Be Still and Know

We had nearly a week of spring in December and wore sandals and shorts on Christmas day, with a flurry of wrapping paper and squeals from all the grandchildren. I feel overwhelmed with the bountiful overflow of blessings we are experiencing with them. The unspoken goody between a grandparent and grandchild is unconditional love. When I look in their eyes, I try to not just tell them what I think of them, but for them to know in their hearts how much I love them. I remember my own grandmother, with her green cat eyes, looking deep into my soul, almost making me uncomfortable at times because I indeed felt she was probing the inner sanctum of my heart. Grandmas know things that other people don't know, and that is good. God-sent and unique.

How I have enjoyed these last few days of Christmas-ing. Ken has had almost three weeks off and my real estate business is  dormant with all the other festivities going on. I'm floating around, sleeping long and luxuriantly every night and taking a nap every afternoon, taking drives with Ken over the countryside and ingesting healthy meals, taking time to actually enjoy them. I wrestle with feeling sorry for myself when I am on the straight-and-narrow with my eating. I need to feel sorry for everyone else, because they're not going to be as healthy as me, haha! 

My darling retro-red refrigerator in the laundry room died, a sad, sad occurrence. I bought that thing a few years ago, marked down, for $75.00 at Home Depot. When I looked it up yesterday, thinking to replace my old one, the current price was $600.00. Rather than go that route, we bought one somewhere in the middle, this one a minty vintage green. Rare it is that I do the same thing twice anyway. We could have got one on sale at Lowe's, saving us about a hundred dollars more than we spent...but alas, it was far too modern looking for our 123-year-old house. Besides, I'm repainting the laundry room and kitchen soon and it will help me to make a decision about the new color. Yes, it's true, this will be the sixth time I've painted my kitchen in 13 years. I love to paint and I love change. What can I say?

Looking back on the last few weeks and the things we got to do, see and hear, my favorite part was our annual Christmas lessons and carols night at church. There were readings from the scriptures concerning the birth of Christ, and then hymns and carols coinciding with each. There is nothing as beautiful as the clear voices of children raised in song, then a gifted adult choir twining together like the holly and ivy. There was a stillness to the night, a pausing to remember the significance of the Lamb who came to redeem His people from their sins and to give life, lived joyfully. Singers, instruments, children, the festive colors, the hearts bowed in prayer... I hear the still, small voice that beckons me to remember, to be, and to look forward. Soli deo Gloria.   

Silent Night

 There are two iconic things that ring in the Christmas season for me: The Nutcracker and Handel's Messiah.

In elementary school, we had a field trip to Atlanta to see the Nutcracker. The beautiful ballerinas floated on air. The music completely embodied the story of it, a trip to a land come to life with toy soldiers, dancers, huge wild rats and fairy dust. When I got home, I began to pretend I was a ballerina...my gangly, tall self flying across the kitchen while I washed the supper dishes. I imagined myself with my own little girl and the ballet classes to come.  Many years later, I married and had three beefy boys, and then a tall but very graceful toddler girl. From the time she could walk, she was dancing about the house. When she turned three and begged to go, we put her into a ballet school in a fanciful little house with large windows and wooden floor in the center of Vinings. She had the sweetest teacher, a lithe and dreamy slip of a girl. Liz danced for nine or so years, becoming proficient and skilled, the little primadonna of her school. When her body began to change, during adolescence, she began to feel conspicuous wearing tights and dancing across stages in front of people. Thankfully, she survived that and navigated into adulthood and retained her love of music and dance. She and I have had many a dance party in the kitchens of our homes, and now she enjoys ramping up the music and cavorting with her three children in her own house.  

When I saw that Ballet Magnificat was coming to Carrollton this season, I just had to get tickets for her and her 3-year-old daughter. We had seen this same troupe when Liz was a wee thing. When the curtains opened and the music started, tears sprung to her eyes. We both cried as we thought of those special years and the magic of a ballerina at Christmastime. Her daughter, London, was enraptured. 

They say that Tchaikovsky was less-than-happy about The Nutcracker. He felt it uninspiring and dull. His sister died midway through his composition, and he never lived to see the full impact of his work. Imagine what he would now think, where it is one of the quintessential parts of the Christmas season, selling out audiences wherever it is performed. It also has been the introduction of many a child to the beginnings of a ballet career. I used to take my children every year, much to the chagrin of our boys. The older they got, the more they grumbled. I had to get them a bit of culture some way, and I have to believe that somewhere in there they saw the magic. 

