encouragement

Advent 2025 ~ Home

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Week 2 ~ Home

As Winter breathes her cold blessing over us, showering us with snow and ice, the silvery white of it makes the dark night glow and spangles the daylight air with diamonds. As beautiful as that all may be, however, there is something that many may consider even more so: the inside of their warm domicile. As winter settles in and makes herself comfortable, we in turn snuggle deeper into our spaces–our apartments, our houses, our homes.

Is it the warmth alone, though, that makes these spaces home? 

This is a question that I recently posed to my middle-school students, my Heroes as I call them: “What makes a place home for you?” The answers I received were very interesting.

For some, home is simply the place they live, the house or city they currently occupy,  the familiar and everyday.

For others, home is someplace else: a camp or a grandparents’ house where they always have a good time.

For others still, home is no one place. Rather, it is anywhere that they feel loved, accepted, and comfortable. Sometimes that home is a person or group of people with whom they can always feel safe and utterly themselves. No need to be perfect or strong or the life of the party. Home is where they can simply be.

That last type of answer is the one that resonates the most for me. I did not learn until I went to college that home for me is not a place. When I went off to school, I came to the realization that, yes, I missed the people that I love, but, no, I did not really miss the area that I had grown up in. And this is still true. There are things about Indiana that I vastly prefer to my Caribbean beginnings, such as the changing of the seasons (and no hurricanes). But, on the whole, I have come to learn that what makes places feel like home is the people that they hold for me. People who love me and whom I love. People who accept me but challenge me in the same turn. People who welcome me with love and laughter and to be fully myself. People who share and encourage my faith. People recognize that, though I choose kindness and softness, I am not a weak flower. I am a being with light under her skin.

Home is where that light glows warm, safe to blaze bright and brilliant. Home is the presence of those who have helped me find and cultivate that light and my sense of self. And I thank God for that every day. Home is a beauty and peace of feeling, of knowing that, with these souls, I matter, am significant, and belong. 

I hope you find your home this Holiday season and are able to rest in its beauty, comfort, and peace.

Re-starting the Fire

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Last night, my little family had our first cookout and fire of the autumn season. After hot dogs and smores were eaten, Kiddo went inside and left me and their dad to our drinks and apple pie Oreos by the firebowl. As the flames flickered and died down and the sticks within the bowl began to smoke, we just sat in contented conversation. Then, quietly and determinedly, the embers seemed to find fresh kindling, and the sweet orange flames began to lick up again, seemingly out of nowhere. But somewhere in that bowl, something touched an ember and re-started its fire.

I have felt that way over the past 24-36 hours. On Saturday, I ran to the bookstore in the search of a book that had caught my attention online and sounded just too sweet to be true. The cover instantly reminded me of another beloved favorite — Love Kindness by Barry H. Corey. So, successfully, I garnered a copy of, in fact, the sunshiniest book I have seen in a long while — The Incredible Kindness of Paper by Evelyn Skye.

And this book, from the opening page, like that quiet bit of kindling, reignited a fire within me. An old love that never quite went away but has fallen into quieter forms of late. The paper roses with their kindly messages that float throughout this novel reminded me of my own love for the spirit of encouragement. I used to go through life with a packet of pre-written notes in my purse to leave on tables, in books, on lockers, on bathroom mirrors, and coffeeshop counters. I was taught the gift of encouragement at my mother’s knee and gifted new ideas to expand upon it by lovely people like Hannah Brencher (Love Letters to Strangers). It was so wonderful to hear from folks in my little Indiana town that they had found one of my notes at the coffeeshop or the bank and had passed it on to someone else who they thought could use it. That is the entire point! Love is fullest when it is shared, after all.

Reading Evelyn’s beautiful story now, I feel my heart connecting to the FMC’s and her desire to encourage the world, and it has awakened a yearning in me to share love and kindness and encouragement widely again. Therefore, I am now armed with close to 30 notes with messages that I tried my best to follow my heart with. I left two in books at the grocery store already this afternoon, and I am looking ridiculously forward to leaving a few on random lockers around my school when we head back after the holiday weekend.

I want to devour the rest of this book like icy water on a hot day and bask in the refreshment for my spirit. And, at the same time, I want to take it piece by piece and savor the story with all its sunshiny sweetness in a world that so often is less so. Either way, though, I know I shall be blessed in the reading.

