Hearth & Hive

Last night, he took me back to the tiny Moroccan restaurant where he asked me to be his wife. We’re not new there; the owners know our faces. The owner-chef is comfortable about teasing us and asking us about “baby making.” Succulent Mediterranean cuisine is made in house. It’s delicious, a love affair for the taste buds. Might I recommend either the Almond Chicken Tajine or the Stuffed Grouper with Saffron Couscous? But, my favorite, a must-have item, is the uniquely refreshing Pomegranate Hibiscus Tea. Tea. Always tea.

This marvelous honeyed tea is a deep, sensual, ruby color with both fruit and floral notes. Both slightly tart and perfectly sweet, it’s, well, perfect. Complete. Palate satisfying. And isn’t that a bit like love? Two opposites, two pieces, two flavors swirling into one complete, beautiful dance? The tart is still tart. The sweet remains sweet. But, together, neither diminishes it’s own liveliness, but each compliments the other. Together, they’re magnificent.

This cozy Moroccan nest is dear to us. Besides being significant because it’s the place I promised to be his forever-bride, Saffron is insanely sensuous. It’s lavish in its Mediterranean sensual romance. So, this is where we spent Valentine’s night. Of course, I ordered the tea–two glasses of tea and one to bring home. For the coffee lovers, they have an incredible kahwa, Moroccan style coffee. It’s strong, served with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Saffron Cafe’s kahwa is the only coffee I can drink black. It’s just that good.

Lily girl has been there before, but on the night we celebrate love, having her join us was precious. She wanted to hold my ringed finger in the very spot her Daddy put the ring on my finger. Together with tea + love. What could be better?

It was a Thursday. Thursday, December 4, 2014. I was impatient and frustrated with him. He wasn’t bringing by the screwdriver I needed to hang curtains in the guest room quickly enough. He’d been working all day, providing late fall landscaping cleanup for some clients. Ordinary. Normal. Usual.

Until it wasn’t. He called me at work, said he was sweaty. I’m a nurse, and he was wanting my “permission” to take an aspirin. Instead, I advised him not to take anything and visit the ER. Being the somewhat frugal and stubborn man he is, he went to the nearest Walgreens clinic. He reported they found his temperature too low, but he was sweating profusely. I employed my critical thinking skills to determine a possible cause. He then went to urgent care, where I later heard he staggered in demanding an aspirin. Staff immediately knew something horrible was wrong, and recommended EMT transport him to a local ER. I was still at work, knowing nothing of this–only that he was sweating and “hypothermic.” My stubborn-ish then fiancé blatantly refused ambulance transport and drove himself to the hospital.

We tried to communicate, but neither his words nor his texts were making sense. All I could understand was that his mother and brother were there and tests were being taken. What felt like hours later, his mother called me. She calmly stated that he was having a CT scan, but doctors felt he had a pulmonary embolism (lung blood clot). Mama Burke relayed the doctor’s suggestion that I should come if possible. I can still remember the calm stillness of her voice. I wasn’t alarmed. Pulmonary embolism–treatable. All was well (as much as it could be.)

Until it wasn’t. Again, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was strained. His brother. His brother told me the diagnosis while I was standing there by my patient’s kitchen island. My sweet patient was sitting in her chair, questions in her eyes. My heart stopped for a bit. Aortic aneurysm he said. Panic swiftly overcame me, and I couldn’t stop the tears. They were transporting him to another hospital; if I could make it by the time the surgeon arrived, I could see him. There are these times when being a nurse is a curse; you know too much. You know statistically survival rates for aortic aneurysms are low. And by this time, I didn’t even know how bad his was.

I made it. Barely. Remember, I’d been upset with him. I only had mere minutes with him before the surgeon arrived, and I needed hours, days, to let him know I loved him. And when you may be spending your very last moments with one you love so much, those moments pass ever so quickly. Dr. Robison, he told us he wasn’t sure he could repair the ruptured thoracic aortic aneurysm. I remember him, shivering, pale, confused, asking, “What happens if you can’t repair it?” And the surgeon, he didn’t skip a beat or sugar coat, “You won’t survive.”

