Christmas Coming Earlier Each Year

I had to do some errands at the mall, and was flabbergasted to hear Christmas music. Christmas music on Nov. 4! How could this be?? I walked in one store and the saleswoman was blasting a radio and it was not playing Christmas songs.

"I love Christmas music," she said, "But I am trying to drown it out. They are starting way too early. When you are in retail and have to listen to Christmas music for two full months, you get a little sick of it."

I love Christmas music too. Unlike the saleswoman, it is not the music that makes me sick; it is the manipulation. The attempt to force us into the Christmas spirit...the buying spirit...the going broke commercializing the birth of God spirit. Starbucks already has Christmas themed cups for their overpriced drinks (which are delicious, and yes, I know this because I bought one of their overpriced drinks...). Christmas trees are already being erected in the center court. Christmas decorations are already blinking in store fronts. But I was lulled by the Christmas music. The crowds have not yet descended and so the mall was quiet. I sat sipping my overpriced Starbucks drink listening to the Christmas music and felt...well, I hate to admit it, but tranquil.

Later in the afternoon, Asherel and I had our monthly volunteer work teaching art at the Nursing Home. This month  the residents had requested we teach them to draw a pig. Our regular gang of about ten residents were gathered. This time not a single one said they could not draw the pig, and in fact, most of them just got right to it. They didn't even wait for instruction -- the step by step guidance Asherel provides. They began drawing as if they knew what to do and were developing confidence that they could do it.They told me many stories about pigs from their past as they drew. 

One lady who is very careful with her drawings each class told me that her three grandchildren were visiting this week. She had 3 drawings now from the past 3 months of class, and is going to give one to each of the grandchildren. They never knew their Grandmom could draw. I can tell she is very proud of her newfound skill, and tickled that she can give each child a gift she made herself. 

Another lady called me over and whispered, "How much do I owe you for the lesson?"

"Not a thing!" I exclaimed, "It is a joy to teach you!"

"Well then sign me up for the next one!"

The next class will be in December and so we will do a Christmas drawing. It has to be simple, but I want to make it meaningful. Something that will impart the true meaning of Christmas. Fortunately, I have a headstart thinking about Christmas after the Mall trip that morning and the too early Christmas music.

"How about a manger, and baby Jesus?" I asked.

"Yes," they said, "That would be nice."

"Just keep it simple," said another.

I smiled. Yes, it is simple. No reindeer, no Christmas trees, no fancy decorations, and God forbid, no Santa. Just a baby in a manger, profoundly simple in the message of hope.

************************

The Lord preserves the simple; when I was brought low, he saved me. For you have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling; (Psalm 116:6, 8 ESV)

Conquering Darkness

We sat in a church of 5,000 people last night. The lights were dimmed, and then the church was dark. One by one, the candles of the people on the aisle seats were lit. They turned  and lit the candle of their neighbor, who turned and lit the candle of their neighbor. Candle by candle from that birth of the single flame, a whole church of 5,000 people was soon ablaze in light. Darkness was overcome, and for a moment, there was peace on earth.

I heard a talk show host a few days ago berating those who want to hold back progress. In many ways, I agreed with him, but there was one statement that I found myself shaking my head at. He said the light bulb was one of the single most important inventions, because with the light bulb, we humans conquered the dark. As I reflected on this season, and all it means, I thought that is not true. The darkness was not overcome by Edison's light bulb. It was overcome by a little baby born some 2,000 years ago in a manger. In His light, we see light.

Merry Christmas!

Psalm 118: 26-28

 ²⁶ Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD.
   From the house of the LORD we bless you.
²⁷ The LORD is God,
   and he has made his light shine on us.
With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession
   up to the horns of the altar.
 ²⁸ You are my God, and I will praise you;
   you are my God, and I will exalt you.

Isaiah 50: 10
Let the one who walks in the dark,
   who has no light,
trust in the name of the LORD
   and rely on their God.

Isaiah 53: 10-12
¹⁰ Yet it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer,
   and though the LORD makes his life an offering for sin,
he will see his offspring and prolong his days,
   and the will of the LORD will prosper in his hand.
¹¹ After he has suffered,
   he will see the light of life and be satisfied;
by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many,
   and he will bear their iniquities.
¹² Therefore I will give him a portion among the great,
   and he will divide the spoils with the strong,
because he poured out his life unto death,
   and was numbered with the transgressors.
For he bore the sin of many,
   and made intercession for the transgressors.

2 Corinthians 4: 5-7

⁵ For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. ⁶ For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.
 ⁷ But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.

Christmas Light

I gazed despairingly at the wine stained library book. I had finished it, and defiled it, and now, my conscience would let me delay no longer- I must confess my crime. I pictured going to the library clerks and handing them the book, shame dripping from every pore.
"Forgive me, Library, for I have sinned."
I just could not do it. I could not face their wrath as they first beheld the book that they had loaned me in good faith, the book that was brand new with the binding yet uncreased, the pages creamy white...until I had dripped upon them. So instead, I wrote a note. I tucked the note into the book and asked Asherel if she wanted to join me on errands.
"First, to the library," I said, "I am returning the book and owning up to what I did."
"You wrote them a note?" she asked, looking at the little paper tucked in the book.
"Yes, and I will put the book in the book deposit and they will read the note and decide what my punishment will be. Read the note, and tell me what you think."
She picked up the book, looked at the purple stain on the edges, and pulled out my note. She read for a few seconds and then looked up at me.
"Grape juice? You said you spilled grape juice?"
"Well if I told them wine they would think I was reading their book in a drunken stupor. Anyway, it was grape juice....fermented grape juice."
"You are going to offer them the book you wrote as payment for the stain?" she asked reading on.
"Yes, doesn't that sound like a fair exchange? When we get there, take the book just inside the doors and drop it in the adult book depository. Be sure the note doesn't drop out. I am ready to bear the consequences of my sin." As long as it doesn't cost me too much....
"Except, I have to do it?" she asked, as I nudged her out of her seat when we reached the library.
She sighed, picked up the book, and hopped out of the car.

Earlier in the day, I had gathered an assortment of Christmas cookies. My boys and Karissa wouldn't be in till the evening, so my day was free. I had called Comer at the assisted living center the day before. He was still feeling too poorly for our weekly outing, and Evelyn was still recovering from a bad fall. I had so wanted to take them out to see Christmas Lights.The nurses in the Alzhiemer unit felt it best she remain resting. But, I thought, I could still visit, and bring Christmas cookies.
I knocked on Comer's door. No answer. I knocked more loudly. Still no answer. I pounded on the door. Then I heard shuffling steps and the blinds peeked open a little. I jumped up and down waving at him.

