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Blursdays: What Fills the Gaps Between Christmas and New Years

I took an early morning walk, quite pleased with myself that by the time I turned the corner at the end of my street I had figured out that today was Thursday. Then, after a few more mental calculations, I corrected it to Friday. Close enough. 

Days between Christmas and New Years are amorphous. Is it a Monday? A Tuesday? A Saturday? Nobody knows. Days have no identity. There are no solidified mealtimes, just indiscriminate eating of leftover Christmas lasagna and cookies and the triple-layer coconut cake that our neighbor dropped off.  There are no distinct times, either, just earlier and later. I haven't worn anything other than sweats in 72 hours. Have I put in contacts? No way. Mascara? That's laughable. I'm in my most natural state, and it's a little slovenly and a little wonderful all at once.

Back to that morning walk: when there's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, it's easy to carve out an hour and a half to wander. From my house, I took my most common walking loop: down the street, hang a right, then take an eventual left which leads me past the house with the wood stove.

Against the pale drab sky, bare tree branches loomed in stark contrast. I had to look for beauty. I noticed leaves that haven't been raked and unlit strands of Christmas lights draped along fences in the wan December daylight. Deflated inflatables languished in their drooped states over dormant grass.




But when you look, when you really look, you find the beauty. I stopped in my tracks to watch a flock of geese fly overhead in their V-formation. I veered down side streets to the quaint historic neighborhood, technically still classified as a village, that's nearby. There's something simple and beautiful about an unadorned natural grapevine wreath hung intentionally against barnwood.


I walked along a stretch of railroad tracks, which better positioned me to peek into the back yard of the house with stockpiled stacks of red bricks. What long-ago project were these bricks intended for, or what project might they eventually be used to complete? In the nearly twenty years I've lived here, they've just been there. It's a mystery.


The grain elevator and coal sheds still stand as a tribute to the past. When I drive by, I don't look at these sights closely, but as I walked I peered into the windows and somehow felt like I've stepped back in time. 


In the alleyway tucked behind the cafe, there's the blue fence with its arched gate that surrounds the house with all the pollinator plants. Like much of the town, the blue fence leans and sags. Odds are it'll either last forever, or it'll fall over tomorrow. Sheds and barns and fences seem to be eternally crooked here. Somehow, they manage to be equal measures sturdy yet run-down, upright yet ramshackle. 


I avoided roads on the way home and solely walked along the railroad tracks. You have to concentrate when walking this route. My steps never perfectly match the distance between wooden railroad ties, so I adjusted the length of my stride often. It made each step more deliberate, which felt okay, given that I was walking simply to enjoy walking, not to be anywhere for anything.

When I was a child, I think I would have loved walking these streets, wondering about the lives of people living in these houses. When I was a teenager, like my own kids are now, I'm not sure if I would have paid much attention. Perhaps yes, or perhaps I would have been immersed in my own life to the point that I wouldn't notice clusters of green moss growing along the rails.



I walked and I thought. I worried a bit, then prayed, then cycled back to a bit more worry when my prayers got tangled in my head. I know I can control very little in this life — my attitude, my reactions, my heart (and I'm still working on these things daily) — yet I kept thinking over the attitudes, reactions, and hearts of my own children, wondering if I've done anything, ever, right as a parent. Mentally, I know that my children are their own people, with their own inner thought lives, who ultimately control their own choices, attitudes, reactions, and hearts.

But, my oh my, some days. Some days it's hard.

It's a hard balance. I want to love them fully without solving their problems, which they need to solve on their own in order to grow. I want them to have experiences, yet have them understand — really understand — that experiences are privileges, not rights they're entitled to. I want them to have resilience and grit and fortitude. I want them to face challenges, not collapse under them. I want to be tender to their hurts, yet not enable. I want them to be grateful. I want them to take walks, even when the sky is gray. I want them to find happy distractions in an overhead flock of geese and beauty in a perfect tuft of moss nestled next to railways with their rusted patina.

Given that I didn't know what day of the week it was when I started this morning walk, you'd be right if you assumed that I didn't finish my walk with these thoughts figured out tidily. How to strike this balance as a parent, just like how to discern the form of these blursdays between Christmas and New Year, isn't instinctively clear to me.