And I had to say goodbye. Kiss goodbye. I remember standing there in the hallway, watching his stretcher until it was gone from sight. Dr. Robison offered to let us see the scans. There was the evidence glaring at me, mocking me, killing me, the dissections (ruptures, tears) leaking his blood and suffocating him. No, it wasn’t his temperature that was too low; it was his blood pressure. His aneurysm was thoracic, so he was bleeding out, but bleeding out into his pericardium, drowning in his own blood, so to speak. Hypotensive. Surgeon wanted us to see how great the damage. He said, “I want you to see what I’m dealing with.” He asked for prayer, then left to try to save my love’s heart, his life.

We were taken to a private conference room. There wasn’t much hope for a miracle. An hour passed with no news. Then two, then six. I couldn’t eat, drink, sleep, or do anything. Except pray. I begged and bargained. I pleaded and promised. And I wrote him a letter, a long letter. A chaplain stopped by. “They’re trying to repair a valve,” she reported. That was my first glimmer of hope. Logically, if they were going to attempt repairing a valve, then there was hope for survival!

Seven long, dark, terrifying hours later, a nurse informed us that the surgeon was finishing up and would soon speak to us. I can remember everything about Dr. Robinson’s and his anesthesiologist’s conversation–their words, gestures, clothing, posture, expressions. The aneurysm was one of the largest they’d seen and had dissected in several places. Repair was successful, valve repair was complete, but there was possibility of complications. Because the new valve was mechanical, he’d always need to take warfarin and be extremely mindful with eating leafy greens. A small price to pay in exchange for your life.

February is heart month–cardiac awareness. It’s also heart month in that we celebrate love. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, our sixth to celebrate since his aneurysm survival. Our love journey hasn’t been and isn’t perfect. There were complications and bumps in the road during his recovery. And there have been countless bumps in our road together. Love isn’t always easy. Actually, most of the time it’s so hard. Remember that long letter I wrote during his heart surgery? I made a lot of promises that I’ve forgotten from time to time–

Because day to day loving is hard. We don’t always feel euphoric in love. Some days, love looks like cooking breakfast or bringing a load of laundry in from the cold. We don’t always have to feel ecstatic in love. Some days, love looks like getting up in the middle of the night to turn on a heat lamp for the pet hen or dropping off the forgotten lunch. Some days, love looks like apologies and forgiveness.

He became known as “the miracle man” with the surgeon and staff. And, he is quick to share the One who gave the miracle, gave life. Dr. Robison later told him, “There’s a reason He wanted you around–to marry her.” We did marry almost 6 months later, and God gave us a precious little girl 19 months after his life was saved. There was a reason.

The Sunday morning following his heart surgery, I had another frightening phone call. Someone wanted to warn me that she’d talked with “someone close to God,” and God “told” the person that Rudy wasn’t going to make it. Doubt flooded me, so much that others noticed something troubling me. I waited for the inevitable. And, 1:00 pm that Sunday afternoon, he began having a-fib and other complications. More tests. More scans. I couldn’t help but hear that earlier phone conversation over and over and over. Sitting by the bed, incessantly watching the monitors, a new track started playing in my mind.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.

The phrase repeated over and over until the other noise was quieted; it was like a mantra, a breath. I didn’t know where I’d seen it, read it, or heard it. I had no idea where those words came from. Days, or even months later, someone sent me a scripture verse: Isaiah 26:3 “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.” So, that’s where the words came from. I do not remember ever memorizing or even reading that scripture, but God breathed those words into my soul that Sunday afternoon that my heart felt hopeless and distressed. In her book, Becoming Brave, Tracey Mitchell writes, “what we hide in our hearts during secure seasons will make our hearts strong and our words sound during stormy seasons.” No, I don’t remember learning Isaiah 23:6, but I know that I hid God in my heart during the secure seasons, and He strengthened my spiritual and emotional heart and Rudy’s physical heart during those uncertain, stormy seasons.

There’s this painting that hangs in our home. Not in the same place, but the beautiful painting hangs always visible. To me, it’s a vivid illustration of Isaiah 23:6, held “in perfect peace.” When God (Love) holds us, how can we be anywhere but peace? Five years have gone, and he’s here, alive. Angry words hurl unchecked. Kisses are rushed. We sleep miles apart (it feels) with a child and doggie between us. We are polar opposites. We’re messy. Love is messy. But, consider the painting. Some days, love looks messy. Some days, love is holding the mess, embracing the messy, tenderly kissing forgiveness. Some days, love looks like moisturizing dehydrated lips or steeping a cup of tea. And that’s okay. That’s a love worth celebrating.

