Tradition

Traditionally they say (and by now I know you are familiar with them) it is better to give than receive.

Before this Christmas I believed that to be the case. In fact, I was thrilled at the thought of what I would be giving this year. Mainly because each gift I gave was a blessing to me first. Perhaps that's selfish. But I really felt like it was God saying "you want to give? Let me help you give bigger." I know this was just about a few presents, but it felt a small fraction of an example of what He can do with a giving, willing spirit. I didn't know I would find the dvd's I gave Dad, but watching with him will be a standout experience from this break. Part of his gift was literally handed to me. Mom's was a hodge podge of things she casually mentioned she wanted here and there that ended up on sale so I could accumulate a bunch of little things an give more.

Stephanie's scrapbook was a chance to spend time with cherished memories of her wedding to Luke and the fun we had. That was one of those times when I feel so grateful for my camera-- a gift I never expected or even knew was within the realm of possibility.

And with Emily's? Well I felt like I had a gift long before I ever handed it over. And no, not just because I am living this gift vicariously through her. I was simply going for a gift certificate for some public skating time at our rink. I came out with the amazing opportunity to get her lessons and free public rink time and a pair of skates. So, with Mom and Dad's help, that's just what we did.

It doesn't sound like a lot, but you have to understand (as we have come to find out), you are like a superstar when you become enrolled in classes at the Arkansas Skatium! It's fun exercise and quality time and a chance to learn a new skill and have someone to geek out with about the olympics (and what Kurt Browning taught me on youtube ;)). It was just so exciting to pick out and research and give to Emily. And also to use with her. Not once or twice or even three times but so far four. Don't judge us. And shout out to Gillian for making it possible for me to join in on the fun at the rink by gifting me with skates.

Needless to say, I was so ready to give this to her come Christmas. I had no reason to believe the age old sentiment in "giving is better than getting" would be challenged. But then I got this from Luke and Stephanie...

Well, technically Mom and Dad got it. But I like to think of it as a gift, all the same.

Stephanie's family has a tradition. They've added a baby to the family every year since 2007. I've found this tradition quite enjoyable since it has introduced us all to the likes of Hudson (circa 2007)

Kinley (circa 2008)

and Addie (circa 2009).

But said tradition has not ever seemed sweeter than it does going into 2010. Because Morrow tradition is becoming a Smith first. And by "becoming" I mean growing inside of Stephanie right now.

Cue trips to maternity sections and babies 'r us. Tutu has commenced to readying this baby's room and wardrobe. And many a name for Dad's grandfather title have been passed around. Our tireless efforts to find the perfect moniker have not yet paid off, leading Dad to exasperatedly proclaim to my Mom, "you're so lucky you've had a grandma name forever."

What he means is that Mom has been "Tutu" to nieces and nephews and close family friends for 32 years now. But now she's really Tutu. Her niece began calling her this because she couldn't say Trudy. Only by coincidence (or maybe because God knows her too well) does Tutu also mean grandmother in Hawaiian native tongue.

So the Morrow tradition continues, Mom remains Tutu, but, for this Christmas at least, receiving kicks givings tail end.

I don't mind the sudden change in tradition, personally.

I don't think they do, either.

Little Bit

R.e.s.p.e.c.t. Find out what it means to her.

I was listening to Kelly Clarkson belt out Aretha's "Respect" on the radio the other day and found it ironic that "little bit" is my pet name for Tally (appropriate, you see, because Tally is my pet and she is little) and her personality is filled with the soul captured in that song. The dog commands respect.

You have to when you're a mere 4 pounds.

Unfortunately here lately, she's developed a pattern of demanding respect. And she goes about it in the schrillest of little barks. Or, as mother so loving puts it, "yappin.'" So not only does the dog reach a pitch that should not be wished upon even the meanest of intruders, there is mom quickly following with a deep and authoritative "you better quit that yappin!" It usually works. For that time.

