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!

 

 

 

 

Getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow? You'd better stop a moment and give thanks for Sarah Hale!

Sarah Saved the Day

When you tuck into your turkey, when you salivate over your stuffing and when your pumpkin pie pleases your palate this Thanksgiving day, remember Sarah Hale and give thanks for her, too. For without her, November 28 this year might be just another old peanut butter & jelly sandwich Thursday.

A mother of five, Sarah Hale was a fighter, a “righter” and a writer of wrongs. Born in 1788, she was a woman of great passion. When she encountered injustices (such as slavery), she and her pen argued against them. When she thought there should be educational opportunities for girls and playgrounds for kids, she wrote about it. She was a poet and an author of children's books and biographies as well as the first female magazine editor in the country. And remember "Mary Had a Little Lamb?” That was Sarah.

But back to Thanksgiving. In Sarah's day, New England celebrated the holiday but Southerners didn't; they ignored it out West and most every place else in the country. This bothered Mrs. Hale. A lot. She loved Thanksgiving and felt it was necessary for everyone in the country to enjoy it together, thanking God for his many blessings. So, she started a letter writing campaign, asking politicians to make Thanksgiving a national holiday. Her magazine articles implored readers to write letters, too, and one by one the states made it official - in their own states. But no national holiday. Sarah kept going, writing to President Zachary Taylor. No, he said. And then Millard Fillmore. Nope. Franklin Pierce. No, again. James Buchanan. No. There were just too many other, more pressing concerns - arguments over policies, economic issues and war. It seemed the country was in danger of falling apart, but Sarah kept up her quest and wrote again, this time to Abraham Lincoln. And he said…YES! It had taken Sarah 38 years and thousands of letters, but in 1863 President Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday - a day for everyone to give thanks to God, together. Sarah Hale, a lover of Thanksgiving – called the mother of Thanksgiving - had literally saved the day.

148 years later, we still need Thanksgiving. We still have concerns. We still argue. Economic issues are everywhere and war still rears its ugly head. But I Thessalonians is also still true when it commands us to "Give thanks in all circumstances." Psalm136:1 admonishes: “Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good. His love endures forever.” His love endures, He will see us through it all and we are all thankful, together. Thanks for Thanksgiving, Sarah Hale!

 

Think about Your Thanks

November is rather a weird time of year. The grass needs to be mowed a couple times more but you have to bundle yourself up to do it, hood, gloves and all. Your neighbor’s Halloween pumpkin is still grinning from his perch on the porch but the woman around the corner has already strung her Christmas lights – and turned them on. Stores are still trying to rid themselves of all remaining orange and black paraphernalia while hawking all the red and green. But just try to buy a pilgrim.

I’m going to risk sounding like a broken record (just using that term dates a person, doesn’t it? You know – those old-timey hard plastic disks that played a catchy tune when you put the needle down, but would repeat the same part over and over if there’s a broken spot? Well that’s me. I’ve said this all before). We tend to skip the grateful and just enjoy the “gimme.” I feel badly each year when we rush to carve our pumpkins, do the trick or treat thing and then run headlong right to trimming our trees (even though I have been known to listen to Christmas music in October) – skipping right over the thanks. I was thrilled when I saw three homemade wooden Thanksgiving decorations in someone’s yard the other day. You don’t see much of that. Does placing a turkey in a window or a pair of pilgrims on the sidewalk mean the owner is thankful? I don’t know, but I do know he or she is at least thinking about it.

And we do need to think about it. We are not naturally a thankful, grateful people. In the Bible we are told to give thanks, commanded to give thanks: Psalm 136:1  ^“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever.” Psalm 107:15 “Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind…”                                   1 Thessalonians 5:18 “give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.” If we were innately thankful, we wouldn’t have to be ordered to be so. We wouldn’t have to learn it.

When I was little, if I wanted something or something was given to me, my parents would remind me, “Now, what are the magic words?” They wanted me to say “please” and “thank you” and they wanted me to be thankful. I don’t suppose they thought that making me say those words would automatically make me thankful, but the words' repeated use certainly made me think about it. And besides, use of those polite words helps a person function in polite society (and if you are saying, “”What’s that?” maybe the fact that we don’t insist our children use those “magic words” anymore might be one of the reasons).