~Painting by Jen Byler Hines

Have you ever wondered how the fluid, milky, blue sky would taste? No? I must just be a bit quirky. Yes? Then we are kindred souls!

A few weeks ago, I saw the most serene colored milky pale blue beverage on my friend, Evangeline’s Instagram page. Immediately, I asked her the identity of this peace-in-a-cup. She responded that the latte was Blue Matcha. Keeping up with my teas, I was surprised I’d not heard of this cup of beauty. Evangeline went on to tell me that blue matcha is made from butterfly pea powder. A ha! I remembered the butterfly pea tea, but wasn’t aware it could be accessed in powder form to make matcha lattes. My brother had the actual flowers and tried to grow plants from seeds last summer. I asked him if he had any left I could have to try and to send Evangeline as butterfly pea flowers and powder is pricey. No luck.

Just a few days later, Evangeline would celebrate her birthday, so I wanted to surprise her with the powder. Then, Rudy ordered some blue matcha for me! And now, I want to share the Milky Blue Sky recipe with you.

Boil a few ounces of fresh water.

While waiting for the water to boil, place 1/4-1/2 teaspoon of butterfly pea powder into a teacup or mug.

Put 8 ounces milk of your preference into a saucepan with a Tablespoon of maple syrup (honey, or sweeter of your choice) and 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract. Steam milk, but do not boil. *If you prefer your tea less sweet, definitely reduce the amount of sweetener!

When the water reaches boiling, pour 1 ounce into the butterfly pea powder. The liquid will be a cerulean color. Set aside until milk mixture is steamed.

Carefully pour the steamed milk over the blue matcha tea.

Whisk until blended and foamy.

Take a sip. Feel the fluffy, foam-clouds. Taste the sweet, clear, sky. Slip into tranquility. Savor. And, cue, “Somewhere over the rainbow…..”

Thanks to Timothy and Evangeline for introducing me to the sumptuous world of blue matcha lattes. Thank you to Rudy for making my dreams come true. And thank you to YOU for taking tea with me. 💙

If you’re anything like my little family, this late fall-early winter season has been cruel health wise. No sooner than we get over one illness, another strikes and is consequently passed on to each of us. Life’s cycles, seasons, rhythms change over time, and the past year had many different courses and paces. In trying to adjust to new rhythms, my every-day routine was chaotic at best. I forgot multitudes of things that needed remembered.

I neglected replying to emails, responding to texts, and returning calls. I missed appointments. Music lessons weren’t prepared for, schedules were adjusted and readjusted. Laundry mountained high. And I forgot to fight for my family’s health. Fast food seemed the easiest option many evenings. Tiny doses of multivitamins and cod liver oil weren’t given–for days. Forget giving teaspoons of elderberry tea syrup because I never remembered to make it!

Sometime after the festivities ended and peace returned to days, and my little family was on the fourth or fifth round of colds, I remembered to fight. Counters, light switches, and door knobs were disinfected on my warpath to health, an abrupt halt to fast food was made, and there have been many, many hours spent in the kitchen battling for health and immunity.

I believe fiercely that food can be medicine. Wasn’t it Hippocrates that first discovered that? And tea? Tea is medicinal and healing in so many ways. Different teas, tisanes, and various ingredients may be steeped for all sorts of issues: ginger for nausea, digestion, and immunity; raspberry leaves for women’s cycles; cinnamon for warmth; black tea for energy; matcha for detoxification; lavender for stress relief. These are just a few simple healing benefits of teas and herbs.

During my wake-up call to healing and illness prevention, I remembered to make another batch of elderberry tea syrup. It’s incredibly simple to make, and each ingredient has immune-boosting qualities! If you’ve had a long season of illness as we have, try making this.

Gather a heaping 1 1/2 cups of dried elderberries. Place in a medium saucepan. Chop a knob of fresh ginger. I used a piece about the length of my index finger. No need to peel because you’ll strain the entire tea. Add the chopped ginger to the saucepan of elderberries. Add 2 teaspoons of ground cinnamon, 1 teaspoon of ground cloves, and 4 1/2 cups of filtered water to the saucepan.

Bring mixture to a boil. The berries and ginger pieces will look as if they’re dancing. Then, cover, reduce heat to a simmer, and cook for 1 hour.

