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Archive for November, 2011

Shhhh! Do not tell anyone, but I hate decorating for Christmas.

I know, I have committed a terrible sin, by even thinking such a thing. Truly, I do not enjoy it at all. To me it is just another thing that I ‘must’ do. I used to love to do the outdoor lights, the indoor lights (all over the house), and various other decor, but that was when I worked part time, and had more time.

The one Christmas decor that I do still love to get out are my collection of nativity sets. Yes, that is right, I said sets. A number of years ago, I was frustrated by the fact that, no matter how hard I tried, my house just did not look as good at Christmas as the beautifully decorated stores. Since I knew I would never have their budget, or their expertise, I decided to stop competing with the impossible, and instead focus on what Christmas means to me.

As I was browsing through the clearance section of a store, after Christmas I saw a beautiful nativity set for sixty percent off (and for someone like me, with blood of the Scots coursing through my veins, it was something I could not resist). As I unpacked that set, the following Christmas season, I thought to myself, this is the perfect focus for my Christmas decor, because for me the focus of Christmas is the story of the birth of Jesus.

Since that time I have collected seven magnetic (my advent nativity for the fridge), hanging, lit or table top sets, plus countless smaller tree ornaments. A few of my sets have already been handed down to our kids, when it became apparent that they held special importance to them. And one of them I will share in the days to come (once I convince my man servants to haul them out of storage).

I may hate decorating, but each year it is these sets of plastic, ceramic, wood, metal, cloth and glass that take me out of the commercialism and chaos, and slow my pace as I contemplate the beautiful, world-changing puzzle that God put together when He sent His son to this Earth.

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As Christmas approaches stress increases and money decreases. It is tough to feel adequate, as a parent, in finding gifts for your children that are meaningful, enjoyable and low cost. Years ago, I heard of an idea for gift giving that has become one of the favorite traditions in our household.

I do not remember where this idea came from, and I am not sure exactly when we began the tradition. All I remember is that it started when our children were very young, that we were living off of one income, and that it was an instant success.

The idea is a box of books.

I bet you are seeing dollar signs right now, because anyone who has bought a new book lately knows that they are not an inexpensive purchase. But, I did not say a box of new books! πŸ˜‰

Each year, when I am in thrift stores, used book stores and at garage sales I collect books for each of our three kids. I bring them home and put them in a box that I have hidden somewhere in our house (I leave it in the same place every year, or else I would never remember where I left it … I am just that old). I have never spent much for any individual book, and sometimes they have been as cheap inexpensive as five cents.

Our kid’s interests are pretty simple. One loves period pieces, anything about princesses, historical female figures, pop culture and psychology. One loves animal stories, romantic novels, craft books, as well as hair and beauty information books. Our third does not love reading (sigh), but he loves picture books, information books, history and sports (in picture-story form). I also include lots of books on cassette (yes, they still exist … and they are cheap) and CD, of classic tales so that our non-reader-lover can still benefit from the literary geniuses of the past.

Our kids do not get the latest and greatest books from the bookstores. But, if I stick to their individual interests, they are usually a hit.

The part of the annual box of books that our family has added is when our kids get this gift.

Every year, on Christmas Eve day, once our kids are up, dressed, and have their bedrooms cleaned they get their box of books. This ritual means that they often help each other out in cleaning rooms, so as to expediate the receiving of their gifts. It has been a rare occasion that the preliminary tasks take beyond noon.

Once their jobs are done, I simply place the box on the floor, with the three sitting there like our beast awaiting a treat. Once they open the top, giggles, joyful shouts and “look at this” are heard as they seek and discover what is contained and who each book is intended for. Then, silence fills the room … for hours.

When our kids were younger it was the one thing that would calm the over-the-top excitement and anticipation that are such a common part of awaiting the arrival of Saint Nick.

Not once did they ever complain because they were not new, had the name of someone else in the front cover, or still had the original price sticker from 1979.This is one of their favorite Christmas traditions. I bet it is one that they all continue as they grow up and go off to start their own traditions one day (hopefully not too soon).

Some of my greatest memories are of watching wonder fill their faces as they explored dusty, used books that were reborn, and became new in their hands and in their minds.

