Back to Bethlehem

It's been over four months since my mom slipped into the presence of the Lord. This will be our first Christmas without her. She loved Christmas . . . the decorations, the lights, the smell of freshly baked cookies, and all the preparations for our traditional roast beef dinner. For years she read "The Grinch" from a 1962 issue of Woman's Day to the grandchildren. She also dressed them up in bathrobes and scarves and Dad's flannel shirts so they could act out the Christmas story while one of the adults narrated with Scripture. Together, my parents made every effort to point the family to the birth of the Savior of the world. 

Several years ago now, Mom wrote a short piece first published in Mature Living (December 2002). Christian Devotions has published it during December 2013. I think you'll enjoy every word! "Back to Bethlehem" by Lillian M. Ewert

White Lights on a Thorn Bush

I

Africa's darkness

Pushed aside

As foreign hands

Take a simple manger

From hut to hut.

Passing seasons bring 

Transformed drumbeats

And fearless smiles of freedom

As Emmanuel Himself

Shines in forgiven hearts.

II

Little children's memories reach

Past empty stockings and their mother's quiet tears

Across the ocean

To scenes of family gatherings and roast beef dinners

Where snowflakes and tinsel dance and sparkle.

And in the African night

Their foreign voices sing

The old familiar carols

With a string of white lights on a thorn bush

To celebrate the arrival of the Light of the World.

 

This poem is dedicated to my sister and her family who went to Tanzania, East Africa to share the gospel with the Datoog people in June 1997. That first December 25th, they took a small nativity of Christ from hut to hut and read the Christmas narrative prepared with their language helper. For the first time, this village heard the story of Jesus. Over the years, a church and school were established.

I also want to dedicate these words to missionaries all over the world who feel a little homesick over the holidays. May God give you His grace as you faithfully serve the "Light of the World."

On the Heels of Thanksgiving: Black Friday Reflections

Okay, I admit it. I joined all the other brave shoppers on Black Friday. My youngest daughter and I left the house at 9:30 a.m. and headed out to seek our fortune. Best bargain of the day? Boots regularly $84.99 for $19.99. The busiest store? Kohl's. Swarms of people made it almost impossible to even try on the boots! The longest wait in line to check out? Thirty minutes. The hardest place to find a parking place? The underground lot at the Steamtown Mall. We had a good time, joking about the craziness we found ourselves a part of, trying not to lose each other in the crowds.

But we had more on our minds than finding bargains. We also purchased gifts for a brother and sister whose mom's prison sentence won't allow her to give her children gifts. Parents in prison can participate by signing a card for each child in their family. This card, in turn, is given to individuals who desire to help these forgotten children in a tangible way. When the pastor announced this opportunity at church, our daughter jumped at the chance to help. She used the money she earned herself without a second thought.

Maybe this is what Christmas is all about.

Yet, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, shopping, and all the sales competition seem to cause Thanksgiving to fade from our attention so quickly. Before the day's end, we're on to the next thing, wading through holiday trappings to get there. As we anticipate the Babe in the Manger, I hope to carry a thankful heart with me, to "enter into His gates with thanksgiving, And into His courts with praise. Be thankful to Him and bless His name. For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, And His truth endures to all generations" (Psalm 100:4, 5).

Let's bring the spirit of Thanksgiving into the Christmas season. "Thanks be unto God for His indescribable gift" (2 Corinthians 9:15).

What are your Black Friday reflections?

Mall Stories, Grace Stories

Almost every day, I find myself at the mall. Compulsive shopper? Hardly. I'm there because my dad has to walk. After triple bypass surgery in October, his recovery depends on it. I'm his chauffeur until eight weeks post-op.

Every day, it's the same. We begin our laps outside JCPenney, turn right toward Sears, then pass Old Navy as we head toward Macy's at the opposite end. After about three laps, we find a bench before going around another two or three times. On our "forced marches," as my dad says with a twinkle in his eye, we see the same people. The old guy fast asleep in a chair over his crossword puzzle, the out-of-a-movie cleaning lady with her hair pulled to the top of an expressionless face, the Hickory Farms salesgirl offering free samples, the Bath Fitter salesman pacing in circles around his display. We see walkers, grandfathers wheeling strollers, security guards walking their beats, and sometimes, older couples strolling arm in arm. We wonder about the stories behind the people we see.

On Veteran's Day, after our laps, we went to Applebee's, also at the mall. Veterans received a free meal that day. Dad served in the Navy on the USS Tarawa in the late 1950s. As we entered the restaurant, the Stars and Stripes graced the window. Five flags hung on the wall representing the United States Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard. Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched an elderly veteran hobble in with a cane. Others, filled with pride and memories, crowded the lobby. The manager went from table to table to thank them for their service. I felt proud to be there with my dad.

