It was Christmas afternoon. The excitement of opening gifts was past, with the special joy of seeing everyone's eyes light up and hear exclamations of delight and/or squeals of unbelief for at least one surprise or hardly-dared-to-hope-for gift. After a hearty brunch, Howard and I were relaxing on the porch swing in the lull before dinner preparations.
The weather had at last changed from muggy, mild temperatures following the heavy rains we'd had earlier in the week. Now the sun was bright, and although the wind was sharp, the cushions of the swing sheltered us a bit, not to mention the warmth of my husband's shoulder next to me. A sense of peace and thankfulness came over me as I thought about God's goodness and about the reason for this special time of year.
It was if God's love was shining down on the planet as the commemoration of the birth of His Son was celebrated around the world, probably the only holiday acknowledged worldwide except for Easter, which marks the culmination of Jesus's earthly life and the provision for our eternal life. In this rarefied atmosphere that comes only once a year, I reflected on the happy crush of shoppers yesterday and the children out this morning playing with new outdoor toys in the beautiful, cold sunshine.
Despite Christmas's being commercialized, Santa-tized and over-sized, the spirit of giving prevails as people reach out to others in efforts large or small, and consciously or unconsciously, follow the divine example of giving. And that's a good thing. St. Nicholas knew and demonstrated that. Even the story of Santa was given as a gift by a father who wanted to inspire wonder in his child.
The term, "Merry Christmas," itself is bestowed to wish joy. Those who say, "Happy Holidays," are saying, perhaps inadvertently, "Happy Holy Days," the origin of the word holiday, although most holidays today are just time off from work.
Close family gatherings and warm, fuzzy feelings are soon over as guests go home and everyday routine is taken up. But if we have Jesus, the true meaning of Christmas in our heart, the joy can abide always. The scriptures teach how we may have eternal life and Christian fellowship that our joy may be full. I John 1:1-4. Merry Christmas!
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
December 24th
What a beautiful Christmas Eve service we attended tonight! We went with our daughter Amy's family to their church in Marietta where Dr. Mark Walker is pastor. After several lovely Christmas carols by soloists and responsive readings from the scriptures, he spoke about how Christmas is all about children. After all, it began with a Baby. Stressing the scripture where Jesus says one cannot enter the kingdom of God unless he becomes as a little child, Dr. Walker compared the trust and utter dependence of children with the way we must relate to our heavenly father.
Several children were in attendance, and the small cherubs in the pew in front of us attracted my attention as their parents tried to keep them occupied. One miniature angel had a sippy cup with a straw that kept her enthralled as she faced backward in the pew. A cascade of silky, blonde hair fell to the shoulders of her slightly bigger sister, making me think of our own blonde granddaughter when she was younger. She has reached the ripe old age of seven, now, but she is still an angel.
To end the program, candles were distributed to everyone in the congregation, including the kids, who were given a battery-operated candle of their own. Candle lighters lit the candles at the ends of the rows, then each person in turn lit the candle of the one next to him, until the whole auditorium was ablaze with light. A picture of spreading the gospel, the light of Jesus, to the world.
When we got home, the kitchen became a confectionery as the female members of the family immersed themselves in making bon bons, otherwise known as Martha Washington balls. Granddaughter Corrin painstakingly chopped to perfection walnut and pecan meats, while Amy pointed out the advantages of using a mixer to blend the butter, powdered sugar and sweetened condensed milk over my mixing the concoction by hand. Then Rachel got in on the act as we all rolled a hundred or so balls of it to dip in the shiny, chocolate coating.
The teenagers were good at this, but it took all hands to finish the product. Then Amy arranged them on a silver platter and set them on the screened porch to cool in the crisp night air. Judging from the responses of the samplers, they turned out to be delicious! (The dipped pretzels we made yesterday are all gone.)
