Christmas Through the Tears

Tears are not absent during the holidays.  In fact, I've talked with enough friends and family in the last few days to know that tears are likely prevalent during Christmas.  There's no doubt a lot of joy and happiness during this time, praise the Lord for the smiles and laughter, but there may also be sadness.  And praise the Lord for tears.  Tears over the loss of what used to be, an ache from the longing of a child absent in the family circle, grief from the loss of a father or mother who was here last Christmas but is gone today, or an illness that seems to have taken precedence over every important thing in life.

And then there are the everyday tears that don't seem to stay away just because it's Christmas.  Tears were shed on the way home from church on Christmas Eve because my youngest was reprimanded for kicking her older sister.  Tears.  And lots of them.  Because "everyone in the entire world thinks I'm annoying.  Every single person in this entire earth!"  I'm glad she's not over-dramatic.  

And then the tears while watching The Nativity with the family the night before Christmas.  The tears were not due to the amazing reality of the incarnation.  No.  The tears were due to the killing of a cow.   "Why would they kill a cow, dad?  Why a cow?  What did the cow do to them?"  And so we press pause to explain Old Testament animal sacrifice to our seven year old.   And then she completely understood.  Not at all.

But for some reason, in the midst of the longing and sadness, there is a sense in which swallowing the tears is the right thing to do on Christmas.  It's Christmas, for heaven's sake.  We should all be happy and smiles, right?  Bottle up the tears and let them flow any other day....just not on Christmas.  

But we live in a broken world. And I'm incredibly grateful that we can celebrate the beauty of the incarnation through the tears.  I'm grateful that Jesus came into this world so that He can understand and identify with our longing and pain.  I'm thankful that Jesus showed us His own tears and that His birth was announced not to the kings of the earth, but to humble shepherds.  And I'm thankful that the birth of our Savior took place in a stable and not a palace.  I'm sure it smelled; I'm quite certain it was not all that silent, and his bed wasn't perfectly prepared ahead of time, but instead he lay in a trough.   It's the smelly, noisy, not tidied-up kind of place that I can relate with.  Jesus made himself man for you and for me. 

All this is what we see through the tears.  

I sat in front of my Christmas tree this morning and let the tears flow.  I miss my dad and the days when family members from all over would meet together and spend hours eating, opening presents, and celebrating together our Savior's birth.  I miss the meals my mom would cook and the baths my kids would take at their grandma's house, and I even miss the days when I would rebuke mom for giving my kids ten too many pieces of M &M's. 

But I see much through the tears.  I see a day beyond when we will actually see the King of Kings, and not through unclear and hazy eyes because there will no longer be crying, a promise so deserving of our Hallelujahs.  And through the tears I see Christmas.   I see my Savior and the Splendor of the incarnation.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

The implications of Jesus taking on humanity is as deeply felt as the tears on my face.  This is Grace.  This is Joy unspeakable.  This is the true meaning of Christmas.  

There will be joy tomorrow, and I'm sure there will be a lot of happy munchkins tearing through the packages, but for some there may be tears.  There's no need to bottle them just because it's Christmas.  See Christmas through the tears; it's a beautiful sight to behold.  

Christmas Letter 2015

New Unabridged 2015 Polski Dictionary

Fully Revised and Updated

out·land·ish (out-lan-dish) adjective  1. freakishly or grotesquely strange or odd; bizarre. 2. what Chris thought of Katie’s idea to bring home a bearded dragon as a pet.  

 flab-er-gast   (\ˈfla-bər-ˌgast\ ), verb. 1. to overwhelm with shock, surprise, or wonder. 2. Chris’ reaction when Katie brought home a hamster after returning two pet rats only months before. 