So. She may look sweet, playing in the grass

and with babies

(and basically with anything she can find to play with--including a few of my unmentionables, because when she's in my room and you tell her to "go get a toy," my bra apparently fits the bill)

and cuddling in the lap of anyone with a blanket,

she is a pistol.

A fireball. She can win at fetch. Something I never considered-- fetch having a win or lose. But honestly, she will play all night long. If you don't reach for the toy, she will lay it next to your feet. Then jump on the couch and lay it on your lap. Then on your chest. Then she will get on your chest. Then gently paw at your face. Then lick you incessantly. Until you either give and and throw it again or give up the game by saying "Tally, leave it." At which point you have lost fetch. And you feel like a failure because your 4 pound dog just beat you at something.

Energy personified.

Or dogified.

I don't say that to be corny. I say it because for my mother's sake the distinction must remain clear. Even though she's the one buying sweaters for the dog.

I'm just sayin'.

So while we may call her by "precious little" or "little bit," please do not be fooled. You do NOT want to find out what respect means to her. She will cut you.

Or else she will just yap at you and scamper off.

She is only 4 pounds you know.

"Justa, justa, justa, justa... just a little bit."

Care, Love, and Hope

Christmas started late for us this mornting. And while usually this wouldn't even be a thang given that I don't normally wake up until 10 antyway, I slept like an excited school child last night. 3, 5, 7, 9-- I saw them all on the clock last night because I was that ready for "Santa to come." And, of course, to share the day with my family.

For the first time ever I didn't run straight to the top of the stairs. Matter of a fact, I actually took a quite leisurely bath. And then cuddled with Emily and yelled downstairs to Mom who was tending to our "visitor" and then read out of Luke's pOliceman Bible:

The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death
a light has dawned.

You have enlarged the nation
and increased their joy;
they rejoice before you
as people rejoice at the harvest,
as men rejoice
when dividing the plunder.

For as in the day of Midian's defeat,
you have shattered
the yoke that burdens them,
the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor.

Every warrior's boot used in battle
and every garment rolled in blood
will be destined for burning,
will be fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and peace
there will be no end.
He will reign on David's throne
and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it
with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the LORD Almighty
will accomplish this.

(Isaiah 9: 2-7)

Emily's response was, "I could see how people were disappointed Jesus was only a baby." Indeed, I see their point.

Still, disappointed, we are not. Missing from the early morning around our house was Dad. Because while I anxiously awaited celebrating Jesus, he was off acting like him. Emily and I both couldn't help but brag on our twitters as we chatted in the darkness of Luke and Steph's room about "our hero."

Dad is an attending, who only has to show up in the morning to "round" on his patients-- the residents give him all of the latest information on a bed patient and he comes up with a treatment plan for the next 24 hours. The other day one of his residents was talking about her Christmas morning plans, saying she would have to wake her little boy up at 5 in the morning to be able to open gifts before she would need to leave to do her obligatory pre-rounds. The residents have to be in earlier than attendings in order to get all of the news from the night crew and prepare their reports for rounds.

He could have said "suck it up." That was him at one point, too. Could have said "I've earned my right to stay home with my family."

Children's Hospital has a motto: "Fear not illness, this place of care, love and hope is for you."

And Dad opted to show care, love, and hope to his resident. Because instead of saying "that's not my job," he gladly offered to come in early and do morning reports for her, so she could do Christmas with her little boy-- not at 5 a.m. And this morning he hurried home as fast as he could so as to not put us out by having to wait on him. As. If. His being at the hospital, making himself a servant, having that for a dad is one of my gifts. It certainly wasn't keeping me from them.

"Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others." (Philippians 2: 1-4)

The view from the top didn't stop him from looking out from looking after the interests of one of his own. This Christmas, how glad I am that the same could be said of Jesus.

All is Calm, but Not so Bright

I got home from work to find our neighborhood out of power.

Correction. I found our side of the neighborhood out of power. Let me hear you say "that ain't right." As I am writing on reserve battery and for Evelyn that runs about, um, 3 minutes, I do not know how long we have together on this Christmas Eve.

