Tired of only seeing the picture-perfect family portraits and highlight reels from your friends and family? Me too. Read my honest holiday letter, and know that imperfection is far more common than it seems. Happy holidays from my family to yours.

The world leaves no space for failures, yet we will all fail. The Bible tells us all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). So what do we do when the inevitable happens, when we break the chain? Too many of us quit and determine our efforts weren’t worth it, that we’re not worth it. I am grateful we serve a God who doesn’t quit on us as easily as we quit on ourselves.

Did you know the moon itself is not a source of light? The illumination of the moon is but a reflection of the sun. What a beautiful metaphor God has given us in this way, that like the moon, we exist not to light our own way but to reflect the glory of God.

Why should be ashamed of the struggles we fought our way through? Are our scars not proof of God’s provision, of His healing, of His restoration of all things broken? He has brought us through so that we might get others through. This is the purpose of our past pain. So let’s hunker down in the hull of our shared ship, prop our legs and arms on the table, tug up our clothing, and say, “Show me your scars.” Let’s boast of our weaknesses. Let’s take pleasure in our hardships, persecutions, and troubles, for when we are weak, He is strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

My desire to protect Providence and Justice is in a constant tug of war with my desire to see them grow and mature outside their comfort zone. I want them to be brave at the lunch table and bold on the playground, but I desperately want their hearts to stay safe from rejection. Ultimately it’s God, not me, who guides them. He knows their hearts better than I ever could, and He prepares them for the social gauntlet of each new season.

There’s a reason our chairs circle up rather than line up on our Sunday evenings at the park. We understand community is just that, communal. To connect we must commune, and to commune we must face one another, seeing the gifts, strengths, and testimonies each of us brings to the table. This is our life group, and it did not come easy.

I’ve been disappointed by strangers and friends alike when it comes to hospitality, and so sometimes it’s just easier to focus on my own family and let that be enough. But that’s not what I’m called to do, because as Mother Teresa pointed out, how we define “family” is a reflection of our heart, and my heart longs to be like Christ.

I read once that maybe the reason we love our dogs so much is because the only time they break your heart is when they no longer exist. I can’t unfeel that.

Perhaps the gift of grief is that we don’t have to choose it over every other good thing. We can feel despair and celebration simultaneously. Our hearts can be breaking while our feet are dancing.

I remember sitting down for an eye exam with a new ophthalmologist a few years back. He was walking me through the new patient questionnaire when he asked, “What’s your profession?” I said simply, “I’m a stay-at-home mom.” I expected him to be unimpressed. Most people are. But without looking up, he nodded and said, “Ah. So I’ll just write down, everything.”

For too long I assumed rooting had everything to do with where I was and how long I planned on staying, but this is not what “putting down roots” truly looks like. It’s not in the painting of walls or even in the establishment of a community. Those are not the things that ground us. Our sense of belonging in Christ, our firm establishment in His word and in His presence are what anchor us deep in the earth when the winds of change blow or the seasons alter.

I imagine God’s grace as liquid gold, seeping into every crevice, filling up every crack of our broken bowl, making beautiful scars from the evidence of pain. And when the gold sets our bowl is more durable than it was before it was broken. In Him, we are made whole again, stronger, and all the more valuable.

The insistence my house plants had on growing served as daily inspiration for me. If they can thrive in this place, I thought, so can I.

For the entire Advent season we’re in constant motion: wrapping, baking, cleaning, decorating, rushing, and DOING, all to get ready for Christmas. We’ve done all we can, on the outside at least. But what about on the inside? Have we prepared our hearts as much as our homes for Christmas?

Amid the disorder, Mary had the sense to stay present. She looked around at her situation and saw it all as valuable, a treasure to keep safely tucked away in the corners of her heart. Where I would have seen failed plans, Mary saw God’s faithfulness. I would have dwelled on the lack of cleanliness in the stable; Mary dwelled on the face of God. Where I would have seen a mess, Mary saw a miracle.

I’m heading into the holiday season well-caffeinated and ahead of the game. My Christmas shopping is completed, my holiday cards are addressed and stamped, and my house is decorated. This means things will hit the fan any second because the universe always wins.

It’s here, enveloped in such peace that He reminds us our thankfulness is the dream of the disappointed. Let’s turn our hearts in prayer toward those with less, toward those without hope, toward those who need the gift we’ve been so graciously given: the gift of Jesus Christ.

When we begin to value our children’s salvation over our idea of a successful devotional time, everything changes.

You were grieved for a bit because you didn’t want the night to end; you wanted to hold on to that feeling for just a while longer. But the afterglow is our bonus. It’s those brief but beautiful moments just after the sun has dipped below the horizon, when the sky is tinted with shades of orange and pink and the darkness of night has yet to take over.

To anyone who has felt unwelcome, unseen, or unloved, I will say to you what I should have said to Vanessa all those years ago: you can sit with me. To anyone who has been hurt or betrayed, plop your weary self right on down beside me. There is space for us both on this bench. Jesus offers you His hand. He assures you are worthy of love and respect. His loving kindness makes space for you even when the world does not.