COMMON MATTERS

Dinner Table Confession

If my dining room table could talk, I wonder if it would say:

"I'm not sure who I am anymore. Why do I exist?  I've lost my identity...for the most part.  I am lonely.  You seem to prefer your living-room recliners to my company.  You rarely join me like you once did.  Once upon a time you use to bow your heads, join hands and pray over the bounty I held for you.  You would share stories about your day, and I got to hear about your life.

I appreciate that you and your grandchildren still work jigsaw puzzles on my surface occasionally.  It brings back memories.  I love it when you place flowers in the center of my heart and let me hold them for you... to give you pleasure until they fade away.  I love the vanilla scented candle you sit in its place when they're gone.  When you light it, it brings warmth to the area.  It casts a lovely glow over everything.  However, you rarely come to me and share a cup of tea, or read your paper, or eat your breakfast with me.  Do you even need me anymore?

Yes, I know I am the place of preference when you bring home the groceries.  I don't mind helping you at all.  I like to hold your veggies, and canned goods until you put them away.  At least I have company for a little while. It's just that sometimes I feel used and abused rather than appreciated.  Sometimes all the papers, the keys, the stuff you toss haphazardly onto my face without once thinking about how messy that makes me feel, is more than I can bear.  How would you feel if someone tossed their change in your face, and dropped pens and junkmail on your head and left it for days?  

I cannot begin to express the elation I had this past weekend when you and your granddaughters sat around me and constructed that 3D model of a Coal-fired Power Plant for Abby's school project.  It was a joy to listen to you share how to make a turbine out of a tomato-paste can and aluminum foil.  It was so funny to watch the girls wad up wet, black construction paper to make chunks of coal to slide down the conveyor belt into the make-shift furnace.  I did not mind getting wet at all.  The paint you used to paint that sky was so pretty... and so easy to wipe off, don't you think?  It was like old times.  You and the girls creating.  Me, assisting.  Am I ungrateful to want more times like these?"

If a table could talk, I wonder if it would sound like this. These thoughts ran through my mind this past weekend as I realized how little we sit at our kitchen table anymore.  Nothing excites my granddaughters more than sitting and having a tea-party.  Yet, I can't remember the last time we did that.  Is life that busy?  Has life become so centered around the news of the day, the football game, the Nascar race, that sitting at the table for a leisure dinner is loosing its appeal?  As Thanksgiving is upon us, I tend to muse such things.

I'm so grateful America celebrates Thanksgiving.  I plan to make something on my table every day this week.   Pumpkin cookies.  A tomato soup cake. Wow, it's been a long time since I made one of those.  I think the girls and I will sit and make some turkeys out of pine cones.  And place cards.  They love to tell everyone where to sit at Sunday dinner, so I think that will be fun for them.  Maybe we'll make some napkin rings from toilet paper tubes.  Perhaps we'll make a Thanksgiving bouquet where everyone can write down what they are most thankful for this year.  I have so much, I'm not sure where to begin.  How about you?

Remembering Momma

Yeah, I know some folks spell it mama.  I use to spell it that way too.  Then my son started signing his cards and letters to me with "I love you, Momma"; and I changed.  Some folks don't say momma.  They say "mother, or mom, or ma".  In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter all that much until you go to pick out one of those Hallmark Mother's Day cards.  Then you look for the name you use for your mother.  I called my step-mother, Mama.  My biological mother, is simply the woman who carried me by God's grace, and left me when I was 3.  Not everyone had a Hallmark-moment mother.  So when I remember mothers, I think mostly of my step-mother and all she was to me. 

On Mother's Day I try to set aside the bad memories of continual criticism, the emotional, mental and physical abuse I suffered as a child.  Instead I focus on the things that were honorable.  I remember mama's steadfastness in caring for three kids that were not really hers. I remember the endless meals she prepared.  I consider the clothes she made, mended, washed, ironed and put away in my dresser.  I recall watching her outside on the back porch in freezing winter weather, and sweltering summer heat.  She scrubbed our clothes on washboards and put them through the washer and ringers and dipped them into two different galvanized tubs of water, then hung them on the clothes line to dry.  What a process!

I recall the times she made taffy and let us slop butter on our hands to pull it.  I remember the way she made biscuits from scratch, and her homemade strawberry jam, and apple butter.  I remember the lunches she diligently packed each day for we five kids and my dad.  I remember the gardens she planted, the pails upon pails of water she drew from the well and carried to the hundreds of plants on the hillside to ensure a harvest. I recall the thousands of canned Ball-jars filled with tomatoes, green beans, peaches and pears.