"Well hello!" he said, opening the door, "What a surprise!"
"I couldn't take you out to see Christmas, so I brought Christmas to you," I said, handing him the cookies.
He smiled, and said, "Come in, come in!"
I sat on a straight back chair facing him as he settled in his recliner.
"How's Evelyn?" I asked.
"Not well," he said, his eyes misting, head shaking, "She's in bed now."
"Well take those cookies to her later and you two share them, ok? That will perk her up."
"You know she fell," he said.
"Yes, I know."
"She's gained a lot of weight. She won't eat anything herself, so I feed her, you know, coax every bite."
"Maybe you don't need to coax quite as much," I suggested.
"Yes, I have decided that," he agreed, "I can't pick her up when she falls anymore!"
"But don't stop coaxing till after she has the cookies. No one should diet at Christmas."
"It was just a question of time before she fell."
"Maybe she needs a walker," I said.
"Yes, we are coming to that conclusion. She certainly won't be dancing."
"Were you two good dancers?"
"Oh yes, won many contests. On a cruise ship out of hundreds of couples we won first place in the rumba."
He smiled with twinkling eyes, and I could tell he was envisioning his beautiful bride dancing on the polished floors as the ship swayed in the ocean.
"Do you have Christmas plans?" I asked. I knew that usually the two old people spent the holidays in the Home. Comer had told me before that the holidays were just another day in this place.
However, his sad eyes lifted and he said, "Yes! My daughter is coming to bring us to her home for Christmas brunch."
I knew that Comer had been there for Thanksgiving, but not Evelyn. I think it was very hard for the daughter to handle the blunt trauma of Alzheimers and as far as I knew, since being afflicted, the old couple had never been to the daughter's nearby home, but that once for Comer alone.
"Both of you?" I asked surprised.
"Yes," he said, beaming, "She is making Christmas brunch for both of us."
God bless you, daughter, I thought.

Having dropped the library book, Asherel and I continued on to finish our errands. We were walking between stores when a very thin and very old woman stepped away from the wall where she had been leaning.
"Do you have something to eat?" she asked.
My first thought was how much money we were spending with all the kids home and Christmas gifts, and Asherel's various lessons and activities. The woman looked at me, but I didn't get the sense she was seeing me. Her eyes looked empty. I glanced at the store we stood beside. It was the grocery store.
"No, but let's get you something," I said. Asherel and the woman followed as I turned into the store.
"What would you like?"
"Rotisserie Chicken," she said.
I smiled. At least she had not lost a sense of what she wanted. We went to the hot chicken and she chose one.
"Do you have a place to stay?" I asked.
"I am in the Women's shelter," she said.
"What happened that landed you there?"
"I lost my job two months ago."
"Oh, what did you do?"
"Computer chips," she said, then mumbled some other explanations, but I was busy trying to figure out the self check out system.
"Are you involved with a church?" I asked, handing her the chicken as we stepped out of the store.
"Yes, salvation army."
"Well God Bless you, and I hope you find a job. Jesus loves you."
Asherel and I walked on.
"I wonder if she really was homeless," I said.
"She had awfully nice clothes," said Asherel.
"Yes, I noticed that, but she was working until 2 months ago. I guess we will never know if she was just scamming us...but I figure if someone would stoop that low, they do need help. Maybe an act of kindness will spur them on to hope in something better for themselves."

All my children arrived home safely and we played Wii games, and lit the first Hanukkah candle. Karissa, my daughter in law, had never seen the giant book I had made when the boys were young that tells the Hanukkah story. She good naturedly read it out loud while my now grown kids submitted to hearing the story again, as I turned the giant pages with my illustrations in brightly colored markers.
"As we light the candles in this home," Karissa read, "We are reminded of how Jesus, Yeshua, was light to the world, and lights the soul of all who come to Him. We are reminded to spread the light."

Matthew 5:
¹⁴ “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵ Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.

How to Draw a Cat

     You just never know what adventures await you at the FedEx store. As I entered with my package, a woman stood at the counter writing on her box, "Happy Holidays Fed Ex!"
     "That is so sweet!" I said.
     "Yes, just think of all the packages they have to lift this season."
     "That's true. I love that idea!"
     So I took the marker and wrote, "Happy Holidays, Fed Ex" on my package, and then drew a smiley face and put a Santa hat on it.
     "Wow," said the lady behind the counter.
      "That's really good!" said the lady with the other package.
I looked at my smiley face Santa. It had taken 3 seconds, and honestly was at the bottom of my totem pole of drawing skill. What had they seen that I was taking for granted?
     "Well....it is just a smiley face."
     "But the way you drew that hat...it is just really good."
     Hmmmm. I looked at it again to try and see it through their eyes, "I am an artist."
     "I can't even draw a cat," said the lady behind the counter a little sadly, "Just this morning my daughter, she's 2 years old, told me 'Mama, draw me a cat.'  I just drew a blob. My daughter told me, 'That's not a cat, mama, draw me a cat."
    I laughed, " I can teach you how to draw a cat in ten seconds."
    "You can?"
     "Sure, got scrap paper?"
She quickly pulled some cashier tape off her roll. I picked up the magic marker again.
     "See, drawing is easy if you break it down into basic shapes. The head is a circle, the body is a triangle, the front legs are rectangles, back haunches half circles, and the paws are ovals. Then the tail is a banana shape. The ears are obviously triangles, the eyes lemon shapes, the nose a triangle, and the mouth a w."
     She peered at my drawing and took the magic marker from me. She repeated my steps out loud as she constructed her cat.
     "Well look at that," she said, looking happily at her drawing.
     "What's your daughter's name?"
     "Madison."
 I took the magic marker and wrote on my drawing, "To Madison, Merry Christmas."
The lady clapped her hands and gathered up both drawings, "Well now I can draw a cat!"

     Thomas Paine once said, "The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph."
This is often true, and helps me to wade through tortuous circumstances sometimes without giving up. However, sometimes the smaller the task, the easier the simple gesture of kindness, the more heart warming the triumph.
     One of my favorite stories from the Bible is when Elijah comes upon the widow of Zarephath. He is thirsty and hungry, but she is gathering the sticks for the last bit of food and water she and her son have. After they eat that tiny bit, they will lie down and die, she tells Elijah. With this cheery news, Elijah tells her that she should make him a loaf of bread to eat first, and then all will be well. I would likely have spit in his face, trying to take the bread out of my baby's mouth. However, the widow obeyed, with an act of infinite trust and kindness. She fed him her last loaf of bread. A tiny loaf, no doubt. An insignificant offering to the prophet of the most High and Holy God. As a result, her family never again ran out of bread and oil, and they provided not only for themselves, but for Elijah as well. Simple gestures of kindness never evaporate without a ripple of glory.
     I wish I could see the face of the sweating FedEx worker as he heaves two boxes in a row wishing him a Happy Holiday...or the face of little Madison when as if by magic, her mama who could not draw a cat this morning, could draw a cat tonight.


1 Kings 17:
⁷ Some time later the brook dried up because there had been no rain in the land. ⁸ Then the word of the LORD came to him: ⁹ “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” ¹⁰ So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” ¹¹ As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”
 ¹² “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”
 ¹³ Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.’”
 ¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the LORD spoken by Elijah.

