I wish you all a Merry Christmas!!!

 Today, Jon, the puppies, and me are going to have Christmas dinner with my Mom & Dad. We’re looking forward to the time with grateful hearts.

It’s a different kind of Christmas Day for my family though. It’s the first time ever we’re not all together. Mom’s recent illness has left her too weak to travel to my brother’s. It’s okay but different. Change of this kind is hard for me. This is the first Christmas since 1959 I won’t see my brother and my folks won’t see their son. I know he’s sad he won’t get to see us either. Gracie cried when she learned we weren’t coming. Mom said, “I think Christmas is changed forever.”

At my folks house we’ll have lasagna - very different from our traditional turkey or ham. Instead of watching children play and savoring hugs, we’ll watch one our favorite old movies - We’re No Angels. Instead of talking to those we love but can’t see we’ll share our memories of them.

Think I’m complaining? Well, I guess I am. There’s a little bit of whine and a shine in my heart today.

So where’s the shine? His Name is Jesus!

Oh…and there are some twinkles here and there…Mom is still here. Dad’s cancer is not progressing as far as we know. My friend Amy is healing from her motorcycle accident injuries. We got to see some of Jon’s family yesterday. Jon and I had a sweet time last night sharing the gifts we’d chosen to give each other - we didn’t spend a lot and somehow that made it even better. Our puppies delight us every day. (I know at 18 months old they are mostly dogs by now but I think they might always be puppies to us) I have close friends who are of the truest kind. I live in a country where I can read the Word of God and pray openly. Applebee’s still has the oriental chicken salad, snow is beautiful, we have lots of bird traffic at our feeders along with the occasional deer looking for a treat.

There is some glisten too. We are blessed as a family to love each other enough that we will miss each other today. Gracie’s tears both sadden and gladden me. I shed a few myself. I will miss Connor, Olivia, Cooper, and Riley. Kids make the holiday somehow holier don’t they? Seeing it through their eyes - the lights, the presents, the manger story. We’re all still here…none of us is homeless (please pray for those who are!)…and here’s another shine in my whine: we’re all believers in Jesus the Christ!

Mom, Dad, us, the pups, lasagna, and a movie - it’s going to be a good Christmas. Just different.

In a few minutes I will start getting ready. In just a few hours, our house will fill up with the voices of loved ones. The air will smell like egg bake, fruit breads, coffee, and cinnamon candles. The tables are set - 12 are coming and that’s just too crowded for the big table. Four of us will sit at the little table - most likely Terri, her grandboys, and me. The 2 of us big girls sort of all belong at the “kids” table.

We’ll light up the three little artificial trees. They might be fake but I sure do like the way they twinkle.

They’ll stay and talk. We’ll remember Christmases past and ask each other what we think the very first Christmas was like. At least I’ll ask. Then, if I’m not satisfied with the answers, I’ll ask questions that will hopefully get us to dig into the story a little deeper. I’m stubborn that way.

The little boys coming belong to our niece Sarah and her husband Darwin. I used to sit at the kid’s table with Sarah and her brother Mark along with other nieces and nephews. We had a grand time! Today, I’m going to watch her energetic little ones. I know I’ll see her imprint in Jack’s face and in Josh’s ways. I’ll also see their daddy’s stamp here there. What I’ll really be looking at and savoring it in my soul is two little boys created in the image of God. Then, I’ll look at their great grandparents, grandparents, and aunts & uncles present and look for God’s image there as well. I wonder where I’ll see Him in each one. Will I hear Him in Jack’s laugh? Josh’s more serious contemplations? Greatgrandpa’s prayer? Greatgrandma’s tender touch? Uncle Jon’s heart?

The puppies will be delighted to have company and will add to the joyful commotion. We will laugh. We will share. There might even be tears - most of us have had a really hard year. Perhaps today being together and remembering Jesus will ease our burdens a bit. The laughter of children and wagging dog tails usually seem to help.

