Merry, Merry Chirstmas!

I went out for coffee with a friend yesterday. When we were finished laughing and crying, trusting and talking, listening and dreaming, I ran an errand. I can't recall seeing one smile while I was out there. Every person I saw looked angry, sad or weary. I wanted to take them all home-really, I did. I wanted to give each one of them a cup of coffee and a Christmas cookie, a hug and hope.

This is not all there is I wanted to tell them. This is just a passing through place; this is hard and wearisome and it's a scary place, but it is not the place.

I wanted to tell them God loves them. If we could see beyond the seeable we would know that and it could be possible to laugh at this. Maybe? If we could see eternity and heaven

now, while we're going through whatever it is we're going through, life would take on a different hue, wouldn't it?

The best part of everything is that it's possible to have hope even while we're here, just passing through. Jesus made the way for us. And yes, I am going to say it: "that's what Christmas is all about." His birth which lead to His death which leads to our hope-

I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither death, nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow-not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below-indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39)

That's all I have for you today. A prayer that you will see the unseeable and find that hope.

Merry, Merry Christmas to you!

December 22

My dad died today. Oh, not literally. It was literally 9 years ago today.

I was thinking about him when I wrote yesterday's post. Do you know I still miss him? There will always be a hole in my heart that longs for his voice and his hugs and his big, warm, rough hand wrapped around mine. I guess there will always be a little girl hiding inside, needing her daddy.

I could focus on all that. I could really get into it and have a whopper of a pity party. Did you ever see the Lord of the Rings trilogy? For three years after dad died I had an Orc screaming in my heart. Not only was the adult me mourning his leaving, the little girl inside suddenly realized there was no hope of ever, ever having a daddy.

Death and grieving are strange things to me. The hurt is still there and I still miss him. The Orc has finally shut up though, which is nice. I don't miss him one bit. What's strange about death and grief is that for me, in this case, I have so much joy inside and so much to be thankful for even though...

I learned so much from my dad. He was practical, he was wise, he knew how to balance his time and used it wisely, and his faith...his faith was true and deep and everything I want mine to be. How did he get there??

When he found out he had lung cancer he calmly told us about it and calmly asked for prayer. He said, "If the Lord wants to heal me, that'd be great. If not, that's ok. It's up to Him and I'm ready to go home if that's what He wants."

I watched dad as he lived out the next two years. He never seemed to focus on the cancer or the fact that he was probably going to die. He still served, he still encouraged, he still laughed and carved and prayed for people and played games. He found joy in his days and would not allow fear or sorrow to overshadow here and now.

The timing of his death could be called untimely by some. Three days before Christmas; really? I could focus on that and have another wonderful little pity party every. single. year.

I don't though. The timing was sweet to me. His visitation and memorial were surrounded by Christ and Christmas, evergreen wreaths and bright, happy Christmas trees. It's a time of rejoicing and that's what I do when December 22 pops up each year. It is a sad sort-of rejoicing, but it is rejoicing. My dad is safely Home. He spends his days with Jesus now where there is no sorrow, no more tears, no more sin. He finished his race well.

I hope I do.

the perfect slap

They say confession is good for the soul so I'm going to fess up here and now:

For the last few years just the thought of Christmas has thrown me into a deep depression. I dreaded the day I had to flip the calendar from November to December and tried to ignore the fact that the 25th was there, right down toward the bottom of the page. My heart was heavy and tears would frequently find their way down my cheeks as the days passed.

A few weeks ago it was really bad. I was miserable and spent my free-thinking time freely thinking miserable thoughts.

I told a few people how I felt and I got a few sympathetic hugs or words of encouragement from them. Did that help? Nope. Not a bit.

Finally, one day I woke up with tears in my eyes. The only other time I woke up weeping was the morning after my my mom had died.

I spent some time that day chatting with a friend and in the course of our chat I mentioned my depression.

"So, why are you so depressed?" my friend asked.

Ha! Now was my chance!