I recall the thousands of yards of material she sewed making dresses, quilts, and slipcovers for us and other people to make a little money for herself.  I know mama wasn't the ideal mother.  I know she had a lot of mental problems.  Today they would probably diagnose her as bi-polar or assign some other fancy name to her mental anguish.  And if I let myself go into the dark abyss of childhood heartache, I suppose I could find little to honor in the mistreatment we endured.  But Mama was more than the sum total of her weaknesses.

Mama said she was never happy in life.  She'd been through two abusive relationships when she met my dad through a Lonely Hearts Club advertisement in a magazine.  She believed he only married her to raise me and my two elder brothers; Daddy believed she wanted a father for her sons.  I think they were both right.  Oddly, even though she felt this way, she still sang songs...lots of songs.  She sang of God's amazing grace, and in the Sweet By and By.

Mama was an encyclopedia of witticisms:  The stitch in time, saves nine.   Idle hands are the devil's workshop.  Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.  If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.  So, as I remember mama I have to say, she tried--she meant well.  I don't think she knew any other way to be than the way she was.  If she were still alive, I'd send her roses.  She loved roses.  As you remember your mother this week, do yourself a favor--remember the good times and try and say something nice to her.  It's the honorable thing to do.

LESSONS OF LIFE

Haylee and Kinsey bounced into my house to show me their renderings of playdoh artwork.  They wanted me to choose whose was best.  Yeah.  Like grandmothers and mothers want to instill self-worth in one child by destroying it in the other. I was able to quell their appetites for a winning approval by telling them I am eclectic and love each rendition for its own distinguishing treatment of the art medium chosen.  Unh, hunh.  I did.  However, there comes a time when we must distinguish between ones work and place value upon ones efforts; don't you think?

Kinsey and Haylee wanted to earn some money to buy some new dolls. Haylee offered to dust, and even do laundry.  Goodness, she's only seven!  I told Haylee if she would vacuum my 8 by 10 rug, I'd give her a dollar.  Kinsey wanted to make a dollar too, so I told her to clear the floor and put away the books, before Haylee vacuumed.  Kinsey balked a bit because Haylee wasn't helping her pick up the three items on the floor.  I patiently explained how Haylee was doing her part for her dollar by vacuuming the floor.  They completed that task and wanted another.  So, I told them I want them to sweep my porch each day.  Haylee agreed immediately.  Kinsey balked again.  "I don't wanna sweep the porch."  I chuckled and said, "Okay, then Haylee can do it and she will get the dollar."  Kinsey whined, "but I wanna dollar, too.  I wanna get a doll, too."  I said, "then you will work like Haylee does so you can get your doll."  Kinsey whimpered, "I want the money, but I don't want to work for it."

Why should Haylee vacuum my rug and take my small bags of trash to the dumpster each day to earn money, if I give Kinsey the same amount for doing nothing?  Kinsey is five and can't quite grasp the compensation-for-services-rendered concept.  But Haylee is seven; she's well acquainted with math.  It wouldn't take her long to add up that her twenty times one does not make forty to be shared with her little sister who chooses to do nothing.  Fair is fair, after all, isn't it?  Perhaps not.

I saw a photo this week of President Obama sitting in front of a child who'd built a very high tower with Lego blocks.  Beneath Obama's awed expression was a caption of the president's exultation: "Wow, it looks like you've been working really hard here.  Now, I'm just going to take away some of your legos and pass them out to kids who have been napping all day."  What an illustration of our president's ideology and work ethic!  Friends, reduction of another's efforts, and taking away well-earned praise and reward, does not instill production; it destroys production and annilates motivation.  It robs a legitimate worker of the desire to work.  Why build if someone is going to take off half your building and give it to someone else?  Why paint, or sculpt, or create anything if everyone is going to get the same reward for less than the best effort?  If no one is a winner or no work is superior to anothers, why bother building a resume?