Thank you, Evelyn, in advance and, oh, so much! I can already tell that this is about to become one of my favorite stories.

Even in Those Dark and Messy Places

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My favorite children’s book about God is It Will Be Okay by Lysa TerKeurst. I have lost track of how many times I have read (and cried over) this book to my beloved child (and to myself) or how many times I have used its words to reassure them, “It will be okay, Little Seed.”

In the story, a little seed and a little fox become friends, living simple, happy lives in the farmer’s dusty shed and spending every day together. One day, the farmer comes along and takes Little Seed away for planting. He reassures Little Seed, as he presses it into the dirt, that he has a plan for it. Little Fox goes looking for Little Seed, remaining by their friend’s side in that dark and messy place, reminding them that they had not been abandoned. “It will be okay, Little Seed.” The Farmer had a plan.

When things get hard in life now, I often find myself repeating those lovely reassurances:

“It will be okay, Little Seed.”

“The Farmer is good and the Farmer is kind and He is always watching over us, even when we don’t know it.”

When my dear young Hero is frustrated with friend-drama at school: “It will be okay, Little Seed.”

When I am exhausted from life, I gently remind myself that “the Father is good and the Father is kind”.

It will be okay.

It may not be okay right now. This moment may be painful or heavy. But it will be okay. You have not been abandoned, and “Ugh” is still a prayer (Coffee with Jesus).

Luke 6:21b says, “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

Matthew 5:4 likewise assures us, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

In His goodness and kindness, God has placed people in your life who will be that help, that comfort, that watching over. People who will also hear your “Ugh!” prayer and surround you with their love and support in those dark and messy moments. They are there, I promise.

You are not alone.

You have not been abandoned.

It will be okay.

A Blessing for the End of a First Week

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As this first week draws to a close…

May you collapse into the knowledge that you made it. May you rest in the realization that you did, and you can, do this. May you find comfort in the confession that you are glad it’s Friday. May you pass into the peace that, yes, you have definitely got this. Maybe not completely. Maybe not perfectly. But, yes, you’ve got this.

May your weekend rest be blest.

Joys in a Little Jar

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Last year for Mother’s Day, my darling kiddo made a gift for me in their class at school. They made a “jar of love”. Inside this little plastic jar are notes full of love and care from my child. I adore and treasure this little gift, in part because it reminds me of the notes that my own mother would give me as a kid and teenager. She would write them on calenders, in devotionals, on lunch notes, and daily prayer cards so I could always have them with me. Always have a reminder that she loves me deeply and dearly.

A few mornings ago, the little jar on my desk caught my eye, and I reached for it. I could use some love this morning, I felt. So I reached in and drew out one of the lovingly written-on scraps of paper and smiled as I opened it. It was doing its work even before I read it. I love this jar; I love the written evidence of love.

My husband endeavors to find meaningful, beautiful cards for me on special days or occasions. I love him for his effort in agonizing over “just the right one”.

My heart flutters excitedly when I get letters in the mail because I love seeing people’s souls in their handwriting.

Writing takes effort and effort translates into love for me. Even signing your own name with a pen these days takes extra effort in this digital society. I don’t care what your handwriting looks like (I teach grade school, don’t forget). The fact that you sat down and put pen to paper for me means more than can adequately express. It’s your mind and soul living on paper. Shimmering in glittery gel ink, swirling dramatically in chromatic fountain pigments, or calmly sitting in rounded ballpoint — your words live there, you are there, speaking to me from the page.

This little jar holds joy beyond compare for me, not only in the loving notes it holds but in the reminder of so many other notes, letters, and cards that have preceded them. Writings that have made my life full and memorable and made me feel remembered, seen, and loved.

The Edges of Mercy

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We often define mercy as giving someone better than they deserve. Dr. Barry H. Corey of Biola University wrote in his book Loving Kindness about having a “firm core with soft edges”. Edges that are givable, shapeable if mercy is needed, but that surround a solid, strong core of love and integrity. That is what teaching feels like at times, honestly: needing to have a solid core with soft edges.

