Shannon S. McKee

musings and moments

The Gratitude Tree: Our November Tradition

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As I write, the reds and golds of Autumn are just barely holding out. The trees are releasing the last of the most vibrant leaves. They float to the ground, their fading colors blanketing the earth.

But there is one lonely tree that has only just begun to show its colors. This month, her buds will open and the colors will begin a most vibrant month-long display. By November’s end she will be the most beautiful of all trees.

Her branches ablaze with color. Her “leaves” pouring forth praises to the One who brings her branches to their own kind of life.

We call her the Gratitude Tree.

She’s part of the reason I don’t decorate for Christmas at all until the day after Thanksgiving. I need these weeks to linger over Autumn with gratitude. To join with nature in preparing my heart and home for winter. To me, there is something sacred about this waiting after the hubbub of Halloween and its distractions.

I approach it with intentionality and its own kind of purpose. I light candles more often. I revisit some of my daily rhythms. And I count gratitude. I add a new “leaf” to the tree each day. The rest of the family adds as they feel moved and guests in our home often participate too. It’s a tradition we started somewhere around 2010. To be honest, some years have been more successful than others (I’m not always the stellar on follow-thru as some of you may know).

In her book, One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp captures the spirit of my November hopes well. She says, “Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing…. Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.”

August, September, and October are usually busy months. November is my forced pause. Not just a pause for the pause-sake. But for the express purpose of focusing on gratitude. To slow my roll and notice all the little things in front of me. Ann goes on to say, “Gratitude for the seemingly insignificant—a seed—this plants the giant miracle.”

Some years I continue the practice in a journal even after we take the tree down. I know my propensity to rush and miss things. To focus only on the hard things. To try to dull my ache by keeping my head down and pressing on. Counting gratitude helps me halt some of those joy-crushing tendencies during the other months too.

In many ways, our November tradition seems more important this year than ever. The roots of the Gratitude Tree reach deep into the fabric of our family. Her leaves are the simple testimonies of grace upon grace. Reminders of all the good gifts that we have received this year – even in a year like 2020.

These weeks are a thanksgiving. They prepare us for the Thanksgiving.

 

(In this age of comparison and picture perfect social media and hyper-tribalism, I feel I must add a disclaimer. I just want to say that I don’t think you’re a horrible person if you decorate for Christmas on November 1. This is simply what I do to combat the noise, take a pause, and make the most of my November. I share it to encourage you and to give you a peek into a tradition that has become meaningful for me. Nothing more, nothing less.) 

When Quarantine Brings You Back to Table Life

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One of the things that has given me pause for thanksgiving during this season of the COVID-19 quarantine is a return to family meals.

We used to observe regular family meals here in the McKee household. For most of the elementary years, it was an assumed staple of our homelife. I cooked homemade meals most nights. On the nights that didn’t happen, we had leftovers. Occasionally we ate out or ordered pizza. At some point in there, Rick instituted a weekly ritual called Chef Rick Night. At first it was Mac N Cheese but eventually he started trying his hand at new, made-from-scratch recipes and now he has a rotation that the kids love. But, the main point is that in all of these scenarios, we sat down to eat. Together. Most nights of the week.

I grew up with a strong table life and my mom was quite confident in the kitchen. She passed that value (and its accompanying skills) on to me and it’s just something that has always been part of my homemaking. I really like to create an experience of joy and warmth at the table, often adding extra touches or lighting a candle or playing soft music in the background. This was our norm for a lot of years. (Please don’t let that put you under the pile if that’s NOT your thing. That’s not what this about. You probably have another thing that you do well that I don’t. It’s just that this is my thing.)

It was like that in our home for a lot of years. UNTIL… the kids hit the tween and teen years. Their evenings started to fill up with activity. Which coincided with a period of time in my own heart and life that was not a time of thriving. (I’ll just leave that there.) Needless to say, I stopped really fighting for table life and family meals. I didn’t invite people over as much and I wasn’t being very intentional to bring the McKee Four to the table at the same time. Family meals were happening once or twice a week a week. Maybe?