Earlier I had rushed home from town to make a pot of potato soup for an early Christmas Eve dinner before we set off for the services. I had just finished it when the others came in from shopping. I wasn't hungry and went to get ready for church, thinking I might eat some when we got back. They all said it was good, but by the time I made it to the leftovers, they had already found their way into soup bowls held by my granddaughters who wanted a bedtime snack. That was okay. With all the candy sampling, I wasn't hungry anyway. Fellowship with family and the afterglow of attending church on Christmas Eve left me quite full and satisfied!
Several children were in attendance, and the small cherubs in the pew in front of us attracted my attention as their parents tried to keep them occupied. One miniature angel had a sippy cup with a straw that kept her enthralled as she faced backward in the pew. A cascade of silky, blonde hair fell to the shoulders of her slightly bigger sister, making me think of our own blonde granddaughter when she was younger. She has reached the ripe old age of seven, now, but she is still an angel.
To end the program, candles were distributed to everyone in the congregation, including the kids, who were given a battery-operated candle of their own. Candle lighters lit the candles at the ends of the rows, then each person in turn lit the candle of the one next to him, until the whole auditorium was ablaze with light. A picture of spreading the gospel, the light of Jesus, to the world.
When we got home, the kitchen became a confectionery as the female members of the family immersed themselves in making bon bons, otherwise known as Martha Washington balls. Granddaughter Corrin painstakingly chopped to perfection walnut and pecan meats, while Amy pointed out the advantages of using a mixer to blend the butter, powdered sugar and sweetened condensed milk over my mixing the concoction by hand. Then Rachel got in on the act as we all rolled a hundred or so balls of it to dip in the shiny, chocolate coating.
The teenagers were good at this, but it took all hands to finish the product. Then Amy arranged them on a silver platter and set them on the screened porch to cool in the crisp night air. Judging from the responses of the samplers, they turned out to be delicious! (The dipped pretzels we made yesterday are all gone.)
Earlier I had rushed home from town to make a pot of potato soup for an early Christmas Eve dinner before we set off for the services. I had just finished it when the others came in from shopping. I wasn't hungry and went to get ready for church, thinking I might eat some when we got back. They all said it was good, but by the time I made it to the leftovers, they had already found their way into soup bowls held by my granddaughters who wanted a bedtime snack. That was okay. With all the candy sampling, I wasn't hungry anyway. Fellowship with family and the afterglow of attending church on Christmas Eve left me quite full and satisfied!
Monday, December 23, 2013
The Ties that Bind
Bonding. That's what I was doing with my granddaughters today as we dipped pretzels and peanut butter sandwich crackers into chocolate almond bark. Last night after I retired, they helped their parents make Oreo cake balls. This afternoon I bought the ingredients for Martha Washington dipped candy, something we used to make for holidays when my children were little. How the price for goody makings has gone up! We spent $25 for the project!
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve! A day that will likely be spent in anticipation and preparation for the big day. In the evening, we plan to go to a Christmas Eve service with our daughter and family at their big church in the Atlanta suburbs. I'm looking forward to it, especially since they say it is always a wonderful service.
When our children were growing up, it was our tradition to open gifts on Christmas Eve. There was something so cozy and special about it with the house shining and the kids' eyes bright with excitement as we awaited their father's return from work, then supper, and at last opening presents. They played until they were exhausted, then fell into bed, as likely as not with a new toy or possession tucked in beside them or at least within easy reach, dreaming of what the contents of their stockings would be in the morning.
Now most of our kids' families wait until Christmas morning for the gift opening, which they find to their liking, or possibly they are following the tradition of their spouses. That is what we will do here at our daughter's home. Then a special breakfast will be enjoyed, followed by preparations for Christmas dinner.
I can't believe we've been here almost a week already. We will go home two days after Christmas and fall back into our own comfortable routine, but missing the energy and activity that comes from three teenagers in the house. Actually, sometimes it's four, as a friend sleeps over, or sometimes only one or two if absentees are spending the night at the homes of friends. Kids are such social creatures! I want them here all the time so I can enjoy them, but being with their peers is high on their priority list right now.
Since we flew here, we are dependent on others for transportation, and our 16-year-old granddaughter is a willing chauffeur, as is her 19-year-old brother when he is available. How strange! It used to be us taking them to school, and now they are the ones carrying our purchases, closing our car doors and locating items on the shelves of stores. We will miss them!
