The Best Christmas Ever...

      Wow.
      Christmas is different this year, for sure.
      My husband came home from work early Tuesday and slept off and on for 24 hours. Thursday he went to the doctor and was diagnosed with type A flu. He hasn't had the flu in decades. Literally. But this time he made up for it. In spades.
     Last night his meds didn't agree with him and between 3 and 5  this morning, he had three severe bouts of nausea.  Each time he showed signs of going into shock - which is normal for him when badly nauseated.  So we spent those two hours talking about the Lord (Phil's desire) in between bouts of literally calling on the Lord to help him when the nausea hit.  While Phil was trying to recall words to the hymn, "All the Way My Savior Leads Me", I was trying to figure out when and if I should get help to get him to the ER.  Thankfully we never had to do that.
    This morning I went to the walk-in clinic wearing a hospital mask in case I had the flu as well.  Fortunately, I just had a sinus infection and they put me on Tamaflu to hopefully prevent me from getting what Phil has.
    Choices.
    To be bummed out or not to be bummed out. To be thankful... but not completely... To grouse with a just a touch of grace?
    Last night I knew our family Christmases would be postponed. That isn't a problem: we know the flu is a nasty gift that keeps on giving. Plus, we are both so tired right now, we just want to "pull up the drawbridges" and rest.
    Still, it's not what we had in mind for Christmas 2013.
    Friends.  They impact my life daily.
    A week or so ago, I was in a Lifeway Book store looking for something to read.  I almost always have at least one good book that I'm reading but for several weeks, no matter what I picked up, nothing held my attention for long. I felt restless.   In the store, I ran into a friend from a few years back, we exchanged greetings, and then she showed me the book she was getting:  The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp.  I'm not a big fan of devotional books but  nothing else appealed to me so I halfheartedly bought a copy, thinking I could give it as a gift if  I didn't like it. (And, yes, I do that.  I don't sign my name into an "iffey" new book until I've read the first chapter and decided it's a keeper!)   I got Ann's book on Dec. 6 so I was behind already on the advent devotionals before I ever got it home.
    For centuries, the Jewish people have said, "Next year in Jerusalem!"
    Well, for decades, I've been saying, "Next year a truly Christ-centered Christmas!"
    As soon as I started catching up on Ann's advent devotionals, I knew I had found a book that was truly all about how to have a Christ-centered Christmas.  I have since read that she has an upside down Christmas tree hanging from her ceiling this year to remind her kids (all six of them) that they want an upside down Christmas!  (You may not think that's cool, but I do!!!  And, yes, next year an upside down Abernathy Christmas tree in the living room!!!)  I have also read that in the past 10 years, none of the members of her family have given Christmas gifts to each other. Instead they take their Christmas money and give to other ministries.  (She doesn't urge others to do this - she says that each family has to find their own way of celebrating Christmas and that there is no magic formula.)
  Reading her book led me to re-read her first book - also brought to my attention a couple of years ago by a dear and faithful  friend  - One Thousand Gifts.  I started re-reading it slowly - I can do that since I don't have a riveting biography or novel clamoring for my attention!  And night after night, morning after morning, as well as throughout the day, both books have spoken to me about how to live in the here and now, how to sense the presence of God in the midst of the "mess" as she would say, how to find eucharisteo (things to be thankful for) even in the hard things.
   So... back to where this entry began... Last night the thought went through my mind: this won't be much of a Christmas. And then, right behind it, came the sequel: actually, this may be the truest Christmas we've ever had.  The Christmas I've always wanted.
  I thought about it.  Phil's family and my family had already decided to keep the gift giving simple and within reason. But I still had a couple of last minute gifts to get. My plan was to have them safely tucked away in the spare room before today.  However, I dreaded the last minute shopping.  The flu hit and, voila! - suddenly I was restricted to pharmacy trips only.  Pressure's off - I can finish my list the week after Christmas.
  This morning - Dec. 20th! - I found myself wearing a hospital mask and heading to a clinic, the last place I wanted to be.  I got out of bed thinking this was going to be a total bummer. And then I remembered Ann's encouragement to look for eucharisteo even in the hard places, the places you don't want to be. And so I decided I could be thankful that I had an opportunity to break out my super-duper, 5.00 holiday necklace that lights up! I hadn't worn this treasure even once this season,  unbelievably enough!  (I'm being mostly serious here...) And what better place to wear it than to a clinic full of sick people 5 days before Christmas?
   So I did and it was neat to see total strangers smile and say, "I love your necklace!"
   Eucharisteo. Christmas in an un-Christmassy place.
  Then I thought about friends - sweet families I know who are in the midst of very dark, very difficult circumstances. Sitting in a hospital while a loved one is passing from this world to the next. Or sitting in an ER waiting room, while the verdict is not yet in - will the loved one make it or not? Will there be residual damage?  And if so, how much?  And yet another situation where the family is, even now, getting ready for the funeral of a loved one...  And there are others.
   And so I prayed for the ones who hover between life and Life - that God would be merciful and help them in whatever way is best. And I prayed for the families, that even in these pits of darkness, that they would somehow sense God's presence and even experience Eucharisteo because He is in the pit with them.
  Eucharisteo.
  Focusing on the gifts  we've already received from His hand. Being attuned to the daily gifts He gives us even now, no matter how they may be disguised.  Being aware of His presence.
  Truly, for us, this may be the best Christmas ever.