When your elderberry tea has simmered, uncover, stir, and let cool. The liquid will be slightly reduced and thickened.

Once tea has cooled, strain. I use an antique colander for this, but a modern colander and spoon back would work fine. Squeeze all the liquid from the berries.

Pour the strained tea into a glass container. I used a 1/2 gallon Mason jar. Discard or compost the berries and ginger. Stir 1 1/2 cup of raw honey and 2 Tablespoons of fresh lemon juice into the strained tea. This is what forms the syrup consistency, and honey is known for its antimicrobial properties.

Tada! All done! The elderberry tea syrup will keep in the refrigerator in a glass jar for 3-4 months.

Dosing:

For adults– Take 1 Tablespoon per day for prevention. When sick, take 3 Tablespoons per day.

For children–Take 1 teaspoon per day for prevention. When sick, take 3 teaspoons per day.

I wish you a happy, HEALTHY, magical New Year!

For those days you need warmth and a hug, this vanilla almond matcha latte is like a warm hug in a mug. Really.

Scoop 1/2-1 teaspoon of Matcha powder into a mug or tea cup.

Bring 1/2 cup water to just boiling. Pour over matcha. Whisk until foamy with tea whisk. I’ve never tried, but I’m fairly certain you can use a small wire whisk instead of using a bamboo tea whisk. Set aside.

Heat 1/2 cup milk of your preference in a saucepan over medium high heat until steaming. Do not let it boil. Add 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, 1/8 teaspoon almond extract, and 1 tablespoon of maple syrup. Whisk until foamy.

Pour over steeped matcha.

Gather a soft blanket, a book, your latte, and enjoy.

Intimidated by the green color? Don’t be! Matcha does have a strong flavor profile, so you may adjust it to your taste. If you’re unfamiliar with matcha, perhaps start with 1/2 teaspoon of matcha powder. When made into a latte, this tea is smooth and creamy. Also, you may use any milk, but my favorites for this latte are almond and/or whole fat coconut milk.

Warm, cozy comfort. ❤️

January. Before marriage, I dreaded the long, dark, frigid month. January. It’s the month after the long anticipated festivities of Christmas. Twinkling lights have been coiled and stored, glittery decor has been placed in the attic or garage, and it’s so very dark.

January days seem long and lonely, and January’s nights are even longer. When I think of the Januaries I used to dread, words such as “sad,” “dreary,” “bleak,” “cold,” “scary,” “dark,” and “time-consuming” come to mind.

Marriage has taught me so much. My husband has taught me numerous valuable lessons. Formal education wasn’t and isn’t a priority for him, but his life wisdom is mind blowing. He exemplified how to tolerate, to appreciate, and even to anticipate January. He’s the son of the man I wrote about before–the one who showed us to find the beauty in the grey. Rudy’s the son of the lady who found beauty in grey Januaries. And, my, there is so much lovely to peel back like onion layers.

My mother-in-law worked hard days, long days. Gardening daylight hours, sewing, caring for her family, and daily life consumed her time. Even there she found the beautiful in the ordinary. Rudy’s mother promised to work hard eleven months of the year, but January was to be her rest month. One peaceful month to look forward to hobbies and delights. A sabbath.

In my own ways, I’ve adopted her practice and have made January my sabbath. No more dread! I eagerly look forward to this cozy month now. I’ve found so many lovely things in January–Epiphany, Orthodox Christmas, New Year’s traditions, soul rest, new beginnings, time to read, space for hobbies, snuggling by the fire, earlier nights together, snow walks, feeding winter birds, letter writing, knitting, tasseled blankets and pillows, and sipping delicious teas. January is one of my very favorite times of year, and I now long for it’s quiet stillness throughout the year.

Already this month, my soul has quieted, and I’ve spent long hours wandering along wooded paths listening to God’s word. My sanctuary is beneath the trees. While I’m filling my lungs to capacity with delicious oxygenated air, His breath is filling my soul. There’s something spectacular about spending time with the Creator in His Creation.

Every January-Eve, I gather a blanket, candles, journal, pens, and tea. I reflect over the past year and set goals for the new year. It’s become a meditative practice. And, while resolutions are marvelous, I love the practice of writing out SOULutions as learned from Ann Voskamp. Part of my SOULutions is discovering a focus word for my year. This year’s main word is BRAVE with ALIGN being a supporting word. Brave? Brave is something we all need a bit more of, right? It’s incredible how many times I’ve found scripture, quotes, and photos about bravery and courage and letting go of fear these first 10 days of January.

