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!

No Other Name

By Rhonda Rhea –

I said I’d never do it. But I did it. And actually, I’ve been somewhere near the worst of them all. I said I’d never be one of those moms who went through the whole list of her kids’ names before hitting on the right one. But at least once a week the entire time my kids have been growing up I would want to say something to one of them, and it was suddenly a roll call. I’d hit every name on my five-kid list and sometimes even throw in a couple of my own siblings and a stray cousin or two

To add still more offense, I would often manage to get a couple of the pets’ names mixed in there, too. You can imagine how the kids loved that. At least I would fight the urge at that point to say, “Sit. Stay. Good teenager.” Well, most of the time. But it got downright embarrassing. I thought about adding a “Banana” and a “Fanna-fo” hoping they might be fooled into thinking it was some kind of name game.

I would’ve just given up and numbered my kids, but I had no doubt I would’ve called them the wrong number. By the time you call your kids the wrong number once or twice, they’re likely to be insulted enough to completely tune you out anyway. “You have reached a kid who has been disconnected or is no longer listening…

I was chatting with a friend of mine the other day. I can’t even remember why now, but somewhere in the conversation she said something surprising and I said, “Surely you’re kidding.” She said, “I’m totally not kidding. And don’t call me Susan.” Then there was a long pause. I think we were both processing. After the processing came a couple of snickers and she said, “Oh wait. It’s ‘Shirley,’ isn’t it.” Then we both laughed uproariously for a good ten minutes.

Sometimes there’s just no substituting the right name. In Acts 4, Peter and John were standing before the rulers trying to explain whose name they were using to do all the preaching and healing they had been doing—the preaching and healing they had just spent the night in jail for, by the way. But Peter didn’t need a roll call. He told them flat out, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12, NIV).

No substitute. No other name. Not Susan. Not any name on any list I might rattle off. The name is ever and always Jesus. He is the one who has all power to do all saving. And He makes salvation available to every person of every name.

How glorious that our Heavenly Father has given Jesus the greatest name, the greatest, most honored and holy place. “Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father,” (Philippians 2:9-11, NIV).

Surely that’s reason to celebrate! Though let me make it clear, I’m not calling you “Shirley.” And please don’t call me Susan.

Kangaroos and Thanksgiving

By Steph Prichard –

“Where are all the kangaroos?” I peered out the car window at the Australian countryside north of Geelong. The land looked no different than what I’d left in the United States—acres and acres of gently rolling farmland. Except … shouldn’t there be kangaroos hopping across the road, echidna as road kill, maybe an emu strolling among the sheep?

“Kangaroos don’t run wild in farmland, Mom. I’ll take you to see some tomorrow.”

Ahead of us, a car in the wrong lane aimed itself straight at us. I sucked in air through my clenched teeth as it zipped past on the right. How many choking breaths would it take before I remembered Aussies drove in the wrong … er, left lane?

Three weeks later the kangaroos and echidnas and emus and I had everything straightened out. I returned home in love with the land of Down Under, its people, and its amazing creatures. Everything … except driving on the wrong side of the road.

Had the first settlers in the New World felt a similar awe at the strange land they set their feet on? We join them at Thanksgiving in expressing gratefulness for a land of liberty and opportunity, a land in which we are free to worship God and to live to please Him. 

We even figured it out about driving on the right side of the road—but it’s still the wrong side. Spiritually, ever since Adam and Eve, the world has been driving away from God, not toward Him. Our greatest gratitude as Christians is for a Savior who became The Road, the way back for us to God.

And it only gets better. The Road takes us to a perfect land—Heaven, where there will be no more sin, no more tears, no more death, but God Himself dwelling with His people. Can it be any better than that? God with us, in person!

And, hey, since “creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God,” who knows what fauna and flora we will encounter? Think of all the plants and animals that have become extinct—what a wonder that would be to see them! (My trip to Australia has me hankering to see a Tasmanian devil.)

Thanksgiving—it’s our feast from the day of our salvation to the day of our arrival in eternity with God. How are you doing? Are you chowing down with an attitude of gratitude?

 

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