As Christmas Clears

     As Christmas Clears  

Each year I become a bit more melancholy at Christmas.  Perhaps it is a condition of age, but I realize how this season marks endings and beginnings.  I clearly recall the year my mom finally admitted there was no Santa Claus.  I was eleven.  I held on to the last little hope that Santa was real.  I believed my parents would never tell such a lie.

My friends on the school bus would chant, “ Santa isn’t real and if you believe he is; you are STUPID!”  Hearing this news caused my heart to collapse.  I got off the bus, climbed the long, hill to my home, and cried all the way. I burst into the door and asked, ”Is Santa real?” 

 

        My mother said her usual pat answer, “If you believe he is, he is.”  

“No, that is not an answer....tell me the truth.”  

 

       “ Sandi, Santa is a belief. If you want to believe, than do it, if not, don’t.”

Now that was not too reassuring, so I suspected the kids on the bus were the truth makers and my mom had lied to me all these years.

I went to my room and cried and cried.  I had lost a belief.  It was a horrible loss.  I then suspected my parents weren’t really my parents and God was not real. 

I realize most kids don’t have such a dramatic reaction.  With my personality, whatever I do or believe, I do it with vigor, intensity, and full commitment. It took my mom a couple of years to convince me that she was really my mother and the belief in Santa made Christmas more fun for children.  I asked her about God.

“Of course, God is real.  No one could make Him up,” she said.  That explanation just didn’t get it.  Doubting was my new middle name.  I listened to Bible stories at Sunday school and asked the teacher how she knew they were true.  My weekly inquiries must have exasperated her, but I just didn’t want to be bilked again.

This inquiring journey continued many years.  In fact, it is what saved me from a college professor trying to convince my Comparative Religion class that Creation and the resurrection of Christ were myths created by the Christian community. I doubted what he said and continued to seek the truth.  It was a long and difficult uphill path to discover my belief in Christ, His resurrection, the trinity, the presence of miracles today, the power of healing, and that Father God was truly my Creator.  It has taken countless hours of Bible study on my own and in groups.  It created the capacity to meditate and talk to God about what was real and what was not.  That false belief of Santa created in me the capacity to always have an inquiring mind.  

Here I am over sixty years later still confirming, studying, and inquiring.  I do know my beliefs and the reality of Christ Jesus. I chose to place little emphasis on Santa when the boys were small.  I think their grandma and neighbor encouraged their belief, but not me.  They seemed to have a healthy reaction when they discovered the truth.

 

       Santa suits are put to rest, and Christmas decor will soon find its place in boxes in the attic.  The rush of the holidays have calmed, and I savor the fun we had as a family coming together for tasty meals, cookies, and gingerbread men. We played card games, and sang to the melody of our youngest son strumming his guitar.  We giggled at the granddaughters’  “awe” as they opened their gifts.  At church on Christmas Eve, I dabbed at tears that rolled down my cheeks. These were grateful tears because I was sitting with my entire family.   As I listened to the reading of the holy story of the Christ child, I knew I had found the total truth.

Finding Christmas

Finding Christmas

Each holy season, I try to focus on baby Jesus and not the commercialism.  Now, in America that is difficult.  As you read in my last blog, I tried to find Christmas at the mall with disastrous results.  So,as I sat early in the morning in my "Jesus and my chair", I began to pray and asked God to teach me. I have learned my faith needs daily bread to survive.  On this day, I was having a hard time staying still in the chair while I learned God’s word.  I asked God, “ How can I have a better holy season?”  Many times, I ask  God a question , then, pop out of the chair to make a cup of coffee.  My ADHD tendencies sometime make it difficult for me to calm down and focus.   Quiet meditation is a challenge for me.  Anyone relate?

As I passed one of my manger scenes, I felt an inward nudge to pick up baby Jesus from the nativity display.  I carried it back to my teaching, praying, learning chair, and held him.  I felt a warmth like a big hug or a soft ,velour blanket might give me.  I sat and looked at the figurine, but it wasn’t an inanimate object anymore.  Instead, I could see in my mind baby Jesus swaddled and resting in a manger.  As a mother and lover of new babies, I would have asked to hold him.  I know I would.  I would have cuddled his small body to me, touched his delicate hands and kissed his newly shaped head.  I would have held him close and secure so not to hurt or drop him and feel his warmth against my body.  This was my commission this holy season.

I am to hold baby Jesus each morning during my devotion time and meditate on all the times He held me in my life. I mean He watched over me through hardships, grieving, emptiness, or deep hurts.  In these quiet times with the Lord , He has revealed to me times when He went ahead of me and created safe paths, or had a certain person be somewhere so I could talk to them. I was unaware. Yet, he was always there. He has shown me how He has used certain babies to teach me love , grief, and compassion.  As I think on baby Jesus throughout my day, I can't forget the morning teaching.  It is a Christmas heart message that embraces me all day.