If you dread January as I used to, I encourage you to step out of your comfort zone, face some fears, and find the magnificent in the grey. Make January your sabbath, your rest. Start a gratitude journal. Sip a new tea. Read a new book. Write a long letter to a friend. Bake a loaf (or two) of bread. Build a snowman. Snuggle long. Light a light and be the light.

We’re here in the third week of advent, the joy week. And last week? Last week was the peace week of advent, and mine, it was polar opposite of peaceful.

This year, I’d been longing for winter and advent and Christmas like no year before. My soul longed for winter’s hush, a slowing of the rush, quiet focus on Jesus, simplicity, and finding ways to be a gift to others.

First day of advent was a slice of Christmas. Warm lights twinkling, candles glowing, home perfumed with evergreen, and stillness made my heart sing. But like any calm before a violent storm, peace was shattered into a billion shards–quite literally.

Peace week, my peace week was tumultuous. Wave upon wave of heart crushing news, soul bruising words, and the weight of feeling unloved, unwelcome, and rejected because of the inability to live up to others’ expectations and standards. Ever been there? Let me share this; you will never, ever measure up, and neither will I. And you know what? We don’t have to keep climbing, keep fighting, keep struggling. Jesus came down to carry us up. I am weary, bone weary, of carrying the fear of breaking people’s rules and being rejected. I’ve been literally drowning in fear. But, He came down. He came down to the very depths to carry me. And all I had to do was trust. I didn’t have to legalistically keep rules and try to measure up because he is the Ruler.

Jesus and Jesus alone is the standard, the measure-er, the ruler.

Peace week. I spent mine writhing on the floor, screaming with absolute terror and relentless pain. Cleaning, organizing, letting go of clutter. That’s how I release emotional stress. I threw a picture frame across my art room, body wracking with the loud weeping. Glass shattered in a billion shards just like shattered peace. I crawled across the cold floor to sweep up the broken, and there was a shard, and all I could think was how the hurt, the pain, the shattered peace could end with that perfect razor sharp shard of broken glass.

Peace week. I spent mine contemplating suicide. It was, according to my doctor, a record long appointment. And for days, I couldn’t stop the tears gushing. Doctor said I’d need recurring injections–the price, $2000 per shot. Two. Thousand. Dollars. For. Every. Shot. On top of all else, that seemed a good enough reason to end my life. After all, Rudy already pays much of his income for my health. Paying this price seems unfair to he and Lily. So, Doctor sent me to my seventh doctor for this idiopathic-seeming condition.

It scares me thinking back to the peace week day I cradled that glass shard in my palm, considering it a life-ending tool. Because I really don’t want to die. There’s so much more love inside me to be given that I’m overwhelmed. I don’t want to die, but I was and am afraid to live. Living even seems selfish when it’s costing Rudy and Lily so much. And you just can’t put a band-aid on heartache. Peace week, I was nearly immobile. And, it was costly to my family. They went without eating because I couldn’t think of how to cook, much less actually carry out the task. Breathing hurt. And all I’d wanted was peace. I’d dreamed half the year of winter’s stillness to color with my little girl and read her Christmas stories, of baking bread, of sharing with the world’s homeless and forgotten. And, I couldn’t even move except to fake it through. That day, on the floor, tears streaming like rivers, God spoke the words from Romans 5:8 into my soul:

“I loved you at your darkest.”

Peace week. It’s gone for this advent. And, we’re here with joy week, to enjoy, en-joy, in-joy. How fascinating is it that enjoy comes from the Latin word, gaudere, meaning “rejoice?” Re-joy. And, then, the Old French word, enjoier, coming from the Latin gaudere, means to “give joy to.”

Enjoy. In-joy. I’m choosing each moment this week to be in joy.

Joy is being swept away by wonder and ushered into His presence.

This week, advent’s joy week, I have to re-joy, to pick up shattered peace pieces, and give them to the One who gives joy, is joy. When I re-joy, rejoice, praise, and pause in wonder, I am in joy. And, giving joy, being a gift, giving presence not presents, is joy-full.