I love all kinds of music, from all kinds of musicians -- from hymns to bluegrass, classical to rock, folk to pop, you name it. But my favorite compilation of work is Handel's Messiah. Nothing short of brilliant, it is appropriate at any time of year though we usually hear it at Christmas and Easter. The words are straight from scripture, mostly the Old Testament, and the music is straight from heaven. He wrote it in 24 days in August of 1741. I have heard that he holed up in his room and wrote feverishly, completely in the grip of inspiration. Everyone loves the "Hallelujah" chorus, but my very favorite part is the long and drawn-out "Worthy is the Lamb and the Amen" at the end. It is simply gorgeous, goose-bump inducing and glorious.  When a chorus bursts out with the "Worthy" portion, I have to stop what I'm doing and contemplate the glory of all that is. 

The holiday season gets packed to the gills with much running about and oft-unnecessary mayhem. It is also often the hardest of times for many people, for many reasons: the loss of loved ones, the pain of regret, the feelings of "not enough," the reminiscence of things lost or undone. May we all look around and minister kindness to those in our paths, call up an old friend or neglected family member, pick up the slack where it's needed, and show gratefulness for the ones who work hard to make our world better. Or the ones that don't -- the Grinches or the downtrodden along the way who might need a little hope to go on another day. I'm preachin' to myself here; it's sometimes hard to think of others or to stop what I'm doing to look around. Humble was the manger that brought hope to the world...

Winter Remembrance and Planning

These chilly winter days remind me of the few winters before we had children. We were living in a small rental in Mableton when Ken landed a coveted job at the plant where he worked. It included a pay raise and another 20% on top as a shift differential. What that meant was: he would be on second shift, leaving in the afternoon while I was still at work, and getting home late when I was already asleep. We would see each other in our dreams and on weekends. Ken and I knew we wanted plenty of babies and had discussed at length that we wanted me to stay at home with them. My secret dream was to raise his babies and be a homemaker, making beautiful and creative things. I knew how to fell trees, mow and trim a yard and kill it from the free-throw line, but I knew nothing about cooking when we got married. I was raised to work hard -- us kids cleaned and helped with whatever needed doing, but my Mama edged us out of the kitchen (except to do dishes) and even insisted on her high standards of laundry...which meant, us kids did not do laundry. So when I got married, there were gaps in my homemaking education, though I had seen that in action from my babyhood. 

We decided that I would quit my job and stay home, even though we didn't have any babies on the way yet. When I put in my notice, I did everything but jump up and down (that was what I wanted to do). The girls in my office thought I had lost my marbles. Most of them had children, and while I worked out those last two weeks, every one of them told me that I'd be back...that staying home with a baby isn't what it's cracked up to be. They also told me that they were only truly making enough money to pay for daycare and their car payments, that they just didn't want to stay home. That is not always true for women who work. There are many reasons women want and/or have to work outside the home. My heart breaks for those who don't have a choice. We had to sacrifice greatly, to make it happen. Ken was a plant worker, not an executive. We lived from paycheck to paycheck all those years. I budgeted, cooked from scratch, shopped at three stores for bargains and made our homemade Christmas gifts. That first tree was decorated with popcorn and cranberry strings and homemade ornaments. I'm exhausted already, but I was young and strong then. And extremely happy through the muddling of it. During that season where I had no children but wasn't working a normal job, I learned all manner of skills that have served me and my family. I really did learn to cook (though I try not to, now that I'm not feeding an army), learned how to make crafts and art worthy of selling, read books on all manner of gardening and homemaking, learned to paint houses (I did a long, profitable stint of residential painting when my children were grown), and learned the fun challenge of stretching a dollar (creativity grows in that environment). Following Dave Ramsey principles, even though we went through some extremely difficult years, we got out of debt.  

That was long ago, and I wouldn't change a thing. Little did I know how quickly four children would grow up and fly from the nest. There has been time to do all the "other" things, anything I could imagine. I've moved through different seasons of career and making money, some of it even bartering for things we needed or wanted. The thing that is harder, since they are gone, is missing them and also missing the hunkered-down necessity of certain things. I'm a free-floating chick who needs grounding. I don't like to be tied down but I still need guideposts, else I fritter away the universe. Take my art, for example. The last year or two, I realized I wasn't painting anymore, because no one was paying me to do it (real estate definitely got in the way). So I signed up for painting classes and am doing oils (which I have never done). It's hard to squeeze out the time but I have obligations to it now. If I miss class, I still have to pay. And when I get there, it is three hours of pure bliss and aggravation, but mostly bliss. I'm having to learn a new skill that is very different from my known acrylics and pencils. I am extremely grateful to be able to do it. And apparently, anything I want to do in future has to involve such tethers, but that's all good.

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat...please to put a penny in an old man's hat." Presents still to buy and wrap, under my very plain and beautiful tree. Turn Handel's Messiah on and think about the words before you. Grace and truth.