We parked my car in the garage yesterday. You don't realize, but this is some feat. We have room to move freely now. Before yesterday you'd have to step around Hayden's old punching bag and weight set to the left. Old boxes with labels like "glassware" and "girl clothes 2T- 6" cluttered four walls. On the other side of the garage you'd have to be careful (especially barefoot) not to step on spilled blue and pink gravel from Rylie's hermit crab aquarium from two or three summers ago. 

In spirit with the New Year, Jason decided to "clean out" the garage while I packed away Christmas decorations in the house. Jason's notorious for "cleaning out" rather than "cleaning up". He's good at getting rid of stuff. 

I'm more of a paradox. I don't like clutter, but I'm a sentimental sap. Take for instance the "girl clothes 2T to 6" box. Jason realizes we don't need it anymore, but I've held onto to it.

Its contents are full of memories like the orchid dress Rylie wore Easter morning when she was two. I have a picture where her fist is reaching backward with an attempt to meet Hayden's cheek as he squeezed her from behind to get her to smile. 

Then there's the zebra costume, tucked away, that Hallie wore for Halloween (and just for fun). She asked me to spray her with a water bottle one time while wearing it so she could be a wet "newborn" zebra. She was a special kid. 

Old things have a way of stirring sleeping memories. 

When we're not careful "thoughts of old" entice us to stay behind and we find ourselves tucked away like the tiny crinkled Gap Christmas dress I found in the box, folded-up... confined. 

There's nothing wrong with visiting our old friend, the past. Therein lies our youthfulness, the youthfulness of those we love; our happiest days yet. 

But we've been granted something more than days passed. 

Ecclesiastes 7:10 

Say not, “Why were the former days better than these?” For it is not from wisdom that you ask this.

The New Year reminds us that the past isn't our only friend, rather a companion to bring along as we greet the new friend. We've a friend waiting who's eager to paint fresh stories in hues brighter than yesterday. We've a friend who invites us to unthought-of possibilities and grand adventures. 

  

I read a poem just the other day. I could have easily posted it by itself, for it spoke newness in me that I needed to face tomorrows. But I decided to bring along yesterday because two friends are better than one. 

Linger on the old photo, read the old note, play the old song and feel the old thing for a moment or two, if you must. But know it cannot rival the new thing alive in you come morning. I wish you a thousand new dawns that leave you grateful for how the sun has set. 
-Anonymous

Praying this year we treasure the gift of yesterdays while opening the gift of tomorrow. 

Thankful for those of you who listen to my ramblings both in person and on your smartphone screen. I'm thankful too for those who read though we've never met, or haven't seen each other in a while. This is my 501st post. I'm grateful for keystrokes that have aided in creating a picture of my reality (and sometimes maybe yours). God in his goodness is always faithful in showing me something greater. Looking forward to 2016. 

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I got the news last night while I was minutes away from drifting off for the night. I was tagged in a comment by my sister in law from Arizona on Facebook. I clicked on the notification to see a picture of a bulldozer, of some sort, digging up a tree. 

  
Upon closer observation I was saddened to learn that this wasn't just any tree. It was the beloved banana tree that stood in front of Bebe's yard. In its aged-ness, its roots had reached a place not intended, causing plumbing problems thus necessitating its removal. 

Excuse my melodrama, "It's only a tree I'm sure you're saying".  In one sense you'd be right. But I'll tell you about this old tree and let you decide for yourself. 

This tree, "the banana tree" as it's fondly referred to, graced our Bebe's yard long before Bebe and Papa moved into their house on Chestnut. Its branches have held many stories, I'm sure, before the Knudson clan came along. I wish now that I knew some of those stories. No matter. Those of us who crossed under its threshold for the past twenty years have plenty of memories of our own. I'll share its most treasured secret. 

The "banana tree" wasn't actually a banana tree at all. Maybe it was a fruitless mulberry. It's kind isn't important. 

What is important is that its branches hung low, inviting little great-grands to come aboard but were also strong enough to hold the great-grandchildren who'd done a little growing. It provided the perfect shade on summer days and an appropriate amount of leaves to make a most superb jump pile in the fall. 

