A RIOT OF MANNERS

It was a small, handwritten plea, written on a piece of cardboard and taped on  the Walgreen’s checkout counter. “Please do not throw money at the cashier. Kindly hand your money to the cashier. Thank you.” What? What was this all about? I read the request a couple times and then just had to ask about it when I got to the front of the line. “I just wrote it out this morning,” the young clerk explained.  “Were the customers angry?” I asked, as if being upset would justify such behavior. “No,” she replied. “They were just talking to other people and just kind of threw the money at me. I thought it was rather rude and decided to make the sign.”

Well, I guess! We shook our heads together; I told her I was sorry those folks had treated her like that and we commiserated with one another as to the sorry state of manners these days.

And I’ve been ruminating on this ever since. Is it too much to expect a customer to hand their money to the employee? Or at the very least, put it down on the counter? In my mind, the act of throwing cash at a cashier is saying the other person doesn’t matter, that he or she is a mere thing, not a fellow living, breathing human being. It comes down to respect, or the lack of it.

Laurence Sterne said that “respect for ourselves guides our morals; respect for others guides our manners.” Robert A. Heinlein expounded further: “A dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot...”

I suppose, in the whole scheme of things, the Walgreen’s money-throwing incidents were “minor matters.” They certainly signified “bad manners.” And they surely signaled a “lack of consideration” for the young lady behind the counter. But a “dying culture?”

Marilyn Cabral of Rhode Island told the Today Show that “no one has time to be civil anymore. People are so stressed out and always in such a hurry that politeness is losing its place in our lives.” That would be a shame. When I was young, we were frequently reminded to be kind to others. We were reminded to be polite. “Now what are the magic words?” “Please” and “thank you” were the correct answers, respectful niceties used to navigate in that polite society. Such verbiage used to be required during business transactions, though it seems to have unfortunately often gone by the wayside in favor of non-sensical rejoinders such as “no problem” or “you got it.”

While the Bible might not call it “politeness” or “having manners,” it certainly has plenty to say on how we should be treating one another. “..but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:4); “Let brotherly love continue.” (Hebrews 13:1); and perhaps the “granddaddy” of them all, “...As you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.” Luke 6:31.

As my mother often told me, I can’t help what other people do but I can help what I do. I don’t want polite culture to die, and that starts with me. So, I’m asking the Lord to remind me when I’m acting like I’m more significant than others, to help me treat others with “sisterly” love and to never, ever throw money at anyone standing beside a cash register. I’d like to be part of a riot – a riot of good manners, that is!

VALENTINE'S DAY

Valentine's Day. Some love it, some hate it, and for others - they can take it or leave it. I take it, but as with most things, just my way.

Me, I am not a hearts and flowers type of girl. Roses, tulips, lilies - all are pretty, but they don't float my boat. I'd rather look at them waving their pretty blooms at me from outside on a glorious sunny day rather than overpriced and wilting in a container.

Chocolates in a lace-trimmed heart box? Ehh, not that either. I would just eat them, I don't really need to eat them and there's not a doubt that I'd finish off all the good ones: the milk chocolates with the creamy white stuff inside, or the peanuts or the caramel or the butter brickle. Those, yes, those I'd scarf. No dark chocolate, though - nyet, nein,non and no. Oh, and absolutely NO coconut of any kind. Shudder.

OK, then. How about a fancy dinner out at some high end, trendy spot? On Valentine's Day? So many folks, so much money, and so often not such good food. Besides, you know what? I'm not a fan of what is known in our family-speak as "shi-shi, la-la" menu items that have to be explained, are all sauced-up, pretentious and cause my very simple palate to cringe. Nope, not eating that green stringy stuff or any of those creatures who were formerly good swimmers. All my entrees used to moo, oink or cluck and not a one of them needs to ever cost more than $10-$15. Besides, as good intentioned as the restaurant waitstaff may be, I don't relish being asked 4-5 times during my meal if everything is OK. I will let you know if it isn't.

That leaves jewelry. Ah, yes. If jewelry is "hearts and flowers," then I take it back. I guess I AM a hearts and flowers type of girl. I like the costume stuff and I like the good stuff. I like the sparkly stuff, the silver stuff and the gold stuff, the red ones, the blue ones and especially the ones that are known as a girl's best friend. The only kind I don't care for are those baubles grown in the sea (remember that issue I have with eating aquatic things? don't like pearly things, either). My husband knows this and has gifted me over the years with a beautiful bauble collection. As I write, I'm wearing the diamond heart pendant he proudly proffered one long ago Valentine's Day; I showed it off to the Kindergarteners I read to today - the little girls were suitably impressed! I treasure every piece he's ever given and look forward to passing all of it on to my kids some day.

