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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.

Lingering in the Lazy

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My Spring Break has come to an end, and I was sad to see it go, but it was a lovely nine days. Long and deliciously lazy. I largely spent the days bundled up in a blanket on the couch, my purring cat in my lap, and a book in my hands.

However, what I enjoyed the most about Spring Break was the absolute lack of any guilt at doing absolutely nothing. I enjoyed it so very much and felt no guilt whatsoever at taking time for rest. In fact, the whole family did. We were all in deep need of a break, and so I believe our Spring Break was spent in the best possible way: in a sweetly lazy, lingering week. Late wake-ups and hurkle-durkling (look it up; you’ll like it), slow mornings, and no compulsion to go anywhere just to “get out of the house”. I simply did not have the energy to rush around try to do all the things in a week or be away from home without all that makes me comfy. Home is what I needed! What we all needed!

It was also interesting to see how our cat Jack reacted to us lingering at home all week. Instead of being peeved with us intruding on his quiet empty-house days, he chose to linger, too, soaking up all the lap time and snuggles that he could. We napped together in the afternoons; he snuggled up to me or nested nearby while I read or watched television. He just lingered in our presence, in my lap, at Ben’s feet, or on the floor of Elizabeth’s room (or in their bed, which he prefers).

All in all, it was a precious few days spent lingering in all the things that refresh and rejuvenate me and in the presence of those dearest to me. I even got to have birthday dinner with one of my wifey-besties and brunch with my fabulous in-laws!

Do not be afraid to linger in the lazy, dear ones. Sometimes, the “lack” of anything to do–or the straight-up choice to just not–is just what our soul needs to catch up with us again.

Happy lingering!

Advent 2024 ~ Light

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As winter draws through the doorway, ducking its frosty head under the lintel, the days grow gray, colder, and, yes, darker. The lights of our homes conversely grow softer and more golden, and more lights begin to fill yards and trees to accompany the growing darkness. Within our homes, light glows and twinkles in the form of candles and holiday lights. Fireplaces crackle and whisper comfort. Porch lights burn against the early-onset evening shadows, calling family and friends home. The light spilling out from doorways promises warmth and welcome as doors are thrown open wide.


In the midst of the growing dark and cold, we can hold onto the Light this Advent season. The Light of Christmas came into the world, accompanied by a star for the Magi and a bright angelic chorus for the shepherds, but for Jesus Himself, His welcome was only the loving glow of his mother’s face and the gentle cradle of Joseph’s rough hands. In the darkness of that stable, the Light of love still shone brightly. As the darkness of winter sets in, may we fill our spaces with light that beams from love, compassion, and generosity. Even in all the dark and difficulty, there is still light to be found in the small corners.

There is the warmth of a proffered cup of coffee together with no expectation of the other person but their sweet company.

There is light in the card or gift that shows up in the mail to remind someone that they are loved and thought of.

There is the glow that comes to someone’s heart when they are told, “This beautiful thing reminded me of you”.


Just as the Light came on that dark, cold night so many centuries ago, a baby nestling into the warmth and love of His parents’ embrace, we can be a light in the shadows now. We can echo Love in all its different, compassionate forms. We can be the glowing doorway that guides a heart through the rough terrain of difficulty or at least gives them a space in which to rest and regain their strength. In that welcome into the light, we can echo the words of Jesus, in His invitation to  “Come…all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). We can make mankind our business and offer light into the growing, darkening cold.

Let’s hold our candles and lanterns high, those sweet lights that guide us and others to rest and peace, love and hope. Even for just a moment, a space to breathe freely in the light. Let us cling to that Light this Advent and always, and work to share our candle warmth with fellow travelers on this road.

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.

Advent 2021: Love is Not a Moment, It’s Movement

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As children we are often taught that love is a noun, an idea, an emotion. I prefer to believe–and teach myself, my daughter, and my students–that love is actually a verb. An action. A choice. Love is not only what we feel. Love is actually what we do. We love others through the choices we make. Choices to do what will help, uplift, and encourage them, and not to tear them down. Love is in our doing, not merely in our feeling. 

    Throughout Advent we do many things. We decorate houses, trees, lawns, gingerbread cookies and cottages, and cakes. We take family pictures and send out Christmas cards. We buy and wrap a gaggle of gifts for a plethora of people. We go skating and to Christmas, parties, markets, and concerts. In all of this doing, though, are we leaving room for doing in love? Are we holding space for the sweet little acts and services that we can lovingly perform? 