Our Jesse "wreath" - idea from Ann's latest book. Only it's supposed to be a tree...

 
   
   
   

Question...

     I probably shouldn't say anything about this... but when has that ever stopped me?
     So... if someone asks me a question on a mainstream New Testament issue, knowing full well that  I believe in the Bible... And if I give them a Biblical answer, having also made it clear that I love everyone (am not a hater in the popular vernacular)... Then I can and should expect to be fired?

 
   
   

When Friday night becomes Sunday Morning...

     Seven months ago, a fight broke out across the street from us, two men fighting over one woman while her son watched.  We thought the ex-boyfriend might have been abusive because we had seen a change in the boy after this man came into their lives.  The boy was different, less talkative, more guarded. And then, on the eve of summer break, one warm evening in late May, police were stringing crime scene tape across the road and blue lights were flashing across our windows for hours while I sat and stared at the surreal first blue, then white, then blue again pattern lighting up our living room wall. The ex-boyfriend had become aggressive; the new boyfriend had jumped in to protect our neighbor and her son and lives were shattered.
    It was a tough Friday night.
    Saturday wasn't much better.
    My husband and I went across the street and into the yard where a small blood stained brick still lay in the yard, past some scattered glass, and up on the narrow porch where we knocked and waited for the mom to open the door.  We were beyond stunned when a man, the new boyfriend, opened the door.  He looked hard, really tough. And he said nothing as we stammered through our little speech. Only when he realized that we'd brought our friend some food and a Bible did he show a glimmer of a smile and say anything. "Thanks."  But as he closed the door, he still looked tough as nails and we walked away wondering to ourselves why he wasn't in jail.  I had seen him in the police car the night before.  And where was the mom?  Was she okay?  What was going on?
    The next day, I went to church but realized it was a mistake. The congregation started singing one of my favorite songs, "Days of Elijah" and deep grief just welled up inside me. A tsunami of emotion that I just could not control. I tried, really. But it was like using a bottle cap to plug a leak in a water main.  In only the second time in my 6 decades of life, I bolted from sanctuary, I busted out into the lobby, just looking for a private place to have a meltdown. But like someone who is overcome with nausea in a public place, the gut-wrenching sobs just poured out of me there in the front lobby, no less.  And people came to comfort me when all that I wanted was a quiet place to be a washed-out, wrung-out mess.
   And at that point, I couldn't even articulate what really bothered me.
   Because what really bothered me was that suddenly church, pristine, glistening white, stained glass, and all spiffed up, seemed like a fairy tale. And God seemed, momentarily, the same way.  I kept seeing blue lights strobing across my living room window and I kept replaying the words of my neighbors as we huddled on the street corner at 2 a.m. that Friday night/Saturday morning.  I kept hearing words like, "I heard yelling but I didn't think it was serious until I heard her scream..."  "I didn't even realize the detective's card said "homicide" on it until later."  "They said his face was a bloodied mess; the boy saw everything."
   And I honestly couldn't reconcile such a violent Friday night with such a  spiffed up, happy-faced Sunday morning.  And so I bolted from the sanctuary and I really came undone.
   And people prayed. Tissue helps :)  And life came right-side up again, sort of.  But when I went across the street the next week to offer help, the neighbor I knew was not the same. She wouldn't look at me or hardly speak and she was so subdued and I knew things would never be right for her again.
  Or for her son.
  And I just cried out to God, asking Him what possible good could come from all this?
  But He didn't answer me and life rocked on in the 'hood the same way it always does.
  And the witnesses - the ladies that I huddled with that awful Friday night - came together for four weeks for a Bible study. Ironically, what we'd seen and heard formed a bond between us. The first Bible study night, we shed tears together and somehow those tears washed away a few of the barriers between us.  But some of them also had issues and some of them had had experience with domestic abuse and the last time they had attended regular Bible studies, their feet didn't reach the floor so this grown-up study was an experiment that didn't make it.  The course was 8 weeks and after 4, one lady erected a wall of silence and hasn't spoken to me since. And that was 6 months ago.  The other lady still speaks but is still struggling. Life is super hard for her and it's about all she can do, health-wise and emotionally, to make it through each day.  But still she talks to me.