That record long doctor appointment, it was a gift. Forced hours of quiet, stillness, and Jesus Emmanuel, ushered in this joy week. Re-joying, for me, looks like limiting and eliminating social media, taking long walks through the snow covered woods, cooking healthy meals for my little family, simplifying everything, building snow-girls with Lily, coloring and reading stories, slowing way down, letting expectations go, taking long baths, making homemade hot chocolate, praising, reflecting during advent readings, sipping immune support tea, and being utterly, unashamedly swept away in wonder.

Because in the wonder–that’s where Jesus is found, joy is found, and peace is found. Because He is peace, the Prince of Peace. And I can have peace because I don’t have to strive to measure up, meet expectations–He is the Ruler, the Peace Ruler.

Joy week. Joy week is joy filled, joy-full. And I want to share joy, joy of breath, joy of life, joy of Jesus. In the storm, I missed the Autumn giveaway. During that time, I focused a lot of awareness on fair trade (see previous blogs). To share joy with you and share life with fair trade artisans, I am going to hold a surprise fair trade themed giveaway, a little package of joy. To enter, comment below with ways you’re spending joy week and share this blog. I wish you a slow cup of tea by the Christmas tree, a joy-full week lost in wonder, and a very Merry Christmas. ❤️

A week or so ago, I received my first curated box from Mercy House Global. After their Home For the Holidays premiere, they had a limited fair trade box for sale. In it was all kinds of goodies and Christmas decorations crafted by people given dignified jobs from Mercy House. I opened the webcast box during my first ever live video. To view, click: https://www.facebook.com/lalia.boyd/videos/10162587811070445/

This morning, I was over-the-top excited to open my second box. Instead of opening this one live, I took photos of the items inside. These are going to very, very special people as Christmas gifts.

My favorite thing about these gorgeous gifts are the makers’ faces and names attached. These wares change lives, create dignified work, and eliminate child slavery. Just look how mind-blowingly beautiful.

Handcrafted paper and journals with art by a rescued teen mother in Kenya

Intricate paper bead bracelet made by Kenyan women

A matching memory game crafted by previously homeless women in Kenya. These women were taught how to sew felt and are now able to provide for their families! These games are Christmas gifts for Lily and my adorable nephews, Theodore and Thaddeus (apologies, Laura, for the spoiler).

Checkers game handmade by Beatrice from Kenya, a rescued teen mother. The sewn “board” has an attached zipper bag for game piece storage. The game pieces are bottle caps. The game folds into a light, little square and is tied with an attached ribbon for easy storage and travel. On a recent girls’ weekend, Lily learned to play checkers. As soon as I saw this in Mercy House Global Shop, I knew I wanted to give it to Lily for Christmas!

Fair trade coffee! And an absolutely stunning pompom wreath handmade from women living in one of the world’s largest trash dumps. This is face-caressing soft, and texturally lovely. I plan to use it prominently in my Christmas decor.

Really, does it get any closer to worldwide sisterhood than this? These ladies (and their families) create these marvelous wares that I can grace my home with or give as one-of-a-kind gifts. In turn, my purchases provides a dignified income to help them escape poverty and provide for their families. We give each other grace. We are in communion. Christ’s daughters. Sisters. United by grace.

I wish you merry, conscious, intentional Christmas shopping this year! Always tea with a cup of grace to go.

Tonight, it’s record breaking cold here in the Midwest. Forests are stooped in their snow-glistened robes. Earth is hushed, quiet. Somehow, life and time slows down for me when days are wintry. Sweet husband is keeping the cozy hearth alive, precious toddler-girl is dancing around, her golden hair wild. Beagle Bentley is ever looking for that hidden tidbit fallen to the hardwood floor. I’m here by the fire. There’s a steaming cup of Numi fair trade certified rooibos chai with coconut cream next to me. And, just now is the perfect time to share my heart with you.

It was several days ago now when I was sitting in this same place making Christmas gift lists. Probably a quarter of my life is spent drafting lists, but that’s a story for another time. So, I’m there with my list of names, jotting ideas beneath each one, and I realize the space beneath Lily’s name is startlingly blank. Oh, she’d circled a dozen or so toys from mainstream catalogues, but I didn’t know what she really wanted. We use the four-gift-rule where Lily receives something she wants, something she needs, something to wear, and something to read. I gathered her in my arms and asked her to share with me her one Christmas wish. She swiveled around, and her answer literally broke my heart, “I don’t want one thing! I don’t want just one thing. I want all those things I circled!” And my heart just about came undone considering the selfish, materialistic, cheap, disposable world our children live in. I was appalled by the messages my child is already getting from society–ingratitude, entitlement, selfishness, greed.

