Christmas | Lead Me Where

Christmas Snapshot

25 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Casa Hogar, Chicago, Christmas, Family, Food, Friends, God, Happiness, Love, Mexico, Sovereign

It’s been four years since we were in this city, this state, this home, for Christmas, but if Christmas is His incarnation, redemption born in a stable, then it’s not just a day we’re commemorating; it’s a way of life. A way of life that breathes grace and mercy, wears redeemed like a cloak, and leaves God’s love deep in everything we touch, do, say.

December 25th is one day, one very special day, but it’s not so much different from any other day, because this day and those days God is truth, God is love, and God is just, and Jesus is the perfect redeemer we’re drowning without. The special of today is not that He’s more Him today than any other; the special of this day is that today we’re thinking about it.

Today just as any other this is a building of six separated, but the lines swirl unreadable between neighbors and friends, between friends and family, and there are four breakfast casseroles here. Our ceiling is their floor, all day, every day, but today, we’re all sitting around one table, please pass the mango juice, and can you even imagine the weaving of life strings in this room?

Because I’ve got a story and upstairs has a story, across the hall, too. My story is me and yours is you, but there’s one God who holds all stories in the palm of His grand Story. And I know He’s wise, I know He’s sovereign, because He’s winding each story together and I’ll never quite understand. I’ll never quite understand how story meeting story means there’s wise words to soothe nervous hearts, little hands ready to play together, and six units of family wound together tight just when we need it.

December 25th is a snapshot of a year; close your eyes, I bet you can tell me where you were last 12/25, and the one before and before, well into years behind. True for you and true for me and turn around, last year today the mexican sun was hot and white bright through the VIPS window. And it’s funny because it really all started in this mexican diner chain; Mexico City in 2008, I’d been in Mexico four hours and really didn’t know what I had ordered.

Last year little family squinting in the sun in a downtown Mexico diner, at least we all know what we ordered. This year there’s snow finally, finally, dusting the Chicago streets outside, and I’m peeling dinner potatoes when Mom says call Mexico.

I always hesitate, and I’m really not sure why, but I call the Casa Hogar and Christmas has traditions, they’re all watching movies. But the voice on the other end rings happy, hits deep in my heart. Wise woman, woman whose love binds tight and holds strong. And we’re trading words over this Skype call; asking questions, murmuring assent and understanding, soaking up details because it’s been a long time and it’ll be longer until we’re face to face.

And then Rubi’s on the line and I suddenly realize that different countries, schools, families, skin tones really don’t matter because three years running friendship, Rubi was in my class at school in Mexico. And there’s a grip, a trust settling in my heart, because I trust Him to do well, and I trust Him to do right, and these are not friendships I have to fight to keep a grasp on, these are gifts He’s given because He is gracious.

And later, later, the day’s winding down but my phone is buzzing and cousins are friends, too, and the cousin-sister sends me back to Skype, once more. And it’s funny because I can hear them maybe a little, but they can’t hear me. But a picture is worth a thousand words and a video chat is worth more; words or no words. The other side of the country is 4×6 inches on my computer screen and I’m waving and blowing kisses to family I adore.

And Christmas is a day just like any other, and God is God every hour always, but pause, celebrate: Christmas is so very special, too.

~Natalia

Christmas Content

23 Dec 2012 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Birthday, Christmas

There’s a young heart at church who told me today that Christmas always surprises her.

She didn’t see it coming this year, and then Pastor’s standing up front, leaning over the little metal pulpit, telling us it’s Christmas Eve Eve.

And her twelve-year-old complaint echoes same in my own heart, because I hate the way December 25th pounces, and I’ve started to dread these days.

Because it’s my birthday 24th and then Christmas 25th and it feels like a rush to squeeze in as much festive, as much joy, as I can, because these two days come once a year.

But this year’s been different.

There’s been no rush, no stress, no holiday cheer pressure. Just peace and rest and content.

And I’m so very thankful for that.

~Natalia

Joy Has Come

17 Dec 2012 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Christmas, God

Christmas is on the way,
it’s all a count down to then.
Looking forward, ticking down,
soon the day will arrive.

Joy has come.

And then 25th will be here.
24 hours of celebration and festive;
the culmination of months of waiting.
One day on a calendar of 365.

Joy has come.

One month, three weeks, ten days,
everyone’s excited
because this is the day we’ve been waiting for
all this time.

Joy has come.

