Christmas Memories # 13

  As I think back over Christmases past, I realize that although they followed a pattern of sorts, they weren't all alike.  After I graduated from college and my brother went into the military, sometimes our Christmases were spent with others and occasionally they weren't - on a few rare occasions it was pretty much just myself and mom.
   In 1983 I  had been given an early Christmas present, a small paperback called The Navigator,which is  a spiritual biography  of Dawson Trotman.   Daws founded a ministry called The Navigators which focused at that time on reaching out to our men  in uniform back before WWII ever even started. He really believed with all his heart and soul in Scripture memory and worked as hard as he and his wife could at training young service men in the basic principles of the Bible.
  I had already read a traditional biography of Daws  by Betty Lee Skinnner and I'd like to draw from both books for this  blog.
  First, while I enjoyed the standard biography by Skinner, the small paperback account of Daw's spiritual growth actually brought me to my knees on Christmas Eve of 1983 - it  impacted me greatly, probably more than I can say.  As I read how God worked in Daws' life and how he responded with all of his being, I felt challenged, actually in awe of Who God is and what He can do with a life surrendered to Him.  I remember laying the book down and then kneeling in front of an armchair, resting my head on the seat cushion - the room just illuminated by Christmas candles and the lights on the tree.  For the first time ever in the quiet beauty of that simple room, I asked God if there was something I could give Him.
   Before I got up from my knees, I had a deep desire to memorize a chapter in the Bible as my present to Him.   But since I had never been able to memorize more than a verse or two at a time, I realized that I could never do it without His help.  So like a child asking a parent for money so that they could turn right around and buy the parent a gift :), I asked God to give me the stick-to-itiveness or whatever was needed (probably a few more brain cells, actually) to complete this "gift".
   I also told Him that I'd memorize any chapter He placed on my heart to do - it was His call.  Then I started flipping through the Bible, going from one chapter to another; however, always lingering over chapters I preferred, passages such as  Psalms 103, II Kings 6 (Elisha and the chariots of fire), John 10, Romans 8, Hebrews 11.... so many neat chapters to choose from! But as I flipped through the Bible, praying, God seemed to keep drawing my attention to James chapter 1.  James was not my favorite book (better than Revelation but definitely not my favorite...) and every time I looked at those verses, I would go "Naahhhh, God can't be leading me to this chapter!"  But after repeatedly feeling like this was where He wanted me to "settle", I finally bowed to the inev as Bertie Wooster would say and started to copy James 1, verse 1 onto an index card.
   I have to say that God definitely did His part - enabling me to memorize four verses a week - something I'd never done before. Over the years, I went on to memorize other passages by His grace but none were as easy as those 27 verses in James.  Now, many years later, I've found that I can go back to it and with a little work, recall it almost word-perfect in a fairly short period of time and whenever I do, God always uses it to bless me.
   I guess I've just said that to say that the Christmas of '83 wasn't the Charles Dickens picture post-card type of celebration with a throng of joyous people lifting hearty glasses of mead... I mean, eggnog.. while laughter filled the room (i.e., old Fezziwig's Christmas parties).  In fact, I remember it as being  a quiet celebration with just a few close family members (although my memory may be faulty on that score).  But it stood out for me because for the first time, I really included Christ in our circle, as if He were a celebrant  right there in our little home - which I fully believe He was.  And the way I did that was by simply kneeling and asking if I could give Him a gift by memorizing part of His love letter to me.  (My brother has carried on this tradition far more than I and one of the highlights of our Christmas get-togethers is when he shares the passage about Christ's birth from memory. I always love that.)
   As I've indicated, there is something else that I'd like to share from these books about Daws and the Navigators and Christmases past.  But this blog is already pretty long and I have decorations to put out!  (Whether my husband realizes it or not, whether the remodeling is complete or not, whether the earth stays on its axis or not... today is the day!  My Christmas things are going up or else!!!  How's that for Christmas cheer??)   So I'll just end this in the time-honored way of old-fashioned novels that were released section by section in magazine installments..
   To be continued... :)

   

Christmas Memories # 12

     I love my in-laws but it is true that opposites attract :)  My family celebrated Christmas in a fairly traditional way - go to church on Christmas Eve, wake up early on Christmas morning to rip and tear into the presents and then prepare for a big meal after which... you nap!!
   Not my in-laws. At least, not back then.  (I think I've had a dampening effect on them over the years..)  At any rate, the second Christmas of my married life, my in-laws decided to adopt a theme for the family get-together.  As luck would have it,  they settled on The Grinch Who Stole Christmas with the idea being that each person would dress up like one of the characters in the story. The only problem was that there weren't enough memorable characters for everyone in the family to have a part.  That meant that Phil and I, as the founders of the feast, were let off the hook and could dress normally - sort of.  (I think we had to dress up like Dr. and Mrs. Suess... )  However, other family members appeared on our doorstep dressed as Cindy Lou Who, The Grinch, The dog-cum-reindeer, and.. um... a Christmas tree, complete with twigs and ornaments sticking to their ensemble.