A Book of Hope

     My e-book version of I'm Listening With a Broken Ear is having a promotion. It was advertised to Kindle owners and offered free for download to any mobile device/computer/iPod for two days. For some reason, it is still free. I am not sure how long that will last. However, I had forgotten that they would be doing a promotion and just happened to check the website where I can track my book sales. I do that occasionally when I feel like tormenting myself and lowering my self esteem. It was in the morning yesterday.
     "That's odd," I told my husband Arvo, "I have sold a hundred books this morning."
     I then checked an hour later.
     "I have sold 300!" I was becoming famous and I wasn't even dead yet!
    Within the next hour, I had sold almost a thousand. I get no royalties during the promotion, but it didn't matter. My book was flying off the shelves. It had started as something like the 410,000 most popular e-book in it's category. By the end of the day, it soared to #2. Some people wrote to tell me they enjoyed the e-book so much that they were ordering the print version. The print version is currently about the 1 millionth best selling book on Amazon....but you just never know what a little promotion might do. A blizzard starts with one snowflake.
     My son Matt found the promotional site, which I had not even seen, and there were comments, from strangers all over the country. They said things like, "This one looks really good. I've started it and it is so interesting."  Another comment said, "This one looks like a tear jerker. I don't want to read another sad dog story."
     NO! , I wanted to tell her, it is not another sad dog story! In this one the dog overcomes!The dog  is even still alive when the book ends. This is a book of hope! This is the perfect book for Christmas. Similarly,who could have imagined that  the story of a frightened, unmarried teenager who finds herself pregnant and then  travels on a donkey hundreds of miles just before going into labor, and then huddles in a manger as there was no room in the inn to finally birth this seemingly illegitimate child  would end so happily?
Speaker#1:   Happily....? He ends up on the cross.
Speaker#2:   That's not the ending. You are forgetting what happened three days later.
Speaker#1:   Well yes...that part was happy.
Speaker#2:    And then what happens eternally to all who believe.....if that's not happy, I don't know what is!      
     
    My son Matt called late that evening, "Mom, I got a call back on the Federal Reserve internship for this summer."
    It was a day full of hopeful surprises.

Psalm 31: 4
4 Be strong and take heart,
   all you who hope in the LORD.

Unexpected Rewards

     A huge package arrived at my doorstep yesterday. It came from  Williams Sonoma. I know little about this store except it is very expensive and exclusive and I could not imagine who would be sending me an enormous gift from such a place.
     I put the box on the counter and went back to work. I had called Comer, our elderly friend at the Nursing Home earlier in the week to suggest a Christmas Lights outing. I thought his wife Evelyn, even with Alzheimers eating away at her brain, would enjoy looking for homes covered with Christmas decorations. I had already put two Christmas music CDs in the car, knowing that Evelyn might not speak, but she would sing.
     "Hello," croaked Comer, answering the phone.
     "Comer! You don't sound so good."
     "I feel awful. Thought I was going to die."
     "Oh dear! I am so sorry! What is it?"
    "Feels like some flu, or bad sinus infection.I haven't left my bed in three days."
"Oh my! Well I was calling to invite you out to look at Christmas lights this week...but maybe we should wait til next week?"
"Yes, I couldn't go anywhere this week. I feel too poorly. I am getting better. I should be fine by next week."
"I know in the past Evelyn doesn't do well at night. Do you think she would be ok if we go out in the evening but we will go as soon as the sun sets?" Evelyn, like many people afflicted with Alzheimers, would sometimes become agitated at night. At least she used to. Since moving to the new facility where Comer was just down the hall, she had been doing much better emotionally.
"Oh, I don't know. You know she never speaks at all anymore. Still sings though."
"Well I have lots of Christmas music for her to sing. Listen, why don't you check with her nurse and let me know? We could go next week if you are feeling better."
"Oh, I am sure I will be," he said.
"Well then you rest, and I will call you next week. We will get yummy food and hot chocolate and go find beautiful homes dressed up for Christmas."
"Thank you darling," he said, his voice gravelly and strained.
     I hung up and returned to my computer woes. I had developed a GoogleGroup list for the Homeschool Ski Club I was forming, and already there were problems. Half the people had not received the invitation to join the Google Group, which meant I had to go back to my inbox, find every one who had written but not joined the group and then try to find another way to add them to the Group. I had been at it for hours.
     Volunteer work just doesn't pay, I thought. I glanced at the huge Sonoma Williams box. What could that be, and who had sent it? I didn't want to spoil a Christmas surprise by opening the card, but curiosity was overcoming my hesitance. I put it under the tree and my forehead grazed the sparkling Crystal Squirrel ornament. It spun on a silver thread, little blue gems in the eyes shimmery points of color. Every year, Asherel and I go out to look for one crystal ornament to add to our tree. My tree is decorated in all crystal clear onrnaments and white lights. It is very elegant. My mom had a tree like that, and I loved the simple elegance of it, so continued that tradition in our own home. Asherel and I usually take quite a while to agree on the yearly ornament, but as soon as we saw the squirrel, we both knew this was the one we wanted.
     "It reminds me of Squirrel Nutkin!" I said happily. Nutkin was a baby squirrel that had fallen from a tree in our yard a few years ago, rescued by Lucky from the freezing rain, and then restored to health by us. Ultimately, since he was only 6 weeks old when we saved him, we brought him to a rehab specialist who released him safely to the wild when he was fully grown. Asherel and I had loved our few weeks nursing the little baby who had almost died back to health.
     "Yes, let's get that one," said Asherel.
     I smiled at my little squirrel ornament and the happy memories it evoked.Then I sobered as I looked back at the computer and rubbed my wrist.The tendonitis from all my computer work was flaring and every word I typed hurt. But I had to fix the issues with the skiing google group. I had volunteered, and like it or not, I had to follow through now. I glanced at the mysterious package under the slowly swinging crystal squirrel. I could stand the suspense no longer. I opened the card on the giant expensively wrapped box.
     "Thank you for your kindness to my parents," the card said. It was from Comer and Evelyn's daughter.

Luke 14:

¹³ But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, ¹⁴ and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
¹⁵ When one of those at the table with him heard this, he said to Jesus, “Blessed is the one who will eat at the feast in the kingdom of God.”

Preparing for the Messiah

Day after Thanksgiving- legitimate to look like Christmas now.
So, as soon as Matt and Karissa were out the door on their way back to law school, I was in the closet, pulling out Christmas decorations. I am pretty sure my epitaph will read:
Let it never be said moss grew under this one's feet.

Everything with a hint of orange, ywllow, or brown went in the wash or the closet. Reds and greens were piled in a heap on the floor. Within three hours, Thanksgiving was obliterated and Christmas was coming. With one sad exception. I topped my gorgeous fully decorated tree with the star, turned on the switch and the star didn't light. And the crafty manufacturers made it in such a way that you can't get in it to change the bulb without breaking it. Materialistic creeps! Ruining my Christmas! So Arvo went out and got me an angel, a beautiful angel with white lights that match the white lights and crystal ornaments on my tree. However, the hole in the angel to slip her atop the tree is the wrong size for my tree. I am sure this can be fixed, but for now, my tree is topless. This is not the image of Christmas I am going for at all.