   But still, reality is, the Bible study, along with all my hopes for it, fell flat.
   And I wondered, where is God in all this?
   Does no one else care about these few streets in the hood besides us?
   And would we even care if we didn't live here?  If these weren't our neighbors?
   And why was most everyone else whom we knew when our son was little - why were all of them smart enough to move while we were dumb enough to stay?  Was it because we feared the wrong thing?  We feared going into major debt more than we feared living in an area that was transitioning into a high crime place that now even the police seem to avoid?
  And then three months ago, my neighbor, the one who would never be the same again, whose life was busted into pieces last May when a man, a former boyfriend, died in her yard - that same neighbor came over and knocked on my door.  She was determined. She said she had to work on Sundays for a while and she wanted to know if we could take her son to church.
  Once again I was stunned.
  After church I took the boy to his favorite, 5 star restaurant - Burger King.  And then a few weeks later, the boys, like the loaves and the fish, multiplied - a little. And there were two boys instead of one.  And the first two lunches at Burger King, I was struggling for what to say. One boy liked to regale me with step-by-step, blow-by-blow descriptions of the comedies he loves. I hardly ever watch movies. I was clueless so I tried to smile where he seemed to expect it while all the time I was thinking: should he be watching stuff like this?
  I prayed for a change of topics and got what I asked for but not what I wanted. The boys started talking to me about their favorite sport. Four wheelers.  I could see that Sunday lunches were going to be tough and I told my husband I might need his help because I don't speak middle school boys' lingo. It was awkward.
  Another Sunday, a different topic.  Football. This was more hopeful because I had seen 4 games when I was in high school.  I knew what a touch down was. I knew it wasn't necessarily a  good thing when they threw a red flag on the ground.
   But still, I barely kept my head above the conversational waters. I came home feeling mentally challenged and worn out.  I told Phil I thought I needed a man to go with me but I knew he was needed elsewhere.  So  we soldiered on, so to speak.
   And then one Sunday suddenly the boys and I  clicked. We laughed and I really "got it". I teasingly corrected one of the guys and he accepted it good-naturedly.   And then there was a quick, impromptu hug initiated by one of the boys right before they hopped out of the car - a hug that left me wondering: did that really happen?  A drive-by hug. So cool.
  And the next time another ungainly hug right before jumping from the car, lest the young girls watching from the window see something so unmanly as a big, bad  guy throwing one arm around  a fat grandmother's neck when she isn't even  theirs.  So uncool. And yet so very cool. And I realized that drive-by hugs can make my  heart sing.
  And then this morning.  My husband came busting into the bedroom and shot me a look that told me he was nonplussed.  His expression clearly said, "Help!"  I was mostly dressed, just lacking shoes. So I hastily exited the bedroom and went into the living room to see what was up. And I was stopped short when I realized the man across the street, our neighbor, the one who was in the fight that awful Friday night seven months ago, was sitting in our living room reading the Bible we gave to his girlfriend the day after the fight.
  He was dressed up in a conservative suit because he understands that you dress up for God. I was wearing leather running shoes, casual slacks and a sweater, very unspiffed-up for God - my normal Sunday attire.
  He was quiet but attentive through both hours of church. Afterwards he opened up and shared his testimony over lunch.  It was quite a narrative, sprinkled liberally with words like "prison", "alcohol", "drugs", "AA", "God", and "second chances" along with the frequently repeated phrase, "I know I shouldn't still be here." And "I know God is the one who is keeping me here."
  And then the plans for the future - his aspiration is to go to Bible College; his need is to not give into cravings the next time they come calling.  We feel  from listening to him that there is a very real chance that he will. But for today, he was dressed up for God, sitting in church, listening.
  And then tonight.  Phil took the boys to church for Christmas music.
  And on the way home, he told them to get on their knees tonight and ask God to come into their hearts and he told them what all that meant.  The talkative one, who makes us all laugh, said, "Yes, sir."  The quiet one didn't say anything but we know from the past weeks that he takes things deep into his heart. They both do.
  Afterwards, Phil hugged me and prayed out loud for the boys and cried for them.
  And I know God heard.
  And I know that Sunday morning is just as real as Friday night.
  And sometimes in His grace, they merge.