  

  

The fun in this tree though, would begin before our car doors would shut announcing our arrival. Our minds were focused on the banana tree as our car would turn on to Chestnut Street, where Bebe lives. Our eyes were ready to gain the first glimpse of what this magical tree always held...bananas; the perfect number, three,  which matched the number of children in our car. For my two nephews, the magic number was two bananas, just as it was for the children of Jason's cousins, two and two. 

  
 The story goes that a banana fairy would come just before our arrival leaving bananas in the tree for the children. Before Bebe could get her hello hugs, each banana was claimed and usually eaten. 

The tree wasn't magic, I don't suppose. It was rather, magic's stage. It was a place where childhood kissed us older nonbelievers on the cheek and revived our imagination and reminded us of simple delight. 

I'll miss that old tree. It's a shame that roots grow where they're not supposed to. But it's a blessing that roots have a way of sometimes growing in a place where they can't be destroyed. The roots of that old tree have taken their hold in our hearts; a place where magic carries on.  

Thanks for the magic Bebe!

  
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I've been a little more amped up than usual this season when it comes to decorating. Describing my feelings concerning giving my house "the holiday feels", I can almost say I've been...excited, so excited that I decorated the dining room we never use. 

  I purchased the pictured black-and-white squared placemats for three dollars a pop from that magnetic section of Target so many of us love; the dollar section (a misnomer if you ask me-the stuff I like is always three bucks). 

I like black and white; together they're a sort of "it is what it is" declaration. And the squares?  There's something comforting about squares. The lines go where they're supposed to. Black and white squares are not so much like complicated life with its delicate shades of gray mixed with brightly hued zigzags. 

Right down the center of one of these placemats is real life imagery, hidden. Its lines are all caddy-wonked; a rather defected decoration. 

That didn't stop me from putting it out on the table. 

It's not obvious, but the stitching is anything but neat. It's covered up by a dinner plate which is really quite a farce too, being that I haven't cooked a decent meal since last Thursday. 

My table isn't made pretty because life is always pretty at the Burden house. It isn't pretty as if to say the holiday proclaims order. Truth be known, our Christmas season is better described as chaos. 

I want my table to look pretty because of what the table means to me. This table represents meals where conversation has been had and is hoped to be had for years to come. The conversation isn't always agreeable or at a pleasing decibel. But I'm happy for those times we circle up and share with each other. 

Admittedly, none of our decorations are typical of ordinary days. 

Christmas is time for the extraordinary. 

The festive wreath and candles symbolize the celebration of a Savior whose humble and holy existence on earth far eclipses any attempt of ours at goodness or beauty. No matter how ornamental and bright-shining we may be as his children, we know our light is one that has been given to us. Any beauty and brightness we bear has been granted, not created by our own craftiness or brilliance. 

Christmas isn't an "it is what it is" kind of season. Christmas is a season that foretells a time when the lines will be drawn in the right places even if they're zig-zagged now. 

It's a season of hope where that which isn't neat, and that which is broken is placed in the background, in some less significant place.

It's a time when we attempt to set our sights on God's gifts and His promises versus our circumstances. 

The same can be said concerning Christmas pictures. The window in our living room facing the street is dipped in layers of twine  with clothespins; some decorated like plaid reindeer. Christmas cards and pictures of beautiful families, dressed in their best, are hung here with adoration. 

I'm not foolish enough to think that those pictures speak truth. They're not composed of everyday reality. I know those smiling faces more than likely weren't captured with one shot.  I remember a number of times where tears were shed during our annual photo shoots. Last year I forced one family member (between poses) to remove his white socks that had been slipped in the Christmas picture wardrobe I had so carefully laid out. 

Our staging isn't so much a lie as it is the effort-full offering of ourselves (like our Sunday best) in honor of the coming birth of our King. 

 

 
Frenzied decorating and holiday running around is often the antithesis of what Christmas all about. But it often points out the contrast between the results of our grandest efforts and what was accomplished in a lowly stable.   

So if you're up to decorating, decorate to His hearts' delight. Capture that  photo that says you're grateful for your loved ones. Circumstances for some may lead to less decorating and celebrating -and more heart pondering. May we keep those in mind. 

My prayer is that God, in his goodness, will once again point each of us to the truth that was first found in a manger...And that this truth will fill us with love and light...and peace 

And maybe most importantly HOPE ...of a forever that has been stitched together perfectly. 

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