I thought I would write this blog post yesterday.  You see, I was trapped at home all day yesterday.  Our truck was in the garage so Larry drove the jeep to work which meant I was stuck at home.

And if you read the words "trapped" and "stuck" as good things, you know me well.  I was delighted to have the ability to go nowhere.

This is the week of Christmas.  Which means I'm making a lot of food.  So I cooked and baked and watched Downton Abbey.

My family, we've got this tradition of having an untraditional Christmas dinner.  In the past we've done fried food, breakfast food, appetizers, Italian, cheeseburgers.  This year our theme is soft pretzels.  The above pictures are the making of soft pretzel bread bowls and bacon chowder.  Yeah, you heard that right: bacon chowder.  Oh.My.Goodness.

Here are the recipes.  If you make them you won't be sorry.  Also, I'm sorry.  For the bacon chowder recipe.  It's scribbly and written on the back of a bank envelope.  Cuz I made it up and that is how I roll.

I also made soft pretzel hot dogs.  Mmmm.

And then death by chocolate Christmas trees for Cole's Christmas party at school.

And then we had leftover candy.  So we made these.

One more photo on the subject of food.

So it was a productive day but no blogging happened.  But the idea behind this blog started on Sunday morning.

If you follow me on Instagram (madefromscratchwithlove) you saw this picture on Sunday morning.

Sunrises and silhouettes.  There is just something about the breaking of a new day.  And the outline of familiar objects still darkened, waiting for the light to fully shine.  I can't put my finger on it or find the right words but it makes me grateful to be alive to witness the beauty.

So that is how my day started along with a pint and a half of coffee and two homemade peanut butter cups for breakfast.  I was feeling pretty dang good by the time we got to church.  Social even.  I know, I know, gasp!

We walked into the sanctuary and right away I noticed the risers.  One son did too.  "Oh, are they gonna sing?" he says.

"I think so," I say.

"I don't like that," he says.

And here's the part where I want to be delicate and I don't want to lose or offend.  I don't like it either.  I know that some of you who were singing in the choir on Sunday will be reading this.  Please keep reading and please don't be offended.  It's nothing personal.

I just don't like when the choir sings.  

I could feel my bad attitude taking over.  As the choir opened their mouths, I opened my bulletin.  I was reading and not listening.  Reading the prayer page.

I read about a young couple, she on bed rest, trying to keep her baby in the womb because it's too early, he needing shoulder surgery but having it postponed because of the current situation with his wife and unborn child.

I read about a woman recovering from an acute ear infection whose equilibrium is off.  This same woman who has been trying to help her daughter whose husband had a stroke.

I read about another young couple whose infant daughter is still in the hospital because she needs a bone marrow transplant.

I read about a family who had laid their father/grandfather to rest last week.  Just before Christmas.

And then I heard what the choir was singing.

"Praise his name, Emmanuel."

And the tears came.  I'm choking more back right now.

Praise his name.  God with us.  In the darkness.  In the pain.  In the struggle.  In the uncertainty.

Christmas is for the broken.  

When you look past the tinsel and the holly and the lights and the cookies and the ugly sweater parties, Christmas is for the broken.

If there had been no darkness or pain or struggle or uncertainty we wouldn't have a need for Jesus.  And the story surrounding his birth had all of those elements; darkness, pain, struggle, uncertainty.

He knows.

I don't know where you are right now, how you are feeling, what you are thinking.  What I do know is this:  Jesus isn't afraid of your real prayers.  He's not afraid of the mess.  He's not afraid of your questions.  The greatest gift you can give this season is to come to Jesus with your realest you.  He can handle it.  Trust him.

"For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

Normally when I sit down to blog I have some phrases and/or sentences already stored in my mind.  But not today.

What I have is a vague idea.  Something that I've often thought of but never really took any farther than a simple thought.

I am the only person who knows all the people that I know and you are the only person who knows all the people that you know.

It's kind of a weird thought.  But think about it.  Nobody else on earth knows every single person that I know.  Larry knows a lot of the people who I know.  But not all of them.  Not the ones I went to elementary school with.  Not the ones I went to church with before I met Larry.  Not the ones I know from random weird connections.  And I don't know everyone he knows.

Just think about it.

I helped to cater a local church board's Christmas dinner tonight.  I wore my I-might-have-to-talk-to-strangers-hat. 

After we were finished serving I was hiding cleaning up in the back room.  But I could hear what the pastor was saying.  He touched on a verse in Acts.  A verse I'd heard before but that stilled me anew tonight.

"When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus." ~Acts 4:13

Two things grabbed my attention.

#1: "...they were unschooled, ordinary men..."

It's no secret that I find great delight in the ordinary.  I've blogged before about how the shepherds are my favorite characters in the Christmas story simply because they are so ordinary.

"And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night."

It always makes me smile.  

Envisioning the shepherds.   

Cloaks, long beards, staffs.

It always makes me still with wonder.

Envisioning the night sky.

Diamonds glittering against black.

It's a peaceful scene that I see.  And then.

"An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified."

No kidding.  I imagine they might have looked a little like this:

Eyebrows raised.  Mouth agape.  Body tilted sideways (or "sidewards" as Jake likes to say). 

Can you even imagine?  The Lord of heaven and earth chose to have his birth announcement go first to unschooled, ordinary men.

Fast forward to Acts.  Jesus chose to have his gospel, his kingdom, furthered thru unschooled, ordinary men.  Men who had more knowledge of fish guts than people.

Just, wow.

#2:  "...and they took note that these men had been with Jesus."

Herein lies the secret of being memorable.  The rulers, elders, and teachers of the law recognized that Peter and John were just ordinary guys.  But what made them courageous, what made them stand out, what made them different was that they had been with Jesus.

Which brings me around to my first thought.  I am the only person who knows every single person I know.  You are the only person who knows every single person you know.  Your sphere of influence is different than mine.  We most likely know some of the same people and so our spheres overlap a bit.  But here is the question:  do the people in my sphere take note that I have been with Jesus?

Am I making time to spend with Emmanuel so that my brand of ordinary becomes noticeable, memorable?  I confess that I don't always.

It's 11 days until Christmas.  My prayer for you, for me, is that we influence our spheres well.