Thursday, December 25, 2014

"in love with our smallness"

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined" (Is 9:1). "An angel of the Lord appeared to (the shepherds) and the glory of the Lord shone around them" (Lk 2:9). This is how the liturgy of this holy Christmas night presents to us the birth of the Saviour: as the light which pierces and dispels the deepest darkness. The presence of the Lord in the midst of his people cancels the sorrow of defeat and the misery of slavery, and ushers in joy and happiness.

We, too, in this blessed night, have come to the house of God. We have passed through the darkness which envelops the earth, guided by the flame of faith which illuminates our steps, and enlivened by the hope of finding the "great light". By opening our hearts, we also can contemplate the miracle of that child-sun who, arising from on high, illuminates the horizon.



The origin of the darkness which envelops the world is lost in the night of the ages. Let us think back to that dark moment when the first crime of humanity was committed, when the hand of Cain, blinded by envy, killed his brother Abel (cf. Gen 4:8). As a result, the unfolding of the centuries has been marked by violence, wars, hatred and oppression.
But God, who placed a sense of expectation within man made in his image and likeness, was waiting. He waited for so long that perhaps at a certain point it seemed he should have given up. But he could not give up because he could not deny himself (cf. 2 Tim 2:13). Therefore he continued to wait patiently in the face of the corruption of man and peoples.




Through the course of history, the light that shatters the darkness reveals to us that God is Father and that his patient fidelity is stronger than darkness and corruption. This is the message of Christmas night. God does not know outbursts of anger or impatience; he is always there, like the father in the parable of the prodigal son, waiting to catch from afar a glimpse of the lost son as he returns.
Isaiah's prophecy announces the rising of a great light which breaks through the night. This light is born in Bethlehem and is welcomed by the loving arms of Mary, by the love of Joseph, by the wonder of the shepherds. When the angels announced the birth of the Redeemer to the shepherds, they did so with these words: "This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger" (Lk 2:12).
The "sign" is the humility of God taken to the extreme; it is the love with which, that night, he assumed our frailty, our suffering, our anxieties, our desires and our limitations. The message that everyone was expecting, that everyone was searching for in the depths of their souls, was none other than the tenderness of God: God who looks upon us with eyes full of love, who accepts our poverty, God who is in love with our smallness.







On this holy night, while we contemplate the Infant Jesus just born and placed in the manger, we are invited to reflect. How do we welcome the tenderness of God? Do I allow myself to be taken up by God, to be embraced by him, or do I prevent him from drawing close? "But I am searching for the Lord" - we could respond. Nevertheless, what is most important is not seeking him, but rather allowing him to find me and caress me with tenderness. The question put to us simply by the Infant's presence is: do I allow God to love me?

More so, do we have the courage to welcome with tenderness the difficulties and problems of those who are near to us, or do we prefer impersonal solutions, perhaps effective but devoid of the warmth of the Gospel? How much the world needs tenderness today!





The Christian response cannot be different from God's response to our smallness. Life must be met with goodness, with meekness. When we realize that God is in love with our smallness, that he made himself small in order to better encounter us, we cannot help but open our hearts to him, and beseech him: "Lord, help me to be like you, give me the grace of tenderness in the most difficult circumstances of life, give me the grace of closeness in the face of every need, of meekness in every conflict"."

-Pope Francis, Christmas Eve 2014


Merry Christmas! May your days be filled with the Christ child, meek, tender and small.

-b + c + m

Monday, December 15, 2014

The months of May: Eight

It's eight months of May!

This month Mary Allison made it her mission to find and eat all electrical cords, toilets, cleaning products and all other household items that could cause injury, destruction, flesh wounds, burns, illness and/or death. She is a fearless girl who climbs furniture, toys and other children and has the bruises to prove it. She grew her second tooth, ate her fist Thanksgiving meal, danced to Zulu music from her mom's travels abroad, discovered the Christmas tree and chewed every member of her nativity set beginning with baby Jesus, innocently asleep in the manger.












All our Christmassy love,

b + c + m

Saturday, November 15, 2014

The months of May: Seven

It's seven months of May!

We are a few days late on photos because this is how she felt about a photo shoot on November ninth. Baby colds stink.



This month Mary Allison gobbled down applesauce and avocados, cried when she tasted grapefruit, popped out one tiny tooth, learned why she shouldn't try to stand up in the bathtub, suffered through her first fever, started crawling into her dad's lap, popped bubbles in the bath and watched snowflakes fall from the sky.  












All our love,

b + c + ma

Saturday, November 1, 2014

apples and bananas

Mary Allison started eating a few foods. She loves bananas, avocados, turnips, apples and butternut squash. But, as you can see, carrots aren't her jam. I should also say that she does not discriminate against non-food items: plates, blocks, socks, baby-dolls, and faces are also fair game. Eating her mother's hair is her greatest joy. (re: Haircut scheduled for mom next week.)







-b + c + ma

Friday, October 17, 2014

life lately

Mom managed to visit Princeton during one of the most beautiful weeks of the year. The trees lining the streets look like impressionist art, my oven is sure to have pumpkin bread rising inside and sweater weather is in full stride. 

But to be real, Mom came to help keep Chris and I sane and our baby alive. Chris is in the throes of PhD applications, midterm papers and daily chapters of first century Greek translations. And I'm balancing an upcoming evaluation at work and the responsibilities and joys of motherhood, pushing me to brew and drink my first full cup of coffee ever today. 

"The days are long but the years are short," I am told, so we paused to remember this October with a few photos (before I pulled my first almost all-nighter since college, Chris cleaned all the cloth diapers and translated the Testament of Abraham, Mom did all the chores and ran all the errands, and Mary Allison cut her first tooth.)

















Dang me and my bad focus!








All our love,
b + c + ma