  

Yes, I know this is too long...

       I'm tired; aren't we all?
       I mean, maybe Santa Claus should bring us all a month's vacation with pay so that we can get our regular responsibilities taken care of as well as get all our Christmas enjoyment stuff taken care of.    (Okay, I can check one party off my list, now to get to the store before the sale goes off, and then to the school to see Johnnie's play and, let's see... that only leaves 40 more things that I have to enjoy and do in the Spirit of Christmas before I can collapse on Dec. 26)
     You know, as I re-read that last paragraph, I'm thinking maybe Santa should bring us a voucher for a month long vacation AND a 30 day supply of prozac...
      And if you think you know where this blog entry is going - maybe you do but it's possible that you don't.  (Because it's more than possible that I don't... /=)
      This is the deal - this morning I woke up feeling like Mr. Cold was sitting on my head, causing half my brain cells to misfire and also causing my body to create its own chorus of sniffles, sneezes, and the occasional half-hearted cough.  I lay there thinking dark thoughts about how I was tired from tossing and turning and how  I was too wide awake to go back to  sleep for just  another thirty minutes.
     I was wrong. The next thing I knew, it was 9:40 and home school starts at 8:30.  OOPS!!!   I dressed in 10 min. flat while thoughts, not sweet candy cane ones, walloped through my head.  Like the Rabbit, I was late.  How late, I had no real clue but I would learn...
    Then I realized I had no keys. I couldn't find them anywhere. I hunted for another 15 minutes and finally, in desperation prayed.  God must love... well, people like me. Because I found my keys and drove as fast as I could to my niece's house which is just down the road from us.
   She told me a friend was staying with her temporarily and explained some of the issues that had forced this young person from her home. The fault clearly was the parent's - a mega drinking problem.  It's hard to reason with a mom who has tied one on at 3 in the morning.  So the girl had been sleeping in her vehicle after getting off work in the evenings.
   Today was our noontime small group Bible study and before she went to bed last night, this girl indicated that she wanted to come to our study.  We thought it would be best if she just slept through it because she was so tired but she didn't - she woke up on her own and came downstairs for the study.
   When she walked into the kitchen, I recognized her face but  couldn't quite place her.   As it turned out, I didn't have to.    She smiled and said, "I know you!" I admitted that I felt sure I knew her also but was clueless as to where.
   Her next words floored me as I came to realize that she was the little girl who used to ride her bike up and down the street, the one who was always bright and sweet, the one whom I sometimes avoided because she wanted to converse while I - I was on a mission to lose weight and build up cardiovascular strength. (Obviously that didn't last...)
   Besides that, I often came home from school all "talked out".  Dealing with 70 teenagers throughout the day does that to you.  Walking around the block was "Me Time" - the time when I cleared my mind of the day's clutter and mentally transitioned from work to home.
   And even more to the point, the girl's mom was a pain.    While the girl herself was sweet and mostly just wanted someone to watch her ride her bike down the street and back or listen about her day at school (she loved school), the mom always delivered whiny, repetitive self-serving monologues that could go non-stop for an hour at a time.  Not kidding. Once she flagged me down when I was slowly driving down our residential street and I stopped, thinking it was something serious. It wasn't. After 45 minutes of politely trying to excuse myself, I finally just interrupted her and said, "I'm sorry. I have to go" and I did, driving off while the mom was in mid-sentence. Politeness is huge with me and to my knowledge I've never ever done anything like that with anyone else before or since.  And the mom, essentially came with the girl and therein was the problem.