I had never had a pretty accent for my mantel either, and after twenty years of living here with a shabbily adorned mantel, decided it was time to find a tasteful mantel decoration. Asherel came with me. This is our annual mother/daughter bonding time. We go to get a single Christmas decoration that we both agree upon. As you can imagine, this leads to very un-Christmasy arguments. This year, I wanted a pine swag for the mantel, and then whatever we could come up with to make it stand out.
"Should I get the prelit pine swag or plain? 6 ft. or 9 ft.? Berry or pine cone covered? Spruce or balsam? Snowcovered or rainbow?"
We surveyed our choices, and finally settled on the prelit 6 foot plain pine. Now to accessorize.
"How about ribbon?" I said.
"What will you do with ribbon?" asked Asherel.
"I don't know..." I said. I took her to a decorated tree in the store and showed her how they had crinkled fancy ribbon tastefully along the boughs. It was beautiful.
"Like that. We can do that."
So we headed to the ribbon section. There were at least 300 different ribbon choices. Some ribbon was $15 a yard! I found a remnant of silver ribbon for 70 cents a yard.
"How's this?"
"I like this better," she said, pointing to ribbon that was silver laced with sparkles of rainbow glitter. It was $1.20 a yard and I only needed 3 yards. Deal! We were ready to check out and hadn't had a single red faced blow up.
"What will you be doing with this?" asked the store clerk as she cut my ribbon.
I held out the pine swag, "I am going to tastefully crinkle it along this swag. That will be beautiful, right?"
She raised an eyebrow, "Sure."
"Good answer, Rudy," said her co-worker.
Of course, this made me suspicious that it might not be as beautiful as I hoped.

Still, we gathered our mantel decoration and headed home. I set it up, crinkled my ribbon and draped it tastefully across the pine swag, then plugged it in. The little white lights embedded in the pine sparkled and glinted with tiny specks of rainbow colors reflecting in the silver lacy ribbon. It was beautiful, at least in my eyes. I sat in the dark looking at my topless tree and my sparkle pined mantel for a long time.

Isaiah 28: 5
⁵ In that day the LORD Almighty
   will be a glorious crown,
a beautiful wreath
   for the remnant of his people.

Songs of the morning

I didn't peek out the window since I would have had to stumble across sleeping bodies in the dark, but as I was washing up in the bathroom, I heard the almost imperceptible strains of  angels singing. I kid you not. It was only 6 am, and no one else was up. Then I heard the unmistakable sounds of piano music rising to accompany the angels' voices. I stopped and listened, knowing that I was being given a gift from God on this beautiful morning.

"I have never heard their voices so unmistakably!" I wondered aloud, "Happy Birthday, Jesus!"
I felt a little like Mary must have felt, being in the undeniable presence of a heavenly being, heralding hope and joy and goodwill to wretched man.

Then I heard the radio announcer break in, and realized Arvo had forgotten to turn off his alarm this morning. I raced out and smacked the off switch before it awoke Asherel, sacked out on an extra mattress in our room while Karissa is here.

There was no snow, not yet. But the day was just begun. The snow was predicted to fall later in the day. I crept about the house, turning on the Christmas lights and setting out stockings. Lucky went outside and began barking. I hurried out to shush him, and saw both Honeybun and he standing alert in the darkness, ears perked, looking at....nothing..... and barking.  I told them to be quiet, and scurried back into the warm house. Again, there was barking. A second time I raced out and warned them to stop. Honeybun, the good dog, followed me back inside. Lucky stood in the middle of the dark yard, expectant, waiting.....
Was he hearing angels too?

As soon as I settled again at the computer, Lucky began barking. I sprang to my feet and this time corralled him, dragged him in, and put him in the crate. My nerves were already frazzled and it was not yet 7 a.m.  A day that I thought had started with the voice of angels was unraveling already.  And I thought about how holidays are supercharged with expectation. They almost never live up to the impossible hopes and dreams of what the day should be...at least not in my superinflated conjurings. (Spell check didn't like either of those last two words!)

How different that is from what really happened on the real Christmas morning, on the morning Jesus was born! Expectations were minimal, conditions were deplorable, and the hope of mankind was smaller than a dog and wearing diapers. The real momentous parts of life all start small.  Patience, love, appreciation for parents and others, bank accounts.....If Mary had any inkling of truly understanding what the angel had told her about her newborn son, my guess is she was not focused on that revelation as she shuddered in the cold and tried to keep the donkey from stepping on her baby. Barking dogs, alarms, and other distractions have a way of intruding upon our promised and hoped for Peace.

I glanced at the walls by the Christmas tree. They glowed pink. Tiptoeing to the door, I peeked out at the sky. It was covered with flaming pink and purple and orange clouds, stretching like Holy Fire across the horizon. The angels were not audible, but the heavens were shouting their welcome.

Merry Christmas!

Luke 2:10-12

¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

A Holy Whiteness

An epic snowfall is predicted for Christmas day. It hasn't snowed here on xmas in something like a million years and then only a trace. In fact, it is proposed that dinosaurs once roamed the hot southern swamps of NC but they all died when it snowed on Christmas. The scientists believe this was not due to their inability to adapt to the unexpected cold, but actually due to their marked inept skills at  cross country skiing.Many, if not most, having never taken a single lesson, crashed into trees and each other leading to mass extinction.

But I am not a dinosaur, and I love cross country skiing. My skis and boots are all lined up, waiting..... A full foot of snow is forecast. It will be years before the one snow plow in Charlotte removes all that snow!!!

The snow is expected to commence around the time that dear almost daughter in law Karissa is due to fly off to see her parents. Anders is due to fly out a few days later. With luck, the snow may keep both her and Anders stuck with us a few more days. This is of course selfish of me and I am ashamed that I would even think such a thing so close to the holiday where unselfish behavior is the whole premise of the day. But there you have it. There is nothing I love more on earth than my family. I want them near me, even if they are buried in computers and games, and the only sounds I ever hear from them are, "When is dinner?"  I understand why God went to so much trouble to entice us all to return Home to Him. No matter what we are or what we become, the Parent loves us so much that life feels incomplete without His childrens' beloved presence.

I think God is mostly incomprehensible.... but the one part of Him that I think I really get is in His role as Father, in His angst over his children's suffering, growth, and righteousness. In His desire to hold them near, but His willingness to let them go. In His hopes that by granting them the freedom to choose NOT Him, they will ultimately choose FOR Him. I totally get His grief when one wanders, and His eternal hope as He waits and waits and waits, that every single one of them would return to Him in the end.

So forgive me as I pray for snow, snow to blanket the city long enough to let me cling to my loved ones an extra day or two.  And snow that lets me glide along streets emptied of cars and silenced with a holy whiteness reminding me of a time when life was a little slower and family members didn't venture so far away.

Proverbs 17:6

 ⁶ Children’s children are a crown to the aged,
   and parents are the pride of their children.

Is it real?

