Category: Faith

  • The Feastetarian Diet

    Is there such thing as a Christian diet? Have you ever heard of “Christian food”? I’ve heard that Catholics eat fish on Fridays, and my friends that are Seventh Day Adventists don’t eat pork, but beyond that, I don’t know of any diet specific to Christianity.

    So I made up my own.

    It might have been a Lent/Easter thing? Or maybe it started sometime in the fall. I just know that sometime in 2017, I told my husband James that I was thinking of only eating meat on Sundays and other days of holy celebration, like Christmas or Easter or possibly Tuesdays (because we take Taco Tuesday pretty religiously here).

    I was surprised when James quickly agreed to give it a shot along with me. Apparently, he had been watching a bunch of health documentaries on Netflix and he was game to try eating a more plant-based diet.

    And so we began the feastetarian diet.

    feast·e·tar·i·an
    /fēstəˈterēən/
    noun

    1. a person who has a primarily vegetarian diet but occasionally eats meat or fish to mark days on the church calendar.

      “Tamara is a feastetarian, which is like a flexitarian but with more religious intention. And maybe more branding possibilities.”

    OK, the definition needs some work.

    I thought our new “Christian food” diet would be really hard at first. I mean, yes, I have a lot of friends that are full-on vegetarians and they seem reasonably happy with their life choices, but us? What on earth would I cook six nights of the week? Would we starve?

    Probably.

    I tried being a vegetarian before, but it only lasted six or seven months. All I remember is that I was always hungry and that I constantly craved street meat. It was as if my body missed nitrates of all things. I gave up my vegetarian diet entirely on the day I found out that I was pregnant with my daughter River — I literally went to a restaurant that afternoon and ate a bucket of chicken wings. Of course, I threw everything up later on, being pregnant and all, but that’s beside the point. My vegetarian phase was over.

    Reasons to Choose a Feastetarian Diet

    I always felt a bit sad that I couldn’t make it work though. There are a lot of good reasons to eat vegetarian, and I sometimes wish that I hadn’t given up so easily. Happily, my new feastetarian diet has gone a long way towards soothing my conscience. For example, purposely eating less meat helps me:

    1) reduce my carbon footprint, making me a better steward of creation,
    2) afford more humanely-raised and slaughtered meat,
    3) remember that not everyone is as fortunate as I am,
    4) spend money more wisely, and
    5) be more mindful of my overall lifestyle and it’s worldwide impact.

    I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “oh man, I hope that there are future blog posts about each and every one of those five points — anything to avoid another blog post about your laminator“. You bet there is. But my laminator is pretty awesome though. Just sayin’.

    So Why Not Vegetarian?

    Given the benefits of a feastetarian diet, you might wonder why I don’t just go back to doing the 100% vegetarian thing. Honestly, I might someday. But right now, I’m comfortable with what we’re doing for a few reasons.

    First of all, I don’t like doing anything that’s too hard. Yeah, it’s a laziness thing. And eating feastetarian is actually not much of a sacrifice at all. If I start to miss meatballs or chicken enchiladas, I just schedule them on our next meat-is-a-treat night. I enjoy those meals so much more now, too. Pork chops with mashed potatoes is no longer the backup meal that I throw on the stove when I can’t come up with anything else — it’s something I look forward to because I eat pork chops maybe twice a year.

    I truly thought giving up meat six days a week would be so much harder to do. In fact, in anticipation of failing this food experiment entirely, I think my original feastetarian plan included meat for entire 12 days of Christmas and all seven principal feast days, the eight feast of Lord days, and the nine other major feast days of the Anglican church, in accordance with the sacred text of Wikipedia. And if that didn’t give us enough meaty days, I was prepared to throw in the Memorial days as well, because there are a lot of those.

    It turned out, though, that Sundays and the big holidays have been more than enough. And at least a half-dozen times, I’ve been annoyed to realize that it was “roast-a-chicken Sunday” when all I really wanted was a sweet potato with some spicy peanut sauce.

    The second reason that I prefer our feastetarian diet to a vegetarian diet is that it’s less of a burden to my family and friends. If I’m eating at their home and there is a meat-free option available, I pick that. Otherwise, I just count the meal as my feast of the week and it’s no big deal. I’m enough of a pain to my hosts by insisting that my oldest child follows a gluten-free diet. Nobody needs me to complicate meals even more.

    My third reason for picking feastetarian over vegetarian is that it’s easier on my husband and my kids. They eat a lot of meatless meals because that’s what I cook, but I don’t force them to follow my diet. I like that I can save Sunday’s leftover chicken or chilli or whatever for my husband to eat throughout the week when he’s tired of cauliflower. I believe that it’s healthier overall for him this way. Back when I tried a stricter vegetarian diet ten years ago, James would eat the meal I made and then, an hour or two later, he would pull a burger or a Jamaican patty or chicken fingers out of the freezer and zap them in the microwave. So much processed food. So. Much. Salt. I like to think that I’m keeping him healthier by cooking meat occasionally.

    Finally, I like the idea of tying my meal choices to the church calendar. As a Protestant, I don’t know much about liturgical seasons or saint days or anything like that — we kind of collectively dropped the ball there. Reading up on the saints is practically a hobby of mine now, and not just because I’m looking for more days that I can eat bacon. No, it’s more that I really love reading stories of real people that were so connected with God, especially stories of the women. And I love reading about the ways the Catholic church and the Orthodox church use feasting and fasting to deepen their faith. Serious, Protestants: we’re missing out! Feast days, saint days, holy days, memorial days, liturgical seasons, ordinary time — I’ve discovered there’s so much more than just Easter and Christmas. It’s wonderful.