Li-ly [ prin-ses], noun 1. a 7 year old girl in first grade who loves arts and crafts.  2.  a child who asks more questions than her parents thought was humanly possible (see also: Dumb-found). 3. a young girl who enjoys make-believe 4. someone who has recently started piano and is showing great talent in this new venture.    5. an emotional child who requested that her father perform a funeral service for her dead goldfish. 5. a one-of-a-kind girl taking after….well….we’re not entirely sure…and who loves her pet hamster, Luxe. 

Dumb-found [ duhm-found], verb  1.  to make speechless with amazement; astonish.   2.  the way the entire family feels by some of lily’s questions:  How come Adam and Eve didn’t listen to God; Has God ever made a mistake; What happens if I keep on sinning; Who makes me sin; Do I have to sit next to my brother in heaven (just to name a few).  3. The expression on Katie’s face when she saw Chris’ Systematic Theology book as reading material by Lily’s bed this summer.  

Chris-to-pher (Chris), [kris-tuh-fer], noun   1. a person who has been reading thousands of pages for his Doctor of Ministry.  2. a pastor who is leading a growing church in Kirkwood, MO.  3. a busy dad who drives the kids to school nearly every morning and performs funerals for fish.  4. a Homiletics instructor who teaches preaching and listens to three student sermons each Wednesday afternoon. 5. a pretty happy U2 fan who enjoyed rocking out at two concerts this summer. 6. an awesome dad who would be perfectly happy with no pets.  Ever.

Ka-th-leen (Katie), [kath-leen], noun   1. a busy mom who actually doesn’t mind shuttling the kiddos to and fro.   2.  Someone who enjoyed speaking for a women’s retreat in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  3.  a runner who achieved a personal record for a half marathon this fall.  4.  a caretaker for her faithful and determined mother.  5. a pianist who teaches multiple students and played in a Bach concert with two beautiful violinists   6.  a writer who enjoys blogging almost more than she enjoys having multiple pets around the house                                                 

Over-joy[oh-ver-joi], verb  1.  to cause to feel great joy or delight; elate.  2. the emotion Katie felt when playing the concert in January.  3.  the way two out of three children felt when they brought home new pets this year.  4.  the way Max the dog feels when an older sibling rescues him from Lily’s dress-up sessions.

El-la (teen a ger), noun 1. a thirteen year old girl who is exceedingly passionate. 2. a teenager who loves rainy days and hopes to live in Seattle someday (because it’s rainy and they drink a lot of coffee).  3. a talented girl who has taken up contemporary dance and is excelling in this new activity.  4. an athlete who continues to show her tough side on the basketball court and soccer field. 5. a teen who is sought after by young moms at church for her “baby whispering” abilities.   6. a thirteen year girl old who loves (loves, loves, loves) One Direction, Taylor Swift, and all things Pop music.  7. a young woman who is learning guitar and played in her first recital this year.   8. a kid who takes after her father in many ways and who would prefer to never have a pet. Ever.

Huh (hu), interj. 1. used to express surprise, disbelief, or confusion. 2. Chris and Katie’s reaction when they realized Jrod’s team of computer programmers, of which Jrod was the youngest contestant ever, won a competition during a weekend event.  3. Chris, Katie, and Jrod’s reaction when they realized Jrod’s share of the prize for said event was six thousand dollars.  4. Katie’s reaction when Jrod said he wanted to use his money to purchase his friends extra candy and soda over the summer. 

Jon-a-than (Jrod), [goof-bawl], noun  1. an 11 year old boy full of an enormous amount of energy and life. 2. a pre-teen more comfortable conversing with adults than kids his own age.  3.  a kid who left soccer to take up running.  4.  a boy who is fiercely competitive.  5. an athlete who finally (finally) beat his mom in a 5K race, much to his mother’s demise. 6. an eleven year old who plays violin beautifully and has enjoyed playing in church, school, and recitals. 7. an eleven year old who learns computer programming every Saturday and has plans to take over the world with his abilities.  8. a young man who had a blast at his first U2 concert with his dad.  9. a boy who is his mother personified and who loves his pet bearded dragon named Smaug.

