A larger container
Taking up more space than 2021 allowed
I’ve been seeing memes and posts about the year coming to a close, funny ones, sentimental ones, cynical ones. I personally didn’t expect 2021 to be so difficult that it rivaled the disaster that was 2020, but it really was, as least for me and most of the people I’m close to.
When you multiply 365 days in a year by 24 hours in a day, you get 8,760 hours in a year. In thinking about the sheer amount of time that passed this year, I’m reminded none of us stayed the same. For better or worse, 8,760 hours is a lot of time to practice whatever it is we practiced this year.
During the near 8,760 hours I was alive in 2021, I evolved. I got better at some things and worse at others. I grappled with deep sadness as well as disorienting anger. I talked to God a lot. I drank hundreds of cups of tea. I laughed and cried, disproportionately. I read 29 books, and many of them shaped me, chiseling off my angular edges, rounding me out. I remembered the verse that says They will know we are Christians by our love. I tried to practice love; it’s been harder the last two years, hasn’t it.
I practiced anxiousness far too much. I practiced a lot of good things too, like reminding myself I am held, I am safe. I practiced being honest about myself and my needs with those in my inner circle. I practiced distraction and numbing when scrolling well into the night. I practiced bringing all the things to Jesus, in imagination, and talking to him like I would a husband and best friend. I practiced being afraid, so afraid, and this may have scarred me. It’s hard to say.
All of this time added up. All of it mattered and became a part of our stories. It meant something, and even though it may not have felt that way, there was not one moment where you went invisible.
Parts of us have been ravaged by 2021 and parts of us need tenderness, hot drinks, and soft blankets. I can see only extraordinary gentleness as the medicine we can offer each other. Softening and surrender as the healthier path forward. Being safe and soft with each other is one way to embody Love.
Today, at a cafe, I changed tables at the request of a woman who had a larger party than I did. A different woman seated nearby said to me, “Wow, that was really nice of you to do that.” I was startled by her comment. I moved my purse, coat, backpack, and laptop a distance of about eight feet. Where are we as a community when something so small is a remarkable kindness? I don’t want a stranger to compliment me for moving tables. I want it to be expected for us to notice and respond kindly to one another. I want it to be so ordinary because everyone else is doing the same thing, looking up and doing what we can to see one another.
My fern, the one named La Fronda which my kids gave me for Mother’s Day about five years ago, died recently. A plant-wise friend told me La Fronda had been root-bound, needing a larger container and a repotting in order to survive. Feels like this last year was too small a container for our hearts. We were cramped and mad and bound up in knots, withering slowly.
I pray 2022 will be a repotting, where we practice expanding and reaching deeper for refreshment, tapping into Love and allowing its water to loosen our angry tangles, rehydrate our scarred networks. My birthday is right after Christmas and I’m asking for a new fern. In a weird way, nurturing houseplants helps me remember tenderness is necessary for survival. And now I can see that we are all containers for one another, and Love is a container, and all of us need room to stretch out long.
Point your toes and reach your arms out and welcome the new year drinking up love, taking up as much space as you can.
You are, after all, the beloved.
Hey, Merry Christmas! Did you know you can gift Small Affairs to someone now? I’ve opened up a paid version where, in addition to the two issues a month, we will dive deeper into monthly subjects through topical studies, audio, journal prompts, and more. Who needs some encouragement to start the new year off well? It’s only $5!
This is what we’ll be doing in January for those who have a paid subscription to Small Affairs. Of course, you can upgrade your own version as well by clicking below.
make this.
Cranberry Orange Shortbread Cookies
Have a half-bag of fresh cranberries hanging out in your fridge this time of year? Well here’s your solution: a perfectly tart and slightly sweet shortbread cookie. This recipe makes 2 ½ dozen, and you can easily double it. For this little effort, being able to make 5 dozen of anything is a huge win if you need homemade gifts or are going to a cookie exchange. When I doubled it, I made my life easier by pulsing the cranberries in the mini-food processor. Next time, I’ll add a teaspoon of minced rosemary or cardamom to the dough for a little extra something.
Ingredients
1 C unsalted butter, room temp
½ C sugar
1 C fresh cranberries, finely chopped
2 C flour
Zest from 1 orange
½ tsp salt (omit if you’re using salted butter)
Step 1: Mix butter and sugar on medium until smooth.
Step 2: Add flour ½ C at a time and mix until combined. Add salt, cranberries, and zest. Mix again until combined.
Step 3: Turn dough out on to a board and shape/roll it into a log, about 1.5” in diameter. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least an hour or overnight.
Step 4: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Slice into ¼” rounds and place on two baking sheets. Rotate the log as you slice so you don’t end up with a flat side.
Step 5: Bake for a total of approx. 20 minutes, rotating sheets at 10 min. Check them with a spatula near the end and remove from oven when they start to brown on the bottom.
*inspired by this recipe.
listen to this.
A Christmas of Letting Go
This week, I am the special guest on the latest podcast episode by Love and the Outcome, a band created by husband-and-wife duo, Chris and Jodi King. Woo hoo! I chatted with Jodi over tea last week and we sifted through what it’s like to carry so many expectations into the holiday season that tend to go unmet. We set our sights high, creating lofty visions of sugarplums and perfect Christmases only to find ourselves in a mess of interruptions and disappointment.
Somehow, I felt so comfortable with Jodi that I ended up sharing more of my story than I’d planned. Her heart was so tender, and her questions strangely aligned with the very landmarks in life where God has met me and changed me. I felt we could have talked for hours.
Tune in here for the episode on Spotify, or here if you’re using the iPhone podcast app to listen.
I hope the conversation encourages you as you enter the Christmas week, and I pray it further softens us to the truth that the first Christmas presupposes upset plans and messy settings. Maybe having the “Christmas spirit” means approaching the holy night with open palms, wonder, and a reconciled peace with all that is not as it should be.
You can follow Chris & Jodi’s band on Instagram here.
And check out their newest, super-catchy Christmas song here.
Friends,
Wishing you a safe and healthy Christmas, and praying you experience a God-with-us in just the way your heart is needing this week. See you in the new year.
Leslie
Tears. Thank you. This spoke to me in a very deep way.
Beautiful