    Would you consider giving up meat sometimes? Becoming a flexitarian or a feastetarian? You can do it any way that you like. Lots of people do a meatless Monday; others eat vegan on weekdays and then whatever they want on the weekend. It doesn’t really matter how you go about cutting back — it’s just about finding a system that works for you.

  • Resources for Anglican/Episcopalian Homeschoolers

    The Church of England website says that the Anglican faith is the third largest Christian communion in the world, after the Easter Orthodox and the Catholic Church. There are over 80 million of us … and maybe six of us homeschool? 

    At least, that’s what it feels like sometimes…

    But you’re here now, and I hope that means we can bump our group membership up to seven. Eight, if you have a parenting partner. Yup. Things are looking up, my friend.

    To help you out, I’m making a list of Anglican resources that I hope will help you in your home. In my experience, they can be hard to find. Quite honestly, I’m mostly making this list in the hopes that you’ll share with me all sorts of wonderful books and blogs and curriculums that’s I’ve never even heard of.

    All suggestions are welcome. I’ll be adding to this page whenever I can, so be sure to come back for updates.

    Facebook Groups:

    Anglican Homeschool Alliance – Diocese of Fort Worth

    Anglican/Episcopalian Homeschoolers

    Blogs by Anglican/Episcopalian/Liturgically-Minded Homeschooling Bloggers:

    ● Okay in the Mess

    ● The Parenting Passageway

    Unhurried Home ☆ You Are Here

    (Inactive. Why? WHY?!)

    An Undercurrent of Hostility

    Day by Day Discoveries

    Ohana Home Education

    On a Joyful Journey

    Life on the Planet

    The Potter’s Shed

    The Ten O’Clock Scholar

    More Helpful Blogs for Anglican/Episcopalian Families:

    Building Faith

    Grow Christians

    The Homely Hours

    Jessica Snell’s blog – be sure to check out the Church Year Resources

    Bible Curriculums: 

    This could also be labelled “the Holy Grail of Anglican Homeschoolers”. If you know a good one, please PLEASE leave a comment.

    Episcopal Children’s Curriculum – it’s not designed for homeschool use, but it’s good and it’s free and that makes it worth trying to tweak. And what are homeschoolers, if not the ultimate tweakers? (OK, just googled that. I mean tweaker as in curriculum adjuster, not methamphetamine user. Wow, note to self: google words before posting.)

    Liturgical Homeschool Planning:

    Morning to Eventide

    Books Worth Checking Out…

    ● Faith at Home: A Handbook for Cautiously Christian Parents by Wendy Claire Barrie (I have not read this one personally)

    ● Faithful Families: Creating Sacred Moments at Home by Traci Smith

    ● Let Us Keep The Feast: Living the Church Year at Home by Jessica Snell Paperback

    ● Liturgy of the Ordinary: Sacred Practices in Everyday Life by Tish Harrison Warren 

    Look!: A Child‘s Guide to Advent and Christmas by Laura Alary

    ● Make Room: A Child’s Guide to Lent and Easter by Laura Alary

     

  • A New Old Way to Pray: Prayer Books and Lent

    This year, for Lent, let’s embrace prayer books and the offices and “return to the ancient customs of ordering our days by prayer”.

    I’m possibly the world’s worst prayer. If I pray alone in my room, I inevitably fall asleep or end up mentally planning for the next day. And Heaven help me if I have to pray in front of a group of people — I completely lose the ability to speak the English language with any sort of dignity at all. I can’t think of more than a sentence or two to say, but I don’t want to sound unspiritual so I pad my tiny prayer with “Lord God”, “just” and “Father God”.

    You know in Matthew 14:30 when Peter prays, “Lord, save me!” as he starts to sink into the water? It’s the shortest prayer in the Bible. We actually spent a full class in Grade 10 Bible dissecting the three-word prayer and why it was effective. For real.

    Now if it had been me praying in front of a boatload of disciples, it might have been the longest prayer in the Bible. In fact, I literally would have drowned while Jesus waited for me to finish up. It would have gone something like “Lord-God-I-just-pray-that-you’ll-just-I-mean-sorry-thank-you-Father-God-for-today-and-that-we-could-be-here-together-Father-God-and-I-just-pray-that-you’ll-sa–” That’s when my head reaches the water with my mouth wide open, still babbling away. I can picture Jesus standing there on the waves, arms crossed and shaking his head in disbelief. OK, well none of that would have actually happened because I would never have gotten out of the boat in the first place. Because, you know, it was the middle of the lake.

    Given my total ineptitude, I’ve looked for different ways to pray over the years — without much success. It often feels like I’m talking to a sacrilicious waffle stuck to the ceiling (Simpson’s reference, mom). I think I’ve put in some legitimate prayer practice too, given that I’m thirty-something years old now. I’m jealous of the people who can pray for hours. Okay, I’m jealous of the people who can pray for 10 minutes. I just don’t have that kind of attention span. Thanks, Twitter.

    I know that a lot of people find it helpful to write their prayers down, but I write much slower than my brain works and so prayer journalling drives me crazy.

    One year I set up an email address for Jesus and just sent off my prayers to Him there. It worked. Kind of. I even briefly set up an I’ve-heard-your-prayer-Tamara-type auto-reply but that was seriously weird so I turned it off. I wonder if Jesus still checks that Hotmail account? Probably not, given that no one else does.