But when I stop to ponder - and pondering is good for the soul, I believe - I realize that some of the best Valentine-y things I've been given aren't really things at all.

Happy Faces: I loved how much fun we used to have each February 14 when our girls were little, drinking our pink-tinged milk or jazzed up red Kool-Aid at Valentine's Day supper, eating our rosey-colored yeast rolls with our heart-shaped meatloaf (it's even fun to hear them gag today as they reminisce about those long ago ketchup-slathered things!);

Glue-y Art Projects: Those first "I Love You, Mom's" crayon-scrawled on pink construction paper, lop-sided hearts attached with way too much sticky stuff. I still have some. I wouldn't sell them, but I'll tell you, if you asked to buy them they'd cost more money than you've got.

Acts of Love: I didn't get a hearts and flowers marriage proposal (hmmm, did I even get an official proposal??) but I sure got a marriage. A long one - 42 years at last count. I got faithful. I got hard working. I got honorable. I got generous. I got God-honoring. I got 3 beautiful daughters. I got a great son-in-law and 3 adorable grandchildren. I got a man who, because he didn't want me to have to spend 12 days out here in Montana without a car at my disposal, left Wisconsin at 4:00am and drove a straight shot 20 hours west, leaving the car he best likes to drive here for me; he then flew back two days later and has to tool around (or slide around, actually, since we are up to our eyeballs in winter this year) in the little car. Now, THAT'S a Valentine!

Some say Valentine's Day is a made up holiday. It's too much pressure. It's fake. It's too hard on those without "significant others." But I say Valentine's Day is a reminder. It's a nudge. It's an opportunity. It's a chance to tell those who share your life, whether at home or school or church or work or those who just cross your path during the day - that they matter. That they really matter. And more than tell, to show. With simple words, simple things, in simple ways or even in grandiose gestures, if that gets your (and their!) motor running.

Tonight part of my family will be with me and part not. Two of the smallest parts requested spaghetti and tomato soup for supper. Simple and kind of Valentine-y red, don't you think?  The two little guys who requested that menu matter to me, and I'm going to show them that they do. Happy Valentine's Day!

1 John 4:9-11 In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.

Presidents' Day

Happy Presidents’ Day on February 17! If you are a federal government employee, this day is for you!

Celebrated each 3rd Monday in February, Presidents’ Day was originally established in 1885 to recognize the nation’s very first president, George Washington (your calendar might even still say it’s Presidents’ Day and Washington’s birthday). Washington was really born on February 22, but the holiday was moved to its present day in 1971 as part of the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which created more 3-day weekends for the nation’s workers. Several states still have separate holidays honoring Washington and Abraham Lincoln (whose birthday is February 12) but Presidents’ Day now celebrates all presidents, past and present—February birthdays or not (Ronald Reagan also had a February birthday, on the 6th). Hmmm...and there was one more February chief executive. It was...it was...it was...William Henry Harrison. Who?

Yes. William Henry Harrison (2/9). He was the ninth (president), first (president to die in office), oldest (person to be elected president, at 68, before Ronald Reagan, who was 69), shortest (term—served only 32 days) and last (president born as a British subject before American independence). He was a husband, a father (10 children), a government servant, a military general and war hero, county official, Ohio state lawmaker, US congressman, senator and diplomat. He won the presidency in 1840 and was inaugurated on a nasty, frigid March 4, 1841. His inaugural address lasted a long two hours, which he delivered without wearing an overcoat in an effort to prove his vim and vigor, despite all the negativity surrounding his “advanced age.” He caught cold, developed pneumonia and died just a month later on April 4, 1841.  His wife never even saw the White House. Because of his term’s brevity, he is the only president who never appointed a single federal judge at any level; no states were admitted to the Union while he was president. The Huffington Post called him a “lesser presidential light” and it was also said that he was “not the best president, but not the worst.” Let’s just say he was never seriously considered as Mt. Rushmore material. Nonetheless, he will still be one of the February 17 Presidents Day honorees.

