MERRY CHRISTMAS!

He was born of a woman so we could be born of God...
He humbled Himself so we could be lifted up...
He became a servant so we could be made heirs...
He suffered rejection so we could be His friends...
He denied Himself so we could freely receive all things...
He gave Himself so He could bless us in every way!

"He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" Romans 8:32

May you know His love this Christmas.

CHRISTMAS FUTURE

"You are worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created."
Revelation 4:11

The Lamb who was slain alone deserves glory, praise, and honor. Everything we have and everything we are comes from Him. Our talent, our intelligence, our moral knowledge all come from Him. As Jill Briscoe puts it, "We owe our next breath to His will, our finest hour to His enabling, our little triumphs to His grace. What have we that we have not received? One day we will cast these earthly crowns at His feet where they belong!"

CHRISTMAS PRESENT

At this moment (I'm not committing to anything beyond that!), I believe I have all my Christmas preparations done...I think. The gifts are wrapped, the stockings stuffed, the cards are sent. I may have forgotten something or something may come up at the last minute, but I'm not going to worry about it. I have so much to be thankful for this Christmas season and every day. The holiday spirit was dimmed somewhat this year with the tragic death of a friend earlier this month in a horrible mill accident. He was 41 and left behind a wife and three young children. Their loss is ever present in my mind as I go about the holiday preparations, parties, concerts, and worship services with my family intact. I can't imagine the pain this young wife and mother must be feeling as she tries to guide her grieving children through this time. I want to do something to ease their difficulty -- I've written our condolences, made offers of help in any way needed, and sent money to help with the financial burden. These may be appreciated but, to me, they seem so inadequate. I can't heal their wounds, I can't give them hope for tomorrow, or peace for today. But God can and so I intercede for them in prayer; asking that He would comfort them, hold them, bring His people alongside to walk with them through this valley. I pray that He would give them His peace, which is beyond our understanding. I believe that is what the heavenly host were speaking of when they praised God above the fields of Bethlehem, saying: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!"

CHRISTMAS PAST

In the midst of the present last-minute Christmas preparations, I find myself reflecting back on the Christmas of my childhood. I recall the most special gifts being the ones crafted by my parents' own hands: knitted socks, sweaters, Barbie clothes, and, yes, the striped skirt with matching vest. Warm slippers my father made for my sisters and me by cutting up the lining of a shearling coat and sewing them with his awl. A wonderful red barn with a lift-off loft he made for our youngest sister, Nancy, was envied by both Tara and me. But Nancy coveted shelf space on the bookshelf he made for us.

Without a doubt the most memorable Christmas for me is the year Dad decided for us that we would not receive gifts, but instead, give gifts to the Baby Jesus. That idea didn't immediately appeal to us kids (and it horrified our grandparents!) but as Dad talked about the real meaning of Christmas and focused our thoughts on the blessing received through giving, we girls became enthusiastically supportive of the whole idea. We made some of our nicest Christmas gifts for our grandparents that year; coasters made of maple slices with the bark on, woodburned, and polyurethaned. We gave some of our favorite toys to children in town who didn't have as much. Dad gave us each a little spiral notebook in which we were to record our gifts to Jesus, such as: "Today I did not fight with my sister." "Today I did my chores without being told." "Tara made me really mad today but I did not say anything mean to her." Dad and I sewed life-size figures of Joseph and Mary out of burlap feed sacks and dressed them in bathrobes and towel headdresses. We made candle sconces out of coffee cans and Dad nailed them to the walls inside our log goathouse. We put hay in the feed trough and laid a swaddled baby doll there. On Christmas Eve, after we went caroling at the homes of shut-ins and old folks, we gathered in the goathouse, lit by our candle sconces, surrounded by goats, chickens, a dog, and probably a cat or two. There we knelt, one by one, and presented our gifts to the Baby Jesus, reading from our little notebooks. And, you know, in my young heart, I was sure I saw that Baby smile. The warm glow in that little stable on that cold, starry night has stayed with me for more than thirty years.

BLOG? WHAT BLOG?

Alright already. I have been getting enough feedback from people to bring me to the conclusion that I am supposed to be blogging. I have all the usual excuses for being absent from the wonderful world of blog -- too busy, writer's block, not enough time, nothing to say, too many other things to do, at a loss for words, and, last but not least, fear of redundancy.

It's not much but it's a start!