Today I gathered my golden tints, naples yellow, and sap green and attempted to paint a summer day. I loaded my pallet with all the hues of summer. I was in a painting support group. The three of us supported each other's decision to paint on this winter day.
The lighting was great in my friend's kitchen. We sat up our easels and clutched our brushes. It was time to begin summer. I tried not to look outside the window and view the snow fields of diamond dust. I was quite slow at beginning. I had not painted since fall and had lost my "knowing" . I was face to face with the canvas and the canvas was winning. It was a wrestling match of a sort. I painted a soft green field enclosed by mountains in a distance. At least in my mind that is what I was painting. The brush seemed to go its own direction , and I had about as much paint on me as the canvas.
As I begin a painting, it is always humbling. I realize what a challenge and how difficult creating really is. There are so many decisions, fine motor skills, and the need of a creative nudge to birth a painting. I have observed how easy it looks when I am standing in a gallary. I admire the strokes, the color combinations, and the style of another painter. What I forget is how much planning, design, composition, and thought is behind that landscape. Most of all , I realize it takes time. There is a time to learn, a time to practice, a time to paint out and a time to paint in.
To every painter there is a season.
I am seeking my season. Other painters and friends encourage me. They use their "art eye" to help me make another stroke, another pattern, another developed area. Suddenly, today I realized why I enjoy this art form so much. It relaxes me as well as challenges me. It frustrates me as well as pleases me. It takes me out of my comfort zone and into an art zone of new discoveries and demands.
Painting is not about creating a calendar likeness. It is not even creating a scene as I photographed it. It is instead knowing that my Creator is within me . He has graciously given me the gift to create. Only for a glimpse can I understand His masterful hand in creating the heavens, the planes, the roaring sea. I am addressing angles at rest and then shifting forms, shadows, and lines. Painting gives me a oneness with my Creator. It is only then that I can paint a summer day in winter in the small Eden of this afternoon.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Chasing Rainbows
Chasing Rainbows
“Oh, mama, these are the best hush puppies and fried fish,” my daddy stated while looking at our family sitting together for Saturday dinner. My sister and I were so accustomed to my mama’s wonderful cooking that sometimes we forgot to thank her. Daddy helped us remember by his favorable comments.
“This is my favorite dinner,” my sister echoed. Just then, Daddy leaped up and ran to the window. “Ladies of dining, I see a rainbow.” This statement had us all on our feet. Mama grabbed her purse, and we slid into the old sedan.
We were off to find the treasure at the end of the rainbow.Our eyes were peeled to each window. We giggled and chanted, “Our treasure is near; our treasure is near.” Suddenly, Daddy announced we were in Daytona. We hurried out of the car and ran down the beach seeking the end of that glorious rainbow. It is where dancing sand and sunshine blended into a memory profound. This spontaneous action happened many times in my childhood. We cherished rainbow times. After such a chase, we would drive home and Daddy would explain he had found his treasure, time with his three favorite girls. It is such a warm memory, so I have continued to chase rainbows to this day. In a way, Daddy fashioned my days to come.
When I see a rainbow, I yell, “Come quickly; look, look, God’s promise is near.” My boys would always help me look and speculate where the end might be. Even the neighbors were beckoned in my excitement to see a rainbow. There is just something magical, divine, and soul stirring about seeing this miracle of the heavens.
Now, I have seen mighty rainbows over the mountains of Colorado that have brought me tears of gratitude. I have seen misty rainbows sitting on top of the waves of the seas. I recollect a rainbow while standing on the Cliffs of Mohr that brought me to my knees. It is God’s painting and majesty at His best where ever I go. On cold, wintry days I must conjure in my mind that wondrous sight nestled in the sky.
As I think on rainbows, I am reminded that this is a promise from God. It is His hands upon the helm. It is His breath in the sails that direct my journey. I anticipate finding my greatest treasure each day with Him.
“Oh, mama, these are the best hush puppies and fried fish,” my daddy stated while looking at our family sitting together for Saturday dinner. My sister and I were so accustomed to my mama’s wonderful cooking that sometimes we forgot to thank her. Daddy helped us remember by his favorable comments.
“This is my favorite dinner,” my sister echoed. Just then, Daddy leaped up and ran to the window. “Ladies of dining, I see a rainbow.” This statement had us all on our feet. Mama grabbed her purse, and we slid into the old sedan.