    To my way of thinking, it was a little..weird...  and since I knew that my next door neighbor pretty much watched everything that went on in our house, I hovered near the front door and  tried to personally usher each in-law into the house... as quickly as I could!!  Although I was definitely on uncharted territory that day :0), it actually turned out to be a lot of fun. When we weren't looking, the Grinch managed to get the presents from under the tree and hide them in various places. There was a lot of laughter as we tried to track down our unopened presents.  Finally we had all of them but one and no matter where we looked, we couldn't find it.  It eventually  turned up in the freezer - first and only time we've ever had a  shirt in there...
    The next few Christmases seemed pretty ordinary and then a chance remark changed all of that.  The Christmas of 1990 was David's first and the roads were treacherous with ice. Somehow my in-laws made it to one central  location but traveling was unnerving at times.  After we were all back safely in our homes, I was talking to my older sister-in-law on the phone.  We were recalling how nerve-wracking the roads were and we both agreed that we didn't care if we ever saw icy roads again.  Then I made the innocent remark of, "Next year, let's do Christmas in June."
    That was all it took.  A few days later, Phil's older sister called and confirmed that  we were, indeed,  having Christmas in June.   (If she could have read my mind, she would have found the great Suthen' response of "Do whut????"  registered there.)   This sister-in-law is creative, likes to think outside the box and would be the first to tell you all of that.    I didn't really know Christmas had an outside-of-the-box...  Christmas in June???? Two Christmases in a sixth-month period?  I thought she had to be kidding but she wasn't!
   Next, we learned that it was not only going to be a June Christmas but also a family reunion with a couple of aunts and uncles coming in from other places.  Which meant that we'd have to host at least one aunt and uncle in our house.  Which was going to be a little awkward because at that time we didn't have central air nor did we have enough window units to go around. Not to mention enough double beds.
   It was at this point that my creative sister-in-law asked me what theme I thought we ought to adopt. Since I had taken a year-long maternity leave and we were broke and I was not a happy bunny, I told her the only theme we could do was  poverty.
   Wrong thing to say!!!
   The next time she called, she was bubbling over with excitement and had it all worked out.    She had purchased  some cheap dish rags and was going to sew patches on them so that  we could use those for napkins.  She also had the table decorations all lined up - they  would be along the lines of the Beverly Hills Clampett Family... before they discovered oil... And the table runner would have patches on it to match the napkins.  Everything would be a hodgepodge, hillbilly Christmas!!
   I was not on board with all this and Phil got an ear full - From now on, I won't say anything to your sister that I don't literally mean, word-for-word!!!  Who ever heard of  poverty as a theme for Christmas??  What will the neighbors think?  (Actually, I shouldn't have worried... They loved it! Laughed about it for weeks afterward  :(   And how are we going to afford all this???
   That June as I started dragging my Christmas decorations out of the attic and putting all that stuff out -again -  while  it was a balmy 80 degrees outside - I was reconciled to  but not eager for the big event.  Since I didn't know Phil's aunts and uncles well, I tried hard to put my best foot forward, cook my part of the meals perfectly. But somehow the meat was tough, things didn't come together well, and the house, without adequate air conditioning, was like an oven in the bedrooms.  (I remember taking Phil out on the carport the first night we had guests  and hissing something to the effect that if he didn't do something, we were going to inadvertently cook his aunt and uncle!  In retrospect, I can see that wasn't the best way to start a conversation but somehow Phil refrained from responding in kind and we worked out a way to get some cool air into their bedroom.
   The first full day that his uncle and aunt stayed with us, I got up early to tend to the baby, hoping to keep him from disturbing our guest's sleep.  I knew I hadn't convinced them I was Betty Crocker but I still hoped I could convince them I was the perfect mom...     I tiptoed into the nursery, picked the baby  up in the semi-darkened room, and lovingly brought his cheek to rest against mine - I always loved to do that. Only this time, his cheek felt rough!  I couldn't figure out what it was until I got him into the bathroom and saw, to my horror, that he'd had an intestinal issue and had gotten it all over his bed and his face, where it had hardened to the consistency of concrete.  I'm not kidding!!   Of all times! How could this be happening to us??
   I grabbed my precious child and whisked him into a bath asap (with lots of bubble bath!) where I scrubbed him til his skin turned red. But he still had some on him and he didn't smell like bubble bath!  So I dumped out the water and went at it again - this time scrubbing his little face to the point that he started hollering.  (And I didn't blame him!  But I had to get him clean!)  Finally, when his cheeks were rosy (most definitely...), I dumped out the bath water and inhaled deeply to see if he passed the smell test - he didn't! I couldn't believe it!
   So I ran  to the bedroom where Phil was sleeping, child wrapped in towel, red-faced and mutinous, with me hissing (again!) Phil! Phil!  YOu've got to get up!  I've already bathed the baby twice but he still stinks! I need some help here!   Phil, who does not wake up easily, was probably wanting to re-examine the fine print in our marriage contract but he dutifully hauled out of bed and gave our sweet child his third bath of the morning!
    It was at this point that I just thought, "What the heck!" and talked to Phil's aunt Martha openly, sharing my woes about the food, the air conditioning, the baby blow-out, you name it!  And it was at this point, that this Godly woman, who had raised several children, lost one, and who had lived with polio most of her adult life, infused her humor and gentle wisdom into my heart and life.  She was a godsend!
    Then Phil's other aunt, who was not staying at our house, sat down with me that evening and went through a ton of family photos that Phil had  somehow inherited. I didn't know if she would want to do that because she had also lost two children in tragic circumstances. But she also taught me, explaining that looking at photos was a good way to deal with the past, that even the bad parts had a good side to them. That evening she identified photos that were a mystery to us and told us a lot of family history. It was  good for all of us.
    Then, a few months after our tropical Christmas, one of Phil's uncles died unexpectedly.  The other uncle already had Parkinson's when he was visiting here and it soon became clear that he would never be able to travel to Arkansas again.
   What we  would have missed if I  had not (begrudgingly) done the Christmas- in-June thing...   I guess I've said all that to say this: Christmas is about making memories.  The truth is that making memories is not always palatable at times. But over the years the memories, like gold,  increase in value until they become priceless, worth it all.