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve! A day that will likely be spent in anticipation and preparation for the big day. In the evening, we plan to go to a Christmas Eve service with our daughter and family at their big church in the Atlanta suburbs. I'm looking forward to it, especially since they say it is always a wonderful service.
When our children were growing up, it was our tradition to open gifts on Christmas Eve. There was something so cozy and special about it with the house shining and the kids' eyes bright with excitement as we awaited their father's return from work, then supper, and at last opening presents. They played until they were exhausted, then fell into bed, as likely as not with a new toy or possession tucked in beside them or at least within easy reach, dreaming of what the contents of their stockings would be in the morning.
Now most of our kids' families wait until Christmas morning for the gift opening, which they find to their liking, or possibly they are following the tradition of their spouses. That is what we will do here at our daughter's home. Then a special breakfast will be enjoyed, followed by preparations for Christmas dinner.
I can't believe we've been here almost a week already. We will go home two days after Christmas and fall back into our own comfortable routine, but missing the energy and activity that comes from three teenagers in the house. Actually, sometimes it's four, as a friend sleeps over, or sometimes only one or two if absentees are spending the night at the homes of friends. Kids are such social creatures! I want them here all the time so I can enjoy them, but being with their peers is high on their priority list right now.
Since we flew here, we are dependent on others for transportation, and our 16-year-old granddaughter is a willing chauffeur, as is her 19-year-old brother when he is available. How strange! It used to be us taking them to school, and now they are the ones carrying our purchases, closing our car doors and locating items on the shelves of stores. We will miss them!
Sister, Sister
There is never a dull moment with two beautiful teenage granddaughters around. Only 17 months apart, they wear the same size and often share clothes with one another, be it willingly or unwillingly. The other evening Rachel, 14, after having languidly lounged around all day and pleading being too tired to join me for a walk, emerged from her room full of spunk and dressed in a cute teen outfit on the way to a birthday party.
"Oh, who's party is it? " I asked, delaying her as she scurried toward the door, to which she replied, "Well, I don't really know her name, she's my friend's cousin." What with my hearing problem and her rapid speech, a few more indiscernible syllables were lost on me.
I didn't pay much attention to her sister Corrin's muffled phone conversations throughout the evening. Then I saw her carrying an outfit on a hanger toward the door. "What's going on?" I queried.
"I'm taking these clothes to Rachel. She's staying the night and they're going shopping at the mall tomorrow." I asked if that wasn't her own new outfit she had worn for a special occasion. "Yes, but she promised to have it back by 4:00 o'clock," she said generously. Turns out Rachel didn't go to the mall until 4:00, and Corrin had a date at 4:30, when she needed the ensemble.
I was lying on the sofa napping when I noticed Corrin tossing packages around by the Christmas tree, then couldn't believe my eyes when I saw her carefully peeling loose the scotch tape and sliding out the contents of three boxes. Finally, on the third one, I heard, "Yes!!"
"Mama said I could do this!" she said grimly. "I'm going to wear Rachel's outfit and put it back after," she said. Later Amy told me she allowed it when her hysterical daughter had called her at work. (Rachel called later on asking her mom if she could lend her sister's sweater to her friend.)
"They drive me crazy!" Amy said, only half joking. As a generation removed, it was funny to me. Since there are 10 years between Amy and our daughter, Julie, there was never the fierce competition and sibling rivalry between them that these granddaughters have experienced all their lives. Of course, there is fierce loyalty, too, as one might expect in a close-knit family.
I wondered how it all came out and was told the unsuspecting party commented when she got home, "How come it looks like less presents under the tree?" If she only knew, I'm sure she would not have been lying so peacefully next to her sister when I looked in on them. She may have been sleeping like a log, but what explosion will be kindled if she finds out? We may have Christmas fireworks!
"Oh, who's party is it? " I asked, delaying her as she scurried toward the door, to which she replied, "Well, I don't really know her name, she's my friend's cousin." What with my hearing problem and her rapid speech, a few more indiscernible syllables were lost on me.