We were off to find the treasure at the end of the rainbow.Our eyes were peeled to each window. We giggled and chanted, “Our treasure is near; our treasure is near.” Suddenly, Daddy announced we were in Daytona. We hurried out of the car and ran down the beach seeking the end of that glorious rainbow. It is where dancing sand and sunshine blended into a memory profound. This spontaneous action happened many times in my childhood. We cherished rainbow times. After such a chase, we would drive home and Daddy would explain he had found his treasure, time with his three favorite girls. It is such a warm memory, so I have continued to chase rainbows to this day. In a way, Daddy fashioned my days to come.
When I see a rainbow, I yell, “Come quickly; look, look, God’s promise is near.” My boys would always help me look and speculate where the end might be. Even the neighbors were beckoned in my excitement to see a rainbow. There is just something magical, divine, and soul stirring about seeing this miracle of the heavens.
Now, I have seen mighty rainbows over the mountains of Colorado that have brought me tears of gratitude. I have seen misty rainbows sitting on top of the waves of the seas. I recollect a rainbow while standing on the Cliffs of Mohr that brought me to my knees. It is God’s painting and majesty at His best where ever I go. On cold, wintry days I must conjure in my mind that wondrous sight nestled in the sky.
As I think on rainbows, I am reminded that this is a promise from God. It is His hands upon the helm. It is His breath in the sails that direct my journey. I anticipate finding my greatest treasure each day with Him.
Monday, January 11, 2010
How I learned to Die
How I learned to Die
When I was five, my mother invited me to sit with her while Uncle Albert died. Perhaps this sounds peculiar and outlandish for a mom to offer a child this invitation. She whispered, “Now, watch closely, Uncle Albert is making peace with his Maker.” I watched intently because from my five year old perspective, it just looked like he was sleeping. Mamma said it was important to sit with the dying because it was part of our living.
As a child, I remember friends and family calling Mamma to sit with them while their spouse or friend was dying. She was an early hospice model. It diminished any fear of dying within me. I recall when I was a young teen sitting with Mamma while another uncle died. We watched and prayed and reminded him we were by his side. I remember feeling God all about the room. She had taught me well that dying was part of our life’s journey.
Through my adult years, I found myself following her example of sitting with the dying. Sometime I would hurt so much for my friend that was dying because their families were afraid. Even when I sat with my dear father-in-law , Hank, I realized my husband and his mother were at a loss as what to expect and do. I read Hank Psalms, prayed with him , and told him all the times he had helped me and taught me. I encouraged the family to do the same. As they shared favorite stories with him, I typed furiously to record each memory. Then, the time came for quietness. The time came for the light to start slipping slowly into Hank’s view. I cherish the memory of leading him to that light and assuring him his cancer pain would soon be gone. I beckoned him into the light and watched him make peace with his Creator.
Strangely enough, when my wonderful step-dad was dying, my mother commissioned me, "Sit with Foster and help him.” She had nursed him for two years in his battle with cancer. She would visit the room periodically but did not stay for the entire journey. She was hurting so much she didn’t want to disturb his peace and reckoning time. My sister and I sang hymns to him and told him stories of how he had changed our lives. We told him how much we loved him and how good he was. I asked him if he wanted me to pray and release his spirit to squeeze my hand. He did, and I put on my tap shoes. Yep, I tapped and sang his favorite song, “I’ll Fly Away O` Glory.” I think I detected a slight smile on that still day. Then, I saw the sunset was coming, and I asked God to release his spirit unto Him. Foster relinquished his earthly body and stepped gently into the sunset. It was a beautiful time with Jesus.
I have been sitting with the dying for sixty years now. As I sat with my mother in her last hours, I recollected her former teaching, “Always tell them you will be here with them.” I told Mamma I would be at her side until she stepped over into the heavenly gates. I watched her make peace and sat languished hours by her side because her heart was strong, and she seemed to have a last purpose in her dying. Nurses and caregivers would stand in her door and listen to me read scripture and pray. Mamma lingered for two days making right her soul. My sister and I told her how much we loved her and shared childhood memories. I remember distinctly when she grew still in body and God was near. I said, “Ah, you see His face, Mamma. You are smiling. Go ahead and I will see you in our future. Go ahead, step into His glorious path.” She too softly left this earth.