"Well," I replied, "Christmas carols make me feel lonely, my parents are dead, my sons have grown up, money is tight, our whole extended family lives west of the Mississippi...." on and on I babbled.

Finally I stopped and my friend said,

"Judy, are you taking drugs for your depression?"

Drugs?? For my depression??

I sat here and froze inside. I stared at the computer, startled. Have you ever seen an old movie where a hysterical female gets slapped across the face by her friend in order to stop her screaming? That is how I felt. It was the perfect slap, delivered casually, almost in passing, but boy howdy, did it stop me in my tracks.

It was one of the most convicting moments I've had in a very long time.

I just thought, Oh Jesus, I am so, so sorry. You have blessed and given and hugged me so deeply and so often- I feel like I've thrown your love and your gifts to me down in the mud and stomped on them. All I've been doing is focusing on me...focusing on the negatives...focusing on what I don't have. Please, please forgive me...."

Way back last summer I started reading a book called 1000 Gifts by Anne Voskamp. Have you read it? I won't go into all of it now, but it's a very good book. Anne challenges her readers to look for God everywhere, all day, in every circumstance and in every moment. Here is a trailer to the book on youtube. (Please, take 4 minutes and 20 seconds out of your day and watch it. It's so worth it....)

Anyway-another thing Anne challenges her readers to do is actually list the gifts you see God giving you each day by writing them down. I started doing that last summer but I quickly discovered something. I couldn't get away from the notebook I was writing in. Every single minute held something to be thankful for. I could see God's hand all over the place. I could see His hugs everywhere. I even saw Him in the hard things and the stressful things. I could not stop writing so I did stop. I had to walk away from the notebook in order to teach, or cook, or throw a load of laundry in the washer...

I spent a lot of time talking to God though; a lot of time thanking Him for the sweet gifts I was seeing in my life.

As autumn progressed I stopped reading the book and then as November turned into December I stopped looking for God as much. I wasn't focused on Him; I started focusing on me and my not-so-happy little thoughts and you saw up there the result of that.

I will confess I still have my December moments, but since that slap that's all they've been-moments. When I focus on the Lord and search for Him, I find Him all over my life. This has been the happiest, most peace-filled December I've had in at least 7 years. I've loved decorating and shopping, cleaning and planning what to bake. I've even loved the gloomy grey Indiana weather.

Let me guess. You are thinking, wow, this woman is bi-polar. I'm not though. The bible promises us that when we are focused on Him rather than self, and we thank Him for His gifts and His love, we will have joy.

A well timed slap doesn't hurt either.

a tumbleweed

Do you remember the Christmas trees your family had when you were little? Were you allowed to help decorate the tree or was that something that was done after you'd gone to bed?

The Christmas trees we had when I was small were huge, and not just because I wasn't. Our living room was large and mom wanted a tree worthy of the room. She had the most beautiful vintage ornaments to put on the tree, and there were a lot of them. Oh, and bubble lights! Remember those? And tinsel and another string of lights that didn't twinkle-the bulbs were so large they shot bright, happy color out into the room.

I wasn't allowed to touch the ornaments or help put them on the tree. They were too expensive and too delicate for my chubby little fingers to handle. I just remember waking up some December morning, coming down the stairs and there it was: The Tree, sparkling, shiny and smiling; happy to be a part of our family even if only for a few weeks.

The first Christmas mom and I shared after my parents' divorce found us in a completely different circumstance. We were poor, we were living in a tiny "cabin" in the mountains of Colorado, and there was no money or room for a tree of any size at all.

We had found a smallish tumbleweed during one of our drives and had fallen in love with it. Since we were from the Midwest we'd never seen one before, so for us, that tumbleweed was a treasure. We kept it and brought it home as one of our first Colorado souvenirs.

Well, as December rolled around I started thinking about Christmas and presents, all the baking mom used to do and of course, The Tree. We just didn't have room for one. Finally one evening, as mom sat in a chair she spotted our tumbleweed.

