Conceding Christmas Part One: The Call

By Lori Freeland –

December 2004

3 AM

I burrow deeper under the covers, the bed large and lonely. Thirteen days until Christmas, but I’m not planning a celebration.

Arranging a funeral seems more likely.

My husband stayed at the hospital tonight with our ten-year-old son. This time, Kyle struggles with fever, low blood counts, and multiple infections—staph in his central line and fungus in his left lung.

The neighbor’s Christmas lights shine through my curtains, pulsing red and green. An ache sets in around my temples. I’ve been lying here for hours, watching the numbers on the clock glow and change, trying to ignore God tugging at my heart.

Give Kyle to me.

My chest squeezes in response to the words. “Lord, let me sleep.”

Your burden is too heavy. Take mine instead.

“Why are You doing this to me? I’m not ready.” I fight against the call, bury my face under the pillow. But He won’t let me rest.

With a heavy groan, I kick off the comforter and leave the warmth of my flannel sheets. The cat sleeping on my legs follows me down the short hallway. I peek inside Maddy’s room. A tiny glow shines from a Tinker Bell nightlight on her wall—it quenches her fear of the “black.” Sprawled sideways across the bed, her feet hang off the edge. Blond hair falls over her pillow, covering one side of her face. I settle her back and kiss her cheek. She smells like grape jelly and apple juice.

Soft snores drift down the hall from Alek’s room. He sleeps on the top bunk and I can’t reach his cheek, so ruffling his hair will have to do.

Kyle’s room is next, right at the top of the stairs. I always worry that he’ll fall down them on his way to find me in the middle of the night. For years, a gate stretched between the banisters, keeping him safe. If only a gate would keep him safe now.

I flip on his light and the fan begins to spin. A blue neon light underneath the blades throws off an eerie glow. I maneuver around a Lego battle scene, a stack of books, and a pile of video games. I reach his bed and sink onto his Spiderman comforter. Many nights, over the last four excruciating months, we’ve snuggled here together. Clinging to each other.

Fighting the leukemia.

I want to call the hospital. Hear his voice. But it’s the middle of the night. Instead, I roll over and trail my fingers along the rough bumps on the wall, until they hit a collage of pictures hanging over his bed—pictures of our family and his friends in the days before cancer.

Most of his buddies have stopped coming around. I know little boys can’t comprehend the gravity of cancer, but my heart aches anyway. Kyle doesn’t understand why they aren’t the same friends they used to be.

I breathe deep into his pillow. Comforted by Kyle’s smell, I curl into a ball.

Give him to me.

“Lord, where’s Kyle’s healing? His miracle? Haven’t I begged enough? It’s the only Christmas present I want.”

Let him go.Take my yoke and you will find rest. My yoke is easy and my burden light.

I recognize the words from Matthew 11 as He writes them on my heart. But I can’t give Kyle away. Tears drip down my face, onto my neck, into the pillow. A shallow puddle forms where I rest my cheek. “What if You heal him in Heaven instead of here?”

Trust Me with Kyle.

“But if he—” Tears soak my face. I can’t even think the word, “—how will I go on with a gaping hole in my heart?”

My breath catches. Knots form in my stomach and I agonize over the verse God has laid on my heart.

Can I really let him go?

Searching for a Sign

By Jennifer Slattery –

I’m a planner, a plotter, a long-term thinker. Give me a to-do list and a game plan and I’m content to trudge forward indefinitely. Send me on a detour and I’m likely to hit panic mode—especially if the end of the road is shrouded from view. So, when God first called me into writing—asking me to venture off my well-thought out, meticulously outlined, twenty-year plan—I spent a fair amount of time arguing.

Only I never openly admitted to this. Oh, no. I cloaked my arguments in “prayers for guidance and discernment.”

And God’s response? “I’ve already told you how to please Me.”

Bam!

In John chapter six, the crowds listening to Jesus raised the same smoke screen. They asked him, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat’” (John 6:30-31).

A harmless question, right? On first glance, it appears no different than the one Thomas asked after Jesus’ resurrection (John 20:25).

And yet, Jesus offered night and day responses to the two demands. With Thomas, He provided exactly what Thomas needed—proof(John 6:26-28).

Why the difference? Did Jesus love Thomas more than the crowd?

