Counting Stars

I can be a bit of a Clark Griswold during the holiday season.

I'm assuming this is due in part to my childhood Christmases. My father worked for a large interior decorating company, and so whenever Christmastime rolled around, he acquired a lot of extra holiday stuff. Like, A LOT of stuff. During the month of December, there was not a nook or cranny of our house that remained untouched. It didn't matter if the decor was not practical or "kid-friendly" or in the way. You just made room for it.
"Find a new place to hang your backpack, kids, because Jingle Bell Santa lives there right now."
"Dry your hands on your pants, because those are decorative Christmas towels." (Soaps... Toilet seat covers...)
(Love you, Mom and Dad!)

I remember my sister and I running around the house shaking and twirling the music boxes to our snow globes so they'd all play at the same time. We must have had a dozen of them. I can guess that my parents probably don't remember that activity as fondly as I do.

The excess of decorations just became a part of Christmas for me--and really, truly, I loved it. That's why I tried to incorporate those happy memories in my own home.

**Enter Pinterest, and apparently, my doom.**

Now Christmas decorations weren't just something I pulled out and fawned over each December, but they were something I planned and obsessed over throughout the year. I was looking at frosted front porch ideas when it was still 100 degrees outside. I had more Christmas mantle ideas pinned than I had opportunities to light my fireplace. I researched different ideas to hand-make my Christmas gift tags as soon as Hobby Lobby put out their Christmas displays--in August. I was a crazy person.

I remember feeling especially proud of this one design I tried out a few Christmases ago. I lined my beautiful nativity set up with a big, bold Texas star flanked to the side of it and a sign I made that read, "We have seen his star in the east..." Yes, I included the ellipses. It was like I knew there was more to that story, but didn't think it was necessary to include.

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” (Matthew 2:1-2)

You guys. I literally left out the part where they came to worship Him.

A while back, my husband was deployed overseas in Afghanistan, and his brigade posted this picture for families to view of their night sky.

Photo courtesy of 3rd Brigade, 1st Armored Division

Breathtaking, isn't it?
Though I can't be totally sure, I assume it would have taken a special kind of star for the magi to have taken notice of that night--Bright and beautiful. And I could safely guess that they would not have been the only ones to have noticed such a star. In fact, I'm sure a star that was able to stand out in a night sky like the one pictured above probably got a lot of attention and praise.

But it wasn't about the star, no matter how bright and beautiful it was. The star was pointing to something much more important.


I still love my twinkle lights and my snow globes, and even my Texas stars. I hope my children always do, too. But may they be the bright and beautiful things that point them to the more important thing:

His Name is Jesus.

Lessons from a Crock-Pot

Seven years ago, (which is approximately 127 blogging years ago,) I composed a post right around my birthday titled "Lessons from a Cheesecake." In it, I talked all about how I tried to make my traditional birthday cheesecake be worthy of a Better Homes & Gardens prize-winning recipe contest and it all went horribly, horribly wrong. A few years later, I wrote again about my birthday cheesecake--lamenting the fact that my long-loved tradition was approaching its last hurrah, because aging and lactose are dumb.

And that's how we got here, people. Birthdays, and cheesecakes, and lactose intolerance.
(And a dinosaur that has 127 blogging years under her belt.)
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Have I ever shared the story about the first time I cried because I lived in Alaska? It's a real doozie.
I wish I could tell you that it was a warranted cry--that I felt lonely, and far away, and stressed out, and missed my family and friends. But that wasn't the reason.

I cried over a ruined dinner.

Living in the interior of Alaska has presented so, so many different challenges for us. Because we knew going into it that it would be lonely, far away, and hard, we decided to live on a military installation. We thought it would be smart to have a built-in community in a place that is usually famous for being people-less. We thought it would be helpful to have stores and emergency supplies close at hand so I wouldn't have to drive an hour through the wilderness in the wintertime any time we needed anything. We thought it would be smart to have the children live close to their schools instead of having to be bussed who-knows-how-long to who-knows-where. And we especially thought it would be smart to try to keep the kids' routines as close to "normal" as we could get them.