Kind of like me, and maybe you. I’ll never be queen, never be a famous missionary in a foreign land. Gaston and Section school parent groups were as far up the presidency ladder as I’ll ever get. But one day I’ll be honored as a new resident of heaven and gifted with my very own mansion. My neighbors will all be saints and I’ll have all the riches I could ever want. I won’t be sick, I won’t be sad and I’ll converse with the Creator of the universe. Isaiah 55 tells me to “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat!” John 1:12 promises, “But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” Doesn’t matter if I’m the best, or the worst. Just matters that I’m His.

 

NEW!

There’s something about “new.” That sigh-inducing new baby smell.  The intoxicating fragrance of a new car fresh off the showroom floor or the rich “aahhh” aroma that whooshes from of a can of good coffee just as the can opener turns (true even if you don’t actually drink the stuff!).

Who doesn’t love a stylish new outfit, a sparkly new piece of jewelry bestowed by a sweetheart or the anticipation of cracking open a new tome by your most favorite author?

It seems that people are always  anxious to try that promising new weight loss diet, sport the latest and greatest new fashion trends or wait in line for hours to grab the newest, most action-packed video game that everyone’s just got to play.

But sometimes “new” is hard.

“People are very open-minded about new things - as long as they're exactly like the old ones” said Charles  Kettering. Think about what happens when the boss announces a change in the health care plan at work (“ouch” to the wallet!), new procedures to be implemented on the job or even complicated new computer programs that must be learned.

Back in 1997 that was so true for me. I’d been my church’s sole office employee since 1986 and had managed to escape the inevitable computer age—at least until two months before my family was scheduled to make a move and my job there would end. The powers-that-be bought a computer and I was supposed to use it. What? Me? I don’t know how! Oh, dear! We’d gotten along just fine for all these years with the typewriter and couldn’t we just continue for a few more weeks until I’m gone and it’s the next assistant’s “problem?” The answer was, no.

Times, they keep “a-changing” and whether or not we like it and adapt easily or not, we do have to keep up with them. And ultimately I did, though those times were frustrating  times and tearful at even more times! “New,” in that case, was necessary—and in the end, as it often is, good for me

Every January we think about “new.” Said Michael Josephson, “Whether we want them or not, the New Year will bring new challenges; whether we seize them or not, the New Year will bring new opportunities.” And this reminds me of a Bible verse I memorized long ago: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: the old has gone, the new is here!” (NLT).

If I belong to Christ, I am a new person. My old life is no more and a new one, aided by Christ, has begun. When I became a Christian, Jesus didn’t just fix my heart—He gave me a new one! I am God’s workmanship, created in Christ to do His good works. I wonder what’s on my new 2014 to-do list for Him!

Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

December 2013

NOTE: Our children's pastor asked if I would write a Christmas story for him to use, and so I did. The following is loosely based on my father’s experience as a child, in that his family really did not celebrate Christmas. He never had a Christmas tree in his boyhood home.

Robby’s Christmas Tree

Robby’s wish was simple: he wanted a Christmas tree. In his very own house. In his very own living room. With ornaments that sparkled and candles that lit up the faces of his brothers and sisters. Probably not with presents beneath it, though. That would be just too much to ask. He knew that. Just the tree. That would do.

But it really wasn’t all that simple. Not at all. Robby’s Dad wasn’t much on Christmas. He said they didn’t need it.  In fact, his family never celebrated Christmas. Never had, as far as Robby knew. No decorations. No cookies. No presents. And certainly no tree. Not ever.

Robby wasn’t sure why that was, exactly. Even though he was only nine, Robby knew that times were hard. The year was 1932 and his teacher said what was happening was called a depression. Lots of people didn’t have jobs and if you didn’t have a job that meant you sure didn’t have any money for stuff like Christmas. Some people didn’t even have enough food, so Christmas was out of the question.

But, really, since his family lived on a farm and there were lots of evergreens all over their land, why couldn’t they cut one down for a Christmas tree? Just a little short one? They had had popcorn, didn’t they? They grew some ever summer and it wouldn’t cost that much to use that, would it? Mother had a needle and some thread and he knew people used those things to make popcorn strings and hang them on their trees. They’d done it at school, after all. And maybe they didn’t have any shiny store-bought ornaments like he’d seen in the Sears & Roebuck Wish Book, but they had some paper and glue, didn’t they? They would make some ornaments! If the tree didn’t cost anything and the decorations didn’t, either, how could Dad say no?

