What Twisted Mind Thought Up Soap?

By Carol Barnier –

Have you ever stopped to think about how weird it is that we have soap?Think about it. That wondrous little bar of cleansing magic that you hold in your hands in the shower means that once upon a time, some bizarre mind had to come up with a truly strange set of steps.

“Hey,” mutters the wild-haired man staring at the fire. “I know what! Let’s try pouring water through all the leftover ashes from our previous fires.” His eyes squint in concentration as he works out the details in his head. “Then, when the water drains out, instead of being frightened by it—since it can literally peel the skin from your hands (no kidding, this is where we get Lye)—we’ll just put on little hazmat mittens and gather it up by the bucketful.”

Others around the fire look suspiciously at the wild man. Is he serious? Is there a village somewhere whose idiot has gone missing? But most importantly, what would he be planning with such a corrosive liquid? With that thought, they all took three steps backward.

“Don’t leave me now!” he bellows. “It gets better! We’ll take all those buckets of nasty caustic lye and we’re gonna mix it up with gallons of fat that rose to the surface of the water we used to boil up the butchered cows. Isn’t this great?”

At this point the crowd began scanning the ground for excessive empty wineskins. Either that or they were looking for something with which to protect themselves.

“But wait!” he blathers. “This is where it verges on miraculous! We’re going to cook the oily fat with the blistering lye, and when it globs up, we’ll cut into chunks, rub it on our bodies, add some fresh water and wa la!  We’ll. . .be. . .CLEAN!”

He grinned in obvious delight. Right up until the point he was thrown into leg irons.

Seriously. Those are the steps in making soap. Who would possibly have put this together? I submit to you that no one could have made such strange leaps of logic. It requires too many leaps of logic and several
counterintuitive actions. So then, I pondered. Where did the idea come from? Where in nature would one find a natural mix of water, ash, animal fat and finally, at the end of the whole process, fresh water. And that’s when it hit me. The Old Testament. Or more specifically, the ash mounds from the period of animal sacrifices. Think about it. The rains washed down over the ash mounds, naturally mixing the resulting lye with the cooked fat from the burned animals.  Don’t you imagine that it didn’t take long for the local washer women to figure out that the clothes were cleaned more easily downstream rather than up?

I think this is genius. In fact, I think this is God’s God-ness at its best. A little science, a little spiritual lesson and a great big dollop of humor. You may think that God came up with the sacrificial system to get us ready to understand the eventual coming of Christ. And that’s true. But I also suspect He got tired of us being so filthy, smiled that God-smile and decided to help us along. The metaphor works. Filthy bodies cleaned by the sacrifice of so many animals. Filthy hearts made clean by the sacrifice of the Lamb of God. And God, as always, our provider.

Christmas Pageant Bloopers

By Emily M. Akin-

Christmas is coming! Rehearsals for nativity plays should be in full swing. While most plays are memorable, what most audiences remember is not excellence. No—it’s the bloopers that stick in people’s minds. Allow me to share some of my favorites.

Fallen Angel: I was one of three twelve-year-old girls who played the angels in our church play. We wore white skirts fashioned from sheets, secured with safety pins. On top, we wore white blouses under white choir robes. Our wings were white cardboard with gold tinsel glued on. Similar tinsel formed our halos. Waiting for our cue, we hid out at the head of the stairs that descended into the choir loft.

The spotlight swung in our direction. I descended first, stopping on the bottom step. The other angels occupied the higher steps behind me. We didn’t have to speak. We just waited, looking angelic, until the reading and singing were done.

When the spotlight went off, we turned to go back up to “heaven.” I stepped on the hem of my “skirt” and struggled to right myself. I thought I was OK because I didn’t fall. However, I soon realized my skirt was on the floor. Fortunately, I was wearing a white slip underneath, and the spotlight was off. I was mortified, but my fellow angels thought this was devilishly funny.

