Another year is drawing to a close, and with it, comes my favourite reads from 2017! So without further ado, I give you a list of my top ten favourites (and I’ll even throw in a few honourable mentions too.)
In no particular order, my 2017 Favourite Reads are:
We are so excited to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and present to you, this years annual Christmas video!
We get so many questions as to how these videos started, and truthfully, it’s mostly due to our misguided understanding of Christmas cards. For some reason, when we started this in 2014, we thought that it would be easier to make a video than to collect addresses and mail handwritten letters and cards. I’m not sure what we were thinking… but I’m glad that we decided to do it!
These Christmas videos are a lot of fun to film and a lot of fun to share. We hope that you enjoy our silly family tradition as much as we do. 
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This time last year I was waiting on a miscarriage.
Nine weeks pregnant, I arrived at the ultrasound with a baby bean in my belly and a heart full of anticipation. And then, with a few fated words, the dreams that I had carried so close to my heart began to crumble once more.
“Maybe you’re not as far along as you thought…”
The ultrasound technician quietly snuck out to consult a doctor and I was left alone. Music floated softly through the room, and lyrics to the song, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” assaulted my ears and ground against my wounded heart. Wrapped in a cheap, blue gown, I listened and I wept. It felt far from wonderful.
The doctor’s results were inconclusive and I was told to wait it out. For two weeks, I wrapped gifts and hung lights and attended holiday parties. With anxiety and secrets tucked behind an ugly Christmas sweater and a holiday smile, I waited to see if the baby would grow.
But mostly, I just waited to miscarry.
Saffron buns (called Lussekatter) are a favourite Christmastime treat for Swedes. Light, fluffy, and full of saffron infused goodness, these buns are traditionally enjoyed on December 13, St. Lucia Day.
St. Lucia Day is an advent celebration that takes places in Sweden and Norway. Honouring St. Lucia, who was martyred for her faith, girls chosen to play Lucia are dressed in flowing white robes with a red sash and crown of candles. Boys may celebrate by dressing up as “Stjärngossar” or “star boys.” (Take a look at last year’s Christmas video to see what this looks like!) Saffron buns are a major part of the days festivities and are often served for breakfast by the children.
When my husband’s family first introduced me to these buns a few years back, I wasn’t sure how I felt about them. Saffron is a flavour entirely foreign to me (I don’t usually cook with spices that cost more than gold!) But the treat’s unique flavour quickly grew on me.
This year, I decided to treat my husband to a batch of freshly made lussekatter. Given that I am not a baker and did not grow up making these buns, I wanted to find a simple recipe with a non-overwhelming taste.
“This is your son.”
The orderly rolled my bed into the hospital’s NICU and I groggily stared over at the tiny bird-like creature lying in an incubator. His three and a half pounds was composed solely of skin and bones. The ventilator was breathing for him, his tiny body dotted with tubes and wires–and I looked at him and wondered, “Are you really mine?”
I’d gone from pregnant to not pregnant in what felt like mere minutes, and I was struggling to wrap my head around the sudden change.
Calico skirts nestled amongst whistling prairie grasses. The warm glow of a snowy lamp post beckoning from a forest of fur coats. Red sand dunes, sweet cherry cordial, and bosom buddies. These are the memories of my childhood: countless hours cozied up under blankets, the scent of ink and paper tickling nostrils, and imagination soaring within the boundless scope of an author’s world.
The books may change as we grow older but the love doesn’t.
So for 2018, I have created a reading challenge: 52 books in 52 weeks. Fifty-two weeks of diverse genres and new reads. And I challenge YOU, my lovely readers, to participate along with me.
If you’ve spent any time with me, you’ll know that I can fill endless hours with a good book. If a book is well written, I can immerse myself in almost any genre of writing and be completely satisfied. But if I’m being particularly truthful, there are genres that I don’t usually find myself drawn towards — and this is one of them.