How can we verb Love in this Christmas season when so much can feel dark and grim? How can we live out Jesus and show Him to those around us, folding His name into the work of our hands as well as the words of our mouths? Often we forget that moving and doing in love can be the small, simple things and not only the grandiose gestures. A little card left in your mailbox thanking you for the beautiful lights display that you worked through that blustery day to put up. The cookies that you baked and gently left for your neighbors. That perfect sweater you found for your child that just makes them smile all over. Love in action leads us to Love as Life Practice. And as Advent moves us through this season of expectation and preparation, may Love be the guiding star that is leading us to the joy and glory that is Christ Jesus.

As Paul Williams so brilliantly wrote–and Robin the Frog so beautifully sang–in his song “Bless Us All”, “Let us always love each other. Lead us to the light” (The Muppet Christmas Carol).

“I Take Pride in You.”

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“I have said before that you have such a place in our hearts that we would live or die with you. I have spoken to you with great frankness; I take great pride in you. I am greatly encouraged; in all our troubles my joy knows no bounds.” – 2 Corinthians 7:3b-4

While Paul spoke these words in greeting to the Corinthian church, I read those words “I take pride in you”, and I can just hear the smile in God’s voice.

As we come into Pride Month, Dear Ones. I want have some very specific prayers for you, simple and from the heart.

I pray that you may know that you are loved.

I pray that you may know that you are accepted and significant.

I pray that you may know comfort, strength, joy, and feeling at home in your own skin.

I pray that you will feel love just splashing down on you.

I love you. God loves you, and He has called you what you are: very good.

Advent 2020 ~ Wrapped in Love

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As Advent wanes and Christmas draws nigh, we look to the pillar of love. Where does gentle love begin? Is it in the things we buy, package, and donate? The wishes we try to fulfill? Is it in the hours we give to rehearsals and practices? Is it in the presents tucked away with all the hopes for them bringing joy when opened? Is it in the moments when we let the To Do list fall by the wayside, when we just sit in the glow of the lights with the warmth of our dear ones in our arms? Is it in our voices lifted still with cries for mercy and justice?

Yes. This is where gentle love begins. In any of it. In all of it. In the small moments, the little things, in the corners of our hearts that we open up, in the generosity that we show, and in the quiet moments that we are mindful of and cherish. When we open ourselves up to let these beautiful things out, we let love and gentleness in as well. It refills us, reinforces us, and reminds us that we are dealing with very human hearts in a very humanly-flawed world.

The world, as we look at it today, is hard, uncertain, and frightening; it batters and beats and berates and bruises those who most need its mercy. We take that in day after day after day and fight not to let it make us hard in turn. We fight back with love and mercy, grace and gentleness. Let’s hold tightly to Love and hold each other gently, Friends.

As Christ showed love to the lost, the rejected, the ill, and the forgotten, let us do the same in this Advent season and on forward forever. Let us not lose that gentle love that makes humanity humane.

Let’s remember the love of our Lord who gave all He had for all of us. May we accept that fierce and gentle love, press its flame to our hearts, and share its light with those around us. May the world, and our Lord, know us by our Love.

Choosing Again

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My head ached and my stomach roiled as I looked over the papers the other night: the lease for what we had been dearly hoping would become our new home. This was the next step in a new chapter for our little family, and I felt as though all my sense and surety had fled and failed me. All my certainty seemed to wobble underneath me, all that I was sure of before lost in a haze of “I don’t know,” and “Is this right?”

During a recent bedtime, our daughter told us that she believed God had told her that the house (over whose lease I was now laboring) was perfect for us. Honestly, we all thought so and had prayed and hoped deeply that our application might be approved. Then it was and now there I sat, suddenly questioning the last two weeks of my life and every decision made therein. It has been twelve years since we rented a home; was this lease fair? Where would the extra money come from for all this if something went wrong? What if no schools accepted my job applications? Was this indeed the next right thing, the right choice for our family? Now, we do believe that our little girl did indeed hear God’s voice in her heart, that she did hear Him answer her silent question of a new home.  Yet, here I was: feeling sick to my stomach with uncertainty.

Needing a minute to clear my head, I sat down with a box of encouragement cards that a friend had given me, and this is the one I pulled out of the stack:

I had made an old choice, and I had chosen wrongly. I had chosen an old frenemy: fear. It has stood between me and the new many times before, and I have missed much through its uncertainty. And, though I believe in this next chapter for our family, I had chosen fear again and it had made itself uncomfortable in my belly.

