Recently I sat in a crowded auditorium, snuggled up against Kyle, listening to a Christmas concert by Andrew Peterson and friends. It's the most amazing show to be a part of. If you've been to one of Andrew's concerts you know it's not about the lights or special effects or even the people singing. It's about Truth & passion in the form of song.

Sara Groves was a featured guest this particular evening. There was a tremendous amount of talent that quietly took the stage over the course of the night but she told a story and sang a song that I cannot seem to forget. Sara described being inspired to write a song entitled "Why it Matters". She wrote the song after learning about a man who lived in a war torn country. She told us that every day he would get up, as war waged around him and he would take his solitary place on the street. While destruction ensued all around him he played his cello, day after day. It was his peaceful protest: a thing of calm beauty in the chaos; a bit of life among the dead in spirit. After sharing the story with us she went on to sing 'Why It Matters'. The song references the man and his music but uses the symbolism of a tall statue that stands like a pillar in the center of town. It was the kind of song that takes you to a different place. As I sat in the auditorium that night, I felt like I could see the silhouette of this man playing his cello on war torn streets; with shattered buildings and shattered lives in the streets around him. For some reason this song penetrated every bit of my being. What motivated him to get up every day to take his solitary place on the street? Does one man and his cello bring peace to his war enraged country? Does his song make the slightest difference in the grand scheme of things?

As the story plays out Sara sings, "with it's protest of the darkness; with it's beauty, how it matters.
How it matters."

Since that night, I've listened to that song countless times. For whatever reason, it's become personal. One man gifted the world with his song. In the midst of our mountains and sunsets, the flowers and the rain, war rages around us and within us; the temporary and eternal clash and chaos is all around. But then there's that person-or persons-who seem to bring light into our lives-- into the dark. Some teach, some create, some build, some sing, but our lives are meant to be light; protests of the darkness; a constant melody.

I want my life to be like that of the man who made music in those war torn streets. I want to be motivated by His Spirit to get up and to go out, day after day. Did one man's music affect the outcome of the war? Not likely. But I bet it mattered to different degrees for those who were close enough to listen. Maybe it calmed them or comforted them; maybe it even gave them hope: a thing of beauty in the darkness. I believe his music mattered to the One who placed the song in his heart. And much like the man and his cello, we too, are called out-each with our different gifts and our different stories to bring beauty and music into a broken world.

Stand apart; shine like stars; sing.

"Like a single cup of water, how it matters.
How it matters."



MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

ahhh. It's been that kind of weekend.

It definitely didn't look so promising when we decided to head north for the holidays. Kyle's mom spent 1/2 the week in the hospital terribly sick with the flu or food poisoning. Tom, Kyle's step dad, spent a couple days in the hospital room right next door to her recovering from surgery on Tuesday. Riley, our niece, had her first bout with the flu this past week. And Jim, our Brother in Law, followed suit. Needless to say, we thought we were a little bit crazy when we packed up the car (with our sanitizer in tow) and headed toward the land of sickies. Fortunately, everyone was feeling a bit better by the time we arrived. We got to Kyle's parent's at 2 am on Saturday morning and were back on the road headed in the direction of home Sunday afternoon. Once upon a time, I might have said it's way too much traveling for such a short trip but this was not the case. It was so good to be together. If only I could bottle everyone up.

With that said, a piece of me was with the Roehrig clan at Grandma's on Christmas Eve. I missed the laughter, the caroling, the paper fight, the feast and the football. Another part of me was in AZ watching movies with mom. It's hard having those that we love so far away. If only it were possible to be in 4 different places at once.

Today, Kyle and I spent the day together. It's our only Christmas that I can remember where we had absolultely no agenda. Friends ever so graciously extended invitations to join them but today felt like it was made for just the two of us. And it was good. All in all, it's been a weekend that's been full of the things we most love and we wish all of you, the same.

Happy Christmas sweet friends and family!





I admit it. I love the rush that comes when I'm searching for that perfect gift. I even enjoy the crowds, the bustle, the same old Christmas tune repeatedly playing overhead. I like the way Christmas lights soften and warm a room; having friends over for a fire in the fireplace and a toast for the season. I love the snow and the cold because without them both, I wouldn't appreciate hot chocolate and a warm blanket or good book. The season is full of so many fun, beautiful, warm things...but sometimes they distract me. I didn't even know until last night how far my heart had drifted from the truth of Christmas.

Last night I walked through the doorway of a home I had never been to before. It was late, and I was tired. I was cursing the beeper in my pocket that kept going off, ultimately taking me farther and farther away from my bed and pillow. The home was located in the projects and I had already heard bits and pieces about the man I was to see. As I walked through the unfamiliar doorway and into a small living room, my eyes adjusted slowly to the dim glow. A haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Across from me stood a small brightly lit, tinsel strewn Christmas tree that illuminated the crowded room with color. To my left lay a dying man in a hospital bed. Scattered around the room sat various people; most of which were homeless--as was the man I had come to see. They gathered together, in the home of a friend, to take care of this man who once showed them how to survive on the streets. Around his bedside, they shared their stories with raw humor and brutal honesty; some had visible wounds fresh upon their faces. It was, as one of my co-workers said, one of the most profoundly beautiful and painfully sobering things to behold. On one hand, I observed this eclectic group of men and women living not as individuals but as one tightly bound body. I watched as they demonstrated selfless, shameless love for the one in greatest need. They wiped his face, they turned him, they gave him water. On the other hand, in the midst of this love and by the glow of the christmas lights, there was palpable pain; fragmented lives.

For a couple of hours, I was a part of a community that I have never before been in. In so many ways I did not belong. I didn't talk like them or dress like them. My stories were nothing like the ones being told and yet, I might have been the only one who noticed. For a couple of hours I was far removed in mind and spirit from the bustle and activities of which so recently consumed my attention. As foreign as this living room and the people within it's walls felt to me, a part of me longed to stay. I was afraid I might not have this experience ever again-or at least for a very long time. Although no one ever mentioned God I felt Him in the room. I wondered if He was in the hospital bed. As I stepped back into the dark, into the cool of night, I was quieted in my soul by what I had just been part of.

This was what was missing. Jesus. He came for this-for them-for me.

In the midst of the bustle I hope we become people who are caught up in His Spirit. I hope that we intentionally invite strangers in and gather together to meet the needs of each other. I hope that we unashamedly wipe the brow of one who needs it. May we live and breathe and love by the beat of His Spirit. He's the reason everything is so sweet.

I think the sparkles, lights and snowflakes are because He likes to leave us breathless.