Even the tree was holding its breath in anticipation of the absent family members soon to arrive, to fill the holes in our hearts that they alone occupy. I was busily fussing to make everything clean and beautiful, though everyone knows that boys never notice such things.

Asherel was fulfilling a family tradition and lay sick on the couch with a cold coming on. I was always sick on christmas. She watched as I turned on the christmas lights and then placed battery operated tea light candles in the centerpiece, nestled into the real candle. To her horror, I turned it on.

"That Looks fake," she said.
"It Is fake," I told her.
"You Should just light the real candle."
"It doesn't stay lit,and besides,these fake candles won't burn down the house. "
I stepped back.
"From Far away it looks real."

She shrugged, not feeling well enough to argue.

But I paused to consider all the fake aspects of christmas - fake trees, fake garlands,fake reindeer, fake Santas....no wonder we often lose sight of what christmas is all about!

When the beloved ones bustled in, they didn't notice that the candles were fake. Noone was looking at candles real or otherwise. We were just happily holding close the dear ones we had missed so much.

Rummaging through old scrapbooks the week before, I had found a score of music my then 6 year old Anders had written. He had called it "Love is all you need." One line said,"big or small. Love is the greatest gift of all."

As I hugged my precious son and his exquisitely wonderful bride to be, I could not have agreed more with the sentiment of that line. And love is the one thing about christmas that should never be fake. As I snuffed out (eg- turned off the switch) of the fake candle, I glanced at the little clay creche Asherel had made me last christmas. Fake angels surrounded my little fake creche but somehow, it filled me with an emotion that felt suspiciously real, suspiciously like hope and faith, and unquenchable love.

2 Corinthians 9:15
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift

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Imposter

Santa had planted himself right next to the bar and was acting very un-Santa like. He wasn't hohohoing at all, and he was waving at people a little tipsily. His pillow belly was slowly shifting and he was making no attempts to prod it to its proper position.
"And what is Santa doing here at an adult Christmas party? " I asked Arvo, "There is something odd about Santa."

I watched Santa at various points of the night, when I wasn't cramming my face full of shrimp, wild mushroom ravioli, and pecan encrusted chicken. I love Christmas parties! And it had even begun to snow a little today. Not for long and it didn't stick, but it was definitely Christmas cold and Christmasy feeling.

Except for Santa. He hovered on the sidelines, rocking a little on his toes and then surreptitiously sneaking another drink from the open bar. When I wasn't watching Santa, I checked out what the other ladies were wearing. Some had full length gowns, so I probably didn't need to cut off my velvet dress to tea length, but now it is more adaptable for other activities like walking the dog.  One lady had a full sequined dress, but she really should have talked to my sister before accessorizing it. She wore a dowdy black cardigan with it. She would never have escaped the house if Holly had been around to advise her. I was center of the road as far as attire, and my feet were killing me, as they always do unless I am wearing sneakers.

The boss finally worked his way over to us and we all exchanged the usual pleasantries and then silence fell, and our eyes all hovered over to Santa, who was now tapping his fingers a little and waving his arms over his head in beat to the music.

"I don't know where Santa came from," admitted the boss,"We didn't hire him. He appears to just have wandered in and planted himself by the bar."

So Santa was an imposter! Maybe some enterprising homeless man who figured out the no one dares kick Santa out of holiday parties. A clever way to get food, drink, and warmth for little investment!

I have always considered Santa an imposter, an interloper, a spoiler who comes in and tries to grab the real magic of Christmas from the hearts and minds of our children. I am one of those Grinches who never taught my children about Santa, and never pretended Santa bought gifts. I felt the miracle of Christ born a human to show us the way back to a right relationship with our God was a far more wondrous idea than a fat man riding a sleigh filled with toys pulled by flying reindeer. I remember one day when Anders was very young when he was asking me about the meaning of Christmas. He had heard friends talking about Santa and was curious.... was Santa real? And just what was Santa supposedly responsible for anyway? So I told him all the beliefs about Santa, and he listened nodding. Sounded plausible to him.
Then I told him the real Christmas story, how Jesus was born in a manger, a baby who was born so that He would grow to challenge us to understand how our damaged souls longed for a right relationship with God. But no matter how hard we tried, we could never obey God, just like no matter how hard he tried, he could never perfectly obey me. (he nodded, here.) But all we had to do was trust that Jesus had come to let God punish Him instead of us, so that we could stand before God as though we were perfect, clean, and righteous. It was as though when Anders faced punishment which he rightfully deserved, his brother Matthias stepped in and said, "I know justice requires retribution.... so punish me instead."  All Anders had to do was acknowledge that Matthias had done this wondrous thing, and accept it, and say Thankyou.

The boy who had nodded that he could see how people could believe in flying reindeer, a sleigh that could fit toys for every child in the whole world, and a man that could slide down chimneys to deliver them, now looked at me with wonder as I finished telling him the REAL Christmas story.
"NAH!!!" he said, thinking I was joking.
And that's why we never celebrated Santa.

As we headed away from the loud music and the swaying Santa, and walked down the long festive corridor of the hotel... I noticed a little manger scene. It was in a dark corner, not fully assembled, small, and unnoticed. The glitzy celebration roared behind me, but I looked at the little manger scene and felt the awe I always feel that something so small, so insignificant, so helpless as a tiny baby could become the most pivotal event of my life and so many people leave it in a dusty, unnoticed corner.

Psalm 4: 2-3
 ² How long will you people turn my glory into shame?
   How long will you love delusions and seek false gods^[b]?^[c]
3 Know that the LORD has set apart his faithful servant for himself;
   the LORD hears when I call to him.

According to His Good Purpose

"What is that wire thing called on the parlor copter you sell? A thrust bearing I think. I need one of those."  Having now two (almost working) designs as well as a kit that we know works, we were now ready to get materials to build our own official  Science Olympiad helicopter.
"OK, what size?"
"Oh, there are different sizes?"
"Yes, and it has to match the size of your prop shaft."
"Oh and I need some of those too."
"What size?"
"The size of the thrust bearing."
Sigh.

"OH," I added, "I also need those really tiny little things that hold the prop shaft on."
"Do you have an item number....or name?"
"No, but they are those little little things on the Parlor copter you sell."
"I will look it up.What size?"
"Well big enough to hold the prop shaft on."
"Ma'am, are you new to this?"
"YES! How can you tell?"

Flash forward to my discussion with my "flight expert consultant", my brother.
I asked him a highly technical and difficult question, that even I didn't understand. Somehow, he seemed to sift through the ignorance and answered, and gave me a very simple formula that addressed the situation. I must be highly secretive here in case we have stumbled on a helicopter that will surprise everyone and actually fly.
"Perfect !" I wrote to him, "That is what we need! Simple formulas! Are there any other simple formulas you can send me?"
He immediately sent me a website filled with formulas. I glanced briefly at it and wrote back.
"I said SIMPLE formulas."
"How much simpler than force times distance do you need???" he asked.