I need to choose again.

I want to choose again.

I will choose again.

This time, I choose love.

When I say that, I do not necessarily mean that I am choosing love for others, though that is always a good (and a God) thing. What I mean by choosing love is that I am choosing God’s love for me. His love which means He has a plan for me, a plan for my good and to prosper my future. I do not want to choose fear and let it paralyze me again. I want to choose and believe in God’s love for me, no matter how nervous I may feel about the big changes coming our way. I want to continually choose God’s love for me and have faith that He will open the necessary doors and that all will work out. 

One thing is for absolutely certain: God has never failed me yet. I choose to believe that He will not start now.

What Is Held Between the Covers of my Bible

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If you look closely as you flip through the book of Proverbs in my Bible, you will see dates.

2/22/20
11/22/09
9/21/02

The pages–and not only of Proverbs–are full of highlights, underlines, margin notes, and dates. Pages are marked with ribbons, receipts, sermon notes, and inserts from ‘prayer cookies’.

I have had this particular Bible for almost twenty years, ever since I was in college. Its leather cover is nicked and dinged, the spine broken, edges tearing. It has gone from Indiana to Florida to Cayman to Russia and back again and bears the weight and stories of all it carries. No other Bible that I have bought or been gifted has seen as much of me and my life as this one; nor is is any other Bible in my possesion continually sought out as much as this one because of the very fact.

It is precious. Not only because of what is typset on its pages but because of what it carries between its covers: my life and my journey into Love. As I have said before: teaching is my job, writing is my joy, but Love is my vocation. The Love that Jesus showed to every soul He encountered, even up to and during his final moments in this life, is recorded for us here. The loving lives that we are admonished to are demonstrated for us here. Encouragements I often need (whether for myself or to share) can be found here.

This book is where I learn continually to walk my life in the footsteps and actions of Jesus, where I learn to emulate my Lord, and where, couched by dates and cross-referenced with journals, I can see how His teachings are relevant and alive and how He has held and spoken to me in those poignant moments. Moments of growth, moments of grief, moments of joy, and everything in between.

This book holds me and Jesus, side by side, on this walk through life, because Love is a daily journey.

What’s in a Name?

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“…our names are part of our wholeness. To be given a name is an act of intimacy as powerful as any act of love.” – Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

My name is Melissa, that honey-bee moniker laid upon me on the day of my birth. Over the 36 years of my life, though, I have been gifted with other names. As a child, my family and friends called me “Missy”. In high school, my friends fell to calling me by my last (maiden) name, for reasons that I have hitherto forgotten. When I entered college, the friends I met there named me “Mel” out of amusement for my last name: Gibson, and that particular name has stuck over the subsequent decade and a half. Almost everyone calls me “Mel” now.

While that is my most frequently-used nickname, it is still precious to me because those who utter it love me, and I know it, what’s more. It is an intimacy, an outward expression of their love and care for me. There is a vast difference between those who call me “Mel” and those who call me “Melissa”.

There are more names with which I have been gifted that are precious to me. My best girl friends call me “wifey”, as we are close and beloved of each other, having been friends for a decade or longer. We are also also wives and mothers of small children who support and love on each other and each other’s children. We belong to each other.

A particular dear friend, Erin, calls me her “Sam” after Samwise Gamgee in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, which I count amongst my highest honors. I call her my Bosslady, stemming all the way back to college and her sweet, loving, faithful mentoring those almost-twenty years ago.

My husband calls me “Issya”, a derivative of my name that only we two know the origin of. That name ushers from no one’s lips but his, making it infinitely precious. He also calls me “Helpmeet”, as we are partners in this life together.

When our daughter was first learning to talk, she dubbed me “Mumum”, which made me so happy to hear it babbled from her chubby, smiling face. Even now, when she says “Mama” instead of the more-usual “Mommy”, I am thrown back to her earlier years all over again.

These names, these gifts, represent intentional acts of relationship by dear ones–especially in this, my second act of life. They are an almost tangible way of knowing that I am welcome in their lives and loved by them.

“What’s in a name?” I believe that a truly given name (or nickname)  has an intimacy wrapped up in, an acknowledgement, a place, and a whisper of love. Thank you, dear ones, for my names. Thank you for how you love me.