I didn't pay much attention to her sister Corrin's muffled phone conversations throughout the evening. Then I saw her carrying an outfit on a hanger toward the door. "What's going on?" I queried.
"I'm taking these clothes to Rachel. She's staying the night and they're going shopping at the mall tomorrow." I asked if that wasn't her own new outfit she had worn for a special occasion. "Yes, but she promised to have it back by 4:00 o'clock," she said generously. Turns out Rachel didn't go to the mall until 4:00, and Corrin had a date at 4:30, when she needed the ensemble.
I was lying on the sofa napping when I noticed Corrin tossing packages around by the Christmas tree, then couldn't believe my eyes when I saw her carefully peeling loose the scotch tape and sliding out the contents of three boxes. Finally, on the third one, I heard, "Yes!!"
"Mama said I could do this!" she said grimly. "I'm going to wear Rachel's outfit and put it back after," she said. Later Amy told me she allowed it when her hysterical daughter had called her at work. (Rachel called later on asking her mom if she could lend her sister's sweater to her friend.)
"They drive me crazy!" Amy said, only half joking. As a generation removed, it was funny to me. Since there are 10 years between Amy and our daughter, Julie, there was never the fierce competition and sibling rivalry between them that these granddaughters have experienced all their lives. Of course, there is fierce loyalty, too, as one might expect in a close-knit family.
I wondered how it all came out and was told the unsuspecting party commented when she got home, "How come it looks like less presents under the tree?" If she only knew, I'm sure she would not have been lying so peacefully next to her sister when I looked in on them. She may have been sleeping like a log, but what explosion will be kindled if she finds out? We may have Christmas fireworks!
Sunday, December 22, 2013
Go Tell it on the Mountain
Nothing could have pleased her father more than when our daughter Amy said, "Dad, how would you like to minister at the nursing home singing and playing the guitar tomorrow?" Howard's face lit up! We are with her family in Georgia, and this would be one of the days she is the requisite RN at a small facility here. We hadn't brought his guitar on the plane, though, and grandson Reid had left his back at college. "Oh, that's alright," she said, "We can borrow one from our neighbor."
And what a fulfilling time it was! The residents were so welcoming and attentive. My engaging husband had them smiling and singing in no time. They loved it when Amy added her lovely voice to some of the hymns. "Praise God, Praise God, Praise God," they sang, raising their arms heavenward on the last verse of "Amazing Grace."
After a lengthy service and we had gathered our things to leave, Amy asked if we would visit some of the rooms of the bedfast who couldn't come to the service. She has become acquainted with all the patients and some have especially touched her heart. In the hall, she greeted a man slumped in a wheelchair. "Hi, Mr. Clemons! Do you feel like singing today?" The old, black gentleman moaned a little, but she nudged her dad to begin. At the first strum of the guitar, a deep, melodious sound came from Mr. Clemons as he sang the words of "Amazing Grace." It was we who were amazed.
"This lady likes to sing "I'll Fly Away," Amy said as we approached another room. "She has been bedfast since she was young and injured in a car accident where her children were killed," our daughter confided. Sure enough, when Howard began the song, this severely contorted lady opened her mouth and joined in joyfully singing the words, bright eyes sparkling in her twisted countenance.
Amy had us pray for several patients, who gladly received prayer and from whom tears often squeezed past tightly shut eyes. We couldn't help dabbing tears of our own as we felt the presence of the Holy Spirit ministering to these precious people.
Amy had told us smilingly about the different personalities of the residents, some cranky, some gossipy, some sweet, others unresponsive, or even vain (one was a noted model of days gone by who still took pride in her appearance), but all, the bossy, the critical or the demanding, needed the good news of the Saviour, news which never grows old no matter how many years one has heard it. I love to tell the Story!
And what a fulfilling time it was! The residents were so welcoming and attentive. My engaging husband had them smiling and singing in no time. They loved it when Amy added her lovely voice to some of the hymns. "Praise God, Praise God, Praise God," they sang, raising their arms heavenward on the last verse of "Amazing Grace."