So, I did the one thing I always do, the one thing I know is clear even when everything else is unclear. I turned back to prayer, aligning with God in this: I don't know. I lack wisdom, and I need it. Lord, would you please give me wisdom. I try so hard yet I'm a flawed person myself. Lord, you're perfect, so would you help me to faithfully point my kids to you through my actions, words, and attitudes. I'm tired yet I want to be strong. Lord, help me lean into you. Be my strong tower and refuge.

It's been hours since I returned home from my walk. (At least I think it's been hours. The day still has no discernable shape or structure to it.) There will be blurry days, blurry seasons, blurry times when nothing feels quite right, yet you make it through all the same. I'm banking on this, not just in regard to these loose days until our regularly scheduled lives begin again after the holidays, but in regard to all of life's phases. Like parenting teenagers. 

In the meanwhile, I'll take walks, during which I'll make middle-aged observations about the sights I see, and I'll pray. Oh, I'll pray, and I'll keep praying, and I'll pour out this heart of mine to the One who hears and understands, the One who knows me the best and loves me the most, the One who entrusted our children to us and us to them, the One who loves our children more than we can fathom, the One who actually knows it's Friday, the One who will remain faithful all the days of my life, even when those days feel blurry to me.

All Is Not Calm


My friend and I had a good laugh the other day. She stopped by my house because she left something in my car earlier. (Leaving things in my car is one of her habits.) When she arrived I handed her a Christmas card, which she opened right on the spot.

The card said, "All is calm. All is bright."

That's when we laughed because, friends, have you ever gone into Christmas thinking, "If I had to select one word to capture this season, it would be calm. All is calm. All of it."

I mean, I love singing Silent Night by candlelight each year at Christmas Eve service, but the lyrics trip me up. There's no way the original Christmas was calm, either.

These days, some of the lack of calmness is by our own doing, of course. The season brings a certain intensity. There are presents to wrap, cookies to bake, family to visit, friends to remember, and events to attend. If you're a parent, there are school parties where your children agreed to contribute popcorn or a fruit tray without telling you. These same children get embroiled in one, maybe two, Secret Santa gift exchanges with a group of their friends, and they'll let you know they need to buy a gift the night before.

Beyond that, some of the lack of calmness is circumstantial. In my line of work, everything amps up at the end — students desperately work to finish the semester by completing final assignments and professors desperately work to finish the semester by evaluating those final assignments and submitting final grades. In contrast, in my husband's realm of work (college football) everyone is desperately working to not finish, to keep progressing, to keep winning. Given the new playoff system, it's technically possible for teams to play seventeen games by the time the season is done. Exciting? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes.

I'm also fighting a stupid head cold, which is neither here nor there, but I thought I'd mention it.

All is not calm. It's never going to be perfectly calm — not at Christmas, not in life in general. In light of this, I'm grateful Christmas celebrates Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus walked this very earth, entered this very mess, wrote himself into this very story with the good news that he is the Prince of Peace and the King of Kings. He's with us.

My circumstances don't need to be calm for me to rejoice. I can find peace in the midst of it all — the final grading, the extended football season, even the stupid head cold — because God is with me.

All is not calm, but that's okay. I'm not alone. God is with me.

New Life for an Old Corner Cupboard

Twelve DIYs of Christmas
Day 12: New Life for an Old Corner Cupboard

For the final project of the Twelve DIYs of Christmas, you need to see this picture. It's a corner cupboard that I found on Facebook Marketplace. At $40, It looked mildly promising. I zoomed into the picture to inspect it more closely and noticed some good details. One, it was real wood. Two, it had interesting hardware on the fourth shelf down. Three, it appeared tall.


That was it. Those were the three merits I could find, besides that it also seemed to come with a dry erase marker. Still, those merits are enough. If it's real wood, it could be refinished. If it has interesting hardware, that hardware could be spray painted. If it's tall, it would fill the corner in my dining room perfectly. 

I asked for the measurements, and upon confirming it would fit, I committed to the purchase. I don't buy through Facebook Marketplace often, and the times I've done so have been hyper-local. At an hour and a half away, this purchase was more of an adventure.