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With the start of the Christmas season being underway, here in North America, it is difficult to not think about all that fills the season. For the next few weeks, my blog posts will be directed towards this festive season.

My hubby has introduced me to so much Christmas sub-culture that I was unaware of before. And, since meeting him, when I think of Christmas the first thing that pops into my head is the following poem he taught me:

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you!

This little ditty is known as a poem, and a Christmas Carol, but more frequently as a nursery rhyme. The author’s name is unknown. In the late nineteenth century, the music for the song was composed by Edith Nesbit Bland. It’s simple rhyme scheme makes it easy to remember, and it’s message is one which is timeless, and so it has been easily handed down for well over one hundred years.

The language of the poem takes me to the time of Ebeneezer Scrooge, perhaps during the Industrial Revolution (late eighteenth to mid. nineteenth century), when child labor and beggars or every age were a norm. I have in my mind a picture of a weathered old man saying this rhyme with a Cockney English accent, while holding out his tattered hat to passers-by.

The words of this well quoted verse remind us of the approach of the season that is indicated, not just by the calendar, but also the girth of the geese. They are fattening up for the seasonal feasts. I wonder, though, if perhaps the unknown writer was thinking more about our girths? And how fat with wealth we are? Because the following line states, “please put a penny in the old man’s hat.”

This poem was written before social services, before old age pension, before any state run social assistance. The old who never had money to put aside when they were younger and working were either taken in by family, or lived on the streets. Today, there are still people on the streets, or one pension cheque away from it. And we should never be so gullible as to think that the helps we have today will always be here for us (or our children). In this time of economic woes in countries near and far, the future is not easy to forecast for any of us.

So, give to those who are in need! You and I have plenty! We have been given much!

And, as the next verse states, it doesn’t have to be a large amount. Give, not from your great wealth, but from your heart and with an attitude of gifting. Much like the the story of the gift of the widow at the temple. She gave her two last coins, which were really almost useless, but they were all she had. You do not have to give a large amount (of course … she only had two coins, and she gave both … she could have given one, and kept one … just sayin’).

And then the last verse ends the plea for help, with “If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you!”

Speak to untouchable, unclean, ‘unbeautiful’ people. Greet older people with a smile, hold a door for them, say ‘God Bless you’ to them. You might make their day, their holiday season one of hope.

God bless you, as you enter into this season.

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At least once a month I either share a favorite new (or old, or old made new) worship song, or talk about my worship experience, or I talk about the virtues of worship (even when you don’t feel like worshiping God). Truly worship is my hobbyhorse, my obsession, the heart of my (undiagnosed, except by hubby) obsessive compulsive disorder.

One of the things that I love to do when I hear a new worship song that touches me (either by it’s lyrics or it’s tune) is listen to it over, and over, and over again (if you ask our oldest daughter about ‘Shout to the Lord’, she will tell you I turned her against it, due to my excessive overuse of the ‘repeat’ button). By doing this I can really get a feel for the emotions the song makes surface in my life.

The next thing I love to do is research the story behind the writing of the song. This provides deeper meaning from the lyrics on the page, and again allows me to connect deeper, more intimately with it’s message.

Then, finally, I check out how the lyrics fit with what the Bible says. Some songs are full of emotion (much like David’s psalms), some are direct quotes from scripture and some are ‘feel good’ songs (I, personally, do not have a problem with that. I love jellybeans, and do, on occasion eat a few. The problem comes when I lose my understanding of moderation, and eat a steady diet of them).

So, recently, I was checking out the song “Allelujah, Thine the Glory” by the group The Museum (who ‘borrowed’ the chorus from the hymn written in 1863, by William P. Mackay, then added their inspired verses). It is such an easily singable piece of music, with strong biblical theology throughout each verse.

The chorus is also from Psalm 85:6, which says, “Won’t you revive us again, so your people can rejoice in you?” When I was hunting for the story behind this song I came across the following video, in which the lead of the group tells of the inspiration for the song.

It is a story you can hear for yourself, but I asked a few questions of myself after watching this:

What will our churches today do to avoid becoming lifeless and dead?

Can we, this generation of christians, choose to have joy, even in hardships?

Are we willing to do what Christ will ask of us (as individuals, as a local church, as a part of the world’s christian churches), if we choose to say to Him, revive us again?