"Jude, why don't we use the tumbleweed for a tree?! I'll betcha no one else in the world has ever had a tumbleweed tree!"

So, that's what we did. Mom helped me prop the tumbleweed inside a coffee can. We took rocks and piled them up inside the can so the thing wouldn't fall over and then, much to my joy, mom let me decorate our "tree" all by myself. I found some red yarn and braided it together to make a garland; I carefully draped that over the delicate little twigs of the tumbleweed. Then I took toothpicks and made tiny god's eyes with more yarn and hung those from the branches.

Our little tree didn't have vintage ornaments or bubble lights. It didn't have any lights at all. But that tumbleweed is a tree I still remember and that memory is one I still treasure. My Mom could turn the most dreary circumstance into a happy moment with a cheerful word or two and her optimistic attitude and that's what she did that Christmas. She took what could've been a lonely, depressing moment in time and turned into something special. She made me feel like we were the lucky ones and gave me an irreplaceable memory.

one tiny moment

Have you ever had a moment in your life you wish would've lasted longer? Maybe it was just a tiny, fleeting moment but it was so precious it became a part of your soul and it actually hurt when the moment ended? Or maybe you've done something and while you were doing it you thought, wow, this is what I was made for.

Yesterday morning I sat in a chair and held my baby granddaughter while she slept. Her little bottom was poking out and her warm, soft hand was wrapped around my neck. Her face was turned toward mine and her rosy lips were puckered in the most kissable way; occasionally she would smile at a dream only she was privy to.

I know this will sound awfully sappy, but I cried while I held her...it was just one of those tiny moments...

A Romantic Little Christmas Story

I hope you don't mind if I hand you something I wrote a couple years ago. It's a true story; it's the story of how my second son proposed. I hope you enjoy it.

#2, although he's only 21, was pretty nearly convinced "she" would never come along. He'd been praying for "her" and wondering about "her" for years. Yes, I said years.
Two weeks into their acquaintance they both knew for certain they were meant for each other. My son drove out to our house one afternoon to tell us the news. Once we stopped laughing we realized he was serious. He'd met "The One."

Anyway-he controlled himself and managed to wait 6 months to propose. He spent the day before he popped the question at home, here, with me. It's a day I will never forget. He'd come home to show me The Ring. I've never seen anyone more excited and nervous about anything.

Actually, he wasn't nervous about asking H. to be his wife. It was The Talk with her father that was giving him the shivers. He tried to put that out of his head while he sat here visiting with me and putting together a little gift for H. that would help his cause.

What he did was this: H.'s favorite color is blue, so, #2 found a box and covered it with blue scrapbook paper. Then he gathered together a huge stack of blue scrapbook papers and cut them into squares that would fit just right into the box. He even clipped one corner of each paper so she could lift them out of the box one by one.
On each square he wrote a different reason why he loves her. As he sat on the couch writing and thinking I watched him. He was so sweet. He put so much thought into each note. This little project took all afternoon-not because he couldn't think of enough reasons to marry this girl, but because of the ring. It sat there, quietly minding its own business, nestled in its little box, waiting for Her. But occasionally that ring would call out my son's name. He'd stop writing, look at the box, pick it up, open it, look at the ring and smile. His heart would stop, he'd take a deep breath, close the box, and continue writing. Even when he didn't pay any attention to the ring's call, he would sometimes stop and just grin at the box. He passed away the afternoon in this manner while I was allowed the sweet privilege of peeking into my grown son's heart.

The next day was a little more nerve wracking for him. It was the day he planned to have "The Talk" with her father. That's enough to make any boy shiver in his boots and I don't think there was too much grinning going on. However he did it.

Then it was on to the next step. Asking H. to be his bride. He had planned on asking her to marry him while they sipped hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire, cuddled up under a Christmas tree. However, he was afraid that, in their excitement, her family wouldn't be able to keep the secret and would tell her about it before he had a chance to ask. So, on to plan B.