A popular November activity on the social media outlet, Facebook, has several of my acquaintances daily posting something for which they are thankful. Family, friends, food, pets, home, church and God are all mentioned. All good things, all blessings and they should never be glossed-over or counted as so “everyday” that they are not worth mentioning. But, as part of the “thinking” about thanks (the word “thank” has its root origins in the word “think”) I love it when people spend some time to ponder “all God’s wonderful deeds for mankind” (see Psalm 107:15 once again). This year my daughter is going through the alphabet, coming up with a blessing for each letter. You could take each letter and praise God for someone you know whose name starts with a,b,c…and so on. Another idea is to pick a color and give thanks for several things God made in that hue (red: apples, leaves, burning bushes in the fall, cherries, strawberries, roses, your friend’s hair, rubies). You get the idea. If we spend enough time thinking we won’t have any trouble thanking. (If you think you’ve thanked Him for just about everything you can think of, what if everything you have was taken away? Could you think of more then?)

God is so creative, so generous, so kind, so loving, His character so rich and full that we will run out of days to thank Him long before we run out of reasons to thank Him.

“To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble,
but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven.” --Johannes A. Gaertner

 

 

 

A "blast from the past" (November 2002; an article I wrote for Spring Creek Church's People Matters)

Turkey Talk

Each November I find myself filled with a certain amount of trepidation – all on account of tangling with a turkey. While our family enjoys feasting on that fowl, it can be a bit of a tricky business managing to produce a delicious delicacy rather than a dried-out dud.

So, I went to my trusted friends to seek out their sage advice. How, I queried, do you make a Thanksgiving dinner? Austin said, “First you put a wrapper over it.” (The turkey, I believe he meant.) “You cook it at 30 degrees for an hour; eat it with gravy, vegetables and cauliflower.” After consultation with Bob, however, Austin felt the oven temperature he advised was a little low. “Change it to 50 degrees,” Austin instructed.

On to Samantha, who said the first thing to do was “Go to Grandma’s.” Then, “You take the turkey and s-t-r-e-t-c-h it out, put sauce on it, bake it at 10 degrees for 13 minutes and enjoy it with beef stew and lasagna.”

Hannah starts with pumpkin pie, which you “Kinda bake, or you can buy it at the store.” She’s a proponent of keeping a holiday kitchen cool, so her turkey recipe only takes 5 minutes in a “1 or 2 degree” oven and “you have grease with it.” “Actually,” Hannah confesses, “I don’t really like turkey or pumpkin pie. I just eat candy.”

Kaitlyn doesn’t care for turkey, either, but does have “hot chicken, cooked for 5 minutes at 5 degrees.” “And,” she adds, “We eat hot dogs, too.”

A back-to-the-basics kind of guy, Conner’s first step is to “twist the turkeys’ heads off” followed by 10-60 minutes in the oven (we assume plucking off the feathers is involved somewhere along the way as well). His side dish of choice is potatoes, cooked, if you please.

While these folks are truly my friends, and I love them to pieces, I’m not doing a thing with their advice except to chuckle at it. They are Kindergarten, 1^st and 2^nd graders whose only culinary expertise involves the spreading of peanut butter and jelly. If I want turkey advice, I need to call the experts.

Similarly, many of us spend way too much time seeking out life advice from so-called “friendly experts” like Drs. Laura, Phil and even Oprah (or Ann or Abby) when the “cure for what ails us” lies right between the pages of God’s Word. Psalm 19 reminds us that “God’s laws are perfect. They protect us, make us wise and give us joy and light.” They are “pure, eternal, just…they warn us away from harm and give success to those who obey them.”

Want a moist, delectable, golden brown bird crowning your Thanksgiving table this year? Ignore my little friends, please! Skip the food poisoning and call the Butterball hotline. Want peace? Love? Wisdom? Joy? Skip the self-help gurus and say with the Psalmist, “Open my eyes to see wonderful things in Your Word.” What a reason to give thanks!