Surprised by Christmas!

I’m surprised by Christmas this year.
Not the “Wow! I didn’t realize it’s Christmas already!”, but “Wow. I feel closer to the manger this year.”
If you were to step into our house this year, you would not find a freshly sawn 8 foot Fraser decorated with strands and strands of white lights accented with handmade country ornaments as in previous years. Faux-evergreen garland would normally wind around the banister, adorn the top of our china hutch, and hang over the slider. Every room would have something “Christmas-y” in it. (Of which there is always some decoration who doesn’t get on the flight back up to the attic come January.)
This year… there are three little trees on our coffee table: a red, a green and a pink one. They were carefully decorated by little fingers from ornaments saved for them from previous years. There is one strand of lights (which is half lit) draped over and around the trees. A beautiful poinsettia decorates our dining room table, and the much requested box of Christmas books has been opened and given a prominent place with easy access.
The piece de resistance of this living room is under the three little trees. If you look there, on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, you will find The Christmas Box. Inside are the stuffed figures who tell of the magnificent promise, the humble manger, the rowdy shepherds, the tender couple and the precious Baby.
Make no mistake, there are 3 large tubs filled with decorations still sitting in the attic. The tree is still attached to its trunk somewhere in the woods. There are strands of lights that all work in some store. But last year, all of those things were amazing and beautiful but in the end, brought me no closer to the manger.
This year, I am filled with an awe that no decoration can take credit for. Before you jump to the conclusion that Christmas decor is an anchor weighing down your very soul, I do not believe that those things (in and of themselves) are bad – at all! They are beautiful expressions of celebration. The catch is to remember what and Who you are celebrating.
The thrill of my evening came as I’m dishing out Blueberry Buckle and watching the kids open the Christmas Box. They were giddy!! Jonny took each of them out and organized them by size (like any good engineer would). Chloe looked over them to make sure they were all there and that Michael hadn’t tossed one of them behind a couch yet. But as they handled them, their eyes got that “far-off” expression as they remembered the Story.
Isn’t that it? Story. The Ultimate STORY!
I don’t know about you, but I love it when someone tells me a story. But the BEST part comes when at the end the storyteller punches it with “this really happened!” I sit there in amazement replaying the story in my head, reeling with “This wasn’t just a story – it really happened!” Somehow it makes the story even more special! The characters and setting, plot and device, villain and hero were real people.
There are many “stories” that float around this time of year. Great stories, funny stories, but mostly they are fiction – maybe even inspired by fact – but at the end of the day – fiction.
I am fixated with the Story.
The perfect (not one sin – ever!) Baby in the filthy dirty animal feed trough, the new mom who had to figure out the mothering thing as she went along, the young husband who took a huge leap to marry his pregnant fiancée and couldn’t even touch her for 33 days after she gave birth so he could fulfill the Law, the hotel manager who was so busy with the mundane of his little life that he missed out on the supernatural, the unforgiving law that forced a pregnant woman on a difficult journey, the rough and tough fight-off-lions-and-bears-with-just-a-stick yet no one wanted to associate with them shepherds, the king who saw himself above the law, the wise and discerning star-gazers who were sensitive to God’s direction, the elderly man who spent every day of his life waiting expectantly to see The Promise before his very eyes… the most amazing story, is it not?! 
But wait… the BEST part?  It’s ALL TRUE - each and every bit actually happened in a little place called Israel!! This is not just a nice religious legend so that old ladies can feel comforted. That perfect Baby really came - fully God and fully man. He came for one purpose and one purpose only – to be my Savior. Before the beginning of time, His Father knew we’d screw up His perfect world with this nasty junk called sin. He knew we were hopelessly lost in mire of our own making and worse? separated forever from Him.
But God.
He planned that His perfect Son would be the only payment we’d need for our awful sin. Even when we hated Him and we’d eventually curse Him and kill Him on a cross, He loved us and died for us.
It’s MY Story! The payment that guarantees me eternal life through nothing I could ever do came at an awful cost. The Father gave up His beloved Son for me.
The very least I can do is push the mundane junk of my day aside, huddle close to the manger, worship Him, and long for the day when I can see His face.

My Mother's Strength

No, it’s not Mother’s Day. Not for a few more months, anyway! 

(For those of you whose hearts are racing thinking you missed something.)

And, yes, I know Easter is coming soon. It’s that exact reason I’m writing this.

My mother, Carolyn, has many stories to tell. In fact, it’s her stories that she loves to remember and connect to us as our stories – our history.

As a child, I loved to dust off her flowered orange, mustard yellow and olive green photo albums. I’d creak them open and peer into her life as a single woman – head thrown back, long hair blowing in the wind. She didn’t get married until she was 30 so she had lots of time to rack up stories to tell her daughters.

She grew up the oldest of 4 girls – one of whom is waiting for her in Heaven. Her other sisters are fun-loving creative people whom I love dearly! She was born and raised in Alberta, Canada. When she got older, her family moved to Moline, IL and it was there that she met her lifelong friend Linda. It was through her that she began to grow strong in Christ and what it means to stand strong in Him. She couldn’t possibly know it then, but that relationship with her Father God would be the only thing that could sustain her through years of hardship later.

Her single years saw her traveling and working. She worked for several orphanages – one of them being in Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory. I saw pictures of a little shack she camped in one time with her friends and a close up of bear scratches in the wood of their door as a bear was trying to get friendly. She told me of dog sled races and ice fishing as well as wearing Mukluks – tall rabbit fur lined moose skin moccasins. She still has a pair.

While in Whitehorse, she was in charge of the little boys ward. She would take care of them, tell them stories and tuck them in bed at night – essentially being Mommy to them. This was the 70’s! She was single – many of her friends were either shacking up or hitching up and here she was loving the orphan, more specifically, the unruly boy orphan.

She later worked at another orphanage in Chicago caring for Junior High girls. How in the world she stayed sane trying to teach and love some very difficult and hormonal girls is more than I’ll ever know! I think maybe God was giving her some heads-up experiences to draw from for her future daughters and building relationships with them.

It was very important to her that my sister and I both learn the mechanics of working a sewing machine. I’m certain it has nothing to do with the “woman being domestic in her home” or some such thing, but rather a skill that she herself found extremely handy numerous times.

She told me of the men and women in college that couldn’t iron their collars properly or mend their clothes. She had an instant business. They came to her for a job that was a necessity with those large 70’s collars and they paid her well!

Then in 1975 she met her husband, my father. They have been married almost 37 years and each one has been difficult. She has lived through moving across country four times, homeschooling her four children while being a pastor’s wife and leading Children’s Sunday School AND running a daycare during the week, she has also dealt with her husband’s workaholicism, resigning from two churches as pastor, massive heart attack, emotional abuse, and… AND somehow, my mother can still look at me whispering through her tears that her God, her relationship with her Father and Friend has been the only thing that kept her going.  

It is because of Easter that my Mother can celebrate Mother’s Day.

Without her Savior, Father, and Friend, she would have nothing worth celebrating. She is my encourager and friend. I know that there is truly nothing… Not. One. Thing. that is too hard or too deep for Him to bring you through.

I love you, Mom. I know you’ve had it hard, but thank you for showing me how to cling to Christ and hold on for dear life. I will never forget.