I share these stories because I want to alleviate fears of dying and make others realize that they too might be a tool of comfort in helping a loved one step over. Do not fear because God is there in His entire splendor. It is a magnificent time of closure and a miracle time of entering the door of eternity.
When I was five, my mother invited me to sit with her while Uncle Albert died. Perhaps this sounds peculiar and outlandish for a mom to offer a child this invitation. She whispered, “Now, watch closely, Uncle Albert is making peace with his Maker.” I watched intently because from my five year old perspective, it just looked like he was sleeping. Mamma said it was important to sit with the dying because it was part of our living.
As a child, I remember friends and family calling Mamma to sit with them while their spouse or friend was dying. She was an early hospice model. It diminished any fear of dying within me. I recall when I was a young teen sitting with Mamma while another uncle died. We watched and prayed and reminded him we were by his side. I remember feeling God all about the room. She had taught me well that dying was part of our life’s journey.
Through my adult years, I found myself following her example of sitting with the dying. Sometime I would hurt so much for my friend that was dying because their families were afraid. Even when I sat with my dear father-in-law , Hank, I realized my husband and his mother were at a loss as what to expect and do. I read Hank Psalms, prayed with him , and told him all the times he had helped me and taught me. I encouraged the family to do the same. As they shared favorite stories with him, I typed furiously to record each memory. Then, the time came for quietness. The time came for the light to start slipping slowly into Hank’s view. I cherish the memory of leading him to that light and assuring him his cancer pain would soon be gone. I beckoned him into the light and watched him make peace with his Creator.
Strangely enough, when my wonderful step-dad was dying, my mother commissioned me, "Sit with Foster and help him.” She had nursed him for two years in his battle with cancer. She would visit the room periodically but did not stay for the entire journey. She was hurting so much she didn’t want to disturb his peace and reckoning time. My sister and I sang hymns to him and told him stories of how he had changed our lives. We told him how much we loved him and how good he was. I asked him if he wanted me to pray and release his spirit to squeeze my hand. He did, and I put on my tap shoes. Yep, I tapped and sang his favorite song, “I’ll Fly Away O` Glory.” I think I detected a slight smile on that still day. Then, I saw the sunset was coming, and I asked God to release his spirit unto Him. Foster relinquished his earthly body and stepped gently into the sunset. It was a beautiful time with Jesus.
I have been sitting with the dying for sixty years now. As I sat with my mother in her last hours, I recollected her former teaching, “Always tell them you will be here with them.” I told Mamma I would be at her side until she stepped over into the heavenly gates. I watched her make peace and sat languished hours by her side because her heart was strong, and she seemed to have a last purpose in her dying. Nurses and caregivers would stand in her door and listen to me read scripture and pray. Mamma lingered for two days making right her soul. My sister and I told her how much we loved her and shared childhood memories. I remember distinctly when she grew still in body and God was near. I said, “Ah, you see His face, Mamma. You are smiling. Go ahead and I will see you in our future. Go ahead, step into His glorious path.” She too softly left this earth.
I share these stories because I want to alleviate fears of dying and make others realize that they too might be a tool of comfort in helping a loved one step over. Do not fear because God is there in His entire splendor. It is a magnificent time of closure and a miracle time of entering the door of eternity.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Gingerbread Men Pressure
Each of us must face a New Year every year. I just can’t escape it; January 1st arrives, and I feel the pressure. I must make resolutions about eating right, exercising often, flossing better, and being faithful in my breast exams. I must resolve to read more, longer, better. I must engage in more painting, training, and lessons. Closets cry out, “It is the New Year; clean me now.” I must practice my craft of writing with more purpose and focus. Yikes! No wonder everyone on face book is depressed because this is the first week of January. It is not the cold. It is not the snow. It is a new year of pressure. Granted, they may all be good, but they are pressures.
So, today I made chili. I ate two gingerbread men with my tea. Please know I did not eat any Christmas cookies because I am allergic to wheat. Yet, I just ate the two left in the plastic container. Yep, sugar, wheat, and a snack. Those are all my “no, no’s” according to Dr. Oz. I just did it today, January 4, 2010, the first Monday of the year. I haven’t done any exercises, gone to the gym, or walked the dogs. It is just too cold to be walking circles in my neighborhood. What is my problem? It is a new year. I am in total rebellion. I need a self help coach, a diet chef, a professional organizer, a personal trainer, and Susie Orman by my side. How did I ever exist in 1965, 1975, 1982? Back then, I didn’t even realize that I needed all these helpers to make me whole. Now, the news, magazines, advertisements, and friends are hyped that these things bring balance, beauty, and new beginnings.