    I haven’t had any other brilliant idea since then, so I’ve mostly resigned myself to mumbling a quick ACTS-styled prayer at bedtime, hoping to get to Amen before I fall asleep. (Bonus points to anyone who knows what the ACTS prayer is.) And then I discovered prayer books a few years ago and my prayer life was forever changed.

    I suspect that it happened when my family started to attend an Anglican church. I was intrigued by their Book of Common Prayer and I took a copy home with me. To be honest, I didn’t love it. There’s a lot of flipping back and forth and it seemed like an unnecessarily complicated way to pray.

    Yet there was something about it that intrigued me.

    What are Prayer Books?

    A prayer book is simply a book of Bible verses, readings, and prayers. The prayers and readings are arranged by time and day, which may change depending on which prayer book that you use.

    For example, in the book I have in front of me (The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime), I would find the correct week of the year and then select the proper prayer for whatever time of day it is:

    • The Morning Office, to be observed on the hour or half-hour between 6 and 9 am
    • The Midday Office, to be observed on the hour or half-hour between 11 am and 2 pm
    • The Vespers Office, to be observed on the hour or half-hour between 5 and 8 pm
    • The Compline, to be observed when going to bed for the night

    The idea is that you pray those prayers along with other members of the Church, and as people recite the prayers in their own time zones, your prayers become part of an unbroken chain that circles the globe. Using the same words, you pray together with the worldwide communion of saints.

    I did not grow up with a tradition of prayer books. Vain repetitions, that’s how my teachers described them — though I don’t know that my “spontaneous”  prayers ever featured one iota of creativity. Despite my initial hesitation, I downloaded a sample to my Kindle and gave it a try.

    At first, reading the prayers and Psalms out loud felt awkward. Did it even count as prayer? I wasn’t sure. My book notes that Psalms are best chanted, quoting St. Augustine who said that “whoever sings, prays twice.” Reading the prayers felt strange enough — I decided to make do with praying once and leaving the chanting to the experts.

    Strangely enough, I found myself looking forward to my prayer time after only a few days. The prayers really didn’t take long to read and I felt at peace when I finished. The readings were often beautiful, and rather than the experience feeling forced or shallow, I was surprised to find that the prayers often expressed exactly what I needed to say — but in a language for more poetic than my usual Father-Godding. (That’s a verb, right?)

    At first, I used the book once a day, but then I aimed for two. I didn’t really have a preference to which particular offices I prayed, though I tended to do the Midday prayers while I put Forest down for a nap and the Compline at my own bedtime.

    As I grew comfortable with the book, I became more interested in prayer books themselves. I read a fantastic book by Scot McKnight called Praying with the Church: Following Jesus Daily, Hourly, Today and I bought the audiobook version of The Biography of the Book of Common Prayer. I’ve also been checking out other prayer books, to see how they compare. I’ve taken the BCP home from my church a few more times. It’s still too complicated for me. So much flipping around.

    Fixed-Hour Prayer in the Bible

    Did you know that fixed prayer times were common in the Bible? The references are there, but I never really noticed them before. For example, McKnight highlights Psalm 55 in Praying with the Church:

    “But I call upon God,
    and the Lord will save me.
    Evening and morning and at noon,
    I utter my complaint and moan,
    and he will hear my voice.”

    And also Daniel 6:10:

    “Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before.”

    The Apostles had fixed prayer times too. In the foreword to Praying with the Church, Phyllis Tickle points out that:

    “Peter received the vision of the descending sheet while on the rooftop in Joppa for noon prayers. The flames of Pentacost descended on the early believers while they were gathered together in an upper room for nine o’clock prayers. Peter and John exercised the first healing after Christ’s resurrection by ministering to the cripple whom they found on the Temple steps as they make their way to three o’clock prayers.”

    Fixed-hour prayer didn’t stop with the Apostles either. In the introduction of each volume of Divine Hours, Tickle gives a brief history of fixed-hour prayer in the age of the apostles, then in time of the early church fathers, from St. Benedict to the Middle Ages, and then from the Middle Ages to us. (You can also read it here.)

    I love that it’s all so old, yet so new to me. I also love that prayer books can be found in each of the three major branches of Christianity. Protestants have a few among the mainline denominations — the AnglicanBook of Common Prayer probably being the most well-known. Roman Catholics use The Liturgy of the Hours, and the Orthodox have A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers. McKnight writes that “each of these [books] is rooted in the sacred rhythms and tradition established by Jesus. In each we will find some psalms and the Lord’s Prayer and some Scripture readings, and in each we will also find distinctive contributions.” I like the idea that we’re all united in this way.

    Despite all the traditional prayer book options available to me, I’ve gone the easy route and mostly stuck with the three volumes of Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle. These books are a bit easier for newbies because the readings are all printed out for you — in one spot — so you aren’t flipping around and looking things up. Sometimes I also head over to the Northumbria Community website to use their Celtic prayers — they are absolutely beautiful. And a lot shorter. Don’t tell God I said that.

    The Divine Hours prayers are online too —absolutely free. Even though I’ve bought the books, I almost always read the prayers off my phone so that I don’t wake up my two-year-old by turning on the lights. The Vineyard Church in Ann Arbour always has the current prayer online — the website even accounts for your time zone.  Granted, it feels kinda like you’re praying to your phone — and I’m pretty sure my family wouldn’t even find that a stretch, given how devoted I am to my screens. I’m sure you could print them out if you’d prefer to avoid the appearance of idolatry.