Oh my.  I think Obama has somehow infiltrated the mind of my grandchild.  Stop the presses.  How did he get into my home-schooled grandchild's head?  I looked up and realized my television had the POTUS making a speech in Cushing, Oklahoma.  That's it.  No more television in this house when the grandchildren are about.  What is crammed into the brains of my grandchildren will eventually develop into full-grown tumors of socialism before they're old enough to vote.  Here, our president was taking credit for an unfinished pipeline that did nothing.  He stands in front of his teleprompter taking credit for constructing half a pipeline which can do nothing without the upper pipeline, and for which he has done nothing to promote, and done everything to block.  How's a grandma suppose to teach a child to do her fair share with that kind of example?  I ask you, how?

'Tis the Season

The pundits and predictors were stunned that Black Friday produced so many shoppers, and more than that...SPENDERS.  That's right.  Lots of times tradition may pull turkey-stuffed folks off the couch and away from mega-screen television sets to battle the throngs in local stores.  However, this year, not only were throngs out in record-breaking numbers, they were spending all that hard-earned cash they'd been squirreling away.  Or...using that easy-come plastic in hopes of prosperity on the horizon.  Shoppers were buying electronics, computers, wii systems, and new slippers.  But don't get excited.  It's not about the season of giving.  It's not about Christmas.  It's not about you.  It's not about others...according to surveys.

Surveys say why folks are buying what.  And the main reason people are spending is to grab bargains for themselves.  No longer are they waiting for Christmas.  No longer are they depending on Santa.  They are getting their wide-screen televisions, and Kindles, and whatevers, for themselves.  I can't say that I'm surprised.  In an environment of Occupy Wall Street, Dallas, Atlanta, and other cities, a world of greed and me-first folks are breeding.  "What's in it for me" seems to be the mantra of our world.

Hubs and I were sitting in the middle of Lawton's Central Mall on Saturday.  We were enjoying eggrolls and fried rice with four of our granddaughters at the cafe court.  As we sat there laughing and chewing, a group of teenagers entered the mall.  One fella looked up and pointed to an elaborate garland hanging above our heads.  He said, "This is suppose to be the season when we have fantastic decorations everywhere; and this is what we get?"  I looked around the food court, and had to admit, that there was not a New York Times Square grandeur.  However, the garland he pointed to was very pretty.  I wondered, what is "enough" for him?  What would meet his expectation of grandeur? 

My granddaughters came up from Texas the night before, to make our contribution to the Gingerbread House competition at our church.  It's become a tradition since we lost their daddy to make our "Petersen" mark on the world each year.  This year we didn't get the least bit flustered or intense about constructing a fancy elaborate house to be the "best".  We just grabbed some icing, a few nutty-butter bars, and a bit of green icing for ice-cream-cone trees, and decided to keep it simple and just have fun.  We didn't really have a plan at all.  Lo and behold, on Sunday morning they announced the Petersen's house won First Place.  We were tickled pink.  But our "win" paled in comparison to the elation we experienced on Friday night as we joined our Iraqi friend at our table and shared the Christmas joy of being part of a family.

I had a friend tell me last week that Christmas isn't the time of year to be concerned with the tinsel, the garland and the wrappings..."it's about the heart". The heart that cares about others.  The heart that reaches into a pocket and drops the change one has into the kettle in front of most stores.  The heart that sacrifices one's own pleasures to give pleasure to others.  The heart that pulls an angel from the tree and purchases items for needy families who have no one to play Santa. The heart that says "Thank you, Jesus, for leaving the grandeur of heaven and coming to earth to save us from our greed and selfishness.  Instead of demanding the best, You accepted the least."  And the "least" is enough when we have the Father dwelling within our hearts. May we live like we believe that this year.

 

Concerned Citizen

I am concerned about the moral decline in our world, and specifically, America. It's one thing to look at other countries, such as Iran and be appalled at the fact that a young Christian pastor is about to be executed for loving Jesus in an Islamic country (/link). It's another thing entirely to consider that in America, a man would smother an 8-year-old child and dismember him (/link). It's sick, folks.

I grieve for the parents of this child...the fact that he was alone and lost on the streets of his New York neighborhood is sad and will trouble them for years to come. It was considered one of the safest neighborhoods in New York City. What this evil man did to their child will haunt them forever.

We live in a country that has legalized the slaughter of the unborn. There is no place of refuge for a child in a society that gives so little regard to life. There are no neighborhoods safe enough.

In America, each and every commandment of the Most High God is broken every day without any sense of remorse. At one time the Ten Commandments dressed the walls of every single schoolroom in the country. Today the display of those laws is considered unconstitutional. Today, they are broken and flaunted in the halls of justice--condoned, tolerated and legislated against. Though murder is offensive, it is not as offensive as dotting every "i" and crossing every "t" in the letter of man-made laws.