But this is how I'm going to spend however much time Evelyn has because both parents did not respond positively to my idea to go caroling and they wont let me open any of the gifts under the tree. And the movie theatre shuts down at 7 tonight, ridding us of our usual trusty back up plan for bad weather or really for any time we're looking for something to do.

It's Chrismas Eve!

I already know my favorite gift that I'm giving and the best one I will get, I'm just not at liberty to share yet. But it's very exciting!

Speaking of exciting, tell me this doesn't get you in the Christmas spirit...

It amazes me that Jesus was that at one point, too. A precious baby making somebody's day with a smile. Little did they know. I was listening to Chris Rice's "Welcome to Our World" on the way home from work and these lyrics stuck out to me:

Fragile finger sent to heal us

tender brow prepared for thorn

tiny heart whose blood will save us

unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around you

breathe our air and walk our sod

rob our sin and make us holy

perfect son of God

But for that matter, little do I know. The truth is that I can hardly comprehend the big-ness of God, let alone the majesty of his humble birth. Harder still is knowing how to praise God for the simultaneous simplicity and complexity of his love and his grace. Tomorrow marks the day those two things became undeniably real. I want that to make an undeniable change in my life.

Like the difference between a house on this side of the street and a house across the way. Where they can have showers. No, no that's not what I mean. I just want to be lit up. I want to be pumped about God's plan. Because get this:

But when the kindness and the love of God our Savior toward man appeared,

not by works of righteousness which we have done,

but according to His mercy

He saved us,

through the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit,

whom He poured out on us abundantly

through Jesus Christ our Savior,

that having been justified by His grace we should become heirs

according to the hope of eternal life.

(Titus 3:4-7)

Kindness and love toward man appeared in the body of a baby wrapped in flawed flesh and an ancient version of a snuggie. This is especially exciting to me because I love a baby. But most exciting is that his birth created a way for me to be an heir in all of this. I don't have the right to say who else gets in on it-- in the end I'm not even the one making my own case. Jesus is.

So Merry Christmas to us. And thank you, Jesus.

(for the record, so I can remember this moment, it is cold enough in this house that mom is actually wearing flannel. okay?!)

We Interrupt Christmas

...for this important wedding marriage.

This is how I would describe the past 48 hours: 90 to nothing.

Matter of a fact the entire week and half of break so far has been this way. Gingerbread house competitions, work Christmas parties, babysitting, sleepovers, Christmas shopping, work, coffee dates, scrapbooking, Dad's birthday, aunt and uncle visiting, more work, movies, games, church and then. A wedding.

For how busy we were, it truly felt like an oasis. A (post)weekend getaway with a lot of old friends. At, I kid you not, Uncle Ricky's Cabin.

Well, that's where we spent the night Sunday night, us bridesmaids. We went to and fro, from the cabin to the church to the hotel, multiple times. Cherished time.

Are we really this old?

To be marrying off friends and meeting up with old ones who have babies and be planning other weddings and be joking around with friends' moms about bra sizes and finding a boy to take home?

Apparently. I'm just not sure when it happened.

When did it happen that my quirky little nothing of a friend (I'm talking about size here)-- who created costume designs and obsessed about the Lord of the Rings, going around speaking elvish and taking offense to people calling Legolas a girl-- became a costume designer and stage extraordinaire with a depth of maturity, a ring, and an impossibly brighter smile?

It's a fun new stage of life, to be sure. Danielle Adkins will take some getting used to, though.

(thats Charles Dickens and Jane Austen topping the grooms cake, just so you know)

Their wedding was a well-timed reminder of what love is supposed to be-- a reflection of Christ's love for the church. And even though they will fail to be that perfectly, God will not fail us. The very best example of that was when he sent Jesus to this world to die on a cross. That kind of love, marriage or no marriage, is a lot to live up to. It takes communion with the God of such love to even begin to know the joy that is Christmas.

And since that is what marriage is about, striving for that communion, I don't guess Christmas was much interrupted this weekend, after all.