When a student makes a poor judgement call, I have a choice about which edge I show that student: a sharp one or a soft one. At my core, I’m going to do what is best for my student, but how will I get them there? I can lambaste them for their poor decision and cut them to the quick with that sharp edge, filling the cut with shame. Or I can address their choice more softly, laying out the facts before them and the reality of their poor choice in a way that makes sense. I can let them see it how I and others see it, what it tells us about their core, and can hold them accountable in a way that hopefully helps to solidify and strengthen that core.

This is mercy. The chance to understand, learn, and try again–do better. Yes, mercy can be squandered, the chance refused, or the lesson ignored. But that choice is not my responsibility. My responsibility is to offer the mercy.

Mercy is challenging. Mercy is hard. Particularly, when the other person’s choice or action angers or hurts mercy. Mercy is often so hard because it involves us thinking about what will benefit the core of the other person, what will help them be better while still holding them accountable. That can be a difficult line to walk.

However, we are called by God to do justice and love mercy. Having a solid core with soft edges is where our merciful strength comes into play. I am hoping and praying that, as I continue into this year, I continue to solidify my core and soften my edges. The world we live in makes it so easy for edges to harden and sharpen, just to be able to survive in an environment that has become very harsh. As Vonnegut admonished: “Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard.” Let’s love mercy and hold our firm core with soft edges so that we may welcome others in gently and help them strengthen their cores, too.

In Those Dark and Messy Places

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My favorite children’s book about God is It Will Be Okay by Lysa TerKeurst. I have lost track of how many times I have read (and cried over) this book to my beloved child (and to myself) or how many times I have used its words to reassure them, “It will be okay, Little Seed.”

In the story, a little seed and a little fox become friends, living simple, happy lives in the farmer’s dusty shed and spending every day together. One day, the farmer comes along and takes Little Seed away for planting. He reassures the seed, as he presses it into the dirt, that he has a plan for it. Little Fox goes looking for Little Seed, remaining by their friend’s side in that dark and messy place, reminding them that they had not been abandoned. “It will be okay, Little Seed.” The Farmer had a plan.

When things get hard in life now, I often find myself repeating those lovely reassurances:

“It will be okay, Little Seed.”

“The Farmer is good and the Farmer is kind and He is always watching over us, even when we don’t know it.”

When my dear little Hero is frustrated with friend-drama at school: “It will be okay, Little Seed.”

When I am exhausted from life, I gently remind myself that “the Father is good and the Father is kind”.

It will be okay.

It may not be okay right now. This moment may be painful or heavy. But it will be okay. You have not been abandoned, and “Ugh” is still a prayer (Coffee with Jesus).

Luke 6:21b says, “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

Matthew 5:4 likewise assures us, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

In His goodness and kindness, God has placed people in your life who will be that help, that comfort, that watching over. People who will also hear your “Ugh!” prayer and surround you with their love and support in those dark and messy moments. They are there, I promise.

You are not alone.

You have not been abandoned.

It will be okay.

A Letter to Becky Chambers

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Dear Ms. Chambers,

I do not know if I will ever find the words to adequately thank you. Even now they twist and twirl around my fingers, dancing around the keyboard, all too eager to have their say. But I will try to start with the most important ones.

Thank you! Thank you for Sibling Dex and Mosscap! I have not felt as seen as I did peering into Dex’s tender, aching soul. And I don’t mean tender as in “delicate” but as in sensitive from way too much chafing/bruising/strain. I know their struggle with their purpose versus their talent, for it is my very own. I am hip-deep in it, wrestling to figure out my steps between what I am good at and what I want to do with my life.

There were many moments in A Psalm for the Wild-Built and A Prayer for the Crown-Shy when I would read a paragraph or even single line and then have to put your lovely books down to just cry. You put words and honest yearning to a question that I have held in the depths of myself for years, fearing all it would be was misunderstood if I voiced it. Seeing that yearning and struggle embodied in Dex pierced my heart and I felt so known. This was also true when you wrote about the necessity of comfort and rest. I am a teacher. My exhaustion feels constant and bone-deep, as I am not often one to extend the gift of rest to myself. But your kind yet honest words wrung tears from me at that reassuring reprimand that without comfort and rest we cannot be successful physically (constructs) or mentally (unraveling mysteries).