That same night, after talking to her father, son #2 found himself sitting in a little coffee shop waiting for H. to get off work. A little Christmas tree twinkled in the corner, and carols were playing over the loudspeaker.

At the same time, my husband, son #3 and I were here, at home, doing our usual who-knows-what. Suddenly the phone rang-it was #2. He wanted to know the names of some of the top romantic songs that had ever been sung. He was sitting in that coffee shop putting together a CD of romantic music to further his cause even more. We googled and reminisced and came up with several titles for the boy, then hung up.

I will tell you here and now I didn't sleep very well that night. I wanted to be a little mouse trailing after my son, watching this biggest moment of his life play out...thankfully he's very open with us and was willing to share The Proposal with us. (After the fact, of course)

So here's what happened: when H. got off work #2 was there to pick her up. She was hungry, tired, and feeling a bit discouraged about life. He was pent up, nervous, and excited-he wanted to pop the question then and there. He wisely decided to control himself and let the poor girl eat and regroup first. When he saw that she was feeling better he popped the CD in, gave her some flowers, the box of little notes, and then started driving around "to look at all the Christmas lights".

As he drove he kept a careful eye on that pile of notes. When she got to the end he planned on that moment to ask her to share his life with him. The Ring was hiding in the pocket of his car door, not only whispering his name, but filling his heart with joy and excitement.

Finally he saw that the stack of notes was getting low-I'm not sure how on earth he planned this part, but #2 found a little pond with Christmas lights glowing all around it. He whipped his car into the parking area near the pond and parked. By this time H. was teary-the box had done its trick and melted her heart. Son leaned over to give her a hug as a tear or two made their way down his cheeks as well.

"H., will you marry me?"
The tears stopped. She sat up. "What did you say? You told me....how did you...."
She was totally surprised. Totally taken off guard...

So, there you have it. (Maybe someday son #1 will let me share his story with you.)

winding down and gearing up

I've been here, at home, raising and teaching boys for half my life. That's a long (long) time. And now, as my 21st year of home schooling approaches its middle mark, I can clearly see the end of my career out there in the distance. My last little guy is half way through 4th grade and in 8 short years we'll be handing him a diploma...

Already that little person is growing in independence. He's taking the initiative when it comes to starting school in the morning, reading the instructions for his lessons, and even doing extra school work just "because it's fun, Momma!" (no, I do not think this is normal behavior)

I can still remember how it felt to have 3 students in the house and a toddler running around. Every minute was filled with to-do's, and my should-do-but-I-can't-figure-out-when list was a heavy weight on my shoulders.

But now? Things are winding down....ending....coming to a close. As each school book is completed I'm not putting it on a shelf "for next year". I'm either packing it away in case any of our grandchildren are home schooled, or giving books away because...because they will never again be needed in this house.

I'm sorting through 40 years (collectively speaking) of school work and art work and little boy stories, written in little boy scribbles, on scrap paper or school paper; trying to decide which memories are worth hanging onto and which ones to release.

Sometimes I feel like one of those completed school books. I'm still alive, still useful, still worth hanging onto. But I must admit and face the facts-I'm not needed like I once was. In some ways it feels like my purpose is winding down.

However, lately God has sweetly been encouraging me and showing me something. I've not come to the end. I've come to a yellow light and in a few short years, a red one. But I've noticed something about traffic lights. They're always changing color. Yellow doesn't stay yellow for long, and the red one soon turns to green.

The road I've been traveling at break neck pace may come to an end, but it's not a dead end. God has big sleeves and I know there's something up one of them just for me. I don't know what my new purpose will be, but God has been allowing me to see, in tiny ways, that there is one.

The last 10 years of our lives were really, really hard and raising and teaching 4 boys wasn't always easy. I'm resting now; praying, waiting, doing what I know to do. I'm looking forward and gearing up, waiting for the next thing.

That's all I have for today....just some miscellaneous ramblings....thoughts from my head and thoughts from my heart.