EPIPHANY, January 6, 2025:
Enter Dreamer, one daughter, three grandkids, and yours truly . . .
PLUS . . . a visitation. No, not the Magi.
We began our day scouting Christmas Eve treats the children left out, last month, for the neighborhood wildlings. The leftovers were re-scattered close to the house.
Then we shivered our way to the front stoop where Dreamer, by turns, hoisted each child high. Following an ancient custom, they chalked the door lintel with the new year’s numerals and three letters: 20 + C + M + B + 25.
The letters represent three wise strangers from afar, traditionally named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. They also coincide with the Latin phrase meaning “Christ, bless this house: Christus Mansionem Benedicat.
Our grandkids, ages eight and nine, must miss being carried. Grasping the chalk, they sure took their time writing. Who wouldn’t, held safely aloft by a gentle giant?
C + M + B . . . Dreamer might have thought “Courage, my biceps.”
Afterward, we made Star Cake for tea time. While it baked, the kids rushed to the bay window, hopping and chirping like sparrows.
A wild turkey! Eating their leftover seeds!
Looking up, I clattered a pan.
“Aanie,” they hissed, “SHHH!”
So I tiptoed over to join them.
It was Gladys, the Stalker. (So named by Dreamer.) The homely hen, seemingly exiled from her group, had lately been foraging solo.
Or was she a scout? A rafter of twenty-pounders can damage a house and yard. Should we have chased her away? We still had mixed feelings.
“Aanie, she LOVES my seeds!”
Sure enough, beak in overdrive, Gladys scratched and gobbled. Bark chips flew.
Bird-struck, the kiddos leaned closer, fogging the glass.
I witnessed the kind of rapt “celebration that roots us moment by moment in [a] deep watchful quiet that ushers us into the presence of God.” Sarah Clarkson wrote that, and her words capture the moment, a seeming fulfillment of our chalked prayer: Christ, bless this house.
Then the timer beeped.
Why didn’t I linger at the window? Too focused on icing and slicing. “Martha, Martha”—there I stood, messing with details, missing the true feast.
I love wholehearted celebrations, gladly embrace each fiddly, trivial detail. Post-party that day, our newly blessed home showed the chaos of a happy invasion. As well as the avian visitation.
During cleanup . . . another epiphany. So I made a decision. Next time, the cake can wait. As the old saying goes, What we behold . . . we become.
Why curtail magical moments with those I love?
Sometimes, I’m the turkey; sometimes, a child, surprised into breathless stillness.
Can we sustain wholehearted readiness to experience God’s love for the quirky? The potentially troublesome? If so, how?
And, in view of current events, how do we embody God’s love for those who are not like us?
Reclaiming Quiet, Sarah Clarkson.
Chalking the Door: “An Epiphany Tradition”
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash
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“celebration that roots us moment by moment in [a] deep watchful quiet that ushers us into the presence of God.”
Just finished journaling this simple phrase before reading your post.
“Moments matter.
Staying.
Still.
Seeing.”
Will now be adding Sarah Clarkson offering.
Once again, Thank You.
Rick, I’m grateful Clarkson’s meaningful quote aligned with your journaling today! How beautiful.
“And, in view of current events, how do we embody God’s love for those who are not like us?”
Laurie, thank you for sharing this delightful post, including this important reflection question. <3 I'm trying to keep this thought active as I go throughout my day.
Dear Bethany, thank you for reflecting on that last question with me. I long for the day this kind of loving might be second nature—but perhaps that will have to wait for life on the other side.
Meanwhile, I love your idea of keeping the thought “active” and hope to hold it close, live into it, little by little,
Living in the moment and not rushing. They grow up so fast… the grandkids I mean. I’ve been there, I’ve done that and missed the wonder of life. We all need to stop and focus on the right now everything else will wait.
Thanks Laurie, lovely
Janice, doesn’t it seem the grands grow evem faster than our kids did? Such an acceleration, priceless moments flying past . . .
I’m so with you on taking a deep breath, readjusting our focus, entering the moments entrusted to us 100% . . .
. . . now to actually do this more often!
New Year’s blessings on you two!
I LOVE the way your family celebrates Epiphany, Laurie! I’m curious about that Star Cake too. / Isn’t it delightful how children help us recapture the wonder of the world around us, including not-so-comely female turkeys?! / I tend to be a Martha also–even after all these years of being a Christ-follower. God is still working one me! Thank you for delighting me and inspiring me with your post, dear friend.
Nancy, I’ve been trying without success today to leave a comment on your latest post!
Computers. grrrr.
Last year we made the traditional, yeasty King’s Cake with a hidden almond—royal pass for a day to the finder. 🙂
Pressed for time this year, I snagged those little crescent rolls in a pop-tube. The kids filled each triangle with a dab of blackberry jam and cream cheese, then created two eight-pointed stars on a cookie sheet. After baking, they iced them and sprinkled on sanding sugar in the traditional purple, gold, green colors.
We Martha/Marys-in-progress . . . the world needs both giftings, yes?
I love your writing Laurie. Do your grands call you Aanie?
Judith, happy new year and belated birthday greetings! Your support is a wonderful gift. today Thank you!
I love YOUR writing and was especially moved by your last Substack piece. I still have it flagged in my inbox—to revisit yet again. It taught me so much. And with such aching candor and kindness, wit and spirit.
To your question, yes, I am Aanie to the kids and grands, in honor of the name given my mom by my sister’s kids. Mom loved her family well. I love carrying the name, continuing the tradition. 🙂
A beautiful picture of the richness of the grands – parent and child – sharing adventures. I was reading other things this morning, and thought of your writings – this is the perfect uplift to my day.
Hi friend. We feel downright rich having family nearby. And what an additional gift to us that they want to play with us!
So grateful, too, to read that a feeling of uplift extended through the telling. Thank you for letting me know!
Ahhhh what a delightful Klein home snapshot and a good reminder…
also, is Aanie your Nana name? That’s the first time I’ve read/that, I’m intrigued.
Jody, thanks for entering the scene! It was a delightful day. And afterward, the hen stayed away. I’m glad we didn’t need to scare her off.
To your question: Yes, I go by Aanie, with the permission of my my nieces and nephews who bestowed the name on my mother. It felt right, and honoring to my mom, to keep the endearment in the family. 🙂