I guess it's mainly the quiet that gets me. You know, the kind that's so still and full of well, nothingness that it's a strange sort of roar. It holds a different kind of beauty, nature in winter does. It's a kind that takes some getting used to. But if you look a minute, the bare starkness of it all is beautiful: the frozen creeks and streams dusted with powdery snow, the bare branches that rattle hollow in the wind, the tall golden grass that almost looks like an ocean if you squint hard enough.

And I keep thinking back to yesterday morning: waking up to the sun in my eyes, sofa bed springs digging into my back, with the smell of coffee and lingering smoke in the air. It was beautiful.

I'd recommend it: packing up your things for a few days and going in the middle of nowhere. Just to sit. Recharge. Escape it all, whatever it might be. And yes, I admit: when you're part of a family of six, it's not always tranquil or as perfect as it sounds...but still. Being in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, with no internet or tv and hardly any phone service, forces you to just be. Especially with a schedule that goes something like this: eat, hike, read, eat, nap, read, hike, eat, play scrabble, sleep. You know, all the stuff the good life is made of.

*quote by Clarissa Pinkola Estés 

morning

forest

bluffs

afternoon

evening

one last morning

"When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."

Wendell Berry

"And so, I'm offering this simple phrase, to kids from one to ninety-two: 

Although it's been said, many times, many ways,

Merry Christmas to you."

This year, I found myself yearning for the Christmases of my younger years. Now, I know what you're thinking, and it's probably something along the lines of, "Well gosh, she's too young to say something like that!"

Well, I suppose you have a point there.

However, the Christmas I'm talking about is of the never-missing-a-day-of-opening-your-Advent-calender (I'm ashamed to say I missed more days than I remember this year), watching-presents-slowly-accumulate-under-the-tree, putting-out-milk-and-cookies-for-Santa, feeling-like-Christmas-Eve-couldn't-possibly-pass-any-slower sort. But over the years, 17 or not, I've found that, despite my hardest efforts, I've built up some more patience, and, amidst all the bustle, started to see more of the hurt and realness of life than Christmas magic. It's sad, isn't it?

But...I have a secret. Promise not to tell? I know where that overflowing, untouched well of magic is hiding: Christmas Eve.

Would it be terrible to say that I like Christmas Eve better than the big day itself? Because I do. Magical is the only way I can think to describe that most holy of nights. It's always magnificent, but something I can't quite place brought this year from just magnificent to extraordinary. My mom said it was probably because I'd successfully conquered my hair (which is true, I was proud of it), but we'll just say it was simply because my recollections of Christmases past were dimmed by day-to-day monotony.

This Christmas Eve, I could not stop smiling. By the time 2am rolled around, I was certain my cheeks would split clean in two after the cooking and the cleaning and the merry making and the singing and the eating and the laughing and the gathering of friends and family and the dressing up and the praying and the welcoming of the Christ Child.

Have you ever watched a sea of candles bob in time to Silent Night in a midnight-darkened church? It's the most wonderful moment of the entire year. And then there's the unparalleled joy that comes with taking Holy Communion in the wee hours of Christmas Day! It can't hold a candle (pun very much intended) to the ho-ho-ho-ing kind of Christmas magic. As wonderful as that kind of magic is! As much as I believe in jolly old St. Nick (yes, yes, I do)! But the magical peace that comes with the birth of my Savior is like none other. The peace that comes from Christ passes all understanding, it truly does. It's sweet and clean and light and pure and, well, magic. And while it's always been there before, it becomes a little more apparent with each passing year; hits a little closer to home, right in a spot where the worldly kind of magic can't compete.

Yesterday when I awoke, there was baked French toast straight from the oven and hot coffee, and, after church (pastor's kids probs), we opened presents. I should probably stop before I start crying, but there is such sweet, sweet joy in watching your loved ones open their carefully selected and wrapped gifts, the joyful squealing of "Look what Santa got me!" I took more pictures than ordinarily, mostly because 2014 has loads of changes in store and I don't know what things are going to look like this time next year and I don't want to forget right now.

Oof.

Now I'm ready to do Christmas all over again.

Praying that your day was merry and bright and full of magic.

Did I ever tell you the story of how I was nearly killed by a robber the other night? No? Well then, pull up a chair, let me tell it to you.

It was a dark Wednesday night, the eve of a snowstorm. Isn't that when bad things always happen? At night in the middle of the week with an impending snowstorm? Anyway, I came home from school as usual and let myself in the house and dumped my backpack, purse, and coat on the bench in the dining room as usual (oops, sorry Mom) and sat down on the dining room floor to pet my dog.

And then I heard the sunroom door open in my parent's room.

(There's a sunroom - an enclosed porch, really - off to the side of my house. There's a door to the backyard, and doors to both my parents' room and my brother's room.)

It came across loud and clear to my dog too, because he ran in there barking - and then limped back whimpering, the fur on his neck raised. I freaked out because, among other things, he's afraid of strange men, and so I very rationally concluded that there was a strange man at the sunroom door because, duh, my 60-pound Labrador was trying to hide behind me.

Do you know how scary it is to be at home alone - AT NIGHT - and then hear a door open while your large dog offers no assistance? It's scary, let me tell you.

I scrambled into the living room and searched frantically for a weapon. Can you imagine? Me! Looking for a weapon to wield! Well, what's a girl supposed to do when she suspects she's being robbed? If I'm gonna get robbed, I'm gonna go down fighting, by George!

The weapon idea was quickly abandoned when I couldn't unearth anything more lethal than a rolled up newspaper and a couch pillow. Briefly, I considered calling the police, but dismissed it when I realized my phone was in the dining room and therefore too close to the alleged robber.

So, I decided that my best bet - if my house was, at that very moment, being forcibly entered - was to get the heck out of there.

I hotfooted it over to my neighbor and desperately rapped on her door, then stood there like a blathering idiot because I THINK MY HOUSE IS GETTING ROBBED WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO AHHHH. You know. That sort of thing.

Together we went back to my house and peered into the sunroom from the outside - nothing. We cautiously tip-toed into the house and into my parents' bedroom - still nothing. Poked around the rest of the house - nothing either.

Unable to find any evidence of the would-be burglar, my neighbor left and I curled up next to my dog, phone securely in hand in case Robber Boy decided to show up again (I'd since mustered up the courage to retrieve it from the dining room).

When my family got home, Operation Find-Out-Who-Opened-The-Door was immediately in full effect and...

...turns out Robber Boy was a raccoon. A raccoon! He'd crawled in through the cat door and leaned up against the door, pushing it slightly open, shaving a solid five years off my life.

I should probably be thankful that I didn't get around to calling the police - can't you just see the headline? "Girl, 17, Thinks She Is Being Robbed And Dials 911 Only To Discover Robber Is Raccoon." Kevin in Home Alone made defending his home from the Wet Bandits seem like a walk in the park, while little ol' me was unable to keep herself from panicking over a freakin' raccoon. Good grief.

Oh! Speaking of Christmas movies, we got our tree, see? It's pretty. (Also I just took this photo three minutes ago from where I'm sitting on the couch typing this, please be proud of me)



I must confess: we didn't actually buy our tree from the place pictured below. We're Lowe's Home and Garden section Christmas tree kinda people. But when you're running errands and drive past a quiet little Christmas tree lot, well...what's a girl gonna do?



You know how Buddy the Elf says that "the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear?" Well, it's true. I went caroling in a nursing home with a couple friends on Sunday and even though I am no singer, there is something incredibly sacred about singing Christmas carols. I might have cried on the last verse of Silent Night? Gets me every time.

Happiest of Decembers to you all!