But wait- we celebrated the same day last year,
and the year before and before,
stretching back two thousand years before.
This day has been set apart for two millennia,
and we’re riding on a long legacy
of Christmas day.

Joy has come.

And every year 26th dawns quiet and still,
and real life suspended the day before, comes rushing back; reality.
Soon, it’ll be back to work, back to school,
Christmas lights still beautiful are a little less festive now.
We’ve lived the most festive day of the year again
and there’s a hollow tint to life just now.

Joy has come.

But hold on a second; joy didn’t come this year.
Joy didn’t splatter brightly across earth on the 25th
and then disappear in the blink of a clock ticking midnight to the day’s end.
Joy had already come.
It came 2000 year ago,
and it stayed.

Joy has come.

This joy isn’t surprise under the tree,
little ones wondering what they’ve got for them.
This joy isn’t family hug and kiss, faces missed now here with us.
This joy isn’t content belly full,
or sleepy eyes happy.
This joy that came down so many years ago is deep;
the grace-filled fingers of God reaching low to touch our souls.

Joy has come.

This joy has weight, too.
The price of Incarnation is a cross dripping life blood,
and God’s love for mankind cost Him is only son.
The joy in this season is not sleigh bells jingling and stockings hung with care;
the joy that has come, the joy that has stayed,
is the life-reaching, life-giving joy of
sin stain washed away, and eternal life held out freely.
Soul-deep joy that is never extinguished.

This is the joy that has come.

~Natalia

Life Right Now {#34}

08 Dec 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Christmas, Life Right Now, Little Sisters

Home for the weekend,
busy days. But we found time
for decorating!

~Natalia

Down to Now

26 Nov 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Beauty, Books, Chicago, Christmas, College, Family, Happiness, Moody Bible Institute, Train

Not a particularly stressful day, although my calendar’s full with to-dos; systematically highlighting purple stripes across my planner as more and more things are accomplished. Not a stressful day, per se, but the end of the semester feel has descended like a thundercloud over campus and it feels… different.

We’re not looking forward to a break in the semester, counting down to days enjoying turkey with the family all around; that already happened and now there’s nothing between us and Christmas break. Four weeks of papers, projects, and assignments stretch between us and break. And on a bad day, that seems like a rather long time.

But it wasn’t a bad day.

Checklist goes on and one thing follows on the heels of another task, and the week always starts off like this. I’ve never been to the Chicago public library, but I need to go- grab book bag, grab U-Pass, grab notebook, and the train platform’s close by.

I don’t check my phone and I’m secretly proud, I like the adventure of going and not sure where. It’s nice to have a map, always a blue dot right where I am, right when I need to know, but it’s also fun not to know, and it’s a little excitement on this Monday afternoon.

The train’s easy enough because the library has its own stop, and I’m not halfway down the platform steps when the green signs catch my eye. Chicago Public Library, the big library, is right around; there are signs for it everywhere. Clink thud down to the bottom of the stairs and there’s a second while I stand, neck craned back, craned up, that I’m suddenly a skyscraper-gazing tourist. But the feeling doesn’t last long because the green signs don’t just tell, they indicate, and bright green announcements are flapping in the wind above my head, and the train has dumped me at the very entrance of the massive library.

There’s a funny comfort, an odd exhilaration in the anonymity of a crowd, in being just me, one of so many, exploring things, sorting out things I’ve never done before. There’s so many, many escalators here, and this library is so very big and I’m suddenly thinking of my aunt, who’s been a librarian almost as long as I’ve been alive.

I’ve a library card now and the desk worker instantly recognizes my address as Moody. Her nod to Moody erases a bit of the anonymity I claimed when I walked into the huge, beautiful building, but I really don’t mind. Just now I’ve swathed myself in no one knows, but with one glance she’s peeled back a layer to ah, Moody Bible, and there’s safety and warmth in identity, too.

Find my books, check my books, it’s a big place with people everywhere, and I’m proud of myself for finding the books I need so quickly, so efficiently. It’s good, too, because there are more books to read back at school and class starts at 6pm and tomorrow’s another day full of check marks and purple highlighter success streaks my life.

The escalators only go one way, as escalators tend to do, and one time Alison and I ran up the down escalator in Marshalls, but this is not the time and it’s three wrong turns before I’m back to the beginning again. The hallway to the exit is tall and smooth and there’s art on the walls, too. I remember how to get out now, I came in this way, but I’m still looking around because I like new and I like this and I don’t want to miss anything.