So, I am taking control. Listen to this all you health gurus, physical trainers, and economist. I am going to bask in my pleasures. I will read….sure I will because I enjoy it. I will sing even though I am off key. I will dance to fun music and wiggle and giggle with my two wooly, four legged friends. I will make chili with hamburger because that is my husband’s favorite meal. I will approach this year gently and make strides of improvement one step at a time. If today I miss one of my needed rituals, I will just enjoy my prayer time more, my journal writing, and my paper arts. I can make 2010 work. I don’t need to jump into with such gusto that I am gasping from exercise and gulping down sea weed. I am woman. I am invincible. Yea, right, but I can get into this New Year without having a nervous breakdown.
So, Happy New Year to all, and to all a good journey of discovering how many people need hugs, how many children you can affirm, and how being grateful feels so much cozier than criticizing. Yep, I am on my way.
So, today I made chili. I ate two gingerbread men with my tea. Please know I did not eat any Christmas cookies because I am allergic to wheat. Yet, I just ate the two left in the plastic container. Yep, sugar, wheat, and a snack. Those are all my “no, no’s” according to Dr. Oz. I just did it today, January 4, 2010, the first Monday of the year. I haven’t done any exercises, gone to the gym, or walked the dogs. It is just too cold to be walking circles in my neighborhood. What is my problem? It is a new year. I am in total rebellion. I need a self help coach, a diet chef, a professional organizer, a personal trainer, and Susie Orman by my side. How did I ever exist in 1965, 1975, 1982? Back then, I didn’t even realize that I needed all these helpers to make me whole. Now, the news, magazines, advertisements, and friends are hyped that these things bring balance, beauty, and new beginnings.
So, I am taking control. Listen to this all you health gurus, physical trainers, and economist. I am going to bask in my pleasures. I will read….sure I will because I enjoy it. I will sing even though I am off key. I will dance to fun music and wiggle and giggle with my two wooly, four legged friends. I will make chili with hamburger because that is my husband’s favorite meal. I will approach this year gently and make strides of improvement one step at a time. If today I miss one of my needed rituals, I will just enjoy my prayer time more, my journal writing, and my paper arts. I can make 2010 work. I don’t need to jump into with such gusto that I am gasping from exercise and gulping down sea weed. I am woman. I am invincible. Yea, right, but I can get into this New Year without having a nervous breakdown.
So, Happy New Year to all, and to all a good journey of discovering how many people need hugs, how many children you can affirm, and how being grateful feels so much cozier than criticizing. Yep, I am on my way.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
My Friends Are My Heroes
Before Christmas I read Lolita in Teran. It is a memoir of the determination of the human spirit. The setting is Iran. When I read such meaty books, I am so thankful that I was born in America. Last week I read the Shanghi Girls. This is a memoir of two sisters persevering through hardship and persecution. Even though it is painful, I like to read this kind of literature to force me to embrace other cultures and know some of the pain they have endured. It is beneficial for me to know how others have sacrificed and struggled in times of war or revolution. I admire how these characters seek wisdom , God, and art even though the setting around them is poverty and oppression. I really enjoy memoirs because they are based on someone's real life experiences.
I am reading Water For Elephants this week. It is not a memoir but based on true experiences. It is about being in the circus, which was one of my childhood dreams. Again, it has characters that come over adversity. I read these kinds of novels, so I won’t whine, complain, or feel sad. These books teach me that hardships make strong characters. I would aspire to write such a wonderful novel. However, my life has not been harsh, but affable. Sure, there have been some hard times, childhood verbal and physical abuse, bad decisions, obstacles, debilitating diseases in my parents; but, overall, I am blessed. From childhood, I have chosen to see the glory in the land, the sparkle in an old person’s eye, and the last few dollars at the end of the month as a gold mind. I marvel at childhood chatter and make-believe and benefit from their free spirit.