Can we start focusing on our God, rather than on ourselves, and our petty issues with each other?

For God to have the glory, we, his church need to be revived. But God will not force it on us, we need to choose to get into His word (and start spreading the love that He placed within us).

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C. S. Lewis said, of prayer, β€œI pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God- it changes me.”

If you read my blog post yesterday (Something is not Right) you might be wondering how my father’s surgery went. It went just great, thanks. And if you sent a note, or prayed for him, the surgeon, the medical staff, our family … thanks so very much.

As the hours minutes of his surgery crept by, my own understanding of prayer haunted me. I agree with C.S. Lewis. I too believe that prayer is not a means of changing God, but of changing me. And, although I hold firmly to that belief, praying for my dad’s surgery to go well (aka. to go as I want it to), while acknowledging that God’s bigger picture perspective might not mean a successful surgery, or repaired body, or … another day.

Then there was my disappointment yesterday when, after hours of asking God to enable me to pray for and with my dad on the phone (it is just not the sort of thing that we do), I called to discover that he had a houseful of people there. So, I called back later, only to discover that he was already sleeping (a four hour time difference often results in this). I had missed my chance, and felt so heavy with disappointment in myself.

But, here is where God answered my prayers, just not as I had ‘planned’ that He would. Apparently a business colleague who he has developed a friendship with, called him that day, and … prayed with and for him on the phone.

Prayer changes me, it does not change God.

How arrogant of me to think that I am the only one who could give that gift to my dad! How could I ever forget that, as much as I love my dad, God loves him far more?

If I do not believe that the purpose of prayer is to change me, where would I be? Would my prayer requests that go unanswered the way I wish mean that I did not pray enough? Or with enough faith? Or with the my heart in the right place? Or maybe someone else was praying ‘harder’ than me? Yikes!

God is not my sugar daddy, who lays all of my requests at my feet. He is my creator, my sustainer, my redeemer. And, He is my teacher, who teaches me to pray, and then to allow Him to be God, as I am changed in the process.

β€œI pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God- it changes me.” C. S. Lewis Carole

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For some, to initiate conversations about our pain, or sufferings, or struggles is not a comfortable thing. I suppose it is mostly due to pride and, for some, being introverted. I often refer to this discomfort as not wanting to ‘bleed’ publicly. I am certain that, like me, there are others (maybe even most people) out there who hold their heartaches inside just waiting for someone else to ask the right question, or to ‘guess’ our situation.

Since the middle of August, when I went to the East coast to visit my parents, my dad’s physical health has been deteriorating rapidly. My thoughts as we parted when I was returning to the west, were like the words of Ludwig Bemelmans, in his classic children story Madeline, “something is not right.”

When I left the East, Dad was having episodes where his leg would buckle under him, with no forewarning, and no reason for it. Now, only three months later, he no longer drives his car, he uses a walker, and cannot stand to make biscuits (see biscuits).

It has been a frightening time of appointments, tests, and waiting. There have been appointments with his GP and two neurologists, blood work that made him wonder if a transfusion might be needed, and two MRI’s. All of this with only one hint of what the doctors were considering as a possibility for his symptoms … ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease, the disease that was focused on in the non-fiction book and then movie Tuesdays with Morrie). ALS is a terminal disease, it is a death sentence (and one that you would not hope on anyone).

All of this, and here I live, over four thousand miles, and no less than six hours of flying (that is a very conservative estimate, since there are no direct flights) twiddling my thumbs … and praying.

Our family has been blessed to have many people praying, and I believe that it is through these prayers that we have endured the waiting, and that the waiting has not been as long as it could have been (first estimates were that his MRI could be as late at January). I know that I have felt upheld by the prayers of many people, as well as cards, emails and individuals who have taken the time to ask.

Last week was our ‘D-Day’. It was the day a diagnosis might be made, and one of the longest mornings of my life. Finally I got the text, followed by a call for the details. It was not ALS! The problem was rapidly deteriorating vertebrea, requiring surgery as soon as possible. Without surgery, my dad could be a paraplegic by Christmas.

I wish I could have been there for that appointment to ask lots of questions, and take notes on the diagnosis, the surgery and what to expect for recovery. Mom and Dad … I do not think they heard much other than, ‘not ALS’ and ‘surgery, immediately.’

