Memory Makers

By Lisa Bell

I drove through our quaint town square today. Green wreaths hung from light posts and in the park, the lighted decorations stood in anticipation of thrilling young, and old. My mind wandered back to my childhood.

In a different time and place, the downtown streets held such festive decorations long before December, and the display windows of a local department store featured animated characters. Children stood, mouths opened with amazement, as the figures moved in rhythm to soft Christmas music, which magically appeared from out of nowhere and flooded the sidewalk. The best part, though, came with the annual visit to Mrs. Baird’s bakery. We stood in long lines and finally climbed into Santa’s lap where we detailed every gift we desired. Then joyous wonder, we toured the bakery. The smell of fresh baked bread overwhelmed every sense and at the end of the short journey, the host gave us a thick slice of fresh, buttered Texas toast.

A year never passed without piles of homemade goodies. My mother knew the best recipes for fudge, divinity, and pecan pralines, not to mention cakes, pies, and cookies. We saw little of these treats the rest of the year, but when the holidays came, so did the warmth of the kitchen. Music from Christmas records (yes, the vinyl scratchable kind) filled the room as we hung ornaments on the tree. At least one night during the season, we piled into the car and drove through many neighborhoods with one purpose. The lights and decorations elicited exclamations as we peered out at them – noses pressed against the car windows. So long ago – yet, the sights, sounds and smells remained vivid in my thoughts through the years.

As a young mother, I became a memory maker for my children. I took credit for the good ones and blame for the bad. Some traditions came from my childhood. My daughters helped with homemade goodies, although rather than eat them all we gave many away as gifts. The annual drive through neighborhoods included pajamas and a covered mug of hot cocoa and for many years, the confines of car seats prevented nose prints on the rear windows. CD’s replaced the vinyl version of music, and the tree always appeared within a day or two after Thanksgiving. A small plastic nativity set gave the girls a baby Jesus to hold and thus avoided the temptation to cuddle the breakable version I made and loved. Several years, an insistence of baking a birthday cake for Jesus became rather vocal from the four shrill voices, and Christmas Eve meant a candlelight service without exception.

In a quest for some food the girls might actually stop and eat on Christmas morning, I learned the art of sausage ball creation. Little girls with gooey hands joined in the Christmas Eve tradition of making the balls, and insisted that Santa much preferred them to cookies. After all, everyone left cookies for him. I agreed. He needed something without sugar for a change.

One year I added an advent wreath and a new tradition began. Each Sunday one of the girls lit a candle and read the meanings from a book. As the years passed and my daughters left home one by one, the wreath stood unlit through the month of December. Then, one of my daughters lamented over the lack of occasions for formal wear. A new thing began that Christmas Eve. Donned in formal gowns, I served my daughters a five-course meal accompanied by lighting of the advent wreath with each stage of dinner. An intense photo shoot followed dessert. The next year, they informed me we had to do it again…it was tradition. I anticipated a long run for that particular ritual.

Past, present and future memories mingled together in my head as I watched the sparkle in the eyes of three little boys, mesmerized by lights, sounds, and smells in their world. Different from my own childhood or that of my daughters, my grandsons have already learned their own brand of traditions.

I embraced the role of memory maker with high hopes that the good ones outweighed the bad. Although I retained some of that role when my name changed to Nana, I graciously passed the torch to my daughters for the next generation. They learned the importance of tradition and precious memories, and I watched with pride, as they became memory makers too.

Sunday Morning Blahs or Aahhs

By Julie Cosgrove

“I rejoiced with those who said to me, ‘Lets us go to the House of the Lord’.” Psalm 122:1

Do you say that on Sunday mornings? I have to admit at times I’d rather stay home than to get up, bathe and dress, and drive 40 minutes up the highway to where I worship. But I have learned, those are also the days I need to be there the most. Those are the days the sermon will especially touch my heart or the music lift my soul or a friend’s hug renew my joy. That is why another force was trying to steer me away from the House of the Lord. When I obey that other voice, that day and my week just does not go as well unless I repent.

I have heard people say they do not need to go to Church to worship God. True. But there is strength in numbers. We need to pray for each other, to sing and praise together, to hear how the Word is affecting others. Solitude is fine in short spells, and necessary in your prayer time with God, but too much can open the door to self-involvement, sloth, and depression. Interacting with others in the faith can dispel the darkness that creeps into our souls from the weight of the world. To worship in His House with others is like a mini-baptism. It washes us clean of the world’s sludge so we can be more fit to go back out into it. It is a transfusion from the Blood of the Lamb to renew our strength. We need it. 

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When A Door Closes. . .

By Keisha Bass

 “When one door closes, another one opens.” It may be a popular saying, but oh, how true it is. Personally, I think it is something to live your life by. Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” We need to believe that God has a plan for our lives and that it is good. Believe it or not, our Father does know best.

 So when that door on your relationship closes, or a job that you’ve had for a long time has ended, just look at it as God’s way of getting you prepared for the next door to open. He’s given you all you need to move forward in life. We just have to believe we have it and put it to use. Now, all of this, of ‘course, is easier said than done. But remember He is always with you, especially in the tough times.

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A Thankful Heart

By Lisa Bell

I quit. Look at all the things I do. No one appreciates me and frankly, I’m tired of giving and never getting anything in return. Humpf. Let me just stop taking care of everyone and everything and see how much they miss me then. Maybe if I just up and leave, then they’ll appreciate me.

For once, I have a common bond with women all over the world. Surely, other women feel unappreciated, unnoticed, and unloved. Other women sail along in this same boat – or at least a matching one. The holidays approach and I have so many tasks on my to-do list. How will I ever accomplish all of them? An already busy schedule explodes into unachievable and I push myself beyond human limitations.

I really do love the holidays –the preparations and expectations – children coming home and everyone gathering in love and thankfulness for so many blessings. Still, I get so focused on stuff that my heart feels anything but thankful. Now how did that sneak up on me?

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The Smell of Fresh Bread

By Julie Cosgrove

In the town where I grew up there was a bread factory. During the Viet Nam War years, that factory received a contract to bake for the troops.. The aroma of freshly baked bread penetrated for blocks each day, weekends too, spreading out into business parking lots, playgrounds, and neighborhood backyards. Whenever the folks smelled the bread, they thought of the troops.

We’d pass the factory on Sunday mornings as we drove to church. As soon as we got within a mile or so, the aroma would fill the car. Our mouths would water at the very thought of those loaves  meandering slowly on the maze of stainless steel carousels from the oven to the  packaging area, gradually cooling, giving off that enticing whiff of heaven.  

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