Laurel Elisabeth Stevens

I began Advent with many ideas of how we, as a family, would prepare for Christ’s coming, and some of them we carried through with.  Some of them we didn’t.  It was halfway through week 2 of Advent that I made an Advent wreath and we began lighting candles, but I never did get the traditional purple candles, and I’m finding that white looks rather like Easter.  The stories for the Jesse tree are read about every other day, and thoughts of, “Have I gotten all the right gifts?” too often clutter my mind in unproductive wanderings. There have been surprises though.  In working on the two previous posts I listened to many renditions of anthems, once again immersing myself in the story of the lyrics as well as the beauty of the music.  Elisabeth’s piano playing continues to delight me, and my mom has been playing as well—“What Child is This” and “Lo, How a Rose.”  Henry was in his room singing “O Holy Night” making up words to the parts he didn't know....

A week ago a new nephew entered our family.  His name is Charlie and he came one week early.  Nevertheless, it was a long wait.  After my sister-in-law had been in labor for nearly ten hours, the action pretty much stopped.  My brother texted me: “We’re kind of bored.”  I chuckled, and hoped he didn’t think I was condescending when I texted back, “Sleep now while you can.”  Waiting is hard. About ten years ago John and I were trying to sell a house and buy one in The Woodlands and I was always up and down with the good news-bad news of having a house on the market.  My dear husband tried to lighten my mood by quoting a line from The Simpsons one night: “Now we play the waiting game!” and answering himself with Homer’s line, “Awww, I wanna play Hungry, Hungry Hippos.”  So on a whim one night in a hotel we bought the game and probably caused no little annoyance to our neighbors as we drank glasses of wine and played that crazy noisy game....

Elisabeth has been working on a piano arrangement of O Come, O Come, Emmanuel , a hymn dating back to the 12th or 13th century as a Latin plain chant.  Many renditions hearken back to monks chanting in hallowed halls, “Veni, Veni Emmanuel,” but the Baroque version Elisabeth plays is no less mysterious and wondrous to me.   In my childhood though, I became so familiar with the first verse that I found it quite boring and a bit confusing.  I liked the chorus though, because I got to sing it loud and high.   In high school, our choir director asked us every year to memorize five verses of that hymn for a processional, and every year we failed.  Indeed I felt quite guilty that I could not hold up my end of the assignment.  I don’t recall trying very hard to learn them, but I do recall the dread in my stomach when it became apparent to Mr. Moses that we had failed him again.   Twenty-plus years later I love the story these verses tell--of Israel ens...

It was Christmas Eve.   We sat in semi-darkness in the living room in my grandparents’ house on Hunter’s Run, all of us sitting in chairs and on the soft blue carpet, more or less in a circle: Grandmother, Granddad, Dad, Mom, Tim, Josh, Nathaniel and me.   The only lights were those from the Christmas tree.   We had come from church and our fingers and noses were still chilled from the brisk Pennsylvania air.   The exhilaration of singing carols with a brass ensemble coursed through me, but I was content to be home now, waiting.   I was fourteen, but our tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve and saving the rest until Christmas morning still had me grinning with anticipation.   But before we could do that Dad began talking to us in a thoughtful voice, asking us if we knew the word “incarnation.”  Sure, I knew it.  It was one of those words we tossed about in church.  Salvation, incarnation, revelation . . .I didn’t need to r...

Sometimes people ask if I grew up overseas, since my parents have been living in exotic places off and on for the past eleven years, and I point out regretfully that they started taking all the wonderful overseas assignments after they were empty nesters.  While I think it would have been great to experience Vietnam, Poland and London as an American high schooler, I’m quite pleased and privileged to be able to enjoy these places as an adult with children of my own.   So in July, Elisabeth, Henry and I traveled to London for our second visit.  The first week of our two week trip was spent on the Isle of Wight, along with my parents, my brother Josh and his children Timothy and Charlotte. (Sadly, work obligations kept John in the U.S.) The Isle of Wight is off the southern coast of England, so from London we took a train, then a ferry, a train, and then a taxi.  Shortly after arrival at our country hotel, we enjoyed a cup of tea on the enclosed terrace ov...

This morning on our walk I delighted in the cool, fresh air.  “Oh, it’s so lovely!” I exclaimed to the children and the birds and the dog, thinking that it will soon end.  The days will come when 8 AM is already too hot and humid for a walk. The weather put me in such a good mood that I thought we ought to have some education.  “Kids, remember that verse you are learning in Latin . . .In principio erat Verbum.  Et verbum erat apud Deum . . .” They nodded, squinting in the sun, not looking at me.  “That’s John 1:1.” I told them.  “But do you know it in English?” Immediately Elisabeth began reciting, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” We were rounding the corner and Henry looked up at me and said, “That sounds kind of boring.” What could I do but laugh?  The words that delight and confound grownups simply sound boring to kids.  Maybe he was more interested in “putting on the armor of ...

The chapel at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan is a chapel in the round.  The wooden ceiling shined golden and watched in expectation as the writers and readers and lovers of the Word poured in.  I waited expectantly too, surrounded by goodness and hope.  I saw the poet, Scott Cairns, recognizing him from a book I’d quickly browsed an hour ago.  With his downward eyes and a black binder tightly clutched I imagined that he would not appreciate all of us waiting to hear from him, as though we were interrupting what he really wanted to do--write.  A woman came in and sat beside him, greeting him with a smile and a few chatty words.  A few moments later when Mr. Cairns went up to the podium the woman jumped in surprise as she realized that she had been sitting next to such a man who could command words that delve into the heart.  Mr. Cairns stood and blessed us, calling us to worship in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.  He...

The following are some remembrances from our time in London where my parents have been living for nearly a year.   I wrote this in September towards the end of our month long visit. John was with us for three weeks and by this time was back in the U.S. It's Monday evening.  My parents are at choir practice and the kids are outside playing.  I can't see or hear them because they are in the garden, and my parents' house doesn't have a high enough window that looks out to the garden.  But it's quite a large garden, and they bring a ball and play with some kids from neighboring houses, and I'm  content that the kids have found things to do outside and on their own.  I didn't expect to find that in London. St. Paul's Cathedral as seen from the Tate Modern (You've seen this one in Mary Poppins). We've been here for a month now, with a week away in Hannover visiting friends.  Now as I face our last few days here and the task of returning to rout...