Are you sensing a pattern? Because I am. I am beginning to get the impression that I am not fooling anyone into thinking I have figured out the principles of flight, aeronautic engineering, or perhaps even how to properly brush my teeth. I am an imposter, a fraud, a hopeless dimwit trying to do something I have no training, no education, no experience, no inclination, and apparently no real talent for.  My only saving grace is that I have the wisdom to have a team with two kids much smarter than me.

I love Rodin's sculpture of The Thinker. You all know it, right? It is of the figure sitting with his chin in his hand, obviously deep in thought and complex reflection of the workings and mysteries of the universe. I have always admired that pose, the sentiment expressed by that statue. I have always wanted to be a Thinker.  But I am coming to the sad conclusion that perhaps I just am not. I have produced children who are Thinkers.... and my husband is a Thinker. Even my dog has been described as a Thinker. I am surrounded by thoughtful-ness. It swirls around me while I stand in the eye of the hurricane of ideas, untouched by the winds.

I am often plagued by this damaging desire to be everyone but who I am. It is the basis of my quest for the perfect haircut. When I see adorable short hair walk by, I want short hair. When I see beautiful long hair walk by, I want long hair. When I see great singers, I wish I could sing. When I see great actors, I wish I could act. I am always on the sideline watching excellence and wondering why there wasn't enough to go around.... why am I just me?

These periods usually don't last long, or at least get buried by the march of life as myself, since no one else seems clamoring for my place in the roll-call of humanity. I don't think I am alone, either, in at least occasionally wishing I were someone I am not. God doesn't bother to tell us things we don't need to hear, like "Be more selfish and greedy." Most of us can do that just fine. He takes the time to remind us of the things we keep forgetting, and many times He mentions that we are loved, created by Him to be exactly what we are, and formed in the womb with all those attributes known to Him even before anyone else knows of our existence. If I truly love and trust God, then I have to believe that He knew what He was doing when He made me. He knew I would someday coach a Science Olympiad Helicopter team, and He knew I would not understand most of what I was trying to teach my students. Still, His purpose will be accomplished.

Christmas is a great season to reflect on this issue. I cannot imagine being Mary, the mother of Jesus, no matter how many stained glass windows would be created bearing my image.  If I were the one the angel appeared to on that historic evening, telling me I was pregnant around age 15 with a baby who was going to save the entire world from their sins.... I am pretty sure the conversation would have gone more like this:
Angel:
“Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. ³¹ You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. ³² He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, ³³ and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”(Luke 1)
Me:
"Say WHAT? Are you nuts? I haven't lived my own life yet. How on earth do you expect me to be responsible for someone else's life.... particularly someone who is going to be in the business of reforming people like Mao Tse Tung... or Hitler."
Angel:
 ³⁵ ... “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. ³⁶ Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. ³⁷ For no word from God will ever fail.”(Luke 1)
Me:
"Well if you insist, but I am telling you there is a first time for everything. If ever a situation was being set up for failure it is this one. You sure God wants to take a chance on me for such an important role? Maybe I should start with something smaller.... like a puppy."

And so on. You get the gist.

But PRAISE GOD, that is not how Mary responded, and as a result, the Messiah entered the world, that "whosoever would believeth in Him would have eternal life."  So, I will go study the web site John sent me, and try to absorb those "simple" formulas, just in case God's purpose is to make a student's helicopter fly.

Philippians 2:13

¹³ for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

Ephesians 1: 11-12
 ¹¹ In him we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will, ¹² in order that we, who were the first to put our hope in Christ, might be for the praise of his glory.

Broken and Beloved

"You want to save that?" Asherel asked laughing, as I pulled out a little bent paper angel from the ornament box.
"You made it, didn't you? Of course I am saving it," I answered.
"But it is bent," she observed.
So who isn't?, I thought.

We finished decorating the second tree which stands in the dining room. This tree is our colorful, whimsical tree. The elegant crystal and white tree is in the great room, and only carefully selected crystal, clear, or white ornaments (many from my parents' tree which my mom gave to me) are allowed to grace its more expensive pre-lit branches.

The dining room tree is for all the homemade ornaments from my friends, my family, my children and my art students over the years. There is no unifying theme other than bright and colorful..... and often old and slightly damaged . This has always been the tree the kids have decorated and I don't try to manage or direct how the ornaments are placed. In the past, it has often been pretty unusually balanced- most ornaments on the bottom three branches and none on the top.

"Did you make this?" I asked, holding up a wilted looking dragonfly.
"Yes," she laughed, "I think it is a dragonfly."
I am not sure what a dragonfly has to do with Christmas, but I clipped it on the tree.
I pulled out a little crocheted ornament, made by my neighbor with the date when Anders, my first son was born. It was stained around the edges.
"That looks a little old," said Asherel.
Yes, as old as the joy of my children gracing the earth's crust!

"Why are you hanging that one?" she asked, as I nestled a sleigh on an upper branch,"It only has one runner."
"My dad gave it to me, " I said, "When I set up my first Christmas tree."
And so the memories slowly paraded out of the box, a collection of misfits, damaged, and old ornaments of my life.

We stepped back when the last ornament went on the tree. Funny how all those broken, faded, ancient baubles looked so pretty and complete all together against the Christmas lights.

Our next adventure was to head out to the luthier and assess the cost of repairing Asherel's cracked guitar. I know many of you are surprised to see me use such an unusual word and until yesterday, I didn't know what it meant. A luthier is someone who repairs or works on stringed instuments, or luths(lutes). It did not occur to me as we drove to visit the luthier that we had spent a day amidst broken but beloved things.

Asherel lovingly opened her case and the luthier gazed at the Epiphone guitar.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Honestly, I would get your money back unless you got a stupendous deal on it and buy one new for what it will cost to fix it."
I didn't look at Asherel's face, but I knew that would be the equivalent of throwing away the broken dragonfly ornament to her.
"How much did you pay for it?" he asked.
"I don't know," we answered, "My husband won't tell me."
"Well if you paid more than $200, it is not worth fixing. And even if we do fix it, the line of the crack will be repaired, but it will still show.  It will cost $100.... and that's if the electronics work." He fingered the loose volume knobs. The epiphone can be either acoustic or electric.
"Did anyone check to see if these work?" he asked. We somewhat abashedly shook our heads.
"She is really only using it right now as an acoustic guitar," I explained.

He was a kind man, and he touched the John Lennon signature.
"This is a good guitar," he said, "And the Lennon signature is cool. Why don't you call your husband and find out what he paid?"
So I did, but Arvo wouldn't tell me, so I handed the phone to the Luthier.
"Yes," I heard him say after he explained the situation to Arvo, "I understand. That is my favorite (meal) (Beatle) too."
Now I am not sure which he said but it is critical in guessing the guitar price, my dear Watson. You see, I think he said "meal" which means Arvo had said, "I can't tell them the price or I will have to eat some humble pie", which means he spent way too much for the broken guitar.
On the other hand, Asherel thinks he said, "Beatle" which means Arvo was explaining how much Asherel loves the Beatles, particularly John Lennon, and even though the guitar was broken, it was dirt cheap and he couldn't pass it up.