    So there were many times when I planned my walks when I was pretty sure the little girl would not be outside on her bicycle.
    And now, years later, that same little girl was standing in my niece's kitchen, all grown up, saying, "I know you! When I was a little girl, you used to walk around the block and sometimes you talked to me."
   Ow.
   Double ow.
   We ate lunch and she listened intently throughout our Bible study, saying very little but seriously involved in the lesson itself judging by the expression on her face. At the end, she asked me, "Did you know my mom is an alcoholic?"
    She wasn't accusing in any way but I, however, was definitely guilty as  I stumbled  through my answer.
    "Um, well, she was never under the influence when I talked to her but a neighbor had told me that your mom was prone to call her..."
    "In the middle of the night, right?  And she was drunk? That's what my mom does. She gets drunk and calls people at about 3 in the morning.   But it's gotten much worse lately and she threw me out of the house at 3 a.m. the other night along with all my things, which she tossed into the yard.  Now  I have to go pick her up  and take her somewhere and I'm not sure what she's going to be like.  I don't know if she'll be drunk, angry, or what but I'm the only one who can take her to her appointment and I told her I would take her so that's where I'm headed.  But I just don't know what I'm going to face."
     So we gathered around the little-girl-all-grown-up-now, the one I used to avoid, and we prayed. For her. For her mom.  For the stressful event looming large - just a simple pick-up-the-parent-and-take-them-to-the-garage-to-get-the-car event which was now fraught with unpleasant if not downright dangerous possibilities.  Yet it was a duty the girl herself would not avoid.
     As I probably would have done had it been me.
     As I often did so many years ago, when there was no danger involved, just time. And a giving up of "my to-do list" in order to give a few minutes to a pleasant child with a burdensome mother.
     And I wonder  how many times and in how many ways she has suffered over the past decade simply because of association and nothing more.  Oh, she's so-and-so's child...
     And now I'm thinking: what if I had moved toward that child instead of away from her years ago when I had the chance? What if I had become involved in her life back when?  What if, when I heard rumors about the mom's drinking, I had taken the time to get to know the family and maybe even seek help for the girl if nothing else.
     What if?
      And  yes, I don't feel 100% today physically and I am tired.
     But mostly, right now  I'm sick and  tired of missing the boat.
     And I'm wondering, should I pare my list of 20 "fun" holiday "can't miss" things to do and the additional 20 (or more) un-fun but necessary holiday things on that same list... Should I pare that list down to 10 instead of 40 items? And then dare I add one more thing to my new, less-sparkly-bright Christmas gotta do list?
    Should # 11 on my downsized list be:  go find that neighborhood child who just wants someone to listen to them chat for a few minutes and watch them ride their bike.. And then when I find them,  could I actually listen to them for a bit?  Several times a week?  And maybe even watch them ride their bike and say, "Good job!" once in a while? And then maybe could I try to find out why a nice kid like that is so hungry for adult attention?
   We talk about finding Christmas in the face of a child.
   Honestly, many years ago I had the chance to do that.
   And I blew it. Multiple times over.  I'm not kidding and I'm not exaggerating.
   And now I would give anything for a do-over.
   Just saying: today I had a wake up call. And it was long overdue.