The door is tall and heavy and I push through to the street. I’m standing in the shadow of the train tracks, and the city’s swirling by on either side. This errand, this adventure, was quicker than I anticipated, and I’ve more time now than I thought. The library is big, so very big, and helpful, too, and a seed of contentment at my success sprouts happy.

And there’s a yellow taxi in front of the door, waiting for costumers, waiting for someone to call. I’ve no need; I’ll take the train, but somewhere far above my head a wreath hangs on the towering building, and the taxi’s dark window reflects the festive bright wreath perfectly, a circle of Christmas light shining waxy back at me from the backseat window of an empty cab.

And the train’s high above and the ride’s through the city, and decorations shine everywhere in the setting sun, and there are books in my bag and books on my desk, and the days click down to now and it all just feels right.

~Natalia

Supposed to Be

17 Nov 2012 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Chicago, Christmas, Friends, God, Kiddos, Mexico, Miss, Sovereign, Spanish

Wednesday morning, maybe even Tuesday night, homework rules my mind. Empty time loaded with assignments, trudging through to-do lists both academic and otherwise. Sitting in class, eating, on the train, I can’t truly focus because a brain that’s spent every waking hour planning my next move, next assignment, doesn’t just stop on command.

Chapel, class, meals, and sitting. I shouldn’t be sitting anyway, no doubt. Reeling, reeling: what’s next? What are my goals for this morning, tonight, before Sunday?

Work and outside commitments, time for conversation with friends, too- Heaven forbid I’m a total hermit. Mind’s going, going, and I’m balancing the tightrope between just about making it, and crashing through deadlines, last-minute scrambling to get it together.

But Kat’s downtown for the morning and I’m gloriously free. Mind says no; I’ll not think about to-do, about due by Monday, due by Monday, due by Tuesday. Turn that off and enjoy time with a friend God placed in my life before I can remember and who He’s determined to keep in my life. I don’t always recognize a great gift when He’s dropped it into my story, and I don’t see immediately how truly wonderful Kat time is, until hours in.

Lunch on the other side, the lake side, of Michigan Avenue, and maybe Kat’ll head back to the suburbs; back to the school she calls home. But they’re setting up for the Christmas Light parade and more and more people are filling the slick city sidewalk and no, what if you stayed just a bit longer?

So back to the room and sitting on my bed, squares of light warm and clean on the floor, on the wall. She reads, I write, and God whispers normal and breathes peace over the pair. There’s a bond of time and trust between us and it’s easy and comfortable to sit and do homework together. Country music (she taught me to like it) hums out of my computer and we work, swapping occasional stories as the sun moves ever so slightly and the clock slides towards 4pm.

Project complete, assignment over, there’s a study break in there, too, and we’re close together on the bed, pulling the computer back and forth from my lap to hers, clicking through YouTube, Facebook, and more.

Study break, parade, and we grab coats and ding, elevator downstairs. We’re blocks from Michigan Avenue, and an hour early, but people are thronging to that Magnificent street. Hearts pumping happily, we step briskly through crowds and past sweet cheek babies bundled in strollers.

Sun sets and parade’ll start in a bit or two, and we’ve found a spot along the street where we can see the street… more or less. Two women with dark hair, three little angels with them, stand directly in front of us. The smallest child, slick black hair pulled into a messy ponytail, has my attention before she even makes a noise. But her mother hoists her up and the little one’s at eye level with me now and shy black eyes look me over before turning away.

People are packed in all around us; three rows deep in front and five rows deep behind. Conversations flow and build on every side, and a parade marshal standing in the street is leading the wave among the crowd. I can hear so much, see so much, but the baby child next to me is exclaiming in Spanish and her words hit the Mexico ache in my heart like few things do. Parade marches on, and Kat and I, we exclaim and yell, taking pictures of Mickey and Minnie Mouse and cheering exultantly when the lights on the trees all around us click on in an instant.

Parade, Christmas, lights. Kat, pictures, music. We’re pressed tight together, everyone in this crowd, and it only gets worse when we pull away and begin to move south, to the river, to the fireworks. But there’s a thrilling kind of excitement in so many people together, moving and living and celebrating.

And there’s fireworks, too, and we sit on a ledge by the river, thousands upon thousands of people all around, and watch colored fire explode amongst skyscraper after skyscraper. There’s so much there to celebrate, to enjoy. And I do.