One of the strongest messages I realized last week was Jesus was born to be crucified.  As I hold new babies, I never think their destiny would be to be crucified.  Yet, God sent Jesus to and knew His mission on earth was to be crucified for our sins. That is pure love in a depth I cannot understand. That deep of love is in a spiritual realm that I am still learning.
            However, I have found Christmas.  Christmas is in the manger of our home.  Christmas is in the name of Jesus to whom every man and creature must bow.  Christmas is in every Silent Night that I hear and remember in my life time.  Jesus was there.  Jesus is here.  And the Christ child will be in every future Christmas if I just take the time to hold Him, to thank Him, and to meditate on how He has held me through my mistakes and my obedience.  Now, I truly have found Christmas.

Seeking Christmas

Seeking Christmas

     I just could not get in the Christmas spirit this year.  Neither Denny nor I were enthusiastic about decorating.  That is so unusual for me.  I generally am the Chevy Chase model, who embellishes every table top available.  Our sons have teased me through the years that our tree was so fully dressed it might topple to the floor.  So, I went through the motions and adorned the tree, mantle, bookcase, and yes, some table tops.  Still, no matter how loud I played the Christmas music, I just didn't feel the season.

     Since we have trimmed Christmas to simplify and make it more focused on Jesus, I had little Christmas shopping to do.  I decided I would go to the mall, see the lights, look at Santa talking to the

children, and feel the bustle in the air.  This would get me in the holiday spirit. Quite the contrary, as I walked to my destination,  a woman  approached me and asked, " Are these your natural nails?"

      "Look at them." I said. "They are pealing from the oils and mineral spirits I use to paint. Do you think I would have fake nails that looked like this?"

      Not even listening to my answer she took my arm and pulled me to her kiosk.  She began vigorously buffing my nails.  I pulled away, " That hurts. Please stop."  She continued and then I said," I don't want a community file used on me.  Do you hear me?"  I stomped away and went to Bath and Body.

      Mistake number two.  You will not find the Christmas spirit there.  You will find chaos.  So many specials, clerks, displays only brought confusion.  After standing in line, the register lady said I had not matched my items correctly. "You must buy six of the same product to get the special price."

    "O.K. I will try again."

     Back to the drawing board, I assembled more "needed" candles, lotions, and fragrance bulbs hoping to have assembled my purchases in the proper sales' categories.  The purchase was much higher

than I anticipated, but I watched her put a ten dollar coupon in my bag.

    I asked, " Can I use that coupon now?"

    "No, that is for a purchase of over thirty dollars the next time you shop with us."

    "Well, could you split my purchase?  Ring fifty on one bill and thirty on another?"

    The clerk said this could not be done.  That comment brought my blood pressure up as well as my voice.  I loudly announced, " Well, just take all the items back.  This is a return."  I am sure the ladies behind me were exasperated.  It was the principle of the thing I thought.  The store manager arrived on the scene.  She too tried to talk me into using my coupon on another day on new specials.

    Again, with no smile, no Christmas spirit, I said,  " Give me back my money."

    The manager said,” Let her use her coupon now."  This process took the patience of Job.The clerk laboriously unrang and rang again each purchase.  She messed up.  Again, unwrapping each candle to scan, she did the process again.  The manager reappeared and instructed her how to do this.  The seething clerk rerang again.  About fifteen minutes had passed.  I was sweating and the ladies behind me were shooting daggers into my back and head.  Finally, the girl split the bills successfully and applied the ten dollar coupon to the candles.  I am sure Denny will have a lot of Christmas spirit when he is trying to match all those return, buy, and more return slips to theVisa bill.

      The frustrated clerk handed me my packages and receipts and stared hard and long.  The well trained manager returned to the scene and thanked me for coming to Bath and Body.  Now, I wish this was the end  of the story.  However, the entourage of ladies behind me suddenly realized they too could insist on using their coupon if they had a large purchase.  Chaos began. I left hurriedly.  I walked briskly to my car and thought, "Nope, this plan didn't work too well.  I not only didn't find 

Christmas, I disappointed Christ."  I returned home and recounted my day's journey.  No Christmas spirit found yet.  However, if you read my next blog, I will disclose how I found Christmas.

Salmon lessons

A short hike reveals this beauty outside of Seattle.

Outside Annie and Adam's window.