Right now I can hardly wait until my bunch gets here for brunch!  

Stable living was not the couple’s first choice. We know Joseph sought other lodging. There was none. Except the place God had planned all along. I believe the God who knows everything was not surprised when the only place available was a stable. In fact, it was the perfect place. It was where shepherds would feel free to come and find the baby resting in a manger.

When I think of what my place in the Christmas story might be I always see myself as a shepherd. Ordinary. A little on the raw side. So, maybe I don’t smell as bad…but I can be a stinker from time to time.

I never want to get over the miracle of Christmas and the way God revealed it to regular people.

God appeared first as a baby to an ordinary man and woman. He trusted one to carry and then give birth to His Son and the other to provide for and protect them both. Then He sent an angelic host with the birth announcement, and ushered some guys used to living on the sidelines to the stable to meet their Messiah. A stable full of Life – a life that would be given for them…and me.

These ordinary guys didn’t stand around trying to write off the angelic announcement as a UFO. They recognized heaven’s messengers and accepted the invitation to meet Him. I think they hurried. I’d like to think I would too. I picture myself running to see the One the angels said had come.

Oh I hope I would.

There they found a family living among animals under God’s great night light. And these underdogs of Jewish society got to see Him first. Then these men, saw what many others missed and did what most others refused. They recognized God in the flesh and they worshipped him. What did they see in the face of the baby? Did they recognize salvation’s Son?

In all the instability of life I see this young family as the truest picture we can have today of stable living. The kind where Jesus is adored, accepted, and worshipped no matter how uncomfortable, scary, or painful life is. Where peace rules and chaos puts up a fight but must eventually flee. Where the lost are found and the dead find life. Where comfort is given and condemnation removed. In this season when the hectic often trumps the holy, I want to continue wondering…what was it like in the stable with the Divine?

I don’t want all the answers. Wonder often leads to wonder or in other words when I wonder I usually end up worshipping. And in that transition I experience a tiny bit of what it must have been like for Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds…a little bit of the truest stable living there is.

Mary & Joseph. Two people who had angelic visits and said yes to the messengers. Then, she bore Him and they lived with Him;  the Message – Jesus the Christ – the Good News.

As much as I’m in amazement at the scene in the stable…it’s the trip to Bethlehem that’s on my mind today.

Pre-black top and cement…how does one find a road in the desert? Doesn’t shifting sand cover up the camel tracks from caravans? Or were there landmarks that led them from turn to turn? This might work for me since I’m a bit directionally challenged. North and South mean little but turn left by the pile of stones near the well of whatever might get me there.

Did the couple talk about their dreams? The baby? The census? Did they wonder as they wandered about all they might face in the coming days? Did Mary wish for her mother’s presence as she knew the date of Jesus birth was so near? Did Joseph worry about providing for Mary and the baby when they reached Bethlehem? What sounds did they hear? Sights did they see? Did they travel alone or alone in the company of a caravan? Did the wind howl and the sun scorch? Did Mary ponder all she knew and wonder about all she didn’t? How does a first time mother raise the Son of God? Was the trip good for their marriage? Was the time away from the gossip a relief even if the days were long, dry, and hot? Then later, after another angelic visit, they were once again on the road this time headed for Egypt – running for the life of Jesus. These trips were only the beginning of life on the road for Jesus.

During Jesus time on earth, He walked all over with His disciples, walked to Calvary and out of the tomb, joined two followers on the road to Emmaus and later met Paul on the road to Damascus.

While none of my questions about Mary and Joseph can be answered, my personal ponderings keep me focused on the One who road in her womb. Immanuel. The true King of the road.

 

The temperature at our house right now is -6 degrees. It’s cold. In fact, it’s downright frightful.

I don’t have a fire going but truly…inside our snug home, it’s truly delightful. We’ll eat a warm dinner and later, we’ll  pop some corn and watch a movie.