America's problems reach farther than the arm of the law. It rests deep in the heart of man.

Cheating in schools is no longer a problem with children; it's a problem with the educators teaching those children. Teachers seduce vulnerable children every day. Lying. Coveting. Stealing. Dishonesty. Lasciviousness. These are the character traits being exemplified to young people?

Why is it too much to expect marriage to be an institution of God between one man and one woman? It's totally unnatural to consider marriage as anything else.

Sin is something to be proud of today. We even pay money to see violence, adultery, lying and cheating and manipulation--sin glamourized in movies, television and reality shows. We purchase products that promote more of it. We have a love affair with products, clothing, and accessories that bathe us in self-gratification...with the exterior of ourselves. We are self-saturated. It's all about me and my pleasure and my comfort and my desire and my needs. It's less and less about being created in the image of God and more about being re-created in the image of man.

Should we be surprised brothers strangle their mother because they didn't want to play Yahtzee? And just because they didn't want to play a boardgame, it was perfectly okay to murder their mom and bury her body and lie about what happened to her? How awful it was of her to want to play a boardgame and infringe upon their desires! You'd think it would have been simple enough to play a couple of games to avoid prison. Wonder if they'll be playing Yahtzee in prison?

I am concerned that our relaxed state of mind about all things of God has warped our ability to reason. Common sense is losing space within the mind of man. No wonder jurors have problems understanding reasonable doubt. Everything seems to be tolerable under the right circumstances. A National Day of Prayer is exactly what is needed for our country as Gov. Rick Perry is being criticized for calling citizens to do in Texas. However, I think we need prayer every day, not just once a year. I'm concerned...are you?

New York and Back in 5 Minutes

No, I didn't catch a redeye on a supersonic jet.  I walked into my church to register my granddaughter for class Vacation Bible School.  There in the vestibule stood the Statue of Liberty.  Looked alot like that one we see down on Sheridan advertising Liberty Tax service.  All through the church were giant buildings covering the walls.  A hotdog cart was in one room.  Ingenius displays of all-things-New York City graced the rooms.  The hallways were abuzz.  Excitement filled the air.  Scores of adults were greeting children cribs through Middle-school.  One of my younger granddaughters has been talking about exploring New York for weeks.  She knows it's pretend but she is ready to see how God can work in a big city far far away.  Her belief that everyone should get to know about Jesus is refreshing.

It made me think about the recent debacle down in Texas.  Did you hear about it?  A couple of parents didn't think their child should hear prayer at the Highschool Graduation.  So the ACLU hopped on that like a spider on a fly, and began weaving their web of discontent all the way to the courthouse.  The parents claimed their child would suffer irreparable damage by having to hear a prayer at graduation, or to hear a valedictorian mention God in a speech.

Irreparable damage?  To what?  Great day in the morning!  Next thing you know the ACLU will be suing Nascar for having the opening prayer at each race.  Give me a break.  This is America.  It is high time the courts take a stand for freedom OF religion, instead of supporting freedom FROM religion.  I could not believe a judge actually legislated from the bench such liberal hogwash in the conservative state of Texas.  I was thrilled to hear that the folks appealed it and another judge reversed that unconstitutional ruling and allowed, not only, the prayer but preserved freedom of speech too.

I have kinda adopted Oklahoma as my home these days.  I love it.  And I love our conservatism here.  Note:  I said I love our conservatism--not our republicanism or democratism or independentism.  I love our Texas neighbors.  I especially like that they don't have state income tax.  So cool.  How do they do that?  Anyone know?  Maybe I'll do some research and find out.  I did read an article about how business in Texas has grown more than all states combined since 2001.  Can you believe that?  What are they doing in Texas to attract so much business?  I also read where one of the fastest growing cities in Texas is Wichita Falls.   They actually have a Target and Toys-R-Us, Chucky Cheese, and a bevy of other cool things we don't have here in Lawton.  Wonder what Texans are doing right to attract those neat stores.  Wonder what Texas is doing to grab all the businesses.  Someone said it had something to do with being corporation friendly and taxes being better for corporations.  Don't know.  Need to research it.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love Lawton and our world here.  However, you'd think Lawton would be about as close to Wichita Falls in what we can offer the wide-world of Comanche County as our Texas neighbors.  It's not like we are that much smaller.  They only have about 7,600 more folks than we do as of 2010.  Oh, well.  Back to New York.