    A quick note: If you choose to purchase a copy of Divine Hours, do NOT buy the Kindle version. It’s not formatted properly with the dates, and you will quickly lose track of where you are supposed to be. Also, save your money and skip Eastertide. A few Amazon reviews mentioned that it’s taken right out of the Springtime volume, so you’re better off buying the entire book instead.

    Lent: The Perfect Time to Try Prayer Books

    McKnight calls modern society “time-clock humans” or “meal-driven people”, based on the way we sort our time. I definitely fall into the “meal-driven” category, making plans “before lunch” or “after supper”. But maybe we can be different. Maybe we can, as McKnight says, “return to the ancient customs of ordering our days by prayer”.

    What a perfect challenge for us all as Lent approaches. How many of us come up with something boring to give up like chocolate (totally doable) or coffee (definitely not happening). This year, forget the pseudo-fasts and do something meaningful instead. I encourage you to find a prayer book that speaks to you and commit to using it, even just once a day. Discover a new way to pray that connects you with you to the worldwide Communion of Saints as we all anticipate Easter Sunday together.

  • Let Go of Perfect

    Let Go of Perfect

    My grandma made me a ceramic music box with Santa Claus on it when I was little. Every year, my mother put it out on the coffee table on December 1 — and not a day sooner. I so clearly remember the ragged cardboard box that we stored it in, and the way that the old shredded newspaper fell to the table as I lifted the music box out. It was the same every single year.

    It would still be weeks before we put the tree up, of course. It was the 80s; Christmas wasn’t a two-month marathon in the 80s. But even without the tree, the music box meant Christmas to me. The music box was the start of the season.

    I have the music box in my home now, and I still love to pull it out at Christmas time and show it to my own kids. I haven’t found a place to display it yet, but that doesn’t matter — as you can see, it’s broken.

    Not too badly, mind you. Last year an elf lost his head, though it looks like my husband was able to glue it back on for me. A couple points on the star are broken off, and there is a chip at the front. The part that bothers me most is the tree; it broke off a couple of years ago, maybe more. The tree is the part that you turn to make the music start. My music box has been silent for a long, long time.

    We never got around to fixing it last year, and we didn’t fix it this year either. I’ll just put it back in it’s box as it is and we’ll store it with the rest of our Christmas decorations until next December. I don’t mind. It’s just one of many things that we didn’t get around to doing.

    Like our advent calendar: my daughter and I sewed a beautiful banner-style calendar like the one from this post, but once we put the calendar up, we did a total of … zero … activities from it. We scrambled to buy candles for our advent wreath at the last minute and we never lit a single one. My wooden spiral that I envisioned as a beautiful table centrepiece is still in the bag on my dresser. My Jesse Tree ornaments haven’t even been printed off yet.

    We didn’t go ice skating (no ice). We didn’t go skiing (okay, that wasn’t ever on my list). Scaredy Squirrel Goes to the Beach beat out the Christmas-themed storybooks under the tree every. single. night. We didn’t embroider the ornaments that I fell in love with, and we didn’t go carolling around the neighbourhood (but that’s on the list right after skiing).

    We didn’t see old-timey fireworks at Westfield Heritage Village, and we didn’t visit Dundurn Castle to see how the MacNabs celebrated Christmas in the mid-19th century, though I suspect that hasn’t changed since we went last year.

    It doesn’t matter though. We still did some things. We put up a tree. We put out our shoes for Sinterklaas. We watched our favourite Christmas movies and we listened to my three favourite Christmas albums 673 times. We made presents. We saw Santa. We spent more time at church. We hosted Christmas dinner. We ate turkey for a week.

    So who’s to say that we didn’t do enough? Why do we all have a crazy vision of what Christmas is supposed to be anyway? And who even came up with the idea of doing a different “Christmas” activity every day for 24 days? When I was growing up, we just ate the chocolate in our Advent Calendar and carried on with our day as usual.

    Thank goodness Jesus wasn’t born in the 21st century. Poor Mary might have gone nuts trying to create the perfect royalty-themed nursery (okay, so some of these are actually really cute). I suppose though that the whole rustic homebirth-in-an-open-barn might have appealed to the crunchy homesteading crowd. I’m willing to bet that it’s already a hashtag on Instagram. Even by first century standards, though, I think it’s clear that the God of the Universe wasn’t looking for “perfect” in the events of Jesus’ birth. Or maybe He was, but His definition of perfect can’t be found on Pinterest. Maybe His definition of perfect is more about doing what we can with what we’ve got — with humility and gratitude.

    Going forward this year, let’s be less. Let’s do less. Let’s focus less on the big over-the-top moments and embrace the small everyday ones. Let’s worry less when things don’t work out. Let’s aim a bit lower but appreciate a lot more.

    Let’s take a dream vacation, as an example. Maybe this year, you just can’t make it happen. Maybe you’ve been dying to take your kids to Disney World but it’s not in the budget, or you can’t get the time off of work. It’s okay. Be disappointed — but not too disappointed. When your kids are grown up, they’ll have just as many fond memories of a weekly game night at your kitchen table as they would of riding Space Mountain or meeting Cinderella.

    It might not feel like you’re creating memories when you’re in the moment. I get that. My game nights is often just a weekly exercise in frustration because my two-year-old keeps stealing game pieces and my five-year-old keeps throwing tantrums when she doesn’t win and my husband keeps wanting to play Risk, which is just the most boring game in the world. You too, right? It’s okay. Just keep showing up, because over time these weeks that turn into months and years will feel like perfection when we look back on them with a hefty dose of nostalgia.