And all the time, the sweet child’s voice rings in my ears, and the tug of Mexico pulls on my heart hard. Missing is sweet and terrible and red and green explosions of beauty over the river and suddenly, I think of a story that Hermana Tere told me about forgetting to pick her cousin’s daughter up from a doctor’s appointment. And life can’t be easy for a moment, can it?

Because homework comes relentless and it’s such a wonderful night and my heart breaks with emotion I can’t, or won’t, give name to, because it’s a multi-ethnic city and Spanish rings soft in every place I look. There’s a conversation of nothing but Princess Bride quotes in my text messages, and hot chocolate party in the lounge, and everything in me fights the homework I must return to now.

Every piece of my life demands more of my attention than I can give it and I feel like a puzzle divvied up, yet underneath it all, there’s a foundation- there has to be a foundation. Because God gives only what He can help me handle and He is sovereign and His will is perfect and my heart’s long since rubbed raw because a part of it is left in Mexico. But maybe that’s supposed to be.

Maybe all of this is supposed to be.

~Natalia

Short Sentences

07 Jan 2012 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Christmas, Mexico, Travel

I arrived safe and sound back in Chicago yesterday evening.

We celebrated Christmas here at home this evening.

It was quite fun.

I’m going back to school tomorrow, and classes start on Monday.

I think sometime soon, I’ll have to tell you about Rubi and the Dishwater.

And now, I think I might go to bed.

~Natalia

Merry Christmas!

25 Dec 2011 4 Comments

by nataliaria in Christmas, Family, Photos

We hope you had a wonderful day celebrating Jesus Christ’s incarnation! May you continue to celebrate Him over the next 364 days, as well!

~Natalia and family

Do I Tell You?

19 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Blogging, Chicago, Christmas, College, Food, Friends, Sleep, Thanksgiving

Part of the reason to write a blog is to share one’s life. When I write here, I’m sharing my life with you. I’m telling you what I think, how I feel, what happens in my life. I’m telling you about me. But I can’t tell you everything. Nor do I want to. Writing a blog is not an excuse to spread every tiny detail about my life across the internet. Rather, it’s a challenge to pick and chose which thoughts, which happenings, which emotions are to be shared.

Every time I sit down to write a new post, I must discern what begs to be shared, what should be shared, and what no amount of words could ever communicate. Yes, I share much with you. But for every post that appears here on Leadmewhere, there is another thought, another event, another memory that I don’t share. There isn’t time. There isn’t space. And I must decide what to put into words, and what to keep inside me.

But sometimes, it’s a hard decision. What do I tell you? What do I keep in my heart, or scribble in colored pen in the notebook that contains the conversations between me and God?

Do I tell you about floor retreat last night? Twelve girls from my floor spent the night in Lake Geneva. Mary’s grandma welcomed us into her home with hugs and food. We jumped around the pool. Sat in the steaming hot tub. Ate delicious pasta and sauce, a plethora of snacks, rich desserts, and then woke up to a pancake breakfast. We sat in the basement and played Hot Seat. I fell asleep on the floor of the family room, surrounded by girls who I room with, talk with, do life with. Even as I dozed, I could hear them laughed and talking; a running, giggling commentary on life itself.

Do I tell you about going to the Michigan Avenue Christmas Light Parade today after dinner? Two girls and five guys headed out after dinner to brave the hordes of people and see what this parade was all about. We scurried down Chicago Ave, the crowd growing denser with every passing block. On Michigan Ave, we snaked through stand-still crowds, inching between shoulders, clinging to the coat of the person in front of us, one single-file line of bundled Moody students. One our way, we managed to pick up three middle-aged women who joined our little train, pressing through the crowd along with us, calling out our names when we became momentarily separated. We ended up along the Chicago River, in prime position for the firework show at the end of the parade.

Do I tell you about Thanksgiving, approaching more rapidly than I can fathom? I’m excited for the drive up to Michigan. For laughs and inside jokes with cousins. For talks with grandparents, aunt and uncle. For Black Friday shopping with the cousins. For Saturday football. For food. For Christmas at Thanksgiving. For family.

There’s more, too. More in my heart and more in my mind. But I’ve been going, going. Walking, running, sitting, talking, being, interacting for a rather long time and I’m tired. I’ve seen and done quite a bit in recent days and hours, and I’m looking forward to quite a bit more in the upcoming weeks.

But now is not time to share anymore. Now is time to sit, to be still, to process, and to sleep.

~Natalia