We both tend to be on the quiet side, but in between the comfortable silences on our route, he tells me my sister called or a friend stopped by with meatballs and pasta. I describe my latest writing project and update him on my kids. Today, as we sat on a bench, he talked about missing my mom and the upcoming holidays without her. I squeezed his hand as emotion choked us both.

Dad begins his cardiac rehab on Monday, so our days at the mall are numbered, but they hold a special place in my heart - and I think in Dad's, too. Last week, he said, "Maybe after I'm driving again, we can meet at the mall to walk." Maybe we can.

It seems to me that real life is a little like our time at the mall. We go by the same places and see the same people every day. Sometimes we find a special event to enjoy or we meet a new friend. As our life stories intersect with the stories of those around us, I hope we will make a difference . . . "faithfully administering God's grace" (1 Peter 4:10).

Just Say No?

At any given moment, our usually happy, two-year-old grandson, Ty, can be heard yelling, “Nooo.”  Funny thing is, sometimes at the same he’s saying “no,” he’s using sign language to say “yes.” Two little words, all mixed up.
 
I have a hunch that toddlers aren’t the only ones who are conflicted about “yes” and “no.”

“Just say no” sounds so simple. It’s like saying, “Just sign here,” or, “Just click there.”  Easy, enough. But what does that signature stand for? What are the implications of one easy click? Can one “just say no” alter a life?


I have the privilege of joining Catapult Magazine's current discussion on the topic, "Just Say No." Read the rest of the story at https://www.catapultmagazine.com/just-say-no/feature/the-tug-of-yes-and-no

What's your "yes" and "no" story?

Perspective

Sweet Sixteen. How did sixteen years slip by so quickly? I'm not sure, but this birthday needed a celebration. So, with a little brainstorming, our daughter and I came up with a plan to celebrate with a few of her girlfriends.

What teenager doesn't want to take great photos to post on facebook or share with family and friends? So . . . on the appointed day, we asked each guest to bring a camera. Kim, our photographer friend (PS Impressions Photography), gave some tips on how to take a good photo. She talked about lighting and how to work with shadows. She discussed balance and the law of thirds. She also gave some insight into viewpoint or perspective. "Choose one subject," she challenged the girls, "and take four photos from different perspectives. Rather than just shooting from eye-level, consider photographing from the side, from the back, from high above, from ground level, from far away or close up. Be creative. See what you can do."

And they did!

After a trip to the local drug store to develop each one's photos, the girls gathered around our dining room table. Each used an 11 x 14 inch canvas, paints, ribbon, buttons, etc. to create a background for their four prints. What a diversity of finished products! Each one captured her subject from various perspectives with wonderful creativity.

I think the way we view life is a little like those four photos. The same "subject" or circumstance can be seen in various ways, depending on our perspective. Will we look through the lens of gratefulness or drudgery?  Will we work to see the positive or settle for the negative? Can we intentionally view our life stories from another angle? A higher perspective, even on the days when everything looks grim?

The next time I take a picture, I want to remember what I learned about photos--and perspective. Elisabeth Elliot wrote, "The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances" (Keep a Quiet Heart, page 20).

What's your perspective?

More Than Sisters

Labor Day, 1964 - Sarah & Barbara, ages 6 and 3

How did you relate with your siblings as a child? And now?

My Uncle Ed recently gave me an envelope of old photos I hadn't seen before. I don't have many pictures of me as a little girl, so as you can imagine, I treasure every one. I think this one is my favorite. 

Here I am, the big sister. Protective. Reassuring. I would always look out for my little sis. 

And now, we're in our fifties, both grandmothers. I'm still the big sister, I guess. But in reality, the years between us have disappeared. Though separated by miles and life experience, we're still two girls walking hand in hand, leaning on each other, reassuring each other, praying for each other.

Recent photo ( by Kim Passetti)

It seems we've partnered more the last few years as our parents have gotten older. Our sweet mom battled ovarian cancer for nearly two years before she slipped away from us. We miss her in different and similar ways all at once. Our strong dad just had triple bypass surgery. Our commitment to care for both of them has brought us together more often. I'm the daughter who lives nearby, drives the six miles almost daily to check in, and makes the calls or runs the errands. Barb, on the other hand, takes the train or plane all the way from Indiana to stay around the clock for several weeks at a time. 

We're as united as the photos show. I'm grateful for all Barb has meant to me over the years. I admire her commitment, her faith, her love for God's Word, her sweet spirit, and her willingness to sacrifice. I'm glad we look out for each other . . .

We're more than sisters. We're friends.