Outside the window is the swing Jon hung in the tree for Grace and the rest of the kids who come to play at our house in the summer time. Snow is the only thing sitting there today. It looks fluffy and inviting but really…it’s shiver brrrrrr.

We had snow yesterday and I got my car stuck in our driveway. (it’s about a ¼ of a mile long and uphill – my little Chevy and I did our best but the drift won) Jon got the car out and the driveway cleared. Within minutes, the wind blew it all back in. It’s a very good thing we have no place to go.

There’s a gentle peace in being home with Jon and our puppies. While the wind blows and the snow drifts, we are safe and content. Of course, when Jon puts on a pot of coffee to brew, the experience is even better.

Oh yes, it’s frightful out there…but in here, I’m letting the quiet invade my sometimes unsettled soul.

 

I mean to be jolly. I do. Instead, I’m feeling grumbly this year. Not quite the Grinch – but close. And, I’m not the only one. We sat in Culver’s tonight (they have great chili!) and I watched people.

Two men nearby argued through a family dispute. Merry they were not. One married couple looked at each other in a way that communicated discord. Mistletoe anyone?  In the corner booth a grandmother shushed her granddaughter for being happy. So much for yuletide carols. My mom was in the hospital. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Okay, there was the young mother who gently wrapped her little one into his car seat. Before she zipped him in, she gave him a tender glance and loving smile. That and my chili made the trip out in the cold worth it.

So, maybe I’ll work a little harder at this jolly thing. I’ll watch A Charlie Brown Christmas and let Linus read Luke 2. I’ll plug in my little Christmas trees earlier in the day. I’ll have a cup of Christmas tea and listen to some carols. Maybe I’ll go to the Mall and look at the decorations, watch some kids being kids, and drink a cup of Caribou coffee (dark roast!).

I really want to be jolly. Tis the season you know.

The thing that gets to me about Peg is her grace-filled life. She’s not perfect…but grace isn’t about us being perfect because Jesus already is. She spreads that grace around everywhere she goes. Bald and sick my friend sparkles. I sometimes wonder if it’s because she’s down to what matters most in life. Him. The love of her life. Jesus. Faith is not religion with Peg…it’s real life living. Jesus shines from her all over anyone standing in her sight. Then there’s the way she loves us…the way Jesus loves her. You gotta love that about a friend. A friend who knows I’m not perfect and loves me anyway. A friend who lavishes me with grace I don’t always deserve. She stands close to the Grace-giver - in fact I can say with great confidence…she is constantly in His presence and as He fills up her cup she splashes the abundance on us.

So what does a grace-filled life look like? A lot like Jesus when He walked this earth. I mean think of it…the baby born in the manger also hung on the cross…and asked God to forgive those who beat Him bloody, mocked Him, and then…killed Him. Not one of them deserved His favor but He gave it anyway. Really. He PRAYED for them. How many of us would do that or would we be more likely to curse them?

Peg lives like Jesus died…and you know what is absolutely amazing? In this grace-filled living my friend is free. I’m not talking about the kind of liberty we enjoy here in America. I mean the kind that shows she is free in every nook and cranny of her heart. She lives in total forgiveness and this leads to the freedom that is eternal and not based on a political party or a vote (although I so appreciate our freedoms and rights in this country!). She is free from regret, anger, malice, manipulation, or any other thing we humans can throw at each other. She knows the favor/merit/salvation she received from Jesus Christ is undeserved. She gave up on thinking she “deserved” anything long ago. In fact, she counts her suffering as a privilege - man…I am so not there!

And, she is forgiving. When I make a mistake, she isn’t quick to correct me…but she has this wonderful smile…that’s what she gives me knowing the Holy Spirit will be leading me to right behavior and until then, I’m okay with her!

We’re both ragamuffins…saved by a ragamuffin Gospel. (Check out author Brennan Manning and you’ll see what I mean)

Even though my friend’s illness is weakening her body…Peg is one powerful woman. You can feel it when she sits next to you and sometimes after a hug I feel like a tiny bit is transferred from her to me somehow. Her power is not of this world.

