Dec 25, 2011
Will Power was excited. It was the time of year when the world was abuzz about winter, Christmas, and Santa Claus. Will Power had heard about Santa Claus and looked forward to meeting him.
He sat down to write out his wish list.
But he soon found himself overwhelmed.
In this season of good cheer and gift giving, it didn’t feel right to ask for so much for himself. But the world said it was okay.
He was at a loss.
Everywhere he turned, there was always something more to want. The world kept telling him so. He needed this and needed that. He must want everything, and if he didn’t want or need it, he certainly should know someone who did.
There was so much glitter, so much shine, so much of so much… he felt like this Christmas was just a Carousel going ’round and ’round and he wasn’t sure how to make it stop.
He just knew there had to be more to Christmas than getting gifts, and went in search of it.
He found a Christmas Tree. It was tall and beautifully decorated. It urged him to “believe”, but he still wasn’t sure what to believe in.
He needed help. He found himself wandering, wondering; and hoping for help.
Soon he came upon a gathering. It was a simple display. The kind that invited attention through its lack of fanfare. There was something very special. Very special, indeed.
He studied. There were no great light displays. No special sales or advertising or promises of ease and comfort. It was quiet. It was peaceful. And it was the most personal Gift he could ever need.
And in the peace, and quiet, and humility of a perfect baby being born in less than perfect conditions to a less than perfect world, Will Power understood.
It’s not about the gifts you get. It’s about the Gift that was given.
He raced home as fast as he could to finish His letter. But instead of asking Santa for anything, he had a much better idea in mind:
From our house to yours, a very Merry Christmas.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Dec 24, 2011
It’s not Christmas Eve yet. Not for me.
I’m writing this a day early because even if I have time to write on Christmas Eve, I don’t want to have to write on Christmas Eve. This is my gift to my family: to not behind my laptop during our time together today.
And what a time it will be!
My daughter is taking me to the local movie theatre this afternoon so that I can see one of my favorite movies on the big screen: Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life”. This is a really big deal to me. This is not my daughter’s favorite Christmas movie, so I only watch it when she’s not around. Except this year, I haven’t had a lot of time to myself unless it’s sleeping. So, obviously, I’ve yet to watch the movie.
So when I saw the marquee poster for this, I squealed in girlish delight and embarrassed her by loudly announcing, “This is what I want for Christmas from you!” To which she agreed. Her presence in the theatre, for a movie that means so much to me, with no joking or comments. Just her, me, popcorn, jalapenos, and Jimmy Stewart. Joy to the World!
Now, the movie is a before-and-after marker. Because ever since we agreed to go, everything we talk about has been qualified with “Before we see the movie…” and “After the movie is over…” Things like, call her Uncles who won’t make it to town. Bake cookies. Go to church. Eat dinner at In-n-Out. Watch “Scrooge” (the musical with Albert Finney). Pack for Christmas Eve. Mix up a chocolate martini. And enjoy food. Lots of food. And whatever else we can fit into the Before-and-After categories.
That’s what my Christmas Eve Day will be; at some point or another. That doesn’t include visiting friends the day before, or arriving at my mom’s that evening.
Even though we only live a mile apart, we’re keeping up with the tradition of sleeping over at my mom’s house. There’s only been one year in my entire life that I haven’t spent Christmas Eve night at my mom’s house. It was about ten years ago, in our apartment when Dot and I thought we’d wait for Santa at our place. Considering once he stopped at our abode, he also left instructions to find more loot at Grandma’s, it definitely wasn’t a restful night.
Ever since, it’s been back to Grandma’s for some Family Togetherness. The kind that makes our family glad these events only happen once a year. But the kind we look forward to nonetheless.
Once Dot goes to bed, my mom and I will stay up and talk about the beauty of her tree. We’ll listen to music, or watch Christmas shows on the TV. We’ll talk about the weather back east and wish we had a White Christmas. When we’re sure Dot’s asleep, we’ll put out her stocking. Then I’ll go to bed.
Somewhere around 3 a.m., Dot and I will wake up and sneak into the living room. We’ll spy where our stockings from Mom are, and see what other small goodies she’s hidden around the room. We’ll try hard not to giggle loudly, we’ll avoid touching anything that makes noise. Then we’ll make our way back to our beds and try hard to fall back asleep.
Enter Christmas morning: we somehow manage to all wake up around the same time. Mom will have the coffee ready, and orange danishes will be baking. Once we grab our morning snack, we’ll meet again in the living room and open our stockings. I’m excited because this year I was able to put together a stocking of goodies for my mom as well as my daughter. I’d tell you what she’s getting, but she reads this so I can’t. Yet.
Then we’ll open a few presents. After a short time, we’ll break for another danish and refill on the coffee. Then we’ll open the One Gift: you know the one. The One that’s saved for last. The Big Hurrah. The One that is bound to render the receiver speechless. That One.
It will be over too soon. It always is. But we’ll sit back, sip the cider, and enjoy the day. Before and After will take on a new meaning as Christmas comes to a close. But we’ll always have the memories we make.
I think that’s the best gift of all.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.
Dec 21, 2011
I just watched “The Nativity Story” on dvd. I’d borrowed it from my friend Julie nearly a year ago but never watched it until today. And I admit, I cried.
Just earlier today I realized there’s only five days til Christmas and I had yet to feel that Christmas feeling. That certain feeling of peace and joy that I get regardless of what’s going on in the world around me. That certain feeling that everything’s alright, even now. That certain, indescribable, feeling.