Christmas Memories # 11

   

     Once  at a church Christmas party, I was really struggling emotionally.  One of the students at our school, a teen who seemed to have everything going for them, had committed suicide.  For some reason at a yearly IFO party, this came home to roost for me and I was miserable.  The decorations, laughter, refreshments, gifts and such were swirling all around me but not in me and I could barely keep my "game face" together. 

    Fortunately, one of my friends at the party was a pastor/counselor and he left the joy of the celebration to go with me into  the nearest available room - which happened to be a children's classroom - so that we could talk.    I remember that we sat in these impossibly small chairs while he listened and I poured out my grief and frustrations.  

   Then he asked me what 2 + 2 equaled.   I looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Four."  

   He said, "In math, yes.  In life, no."

   I told him I didn't understand.

   He said sometimes in real  life,  2 + 2 equals 5.

   I told him I still didn't understand so then he explained the obvious - that we want real life events  to add up neat and tidy but many times they don't.  Math in real life is often messed up, the music discordant.  This is as true of Christmas as it is of any other time in the year, maybe even more so because our expectations are often so high.

   In 1995, my mom died on Dec. 17th  from pancreatic cancer. It was not an easy home-going for her although the doctor told me if she had lingered, it would have been much worse.  I thought I was prepared to see her go- had actually prayed that her soul would be able to escape her body before the pain outstripped the meds.  But when it was clear she was about to leave, I became panicky, not wanting her to go.

   At the time, my brother and I were trying to memorize the book of Philippians.  WE had been working on it together for many months and the day before my mom suddenly went from bad to worse, I sat in her room meditating on Philippians 4:1-10.  It was a time when I felt like I could almost reach out and feel the presence of God. While Mom slept, I sat there with my Bible open on my lap, acutely aware of the nearness of another world, a better world.

   At that time, I had no clue that mom would pass away two days later and that it would be twelve solid months before I could even look at the book of Philippians again.  Apparently, my brain associated her months of suffering with the letter to the Philippians and although I was close to memorizing the whole book, I never went back and completed that project.  (After a year, I could look at the book and enjoy the verses but I've never been able to re-memorize it).

   I believe the time spent in Philippians helped prepare me as much as anything could for the roller coaster ride that was ahead of me, so I definitely don't feel like it was time wasted.  But the truth is that nothing can adequately prepare you for grief - it's just a rough road that has to be walked as best you can. And for me, there were times when all I could do was crawl along that road.

  ON the Sunday that mom died, we had prepared David as best we could for it and I still remember Phil sitting with David on the library steps and in a very tender voice saying, "David, today is a special day because Nana got to go be with Jesus."  David took it very well.  He was just barely five at the time.  

  But in my journal from that time, I wrote that right after Phil talked to him, I said, "Guess who called to check on you?"   David  replied, "Was it Nana?"   I  looked at him and barely managed to say, "No..."  Then he asked if it was Grandpa and so I said no again; at that point, I knew I had to end this guessing game before I lost it so I told him it was Mrs. Susie from his daycare.

   Clearly he didn't understand what death was about.

   At the time, I wasn't sure that I did either.

   My mom had left instructions for her ashes to be buried in a little country cemetery where her parents were interred.  So after the funeral, when the sun was going down and the wind was bitterly cold, about 5 or 6 of us drove an hour away to that cemetery and buried her ashes there with a short prayer. It was pretty bleak.  On the way back, my husband was desperate to cheer me up so he suggested we stop at the mall, something he knew I normally liked (and something he hated.)  At some level, I knew he was working hard to help me so I agreed but I remember standing in the middle of the mall, wondering why I was there, thinking that the stores held nothing I wanted or could ever possibly want. To please him I wandered into one store and again, just stood there aimlessly letting life flow around me while I remained separate from it all.

   Then, over the piped-in music, I heard a familiar voice, a voice I had heard repeatedly over the years. At first, I couldn't take it in.  Then it dawned on me that I was actually hearing the voice of my former Sunday School teacher, Danny Thomason.  He had an eye clinic and he had put out quite a bit of money to make a Christmas commercial. In the commercial, he never once mentioned his business but  just shared  a Christmas memory from his childhood. 