Even though my husband beats me in gin rummy almost every night, I just enjoy the anticipation of maybe winning this night and spending time with him. I thank God that He has shown me how to look at things through rosy glasses and not dirty, gray ones. However, I have not walked in the moccasins of so many of my friends. They live daily with heartache of the loss of a loved one or live with an alcoholic or endure spousal abuse. One friend has cared years for a husband with a fatal disease; another friend wonders how she will pay her heat bill. These are real life heroes that daily come over so many obstacles. They recharge themselves with the word of God , and His grace is sufficient. They find joy in a simple cup of tea. They give of themselves to others. These friends teach me daily how to live life today. It is as if I am reading their life novel, only their lives must be lived out in days and years, not on pages.
It is through knowing and loving such dear friends that I am humbled each day. They choose to live, not to nag, drag, or gag on their daily portion. I read books to learn of other cultures, to understand new subject matters, to enjoy a lifestyle that I will never embark. However, it is the friends with whom I am surrounded that give me balance. They teach me faith. They extend gratitude when I might not understand why. I cherish these friends for the depth and grace of living that they have modeled. I thank God daily for these friends.
I am reading Water For Elephants this week. It is not a memoir but based on true experiences. It is about being in the circus, which was one of my childhood dreams. Again, it has characters that come over adversity. I read these kinds of novels, so I won’t whine, complain, or feel sad. These books teach me that hardships make strong characters. I would aspire to write such a wonderful novel. However, my life has not been harsh, but affable. Sure, there have been some hard times, childhood verbal and physical abuse, bad decisions, obstacles, debilitating diseases in my parents; but, overall, I am blessed. From childhood, I have chosen to see the glory in the land, the sparkle in an old person’s eye, and the last few dollars at the end of the month as a gold mind. I marvel at childhood chatter and make-believe and benefit from their free spirit.
Even though my husband beats me in gin rummy almost every night, I just enjoy the anticipation of maybe winning this night and spending time with him. I thank God that He has shown me how to look at things through rosy glasses and not dirty, gray ones. However, I have not walked in the moccasins of so many of my friends. They live daily with heartache of the loss of a loved one or live with an alcoholic or endure spousal abuse. One friend has cared years for a husband with a fatal disease; another friend wonders how she will pay her heat bill. These are real life heroes that daily come over so many obstacles. They recharge themselves with the word of God , and His grace is sufficient. They find joy in a simple cup of tea. They give of themselves to others. These friends teach me daily how to live life today. It is as if I am reading their life novel, only their lives must be lived out in days and years, not on pages.
It is through knowing and loving such dear friends that I am humbled each day. They choose to live, not to nag, drag, or gag on their daily portion. I read books to learn of other cultures, to understand new subject matters, to enjoy a lifestyle that I will never embark. However, it is the friends with whom I am surrounded that give me balance. They teach me faith. They extend gratitude when I might not understand why. I cherish these friends for the depth and grace of living that they have modeled. I thank God daily for these friends.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Christmas all year long.
As I carefully wrap the stained glass crèche’, I remember the artist that made this for me. He has passed on now, but his elegant art pieces still delight my heart and soul. This crèche’ is still in the box that he made me to fit the long mirror behind the manger characters. The mirror reflects their colored garments and creates a “double” manger effect. I wonder each year if that happens in heaven. Is whatever I do to celebrate the birth of Christ reflected in my Father's eyes? I am grateful that twenty-five years ago, I spent our grocery money on this lovely symbol of Christmas. Each year, it helps me understand the gift of Christ. Next, I pack away music boxes that still play as well as the day I bought them forty years ago. Each music box is housed in its own cardboard box ( some tatterted and bulky) but easily recognizable to me when I unpack the decorations each year.
I think I compartmentalize my life in much the same way as my Christmas decorations. My favored art items are framed, and my art supplies are tucked in special spaces in my art room. I recognize them quickly and feel an endearment within. I appreciate the process of painting as much as the end result. Bright colors, rich paints, fine watercolor paper, treasured rubber stamps all bring me so much pleasure. It is a kind of celebration each day with these colored papers , stimulating art books, or my quick sketches of birds and flowers. These items decorate my life in such a special way.
I am in much the same box that I have been my married life. I quickly recognize that I am too round and too bulky when I pass a mirror. I just keep me in this same container and begin every New Year’s journal with, “This is the year I am going to lose thirty pounds and keep it off.” My intentions outweigh my results at the end of each year.