New York is an amazing city.  I've been there.  But I wouldn't want Lawton to be that big.  And maybe Lawtonian leaders don't really want Lawton to be as big as Wichita Falls, Texas.  Who knows?  The main thing is that we have the freedom to worship and speak freely about our faith in whatever forum we are in.  Be it highschool speeches, or taking candy canes to school.  Candy canes are being prohibited in one state.  But that's another story for another day.  Have a great week.  See ya round the Lazy River...in Lawton...that is.

Downsizing Doesn't Have to be a Downer

Most everyone at one time or another faces downsizing.  I've already downsized at least 3 times in 3 decades:  From 3,000 square-foot home to seminary apartment housing.  From apartment to house, to smaller house, to 1,700 sq. ft. house.  And now?  I'm about to embark on a major downsizing adventure.  572 sq. ft. of total living space!  This may seen extreme to some; to me, it's like squashing two-thirds of my personality into one third.

Less living space doesn't bother me as much as less storage. You see, we have books. Over two thousand.  I have crafts, sewing stuff, art supplies, and office desks.  Most of which, I'm not keen on dumping...nor am I ready to part with memorabilia from my son's and daughter's childhoods.  Add to that my grandchildren's artwork, the bevy of framed family photos, and you can see there is little room for me to bring clothing, Christmas decorations, pots, pans, dishes and cookie sheets, pie pans, and cup-cake tins. I'm exchanging a 25 cu. foot refrigerator/freezer for a 12 cu. foot 24 " x 24 " apartment size fridge.  Don't misinterpret me.  I'm not complaining.  I like this idea...

I'm just having a bit of trouble wrapping my brain around eliminating much of who I am.  I'd rather have two outfits to interchange and wear to church each week, and one suitcase full of clothes, shoes, and accessories, than give up an inch of the creative me that I am.   I've been researching every way to cram more storage into every single inch of space I have.  When I'm done, I will write a book with all my creative ideas.  You'll want one, I'm sure.  Hubby has solved his tool storage situation.  We'll just store them in a box trailer my son once used as his mobile tile-cutting shop.  That leaves me with 3 bedrooms and a garage chocked full of, well...stuff.  I may just pack what I'm going to keep, then have a living estate sale for my cheetah chairs, and boxes upon boxes of antiques which I packed up after I closed my antique booth in a local mall that closed.

Creative juices are pumping through my mind. I'm exchanging my Yardsale Eclectic decor for Country Modern Minimalist decor.  Since I'm entering the winter years of my life, I really don't want to leave my daughter with my junk to deal with.  She wouldn't know an antique from a Dollar-Tree item.  Left to her, most of my absolutely cool stuff would end up in Lawton's Landfill adding about 20-feet to the mountain we are building out there.  Instead, I'll sell the bulk to offset the cost for light and plumbing fixtures, appliances--and to help purchase two sleeper loveseats so my son's girls from Texas will have a place to sleep when they visit me.  One bedroom won't quite accomodate our bed and their bunkbeds, you see.  When I told them about the downsizing, they were a bit mortified.  "Where will we sleep?"  Mortification turned to glee when I told them about the sleeper sofas and future pajama parties.  You know girls and PJ parties...'nuff said. 

My Haylee and Kinsey can hardly wait.  They get to walk out their front door onto our combined porch, tip-toe 10 feet to my door whenever they want a break from playing at home.  That my friends is the ultimate in downsizing trade-offs.  I can hardly wait.  Tea-parties every day.  Hugs every day, several times a day.  Someone to watch cartoons and make paper mache' wall friezes -- explorations of wildflower species, and birdwatching expeditions in the woods behind our home. Now if I can just figure out what to do with all the canned goods, rice bags, and other staples I've been stockpiling in my garage (to avoid inflated prices Glenn Beck's been warning me about for a year), I'll be good to go.  Hey, don't laugh, even Hillary is glooming and dooming inflation's hard-hitting reality.  I'm prepared! In fact, I kinda feel like Granny on the Walton's.  Wonder if we'll be telling one another good-night at the end of each day.