    In this particular commercial, he recalled a woman in his neighborhood who used to crank up the record player as loud as she could and throw open her windows on Christmas Eve so that everyone could hear her Christmas carols  (whether they wanted to  or not:)  He ended the radio spot by saying that he had no doubt she had her windows flung wide open in Heaven and had her Christmas carols playing as loud as ever!!!

   As I listened to that familiar voice  I knew that this was no coincidence. The commercial aired frequently but I never listened to the radio so I had never heard it.  We were only in the mall for a short time and as far as I know, no other stores were playing that same station. At least I didn't hear it anywhere else as we walked around.

   Deep inside, I knew that God had led me to that store at that precise moment so that He could reach out to me.  The part of me that was numbed by grief began to slowly come alive again. I can't say that was always a good thing because the numbness gave way to the ability to feel and that included the ability to feel pain.  But for the first time since my Mom  had died, my thoughts were focused on Heaven and somehow I knew that if Danny's childhood neighbor was playing her records loud and clear up there, then my mom would be right there with her, listening!

   Grief is just a tough road to walk and especially so at Christmas time.  

   Praying for those  who  are having to walk this road this season for the first time, for those who are trying to add 2 + 2 and coming up with 5 -  may God be with them and help them as He has helped us.  Thankful that Heaven is ahead and Jesus has promised that He will never leave us.

   

Christmas Memories # 10

     Normally, I'm pretty conservative and somewhat shy in certain circumstances.  But for some reason, a few years ago I impulsively bought a Christmas necklace that lit up.  I never was sure if it was a sign of my impending second childhood or what but, even though it was out of character for me, I not only bought the necklace, I wore it!  To school no less! And I was the teacher...
    And then a friend gave me some socks that had Christmas lights on them which I thought was going beyond the pale... I was sure that I would never wear them but on the last day at school before Christmas break officially started, I decided to throw caution to the wind and wear both the socks and the necklace.
     As it turned out, we had a short faculty meeting that day and the principal had the unfortunate task of having to tell us that we would need to jump through yet another hoop for the State Dept. of Education, which involved (of course) more paperwork. And that the deadline for this extra work would be right after we returned from Christmas.  This was not what any of us wanted to hear and in looking back, I'm sure it wasn't what he wanted to tell us either.
    Many of us were worn out, just hanging on for the two week break.  A higher percentage of kids than normal that term seemed determined to make Santa's Bad List and we had already been doing extra work to get ready for a huge inspection that was looming dead ahead in January or so. So we were all sorta sitting around with our tongues hanging out of our mouths anyway when we got this extra assignment.
   After the meeting was over, the mood was not good around the school. The kids had already gone home and the teachers were basically just scrambling to finish grading and get grades in before we could leave at 3:30.  So there was some grumbling as we made our way back to our rooms.  Some were saying they would have to work over Christmas break to meet this new deadline. Others were saying they would just have to do the extra paperwork when they returned, they already had travel plans for Christmas.  Some had a few colorful metaphors and similes to clarify just how unpopular this new assignment was :)
   One of the other teachers , however,  seemed totally unperturbed by the bad news.  When we asked her what her secret was,  why she had such a calm demeanor and wasn't upset, she said that it was simple -  when the principal started talking and she realized it wasn't going to be something good, she just focused on my socks as they blinked off and on  for the rest of the meeting and thought about Christmas...:)
   Later, I had to pick up a friend of our son's - he was supposed to be at work and at the last minute, he didn't have a ride. As as I was crossing the overpass to get to Cameron's house, I could see red lights flashing but when I looked in the rear view mirror, I couldn't see an emergency vehicle anywhere.  Several times I looked around nervously, checking  for a police car and wondering if I  was about to be pulled over before it dawned on me:  as dusk had fallen, the red twinkly lights on my necklace were somehow being reflected on my windshield.  It was one of those moments when I was glad that there was no one else in the car with me!  But, as usual, even though no one witnessed my furtive efforts to avoid the non-existent  police, I told on myself as soon as I got home:)

   To this day, I'm not really sure that my family wanted to appear in public with me back in the days when I was decked out in  the twinkly necklace and  socks - although I have to say in my defense that for once, my ensemble did match!!  And I'm pretty sure they were relieved when the socks came a cropper in the washing machine (their sympathetic commiserations didn't sound sincere...) and also when the batteries finally died in the necklace (and couldn't be replaced...)  But from something that silly, we've gotten a lot of laughter.
  And that's another thing I treasure about Christmas - the ability to laugh and to make memories that will bring smiles to our faces down through the years.