I think every family has their own "crazy thing." Maybe you are the all-natural, everything-from-scratch family. Maybe you are the extra-extravagant, everything's-an-extra-special occasion family. We are the extra-busy, nine-hundred-extracurriculars family. My children have a lot of loves and I don't want to lock them into one thing too early---and so I cave and let them do allllll the things.
This is what that looks like in Alaska:
"Hey, super job trying to make your life easier by living on post, Liz, but you're still going to have to drive for hours all over interior Alaska on winter roads that are paved PRIMARILY in ICE AND SNOW PACK, mmkay? Also, enjoy crock-pot dinners several nights a week because, girlfriend, that's the only way y'all will ever eat hot food."

One night, after several hours of running my children hither and thither to their various activities, I came home to discover that the dinner I had prepared for us to eat had never actually been turned on. Yes, the slow cooker had pulled a fast one on me.
Refusing to be defeated so easily, I started doing a mental run through of my options. I could buy a rotisserie chicken from the Commissary (our grocery store.) Oh shoot. Nevermind. It's closed today... I could swing by the Burger King and grab some fast food. Check hours. Nope. Closes at 7p.m. That's lame... Grrr. Go out to eat? Negative. Nasty restaurant on post also closes at 7. Like, WHY EVEN BE A RESTAURANT,THEN?! Gas station? Gas station is still open...

That's when the tears came.
Moments later, my poor husband came in the door and saw me weeping, cursing Alaska and all of its 7 p.m. closing times, saying really weird things like "Don't they know that moms are humans?! Don't they know that sometimes we forget to turn on our Crock-Pots?! Do they expect us to never burn dinners?! Why does Alaska HATE ALL MOTHERS?!?"
We did eventually eat that September night...Inside a Wendy's with 25 Christmas trees in it. Only took us an hour of driving, round trip.
(Yes you read that right. One hour of driving for Wendy's. And yes, that really is our best option--unless you particularly love gas station food.)

(And yes, the Christmas lights in September were lovely.)


It's such a silly story, I know, but it does have a point.

It's been a lifelong habit of mine to make snap judgments. I did it in Missouri. I did it again in Austin. And I certainly did it here.
Shortly after that experience, I decided that I was ready to leave Alaska. It just wasn't for me. It just wasn't for us. It was too expensive. It was too far. It was too harsh of a climate. It was too "behind the times." (Plus, it didn't help that it hated all mothers.)

And y'all, I got my wish.
Exactly 6 months after our arrival here, we learned that the Army is needing my husband elsewhere. My household goods were unboxed in August, and will be put right back into boxes in May. (I'm already tired just thinking about it.)

It's probably what makes me judge places so quickly, this never having enough time. Needing everything to work *just so* on my crazy-tight schedule.

So many of us are living in pressure-cooker worlds where we expect everything to be done in minutes.
But a lot of things in life take a little bit more time to be ready.

Crock-Pots are marvelous because they're slow. It tenderizes things until they are so easy to handle that they fall right into place. It cooks things fully, but without drying them out. It takes raw things and makes them safe, without smoking everybody out of the place in the process. You just have to give it enough time. (And, you know, turn it on.)

Alaska may not have been every single thing that I was wishing for, but I look back at all of the stories that I wrote here and I realize that I have learned so much. And I truly am so very grateful that I was here for those lessons!

And seven years down the road from my very first documented kitchen mishap, I *still* may not be every single thing that I was wishing for yet--but another birthday and a little extra time has taught me this:
The longer it takes,
the more tender I am towards others.
the less likely I am to burnout as I reach it,
(or burn anyone else in the process.)
the more delicious it will be when it's finally ready.


So here's to all of us who are taking a bit longer to "find our finish." TURN IT ON, and then keep it going. It will be worth the wait.

"Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1:6)

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Just as a TOTAL throwback, I thought it'd be fun to give you my favorite Crock-Pot recipe. :)

"Moose Drip Sammi's"

You need:
-2 1/2 lb chuck roast (or moose roast if you're in Alaska) ;)
-2 c beef broth
-1/2 c soy sauce
-1/4 c Worcestershire sauce
-3 T brown sugar

{-1 T garlic powder
-1 T onion powder
-1 T Italian seasoning
-salt
-pepper}

{these are all completely made up measurements. HA! just season to taste.}

Dump everything in a slow cooker. DEAR GOODNESS, DON'T FORGET TO TURN IT ON. Low is good. Cook beef for 4-5 hours. (Moose takes even longer!) Get out forks and shred meat in the crock. Put on top of toasted bun with provolone cheese. Add horseradish sauce to the bun if you love yourself. Ladle juices into ramekin for sandwich dunking if you really, really love yourself.

