A New Year . . . Are You Apprehensive or Hopeful?

A couple years ago, I wrote a few thoughts titled A Brand New Year, But the Same Old Me. True, isn't it? It's easy to feel defeated before we begin. Yet, God is always the same, too, no matter what year it is. I think about this every time the calendar changes. Rather than focus on the same old me, I want to focus on the eternal God, who is the "same yesterday, today, and forever" (Hebrews 13:8). The Lord who is our refuge and strength (Psalm 46:1). The One and has a habit of "doing exceedingly, abundantly, above all that we ask or think" (Ephesians 3:20).

My dad and I chatted about the new year on the phone today. Perhaps both of us feel a little apprehensive about the unknown months ahead. Our family has taken some hits the past few years. My mom passed away in 2013. Dad had triple by-pass surgery the same year, plus a few visits to the ER since. Then there's the quiet defeats, the disappointments, the rewrites of life.

But never without the presence of God. Never without His grace and direction. Never without His Word to comfort us and keep us centered in the truth. Never without His faithfulness. . . . Never without hope.

That's a lot to be thankful for.

After our car accident in 2003, a pastor friend challenged me to "dream big." I've thought about that now and then as the years have slipped by. Perhaps 2015 will bring me closer to my goal of publishing our story, a story of learning to trust in the midst of trauma.

So, how do you feel about the new year? Apprehensive? Hopeful? A little of both? As we step into January 2015, the God who created the universe walks by our side. "My times are in your hands" (Psalm 31:15). 

 

A Mixed-up Christmas

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Every once in a while, Christmas seems a little mixed up. A couple years ago, some of our family came days before the 25^th, opened gifts well before Christmas Eve, and said good-bye before the countdown closed shop doors at the mall. We had to use our daytimers to keep our comings and goings straight, complete with flight numbers, train schedules, and baby routines.

But we came. We came to be together, mixed-up notwithstanding.

The first Christmas was a little mixed-up, too. It all started with an angel, a misunderstanding smoothed over by a dream, and a compulsory road trip. Perhaps Joseph tried to remember the mid-wife’s instructions as he half-carried Mary into an innkeeper’s barn ninety long miles from home. It seemed an invisible hand guided them to this unlikely place. What thoughts raced through Joseph’s mind as he tried to comfort and care for Mary? He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—let anything happen to her. Did his hands tremble when the time came to deliver her baby boy?
 

Angel wings from the throne room of heaven brushed against an earthy night sky. These eager celestials lit up the hillside as they sang to startled sheep and shepherds . . . shepherds who, in turn, traipsed into town peering into every barn they passed—searching for a very special baby! The eastern horizon saw camels carry gift-laden kings west.

Far away, a lone star slipped out of orbit to chase a child.

Nothing happened the way Joseph and Mary thought it would. An impromptu wedding instead of a traditional ceremony. Bethlehem instead of Nazareth. A cold stable instead of a warm home. Strangers, in the form of shepherds and wise men, instead of family and friends. An undercover detour to Egypt instead of a celebratory homecoming. God ordained this mixed-up plan. Heaven came to Earth, and Earth has never been the same.

Immanuel came. He came to be with us, mixed-up notwithstanding.

The ultimate mix-up took place thirty-three years later when the perfect Son of God . . . died . . . instead of us. His resurrection makes it possible for mortals to live . . . forever . . . with Him.

We made the best of our mixed–up Christmas that year. But the ultimate mix-up is the best thing that’s ever happened to us. “Thanks be unto God for His indescribable gift” (2 Corinthians 9:15).

God made him who had no sin to be sin for us,

so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

2 Corinthians 5:21

 

First published in www.christiandevotions.us, December 26, 2013.

Christmas Stories

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There's something about Christmas that makes me want to enjoy a warm, wonderful story. Down through the years I have collected a file folder full of Christmas stories from magazines and newsletters along with a stack of holiday books. Every day during the month of December I would read to our daughters by tree light. Every year we looked forward to the stories, stories that became more and more dear.

My parents began our story-telling tradition. Down through the years, they read the same stories to my sister and me--and then to our children. A tradition, just like our roast beef dinners, our singing of carols, and our one-at-a-time opening of gifts. A timeless tradition for multiple generations.

Here's a list of a few of the stories we've come to enjoy. Maybe you have some you'd like to add!

The Christmas Story written by New Testament authors Matthew and Luke
"Christmas Lost and Found" by Danae Dobson (from the book Christmas by the Hearth)
"Charlie's Blanket" by Wendy Miller (from a book compiled by Dr. Joe Wheeler: Christmas in My Heart: A Timeless Treasury of Heartwarming Stories)
"The Good Things in Life" by Arthur Gordon (from a book compiled by Dr. Joe Wheeler: The Best of Christmas in My Heart, Vol. 2)
"Out of the Ivory Palaces" by Dr. James A. Hunter
"Why the Chimes Rang" by Raymond MacDonald Alden
"The Shoemaker's Christmas" by Corrie ten Boom (from her book Christmas Memories)
"The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry
"The Night Before Christmas" by Clement Clarke Moore
"The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" by Dr. Seuss

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The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey by Susan Wojciechowski
Punchinello and the Most Marvelous Gift by Max Lucado
The Candle in the Window by Grace Johnson
The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell (This title is linked to an edition like my parents owned!)

What Christmas stories can you add to the list?

A Homespun Christmas

A friend popped in the other day. "Oh, your tree looks beautiful," she exclaimed.