And I can finally say, while watching this movie, I found that feeling. It’s not about how many gifts we have or don’t have under the tree. It’s not about what foods we’ll eat this weekend. It’s not even about making it to Church on Christmas Eve with the family or visiting with friends through the week.
It’s just about… well, it’s about being still. And being at peace with whatever comes.
I adore this movie for how it portrays Mary and Joseph in their marriage. They’re in it together. He didn’t just hang on the sidelines while Mary and God did all the work. Joseph fought for her, protected her, cared for her. Accepted her completely. And gave his name to her baby.
Mary didn’t just follow him. She respected him. She got to know Joseph as a person, as her husband. She let him share in her pregnancy and didn’t shut him out. She needed him. She loved him.
Now, there are some Christmas stories that are so ingrained in my upbringing that even though I “know” them, sometimes to think about them takes me by surprise. And this movie did just that. I found myself realizing things I hadn’t considered before; things that made me stand more in awe of God and His power; and of Mary and Joseph, individually and together.
Mary could have, should have, been stoned to death for conceiving before her marriage ceremony. Joseph was willing to quietly walk away so that wouldn’t happen. After all, his reputation was on the line. Here he was, a Good Guy, and his betrothed is already pregnant! Mary didn’t have to return to Joseph. She could have stayed far away with her cousin Elizabeth. But that would have meant breaking her promises. And Mary was a Good Girl. So she returned.
After the Holy Spirit refreshed and instructed him, Joseph took Mary to be counted in the census at Bethlehem. And that’s when my thinking really started.
At the age of sixteen, this young woman is pulled from her family, from her mother and father. She is on a difficult trip with a man she hardly knows. And she’s pregnant. Who does she turn to? What does Joseph see in her? Did she cry herself to sleep out of fear and loneliness? Did she trust God completely and not worry at all? Or was it a little bit of both?
What went through Joseph’s mind? Did he know he’d be a good dad, because God Himself chose him for the part? Or was he worried? How did he comfort Mary, his wife yet a stranger, as she gave birth otherwise alone in a manger? Did he feel helpless and alone too?
At what point did Mary and Joseph stop being strangers in each others’ minds; and think of each other as husband-and-wife not in title, but in love?
When Jesus was born, how often did they cradle him and wish it could be different? That they could stop the world from invading their family, stop the evil that required the life of their son? And when the Lord’s Angel sent them to flee into Egypt, what did that do to their plans to return home to see Mary’s family again?
Did Mary ever wish it hadn’t been so, or did she always just say, “I am the Lord’s servant.”?
Here they are, parents to the Greatest Person Who Ever Lived, and they run in the dark, they flee into hiding. Their hearts are always burdened, always broken. Being the parents of the King is not always a joyous position.
But they did it.
No matter what.
They did it. They assumed their responsibilities. And they didn’t let God down.
I’m sure it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t fun.
But it was worth it.
It had to be.
They were parents of The King.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Dec 19, 2011
I’ve been hunkering down under this laptop for what seems like an endless amount of days, but I am nearly done with the final draft of my cookbook.
That, along with the impending Christmas celebration events and tasks, I have nothing to write tonight except soon it will all be over.
Not the whole writing, just this week. I’m thrilled with everything that’s on my plate; but I can’t devote any energy tonight to an in-depth blog post.
So. You get this instead: my thanks for your tolerance, and the promise that my cookbook will soon be available for purchase.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Dec 17, 2011
Saint Nicholas is real.
Yes, he is.
YES. He IS!
At least, he was. About 17 centuries ago. Dude, the legend is old. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Some elements have been altered from time to time and culture to culture; bringing us to what we now know as the Big Jolly Man in the Red Suit who comes around December 25th each year.
That’s Saint Nicholas! Well, sort of…
Saint Nicholas was born in Asia Minor, in what is now the area of Turkey. He became a Greek Bishop and was very well liked. His parents were Christian, and he adopted their beliefs and lifestyle at a very young age. Unfortunately, his parents died in an epidemic and young Nicholas was sent to live with his uncle, also Nicholas, who was at that time the Bishop of Patara. The elder Nicholas educated the younger in reading and the Church.
Saint Nicholas’ generosity is told and retold in stories that have him giving money to a poor man so his three daughters could each have a dowry and therefore be able to marry instead of supporting themselves through prostitution. One recounting portrays Nicholas secretly tossing bags of coins down the chimney at night, where one inadvertently caught in one of the stockings the girls had hung to dry. This is the origin of today’s Christmas stocking.
Other stories retell the great miracles of Saint Nicholas: how he resurrected three young boys after their murder; and how he convinced a ship’s crew to donate part of their wheat load to the impoverished city but after, when the wheat still on ship was weighed as payment to the Emporer, they had not lost any.
The celebration of Saint Nicholas’ Feast Day is celebrated by Christians on various days throughout the world. Some choose Christmas Day (December 25). Others prefer the Orthodox celebration of January 6. Still other countries have a three-day celebration in mid-May.
The transformation of Saint Nicholas into our modern day Santa Claus took several centuries; and even now it is easy to distinguish the two personalities.
There are many, many wonderful stories of the origins of Saint Nicholas; too many to repeat.
Whoever drops down your chimney this year, I wish you a very Merry Christmas.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Will Power was excited. It was the time of year when the world was abuzz about winter, Christmas, and Santa Claus. Will Power had heard about Santa Claus and looked forward to meeting him.