Feeling confident that his father couldn’t possibly object to his plan, Robby convinced his older brother, Jim, to help him do the deed. The snow was pretty deep but they were big, strong farm boys and they borrowed Dad’s ax and traipsed on outside. All around them were trees of all sizes, each begging to be chosen. Robby found the best one of the lot and he and Jim took turns chopping. Dragging it back across the field, Robby was beside himself with excitement and anticipation. Wouldn’t his sisters be thrilled? Wouldn’t mother just be the proudest mom?

Dad spotted them before they got to the back door and he kind of exploded. He refused to allow them to take the little tree inside. Punished them for taking the ax without asking. And sent them to bed early with no supper. “Why?” sobbed Robby to Jim. “Why is Dad so mean? Why is our family the only one around with no Christmas tree? Sometimes it seems like Dad doesn’t even like us, his own kids. Doesn’t seem right.”

Jim didn’t know the answer to that for sure. Their Dad had always been quiet. He didn’t say much, even to his wife or his kids. And he always seemed to be a little bit mad at everybody. “Dad’s kinda worried all the time, Robby. I heard him tellin’ Ma that we might lose the farm. It’s happening to some of our neighbors. Maybe you just better stop bothering about a Christmas tree. We’re not ever getting one and you know it.”

With his empty stomach rumbling away, Robby had a hard time getting to sleep. He remembered a small paper his buddy, George, had given him at school. The paper had some story on it about a tree, didn’t it? Even if Dad wouldn’t let him have a tree, at least he could read about one. It was still light enough, so he fished it out from under his bed. There was a verse from the Bible on the paper. It said, “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24). “That couldn’t be a Christmas tree,” Robby thought. ”But it sounds important. I’ll ask George about it when I see him at school tomorrow.”

Robby did ask George. And George told him about Jesus. How Jesus came to earth as a baby, God’s perfect Son, on that first Christmas. How He grew up, obeyed His earthy dad, and told lots of people how to get to heaven one day. And how Jesus died on a tree, taking the sins of every person in the world on His Own Self.

While he was a boy, Robby never did get to have a Christmas tree. He had to be content to enjoy the ones at school. But when he was grown he made sure his own children had the very best tree he could find - every single Christmas. There were sparkly ornaments and some made by his little ones, icicles and strings of popcorn. And, oh yes, even a few presents for his kids under those trees. But Robby always remembered that very most special tree he’d learned about on the Christmas of his 9^th year. And, in his heart, he knew that one was the best Christmas tree there ever could be.

 

The Talking Tree

I love Christmas movies. Some people say they’re hokey, sappy and way too cheesy. Maybe, but they are still one of my favorite December (November, even??!!) activities. They nearly always have happy endings and that pleases me. Some are uplifting though most, even I will admit, tend toward the overly sentimental. But I don’t care. If there’s ever a time for that, Christmastime is it. Angels. Sparkling stars. A little snow. And everywhere a shiny Christmas tree.

In one movie I watched this year one of the main characters tells the other, “You know, Christmas trees tell the story of our lives.” And as I decorated the little somewhat scrawny one I have in Montana, I had to agree. Unless you only have one of those fancy-schmancy, fluffy, poofy color-themed ones, each ornament you hang brings you back to another time, another place and another very special person.

"It comes every year,” said writer Marjorie Holmes of Christmas, “and will go on forever. And along with Christmas belong the keepsakes and the customs. Those humble, everyday things a mother clings to, and ponders, like Mary in the secret spaces of her heart."  Let me clue you in on some of the “ponderings” of my Christmas heart, ornamentally speaking.

My oldest ornament was my mother’s, now a rather bent, glittery cardboard baby buggy. It signaled that I was coming to join the family, and I guess the fact that she kept the buggy and passed it on to me years later meant she was happy about it! Somewhat worse for wear, there’s also waving plastic Santa who has to be tucked way back in on a branch because he’s lost his ability to hang from one. Mom saved a green felt stocking, too, that the first grade me “sewed” together. That one is relegated to the back of the tree due to its now really-tattered state.

The two Christmases we spent in Germany, courtesy of Uncle Sam and the US Army, are commemorated by traditional German wooden baubles. The daughter who technically came into the world on US soil, but possesses a German birth certificate, gets those one day.