For the past few months, I have held your little books close, thumbing through pages I have marked for those dear words, gentle reminders, and the kind touches of the characters. The moments of honest and encouragement between Dex and Mosscap stay with me, how they hold space for and often hold each other without ever touching. How you have held me as a friend without ever knowing who I am.

Thank you for the smiles, the tears, the laughs, and the tender touches you’ve lain upon my heart and soul through this books, Ms. Chambers. I cannot express my gratitude enough. I cannot wait for the next installment and, in the between time, I will undoubtedly return to your sweet stories to be encouraged and strengthened.

Blessings on you,

Melissa Snyder

When Advent Doesn’t Go As Expected

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This year marked a break in what had become a much-enjoyed activity. Let’s just say that things have not gone to plan this Advent. Work, life, and mental health intervened and overall weariness has lain me out of late. So, in short, I have not written anything past week 1 of Advent. That is not what I had planned. Advent writings have been such a balm for me these past two Christmases. They have been a light amidst all the rush and fuss and struggle, and it makes me rather sad that I just could not make it happen this year. Along with that, I haven’t planned any holiday activities for the family — no lights viewings, no Christkindlmarkt before the big day, nothing like that. I just have not had the wherewithal for anything like that, and that honestly makes part of my Christmas-loving heart very downcast and disappointed.

Here we are…less than a week away from Christmas…and I am deeply battling the sense of not-enough. Fighting the feeling that I am not doing enough, haven’t bought enough, haven’t decorated or celebrated enough. This feeling also wars with trying to ensure that needs are met as well as desires. In the midst of all this, I am doing my best to remind myself and others that what we are doing/have done is enough. What I am doing/have done is enough. A manger was enough for the dear babe who Himself was enough for Mary and Joseph, though I can guarantee that Advent did not go as planned for them either.

So, Dear Ones, if this Advent has not been what you expected or hoped, allow me to speak truth to your tender heart. It is enough. What you are doing is enough. You are enough. As we move towards the end of Advent and the beginning of Christmas, remember and hold close that a simple, faithful teenage girl was enough. A good Godly man was enough. A manger in a stable was enough. And you, Dear Heart, are enough. You are enough for Christmas.

~

‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!’ 

Christmas Day is in our grasp, as long as we have hands to clasp! Christmas Day will always be, just as long, as we have we! Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart, and hand in hand!”

~ Dr. Seuss

Everlasting Words

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This morning, I sat on my front porch in an unseasonably cool breeze and set myself to the task of continuing to read through books for our new curriculum adoption. One of said books is Jacqueline Woodson’s memoir-in-verse Brown Girl Dreaming. As I read her fluidly-beautiful narrative set in chronological poems, two in particular stood out to me: “The Beginning” and “Composition Notebook”. These chapters capture so beautifully exactly how I feel about words and writing. I do not recall the first notebook I received but I have a feeling that my reaction was much like hers, coupled with the desire to start writing right now!

My daughter has recently begun writing her first independent narrative story, appropriately a fan-fiction piece about one of her favorite cartoon shows. I cannot express my joy at watching her get excited to put her ideas down in writing. It is simply amazing to see her “creating art with words” as she put it today.

I have been writing for approximately 33 years — stories, poems, song lyrics, speeches, essays, and articles — and I hold it as one of my greatest talents and delights in life. Lately, however, writing has felt incredibly difficult. Not the words themselves, truly, but, as Rachel Macy Stafford so succinctly stated the other day, “it’s hard to publish words in the world right now”. I want to write to help and heal, to be authentic and open, to welcome those who might need something deeper in a world full of quick quips that lodge in our brains and hearts like darts. But I am unsure of how to do so or what to say when I am struggling so deeply with feeling existentially exhausted myself.

I am trying but so often feel as though my trying isn’t enough. These chapters of Woodson’s book, however, feel like a tug on my heart, reminding me of what I love (to write) and why I love to do it (because it might mean something, somewhere, to someone). I want to embrace the infinity of words, “how wonderfully on and on they go” (62). Even if it is not perfect (or what I think is perfect), even if it feels too open, too honest, it might be just what some other soul needs in that moment. If only I am but brave enough to set that offering of words down to be what it will be.

So today I share these words that gave life to me today with you, dear ones.