The surgeon said that he expects complete success. It may not correct the deteriorating that has already occurred, but it will halt the regression.

So today, Wednesday, November 23, 2011, at about noon (Atlantic Time … 8am Pacific), my Dad will be in surgery (as long as he is not ‘bumped’).

My dad … the one who, through his adoption of me, and lavish love for me, has taught me more about how my Father God will never let me down, than any christian on this planet.

I am telling this asking that you pray for him, for my mom, and for those of us who love him (near and far). He still has so much to give … and to receive.

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Long, long ago, in a nearby land, there was a fair maid and a handsome prince who were very successful in eliminating bad habits, starting new good habits, and shedding the pounds of (many) Christmas past.

They had walked the grounds of their palace, they had wandered through forests near and far, and they had done so with their noble beast at their side.

They became acquainted with the freshest of greens, the purest water of local springs, the most weighted and heavily grained breads, and the sweetest of fruits, from lands near and far. They passed the dainties in the shops, they resisted the flavors of farmer Angus, and discovered that less was more.

Low and behold, an evil demon crept into their kingdom, and their lifestyles started to make slow, subtle changes that have put the health of their kingdom at risk.

Recently the maid and her strong prince hopped on the royal torture measuring machine to see just how much damage had been done in these months of sitting on their royal thrones, and eating at the banquet table in increasing frequencies. Alas, the news was not good. Both the maid and her prince had empirical (actually ‘imperial’, as in the Imperial system, which measures in pounds) data as to why their royal gowns and tights were getting tighter than they had been in the past.

It was time for changes in the kingdom!

Sadly the season of great celebration and banqueting was but around the corner. That most wonderful season of butter-laden delicacies full of spices and herbs from lands near and far. That season of sweets and chocolate fit for a king. It will be a daily struggle for them both! He will sacrifice his love of gravy and sauces. She will sacrifice her adoration for the sweeter things in life. But, they will conquer this enemy … together.

May the prince and his fair maid arise with the sun at the break of the New Year back to where they were months ago, when their lowest was their high point!

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The website, freedictionary.com, defines ‘disowned’ as “to refuse to acknowledge or accept as one’s own.”

As a daughter, I cannot imagine being disowned by my parents. I know that I might choose to reject my parents, and their love. I may even choose to disown them (although I cannot personally imagine making that choice). But, I am certain that their love for me will never fail.

As a parent it is impossible to me to fathom disowning one of my children. My love for them is not dependent on them (their actions or their choices), for it is a parent-love, one which is only defined by their being mine. They are a part of me, they are inseparable from me. There is no way for me to see them as anything but mine.

I know that has not been the case for all. There are horrible stories that we have all heard of abuses, and rejections and even of parents disowning their own children. In some cases parents have even chosen to disown their own child due to a behavior or choice of the child. For those who are reading this, who have experienced the deep and damaging rejection that accompanies parental disowning, I offer my most sincere sympathies. I cannot imagine the heartache and confusion that would cause a person.

As a child of God, I have a choice. I can choose to accept, or reject (disown) the love of my Father. He has given me the ability to choose, because He is not a demanding, guilt-inducing, self-gratifying Father. He wants me to choose His love, He wants my choice to be one of personal acceptance of Him, and all that He offers.

He gives me the choice to disown Him.

But, no matter what choice I make, he still loves me. Jeremiah 31:3 says of God’s love, β€œI have loved you with an everlasting (eternal) love; I have drawn you with (or continue to show you) unfailing kindness. His love for us is not dependent on us, because He loves us with Father-God love. Oh, we can still mess up, and natural consequences come from that. But, He still loves us.

There is someone who I believe needs to realize this. There is someone who I think might read this today, who does not realize that the greatest evidences of unconditional love that they have received in this life has been a God-like, parental love. It is this Father-God love that is available to you … now.

And it is your choice.