I could blame that on their schedules. Or our schedules. I could blame it on the drain of the teenage years and the accompanying tension that was sometimes at our table. I could blame it on the demands of launching a new, rapidly growing church. I could blame it on the changes to my home-work balance and schedule. I could blame it on just being sort of bored with the daily grind of cooking.

All of those are legit realities. It was really a mix of all of them. But, the bottom line is that I stopped fighting for that time. I stopped making it a priority and pushing us toward it. Both inwardly as a family and outwardly by inviting others to come into that space with us. It just sort of fell by the wayside, part of the carnage of our modern, busy lifestyle.

In recent months, some of that desire has been rekindled. We’ve been having people over for soup and bread on Sunday nights. I have been returning to planning and creating in the kitchen. I’ve been more motivated to care for my little family in that way. Most importantly, I’ve been reminded that it’s good – not just for our bodies but for our souls as well.

But even with my rekindled desire, there was still the pesky issue of our schedules. How do you stop that train once it is barreling down the tracks? Answer: a pandemic.

Hopefully that’s not what it will always take to get things turned around!! But, sometimes we need a do-over and it takes something big to get us there. I have to admit that we’ve been at the table together a lot more during this difficult season. And for that, I’m thankful.

Joanne Thompson’s book, Table Life, speaks much of what is in my heart regarding this return to the table. Things I have long held to be true. Sadly, I just haven’t practiced them as much in recent years. This season has reminded how much I do really love the Table Life aspect of community and nourishment.

In her chapter, Called to Table Life, Joanne says it this way:

Once upon many meals, Jesus – the strong man on a mission to redeem the world – took time to eat dinner. Imagine the satisfied grin on his suntanned face as he ate crispy fried fish and plump pomegranate seeds. Christ lived table life not on a television stage, but in Judean homes. Jesus needed  food, but his lifestyle also demonstrated a passionate preference for the table as an expression of the kingdom. His practice of eating meals with others in their homes was an answer to the prayer he taught his disciples, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Over meals, he connected with family, strangers, skeptics, and friends. Across the table, hearts made for relationship came alive.

My heart leaps at that line: across the table, hearts made for relationship came alive! We’ve been experiencing a bit of that in this crazy first half of 2020. And as I look to count gratitude in the midst of this challenging “Shelter In Place” season, that is one of things I’ve added to my list.

What about you? How has God used this time to rekindle one of your passions or personal disciplines?

Pausing to Consider the Rich and Varied Faces of Mother’s Day

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As we head into a weekend that might be a mixture of emotions for you, I want to offer this reminder that you are seen and loved. God knows… 

Maybe Mother’s Day makes you sad because you’re mourning a mom who has died. 

Maybe Mother’s Day is hard for you because you’d like to have kids but you don’t (for all kinds of reasons and situations that I can’t even begin to name here in this small space). 

Maybe it’s a day of ache because your womb has known both life and loss and you miss those babes you barely knew. 

Maybe it’s a day filled with pain because your relationship with your own mom is strained. Maybe your mom just did a really horrible job of momming. 

Maybe it’s a day of pulling back in discouragement because your adult children have walked away or shut you out. 

Maybe Mother’s Day if filled with regret because you chose abortion and this day serves as a painful reminder.

Maybe you feel guilty because you do have kids but they’re driving you nuts in this season and you’re tapped out. But you feel like you shouldn’t be.

Maybe you come into Mother’s Day scared because you are swollen up huge and ready to burst with a new life but you’re overwhelmed or alone or feeling inadequate. 

Maybe you’re full of “what ifs” because you’re a mom who only held her baby for a moment before giving her as a gift to know another as mom. And sometimes you wonder about her. 

Of course, it’s also a day full of joy and honor for so many. Many of whom might celebrate today but have been somewhere on this list too. 

I love that our Jesus can acknowledge both. That rejoicing at motherhood doesn’t mean excluding those who haven’t experienced it or are saddened by it. No. It’s not all or nothing. Instead, we rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn. We enter in with one another because His grace is sufficient for all of it. For every sigh of contented delight AND for every tear cried in an empty rocker. 