Fiercehearted is written by Holley Gerth, a bestselling author, counselor, and life coach.
And I think if we’re being completely honest, the title “life coach” is why I tend to avoid books like this. It sets off too many alarms within my brain. I gear myself for books that are entirely “me-centric” rather than Christ-centric — a path I just don’t want to entertain. And I think that’s why I found myself so pleasantly surprised by Gerth’s book. Woven throughout each chapter is the call to embrace life as one who has been intricately designed by the Creator, and to live life fuller for Him.
Sometimes I wonder if we’ve missed out on a key aspect of motherhood.
You know, the part where we’re supposed to do it together?
For far too long, the words “mommy” and “wars” have perched contentedly side by side. Try as we might to peel and split these two incongruous words apart, our fingers are left bloodied and scraped by the effort. And it seems as if social media has only accentuated these differences. Scrolling through newsfeeds, it doesn’t take long to find parenting articles and opinion pieces written by women who are “doing motherhood wrong.” (Or at least, that’s what the sludge of negative comments seem to indicate???)
We bash new moms for using disposable diapers, telling them that they’re going to kill the environment. And then we turn around and give visible eye rolls to the pregnant woman who tells us she’s going to try cloth diapers. “Good luck,” we whisper sarcastically behind her back.
I can’t remember the last time I got a manicure.
The days of sitting in a comfy spa chair for an hour and emerging with perfectly painted and dried nails is just a luxury I just don’t have time for anymore. I can no longer justify spending $60 on nails that last a week. And while I may paint my toes myself, I never do my fingers anymore. My hands always end up looking like I murdered some sort of purple cat, and what paint does land on my nails starts chipping within two days.
So when my sister bought me a set of Jamberry Nail Wraps for Christmas last year, I was eager to try them.
Last year my son wanted to be a thermometer for Halloween.
Yep, you read that correctly: a thermometer.
He was two-years-old and wanted his Halloween costume to be the most difficult word in his (admittedly limited) vocabulary. My dreams for easy, store-bought costumes quickly evaporated into a haze of pipe cleaners, felt, and the ragged stitches of a woman who never took Home Ec.
Fast forward to September of this year, and I tentatively ask my son what he wants to be for Halloween. I’m hoping for something more like Spider Man and less like “a portable TV” (his suggestion for my husband) or “a rolling pin” (his suggestion for our house).
I breathe out a sigh of relief when he says, “I want to be an apple tree!”
Apple tree. Phew. I can do that.
Hey everyone!
I just wanted to write a quick little note and thank you all for hanging out with me this past month as we’ve talked about grief and pregnancy loss. (If you’ve been following along on my blog and on Facebook, you know that this is a topic we’ve covered extensively this month!) I’ve really appreciated you sharing your hearts and your stories with me. October may be Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month, but families grieve all year round, and so I especially want to thank all of you who have chosen to intentionally stand alongside those who mourn.
It’s not easy to talk about grief. We don’t like to think about pain and death, and we prefer to tuck these not-so-palatable topics away out of sight. Often times we associate grief with weakness or depression (two other words that make people very uncomfortable!) But it’s important to know that we all experience grief at different points in our lives – and if we haven’t yet, we will.
Ebba was my Valentine’s Day surprise: two little pink lines on a day already chalk full of love. She burst her way into our lives in a dazzling cloud of flower petals and sugar cookie hearts; our lives intertwined together in the most pleasant of surprises.
But our love for Ebba grew faster and stronger than she did, and four weeks later, we heard the words that chipped away at our already cracked and wearied hearts. “There’s no heartbeat.” We sat in a crowded hospital waiting room with the words “fetal demise” echoing around our heads, and quietly absorbed the inevitability of another loss. Ebba was our third miscarriage and the fourth time that we’d said good-bye to a baby. While I had hoped for a different outcome, while I had prayed and cried out to God for healing, I’d known from the start what the bleeding had meant.