New Light

Before we moved here, this silly Texan thought the hardest part about living in Alaska would be the cold. But as it turns out, living in the cold has been surprising bearable. Ask any Alaskan and they'll tell you that there really is no bad weather, just bad gear.

No, the hardest part about living in Alaska has been dealing with the crazy darkness.

Around mid-October, daylight hours began growing noticeably shorter. The sun wouldn't rise until mid-morning, barely cresting above the horizon, and then it would completely vanish again by the middle of the afternoon. On the day of the winter solstice, I didn't see the sun until 11 AM. It barely warmed our -23 degree sky, and then it went back down again at 2:40 PM.
I'm absolutely certain that if twinkle lights would not have been popularized for Christmastime, Alaskans would have made them a thing anyway. The snow sparkles here out of pure necessity. We need all the light we can get.

Even now that the shortest day of the winter season is behind me, I still have quite a ways to go before things return to "normal." Today the sun rose at 10:30 and will set at 3:15. We will earn about five minutes of sunlight back every day, which feels painfully slow--even more so now that most of the Christmas-y twinkle lights are down.

The lack of sunshine has been a big player in my life lately. The darkness has taken a toll on my motivation, my energy, and my mood. It's actually quite hard to make your body work when the sun does not. And even though I make a deliberate effort to move and get out and about each day, I can feel the draining impact that the dark has on me.
We wake up to "natural light" alarm clocks so that our bodies are cued when it's time to rise. We take vitamin D supplements every morning. We sit in front of our light therapy boxes every day. But all of those things are lesser substitutes for the thing we are missing the most:
Sweet, sweet sunshine--and perhaps even a humid 90 degree day if you are a silly Texan.


Because of my pining, watching for the sunrise has become a bit of a daily ritual for me here. And fortunately for me, Alaskan sunrises never seem disappoint:

And these are just stinky camera phone pictures, y'all! It's truly like looking at massive watercolor paintings...

Even though I have been awake for hours before these sunrises happen---even though I have taken all of my fake-sun supplements, and gotten the kids to school, and squeezed in a workout, and knocked out some errands, *or sometimes have started making my lunch!!* (it really is so, so crazy)---my day suddenly starts over again once I see the light.
Living like this for the past several months has taught me a couple things.

Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, I've learned that there is no substitution for the true light.
There are lots of tips, tricks, and gadgets on the market for us up here in the arctic that claim to help combat the darkness, but they all pale in comparison to the real thing. There is no amount of exercise, no amount of vitamins, no amount of twinkle lights that do the work the sun was made to do. And friends, since Jesus is the Light (John 8:12), we'd do really well to remember that there is no substitution for Him. No amount of good works, no amount of followers, no amount of "likes." No powers, no professions, no self-help scenarios. Nothing on this earth can do the work that the Son was made to do.

Secondly, I've learned how important it is to relish the new starts that the light brings.
Before the sun rises here, I feel a bit like a zombie. I drink the coffee and I do the things, but I do them reeeeeaally slowly. (And probably without brains.) But I'm like a completely new woman when the sun comes out. A new day literally dawns for me, even though it's midday!
Light is rejuvenating. It wakes us up. It helps us see. It warms us. It powers us. Light makes things begin again.
Many of us get spun up around this time about a new year, but there really is something so lovely and important about each new day.
If you feel like your year is already off on the wrong foot, find comfort in this new day. And if you feel like you didn't start the day off right, take comfort in our gracious God who makes a sunrises in the middle of the day!!
And even then, He gives a new hour. He gives a new minute. He gives a new breath.
Notice it, and begin again.

"Those who live at the ends of the earth
stand in awe of your wonders.
From where the sun rises to where it sets,
you inspire shouts of joy." (Psalm 65:8)

Now if you will excuse me, I have a sunrise to catch ;)