We trust that He sees. He knows. He has taken on flesh and entered into it with us. That He is the Sovereign Lord in both the mourning and the rejoicing. And that He is always making all things new. 

“Oh El Roi… in Genesis we find you there as the God Who Sees. We are so thankful that you see us – just like you saw both Hagar and Sarah. One in her pain and desperation. The other in her moment of incredulous laughter. Thank you for meeting us both in that place of plenty and in the parched wilderness. 

We offer both to you, trusting in your loving kindness. Here in open hands we give you both our broken dreams and our most precious mom moments.

Help us to see with your eyes. To be conduits of your grace and mercy in other women’s stories. 

I’m so glad you made me a woman! I know I am part of a beautiful sisterhood and that we reflect your image as life givers. Thank you for creating us girls with the unique capacity to nurture life – whether we ever bear children or not.” 

Happy Mother’s Day, life givers. Your story is precious, and you are all breathtakingly beautiful in your design.

On the Occasion of Her 95th Birthday: Grammy and Her Giggles

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My Grammy turns 95 today. This precious woman of strength and dignity with a giggle that lights up the entire room. I think most of her grandkids would say it’s one of their favorite sounds.

Ninety-five years has certainly brought a lot of giggles but also a lot of heartbreak. A WW2 nurse, she was abandoned by her first husband to raise four kids alone just when life should have been settling into a predictable groove. One of three from an Irish Catholic family, Grammy was resourceful and independent enough to persevere during those years of mothering alone while working full-time as a nurse until she met my Grandad, who carried his own heartbreak as a widower with three boys. He was the one who introduced her to Jesus – not the Jesus of dos and donts and works that she had learned as a girl. But the Jesus who loved her and pursued her and would meet all the awe of a holy God with His own righteousness on her behalf. She gave into the overwhelming flood of His grace then and has spent the rest of her life unlearning old legalisms in order to really KNOW Him more fully.

When she married my Grandad, they become one family of nine in the big, brick house on Longmere. Somehow they managed to let God take their two torn and broken stories and weave them into one beautiful tapestry. There would be more heartbreak and challenge over the years. But their tapestry would become richer and more intricate over time as they learned to truly love each other and wrangle their growing family. Seven children meant lots of grandkids and great-grandkids to love.

That’s my place in the tapestry. Grandkid #3. I spent a lot of Saturdays in their home exploring and doing projects with Grammy or yapping on and on at Grandad. They were the kind of grandparents who tried to make it to our ballgames and took us for homemade ice cream for no reason. They have always presided over our big family gatherings – we had many over the years. In my adult years I have been privileged to live near them again and see them often.

Today, they always have Milano cookies in the kitchen. Back in the day, they had a knobby rug at the top of their basement steps, apple juice in the frig, and sunflower seeds in the cupboard.

Grammy wrote the best letters when you went away to camp or on a missions trip – or moved away. And, she was always taking care of someone – more people have lived in that basement of theirs than I can count. When any of her children or grandchildren suffered, she suffered along with them emotionally and prayerfully. And, then there was Carmella whom she nursed through years until muscular dystrophy took her life.

It’s funny the things that standout as vivid memories. Snapshots in time that will always stick with me. Of course, I remember other silly things like that she used to be able to make the Donald Duck voice. Or that she could fearlessly kill a Banana Spider between her thumb and pointer finger. Oh, and, I am her Padawan in the ways of the binder clip – that woman could write a book about the many, varied uses of binder clips. Her ability to find a way to reuse or fix something is unrivaled – probably a skill honed during her single mom days. Grandad was always the spender. She tells me that her own Dad was a very frugal guy and that’s where she learned it. But through it all – she has always giggled as she observed the idiosyncrasies of life. Always that giggle. Like she is just truly tickled by the joys of this life.

Her body is starting to fail her and it’s tough for her to get out of the house now. But her eyes are bright and that giggle… it’s not contained to one house. It has a way of sticking with you around town.

In fact, I’m hoping to go get a bit of it later today myself. Happy Birthday Grammy! I know in some ways you’re ready to go meet your Lord face to face. But, I for one, am glad to have the giggle with us a bit longer.