Three tiny, beautiful little girls in their Christmas finery grin at me and are placed front and center of my tree every year. Those same darlings – as a 4^th grader, a 1^st grader and a Kindergartener - each have their own photo spots on simple golden canning lids, surrounded by glued-on white paper doilies, reminding me of how kind the folks at East Troy Bible Church were to include us newcomers in their 1983 Christmas decorating.
Chicago Cubs fans, include the ones in my house, are fond of saying “there’s always next year” and that’s true for the Cubs ornament – a yearly reminder that while those particular ball players might not (yet!) be winners, the ever-patient, ever-hopeful fans in my house who love them, are.

Bob’s late sister crafted some sparkly crystal wreaths that catch the light and remind us of loved ones who left us way too soon. Remembrances from Cathy, a dear friend who made it her tradition to craft and give an annual family ornament often cause a shiny tear or two to fall as I see her handwriting on the back of each very special piece.

Then there are the trips. In 1999 Bob & I traveled to Israel, an excursion of a lifetime for us, and a couple Bethlehem nativities are there to make us think of when we walked the streets that Jesus did. The dolphin and starfish aren’t swimming in Florida, but their presence makes us wish we were, guided by one of my passions – lighthouses. And then, of course there’s an entire other little tree full of tropical treats commemorating our two Hawaiian Christmases - and the precious boy who first made us grandparents there!

We can’t forget the bison from YNP, the Montana bears, the western boot – all reminders of God’s grandblessings (as a friend so aptly puts it!) to us and the privilege of spending so much time watching them grow from teeny-to-tall in breathtaking Big Sky Country.

A couple Christmas pretties that now spend the holiday on my tree used to reside with my parents. They aren’t the most gorgeous or the most valuable, at least in the monetary sense, but I feel pretty sentimental about them. They are a tangible remnant of and connection with my past, my childhood, and my now departed and most beloved mom and dad.

McDonald’s might not be represented on your Christmas tree, but it is on ours. Our little logo’d lunch bag helps us to be grateful to the Lord and to Bob for all his labor during his 30 year career with the corporation, the dedication to which supported our family, sent three girls to school and allowed us to show the country and many of its treasures to them.

Mr. Charles Schulz, he of “Peanuts” fame, once lightly quipped: "Christmas is a box of tree ornaments that have become part of the family." Yup, and my family, my life is on that tree. How about yours?

 

 

 

 

What's in a Name

 

Christmas is coming early to our family this year. And we’re getting a Peanut!

No, not a relative of Planters Peanuts’ Mr. Peanut. But she’s a relative of ours and we are already in love.

Our youngest daughter and her husband are expecting baby #3 - this one a little girl - in mid-December. We would have been thrilled with a third grandson, but are so excited for this female variety (after having three daughters ourselves, my husband and I know how to do the girl thing!). Her parents have dubbed her “Peanut” for the duration of gestation, though I  assume she has another for-real moniker, one that mom and dad are just not yet revealing.

But, you know, even if Baby Girl’s name actually ended up to be “Peanut,” it wouldn’t change our affection for her. She belongs to us, is already a full-fledged part of our family. Doesn’t matter what she looks like, if she’ll be tall or tiny, brunette or blond, brown-eyed or blue – we love her through and through.

Her other grandma and I were discussing this phenomenon recently—how we’ve never laid eyes on this child, never met, never touched her.  Haven’t seen her smile, haven’t heard her make a sound (another assumption: I expect she will make plenty of those!!). We’ve seen blurry, fuzzy-to-us sonogram images of this wee one, but don’t know who she  resembles, the shape of her mouth or the type of her temperament. Yet we are completely, totally, absolutely smitten by this God-given miniature marvel. She’s part Durgan, part Larson—and in our hearts, that’s all it takes to make this Peanut precious, no matter what her real name is.

When Jesus Christ came into the world many Christmases ago, this precious God-Man came with many names. The angel told His mother, Mary, to “give Him  the name, Jesus,” and that He  would be called the “Son of the Most High” and  the “Son of God.” The shepherds were told He was “Savior” and “Messiah, the Lord.” We know Him as “Emmanuel, God with Us,” “Prince of Peace,” “Light of the World,” the “Beginning and the End.” There are over 200 names and titles ascribed to Jesus, each one reflecting His nature, His character and His work.

This Image of God loves us in spite of us. We belong to Him. We are His. He knew us completely before we were born, knew our peculiarities, our peccadilloes—our sin—and loved us anyway, enough to leave His throne in heaven and come to earth on a heavenly rescue mission.

Dear Lamb of God, in Your Great Name we thank you—and we thank You for our own new little lamb, Miss Peanut!