This time of farewell is the hardest thing her family may ever face and although her destination is heaven, she is glad for every day she can be with her precious ones. She told us today she lives in the now with her hands wide open. We knew that. We are eyewitnesses to this most wonderful woman and her grace-filled life.   While her life here may be winding down…it is not ending. Because she has accepted the Grace-gift of God, Jesus Christ, she is going to live forever…but it’s even more than that…she’s going to live in the presence of her Grace-giver while we wait to join her.  When that day arrives, we will mourn but I think it will be tinged with wonder…I will wonder…what is Peg up to with Jesus today? I’ll have no idea but I know it will be good. I know there are 4 things I will feel: 

-I will grieve for her family-I will be homesick for my friend

-I will be glad for my friend

-I will be glad for Jesus…His good friend will be with Him… I know she is delighting Him here so how much more will He enjoy her there?! Peg…I love you so much my grace-filled sparkling for Jesus friend!

(This is me in September 1963 - my first day of 1st grade)

Something got into me that day.  I remember it well. I was full to the brim with energy. It had to come out. And, it did.

I don’t remember what it was, but I had to tell Cindy Gilbertson something important and the teacher was so busy talking I didn’t have a chance…so I just scooted my chair closer to Cindy’s and talked in her ear.

The teacher moved my desk beside hers. However, I was not done telling Cindy so I whispered…really loud!

So, my desk was placed in the corner. Well, that freshly painted wall was the perfect place to write a few of my reading words along with a couple of flower sketches.

The teacher didn’t find my mural until after lunch. Returning to our room, I was led by the arm to the cloak room where my desk was set in a sunny corner. Perfect! Alone, I could sing. At the top of my lungs.

Out in the hallway a few minutes later, the floor cool on my bottom and legs. Refreshing. Invigorating even. There were four classroom doors in that hallway…with three other students propped outside those doors. Well. That was a game of tag waiting to happen! I urged the others to join me and they did.

They were also far more experienced in hall sitting than I was. They sense the stealthy approach of Mr. Carlson and were seated by the doors before his large hand rested on my shoulder.

Sigh.

He asked what I was doing. I looked up into his eyes confident the truth would be best.  “We were playing tag.” He looked at the other kids and nodded. Together we walked back to my classroom as the end of day bell rang – it sounded very loud in the hallway’s now complete silence. 

I overheard my teacher and principal talking – they were going to call my mom.

It was a long ride home on the bus.

I don’t remember my punishment at home but I know my parents spoke to me. I went back to school and promised Mrs. (I don’t know how she spelled her name but it was pronounced Mayo) I’d be good. I’d really try.

I did try. And then someone else whispered during class from clear across the room and Mrs. M. assumed it was me. She didn’t let me go to lunch and called my parents again. I stood my ground at home and told them it wasn’t me this time. I wasn’t afraid to confess to them…but I really hadn’t done it and she made me mad!

Dad did an amazing thing for me. He went to school with me the next day and together we walked up to my teacher’s desk. His voice was respectful as we stood there – united. He believed me. She backed down although she was crabby all day. Who cared? Mom & Dad were behind me…nothing Mrs. M. could say or do that day could steal the shine off their faith in me.

I remember the first day I stood in front of her desk before school started. It was the old-fashioned orientation. I think that could have been the start of our problem. She asked me what my favorite color was and I told her it was lavender. She asked me how many colors I had in my box at home. Well, I had 48 didn’t everyone? I guess not in the first grade in those days.  Then I proceeded to read all the words she had up on the bulletin board – words she was going to teach us. Words I already knew. I do remember she raised her penciled eyebrows very high at our first meeting.

Well, and I didn’t win any  brownie points when she was teaching us to count and when it came to 3 she said “tree.” I didn’t know her dentures were loose and I thought she was being funny so I laughed out loud. She asked me what was funny…so I told her. One…two…tree! My imitation ended with me giggling alone.