   Last week Denny and I visited our son and daughter-in-law in Seattle.  As I sat in their living room, I enjoyed looking out the window at the well dressed hills of green fur trees contrasted against the golden leaves of the autumn trees.  Also high on the hillside were condos that looked like triangular bird houses.  Each morning I awakened to this picture painting.  I drank my coffee, and watched the misty rain make greener pastures and foliage.
    Seattle’s surrounding waters create a surreal landscape juxtaposed against the crowded high rises and condos of the city.  Puget Sound  is surrounded by scores of small islands. It is a sanctuary to explore, canoe, kayak, fish, or hike.  The wildlife include seals , sea lions, eagles, osprey, porpoises , heron, and so many wonderful creatures of  God.  I am intrigued by this area.  The Pacific holds treasures of cod, mackerel, flounder, oysters , and my favorite, wild salmon.  The salmon are hatched in the headwaters of Northwest streams, begin life in fresh water and spend two or three years in the ocean.  Then, they return to the river where they were hatched to spawn and die.
    The salmon’s journey reminds me of my own journey on earth.  I was birthed in an area that holds fond memories.  As I went upstream , I like the salmon have traveled into turbulent waters in order to discover my priorities.  No matter where I locate, I have an alluring device , a fondness, that calls me back to my family and  roots.  I still have the same taste buds that were developed early in  life. Many days I yearn for my mother’s buttermilk biscuits and slick white gravy.  It is still a very comforting food.
    When the salmon merge from the streams to return to their birth place, they rush, crush, and fight for reentry. Adam has reported that streams are totally filled with salmon. He can walk across  the stream to the other side by using the salmon as his bridge.  I, too, have experienced some rushing and crushing that has developed me into the person that I am.  The fast pace of the salmon’s journey forces them into unfamiliar waters.  I have been forced out of my comfort zone and into new situations that have made me stronger and more agile.  I , like the salmon, have needed others to follow, to mold, to create in me a new vigor and passion.  I am grateful to all those salmon in my stream.  They have shaped me.  I too love to return to my roots, smell the salt water, linger under the palm trees, and feel the sun upon my skin.  Each stream of my pilgrimage has instructed , warned, jostled, and satisfied me at different turns and tributaries.  I have lost loved family members and friends in the upstream battle.  Still, I continue to travel upstream until I can learn and do all that  my Creator  has purposed for me. I am thankful Seattle’s landscape and nature remind me my trek is filled with adventure and beauty along with the uphill battles. I am grateful for each day, each person, and each stream.

Leaves of Meaning

Copyrighted art by Sandi Baron

Each autumn season reminds me of one very special fall ten years ago.  Our youngest son, Adam, moved to Seattle that previous summer.  I was missing him so much.

  I am always humbled by the beauty of the color of the leaves and the response of the trees to shed on God’s cue each fall.  This colorful rhythmic pattern is evidence of our Father’s masterful plan. 

I taught our sons to enjoy jumping in the leaves when they were small.  Now I jump in the leaves with my granddaughters.  It is the right of passage to celebrate the oncoming holidays.  

I remember leaf collections were assigned as science projects in the fall.  Adam and I would tromp through our neighborhood, the woods, and the unoccupied back streets searching for each kind of leaf.  We would return, mount them as instructed, label them with the label maker, and gloat over our leaf knowledge.

However, this year there were no leaf trampers or rakers, or no leaf projects. I returned home and as I walked in the door the phone was ringing.

“Hey, Mom, I’m thinkin’ of fall...really miss the colors.”

“ No autumn in Washington?” I asked.

“Nope, just not the same kind of trees here. No golden coins flying through the air.”

“ Well, what was your adventure last weekend?” I asked.

“Climbed a trail.  Saw a bear.  Met a new climbing bud.”

“Oh, my gosh.  That sounds exciting.”

“Hey , Mom, send me a fall photo, OK? Gotta run. Bye.”

I had an idea.  I would collect leaves in the neighborhood and put them in a mailing envelope.  I started my journey by walking across the street to the Calvert’s and Hill’s yards.   They were outside visiting and I told them my mission and they entered in enthusiastically.

“Put in my red maple leaf.  I know he will remember playing in these red leaves,” said the neighbor.

As I reached the corner, I explained to another neighbor my project ,and he chimed in, “ Hey, tell Adam hi and this is my best sycamore leaf.”

I rounded the corner and walked past his middle school principal’s house.  I told him I was sending leaves to Adam, and he offered greetings and a perfect oak leaf.

Next, on the street was Adam’s former librarian, “ Here, take these two giant bronze leaves and tell Adam they remind me of him, shiny and bright.”