Friends, the whole experience — from start to finish — was wonderful. First off, it was the perfect fall day for a drive: blue skies, vibrant trees, windy country roads, old barns, and beautiful scenery. With each mile, my soul relaxed and spirits lifted. So much beauty! The drive was a gift from the Lord. 




The seller was kind and encouraging. (Hi Karen!) She reminded me to enjoy my children and my busy house, as her own were now grown and gone. A few weeks later when I sent her photos of the completed project, she first joked that she wanted the cupboard back, then closed her message by saying, "Feel free to come visit anytime and bring the family."

My heart. Like I said, the whole experience was wonderful.

Here's the process of refinishing: I removed the hardware, broke out my hand sander, and sanded for hours. Days. Eons. It felt like a significant amount of sanding. With six shelves, this cabinet had a lot of surface area.


Once the sanding removed most of the original dark stain, I used an unconventional technique to lighten the wood even more: oven cleaner. Google told me this works. Who am I to argue with the Internet?

Apparently, the degreaser in oven cleaner successfully removes wood tannins, which are responsible for orange/red undertones. Since oven cleaner also is designed to stick on a surface, you simply spray it on the wood, let is sit and permeate the wood for 30 minutes, rinse it off with water, then let the wood dry in the sun, which both lightens the wood and prevents any water damage by drying the piece quickly.


Was this process filled with doubt and fumes? Yes and yes. Ample doubt. Ample fumes. But I trusted the process, and I wore a mask.

And, people, it worked. It really worked. The wood was stripped perfectly, the undertones were lightened, and after one final fine-grit sanding, the entire piece was smooth and ready to seal with liming wax.


The corner cupboard is now stationed in my dining room. The loveliest aspect is that when I look at it, I remember the journey. I recall the beautiful drive, the warm connection with the kind seller, and the adventure of traveling somewhere unexpected on a perfect fall day.

Here's the finished cupboard decorated for Christmas. I've collected the decor on the shelves, including the garland, from thrift store or garage sales over the years.




The decorative hardware, which originally had receded into the background of the darker wood, pops more now that it's spray painted matte black.



This old corner cupboard has been given new life, and we'll enjoy it for many, many years to come. Thank you for joining me during these Twelve DIYs of Christmas! This series has been great fun for me to reflect on my projects from the past year, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

DIY Diamond Stripe Canvas Art

Twelve DIYs of Christmas
Day 11: DIY Diamond Stripe Canvas Art

Every so often, a DIY project goes sideways. This happened when I thought I'd do something "fun" to relax at the end of a particularly stressful day by creating a piece of graphic artwork. I convinced myself that crafting would be fun. "You'll enjoy this. It'll be relaxing," I told myself. 

But, you see, this project was not fun. I was not enjoying myself. It was not relaxing. I was tired, my head hurt, and I was trying to replicate this graphic print, which had found online and thought was neat:


I had painter's tape, and a measuring tape, and a paintbrush, and a paint roller. For reasons I no longer remember, I also had a small container of joint compound, a hammer, a pair of scissors, and a hair pick. A hair pick.

Don't trouble your brain to figure out why I selected these materials. Don't try to process how these disparate items belong together because I, the creator of this project, still don't understand where I originally was headed.


I took a picture of myself to send to my friend, "This is me HAVING FUN doing a craft project. Good times, good times."


Right after I sent that picture, I gave up for the time being. If it's not working, it's not working. That's okay. When I came back to the project the next time, I was less tired and the whole process came together easily. All the steps that had seemed stupidly complicated (like measuring and thinking and drawing lines — everything really), was much easier while well-rested.

I'm so glad that I stuck with it because I love how it turned out. Do you think it captures the essence of the original print?


It's just lines and dots, which I painted on a frame that I bought at Goodwill. Once I was successful at getting the basic layout in place by forming the diamonds with painters tape, it was easy progress. Even more, I'm proud of the piece because I made it myself.



DIYs, for the most part, should be rewarding. When it's not, that's okay. Take a break. Walk away. Hit pause. If you're up to it, you always can come back another day, and perhaps you'll find, just like I did, that you really are having a good time.


May your DIYs be merry and bright
Keep visiting for all Twelve DIYs of Christmas.

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