     

Two Sides of Every Coin ;)

   Blogs should be balanced.
   Just so you don't get the wrong idea...

   Last night I wrote (from my heart) about being still and spending time with Jesus this Christmas.
   That was real.
   So was today:)

   Got up at the crack of dawn and nagged husband to get him to stay home from work.
   Went back to bed knowing full well he would go on to work anyway, which he did.
   Woke up at ten. (Not normal but it's been an exhausting week)
   Let the big dogs out of the laundry room. (Their temporary home when the weather is frightful.  Their presence inside does not make our home delightful but we love them...)
   Put the big dogs back in the laundry room.
   Fussed at husband when he came home about 11.
   Worked on writing project while he sweetly (but without any real contrition ;)  starts the chili.
   I season it and let the big dogs back outside, making sure they don't slip out of the fence.
   Put them back in the laundry room and return to keyboard.
   Let the neighborhood kids in because they are bored and want to chat.
   Let the dogs out (all four of them) because they are agitated over the fact that we have guests and feel they need to go bark at something. By this time, I can identify...
   Stir the chili, listen to the kids, and finally promise them I'll  have cookies for them when they come back...  They take the hint and leave but not before I get the big dogs back in the laundry room - the kids are afraid of the dogs and the dogs are afraid of them.  (I'm afraid this is going to go on for 4 more days...ha!)
   Husband talks a bit much about going to work tomorrow regardless. I'm afraid I finally intimate that he won't live to see Monday if he gets out on the roads again against my explicit judgement.  He laughs.  I'm not sure I'm joking.  Splatter him with cold water that has been running over my hands into the kitchen sink. He still thinks I'm being funny... I'm still debating, even now, as to when I should enlighten him... =/
   Back to the keyboard.
   Back to stir the chili.
   Decide to scatter bird seed.
   Back to letting the dogs outside, watching them to see that they don't escape, and letting them in again.
   Then deciphering cookie instructions.
    One batch in the oven. Another waiting on the overcrowded stove top.
    Back to the keyboard.  It's the safest place to be by this time!
    Time to eat brunch -  in the afternoon.
     Spilled chili and booted the dogs outside again.
     All cookies are now  out of the oven.
     Lost one writing project; yes, do-overs are allowed.  Other project is still good... but for how long??
     Gobble dark chocolate and think dark thoughts about computers, outside dogs that are temporarily inside, and guys who feel they have to drive on ice... ha! (Yes, he's gone again "before the roads get bad.."  Is he kidding me???)
     Neighborhood kids are back, still bored. I listen to something about Beethoven (which doesn't sound like the Beethoven I know) and Christmas before I send them in David's direction.  Video games are suddenly my friend!!!
     Main floors bear wet paw prints, kid prints, adult prints, you-name-it prints...  and I really don't care.
     I'm ready to send everybody out into a blizzard if necessary, regardless of the shape of the roads, the sidewalks, the night air or whatever.

     I just looked out the window while musing on this wintry diatribe and saw a truck backing rapidly down our ice-slicked road underneath the glare of streetlights.  Not kidding.  The driver makes a 90 degree turn, still going backwards,  and proceeds out of sight up a steep hill, only to come right back into sight, this time going forward and turning to the left away from our house.  I'm guessing he didn't quite make it up the hill.
     Somehow, the truck thing seems to symbolize this whole day and evening.

     Whoever wrote "walking in a winter wonderland" was a certifiable nut... and/or he was not from 'round hye-er...  in my humble opinion...

   
 

An Invitation...

     A month or so ago, I met a woman at a spiritual retreat - we were strangers.
     She seemed really happy to be at the gathering and after a bit told me that she had just been reconciled to the church after 31 years of being away from it.   I told her it was  great that she was back in the church.            She nodded enthusiastically.
     Then she mentioned that her brother  was a monk and added that it had been a long, hard road for him but they were so proud of where he'd finally ended up, that to them it was just like a miracle to see how the trajectory of his life had suddenly taken a 90 degree turn.    I knew she was hinting at some dark days, some grief, and probably not a little heartache in regard to her brother - both for him and for their whole family.  So I searched for a suitable comment - one that would indicate I understood her underlying message but one that wouldn't intrude.   Quickly I settled for a platitude which nonetheless seemed to fit the bill.
      "Everybody has a past."
      She agreed and then  added:  but the past doesn't have to determine our future...
      It's true: everyone has a past but the past doesn't have to dictate the rest of our days.
      After nearly six decades of life, I can think back about myself, acquaintances, family, and friends and       remember things that blew me away.  Events, shared confidences.  My own and others.  We all have them -those happenings that rock us to our core; those skeletons that we don't drag out of the closet for just anyone.  The longer I live, the more I am convinced that no one is immune.
     No one but Jesus.
     And He wants to grace my life and your life with His presence, His unmistakable warmth, and His unimaginable love.   He wants to walk right into your heart and allow you to walk right into His.
      But even Jesus can't (or won't) walk into a heart that is skateboarding through the season and/or  find a seat at a hearth where there's not even standing room available, where the crush of things that are less-than-the-love-of-God have taken over.
      We shake our heads and make caustic comments about people who push and shove and even trample others when the business doors open on Black Friday.  Right now there is  a winter storm watch out for our area and I've heard jokes (I hope) about people arguing and even fighting over the ubiquitous loaf of bread and jug of milk, as if starvation is one loaf of bread away for the thousands of us who trekked to the store since the storm was first heralded.
     But this is what I think:  we are on the verge of starving.  We are so emaciated spiritually that we think a loaf of bread and a jug of wine without the Ultimate Thou  will suffice.  That the next bargain, the next special event, the next movie, the next holiday recipe,the next present, the next book will fill us up this time.  Even though it didn't quite do the job last time.
     So I guess what I'm saying to myself as well as to you is this: why not drag your past into the deepest crevice of Jesus' heart and warm your hands in front of the embers of His unspeakably tender love.  Draw up a chair to His hearth and bask in His presence. Watch the smudged record of the past curl up in the heat of His purity, turn to ashes, and disintegrate until nothing is left but His pure light and a deep-down shared joy, a new secret to hold close- I am both known and  loved in a way I never thought possible!
   To experience Him, put the get-all-you-can-out-of-the-season skateboard in the closet,  turn the cell phone with the Christmas ring-tone off,  leave the holiday bargains on the shelf, turn the made-for-Christmas movies off -for just an hour or two (or an evening) - and let the One who made Christmas make this Christmas for you by giving you the gift of His presence.
   I mean, isn't that really what we're all searching for?