In order to fully understand the event, we need to read the whole story. You see, the crowds weren’t looking for a sign, but instead, an excuse. They wanted a loophole, a reason to justify lack of faith.

John chapter six tells us this crowd followed Jesus wherever He went because “they saw His miraculous signs as He healed the sick.” A few verses down, Jesus offered them yet another sign and fed 5,000 hungry people by multiplying five barley loaves and two fish.

The next day, after a rather stormy night, the crowd returned, probably looking for more food—more answers to their physical problems in the here and now. At this point, Jesus directed them toward a bigger picture—an eternal picture, and initially, the people responded with enthusiasm.

“Then they asked him, ‘We want to perform God’s work, too.’” {Translation: How can we multiply loaves and fish?} ‘What should we do?’” (John 6:28).

Ah, how we like to work for things, to feel important, to see progress, and know we’re taking steps toward a logical end. But then God flips things; reminding us it’s not about us at all, but about trusting in Him.

“Jesus told them, ‘This is the only work God wants from you: Believe in the One He has sent’” (John 6:29 NLT).

Uh-oh. This is no longer about bread and fish. Now Jesus told them to put action to their claims. To take a leap of faith.

And it was here that they demanded a sign: “So they asked him, ‘What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat’” (John 6:30-31 NIV).

And up went the smoke screen. “Give me one more sign, one more confirmation, a bit more clarity. Show me this is a foolproof plan, a well-marked trail. Give me a guarantee.”

To which God replied, “I’ve given you all the signs, all the evidence, all the clarity you need. Now it’s time to follow Me.”

My Star of Reassurance

By Janet Perez Eckles –

Like fog in the morning, the spirit of Christmas was gone that year. Still, I shuffled in the garage. One by one, I pulled the bins off the shelves I’d stored the previous Christmas. While the aroma of sugar cookies wafted through the air and “Silent Night” played in the background, I began decorating.

The task was challenging because all I had left of eyesight was the ability to see lights. With the Nativity scene at the center, I placed the items which I had memorized through the years–red and green candles, musical boxes with winter scenes, and bright red poinsettias with green garland. Next, I lifted three stockings from a box, and hung them on marked places above the fireplace. Each was embroidered with our sons’ names. I ran my fingers over the letters. One read Jason, the other, Jeff, and the least number of letters spelled Joe.

Once Jason’s and Jeff’s were hung, with tears burning my eyes, I clutched Joe’s against my chest. The empty stocking seared my heart. It had been five years since the Lord called Joe home. Five years that Joe’s absence had left an emptiness we could almost touch. And five years that God’s grace wiped away portions of the grief that ached in our broken hearts.

But the healing came like the warm steam from mint tea—soft and sweet. It came in a memory: Years ago, when our three sons, including Joe, were still young, I rushed around, worked and got crabby, trying to make everything just so. As a result, little things tended to make me crazy.

One night, while everyone was in bed, I stayed up with important stuff-trying to fix a light strand that refused to shine. One burned-out bulb was the culprit. Annoyed at the glitch, I fussed. I rearranged, and then plugged and unplugged until I was so frustrated, I plopped on the couch. I looked up and glanced at the star atop the tree, shining, glowing, lighting the room.

I sighed with slight shame. I’d done the same with light bulbs that burned in my life—from broken relationships, disappointments, setbacks, failed plans and even deep heartache. But in all that mess, I missed the one who lights the way through the darkest moments. Trying to fix the strands of my life’s issues, I missed the star—Christ the Lord, who gave significance to my life and joy for my days. “I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star” (Revelation 22:16).

When that void in our heart aches to be filled, it’s The Star of comfort that makes it whole. When bitter sorrow robs the spirit of Christmas, it’s The Star of love that whispers joy. When a health diagnosis shakes our world, it’s The Star of reassurance that shines the certainty of new tomorrows. It’s the same star that never loses the brilliance of hope, one we can only embrace when all strands of life burn out.

I embraced it as I, with eyes focused on The Star, hung Joe’s stocking along with his brothers’. It’s not empty anymore—but filled with sweet memories—his wit and laughter, his hugs and kisses. The Star changed all that. Jesus, the “Morning Star” dispels our darkness, dries our tears, and repairs strands we cannot fix.

Grape Soda or Orange Soda?

By Pam Kumpe –

At a special needs home in Arizona, a place for about a dozen adults, my dad worked as a cook. This was his second job, and yes, by trade he was a cook at his primary job too. I figure he was the best in Arizona, I’m sure of it.

