Oliver's first

Today we celebrated one year of Oliver Richard.

 taken at breakfast-- his first breakfast as a ONE YEAR OLD

Our little man, pleasant and ready to smile and quick to laugh, has made these past months rather idyllic, I must say. He's slept like a dream from day one, nursed and grown like a champ, gone with the flow continually, endured the doting and hauling around and antics of six older siblings, and in so doing captured our hearts entirely.

Oliver may be the seventh baby to grace our lives and family, but it's truer than ever that the miracle of life never gets old: he has been cherished as effortlessly and thoroughly as if he was the first. Indeed, he has perhaps been celebrated all the more because he has an audience of not one or two or three but eight cheering him on in each new endeavor and milestone!

We marked his first birthday with a simple dinner and a few small gifts here at home. Nana and Papa and Uncle Merrick joined us around the dining room table. We lit candles and sang happy birthday and he, of course, didn't have a clue as to what it was all about, but one day he'll look back at pictures and I hope they help him know a little of how deeply loved he is.

I am so thankful for Oliver. Thankful for the fresh grace and the promise of obedience rewarded that he has represented to me. Thankful for the image bearer of God that he is. Thankful for the destiny wrapped up inside him, and for the privilege of stewarding him for this season.

He took in the singing and joined us at the end with delighted clapping!

Cookies, Oliver, and Peace

I am between batches of Christmas cookies: the rum logs have been baked, cooled, and decorated; the chocolate dipped butter cookies have been baked and are cooling (awaiting their chocolate dip); and the pecan tassie dough is chilling in the fridge. It won't be long before the kitchen table-- all 92" of it-- is covered in cookies.

The little boys are presently overlapping naps (this is a precious and usually non-existent occurrence) so while the older kids begin a movie, I cleaned up the kitchen, heated myself some leftovers, and sat down to catch my breath.

Each day this week is plotted out: which foods I need to prepare when, what dishes will be used, when the gifts will get prepared and the final decor arranged. I don't foresee much lingering by the Christmas tree or snuggling up under a blanket for a holiday movie with the kids in my immediate future!

The truth is, I love this work-- this getting ready for special occasions and to celebrate people who mean so much to Daniel and me work!

And somewhere in here, we will sneak in a birthday dinner for the littlest boy in this home. Our delightful, beautiful Oliver Richard. Just this morning I was watching him stand and clap and smile-- such a bright smile that reaches right into my heart!-- and I couldn't help but think that he really is one of the prettiest babies I've ever seen. Peaches and cream skin, ready smile, dimpled hands and arms and legs, twinkly eyes.

A year ago was a snowy Sunday. Many regular attenders didn't even make it out of their driveways to church. The following Sunday we would have to stay at home because of a state of emergency in our state due to winter storms. And right in-between that streak of horrendous weather, we had clear skies and crisp air to accompany a trip to Watertown and back where our little baby was brought into the world.

I was definitely anxious about being induced, but God had a plan.

Oliver Richard means "peace, dominant ruler." The verse on our hearts as we anticipated the birth of our baby was Isaiah 9:6, Of the increase of His government and peace There will be no end. This is a verse, of course, that is on many of our hearts this time of year. We didn't see it as coincidence that we would be drawn to it for our only December baby!

But the idea of the peace of God is a concept I find myself constantly needing to be renewed in over the years, and especially one that I had been chewing on since the spring before when my dad preached a message about Gideon.

Peace isn't a feeling. It isn't an emotion. It isn't a state of everything being perfect.

Peace is Jesus bringing His reign and order to the chaos that is my broken life and this broken world.

And of the increase of that, there will be no end.

Oliver is a prophetic declaration to me, and prayerfully to his generation: there is chaos and darkness, but in the midst of that, God had a plan. He sent His Son to redeem. His reign has been established-- it is finished!-- and the peace that accompanies His rule only increases day by day by day.

I hope that tomorrow, between more Christmas party prep and wrapping a few small things for a simple birthday dinner, I will be able to write more about Oliver. But today, these were the thoughts on my heart as I celebrate my baby's first birthday, as I anticipate Christmas Day, and as I yearn for the day Jesus returns.

December

I doubt that I'm alone in that December is one of my favorite months of the year.

It's not because I like the temperature. (I don't.)
It's not because I like how little daylight we get. (I don't.)
It's not because I like snow. (I do for about a day.)
It's not because I like overindulging in Christmas cookies. (Okay, I do in the moment, but it's always quickly regrettable.)

I love December because a hush seems to fall over me this time of year; a purposeful pause; a deep soul inhaling and exhaling. I always mean to live life in a peace-centered way, but the truth is that some seasons (quite literally) feel more pressured than others.

There's something about December that begs for lingering around a simple dinner table just a few minutes longer.

Something that stops me short in my normal routine and cries out for little opportunities to be woven throughout the day in order to better cherish the people around me.

I wrap myself in a blanket first thing in the morning and open my Bible and here by the tree I find myself considering afresh the kind of God I serve: generous, faithful, pursuing, redemptive. And maybe it's the mood-lighting but really I think it's just that I am rehearsing the Gospel again that makes my eyes fill with tears and my heart fill with hope once again.

I fill the house with candles and freshly baked smells, and there are secret whispers and hesitantly expressed wishes and holiday music. Together, we share these things.

I find myself reaching out more to all those I love this time of year, His expression of reaching out compelling me to a love offering of the same kind. The coffee pot is ready, the cookie tins are filled, the door is open.

Children, their eyes bright, their excitement at times too exuberant (!), their hearts hopeful, their embraces ready.

I pass on the traditions and hope that the traditions in and of themselves never become a burdensome requirement, but simply that they will be memories cherished, truths illustrated, a celebration made big.

Special stacks of Christmas books and stockings hung in a row and-- oh my!-- red beaded garland here and orange and clove garland there and mistletoe garland yet there. Rehearsing music and planning parties. Quiet nights with the agenda cleared.

This is what December means to me:

A Baby, born of a virgin, destined for a Cross. His pain inevitable, His victory certain. God incarnate, with us, with me, here and now and forever and always.

Me, remembering what it's all about, falling in love with my Savior again, growing surer in Who He is and less concerned with who I am, wanting everything about me and my existence-- especially in this season-- to echo the joyous cry:

Glory to God in the highest!

And on earth peace, goodwill toward men.