The luthier handed the phone back to me, and Arvo told me to go ahead and get it repaired.
I hung up and asked the luthier ,"He says fix it..... what did he pay for it?"
"I am sworn to secrecy," said the luthier.
"Well can you tell me this- was it worth it?"
"Depends on your income," he answered cryptically.
"What caused these cracks and damage?" I asked.
"Oh drinks spilling on it and not being wiped up...hard living. This guitar has needed a little TLC for a long time."
I smiled at Asherel, "I think God sent you this guitar just in time."

So none the wiser on the cost, we left the broken guitar with the luthier and headed home to our broken lifetime of ornaments. I reflected on the luthier's parting comment and thought about how all of us are in need of a little TLC. Sometimes it is a long, long time in coming, and we fear the crack will become more than just a surface blemish. Sometimes it threatens to break through into our core, and affect our ability to sing with the voice of wholeness and beauty that we were designed for.

But sometimes, in fact,  I think every time, if we get the whole broken mess of our soul to the Master Luthier in time, the cracks may still show, but they will not affect the ability to join in the Music. I smiled at our bright cheerful Christmas tree before I turned it off for the night.

Isaiah 65: 14, 17-18, 24-25
¹⁴ My servants will sing
   out of the joy of their hearts,
but you will cry out
   from anguish of heart
   and wail in brokenness of spirit.
 ¹⁷ “See, I will create
   new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
   nor will they come to mind.
¹⁸ But be glad and rejoice forever
   in what I will create,  
²⁴ Before they call I will answer;
   while they are still speaking I will hear.
²⁵ The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
   and the lion will eat straw like the ox,
   and dust will be the serpent’s food.
They will neither harm nor destroy
   on all my holy mountain,”
            says the LORD.

Back to Real Life

Christmas decorations create magic in the home with their flickering lights, beautiful angel wings flapping heaven's scent, and fake smell of pine in green and red candles.... until the day after Christmas. On the day after Christmas, they become a huge pile of clutter that SOMEONE now has to collect and put away. No longer do they beckon me to sit and contemplate whether Mary really understood the enormity of her responsibility. Now instead they taunt me to defy the law of physics and closet space and get them stored away for another year. Even when I feel healthy that is a task I abhor, but I am sick with a wretched cough that rips my chest cartilege with every racking explosion. So I wrestle with which bothers me more- the now antiquated Christmas clutter or the spasms of coughing that will undoubtedly erupt if I try to put them away today. My family is still fast asleep for hours so I have plenty of time to clean. Every year I want to just get a garbage can and toss everything in it so that I don't have to carefully wrap each precious glass ornament, and then lug the enormous bin of Christmas cheer up the steep pull-down attic steps.

But then, I remember what happens every year shortly after Thanksgiving when I first lug the enormous bin down the steep pull-down attic steps. As I unwrap each precious glass ornament, a flood of memories cascade down the rapids of my soul. These are the crystal icicles Mom put on the tree every year when she finally defied the kids' garish tastes and decided we would have an "elegant" tree. Funny how I love the elegant tree as well. I have a garish tree for the kids, and an elegant tree for me. And as I unwrap the homemade Angels and snowmen made by the children when they were young, I always get a lump in my throat wondering where those hectic joyful years went. I unwrap the hand painted ornaments that creative sister Amy made with special significance to each of us. And I unwrap the little creche I made, this year noticing that baby Jesus' arm was broken despite my care putting it away the year before.

That would be sad if my hope was in the permanence of the material drapings of our Christmas, but of course it is not. And this year, I have the beautiful new creche Asherel made and gave me as a gift. It is exquisite and much sturdier than the fragile one I made anyway.

So I will probably tackle the clutter after subduing my cough with caffeine and zinc cough drops. But I think I will leave the new little Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus in a place of prominence. First of all, it was made with the hands of love of a child that sought to know her mother's heart, and that will sustain me through many a heart-break in the new year. But also, I think it may help me to glance over at it each day, to see the hope and love on the face of a slightly bewildered Mary, the protection and determination of faithful Joseph, and the innocence and miracle of a baby that seems so vulnerable and yet carries the weight of the world on his little shoulders. That baby will remind me that even when I feel my weakest, when the inevitable disappointments threaten to tumult to despair, when there really seems no possible happy ending..... then I will look at the baby and remember that God's greatest miracle started off in diapers.

A Wet Christmas

We don't have a white Christmas.... we have a wet Christmas. The rain is dancing like sugarplum elephants on our tin roof to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" (my least favorite Christmas song.)
Lucky, who fears something we don't understand about being indoors in the rain, is standing in the frigid, wet cold, occassionally looking soddenly in, as though it is our fault his brain disappears on rainy days.

Maybe the rain and the frozen wet dog too traumatized for unknown reasons to come inside to dry warmth and comfort is the perfect Christmas symbol for the morning. Inside the tree is lit up with the lovely crystal decorations my mom gave me. The smell of coffee brewing drifts about, with tendrils of steam rising from my cup. Presents are beautifully wrapped and cheerfully arranged around the tree..... on one end of our great room.

On the other end, the sliding doors look out onto a drenched porch, shiny with rain in the slowly emerging break of dismal day. Lucky stands there looking in, his hair dripping in long wet strands about his silent, woebegone face. If I go and open the door, he comes in, and then instantly dashes back out the dog door. He has the choice to come in and join Christmas, but he doesn't. He stands frozen and miserable in the rain, locked in his fears and prejudice from joining the celebration.

I believe that is what entrance to the kingdom of God is like, symbolized by the gift of Christmas, the birth of a savior. We can all choose. Some will stand outside looking in, miserable and lost in trembling uncertainty. Some will be opening gifts eternally surrounded by warmth and love and light. A loving master opens the door over and over again, and out of fear and doubt, some choose to keep running from the source of all joy. My Christmas prayer and hope is that when the door opens, we can cast all apprehensions aside, and rush to the gift that awaits us, blinking in the blinding love. Merry Christmas.

Joy!

I love the assortment of cookies in the children box God gave me. One is intellectual, silent, serious. Another is garrulous, emotional, intense, and wacky. A third is a mixture, but tends towards the very creative artistic type. I see bits of myself in all of them, but the most unreachable is probably my oldest. He doesn't like to talk, finds it meaningless, even painful, and wasteful of the allotted breaths humans can take on this earth.

On the other hand, talking through what I am feeling and thinking is very valuable to me. I share his stumbling with words, but still feel it is a critical aspect of human interaction. We are always at an impasse emotionally, totally clueless as to how the other can exist in their own psyche. I try to understand and silence my maternal concern. I try to exist quietly in his presence, but it is not easy. I prayed very specifically yesterday morning that God would grant a miracle of opening doors between us.

Last night, Arvo told me the kids should open the gift he had bought early. He said it was important since Anders only had a few days to spend with us. Based on my non-materialistic son's usual stoic response to gifts, I was not sure it was worth decreasing the visual and gluttonous excess of all the gifts under the tree Christmas morning, but being the typical dutiful and obedient wife (sarcasm is dripping like melted butter here...), I acquiesced.

