It's Winter, Always Winter, and Christmas is Already Over

The fog snuck in overnight, enveloping the back yard. The wise, old pecan tree was buoyed up like it was in a cloud. I love to look up into her lovely branches and imagine all the things she has seen. We've had a long, really cold spell of weather this year. Thankfully there was no precipitation this week or we might have been in trouble again. But maybe it's killed all the bugs and my peonies might actually bloom next spring. Winter is barely tolerated here in the South. We usually have spits and starts of cold days, interspersed with times of balmy weather. It's dreary, wet and miserable. By February, I'm almost insane. That also happens to be our anniversary month, so Ken hauls me off to some other Southern town for a long weekend. We do tours of historic homes, eat a lot, and snuggle up for a few days. It helps get us through to March, when the lion roars and eventually the lamb arrives. Then Easter comes, praise the Lord. Easter is way better than Christmas. Less fuss and more promise. I need to quit thinking about it. My Christmas tree is still up, for heaven's sake.

I've been painting this week, two projects -- my daughter's renovated bathroom and about to start on our new bed that I bought on Facebook marketplace for $100. It's not actually new. It's the same bed we have had for the last twenty years, just bigger. King-size. So that's what you call it when you get this fat. Ken's old Pop had one. He said he loved it, that he could be in there and you wouldn't even know Ethel was in the room. I've heard Ken tell that about a hundred times and it's still not funny. But here we are. Today's job is to whitewash the thing. I ain't havin' no orange furniture. It's way too big for the room but I don't care. And there's a whole lot of other funny stuff you could say that I'm not gonna. Have a nice day and try to stay warm!

Hush Puppies

The holidays are over. The tree is still sitting there, though most of the trash has finally migrated towards the laundry holding room. That's what I believe that room is for, but Ken doesn't seem to recognize my dark hints. I mean, it's all bagged up (except for the dirty clothes) so I don't understand the problem. We have an old war, where I heap up things and see if he loves me. He allows the heaps to remain, to see if I love him. It's not true, we both know we adore each other. But it makes for some good fusses and makeup sessions. 

So today I worked feverishly on a listing, going from zero to a hundred to get it online. Never mind that it was 20 degrees out today and my stomach was revolting from the holiday debauchery. There's bags of candy cloaking miniscule pieces of pecan, bowls of Reese's, tins of homemade goodies that people gifted us over the holidays and a whole basket of mystery loaves of something. The Georgia game was on and Ken headed to one of our son's homes to jump and shout, but I stayed home with my raggedy constitution, drank hot tea and ate an apple. 

Suddenly I felt really sorry for myself. Christmas is over, New Years Eve is past. All the presents are passed out, the turkey eaten, the parties over, the trips taken. Our daughter is gone away for a long visit with a friend, all my grandbabies are safe at home with my sons and their wives, Ken's off watching the game, my sister's phone is broke so I can't call her, my dog's not here tonight, I'm still fat and I already called my Mama this morning. I don't have a "word" or a plan for 2018. I moped into the kitchen and gazed at the new dishwasher that came today, wrapped in its layers of packaging. Apparently the Magic Plumber did not come with it, so I started washing the pile of dishes on the counter by hand. With all the blessings and largesse piled about me, all I could do was complain in my head. 

I think it's good to be left alone sometimes with our thoughts, our selves, with only the warm water running and the soapy water, caring for the dirty dishes. I gaze up at the night sky in the window, the branches of the pecan trees like skeletons worshipping the moon. Cars drive by, intent on their destinations. The cry of the train lowing, lonely engineers content in the regularity of their schedules. My will protests the quietness, the necessities. The obligations of the simplest needs of life bring me to humility as I do my job, one of those original, ignoble jobs that takes me back to my roots, my youth. The youngest of children can wash the dishes. At least they should. As I finish, dragging out the full trash bags and turning out the lights, I hear a beautiful Appalachian melody whispering out of my high-tech phone. My heart quiets, I talk to God. Flesh and bone, dust to dust, we walk the earth. Some days we're shiny and then some we're laid low. Hush up world, I'm listening to my heart beat.  

Colorful Redemption

Kaleidoscopes. They need to bring those back. As a child, I remember holding one up to my eye and turning it until magic happened. Beautiful patterns and colors, tumbling and remixing as it turned. I also recall seeing one that had broken, little bits of glass, all gray and sad, spilled out. 