After a lengthy service and we had gathered our things to leave, Amy asked if we would visit some of the rooms of the bedfast who couldn't come to the service. She has become acquainted with all the patients and some have especially touched her heart. In the hall, she greeted a man slumped in a wheelchair. "Hi, Mr. Clemons! Do you feel like singing today?" The old, black gentleman moaned a little, but she nudged her dad to begin. At the first strum of the guitar, a deep, melodious sound came from Mr. Clemons as he sang the words of "Amazing Grace." It was we who were amazed.
"This lady likes to sing "I'll Fly Away," Amy said as we approached another room. "She has been bedfast since she was young and injured in a car accident where her children were killed," our daughter confided. Sure enough, when Howard began the song, this severely contorted lady opened her mouth and joined in joyfully singing the words, bright eyes sparkling in her twisted countenance.
Amy had us pray for several patients, who gladly received prayer and from whom tears often squeezed past tightly shut eyes. We couldn't help dabbing tears of our own as we felt the presence of the Holy Spirit ministering to these precious people.
Amy had told us smilingly about the different personalities of the residents, some cranky, some gossipy, some sweet, others unresponsive, or even vain (one was a noted model of days gone by who still took pride in her appearance), but all, the bossy, the critical or the demanding, needed the good news of the Saviour, news which never grows old no matter how many years one has heard it. I love to tell the Story!
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Airport!
Being infrequent airline passengers, we approached our beloved enemy with a little fear and trepidation yesterday, especially since we weren't accustomed to using Will Rogers Airport in Oklahoma City. We normally drive to Wichita, where the airport is relatively easy to access for us, but this time our tickets to Atlanta were from Oklahoma.
The drive down was uneventful, but when the highway veered off toward the airport, the exits we had to take came thick and fast. Thank God for a GPS! Finally we were at the airport, which seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere, compared to the congestion we'd been through. We accidentally passed the parking lots and found ourselves in a parking garage for returned rentals.
"What now?" I asked anxiously. My grim-faced spouse didn't answer, but we saw daylight at the opposite end of the building. Howard kept driving, and soon we were outside, circling until we came upon the parking lot entrance again. The shuttle picked us up and deposited us at the right terminal. We began to relax, the first part of our journey almost complete. We made it through security and were ready for a late lunch at one of the food courts ahead. We still had a couple of hours to spare, but we were thankful for the extra time.
The flight was unusually smooth! The ground twinkled as city lights became strings of multi-colored Christmas-tree lights below us. Jewel-like against the darkness of the earth, they presented a rare--for us--and beautiful sight from above. A magazine read, a miniature bag of pretzels and a Sprite later, the announcement came on that we were descending to the busiest airport in the world, Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International airport. Then came pulling unwieldy carry-ons down the long passage way.
"How far to baggage claim?" I asked an attendant. It was several concourses ahead, then down an escalator to the high-speed trains I dreaded. Getting on, I saw a vacant bench marked "Seniors and Disabled." "Howard, let's sit down! It says for seniors!" He didn't hear me, so I repeated it loudly. A smiling woman holding on to a pole said something to me which I didn't quite catch in the whooshing speed of the train.
"What?" I questioned, to which she replied, "I said, 'You both look too young to have to sit down!'" Wow! That made my day and put a spring in my step as we went to meet our kids who had just arrived themselves. We stepped into the beautiful night, thanking God for the miracle of flight!
The drive down was uneventful, but when the highway veered off toward the airport, the exits we had to take came thick and fast. Thank God for a GPS! Finally we were at the airport, which seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere, compared to the congestion we'd been through. We accidentally passed the parking lots and found ourselves in a parking garage for returned rentals.
"What now?" I asked anxiously. My grim-faced spouse didn't answer, but we saw daylight at the opposite end of the building. Howard kept driving, and soon we were outside, circling until we came upon the parking lot entrance again. The shuttle picked us up and deposited us at the right terminal. We began to relax, the first part of our journey almost complete. We made it through security and were ready for a late lunch at one of the food courts ahead. We still had a couple of hours to spare, but we were thankful for the extra time.