    And Christmas? Honestly, I don’t think my kids are going to remember any one Christmas in particular. They aren’t going to sit around as adults and say, “Hey, remember back in 2016 when Forest was two and he had a wicked fever on Christmas day and he screamed and screamed at mom’s feet while she rinsed off the turkey and she cried and cried because she hates touching raw poultry and then the kitchen flooded and covered them both with water and in the commotion mom put the turkey in the roaster upside down and then later when she tried to flip it over, the turkey flipped it’s wing out and she couldn’t get the lid back on so she flipped the bird at the bird that wouldn’t flip and then she punched it so hard in the wing that it we probably should have reported her for cruelty to half-cooked animals?” No, at most they’ll remember how much they enjoyed eating the turkey. Or rather, how much they would have enjoyed it, if they all hadn’t refused to try turkey.

    What I know they’ll remember are the little things that we do year after year: the traditions, no matter how small they are. My kids will remember how their dad liked to hide Lego Santa in a fun new spot each morning. They’ll remember putting their shoes out for Sinterklaas on Dec 5 and their stockings up for Santa Claus on Dec 24.

    They’ll remember how much their dad loved to bake for the entire month of December. They’ll remember how excited I got every year to put my big golden star in the window and my cheerful bells on my door. They’ll remember how nice it was when the smell of pine filled the house, courtesy of my essential oil diffuser.

    And I hope that they will remember that the Christmas season didn’t officially start until I put out the ceramic music box that my grandmother made. It’s not perfect, but magic isn’t found in perfection.

    Remember that.

  • My Epiphany

    Thank you for visiting Unhurried Home! This is my post from last year (2016), when I first discovered the whole idea of Epiphany and our very simple, very last-minute celebration. Today I’m busy getting ready for our very first Epiphany party — we’ve never done this, so feel free to send me tips here or over on Facebook

    Yesterday was Epiphany, the day that we celebrate the three wise men visiting Jesus. We don’t know many of the details of that day – we don’t even know how many men there actually were. We do know, however, that they arrived much later after the birth than our Christmas cards depict – likely a whole year or two.

    I reflected on their visit at our church service on Christmas Eve as my own 15 month old boy made a dash down the aisle for the third time in four minutes. Well, not so much reflected as commiserated with Mary because I can only imagine that the entire magi visit was exhausting.

    I picture Mary getting Jesus’ lunch ready when the men arrived. She was carefully slicing the grapes in half lengthwise to reduce the chance of choking. Jesus was sitting on the floor near her, banging on some dishes with a spoon – the noise was annoying but at least it kept him occupied for a minute.

    Then, out of the blue, a group of royal-looking men showed up at the door. Mary, pushing worries of a missed nap time out of her head, welcomed them in and frantically looked for a place to sit. Did they have chairs, lovingly hand-crafted by Joseph the carpenter? If they did, I’m certain that they all were laying on their side under a table to stop Jesus from constantly standing on the top of them.

    You know how later on Satan tells Jesus to jump off a cliff because the angels will catch him? Toddlers don’t need the devil’s prompting; they will jump off of anything and everything, firmly convinced that if the angels are busy, a mother will be there to break the fall.

    So poor Mary was busy putting all the chairs upright, muttering apologies as she dusted them them off. Jesus was not making matters easier because, overcome with shyness due to the strangers in the house, he was now clinging desperately to her legs. Mary didn’t get frustrated though – she seems like a very patient woman, based on the statues I’ve seen.

    Once everyone had a seat, Jesus warmed up to the visitors and started playing peekaboo with them from behind Mary’s robe. At one point, they held out their gifts for him to inspect. Jesus immediately tried to eat the frankincense and then put the bowl of myrrh on his head like a hat, spilling the contents all over the ground. He immediately uttered an adorable little “uh oh” in Aramaic, which Mary and the wise men instinctively echoed back.

    As Mary quickly cleaned up the myrrh, the wise men looked around for somewhere high up that they could stash the gold, safely out of Jesus’ reach. In the commotion, I can only imagine that Jesus snuck out the side door and started finger-painting on one of the camels with mud.

    I guess we’re lucky that Matthew didn’t include any of the details in his gospel. It would have made the nativity pageant far too complicated to pull off, given how notoriously bad toddlers are at following stage direction.

    Most nativity pageants I’ve been to have everyone visit on the night Jesus was born. I didn’t know that many Christians around the world celebrate the magi’s visit on a completely separate day from Christmas. Until last year, I never knew that December 25 was the first of 12 days of Christmas. For me, once Boxing Day hit, Christmas was over. And honestly, that was usually a relief.

    Every year, I find myself more disappointed with Christmas. It just doesn’t seem Holy anymore. I want it to be a special time where we remember the birth of Jesus, but every year, the birth is overshadowed by presents and Santas and stockings and parties. I confess that I’ve become resentful that I have to share a meaningful holiday with people who couldn’t care less about the birth of Jesus.

    And don’t get me wrong – I’m not the kind of Christian that gets angry when someone says Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. I don’t care how my Starbucks cup is decorated. In fact, I’d prefer that fewer people celebrate Christmas. Celebrate something else. Have your sleigh rides and winter songs and turkey dinners on the Solstice instead and leave Christmas for Christians. Don’t co-opt our day as an excuse to party. (I can get kind of grinchy.)

    Last year I was ready to give up on it all. I thought Christians should get together and have a secret Christmas where we celebrate without the extra fuss. Maybe in February, so we could get great deals on the leftover decorations.

