2020—I’m starting to see the peace in sitting still. The word “present” has been coming to mind since March. God is letting me mull on that word. What does it look like when a planner and doer focuses on being present?

Today is my cousin’s funeral. I feel like the absorption of her death is very slow for me and I’m wondering how long it will take before every pore in my body has digested the information. Surely a memorial service is a piece to that puzzle. All of my missing and wondering and confusion is connected to the wrongness of death. It’s okay to hate death. I don’t feel the need to wrap up this post with a bow for anyone, however I do want to say that Paula knew Jesus intimately. She loved him. He loved her and made her and called her to himself. Because of this our goodbye is truly a “see you later.”

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35).

Paula and I talked about our very human struggles when we’d message each other. Neither of us expected a life of ease and yet we both really wrestled with the hardships of this world. We commiserated. We prayed because we knew that the Bread of Life and the Light of Love cared about every detail of our lives. Sometimes our faith was very small indeed, and other times it was great. Now Paula is with her Savior, and someday she and I will both be perfectly restored and will live with him, feasting and banqueting with Christ himself. Amen.

I get a little weird every December. A bit itchy. Out of sorts. For sure seasonal depression is a giant contributor to my mood, but it doesn’t entirely explain why I feel like my soul is wearing ill-fitting, scratchy clothes. The month contains two rather large celebrations on the Tredway Family Calendar: my birthday and Jesus’s. And there are so many traditions—which I love—and lights and delicious foods and smells. It’s almost sensory overload, but most of the time I’m down for that kind of fun.

No, the weirdness is connected to the church and to the celebration of the Advent season. We spend a lot of time counting down the days until Jesus is born. Every year, every single year this is our tradition. I finally put my finger on the weirdness of it this year and it’s that we’re all pretending, to a certain degree. We are REMEMBERING something. Something big. Something earth-shattering and life-defining. The world was marked when God became man. Marked with a giant indelible marker, all creation shifted. My discomfort with the month is the same discomfort that kept leading my mind to considering Easter in the middle of the all the red and green plaid and the scent of evergreen. Christians, we live out Christmas and Easter EVERY SINGLE DAY.

The birth of God as a man is celebrated in our spirits every single day.

The death and resurrection of God as a man is celebrated within us every single day.

We are Christmas and Easter celebrants every time our lungs take a deep breath and every time we blink.

Perhaps this explains my December itchies. It all feels a little off to sing with gusto the Advent songs and then quit singing them on December 25, as though that day ends the party. It feels strange to light a candle of waiting, and another of joy, and yet another of peace, when truly, every day we might light a candle with those names as we mediate on who Jesus was and how his birth, death, and resurrection has perfectly covered our sins.

However I feel in December—which really doesn’t matter much—I don’t want to let go of the sweetness of Christmas or the devastation of Good Friday or the utter and complete joy of Resurrection Sunday. All those events are knocking around in my heart daily. Jesus is with me daily through his Spirit. I carry his birth, death, and resurrection in my spirit because, no matter what month is is, I believe that he is the Son of God and that his sacrifice gives me life. Life forever.

Do I think we should ditch a full month of anticipating the Christ child’s birth? Absolutely not. If anything, I’d advocate for Christians to become way better at remembering. We could probably use more traditions, more attention to the historic church calendar, more singing at the top of our lungs and more wrapping gifts to create memories for our children. If Christmas and Easter actually do live within us, life is worth celebrating indeed.