The flight was unusually smooth! The ground twinkled as city lights became strings of multi-colored Christmas-tree lights below us. Jewel-like against the darkness of the earth, they presented a rare--for us--and beautiful sight from above. A magazine read, a miniature bag of pretzels and a Sprite later, the announcement came on that we were descending to the busiest airport in the world, Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International airport. Then came pulling unwieldy carry-ons down the long passage way.
"How far to baggage claim?" I asked an attendant. It was several concourses ahead, then down an escalator to the high-speed trains I dreaded. Getting on, I saw a vacant bench marked "Seniors and Disabled." "Howard, let's sit down! It says for seniors!" He didn't hear me, so I repeated it loudly. A smiling woman holding on to a pole said something to me which I didn't quite catch in the whooshing speed of the train.
"What?" I questioned, to which she replied, "I said, 'You both look too young to have to sit down!'" Wow! That made my day and put a spring in my step as we went to meet our kids who had just arrived themselves. We stepped into the beautiful night, thanking God for the miracle of flight!
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Son to the Rescue!
Yay! We have wheels again! Well, we did have a car to drive, but ours has been repaired, thanks to our amazing son! After Greg and his father laboriously ruled out the fuel pump, Greg suspected something electrical was wrong. He looked on the internet to see where the sensors were located in our car. The first one was more easily accessible than the one which turned out to be the problem. It was buried deep in the recesses of the mysterious workings of the automobile.
"Do you hear anything?" my husband asked over the phone. When I said no, he exclaimed, "The car started the moment I turned on the key!" He was calling from Greg's house where they had been working on the car and wanted me to hear the purr of the engine. Praise the Lord! Those were welcome words! Thank God for computers and smart offspring! Our son saved us a hefty repair bill!
Some mail Howard had been looking for came yesterday, too, so it was turning out to be a good day. Things were coming together in the nick of time before we leave on our trip tomorrow. God is never late; He is always on time!
The car problem reminds me of our human make-up. Sometimes something is amiss, and we don't know what it is. We try this or that to make us feel better: New diet, new clothes, new possessions. Still, there is an achy emptiness that we can't identify. It may be a heart problem.
The electrical sensor that held the key to our engine's starting was deep within the heart of the car. We couldn't see it, but it was obvious there was loss of connection somewhere. It required a heart transplant, you might say. God sent His Son to give us a new heart.
As the song says, "I owed a debt I could not pay, He paid a debt He did not owe, I needed someone to take my sins away. And now I sing a brand new song, Amazing Grace, My Jesus paid the price that I could never pay."
Sometimes we just need a tune-up, or a reconnecting spiritually. May we pray like David did as recorded in Psalm 51:10, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." And that is the heart of the matter!
"Do you hear anything?" my husband asked over the phone. When I said no, he exclaimed, "The car started the moment I turned on the key!" He was calling from Greg's house where they had been working on the car and wanted me to hear the purr of the engine. Praise the Lord! Those were welcome words! Thank God for computers and smart offspring! Our son saved us a hefty repair bill!
Some mail Howard had been looking for came yesterday, too, so it was turning out to be a good day. Things were coming together in the nick of time before we leave on our trip tomorrow. God is never late; He is always on time!
The car problem reminds me of our human make-up. Sometimes something is amiss, and we don't know what it is. We try this or that to make us feel better: New diet, new clothes, new possessions. Still, there is an achy emptiness that we can't identify. It may be a heart problem.
The electrical sensor that held the key to our engine's starting was deep within the heart of the car. We couldn't see it, but it was obvious there was loss of connection somewhere. It required a heart transplant, you might say. God sent His Son to give us a new heart.
As the song says, "I owed a debt I could not pay, He paid a debt He did not owe, I needed someone to take my sins away. And now I sing a brand new song, Amazing Grace, My Jesus paid the price that I could never pay."
Sometimes we just need a tune-up, or a reconnecting spiritually. May we pray like David did as recorded in Psalm 51:10, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." And that is the heart of the matter!
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