   "Long before He laid earth's foundations, He had us (you) in mind, had settled on us (you) as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love.  Long, long ago he decided to adopt us (you) into his family through Jesus Christ.  (What pleasure he took in planning this!)  He wanted us (you) to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son."  Ephesians 1:4-6  The Message.
 
 

   
 

Therefore...

     There are some days when the phrase goes through my mind:  I hurt, therefore I am.
     This has been one of those days.
      Not debilitating pain; just chronic, low-level pain that causes me to stop and think and wonder if Descartes, brilliant as he was, may have missed the boat.  When I hurt, I can definitely tell you that I'm aware of my existence. I may not be aware of much else but I am absolutely aware of self and if someone ticks me off, I'm pretty sure I can prove that I exist... ha!.
      It's also been an unusually busy day and tonight was extremely frustrating.  The words "insurance", "re-enrollment", "internet login", and "easy" should never, ever be combined in a sentence unless it's a joke or a complaint. (That last sentence was not a joke...)   After an hour and a half of fruitlessly trying to log in, I was ready to beat my computer into a plowshare and pessimistically wondering if growing older is a lot like arranging deck chairs on the Titanic - frustrating, futile, and at times quite scary. I mean if I can't even figure out the enrollment part of the insurance plan what will I do if...
     And then, thankfully, another phrase came to mind:  live for the line, not for the dot.
     This earthly life is the dot; eternity is the line. I'm not always going to have to wrestle with body aches and insurance plans.
      And then I remembered this quote from the Discover God Study Bible by Campus Crusade for Christ:  Because Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, my future is eternal and secure.  That's pretty permanent: my future is eternal and secure.  Doesn't sound like there are any health insurance headaches in Heaven...
     And then I went out on the porch, stared at the absolutely amazing fog - which earlier had simply reminded me of all those Jack the Ripper type of stories that are forever associated with London fog - and decided to sing.
    My brain told me not to.  First, I don't have a good singing voice.  Second, people just don't sing at 9:30 p.m. in the 'hood.  They may drive 90 miles down the road with an oversize speaker system booming out nasty lyrics but they don't sing.  Third, I really didn't know what (or who) was out there in the fog listening.  People don't give a lot of slack in the 'hood...
   My joints told me not to.  They reminded me that people in pain don't sing. Instead such people sit.  Or they recline.  And/or they take Ibuprofin and use heating pads and they  most definitely complain.  But they don't sing.
   However,  I'd already done most of that and it didn't help. So when my heart said, "Sing!" I just did.
   I bellowed out the words, "Give thanks with a grateful heart..." and when I didn't know the lyrics, I just sort of fudged on the wording, ad libbed a bit within the guidelines of the basic message.
   I still hurt and yet it's not quite the same.  It's like my joints are still planted on Terra firma but my heart took a leap in a different direction.
   Someday - I don't know when - my body will follow my heart.
    Until then, I can sing.
    Maybe Descartes and I both have it wrong. Maybe the quote should be:
    God exists; therefore I can sing.