Mother's Day Revisited and a couple of suggestions

For many, yesterday was a day of remembering Moms.  Mother's Day to me takes on another meaning entirely.  It's not about my mothers (one biological, 3 steps). It's more about those I've mothered.  I must confess I wasn't the best of moms.  I wanted to be.  I really did.  But sometimes the past crept into the present and unleashed patterns I struggled to destroy.  Those demons popped up unannounced to crush the life out of who I wanted to be.  It took several years to figure out why my stepmother's words came out of my mouth--why I'd yell--why I became so indulgent and found it easier to say yes than "no".  It took several more years to find patience and wisdom.  Motherhood was one battle after another--some won, some lost.  

I confessed in my blog, SelahV Today, that I wondered how I would feel on this particular Mother's Day.  As some of you know from reading my column, May 8th was the Mother's Day 6 years ago when we were waiting for our appetizer to arrive at Applebee's and my husband got a call on his cell. I expected it to be Chad calling to say he was running late.  Instead, the Texas state police called to say my only son was dead.

Yes, it was that cold.  No one came to meet us.  No one stood before us to answer questions of how, or why, or what.  Just a phone call that ended appetizers and appetites and caused gut-wrenching horror to rise in our throats. Much can be said about the grief we have all experienced from that tragic day when life and death met Mother's Day and exploded like a helium balloon.  In short, it left us with eggshells to walk upon on this day of the year.  No one knows quite what to do or say.  It's not like the day before Mother's Day 2005.

My son's, now, 13 year-old daughter posted on Facebook, "mother's day will never be the same again. I want my daddy back".  She's right; but also, I think our loss gave a deeper meaning to motherhood.  Somehow the horrific nightmare fades into what daybreak brings. In Brooklyn's words I hear how much I had and still have that she never will have.  Though my son crammed decades of life and love into her few 7 years and her sister's 3, they do not have the memories the Lord has blessed me with.  They have stories of memories.

Today I reflect on yesterday with my only living child.  I see my daughter's love illustrated with a yummy brisket dinner to rival any restaurant in town.  She does that every single Sunday; I think how I, and others, sometimes take for granted that she's cooking.  Mother's are often taken for granted.  Yet, we can't stop being mothers.  It's a lifelong assignment.  So rather than savor the taste of brisket, I savored the moments of laughter I witnessed between my daughter and her children, and her daughter's children.  I basked in the joy and blessings of their lives.  I drank the prayers of peace and comfort my friends offered our Heavenly Father on my behalf.  I dined on solace and peace for desert.

I may no longer have children rise up and call me blessed as scripture says, but I have grandchildren who bless me each day I rise up.  I cherish my daughter who never wavers in her desire to love me for herself and her brother.

Mother's be blessed today, the week after Mother's Day 2011.  Store those cards in a treasure chest.  Enjoy those aggravating moments as much as the bubbly ones.  Rejoice in their interruptions.  Remember when you bend over to pick up their socks, and you can't find its match in the laundry basket--only the sock is missing.  Only a sock.  And when the door slams, and grimy fingerprints cover your newly cleaned windows, be thankful you have more prints to clean.  Motherhood is a wonderful thing.

Christmas Observations

As I write these words, Christmas is just five days away.  No.  I have not finished my shopping.  I survived my collision with the fella who went through the stop sign, only to go home, walk into my overstuffed loveseat and break my toe.  I can barely put any pressure at all on the ball of my foot.  It's a scary thing to try and walk around a crowded mall, grocery, or church hallway with a broken toe.  There are so many feet to dodge.  However, last week I managed to hobble into Lawton's mall and purchase a gift for my mother-in-law; I even got it into the mail. 

I've noticed people are a lot friendlier at the post office.  No one seems to be in a hurry.  Patience seems to have fallen upon Lawton like morning dew.  It's refreshing to see.  Do you think it is the season?  I do.  I think most people have a more positive outlook as they focus on giving, shining, and celebrating.  People wear silly reindeer ears and don Santa hats.  Everyone is dressed in glittering, glowing finery.  Gaily decorated Christmas sweaters abound.  Homes are aglow with festive lights.  Lights.  Stars.   

Years ago, wisemen studied the stars and scripture and knew the promised King was soon to be born.  They packed their entourage and headed for Bethlehem to worship this new King.  Shepherds watched their flocks by night, and were completely astounded when angels appeared to announce Emanuel, to celebrate the Christ child's birth.  The Savior of the world had been born and lay in a lowly manger because there was no room for Him in the crowded city.