Christmas Memories # 9

     Okay... Back to the Methodist Church candle light service and why I'm glad most of the members don't know my name...:)
    As I said in an earlier blog, I first went to this really beautiful service in 1997 with our international friends,  Timothy and Jenny, where I had a small glitch and embarrassed myself... Hmmmm.
    We didn't go in 1998 - actually, I think the roads were snowy and the late night service was cancelled.
    By  1999, I wanted to go back.  At that time we had a Russian student living with us and anytime you have one international in your home, you have several!  And, as it often seems to happen with international impromptu get-togethers, things can snowball quickly:)
   This particular Christmas Eve, as we were talking about going to the 11 p.m. service, things did indeed snowball  and the next thing  I knew, we had about 10 people who were on board to go with us!  The group included just about every belief system from Missionary Baptist   to Muslim and included  at least one person who spoke no English.  Also included in this group were a couple of young boys who were friends of David.  And at the last minute, their mom was also able to make arrangements to come.  While I was glad that all these people were going to the service, my anxiety level shot to the ceiling as I considered this unlikely mix of people, the language barriers, and all the endless possibilities for faux pas of the gravest natures to occur.  I was one of very little faith.
     So I did what any modern American Christian does in times of stress, I grabbed the phone and prayed someone would answer at the church...ha!  Although it seemed like a long shot, I was able to get through to someone; what they made of my somewhat garbled and frantic S.O.S., I have no idea.  I do know that the people in that church came through with flying colors.
    And really, everything came off without a hitch except for a glitch that happened just as we were filing into the foyer.  I was standing close to David's friends and their mom; however, unknown to me, her  youngest boy, who had a terrible sinus problem, suddenly whispered to his mom that he was about to throw up.  This was news to her and not welcome news either but no sooner had the child said it than.. he did it.  The mom, being more quick-witted than I would have been, stuck out her hand and caught most of it... (I know... it was  definitely a "yuck" moment and also falls under the category of Things-the-Christmas-Carol-lyrics don't tell you about..).  I was already inside the church when the mom came up behind me and hissed, "I need a bathroom. Quick.  C. just threw up in my hand!"
   It was not my finest moment.  I just stood rooted to the spot, running this information through my data banks and coming up with, "What?  He did what?" and "Is she kidding?" and "How can I tell her where the bathroom is, I've only been here once before myself!"   While I was still mentally floundering, an usher stepped forward as if this were the most natural thing in the world and gently directed us to a restroom without any unnecessary commentary:)  (You can see why I really like this church...)
   The rest of the service went without a hitch and I have to say it was a neat experience, worshiping with such an eclectic group, sharing the beauty of the service with close friends and also people from countries far away. I really, really loved it.  In fact, I loved it so much that I  hoped to make this a tradition but the next year, although we were still working with internationals, we couldn't get a group together to go to the candle-light service.  At first I felt let down, knowing that it would be just our family.
   But by the time the 11 p.m. service rolled around, I was at peace, thinking that with just us, there would be no problems.  As it turned out, I was wrong...  I should have known:)
    Just before the service started, our young son started having hiccoughs.  Not the quiet kind, either.  He wanted to get a drink but again, I had no clue where a fountain was so I, being very maternal, told him to "get over it."
    However, I also started racking my brain, trying to figure out what to do.  I was drawing a total blank when the service started and so,  to our horror, the readings were punctuated by these loud hiccoughs that nothing seemed to diminish in volume.  Talk about uptight- I was!
    At one point, when we were standing up to sing, David  looked earnestly into my eyes and begged, "Mom, stare at me and count to three!"
   Being slow as always, I hissed back, "You want me to do what???"  He repeated his, by now desperate plea between hiccoughs and I asked him "Why??"  He assured me that his teacher did this at school and it never failed to work!
  So while the congregation sang, I stared into his eyes as if I were Rasputin trying to hypnotize Alexis and solemnly counted "One - Two - Three!!"  For a few seconds, our gazes held each other and then he gave the loudest hiccough of all.
   Poor kid!  He looked stunned and then said in a small voice, as if he couldn't believe it, "It didn't work..."
   The song was over so we sat down. He let out another huge hiccough and I leaned over, full of motherly love, and said between clenched teeth, "Hold your breath!"
   He looked distressed, pulled at  my sleeve and said,  "You want me to quit breathing???"
   I explained to him that I wanted him to count to ten while he held his breath.  He hiccoughed before telling me that he'd already tried that.
   At this point, I gave him the evil eye and said, "Well, keep your mouth closed!"
    He looked upset and said, "I can't breath through my nose!"
    At this point, it finally occurred to me that we could...ummmm....  pray....
    I mean, after all, we're sitting in a church... duhhhhhh....
    So we did. And guess what?? He hiccoughed a couple of more times and then... they were gone.
   Even now, I look back at that service and wonder how we could have wrestled for a whole 15 minutes, trying every home remedy we could think of without ever considering prayer.
   I don't think it was because I was concerned about bothering God with such a rinky-dink problem. I think it was because I was pretty confident that we could handle this on our own, that we didn't need God's help, thank-you very much!
   The rest of the service went well and I think we all enjoyed it. To me, there is something so right about sitting in a worship service, surrounded by beauty,  as the final minutes of Christmas Eve melt into Christmas morning.  If you've never done it, it really is wonderful.
   But I still think about the hiccough fiasco periodically.  We could have handled it, normally.   For some reason things just weren't working right and none of our bag 'o tricks worked that evening.
  On the other hand, there are some things that no matter how hard we try, we cannot handle by ourselves - ever.  And that, really, is what Christmas is all about. God is holy, pure, and without sin. We aren't. Just as light cannot coexist with darkness, pure holiness cannot coexist with even a speck of sin. Yet God through His Son,  made a way to bridge the gap between light and dark, between sin and holiness, between Himself and us.
  If you don't understand why  God had to send His Son to earth, please consider prayerfully looking at these verses in the Bible:

  Romans 3:23, Romans 6:23, Romans 5:1, Romans 8:1, Romans 10:9-10.  Another good passage is Isaiah 53.  Or even just listen to the words of Handel's Messiah, which are taken from the Bible.
  The message of Christmas is soooo much greater than a baby in a manger, candles, music and flowers at midnight, and a few answered prayers here and there.  There's an unbelievable love out there for each of us and that is what Christmas is all about.

Christmas Memories # 8

     Sometimes Christmases just don't pan out the way you expect them to.  At all.
     In Nov. of 2004, we decided to reach out to our neighbors as our birthday gift to Jesus.  It was the biggest project we'd ever taken on as a family but fortunately, David's friends in the neighborhood helped us and their involvement (plus the hot chocolate afterwards) made it a fun experience.
     We prayed about this project and decided to buy a bunch of quart-sized zip lock bags and pack them with A)  A Christmas letter from us sharing our testimony   B) A tract   C)  Cookies and candies.  I found some baggies that were decorated with snowflakes and Santas.  (This was important...  Baggies are not uncommon in our neighborhood but they don't normally have Christmas decals on them... :)  I typed up our family letter and then printed copies on Christmas stationery.  Then with the help of David and his friends, we stuffed these baggies and prepared to deliver them.
    It was an eye-opening experience but not in the way you might think.  Although we did run across a few rough characters (who were actually pretty positive to our friendly overtures),   most of the people  we met were cautious at first, then curious to know what was in this for us. Our simple, "We just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas!" without a spiel of some sort seemed to stun them and then bring a smile to their faces. If nothing else, this helped break down barriers in our neighborhood where increasing crime had been setting up walls of fear and isolation.
   We distributed almost all of the baggies before Thanksgiving but there were still about 15 houses that  had not been reached.  A few days before Christmas, we had a huge snowfall.  I love snow and so I bundled up and headed out with a handful of baggies to deliver.  Honestly, it was a joy, wading through snow that came up over the tops of my shoes - that's such a rarity in this area.  As I walked, a white curtain of flakes fell soundlessly all around me and to this day, that is one of my precious Christmas memories, unmarred by what happened later. After I had Merry Christmassed my way to about  5 houses, I saw a figure walking down the hill towards me - someone who looked suspiciously like my husband! It was Phil! His light weight truck couldn't make it up the last big hill before reaching our neighborhood and so he had parked it on an empty  lot and walked the rest of the way. Now, surprised to meet each other like this, we linked arms and headed home, laughing, shivering, telling our different stories about the Great Snow of Aught '4.  It may sound crazy, but it was just a neat time.
    A couple of days later, on  Christmas Eve, I was very conscious of the fact that I still had  a handful of Christmas baggies to hand out and time was running out!  The snow had been melting that afternoon and the roads in front of our house looked clear except for the edges which looked wet.  I was trying to decide what to do  when a neighbor came over about 4 in the afternoon with some home-baked cookies for us.  He was in his sixties and when I asked him if he had any problems walking to our house, he said he hadn't.
   I could see that the grass was covered in crunchy snow and knew I could always get traction by walking on those areas  so I headed out. Phil was at the store at the time and David was a couple of houses down the street, playing with a friend.  As I drew even with the house where DAvid was, I could see that the driveway in front of me was heavily shaded and a solid sheet of thick ice still covered it.  By comparison, the road looked dry in the middle and wet along the edges but not icy so I stepped off the crunchy grass and onto the pavement.  It was my first encounter with black ice and hopefully my last.
  My feet slipped out from under me before  I could even process what was happening and I fell, catching myself with my left wrist.  When I instinctively tried to stand,  I got half-way up off the pavement and fell again, catching myself with the same wrist again. All of this happened within moments.  After the second fall, I managed to get to my knees and as I looked up, I saw a car coming towards me. It was still about two and a half blocks away and going slow but I didn't know if they could see me clearly or, even if they did, whether they could bring the car to a halt in time.
  I literally cried out to God and tried to stand again on the same black ice where I had already fallen twice. This time I made it - it had to be God helping me -  and was able to walk to the house where David was playing.  One of the family members  put David and myself in his car and drove us to ER.  I knew my arm had to be in bad shape - so bad that I was even scared to look at it; I'd never broken anything and had hoped  I never would. Now, I could hardly take in what was happening.  (I just don't do medical stuff well at all).
