When Our Lease Is Done

By Peter Lundell

I recently moved my mother to a new, downsized apartment. At times the process involved careful sorting and packing; other times demanded chucking things in boxes or in the trash. At the end of the move, the walls were bare and wounded with nail holes and plastic drywall anchors. The carpet lay lined and pocked with impressions of once-arranged furniture. And the windows stood stark and vacant against the sunlight. The furniture and decorations that once made it home were gone, leaving only an empty shell.

Throughout our lives we may go through some phases with great care and others with wild abandon. And at each phase of life, we will leave the previous one behind—a place that was once home but is now gone, like an empty apartment.

At death we may leave behind money and furniture, but the life we lived—the space we took up, the “us” that people knew—will be gone, empty as a moved-out-house.

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Reflections

By Caroline T. Jackson

This was to be a year of reflection…..kick back….find out what makes me tick and where I want it to take me. In addition we were expecting our first grandchild, and I wanted to be available at the drop of the hat to help them. These were excellent intentions, well thought out and purposeful…..right! I did all the right things, declined some volunteer opportunities which ONLY I could do, got out my art supplies and dusted off the easel as I was going to explore my artistic side. I even signed on to TCP to write because I love to play with the written word and it gave me an opportunity to buy myself a little notebook to take with me when we travel. My husband is very territorial about his computer! Doesn’t this sound like a plan to you?

On September 2, our daughter gave birth to a beautiful baby girl…2 weeks early who just happened to be breach. This prompted an unplanned C-section which required me to stay with them for 3 weeks. Oh, how I hated every minute of that situation! Right……I could hardly tear myself away to return to my home….they NEEDED me. Truth be known, they were probably glad to see me go! So I returned home to ready myself for a long planned trip to Big Bend National Park and the Davis Mountains located in the far corner of West Texas. I capitalized “west” because it is big enough to be its own state! I had joined up with 8 artists to “paint Texas,” and we were off on our first adventure.

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Two Marys Celebrate Christmas

By Julie Morris

“I hate Christmas!” Mary spewed out the words boiling inside of her as she rushed into my church counseling office. “Every Christmas I spend money I don’t have buying presents no one appreciates. And I waste time going to parties I don’t enjoy where I eat food I should do without.” After a deep breath, Mary sighed, “I can’t wait to get Christmas over with so I can get on with my life!”

Mary’s feelings are shared by stressed-out people across the country, and others have a love/hate relationship with what should be the most joyous season of the year. I have to admit that I, to, used to get caught up in a tornado of meaningless activities that brought only chaos. I missed out on the joy of Christmas until several years ago another Mary–my Aunt Mary–showed me the real meaning of Christmas.

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The Smells of Christmas

By Gina Stinson

Gingerbread, pumpkin pie, apple cider, roasted turkey, fresh breads, and homemade cookies are the smells of the season in my kitchen.

Last Christmas Eve, we were busy getting things ready for Santa’s arrival…reindeer food, cookies, peppermint stick, and milk. We wrapped last minute gifts, made an emergency trip to the local store, and tried to keep the kids under control. It was hurried and crazy but at four in the afternoon things took a turn. We left for church.

Focusing on the true meaning of Christmas had a calming affect. We enjoyed fellowship, music, and communion with our church family and returned home to welcome more friends for Christmas Eve finger foods.

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The Broken Unicorn

By Brenda W. McIntyre

Every child has a favorite thing they like, such as action figures or stuffed animals. Growing up, my preferred thing was unicorns. I had several unicorn collectibles on a shelf in my room. One day, for no particular reason, my daddy brought home a small green box with the picture of a unicorn on the front and back. Daddy was not the type to remember birthdays or spend time picking out Christmas presents. This gift wasn’t even wrapped. He simply said, “Here, you can have this.”

I could tell the box was previously opened. Reopening it, I pulled out something carelessly wrapped in tissue paper. Unwrapping the item revealed a three-inch tall unicorn atop an oval base, just as the pictures depicted. Tipping the mythical creature caused the lid on the base to open revealing a place for jewelry or other keepsakes. The only difference between the actual item and the images on the box was a crack down the side of the unicorn I held in my hand. I was filled with disappointment. Why had my daddy given me a broken gift? I wasn’t expecting anything, but receiving something damaged was an insult. I went to my room and cried. When I could shed no more tears, I placed the defective decoration on the shelf with my other unicorns.

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