Man…this truth thing was a challenge. But I didn’t give up. I kept trying.

Mostly I guess I tried her.

On the last day of school, she kissed me good bye and told me she loved me. That felt good. Then she informed me she was no longer going to be a teacher because of me. I’d worn her out. She also told me I’d be having Miss Schoenborn for my 2^nd grade teacher – it had already been decided that a difficult to teach child like myself needed Miss S’s discipline.

I felt guilty and ashamed. Some of my zest for life leaked out and continued to all summer. I worried like crazy about Miss S. She had a reputation for spanking children and yanking them around by their ears and digging her fingernails into tender scalps. In my 2^nd grade year I witnessed them all – only the fingernails in my scalp personally…and not for talking but instead she caught me day dreaming during a test.

I worked hard and tried to obey and mostly succeeded in being good at school although there was the day I kicked the tar out of Jimmy when we were in like the 4^th grade. That’s another story!

Years later, when I worked at Tempo in the ladies clothing department, Mrs. M. was one of my customers. She left without a purchase…upset by my very presence. I watched her go with a mix of sadness and anger. It had been a long time and she was not about to forgive me. I’d said I was sorry the last day of school and again that night. It didn’t matter.

The truth is, I loved Miss S. and as an adult she and I became friends. After a grade school class reunion, Miss S. and my 3^rd grade teacher (best friends for life) Miss B. (can’t spell this one either!) took me to lunch. We shared some sweet memories – they loved me as much as I loved them! They told me Mrs. M. went to her grave believing I was the naughtiest child she’d ever taught. They had disagreed with her vehemently. Yes, I was naughty, in a normal kind of way. They had a lot more trouble with some of the kids Mrs M. had no trouble with – like Jimmy and Tommy.

Maybe you had to be a boy to make the grade in her classroom.

I liked pleasing my teachers…I was never teacher’s pet – that position was held by other kids who got good grades and worked “up to their potential” which I guess I rarely did. (according to the old report cards I have tucked in our storeroom) I was a normal kid with normal grades and a passion for life, stories, and fun.

I don’t know if Mrs. M. will be in heaven when I get there…I hope so for a couple of reasons…it beats the other place for her sake…and I’d be forgiven.

It’s really hard to be unforgiven. Even after all these years.

I enjoy the taste and smell of fresh corn on the cob, dripping with butter and sprinkled with salt. I don’t mind the mess when the butter and sweet corn juice run down my arms to my elbows planted firmly on the table. I savor each kernel. I also like popcorn, corn chips, corn dogs, and corn muffins.

Last year I discovered I can also delight in what I now call corn on the stalk. With its roots still firmly planted in the ground, the cobs fully attached, and its blond tassles blowing in the breeze, corn smells wonderful.

Another corn delight is when I get to sit quietly near the field and listen to the wind on its way. I can hear it washing across the field of green stalks anticipating the moment it washes over me and to the field on the other side. It sounds like an ocean wave on approach and departure. I whisper to Jon, “Here comes another one,” as the breeze catches the leaves and passes over us again.

The puppies sit with their faces into the wind. Tucker opens his mouth as if to taste the passing current. Sophie raises her little nose higher to catch the fragrance better. I sit with my eyes closed, my hand in Jon’s, and my nostrils and skin on high alert.

In the winter I can hear the wind blowing through the downed and drying stalks. It’s a little like hearing the ghost of summer rattle around in the fields restless for a warmer season.

So each day I can, I head for the field where I take a moment to stop and smell the corn on the stalks.

Downed stalks are evidence that the local deer and raccoon populations are feeding on its crispy bounty these days. Then soon, the harvest will come and the farmer’s cows will be fed all winter.

I’ll wait out the dusty days of harvest, the cold days of winter, and the planting time in the spring, looking forward to corn on the stalk! When I can inhale humid breezes full of the fragrance of earth’s golden crop.