The kids lined up by the large gift and Anders ripped open a corner. Now the fact that Anders even bothered to approach the gift with anything looking like interest was enough to tip me off that I was watching a miracle. When he lifted the box and began ripping into it, and the others converged on it tearing away packaging like sharks on a piece of meat, I felt knobs turning, rusty hinges creaking.

As they pulled out the guitars, and drums, and began hooking up the Beatles Rock Band set to the Wii, Matt smiled at me and said, "GOOD gift!" Anders, my silent Anders, was chattering away. He was singing, out loud, Beatles songs.

He asked me, as he handed me the mircrophone, if I wanted to sing. He assigned himself to the drums, and Matt to the guitar. Asherel and Arvo sat on the couch watching, and waiting their turn. Then Anders cranked the music up loud and our sunroom became a concert hall. The boys were at the "expert" level. I was a "beginner", but many times I noticed the screen flash extra points because we were all "in unison." If it would not have made my emotion-fearful son run screaming away, I would have burst into tears with joy. Never had I loved my husband more for having the wisdom to know just what we all needed to reconnect.

So while the typical Christmas message would be quite the opposite, I discovered that money CAN buy happiness. Maybe not permanently, and maybe not the kind that will carry you to the other side of "this mortal coil", but it is the most blissful family moment we have had with our adult children I think in a very long time.

Toes and Ho ho ho's

A half an hour before it was time to leave for the Christmas party, where I would be meeting my husband, Arvo, I noticed my injured toe hurt like a reindeer was stomping on it. Additionally, when I removed my sock to see if there were indeed tiny circular saws slowly working their way through my flesh, I observed that it was quite swollen, blacker than I remembered, and red and hot all around the toenail.
"This cannot be good."
I called the doctor and explained I needed to be seen in the next 5 minutes, for two reasons. Number one, I was to be meeting my husband's boss and work force for the first time in one hour. Number two, my toe was in the early stages of gangrene and I was expected to dance tonight.
This ploy did not fly with my doctor. Get thee to an urgent care, I was advised, or maybe, if you are a money grubbing stingerooney, you could try the CVS "minute clinic."
"What is a minute clinic?" I asked, instantly interested.
The short answer is it is for people who have 5 minutes before they have to leave for a party and want their toe amputated as quickly and inexpensively as possible.
So off I raced to the minute clinic.
A minute after signing in, I was called into the clinic. I described my problem, and the Physician Assistant told me to put away my insurance card, as in all likelihood, I would need to get to the ER. Lovely. My goose is cooked, I thought.
My dear husband had reserved a sumptuous room at the lovely hotel where the party was, so we could dance the night away well past my usual 7:30 bedtime, and daughter Asherel could be safely nearby in the hotel room. We were so looking forward to this. We never go out, never do much that costs any money because money is so hard to come by.... and this was a definite splurge. How could I spend the night in the ER?
For those of you who don't like the Christian message, skip the next few lines. I prayed. I had also prayed on the drive over. I knew the toe might have to be removed, but could it wait til after tomorrow?
The doc peered at my toe, as I removed my sock.
"Oh," she said, "Put away your insurance card. That is not infected. That is a really bad bruise, and the blood is pooling under your nail. You will lose the nail, and I am sure it hurts, but you don't need to go to the ER. If the pain is unbearable, they can drill a hole in the nail to relieve the pressure...."
JUST STOP SPEAKING right there, I called in my mind, we don't need to discuss this any further. NO pain is that unbearable.
"Otherwise," she continued, "I would keep your foot elevated, but you don't need to do anything else but wait for it to feel better."
And, she didn't even charge me!
One and a half minutes after entering the minute clinic, I was racing home. I called Asherel to be ready the moment I walked in the door.
I didn't dance, but I did stand for two hours scarfing down expensive hors d'oeurves
(spelling?) and thoroughly enjoying the very nice people Arvo works with. During the dinner I took off my boot, and elevated my foot,only occasionally placing it on the table when no one was eating, and then listened with amazement when they announced that we had won the raffle, and got a free GPS system. Our old one needed $60 map updates, so this was another little Christmas cheer.
I leaned heavily on Arvo's arm as I limped back to our room. Asherel had spent the time making duct tape sneakers. Feet seemed to be the theme of the season. It is funny how something as insignificant as a toe nail could have such monumental repercussions. It really made me consider the impact of something more visible, like a smile, or a kind touch, or a message of deliverance to someone who was floundering. Sometimes it only takes a minute.....

A Flower in the Snow

Asherel pointed out that the lightbulb was burning a hole in the shade. I looked inside the lampshade. She was correct. At any moment, our environmentally incorrect bulb was going to start a conflagration, ending no doubt in an immense carbon footprint as the house burned down. Rather than bring on the ire of Al Gore, I felt the best course of action was to change to the new energy saving lightbulbs that require a hazmat team be notified should they ever break. I kid you not. If you have never read the cautionary advice on how to deal with a broken eco-bulb, it is quite astonishing. You are to wear a mask and gloves, collect all the pieces and triple bag them, discard the gloves, vacuum the entire region, place the vacuum bag in a triple plastic bag, and then build a concrete structure 20 feet under ground to throw the bags away. If you don't believe me, google it.

Nonetheless, I opened the package of eco bulbs. The promo on the front of the package caught my eye. Again, I never make things up. I am a nonfiction writer. This is what it actually said:
"Lasts up to 5 years, guaranteed."
I thought about that. The only way that I could claim false advertising is if the bulb lasted MORE than five years.
I wondered if the suits in Manhattan were snickering over the wool they pulled over the gullible public's eye on this one.... or were they all thinking they had offered a claim that was worth something?
So many amazing products claiming to do so many amazing things. Everything tastes better with Blue Bonnet on it. I just don't think so. And how about this one- the all purpose cracker? Have you ever tried using it to wash the car?
At Christmas in particular, we are so bombarded with all the astonishing products that can do everything but make my mother eat lima beans. One swipe through the mall, and I am promised if I had enough money, I would live forever, have a model's face, and write a better Constitution.
Meanwhile, with little fanfare, and no glitzy packaging, a little baby was born in a manger, or maybe a cave depending on the translation you are reading. There are no guarantees for health, happiness, or loss of cellulite. In fact, if you read carefully, we are promised trouble, trial, and temptations. The only redeeming claim is a simple one- believe and be saved. Surely the God of all creation could come up with better marketing! But somehow, the image of a baby, of God made so tiny and sweet and vulnerable draws me near. I love that symbol- the clash of concepts God is forever putting before me: an almighty, omniscient, all powerful creator of the universe juxtaposed with the tender, helpless, defenseless, naked creation. A baby born to die. Death that brings life. A lamb among lions, a flower blooming in the snow. Faith in things unseen....Christmas greed and excess bumped up against a humble man with no place to lay his head, dying for crimes he didn't commit, that the darkness might be lit.... and the light last more than five years, guaranteed.