Psalm 136

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the God of gods.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords:
His love endures forever.

to him who alone does great wonders,
His love endures forever.
who by his understanding made the heavens,
His love endures forever.
who spread out the earth upon the waters,
His love endures forever.
who made the great lightsβ€”
His love endures forever.
the sun to govern the day,
His love endures forever.
the moon and stars to govern the night;
His love endures forever.

to him who struck down the firstborn of Egypt
His love endures forever.
and brought Israel out from among them
His love endures forever.
with a mighty hand and outstretched arm;
His love endures forever.

to him who divided the Red Seaasunder
His love endures forever.
and brought Israel through the midst of it,
His love endures forever.
but swept Pharaoh and his army into the Red Sea;
His love endures forever.

to him who led his people through the wilderness;
His love endures forever.

to him who struck down great kings,
His love endures forever.
and killed mighty kingsβ€”
His love endures forever.
Sihon king of the Amorites
His love endures forever.
and Og king of Bashanβ€”
His love endures forever.
and gave their land as an inheritance,
His love endures forever.
an inheritance to his servant Israel.
His love endures forever.

He remembered us in our low estate
His love endures forever.
and freed us from our enemies.
His love endures forever.
He gives food to every creature.
His love endures forever.

Give thanks to the God of heaven.
His love endures forever.

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There is nothing more delightful for me than the sights, sounds and hope of fresh falling snow.

The beautiful, clean, whiteness of snow blankets all that it touches with perfect precision. The sounds of the tiny weightless flakes as they land on everything they touch. And then there’s the hope that results from it’s falling … a SNOW DAY … NO SCHOOL … NOTHING THAT HAS TO BE DONE!

Truly the hope that comes from snow falling can touch our lives with perfect precision (just when we need a break), and the sounds, well they are not so gentle since the gradual late waking of a household of school kids, whose day at school has been canceled, can be one expression of noisy joy after another.

As the snow is falling this evening, hope is rising!

This evening while out to pick up my daughter, it took forty minutes to drive a distance that is normally fifteen minutes, AND I felt more relaxed than anxious, as I entertained the hopeful possibility of school cancellation tomorrow.

I am not alone in my snow filled dreaming, because as I looked on a rather popular social networking site, I noticed that there were more hopeful school staff with a status that shared my hopes, than students on my daughters account.

I admit that I am more ridiculously hopeful of a snow day than the average adolescent. It is not that I do not enjoy my job, because I do love it. It is more the bliss of a day off, with a good excuse to go nowhere, and do nothing. For me, as an adult, that is a dream!

Now, chances are that the temperature will warm, the snow will turn to rain, and I will be going to work (at school) along with my kids. But, on the off chance that we do get a school day off tomorrow … and for all our friends and family in the east … ‘we got a school day off … for three inches of snow!’ There’s gotta be at least one advantage to living in the monsoon season of the wet west coast.

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Man, I did it again! I forgot something that I was supposed to remember! This did not happen to me ten years ago. Heck, it didn’t happen to me two years ago! Now, it happens so frequently that I am beginning to get concerned. Maybe I am about to explode due to brain (not BRAN) overload!

In the past it was not unusual for me to forget to dust, or clean the house, or pick up dry cleaning. Lets face it, some of those things were ‘forgotten’ on purpose. Recently though I forgot to let the dog back in the house (three times in four days), I forgot where I left my water bottle at work (three times in five days), I forgot to go to work on time for meetings (twice in two weeks), and I forgot to sign my kids up for youth camp!

Seriously, where are my brain cells?

And don’t anyone out there use the ‘a’ word either, I think I am just overloaded. Age has no bearing on my mental capacities, I am not that old anyway (although I did feel old one day last week … I got a group invite to my high school twenty-fifth reunion, and that same day I heard a radio advertisement for an upcoming Prince concert. Those two events had me flashing back into the eighties so solidly, I feared that I would start wearing leggings again … yikes! I am wearing them right now! But, I digress)!

I am starting to really take this forgetting seriously. My forgetfulness has me searching out web sites on memory loss. Could I have alzheimer’s? Amnesia? Dementia (my kids would say ‘yes’ to dementia). Or maybe I am stressed? Or tired? Need Exercise? YES to all of those! Somehow it is comforting to think that it could be anything other than age-related!

If only extended health care plans covered tropical vacations … I am certain that would fix me up in no time! And it is a drug free treatment (although I have heard it can have addictive effects). I am pretty sure that within one two weeks I will be remembering to do things that I had never even planned to do.

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