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My eyes swept the room. The tree, artificial and dotted with a variety of lights, ornaments, and memories, stands not-so-tall by the piano. The mantel houses a simple manger scene with figures my dad cut from wood and painted. On the opposite end, the small watercolor  created by a daughter in junior high stands propped in its traditional place. A ceramic Christmas village  graces the top of the china cabinet. A garland dresses the piano along with a few candles here and there. Hand-knit stockings hang from the  chimney with care . . .

"Thanks," I replied, meeting my friend's eyes with a smile. "Rather homespun . . ."

Our Christmas décor would never win an award or be featured in a magazine. But, to me, it feels comfortable. My friend understood. She talked about the history of handmade ornaments on her tree, too. Each one telling a story.

I suppose a family's Christmas decorations and traditions tell a bit about them. Guess we're the homespun type. Simple and unsophisticated, by definition.

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With only one teenager left at home now, we've developed the habit of filling our dinner plates in the kitchen and eating by tree light, holiday music playing in the background. Somehow the lights and the candles have a way of easing away the cares of the day. We're surrounded by memories of Christmases gone by. And we remember the birth of a special baby, who began his earthly life simply and without sophistication -  tucked in a manger and wrapped in homespun strips of cloth. Our Savior, Christ the Lord.

What story do your Christmas decorations tell?

A Belated "Thank You"

I wish I had expressed my gratefulness in the moment. Maybe I didn't understand the value of those treasures until now. Maybe I didn't know I would carry them with me from junior high school all the way to fifty-something. But this week, I want to say "Thank you."

The year I had Miss Latta as a school teacher in fourth grade, we began attending Winchester Community Church. Five blocks from our home, it offered family-friendly programs of which we soon became a part.

I remember singing "O Jesus, I have promised to serve thee to the end . . ." in children's church and "Dare to be a Daniel" in the Junior Department Sunday School opening exercises. In Pioneer Girls, we learned to change a tire (on the pastor's car!), build teepee campfires, and layer lasagna. Our leaders, "Phoebe" and "Chips," not only planned fun overnights and taught us silly songs (that I now sing to my grandson) but  held up God's Word as a "lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path" (Psalm 119:105). 

I loved Sunday evening services. Mr. Holland led the singing like no other. I learned to sing alto by sitting next to Mrs. Davis. The pastor's wife encouraged me to play my flute. Sometimes we played a duet. They even let the young girls take the offering once in a while. In the summers, we enjoyed singspirations at the homes of various church members and sang till we were hoarse. There were always refreshments afterwards.

During Easter week, we came to church almost every night, as I recall. After the sermon, the pastor, also an artist, did a chalk drawing to illustrate his message while the organ played. Then he'd shine different colored lights his picture. Easter Sunday brought us to church early for a sunrise service and breakfast. My mom always made plum and apple raisin kuchens.

Vacation Bible School was the best. For two weeks, every summer, we lined up by departments in the parking lot to say the three pledges. We listened to Bible lessons and missionary stories, learned our verses, and created crafts. Before going home, we gathered in the auditorium and sat on the edge of our seats to find out which team was winning the contest. We sang "We can know that Jesus saves us. We can know. Be assured each moment, everywhere we go . . ."

This past summer, we drove past where the church building used to be. It burned down a while back. The congregation has moved to another location. But the memories live on, memories I cherish.

Thank you to the people from Winchester who invested in a young girl's story. Thank you for giving me the gift of God's Word, the gift of positive spiritual expressions . . . the gift of belonging. 

It's the time to give thanks. What belated thank-yous come to your mind?

Peace on Earth?

The summer before last, I met a new friend at the Greater Philadelphia Christian Writers Conference.　Cheryl and I attended some of the same classes and workshops and enjoyed a few meals together. Since then, we've kept in touch. Emails, phone calls, and prayer have linked us together, along with our love for writing. This past summer, we attended the Montrose Christian Writers Conference. Throughout this time, she put the finishing touches on her book, one I think you'll enjoy. It's about peace. A relevant topic on the brink of a season when we talk about "peace on earth" but most often fail to achieve it.

 

So . . .why do so many Christians still lack peace? Is it possible to experience God's peace all the time?

Pathway of Peace: Living in a Growing Relationship with Christ by Cheryl Elton is a book which explores key areas of life that help cultivate enduring peace, including handling stress, quieting the mind, prayer, and forgiveness. It is rich with insights into relevant Scriptures and full of inspiring stories to encourage you and help you develop a more intimate relationship with Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace.

The book's back cover concludes: "As we learn to partner with Christ and live in His presence, we will not only experience His peace in our hearts but also find freedom from the worries and fears that so often plague us."

For more on Pathway of Peace, visit Cheryl's website or find her book on Amazon.com.　

I know you'll be blessed!

The Measure of a Woman . . .

I discovered these words posted on the bulletin board in a local gynecologist's office:

A woman is often measured by the things she cannot control. She is measured by the way her body curves or doesn't curve, by where she is flat or straight or round. She is measured by 36-24-36 and inches and ages and numbers, all by the outside things that don't ever add up to who she is on the inside. And so if a woman is to be measured, let her be measured by the things she can control, by who she is and who she is trying to become . . .

Reminds me of a parallel idea penned by Robert S. McGee. "If we know who we are, we will not try to become someone else in order to have value and meaning in our lives. . . . God has given us a secure self-worth totally apart from our ability to perform. We have been justified and placed in right standing before God through Christ's death on the cross . . ."*

Who we are and who we are becoming goes far beyond statistics or performance. God's measure of a woman--or a man or a teen or a child--is based on the love, acceptance, and forgiveness of Christ.

Your thoughts?

 *The Search for Significance, pages 44, 46