Joy-ful  (\ˈjȯi-fəl\), adjective,  1. experiencing, causing, or showing great joy. 2. how we feel when we think of our Savior’s birth and the promise of the gospel.  3. the emotion we have when we think of all of our friends and family around the world.

Merry Christmas and love to all!

The Polskis

 P.S.  We were AWESOME at selfies this year.  Just awesome.  

             

            

                                       

                                                                        

Birthday Reflections: Barbies and Joy

Man, oh, man.    I feel like I should be about twenty-five.  Maybe twenty-six, but since today is my birthday, and I feel like I'm in my mid-twenties, then I shall declare today my twenty-sixth birthday.  Why not.  It certainly sounds better than sixty-two, which is how old my daughter guessed I was.

I've been doing a lot of reflecting today, on this twenty-sixth birthday of mine, and mostly on Joy.

When I was younger, birthday's were a BIG deal in my house.  There were sweets, presents galore, and always a big party with the girls in my class.  I remember bounce places, indoor pools, Little Caesar's pizza,  and one party at home (and I'm pretty sure that was the last one at home).  In the exact words of my seven year old daughter, "I miss the days of my youth."

And after every party my parents would ask, "Are you happy?"

Of course I was happy.  I loved parties, I loved the attention, and I loved, loved, loved presents.  And so, it was all fun and games...and smiles and laughs...until one year, the one present I was dying for was not received.

Gasp.

I know.  Who would withhold a Barbie from a sevenish-year old (regardless of the fact that she had seventeen other Barbie dolls)?  Oh, the cruelty.

I found a picture online of the Barbie I had been dreaming to call mine.  I remember it well because alas, I got it for Christmas fifteen days later.  Spoiled.  Rotten.  

But through the tears on December 10th, sometime in the eighties, I remember my dad sitting next to me on my bed explaining, with as many kind words as he could muster, how absurd it was to cry over one toy when I had so many others.   He told me, perhaps out of frustration, that I had to make a choice to be joyful about what I had been given.  

In my moment of ridiculous drama, I'm pretty sure that dad's words sounded something like, "blah blah, stop crying, blah, blah, be joyful."  But that conversation stuck with me.  And what my dad proceeded to teach me over the course of the next several years, whether he knew it or not, was the importance of choosing joy.  

And this memory struck a chord with me today while I spent most of the day helping my mom and step-father.  

I have been given all the joy from my heavenly father.  In fact, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed that we would be given the full measure of His joy.  We have it, we possess it, but we've got to chose it.  

And this joy isn't the same thing as happiness.  Not at all.  

I wasn't happy today when I watched my mom scream out in terrible pain.   I wasn't happy when an old friend of Dads looked over my shoulder at mom and almost gasped.  I wasn't happy when she grabbed my hand as tightly as she could when we told her it was my birthday, and I wasn't happy when she started weeping uncontrollably. I had a deep sadness in those moments, and in my mom's small room today, happiness would have been an unfitting and absurd emotion.  

But there is still joy.  

It's the same joy that Job found when he cried out in faith after loosing everything but his life:  "The Lord gives and the Lord taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord."   And it's the same joy that Mary found in the midst of fear at the news that she was carrying the Savior:  "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."  These emotions have nothing to do with happiness but everything to do with joy that comes from God alone.    

This gift of joy is unspeakable.  It isn't depleted when we're faced with losing loved ones, and it doesn't dwindle when our sadness intensifies.  Instead, this joy transforms and transcends tears, heartaches, and trouble.  

Joy.  I choose it, I embrace it, and I'm grateful of it.  Even now, sitting here reflecting on the hope I have no matter what He gives or takes, no matter how hard or easy the day is, and no matter what tomorrow brings, I weep with tears of Joy.  

It really wasn't a happy birthday, per say.  But it was a joyful one, and I couldn't ask for a greater gift.  

Joyful birthday to me.