We had a long talk, Lily and I. Because I realized that part–MUCH–of her character is my fault. After our discussion, gone are the days where I allow her to choose a trinket or plaything from every shop. I’ve said goodbye to my own days of unaware, unintentional, impulse purchases. My daughter is watching me. She’s building her outlook, worldview, habits, and character by observation. I want her to become Christlike, virtuous, and wise. I desire for her to be selfless, generous, and aware of where her money is going and from where her purchases are coming. This precious teaching moment led to a forthcoming activity. She’s to take a box and fill it with toys she chooses to give to someone who has less. She’s learning thankfulness, giving, and how to bless others. If a toddler understands this simply beautiful concept, can’t we?

Around the same time I was writing out Christmas gift lists, I watched Mercy House Global’s Home For The Holidays premiere. This worship-filled segment was eye (and heart) opening and led to many research moments in the days afterward. Did you realize there are over forty million modern day slaves worldwide and that half of those are labor slaves? We are aware of, and loudly protest, sexual slavery (AND WE SHOULD!), but what about the items in our homes, foods, and beverages that foster child slavery and other labor slavery? Tears have overflowed as I read about the horrific conditions these people, our brothers and sisters, must endure. Did you know that children make up a quarter of those trafficked and the majority are female? Are we really any less selfish than my toddler wanting more? Only it’s worse, our excessive buying causes the slave markets to need more laborers and increase the hours of their already overworked laborers.

Mercy House Global combats slavery by teaching skills which provide dignified trades for women. This ministry taught me that I can help by purchasing fair trade products. Being the incessant list-drafter I am, I listed specific, personal benefits of buying fair trade certified items. And, let’s be honest, this is the time of year I usually practice careless, excessive spending, buying sacks full of plastic junk that receivers trash anyway. Surely you’ve been there, right?

Buying fair trade eliminates junk and saves money! Yesterday, Rudy and I went shopping for groceries and necessities. The number of things I considered and quickly placed back on the shelf because of potential slavery involvement was unbelievable. We saved money and the stress that comes with having excessive “stuff.” And, maybe, just maybe, we helped someone. Supporting fair trade certified companies helps eliminate child slavery and other forms of slave labor.

Did you know that just donating to impoverished people actually creates poverty? Until the past few days, I didn’t understand this either. It’s like the fishing concept: give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he’ll live for a lifetime. You and I can purchase items crafted by artisans who were given jobs by ministries like Mercy House Global and Amazima Ministries.

Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it breathtakingly beautiful how we can directly connect to our brothers and sisters by supporting their dignified trades? We can help them live and thrive!

Another thing about shopping fair trade is that I can find well-made, unique, lovely gifts for others. These items tell beautiful stories. I get to “know” the makers, where they’re from, and their personal stories. How priceless is it to know that their precious hands held the item that now graces my home? I love giving these gifts and being able to tell the receiver of my gift the grace-story behind their present. It’s a bit magical, actually. And, if you lean more toward naturally healthy living, most fair trade products are sustainably, naturally made without chemicals.

The biggest markets that use labor slavery are coffee, sugar, cocoa, cotton, rice, and flowers. What?! Since watching Home For the Holidays, I’ve become hyper aware of things I have around me and the things I buy. Do you even realize how much we have that uses sugar, cocoa, cotton, and rice? What about our crazed love of coffee? For me, what about tea? Tea is another market that uses child labor slaves. And flowers? Flowers! This one blew my mind–flower markets that mass grow and harvest fresh-cut flowers use labor slaves. I’m heartsick. Really.

For the longest time, even before marrying my hardworking husband, I wanted my home to be, not a castle, but a sanctuary. A sanctuary of grace, of love, of peace. How better to design a sanctuary of grace than to fill it with things that tell a grace story? When I clean, I remember those living in the large slum in Ethiopia. I pray for the dear Indians who carved my cake stand and candlesticks. Each time I put on my colorful beads, I’m grateful those African girls have a home and can provide for their families. It’s a grace to look around and see the face of the maker of so much around me–chair hammock, nesting bowls, Christmas decorations, clothing, journals, kitchen utensils, soup mixes, handbags and market bags, candles, lip balm, soaps, linens, and just so much. This is grace. This is love. This is peace.