   I'll always be thankful for the nurse who checked me in and got me situated in a cubicle.  He kept me calm while they cut away my sweatshirt  sleeve and started the examination. He also kept calling my husband for me until he got Phil - he wouldn't leave a message because he didn't want to scare Phil.
   While they numbed my arm and I lay there,  a thousand things went  through my mind.  Things like, I was doing something for God. Why would He let this happen to me?  On Christmas Eve no less!  Now, in retrospect,  I don't even know how I could ask that, seeing as how I have Foxe's book of Martyrs on my book shelf... duhhhh.  But at the time, I really struggled with that as I lay on the gurney.   This just wasn't the way things were supposed to work out!!!  
   Of course, other thoughts like, How could I be so stupid??  came and went. And then  instead of sugar plums, dollar signs (i.e. hospital bills) began to dance through my  fear-filled mind as I thought about the cumulative cost of all this.  And of course, I was very conscious of how this would affect David and Phil.  I knew it would be hard on everyone.
   I don't know if you can OD on stress and a broken wrist but I was certainly trying....
  And then Phil arrived, looking so sympathetic and  talking to me so tenderly, that I just felt swamped with shame for my stupidity, my arrogance and where it had landed us.  He asked me why I was walking down the street and I couldn't even answer him so  he didn't press the issue, for which I was grateful.
   At this point, I learned that  for some reason my neighbor had stayed outside in the car while David had been sitting  alone in the  waiting room. Again, it hit me that nothing was right!!!  My focus was strictly on the negative. Then  I overheard one of the young doctors who was treating me say, "Just what I want!  A crushed wrist on Christmas Eve."  That was my first clue that I didn't have just a simple break but I kept clinging to the hope that I had heard the young man incorrectly or that he was exaggerating. (He wasn't. I had a two-hour surgery, two incisions, and three months of physical therapy still ahead of me. But I didn't know any of that then, thankfully).
  The doctors in  ER wrapped my arm tightly and sent me home with a prescription. Phil got David and I to the house and then traveled 20 minutes across town on icy streets to find a pharmacy that was open on Christmas Eve.
    The next day my in-laws were coming  for a late Christmas lunch.  I was able to get up in the a.m. but wasn't able to do much; still I felt that things weren't so bad and that with Mary Ann and Linda's help, we could manage the food.  By the afternoon, I was flat on my back,  rapidly revising my expectations for the day, while Phil and his  sisters were in the kitchen, doing all the cooking with a can-do attitude. Their only concern was keeping the noise down so they wouldn't disturb me.
    As I lay in our bedroom, I could hear muted sounds of talking coming from the kitchen and I felt totally left out. Once again,  I was upset with myself and, honestly, also with God - still not having come to grips with the fact that just because I serve someone Who can walk on water, that doesn't mean He is obligated to enable me to walk on ice!
   So I lay there, thinking about how it was sooo   wrong to be separated from the fun and the festivities, from family, on my favorite holiday of the year, while I kept my arm elevated and hoped the pain meds would work. (They didn't... By that night, I was keeping a hot line open between myself, the ER, and anyone else who could give me tips on how to manage the pain)
   As I lay there that afternoon,  wallowing in this is not the way it's supposed to be!, God opened my eyes to something I'd never seen before. In that room, alone (or so it seemed to me),  God suddenly broke through my self-pity.  I don't know how He did it but for the first time, I understood that over 2,000 years ago, it's true that  the Angels were singing in the sky...  but Christ wasn't with them. And, yes,  Heaven was rejoicing in God's plan... but Christ wasn't there either.
    In other words, He wasn't at home in His Father's throne room, sharing in the celebrations.
    Far from it.  He was, as Paul wrote in Philippians 2, in the process of humbling Himself, actually emptying Himself of royal privilege, power, and possessions so that He could slip onto  the scene in human form, as an infant - totally non-threatening, totally helpless.  More so than I was even, by a long shot.
  There in semi-darkness and solitude, I understood that my Christmas was not ruined. It was just more like the first one, like His.
  That's not to say that I don't prefer the singing-angels-in-the-sky version of Christmas, which is true and real and right. But there is also  the crying-in-a-feed-trough side to  Christmas which is just as true and real and right.
   I hope that all of my loved-ones and friends have a wonderful angels-singing-in-the-sky Christmas but for those who don't, please don't think God has forgotten you. It may be that you are closer to experiencing the first Christmas, which cost the Father and His Son deeply,   than you have been at any other time in your life.

