The Little Drummer Boy

By Janet Morris Grimes –

I have this odd little quirk. Call it crazy. Call it focused. Call it annoying. Call it brilliant. Call it my attempt to slow down enough to absorb the message of something that matters.

I leave the television off, turn on my music, and listen to it on repeat. All. Day. Long.

It’s whatever I need to hear on a particular day. The music lays the foundation while the lyrics pierce my soul. I find it comforting Freeing.

Today, my song of choice was The Little Drummer Boy, by Jars of Clay.

I adored the television special as a child, until the part where the little lamb was run over by the ox cart. But later, as he is healed and dances to the music of the drummer boy, I melted. Every time.

Even back then, I recognized that this was the one true Christmas special that had nothing to do with Santa Claus, reindeer or misfit toys. It was the only one that focused on giving instead of getting, on Jesus instead of Santa, and on people instead of things.

Today, as I listened to the lyrics, minus the pa rum pa pum pums, I was fascinated by the simple message.

Come, they told me
A newborn King to see
Our finest gifts we bring
To lay before the King.
So to honor Him
When we come.

Little baby,
I am a poor boy, too.
I have no gift to bring
That’s fit to give the King

Shall I play for you?
On my drum?

Mary nodded
The ox and lamb kept time.
I played my drum for Him.
I played my best for Him.
Then, He smiled at me.

Me and my drum.

The Little Drummer Boy is a fictional story, but is still so very true.

All Jesus asks from us is whatever we have to offer. For this boy who was hurting, it was a song on a drum. Nothing more. Nothing less.

For me, it is my writing. It is all I have to offer, and the only way I know to give back to Him.

As the song says, “so to honor Him, we come…”

I will show up, bringing all that I have to offer.

And when He smiles at me?

I can think of no greater gift.

Me and my drum.

Pa rum pa pum pum.

Home

By Janet Morris Grimes –

I used to wonder if it was possible to have a relationship with a building. An inanimate structure. Four walls made of brick and mortar. They don’t move. They don’t feel. They don’t respond. Or so I once believed.

But now I know better.

Home. If anything, the past four years have taught me that ‘home’ is one of the most powerful words in the English language. Home is the last place our family resided together. Home was the place the friends of our kids gathered with an open invitation. Home was the place we grew up; learned to be a family, let our guard down to renew our strength to face the challenges of each day.

Defined as ‘the physical structure where one may live; a house or apartment, I realized that when painted with laughter, love and cherished memories, ‘home’ becomes much more than a physical structure. ‘Home’ is a point of reference reserved in the heart that means completely different things to different people. This is proven by the countless songs written about the winsome nostalgia and belonging of ‘home.’

None of these are more powerful than the recent hit by Miranda Lambert entitled The House That Built Me. She tells the story, perhaps her own, of a person who has left home and longs to make one last visit to her childhood home.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself.

If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothin’ but a memory
From the house that built me.

We have lived in two different apartments since we left our home behind. And those have been fine. And to be honest, God has used this entire experience to sever my ties to things, and for that I am thankful.

But still, there are moments that my heart hurts and I truly miss it. I miss the harmony I felt when I walked through the door. I miss the way I thought it was part of the forever plan for our family. I miss decorating it for Christmas or baking chocolate cakes in the kitchen. I miss the friends who would drop by unannounced.

And then I remember Heaven, and how no structure here on earth was meant to be a permanent dwelling anyway.

How wonderful that home will be for all of us.

The Twelfth Day of Thanksgiving

By Janet Morris Grimes –

On the twelfth day of Thanksgiving, my family gave to me:
A less than thankful turkey
2 football games
3 rounds of refills
4 rolls of Tums
5 photo sessions
6 men a snoring
7 naps a waking
8 unknown cousins
9 ladies cooking
10 extra pounds
11 potato casseroles
12 deviled eggs.
We truly do have much to be thankful for. May God bless you all richly this holiday season.
From the Devotional Team at The Christian Pulse

Things I Never Thought I’d Say

By Janet Morris Grimes –

Sometimes I have to chuckle at what our society has become. Just a few short years ago, the following statements would have made little sense:

“You will never guess who just tweeted me?”

“Did you check me in at this restaurant?”

“I need a good status update.”

“Heading to Starbucks to do my homework.”

“Double click on it.”

“Scan it.”

“Did you Google it?”

“I got an email from my car saying my tire pressure is low.”

“Can you go return these movies to the Redbox machine?”

“I DVR’d the game. Don’t tell me who won.”

“Did you get my Hey-tell message?”

“Hopefully, our video will go viral.”

“Don’t click on that link. You will get a virus or lose your hard drive.”

“I’ve been hacked by someone in Bangladesh.”

“My GPS almost sent me straight into a lake.”

“I am running out of memory.”

These statements make perfect sense to us today, but within a few short years, they are likely to be obsolete as well. It is impossible to keep up with the changes in technology, and at times, the challenge to do so can be overwhelming and exhausting. As soon as we master a new gadget, another comes along to remind us that we will never catch up.

I recently read of a new television series on NBC called “Revolution” that depicts life in the United States fifteen years after an electromagnetic pulse has disabled all electronics. There simply is no power, and survival goes to those who learn to do without it.

I find that frightening as my below average survival skills learned from the Girl Scouts thirty years ago have not been well-maintained. I was forced to clear all remnants of how to weave together a raft made from twigs from my brain so that I could upgrade to the latest version of Twitter.

One only has so much memory available, after all.

I have no idea what the future holds; technology or otherwise. But I know that God has it all in the palm of His hand. And He never changes.

Thank goodness. That is more than enough for me.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows” (James 1:17 NIV).

My Car or My Oversized Purse?

By Janet Morris Grimes –

While the gas was pumping, rather than cringe at the rising prices, I chose instead to clean out my car.

I started with the trash, which proved to be a series of receipts or unopened junk mail, and a newspaper that featured the plight of the homeless in our area. Next was my prayer journal and a couple of partially read books, which I slid into a rear seat pocket. The umbrella went into the trunk, where it fought for space with the jumper cables, a bottle of coolant, a quart of oil, and an unexplained decorative glass bottle of Coke.
In the back seat was a box that held my bottle of water with a hook that I take on walks with me, a leaking bottle of Benedryl, and a mismatched series of things that travel best in boxes. A bottle of hairspray. A comb. Some extra deodorant, and exercise clothes, and my tennis shoes with an extra pair of socks.

A flowered bag of clothes no one will claim also rests in the back seat, something I need to ask my daughters about next time I see them.

The keys that I need to get into my mother’s house are in the console, along with a few barrettes or ponytail holders, a broken pair of sunglasses and our GPS system. In the side pocket of the door are some maps, an ice scraper, and a miniature phone directory.

In short, my car has become the place I keep everything I could possibly need at any given moment.

It is my oversized purse.

PRAYER: Dear God, Thank You for the way you care for us, even in the midst of our idiosyncrasies. You created us to be funny, quirky, and to be able to laugh at ourselves. Thank You for this gift, and we hope we bring a smile to your face from time to time as well.

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