    Then, this year, I read this on the Christianity Today site:

    “We love to find—or even invent—spiritual reasons for various cultural practices related to Christmas. For example, we give gifts to one other to remind ourselves of God’s great gift of Jesus to the world or of the gifts of the wise men to Jesus. That may sound nice, but is it biblical? Or do we really give gifts because that’s what our parents did and what everyone else we know does (except the Jehovah’s Witnesses, diehard secularists, and some religious purists)? What kind of parent would you be if you didn’t give your child a Christmas present (or, in many cases, a whole roomful of them)? Or, just imagine, if you didn’t celebrate Christmas at all (like the Puritans)? Very little is intrinsically spiritual or biblical about these kinds of expectations. They’re almost entirely cultural. That doesn’t make them necessarily wrong, but we shouldn’t invent biblical rationales to justify them.”

    When I first read that, I honestly thought it was totally backwards. And dumb. Everyone knows that we exchange presents at Christmas because Jesus was God’s gift to us. I think. Or it might be because of the Magi. Whatever, I was more confused as to why everyone else exchanges gifts.

    But for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about that passage all day. Then sometime in the evening, my thinking suddenly shifted ever so slightly and I understood what the author was saying. Society hasn’t co-opted our holiday – we’ve co-opted theirs. We take the cultural traditions of the season – the Christmas tree, the yule log, the misletoe, the candy cane – and we try to give them Biblical significance. And we’ve been doing it ever since a Pope picked December 25 to be Christmas Day, replacing the pagan winter festival of the time. It all worked beautifully for a long, long time as much of the Western world identified as Christian, but now that society is becoming more secular, we’re stamping our feet and pouting that “our” holiday is being taken away from us. Was it ever ours to begin with?

    Somehow, the thought that Christmas doesn’t belong to Christians was very liberating for me. I’m not obligated to participate, just like I’m not obligated to set off fireworks on Victoria Day or barbecues on Labour Day. I’m also invited to enjoy it for what it is – a cultural celebration. And I think I can embrace that.

    I do wish that we had a different name for the two distinct celebrations – the cultural Christmas and the birth of Jesus. A different day would be even better. As I thought about that, I remembered hearing about Epiphany and decided to look it up on Google. I learned that Epiphany is the day when Christians celebrate the wise men coming. I learned that some people consider it a second Christmas and hold it in high regard as the day that God officially introduced himself to the Gentile world. I read about how people celebrate – taking down the tree, throwing Epiphany parties, eating cake with three beans hidden inside to decide who will represent the royal wisemen at the royal feast.

    I knew that I wanted to mark the day but I wasn’t sure how. I asked my wise friend Jenny if she celebrates it and she replied:

    My home school mentor celebrated by marking the holy nights (12 days of Christmas), when they were very introspective as a family, and kept things spiritually based. Basically, she said it’s a time to shed off the materialism of Christmas, and to really delve into focusing on Christ. … They also keep the tone of their home reverent by clearing out the old, and making quiet plans for the new year. … It’s been really lovely to just sink into it, and I feel this real relief of the “holidays’ and now it’s time to spend contemplating Christ. It’s like all the bustle and chaos is over, and it’s a simple, reflective time. Since she introduced the concept to me, I’ve really cherished it quietly.

    And that right there is what I’ve been looking for. I love it.

    Because it works, doesn’t it? For the rest of our society, Christmas is over on December 26. On Boxing Day, we shop. On New Years Eve, we party. On Jan 2, we see Valentine decorations on the shelves.

    But as Christians, we can keep the Christmas party going. We can keep singing carols. We can feast some more. We can focus on Jesus. It’s like a secret Christmas that’s all ours.

    Yesterday was our first time celebrating Epiphany. We tried our best to incorporate some traditions in a rushed, last-minute sort of way. We had a feast with the nice table cloth and wine glasses of grape juice and apple cider. We had a roasted chicken – well, rotisserie takeout – and we had cupcakes with (coffee) beans shoved inside two of them to determine who would represent the royalty at our feast. We read the bible story and we took down the tree. We had ice cream. Then we cobbled together some pretty star decorations to put on the walls, which helped make the room seem a little less dull now that the Christmas decorations are gone.

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    In all, it was a lovely evening. I can’t tell you how relaxed I felt as I ate dinner with my family. It was such a nice way to formally mark the end of the Christmas season, rather than our usual mom-couldn’t-stand-the-christmas-tree-taking-up-half-the-living-room-one-moment-longer-and-took-it-down-while-everyone-slept tradition that we usually follow.

    What a blessing this second Christmas turned out to be. I love the days that I’m discovering in the liturgical calendar year – celebrations that I knew nothing about, that have been left untouched by the world. I feel like I’m discovering a whole secret side of my faith, rich with symbolism and beauty and even a touch of whimsy. And the Holiness that I’ve been craving.


     

    WILDBERRYLook for my post in the following link ups:

    Think Tank Thursday / Mama Moments Mondays / From House to Home / WholeHearted Wednesday / Shine Blog Hop

     

     

    Find me on Pinterest at www.pinterest.com/tea4tamara

    Thoughts on the magi meeting Jesus as a toddler, a search for a Holy Christmas season, and two star-themed crafts for Epiphany Day.

  • But I’m Just a Stay At Home Mom

    This post contains affiliate links, a giveaway, and possible warm fuzzies. For more information on affiliate links, please see the Privacy Policy.

    When I was a kid, I kind of figured that I’d grow up to be someone. You know, like an important manager in a company or a well-known journalist or something. Someone that other people looked up to. It never occurred to me that I’d choose to be a stay-at-home mom or that the people looking up to me would be my three stay-at-home kids trying to see if there are boogers in my nose.