I was in high school during his time there and one summer I worked with him. No, I didn’t return for another summer because the job required me to help in the kitchen, and you know how much I love to cook, let alone clean, dust, or do
chores.

One day my mom stopped by for a tour and she met the residents and learned that for every couple of roomies, they had a staff member who assisted them. The home had a recreation room with ping pong, pool table, exercise equipment, and a library where residents could read (some could read) or paint and color
pictures.

Mom said the residents also enjoyed outings to the zoo and my father prepared their picnic lunches for them to eat at Papago Park. And they also went to the movies and other places.

While on tour, she witnessed two young women who were involved in a verbal disagreement. Since it was time for snacks, the ladies were arguing over who would get the grape soda.  It was the last glass, although there was orange soda available.

The staff member told them, “Come with me, I need to address this.” She did her best to convince one of the ladies to take an orange soda, but they both said no.

This is when it got odd, strange or weird, I’d say. The staff member told them she’d have to get the judge to decide the outcome. Wow. A judge for this?

She walked to another room, returning with a bag (one similar to one that is passed around in church for the offering), and she told my mom that in the bag was a blank card and a card with a picture of a robed judge. Whoever drew the judge out of the bag would decide who got the grape soda.

Now this sounds like a great idea. Wouldn’t it be nice to use this when your kids argue? Or maybe if you argue with a spouse the judge in the bag could decide the outcome? It would be much cheaper than court costs.

Anyway, Loretta and Alma agreed to the process since this was the standard way small disagreements were decided, and the residents always were happy with the decisions from using this bag.

Each woman drew a card and Alma drew the judge card.  Ms. Staff Member said, “Since you got the judge, it is your decision on who gets the grape soda.”

Alma stood, pondering her decision. She looked at the judge on the card. She glanced at the soda.

Now my mom thought it was a no-brainer, because Alma had the judge card—surely she would take the grape soda.

Finally, Ms Staff Member encouraged Alma to make a decision. “Alma, what is your decision?  Who gets the grape soda?”

With a sly grin, Alma smiled and said, “Loretta gets the grape soda.”

The two ladies left the room arm in arm, smiling, Alma with the orange soda and Loretta with the grape.

Now we can learn something from Alma. She chose her friendship with Loretta over grape soda. Maybe we should elect to react like Alma by using our heart in making decisions.

If other words—when I take God’s Word to my heart—without using the face of a robed judge in a bag, when I remind myself that a friend will stick closer than a brother—there’s no need to worry about what’s for dinner, what’s in the picnic sack or what soda will I get today.

I simply want to have a heart like Alma’s, don’t you? Besides, I like orange soda much better than grape any ole day.

No Vacancy

By Cheri Cowell –

Early in our marriage, Randy and I had driven to the North Carolina Mountains for a camping vacation. We always went on these trips during the off-season because it was cheaper, and we were young (and poor) college students. While our peers were heading to the beaches, we were heading to the mountains. On one particular trip we learned a big lesson. Because it was off-season we headed home believing we would stop somewhere along the way at a motel whenever we got tired.

The hot shower after camping all weekend sounded really good, too. What we didn’t realize was it was also a big race and bike week along the eastern U.S. There were no vacancies anywhere to be found. We were so tired that we ended up spending the night in our car at a rest stop (until a policeman tapped on our window- that is another story). Now, we weren’t supposed to register for the government in the morning, and I wasn’t pregnant, but we were tired. We needed a place to stay, and there was no room for us anywhere. No room at the inn, just like the Christ child.

Those words are such sad words. No vacancy. No room for one more. How many of us have filled our lives to the brim? We have filled our lives (and those of our children) with so much that if God wanted to come visit for just an hour, there would be no room. Our hearts are filled with so many things that call our attention, demand our love, and cause us heartache, that when He desires to fill us with His love and peace- there is no room. The innkeepers were too busy making money; after all it was tax season. They were too busy with life to make room for the King. May we take a lesson from the innkeepers this week and make room for Him.

BIBLE VERSE: “So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.” (Luke 2:4-7).

PRAYER: Thank You for finding room in my heart to make Yourself a home. Help me keep the clutter out of the way so You feel free to fill my heart with more of Your peace and love. Help me make more room for You this Christmas.

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