Christmas Memories # 7

     This memory is pure nostalgia - a definite blast from my long ago past!  (David's probably relieved that I'm writing about my early childhood this time instead of his:)
     When I was very young, we'd always go to my grandparents house for Christmas and, like many children I suppose, to me their house was magical and somewhat mysterious. For one thing, we lived in the city and they lived in the country. For another they had rented a house on a farm so while they didn't have to take care of the cows, we kids saw them whenever we went out there.  They also had the standard barn with loft and we spent quite a bit of time playing out there - even getting trapped in the loft when the cows came home, literally, sooner than we expected.  Being from the city, none of us kids wanted to climb down and run the gauntlet of Bessie, Buttercup and so on... So my older siblings tried (without success) to convince me to do it, assuring me that I was so small the cows would never notice me and that all I had to do was go get grandma and she would come shoo the cows out of the barn.  I wouldn't budge so there we perched until grandma noticed that it was awfully quiet around the house and she figured out what had probably happened.
   Another thing that made my grandparent's house special was the fact that they had a huge old-fashioned fireplace and hearth in a high ceiling-ed, somewhat drafty house.  We kids used to bump each other from "hogging" the fire, standing first one way and then another in front of it as if we were human marshmallows roasting on an open fire.. ha!
   And then, of course, there was the basement which was dank, dark and scary. And the attic which could only be reached by lowering a ladder into the main hallway (right next to the big hall closet where Grandpa kept a huge "switch" that he threatened us with but never used). And of course, we spent hours playing in the attic where a kid could get splinters if they weren't careful where they sat =/ and the occasional Grand Daddy Long Legs spider could send us girls shrieking to the ladder for protection.  (We were always assured that the creatures were non-poisonous, perfectly harmless.  It wasn't until a few months ago that I learned they contain as much poison as a pit viper but are harmless simply because their mouths are too small to bite anyone with.  Obviously, this was back in the days before Bill Nye the Science Guy...)
   This farm house was the best place to spend Christmas, bar none, in my humble opinion.  My grandfather loved Christmas and a week or so  before the big day, he would go looking for the perfect tree - one that was huge and full at the base and that also  tapered to a height of at least six feet, preferably higher because he really preferred for it to touch the ceiling. And he always found one!  He loved multi-color lights - something that I inherited from him and even though I know white lights are more elegant,  today I still go for the more jumbled red, blue, green, and yellow effect just because... that was Christmas to me way back when.
    It was at his house where I used to stand on tiptoe to watch the "bubblers" magically produce their bubbles up and down their long red and green glass stems. And where I also learned that sometimes magical, beautiful things are meant to be enjoyed from afar:)  (Those bubblers  were hot to little, sticky fingers!)  And of course, since there were no LED's back then and Grandpa always had a live tree, we had to turn the bubblers off periodically to make sure they didn't set the tree on fire.
    And the gifts my grandparents gave were always special, none of the socks-and-underwear variety. We got toys!  The best they could afford!  But even the adult gifts were sometimes fascinating to us children. One such gift has come back to my mind over and over again.  To me, it was the most magical of all -even better than our toys (probably because I was forbidden to touch it...).
  Since we've gotten the internet,  I've periodically hunted for some hint of this wondrous invention but until tonight, I never could google in the right words to pull it up.  For those who can't remember the fifties - which I suppose is most of the American population.. :), the key phrase is Forest Fire Motion Lamp!  Grandpa had one of those and so did my parents - who gave what to whom I can't remember. But I do remember hanging onto the edge of a table at Grandpa's, watching flames on that cylinder table lamp move without going anywhere! While a bear forever stood on the brink of water that also moved ...without moving!  I'm not trying to be sacrilegious when I say that Moses couldn't have been any more in awe of the burning bush than I was of that burning forest fire!  There's no telling how long I watched that thing, wondering when the fire would reach the bear :)   (Don't worry; it never did!:)   Even to this day, I can hear my grandpa explaining that the forest animals were fleeing to the water to escape the fire, which  seemed pretty darn  smart  for a bunch of furry creatures because I never would  have thought of that!
   At any rate, below I've included a picture and video of the most wonderful lamp in the world...:)
   One other thing that my grandfather had was a book case that was about shoulder height.  On the top shelf he kept a series of diaries. Each night he would write about the day's events while I danced around a floor lamp near his chair.
    I don't have all of them - mostly I have his diaries from WWII and the years right after, several years before I was born.  It seems fitting to end this blog with some accounts of Christmases way past from his diaries.
    Dec. 25th 1941.   Sybil [my mom] went with group to sing Christmas carols at 4 a.m.  Went out to Walter and Jewel's [his sister and brother-in-law] for dinner.  Gave them a small present and left some for the Grovers.   Santa gave to Mother [my grandmother]: gloves, gown, hose, handkerchiefs, apron.  To Sybil: graphaphone record, necklace, theater coupon book, pajamas, shoes, hose.  To Gerald [my uncle]: shirt, tie, tie pin, record, tennis balls, socks.  To me:  shirt, 3 ties, handkerchief, diary.  Hongkong fell today.
    Dec. 21, 1945.   [Although the war was over, my uncle, Gerald,  was still overseas and my mom and dad were living  in Minott, N. Dakota waiting for dad to be sent  overseas].  Received letters from Gerald and Sybil.  He sent us 10.00 to buy Christmas presents for ourselves.  Gen. George Patton dies in Germany from injuries received in car wreck several days ago.  25% of school children in Little Rock down with flu according to the paper. Sybil called about 9:15 and we talked to both her and Richard. She said that she was homesick.
    Dec. 15, 1949.  [My sister, Ina Marie, was a year old].  Ina [my grandmother] spent day at Sybil's.  Telephone man came out, said that a pole had to be put in before they could install phone. Garland and Pearl out after supper, he finished the installation of their door chimes.  They were well-pleased with them.  Took Sybil and Ina Marie to the store where I bought a doll and a toy watch for the little girl.  She was tickled with Susie the 3rd or is it Susie the 4th?  Watch - no go...