    But I’m not complaining. In fact, the life of a homeschooling mom can be pretty darn sweet. I get to do a whole lot of fun stuff with my kids and count it as school – and doing school automatically means that you’re being productive. Nice, huh? So unlike regular moms, I don’t have to drag my kids off to school on crummy days;  instead, I make a second a third another cup of tea and relax on the couch in my pyjamas while my oldest describes the classic novel that she’s reading. And I don’t have to go to boring office meetings like other grown ups; I get to go on nature walks in the forest with our fellow homeschooling families. And I don’t have to smile politely at cranky customers; I just tell my cranky kids to go play outside. Ha. How many times have I wished in the past that I could tell a cranky customer to just go fly a kite…?

    But I’m not going to pretend that I don’t feel a twinge of jealousy when I see photos from my fabulously wealthy (aka employed) friends on Facebook with their lovely furniture and pretty clothes and dreamy vacation photos. Vacations? If my kids are lucky, I might put on my best jeans (maternity, because they’re the only ones without holes), squeeze the three of them into the backseat of my eleven year old car and take them to a library in the next city over as a treat. Exotic.

    Of course, those feelings of envy rarely last long and I soon remember what’s really important. Like keeping my iPhone out of the reach of my one year old, for example. And maybe installing a lock on the toilet.

    Honestly, I can’t believe my that my phone hasn’t been destroyed 72 times over. And believe me, when it finally gets shoved in the toaster one last time or thrown out the back window on the highway, I am not buying another one.

    I don’t think I ever understood the saying that “a penny nickel saved is a nickel earned” as well as I do now as a stay at home mom. When you’re part of a one-income family, you have to watch those coins carefully, and as the main shopper in the house, I really believe that my job is important. When I cut wasteful spending from our food budget, I can allocate more money towards our hydro bill. By sharing one car, I can allocate more money towards … our hydro bill. Seriously, it’s 2015. Why does electricity cost so much? Doesn’t the sun send us power for free every day?

    Anyway. My husband works and I scrimp and we strive for a simple lifestyle so that we can make it work and it’s mostly wonderful. Wonderful family, wonderful home, wonderful friends, wonderful life. I have been so, so blessed.

    But this weekend was a harsh reminder that the world is a cruel place for many others. France, Lebanon, Iraq. Syria. Stories of suffering. Sadness. Pictures of children that have no bed to sleep in, children that are the same age as my children. I felt so useless, so powerless to help.

    All I want to do is … something.

    I want to do something concrete, something that will help even just one person feel a tiny bit better. But what? I don’t have a job. I don’t have extra money to send off for food or water or medical supplies or toys. When tragedies happen, I feel incredibly frustrated because my family’s simple lifestyle doesn’t do anyone else any good; my cancelled cable bill isn’t going to comfort anyone overseas.

    It’s way too easy to do nothing because everything you can do feels inadequate. That’s stupid though. The “go big or go home” mentality should only apply to to 1980s’ hairstyles, not acts of kindness.

    So, after some prayer, I decided to reactivate my Barefoot Books ambassador account. Now, this honestly feels like the single most insignificant thing I could do, but it’s something. I figured that a lot of people will be doing Christmas shopping over the next month and that I could donate the profits from all my sales before Christmas to a charity. I’ve chosen to give the money to my church – we’re fundraising so that we can sponsor a refugee family. It feels appropriate. It feels tangible.

    Maybe you’re a fellow stay-at-home mom too, feeling helpless when you watch the news. Just do something that adds more love to the world. Maybe you could sell some of the clutter from your basement on Kijiji and give the money to a food bank. Maybe you could babysit a few times before Christmas and donate the money to your favourite charity. Maybe you could open a Tupperware account or a doTerra account or a Norwex account or a Barefoot Books account and give the profits from your first party to the cause of your choice. Get your kids involved, even. Are you homeschooling? Running a little business together can be a great learning experience. With the holidays coming up, people are looking to shop anyway.

    And speaking of shopping…

    Please check out the Barefoot Books website (affiliate link). You’ll find beautiful books and other goodies like puzzles, cooperative board games, and more. I’ve sold Barefoot Books for years as both an ambassador and a store retailer, and I’m continually impressed by the quality of their products.

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    (Order is now closed.)

    I’m really hoping to send in a nice order next week. I’d be so grateful if you’d take a peak at the site or share this post with your friends. In fact, to make it more enticing to share, I thought we’d do a little giveaway! I’ll give one lucky Canadian reader FIVE free books of my choice from Barefoot Books – to enter, use the form below. Giving begets giving, right? And ’tis the season, even if it’s off to a rough start.
    Win 5 Beautiful Books by Barefoot Books from UnhurriedHome.com

    (This contest is now closed.)

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

  • All the Time in the World

    I started writing a post awhile ago about why we started homeschooling. There are lots of reasons, of course, but the best reason I could come up with is that homeschooling gives my kids and I time together. Lots of time.

    Too much time.

    (Ha ha. Kidding… mostly).

    Take our mornings, for example. Back when my daughter River* was in kindergarten, our mornings were hectic: Will we be late? Did River eat breakfast? Why isn’t she dressed yet!? What happened to her backpack!?! WHERE IS HER OTHER SHOE?! And her class didn’t even start until 12:30 in the afternoon. I know, I’m just that awesome.