Another compartment that I reuse year after year is collecting wonderful friends. My circle of friends grows more diverse each year. I join new groups, meet new people, or try new classes. Each of these activities introduces me to new and interesting friends that shape me, mold me, teach me, and affirm me. Without these dear people, my life would be empty, boring, and useless. As I add friends, it reminds me of how I have added boxes of Christmas décor through the years. The old treasures remind me of good times past. The new decorations bring new life to me and my surroundings.
Every year I think I have gathered all the Christmas decorations and completed my task. However, when I get around to New Year’s cleaning, I inevitably discover a Christmas angel or a carved Santa that I have forgotten to pack. I am amused that this little token escaped my “thorough” scan on packing day. Isn’t that just like my life? I think I have all the loose ends tied and completed. I determine that my chores are completed for this day and realize I didn't turn on the crock pot before I rushed out of the house in early morning. Then, on a sunny summer day I discover a missed appointment because I have frolicked in my gardens too long and not consulted my calendar or my watch. Sometimes , I get a phone call from a friend that I have neglected and just needs to chat. As I hold this unpacked ornament, I realize that my job of packing and closing is only partially done until that very last day of my life.
I think I compartmentalize my life in much the same way as my Christmas decorations. My favored art items are framed, and my art supplies are tucked in special spaces in my art room. I recognize them quickly and feel an endearment within. I appreciate the process of painting as much as the end result. Bright colors, rich paints, fine watercolor paper, treasured rubber stamps all bring me so much pleasure. It is a kind of celebration each day with these colored papers , stimulating art books, or my quick sketches of birds and flowers. These items decorate my life in such a special way.
I am in much the same box that I have been my married life. I quickly recognize that I am too round and too bulky when I pass a mirror. I just keep me in this same container and begin every New Year’s journal with, “This is the year I am going to lose thirty pounds and keep it off.” My intentions outweigh my results at the end of each year.
Another compartment that I reuse year after year is collecting wonderful friends. My circle of friends grows more diverse each year. I join new groups, meet new people, or try new classes. Each of these activities introduces me to new and interesting friends that shape me, mold me, teach me, and affirm me. Without these dear people, my life would be empty, boring, and useless. As I add friends, it reminds me of how I have added boxes of Christmas décor through the years. The old treasures remind me of good times past. The new decorations bring new life to me and my surroundings.
Every year I think I have gathered all the Christmas decorations and completed my task. However, when I get around to New Year’s cleaning, I inevitably discover a Christmas angel or a carved Santa that I have forgotten to pack. I am amused that this little token escaped my “thorough” scan on packing day. Isn’t that just like my life? I think I have all the loose ends tied and completed. I determine that my chores are completed for this day and realize I didn't turn on the crock pot before I rushed out of the house in early morning. Then, on a sunny summer day I discover a missed appointment because I have frolicked in my gardens too long and not consulted my calendar or my watch. Sometimes , I get a phone call from a friend that I have neglected and just needs to chat. As I hold this unpacked ornament, I realize that my job of packing and closing is only partially done until that very last day of my life.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Christmas Lessons
For over forty years, my husband and I have sponsored Christmas families. They have come to us in various ways. I suspect God has sent them all to help shape us and teach us His love. I will retrieve a few past memories to share what we have learned.
One of our first families was a family of nine. I was a full time mom at the time, and we lived on a very limited budget. I have always enjoyed giving our "adopted family" a fabulous gift laden Christmas. I wanted it to be the best Christmas they ever had. I hoped the family would relate this special blessed day with the birth of Christ . My philosophy was that if they remembered that the name of Jesus brought them such a wonderful Christmas, that they would one day choose to serve Him.
So, back to my family of nine. I began making stuffed animals out of all my fabric scraps. I asked my seamstress friends if they would help me by making pajamas for every child. The ladies at Center Chapel were so enthused they made each child and mom a brand new outfit. I understood that God had a plan much bigger than mine.
These children were tall and thin. So, we all made long legs in each garment. I remember the joy on each seamstresses' face as they showed me their finished product. We all chipped in and made food baskets , and I asked our sons to give up one of their three gifts to these children. They did this with a willing and cheerful heart. They went with me to select the gifts. I knew this was the teaching God intended. I could share my need to bless others , and God would teach all of us the real meaning of the Christmas spirit.