Where Is Messiah? Remember Simeon, the man who had waited so long for the Messiah? Our pastor devised a skit about Simeon for use in the evening service after Christmas. A family with a new baby played Jesus, Mary, Joseph, while he played Simeon. The “holy family” was to go through the basement underneath the sanctuary and enter from the back. The pastor planned to cue the spotlight by saying, “Where is Messiah?” Too bad, the basement lights were off. Baby Jesus’ entourage had to hunt for the light switch before making their way through the basement. Simeon said, “Where is Messiah?” The spotlight turned on cue. No one was there.

Simeon ad-libbed, “Oh, Lord, I am an old man. I’ve waited soooo long for Messiah! Surely, the time is now. Where is Messiah?” Still nothing. After a few more ad-libs, Baby Jesus and family finally appeared in the spotlight. Simeon exclaimed, “Thank you, Lord. Messiah is here.” While some stifled their giggles, others were thanking the Lord along with the pastor.

FIRE! As a teenager, I played piano for the children’s choir. One Christmas, the adult choir presented a musical program. The children were to sing a couple of songs after all the characters had arrived at the manger. The piano was an upright, and the top was heavily decorated with greenery and real candles with real flames. I played a little “traveling music” for the kids to get in place. So far, so good.

Once the singing started, I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice that the greenery was on fire. One of the ushers rushed down to blow out the
candles and beat out the conflagration. All eyes were on the amateur fire fighter, but the children and I kept performing like we were the only show in town. Since then, I balk at candles on the piano. If decorators insist on greenery, it must be fake—and definitely fireproof.

Why do we remember the bloopers? I think it’s because we know everyone wants to do it right. Because we’re human, we make mistakes. We forgive the bloopers because we know God has forgiven us. That’s what the coming of the Baby Jesus is all about, isn’t it?

Beck the Halls

By Lynn Rebuck –

I like Christmas music, but starting in early November it’s omnipresent: it’s in every store, in every elevator, and on every station, including talk radio (I fully expected Glenn to release a “Beck the Halls” Christmas CD).

As I searched the mall for an omnipresent (that’s the one gift that I could purchase in bulk for everyone) recently, I heard blaring from the speaker systems of three different stores an unintended medley of clashing carols:  “Silent Rudolph the Red-Nosed Manger.”  It was more than my fried-by-“Feliz Navidad” brain could handle.

I sought sanctuary in a nearby synagogue to escape the cacophony of carols. I hummed “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” to soothe and center myself.  I don’t mind the holiday music, but it is so pervasive that it is affecting my every thought and intruding into all of my family’s conversations.

The other night I could have sworn that my daughter approached me and told me of her plans to go out with her adolescent friends by saying the phrase “We three teens of orient are….”  Maybe I’m just hearing things.

“Do you hear what I hear?” inquired one of my children the night before Christmas.

“Is it the little drummer boy?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“You know,” I said, “I heard the bells on Christmas Day.”

“That’s nice, Mom.”

“Their old familiar carols play,” I continued, making conversation.

“Mom, you’d better lay off the eggnog.”

“Can I have a friend over?” my son continued, standing next to a kid I hadn’t noticed before.

“What child is this?”

“Chris.”

“Which one is he? The Drummer’s little boy?”

“Funny, Mom.  He’s the Taylor’s kid.”

“Joy to the world,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“Is that a yes?”

“What’s that smell?” interrupted another child.

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” I mumbled.  “Or it could be dinner.”

“Mom, can I go on a date with Paul?” asked my eldest.

“The little drummer boy?”

“He’s a percussionist in a rock band, Mom. And so what if he’s short, I just won’t wear heels.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” she said.

I nodded and reached for more nog.

As she walked out the door, she called over her shoulder “You can count on me.”

“Did the box from Amazon arrive?” asked my son.

“Yes, it came upon a midnight clear.”

“I didn’t know UPS delivered that late.”

“’Tis the season, you know.”

You know, the three wise men were the first midnight madness shoppers, and they didn’t have any criss-crossing carols to contend with.

I am now in a 12 Steps of Christmas Recovery Program. Fa-la-la-la-la, la- la-la-Joy!

© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

A Christmas Story

By Judy Davis –

Christmas, what a wonderful time of the year!   I’ll never forget the memories of our grandchildren celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.  Each Christmas Eve I baked a cake and lit a candle as we all sang Happy Birthday to Jesus. After we finished singing, I would read the Christmas Story.

As I read the Christmas story once again, I was captivated by the simple words that there was no room in the inn.  On the morning our Lord was born, there was no room for Him.  In many lives today, there is still no room for Him.

Billy Graham stated in his message Christmas: God with Us, “that many cynics will blame God for the troubles of the world.  We should blame ourselves.  We have a spiritual disease, and that disease is called sin.  Until sin is conquered, the world will not be a better place in which to live.”

Christmas is more than tinsel and lights.  It is more than gifts under the tree.  Christmas is a time to experience the touch of Christ, to have our needs met and help meet the needs of others.

When our younger grandchildren Connor and Noah visit us during the holiday season, we always have a joyful time of celebration.

I’ll never forget the Christmas Connor started to open a present when he saw my little olive-wood manger scene I had purchased in Bethlehem.   He slowly picked up Baby Jesus, then the manger, a donkey, and a camel, holding them in his tiny hand.  He laid down his new gifts that were still wrapped and started playing with Baby Jesus.

It was not long when he ran to me and said, “Nana, where is Baby Jesus? I can’t find baby Jesus…” and we both got down on our hands and knees looking for him under the rug, the sofa, the table.  Finally Connor saw the little replica of Baby Jesus.  “I found him, I found him,” squeaked Connor.  It was at that moment I thought of the verse, “Suffer not the little children to come unto me….”

As we prepare our homes for this festive holiday let us also prepare our heart.   Make room for Christ in Christmas.

When the holidays seem hectic with all the shopping, gift-wrapping, decorating, baking, addressing Christmas cards, and cleaning house, take time to plan. Start early with a list.  If you do, you can get ahead and be ready to enjoy this most wonderful time of the year.

With all the bad news surrounding us, when the festive holiday seems too stressful and you start feeling down, look up.  Celebrate! The joy of Christmas begins in the manger as the story of Christ’s birth unfolds.

Believe in the Savior, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life”  (John 3:16).

Up to No Good

By Karen O’Connor

“Will you marry me?” The handsome man with gray hair and bright blue eyes proposed to me on bended knee after a lovely walk along the beach in sunny San Clemente, California.

Before I could say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ he qualified the question. “However, I have one stipulation.”

A stipulation, no less, not a simple request? Hmm! I held onto my affirmative response. After three years, I thought I knew what this guy was up to. We both had committed our lives to Christ and were digging into the Bible together in a study group at church. We supported one another in parenting teen-aged children, and we each paid our bills on time. What could it be?

“I want to be in charge of the laundry,” he said. “There’s no sharing when it comes to washing and ironing. I have my standards. What do you say?”

I hesitated . . . “Let me think about it. YES!” I loved this man and if it would make him happy, I was willing to make the sacrifice.

And so we married. For the next twenty-eight years the laundry room has been off-limits to me. I’ve been instructed that my knowledge of how to wash, dry, fold, and iron clothes is so lacking as to disqualify me from even auditing Household Management 101.

And furthermore, my husband Charles has made it clear that he could not only teach the course but also run the entire university department on such matters. This guy is worth his weight in soapsuds!

There’s nothing he likes better than the rhythmic pounding of a washing machine whirling socks and shirts into submission. Even the sheets snap to attention when he comes round the bend and through the bedroom door.

In our house, it’s “Charles in Charge”––of all things Pima and percale, rayon and nylon, velvet and velour! Even his dresser and his side of the closet are fit for inspection any time of the day or night. A two-finger space separates each shirt on pristine white hangers. Socks are lined up in the drawer from gray to blue to brown to black, and nary an argyle shall dare come between them.

The hamper is never more than half full. And the crease in his pants matches the crease in his brow. So imagine my shock and his chagrin, when I walked into the laundry room one Monday morning. There he stood holding a soggy lump of leather, and a mass of wet bills and dripping credit cards in one hand, and a pair of soaking jeans in the other. Yep! This man’s been up to no good. I caught him laundering our money!

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