    But now? Now that we homeschool, we usually don’t have anywhere to be and our mornings are relaxed. We typically wake up around 8:00. I get up to make some tea, tidy the kitchen and start breakfast. My kids aren’t big on cold cereal so I usually cook something – either steel cut oats or bacon and eggs or pancakes or muffins. Our family-wide favourite is waffles with fresh whipped cream, but I save those for Sunday afternoons after church to reward good behaviour. Maple syrup is a powerful parenting tool here in Canada.

    Anyway, on a typical day while I cook breakfast, River, my seven year old, will wander into the kitchen. Sometimes she’s got her nose in a book and she won’t make a sound until she finishes the last page and closes the book loudly with a satisfied sigh. Other times, she comes in with her paper and crayons and works at the counter for an hour or so on a book that’s she’s writing and illustrating. And then some days she comes in anxious to start school. On those days I have her read out loud to me from her nature readers – little stories about lazy minnows or clever frogs and other pond creatures. Personally I’m not a fan of bugs in either physical or literary form, so she takes particular joy in reading chapters about spiders and other creepy crawlies.

    While River hangs out with me in the kitchen, my four year old child Harbour* is normally off playing intensely, lost in a world of pirates and princesses. She’ll run into the kitchen to eat a bowl or three of thawed blueberries but then she’ll race out again, back to her imaginary land. I’m glad that we have no where to be so that she can play her stories out to the end.

    My youngest, Forest*, is not even one years old yet. He spends his morning diligently inspecting crumbs on the kitchen floor or pulling boxes and cans out of my cupboard. He’s remarkably quiet for a little one. I can’t remember if my girls were also that quiet at one time – maybe I was too busy to notice. Or maybe I just didn’t yet know that I should cherish the quiet baby babbles before the get louder.

    It’s a busy house, but not in the we’re-so-stressed-and-we’re-never-going-to-catch-up sense of the word. No, it’s a good busy. It’s the busyness of childhood. And this busyness is only possible when there are large blocks of unhurried time available.

    It’s on mornings like this that I can’t believe how lucky I am. Why is it that I get to stay home with my three kids and have a slow, peaceful morning while the rest of the world rushes off to work and school?

    Seven years ago, I actually would have found this pace of life tedious. I would have search for other projects to fill up my time – but now? Now I feel utterly blessed.

    Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some serene mother-figure blissfully munching on homemade granola that I harvested myself while serenaded by my children singing in harmony with the sparrows. No, not even close. I don’t even know if sparrows sing – I mean, I’m sure that they do, but I probably drown them out by yelling at my kids to get off the countertop or put the baby down or don’t lick that plant!

    Despite my imperfect mothering skills, I know that life is good. And I’m glad we have the time to enjoy it. I know that childhood is short but the stretched out homeschooling days feel happily long. With no where in particular to be, it feels like we have all the time in the world.

    *These are not my kids’ real names, because there is no way my husband would agree to them. Luckily, he doesn’t often read my blogs, so I can call ’em whatever I want.

  • The Homeless Man and My Daughter

    The other day we were driving home from Ikea and we stopped at a red light beside a homeless man. He stood on the median right beside our car with a scrap of cardboard that said something like “Hungry. Anything helps.”

    I knew I didn’t have anything; we had just left Ikea where I’d actually put my daughter’s hot dog and juice on debit because I had no change. Hot dogs are what – $0.50? I was so embarrassed that I bought two just to make my order more substantial.

    So now we were at the red light and I knew I didn’t have any money on me. But I started looking around anyway because a) then it at least looks like I’m caring, and b) I like to set a good example for my kids. Appearance-wise, at least.

    I’m not sure how I feel about giving money to people on the street in general – I prefer to donate to a food bank. But I find it really hard to explain to my young children that I automatically assume someone is a drunk or a drug addict because they live on the street. Honestly, it seems reasonable until you try explaining it to a seven year old.

    No, I’ve decided that it’s far better for the girls to actually see us giving money to people in need, so I always try to find a dollar or two that we can share.

    Except last Friday, on the way home from Ikea. When I had nothing but a nickel at the bottom of our cup holders, floating in a suspicious sticky, coffee-scented goo. Sorry, man. Not picking that out for you.

    So I gave up on looking and I stared straight ahead, grateful that I had stopped just past the man and his sign. No eye contact. No mumbled excuses on my part.

    Then I heard the back seat window go down.

    “Hi.” That was my seven year old.

    “Hi.” That was the man. “How are you?”

    “I’m good.”

    “How was school today?”

    “I’m homeschooled. But it was fun.”

    Right. Cause we went to Ikea instead of reading history.

    “Yeah! School is fun!” the man responded enthusiastically.

    At this point I rolled down my window too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

    He came forward to my window and pointed to the back seat. “No!” he said, stammering a bit. “No, you’ve … you’ve got three … I don’t take money from the mouths … from the mouths of babes.”

    The light turned green. He turned back to my seven year old. “Thank you for saying hi to me.”

    As we drove off, I realized how stupid I was. When I saw the man on the side of the road, I had just seen an opportunity to teach my kids virtues like sharing, giving, charity, etc. But my daughter saw a person.

    I didn’t see a person, I saw a teachable moment. Don’t get me wrong – I think that it’s great to teach our kids about all those lovely things, but I’d rather teach my kids that everyone is a person, worthy and deserving of love and respect and maybe a quick “hi” at a red light. There was a teachable moment there. For me.

    As we turned on to our street a few minutes later, my daughter said, “I’m going to pray for that man.”

    Ok, I said I learned my lesson. Way to rub it in, kid.

    Linking up to Hip Homeschooling and Mama Moments Monday.