My collection was increasing as were the greetings.  It touched my heart how neighbors admired their leaves and gave warm salutations of love.  I continued collecting burgundy, gold, bright neon green, and golden leaves.  When I returned home, I added the greeting each neighbor had sent on the back of the leaf they selected.  

I mailed my package and waited to hear from Adam.

“Hey, Mom, my floor is filled with colored leaves.  They even smell like Indiana.  I really enjoyed all the notes from the neighbors.  It feels like autumn. This is the best gift ever.  I love you Mom.”  I hung up the phone and his words have lingered in my heart for ten years. So, I share this very special autumn memory as I realize the leaves are all gone, and now I must prepare for winter memories.

A New Circus

copyrighted art by Sandra Lee Baron

 "Bring ‘em on in ma’am,” the director said as he waved his hand toward the entrance hall. 

“ This way madam,” called the helper.

“Here I will help you with that elephant sized one,” as he reached and balanced his weight against the heaviness of the painting.

I could feel my heart beating as hard as when I was a child watching a three ring circus.  I was seeing the acts assemble.  My eyes gathered the views created by the bright colors of the artists' palettes.  Paintings were leaned on walls waiting to be judged by the curator.

“This one is magnificent,” I whispered in a low voice.  I was lost on the lighted path that led me to a tree gathering, trees of every hue and color.  A master’s hand painted each leaf with flare and each tree was given honor for its own beauty.

“Ah, look at this one,” I chattered.  A small child was perched on a stone wall seeing the wonderment in a playful squirrel.  The wall was alit with sunlight that created beaconing shadows. As I lingered in front of the painting, I wondered how the artist could create such a clear emotion in the eyes of the child.

Again I heard, “Come right in, sir.  Come this way. “ The passageways were getting more crowded as the hour passed.  One young artist carried a giant canvas covered with lush roses, pink roses that asked to be picked for pleasure.

It was a parade of art.  I was at the Richmond Art Museum last week.  As I entered my art in the RAM show, I watched other artist bring in their art creations to be judged.  The excitement, color, and happenings reminded me of a circus.  These talents were not displayed under a tent, but instead housed in the restored art wing , which displayed the fine architecture of the early 1930’s.

copyrighted art by Betty Ann Fraley

On this sunny afternoon, folks were demonstrating their ability to create beauty.  On exhibit were abstract autumn scenes, representative barns and fields, impressionistic trees, and life size portraits. Everyday life was interpreted by artist from their own view, their art vantage point. Each painter hoped to be juried into the show.  But, from my view, everyone was a winner.  The artists had captured moments of life and displayed them on canvas.

As a child I had problems at the circus.  I didn’t know which act to watch.  It was the same at the museum.  Every painting had worth and wonder.  It was a splendid day spent in color, space, and balance.  Each painting was evidence of the Creator within each of us.   Whether viewing the beauty or painting the subject, the Creator allowed us a glimpse into glory.

Creative Journaling

 I am teaching a class at the E.B. Ball Center.  I would enjoy sharing with you how to write your own mini- memoir.  You will begin a journal filled with photos, art, expression, and your favorite stories. Here is a brief description of what I will be sharing at the workshop.  Please check your calendars and call the EB Ball Center to register. (285-8975) I would love to share my passion for journaling with you.

CELEBRATING LIFE: CREATIVE JOURNALING       

 Oct. 18, 19, 20, from 9:00-11:00 a.m.                                                 

 Cost: $50

Learn how to quickly assemble life lessons, family stories, and document your truths in a creative journal.  Pass this down to your family to keep those family stories alive.

No time to write a lengthy memoir?  Try my artful way of recording your favorite stories. You will use colored papers, photos, writing, stamps and even pictures from magazines.  You will like this speedy way to record your personal stories.

Classes will include directions, ideas, journal prompts, and art supplies.  Bring a few favorite photos (copies would be best).  From these photos, you will write the story you would like to pass down to future generations.  Bring your most loved writing pen, and it will dance across your pages recording treasured memories.

About the Instructor:

I work with people and coach them to better understand their giftedness, talents, and interests. Part of that awareness is grounded in creativity. Discovering who you are through creative outlets brings new understanding of self-worth, God’s purpose for our lives, and how to reflect on the past to grow in the future.  I enjoy my role as a writing and creative coach. I encourage laughter, being free, and having fun. Participants leave with a light heart as well as confidence in writing, journaling, and creating.

I am currently a retreat leader nurturing creative and spiritual growth. I taught English and Speech for thirty-three years in local high schools.  I have a B.A. and M.A. from Ball State University, I serve on the committee for the Midwest Writers Workshop, and am a member of National League of American Pen Women and Muncie Art Guild.  I continue  to be a freelance writer and an oil painter. Creativity is my life and passion.