I remember many Christmases of singing " We wish you a Merry Christmas" as we entered small homes which we filled to the ceiling with brightly colored packages. One family of six little tykes stands out in my mind. The children were more excited to have a homemade gingerbread man than they were about the gifts. As the little hands reached for my tray of goodies and munched on their cookies, I tried to tell them of the love of the Christ child. As I looked at those sweet faces, I began to cry. That year someone else had to finish the manger story. As we left, my youngest child said, " Thanks , Mamma for baking them cookies." Again, God's love was magnified through the eyes of a child.
I was driving from downtown one wintery day and noticed a child standing alone on a dilapidated porch. I felt a nudge from God and pulled to the curb. Soon, a mother stepped out of the door holding a small child in her arms. I went up to the porch and asked if they needed help with Christmas. She began to cry. She helped me make a list of sizes and gift ideas for her five children. I promised I would return. I hurridly went home and called friends to see if they would help. Many times it was Young Life teens who pitched in with great fervor. They loved the afternoon of wrapping and singing carols. We would enter the home with our cheery songs or stay outside and carol. This family had a dirt floor, so I gathered many warm blankets and quilts and pajamas. We filled the tiny kitchen with cans of food and baskets of fruit and boxes of canned and frozen meats. Of course, I was crying too hard to tell the story, but one of the Young Life kids did a wonderful presentation of our manger gift and the story behind it. The mama's eyes caught mine and said, " You all are God's helpers. You helped Him answer my prayers." That was the lesson I learned that year. I could include others in the act of answering prayers to God. This was the Christmas we realized that we could be His messenger, His hands, and His heart to others.
One of our first families was a family of nine. I was a full time mom at the time, and we lived on a very limited budget. I have always enjoyed giving our "adopted family" a fabulous gift laden Christmas. I wanted it to be the best Christmas they ever had. I hoped the family would relate this special blessed day with the birth of Christ . My philosophy was that if they remembered that the name of Jesus brought them such a wonderful Christmas, that they would one day choose to serve Him.
So, back to my family of nine. I began making stuffed animals out of all my fabric scraps. I asked my seamstress friends if they would help me by making pajamas for every child. The ladies at Center Chapel were so enthused they made each child and mom a brand new outfit. I understood that God had a plan much bigger than mine.
These children were tall and thin. So, we all made long legs in each garment. I remember the joy on each seamstresses' face as they showed me their finished product. We all chipped in and made food baskets , and I asked our sons to give up one of their three gifts to these children. They did this with a willing and cheerful heart. They went with me to select the gifts. I knew this was the teaching God intended. I could share my need to bless others , and God would teach all of us the real meaning of the Christmas spirit.
I remember many Christmases of singing " We wish you a Merry Christmas" as we entered small homes which we filled to the ceiling with brightly colored packages. One family of six little tykes stands out in my mind. The children were more excited to have a homemade gingerbread man than they were about the gifts. As the little hands reached for my tray of goodies and munched on their cookies, I tried to tell them of the love of the Christ child. As I looked at those sweet faces, I began to cry. That year someone else had to finish the manger story. As we left, my youngest child said, " Thanks , Mamma for baking them cookies." Again, God's love was magnified through the eyes of a child.
I was driving from downtown one wintery day and noticed a child standing alone on a dilapidated porch. I felt a nudge from God and pulled to the curb. Soon, a mother stepped out of the door holding a small child in her arms. I went up to the porch and asked if they needed help with Christmas. She began to cry. She helped me make a list of sizes and gift ideas for her five children. I promised I would return. I hurridly went home and called friends to see if they would help. Many times it was Young Life teens who pitched in with great fervor. They loved the afternoon of wrapping and singing carols. We would enter the home with our cheery songs or stay outside and carol. This family had a dirt floor, so I gathered many warm blankets and quilts and pajamas. We filled the tiny kitchen with cans of food and baskets of fruit and boxes of canned and frozen meats. Of course, I was crying too hard to tell the story, but one of the Young Life kids did a wonderful presentation of our manger gift and the story behind it. The mama's eyes caught mine and said, " You all are God's helpers. You helped Him answer my prayers." That was the lesson I learned that year. I could include others in the act of answering prayers to God. This was the Christmas we realized that we could be His messenger, His hands, and His heart to others.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)