When our kids were little (they're still little in my opinion), it seemed that we would have the most sweet, simple Christmas celebrations at home; just the five of us. A Christmas Eve service, a special dinner together, then we would each open our three carefully chosen gifts. In the morning, special surprises waited in stockings, not a truckload, but again, thoughtfully chosen and appropriate. Pajama clad children would scatter about the house, thoroughly enjoying their new treasures. Perfect!
This sweet Hallmark Christmas scene was then interrupted by hurriedly dressing children, scooping them up and dashing out the door. We would go over the river and through the woods, sometimes making as many as three stops on Christmas Day. No small feat with three children, whether they are babies, toddlers, preschoolers, or tweens.
One year, as we pulled in the driveway at the first stop, Ronnie and I looked at each other and sighed. The sweet, perfect, calm Christmas was behind us. Here we were, in our Christmas sweaters, knowing that by the end of the day, we would be exhausted. We would haul home more stuff than our mini-van would hold, and be battling a serious case of the "gimme's" from our sleep-deprived, sugar-stoked children. The very same children who were happy and satisfied with what they had, just a few hours before.
He said, "You know, one day we will wish that we could come here on Christmas Day and we won't be able to." I knew that he was right. A day would come when there wouldn't be so many places to go, and we would long for them.
We've arrived at that day. We don't make a stop at my grandmother's house anymore. We will still make two stops, at my in-law's house and my mother's, but it will never be the same.
My heart aches for the way it used to be. Hug everybody you love this Christmas.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
'Tis the Season
I can remember a few years ago being really frustrated because I had been hit with several arguments on how to celebrate Christmas if you were a good "Christian." Some thought you had to love Christmas, decorate with lots of angels and nativities, and hate Santa. While others thought believers should not participate at all. The opinions are many, with varying degrees in between. One theme was prevalent; there was a right way to celebrate like a good Christian should. You were responsible for showing the world how it should be done.
In the Old Testament, there were specific festivals and feast days that God told His people to observe and for specific reasons.
I was so relieved when I finally realized that celebrating Christmas is not something that God told me to do. This fact encourages me because it means I have the freedom to observe it however I want. I can have lots of trees or no trees. I can have lights on my house or no lights. I can give gifts or not, etc., etc., etc. I'm free!
In recent years, I have heard the origins of our Christmas activities discussed more often. A lot of our traditions are secular, and even pagan in origin.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not against Christmas. Those that know me will confirm that I participate with gusto, snowman sweater and all. It's my heart and attitude that have been adjusted. I no longer feel pressure to do it "right." I trust my God to let me know if I do something displeasing to Him; otherwise, I party.
I can see a bigger picture. Yes, there's lots of commercialism; but there is also a lot of giving to those in need and charities. Sure, we need to do it year 'round; but it's better than not doing it at all.
I love that the songs that are played everywhere proclaim His Glory, His Majesty; the Christ. Ssshh! Don't tell the secular airwaves that they are proclaiming what we already know; that He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords! You know, one day, every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. They're just getting a head start at Christmas.
In the Old Testament, there were specific festivals and feast days that God told His people to observe and for specific reasons.
I was so relieved when I finally realized that celebrating Christmas is not something that God told me to do. This fact encourages me because it means I have the freedom to observe it however I want. I can have lots of trees or no trees. I can have lights on my house or no lights. I can give gifts or not, etc., etc., etc. I'm free!
In recent years, I have heard the origins of our Christmas activities discussed more often. A lot of our traditions are secular, and even pagan in origin.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not against Christmas. Those that know me will confirm that I participate with gusto, snowman sweater and all. It's my heart and attitude that have been adjusted. I no longer feel pressure to do it "right." I trust my God to let me know if I do something displeasing to Him; otherwise, I party.
I can see a bigger picture. Yes, there's lots of commercialism; but there is also a lot of giving to those in need and charities. Sure, we need to do it year 'round; but it's better than not doing it at all.
I love that the songs that are played everywhere proclaim His Glory, His Majesty; the Christ. Ssshh! Don't tell the secular airwaves that they are proclaiming what we already know; that He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords! You know, one day, every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. They're just getting a head start at Christmas.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Sadness - Part One
One phone call, that's all it takes.
My Daddy is gone. Just like that, everything changes forever.
How could something leave such a gaping hole? And, yet it does.
Trauma, on top of grief, on top of sadness.
I hear his voice in my head.
I was proud to be his daughter standing in the line as nearly a thousand people came through with their stories and kind words.
I had just said to somebody recently, "I am my father's daughter."
Yeah, I am.
My Daddy is gone. Just like that, everything changes forever.
How could something leave such a gaping hole? And, yet it does.
Trauma, on top of grief, on top of sadness.
I hear his voice in my head.
I was proud to be his daughter standing in the line as nearly a thousand people came through with their stories and kind words.
I had just said to somebody recently, "I am my father's daughter."
Yeah, I am.
Love in Action
Several months ago I witnessed what was, to me, a remarkable display of grace and mercy. It seems those two words are finding their way into my life more and more.
A dear pastor in our community passed away. Even though I am no longer in that denomination, I still was able to witness the clear calling this man had as a shepherd; a true pastor's heart. He was sweet and kind. He loved the Lord and the people that he believed God called him to shepherd.
Having been a part of the church "scene" in my hometown for most of my life, I am aware that this man had pastored several churches in which he was pressured to leave. As a pastor's wife myself for a time, I understand what it's like to stand before people every week in church that are "done" with you.
As we stood in line for hours at his visitation, because half the town was there to pay their respects to this dear man, I saw standing in this same line some of the very people that had mistreated him. I wondered how they could stand there and look this new widow in the eye, hug her neck, tell her how sorry they were? Maybe it was the least they could do, to show respect at this time of loss. But the thing that captured me the most was the absolute peaceful grace that this beautiful lady displayed as she received each one. She loved them all and took time speaking to every individual. She was the one doing the comforting. I knew without a doubt that she had treated each person in that line the same way, because she had loved them; she had forgiven them. She had been a part of those ugly church happenings and yet she still loved them. I knew that he had loved them, too.
I wept as we left, for the loss of a friend and dear saint, but also in humility, knowing that the example that had just been put before me was one that I would never forget. Love and forgiveness; grace and mercy. Whew. It's taken me this long to really get it.
A dear pastor in our community passed away. Even though I am no longer in that denomination, I still was able to witness the clear calling this man had as a shepherd; a true pastor's heart. He was sweet and kind. He loved the Lord and the people that he believed God called him to shepherd.
Having been a part of the church "scene" in my hometown for most of my life, I am aware that this man had pastored several churches in which he was pressured to leave. As a pastor's wife myself for a time, I understand what it's like to stand before people every week in church that are "done" with you.
As we stood in line for hours at his visitation, because half the town was there to pay their respects to this dear man, I saw standing in this same line some of the very people that had mistreated him. I wondered how they could stand there and look this new widow in the eye, hug her neck, tell her how sorry they were? Maybe it was the least they could do, to show respect at this time of loss. But the thing that captured me the most was the absolute peaceful grace that this beautiful lady displayed as she received each one. She loved them all and took time speaking to every individual. She was the one doing the comforting. I knew without a doubt that she had treated each person in that line the same way, because she had loved them; she had forgiven them. She had been a part of those ugly church happenings and yet she still loved them. I knew that he had loved them, too.
I wept as we left, for the loss of a friend and dear saint, but also in humility, knowing that the example that had just been put before me was one that I would never forget. Love and forgiveness; grace and mercy. Whew. It's taken me this long to really get it.
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