We talked about that in Sunday School yesterday.  We considered the things we focus upon at this time of the year--the things that crowd out Jesus.  Presents we'd purchased, ones we had yet to find.  People we visit, those who visit us.  Traditions we observe, ones no longer observed.  Songs we heard as children, songs no longer sung.  Music we hear in the stores; music without words to share the real reason Christians celebrate Christmas.  I thought about how mutated the story had become and wondered what would be told a hundred years from now.  With the continual stifling of Christmas wishes, and celebrations diluted by unbelief and disregard for Christ in Christmas, I questioned how long it would be before there was no mention of Jesus at all.  Then....

Then I was reminded by one of the members in our class that God's truth cannot be stifled, diluted, nor quenched.  God in His all-powerful sovereignty and purpose will survive the tests of time.  Truth cannot be hidden.  Truth is victorious.  And Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  Jesus is the Light of the World.  Every star is a testimony to His redeeming presence.  God gave us His Son, and as a friend shared with me this week, Mary wrapped the first Gift of Christmas.  And for those who believe and accept this Gift, eternal life with Him in Heaven awaits.  Heaven...where every day is Christmas and Light is evermore.  Merry Christmas everyone!    

  

MEMORABLE TRADITIONS

  Looking back on my childhood I cannot remember a single, solitary tradition my family consistently observed.  Seriously.  Thanksgiving was hit-or-miss on Fridays after Thanksgiving.  We had no family Christmas dinner, or Night-Before-Christmas-reading.  We may or may not have a Christmas tree.  The closest thing I can recall to a tradtion is that Christmas gifts were placed at the dinner table where each of us had assigned seats. It wasn't until I got married that I learned about family traditions with my husband's family.  Every single holiday from Labor Day to Labor Day was cause for celebration and family gatherings.  Campouts at the lake on July 4th, four turkeys being roasted for one Thanksgiving dinner; Christmas Eve gift-openings with 25 little cousins running around underfoot.  Huge events.

 

I sorta fell into step with my husband's family until we left Connecticut so my husband could go to school to become a minister.  In Kentucky, we began our own traditions as a family.  Decorating the tree included hot chocolate, popped corn, and Christmas carols playing in the background. We tried to make some new ornament every year. Then my two children grew up, moved away and began their own traditions.  Today, families sharing holidays with various extended families presents a challenge for tradition-making and observing. Sooo....I have taken a special liking to one tradition I started with my two granddaughters from Texas just after their Daddy died.  For five years now, we have joined our church family at First Baptist East in Lawton, in constructing a Gingerbread House on the first Friday night in December.

 

Our first house literally collapsed when we added the candies to the precariously placed graham-cracker roof.  The girls didn't care.  But I did.  I wanted it to be perfect...for them, and to be honest, for me.  I wanted it to be something for them to look back on with fond and comforting memories.  Every year I try a bit harder to help them construct a house which stands long enough for us to take a picture.  The second year, the roof barely held together under the weight of icing and peanut-butter bars.  Each year the house (uh, shack), looked like two little girls and an inept grandmother built a house that the big bad wolf blew over in one puff.  But we had fun.  We ate a bunch of candy, and licked a cup of icing from our fingers. We began to see our small gathering on the first Friday night in December as our own little tradition (Grampa was the clean-up man), keeping our table free of debris from broken cookies and peppermint shards.  Each year the girls and I were excited about what we would use to decorate our home--peanut-brittle stone walls, wafers like a log house, and more.

 

This year, I finally figured out how to build a center support to hold the roof in place on the walls.  We used Hershey's candy bars for the roof and it didn't fall in.  We were thrilled!  The girls made their usual marshmallow snowman, and each iced a waffle-cone for a Christmas tree to put in the yard.  Abby was especially excited when one little girl came by and wrote our family's name down on the voting ballot as Number One.  I was overwhelmed when two people came by and told me our little house was "magazine quality".  "Really?"  I didn't think so, but it felt good to know someone else thought that.

 

I don't know how long our church in Lawton has been doing these Gingerbread House family fellowships.  I don't even know how long they've been competing and choosing whose house was best of show.  I know some people have built extravagant, creative things such as Sonic Drive-In, OU stadiums, Alaskan Igloos, and Tropical paradises.  We've just tried to build a good-enough-to-eat Gingerbread House that withstood the ride home from church.  I highly doubt we will ever win, place, or show in the competition side of it all.  But I know that each year. Grampa, the girls, and I will build our home a bit better than the year before.  It's tradition--and one worth remembering for years to come.