A decade ago, I met someone who changed my life, who saved my life, really. In a suicidal moment, I was appointed a therapist. We talked about deep things, about life, about troubling questions. I’d always been a bit haunted by wondering why I had so much when others had so little. Where was God’s fairness? I remember her slow smile, how it spread across her face and the light literally pouring from her eyes, her soul-windows. She knew.

We are blessed so we can be the blessing. God gave much to me, not so I can hoard or keep gaining for myself, but so I can give. I can live given and be a gift. There isn’t supposed to be such an imbalance, but a sharing. This is community. This is communion. This is how we can be the hands and feet and heart of Jesus.

So, Lily and I, we’re on a bit of a mission, a grace mission. We’re learning moment by moment true thankfulness for what we have and gratitude and humility that our great God, who breathed stars into existence, called us to bless others. We’d love to have you join us! You don’t have to overhaul your home and start anew, just start now. Maybe start with this holiday season and shop consciously and intentionally. There are so many opportunities to share grace: make gifts and home products, buy handmade items, shop from local or small personal businesses, visit farmer’s markets, buy secondhand, support ministries such as Amazima, Grace Crafted Home, and Mercy House Global. A little research and awareness goes a long, long way.

Bentley’s snuggled warm against my legs. I’d become so passionate in sharing my heart with you, I just noticed chilled toes. My tea and the fire has gone cold. Rudy’s tending the fire, and Lily has fallen asleep. I’d love to hear your heart, your story. We’re quiet, here, cocooned in our sanctuary of grace. His sanctuary.

Here is a list (always a list, right?) of resource links:

• mercyhouse.wpengine.com (list of fair trade companies)
• mercyhouseglobal.org
• gracecraftedhome.org
• amazima.org

There’s just something breathtakingly beautiful about flaming crimson and golden autumn leaves with a backdrop of charcoal sky. Up ahead on the leaf-carpeted path, wee Lily stoops to pick up a prized leaf. Somewhere along the way, she chokes back a cry, “Mommy! I dropped it.” We backtrack to retrieve the tiny, dried, unattractive leaf. This one wasn’t golden yellow ochre, brilliant pumpkin orange, or burning red. This one was ordinary. Ugly. Dead.

The story’s told how my artist father-in-law complained in his youth to his mother about the dreary, gray day. In my vivid imagination, he’s looking forlornly out the window at the bleak, earth-kissing clouds. Thick. Heavy. Gray. And his mother’s reply burns through the generations and the marriages, and sears into my very soul:

“There’s beauty in the gray. Find the beauty in the gray, Son. Find gratitude.”

Another autumn day, a year past, I bundled us up and set out to find the glorious vibrant-colored leaves. There was a grove I’d remembered in the woods, so we headed for those trees first. An hour later and disappointed that the leaves weren’t as magnificent as I’d remembered, we trudged home. Ungrateful, I pushed the stroller along the driveway and tugged Bentley’s leash–Beagle noses are stubborn–as I saw something from the corner of my eye. Stooping low, my heart literally sang as I took a closer look. There in my own front yard was the very leaves I’d wanted. A gift, a gentle grace, from my God.

That afternoon I learned about gratitude in a most undeserving, yet merciful, way. When we become dissatisfied or ungrateful for what we have, maybe, just maybe, we can’t even see the beauty that is ours, the beauty that we have. God gave my ungrateful heart a beautiful gift with the desired leaves, but also with the lesson to see and appreciate what is right there in front of me. When I’m looking elsewhere for more, I’m unable to see, utterly blinded to, all I have, which is so often just exactly what I need.

That dried up, ugly leaf Lily chose? It was seen by her, loved by her, and treasured by her. She saw the beauty and value in the overlooked. All the leaves to her are “so precious.” And aren’t they really? Aren’t we all?

So, you and me, let’s find the beauty in the gray. Let’s pick up and display a perfectly imperfect leaf. Let’s find someone overlooked to see and love. And let’s cherish and give thanks for all we have. Isn’t that real beauty? Isn’t it incredible how when we’re grateful for all we have, we have all we need?