As we sit here waiting on Christmas Day for the family to arrive, I think about the kaleidoscope of time that I see. Layers of family, going back to Christmases long ago. Jeweled memories, made warm and fuzzy by the buffer of decades. Grandmas and love; fudge and peppermint; trees with their citrusy scents; dolls; dresses; new pajamas; trips to Aunt Ellen's house, where oranges, bananas and Brazil nuts overflowed -- on the way home we'd stop at a life-sized nativity scene at a church nearby; trips to Illinois and my cat-eyed, Tigris-scented Grandma (with Karen Carpenter crooning silky Christmas themes); Christmas Eves where Daddy talked about hearing reindeers outside with their bells; my Mama creating joy out of cocoa, sugar, milk and the Sears Roebuck Catalog. Sweet, happy childhood I was blessed to have. Life moves so fast. I am not a spring chicken, but sometimes I have to remember that I am not a child....that I have to be responsible and hop to it. At the same time, we all have that child in us, that ten-year-old that wants to run free and not yet know about the cynical, the evil, parts of the world. 

My tongue tends to find the bad, to report what is wrong about people and about all that is around me. To gossip, to belittle, not ever shutting my trap, in particular to my loved ones. The very ones I influence the most. My heart was afflicted last night, Christmas Eve, as I contemplated the state of my thoughts and words. I tossed and turned upon my bed, feeling the guilt of my failings. I dreamt strange dreams, scary and disturbing. But as the sun slowly began to rise and the pink hue of the morning crept into the bedroom windows, I embraced the hope of the day...the hope of my Savior. How He came as a tiny baby, vulnerable and weak, yet fully God, sacrificing Himself to redeem the hateful, the cynical, the murderer and the gossip, these. The little child, the perfect lamb, in the humblest of places. He defied logic, confounded the wise, and turned the world upside down. His beautiful kaleidoscope.  "For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then shall I know, even as also I am fully known." I Corinthians 13:12. Amazing grace, as the old saying goes, "I will understand it better by and by."

Merry, Merry Christmas

"I am enough!" The mantra of the century. I do not agree with it. At all. On no level am I enough. I think I understand what people are trying to say when they chant this one, though -- what they're really saying is: I'm good enough; I don't need anyone else to affirm my sufficiency; I don't need to try harder to please you; because I'm who I am and that's okay. All that stuff. 

I still don't agree.

We are all an amalgam of many other people. Even our DNA is intricately made up of pieces of our ancestors, brought into fruition in one person. Exquisitely and beautifully made, mysteriously wrought in the bowels of the earth. Our bodies, minds and souls are virtual miracles of creation, precious and priceless. There is no earthly treasure that rivals it. Here we are on this spinning orb, woven carefully into the ecosystem. Plants, animals and glaciers consort together to keep the balance. One thing consumes the other, dies and replenishes the earth, and round and round it goes. If we consider the impossibility of the spark of life itself, we will see the face of God. 

Throughout this fine dance, no man is an island. The warp and woof of our existence requires give and take, interdependence on both the planet and mankind. We need our ancestors, our parents, just to get here. Then we need one another in order to work, to plow, to plant, to weed and to obtain our food. If we can quit striving to be the kings of the world, and see our fellow man as our compatriots rather than our opposition, we could also find far more peace on earth. To stop and be grateful throughout our day: to thank those who feed us, who clothe us, who provide our trash removal, our mail delivery, those who birthed us and raised us, those who put their lives on the line at home and abroad -- and so many more. 

I am not enough. I am here and sustained thanks to the energies and efforts of so many. But especially I am dependent on the God of heaven who designed and placed me here. It's sometimes hard to remember that my purposes extend beyond my own nose. This year, let us look across our own fields and thank all of those that benefit and make it possible for us to live. And look to the Christ child, the great Redeemer, who makes it possible for us to live forever. Merry Christmas.

Snowstorms, Time and Handsome Princes

We were all snuggled up together under blankets on the front porch, admiring the freshly minted snow piling up around our house. Suddenly, four explosions filled the air, blue sparks raining down like some mid-winter fireworks show. And just like that, we were taken back 117 or so years, when our house was built. The street was silent, hushed by banks of white. No one dared to be driving or even walking yet. I could imagine horse-drawn buggies coming down the road, ample dresses shushing by to lay out the fires. As we came to our senses, we shuffled back into the house to make a plan. There was no plan. The five ancient fireplaces lay dormant, unblinking. They haven't been used in decades, besides, they're designed to burn coal, not wood. Only an idiot would risk using them now. But they sure are pretty. We lit candles, shut off parts of the house, then eventually crawled into our beds, doubled up with socks and layers of clothes. There's a lot to be said for having a heater box for a husband in these circumstances. 

When I woke in the morning, snug and warm under the covers but with a frighteningly cold nose, I thought of all the things we take for granted. We line up at the Redbox, to watch movies about the Apocalypse, viruses decimating the population and MadMax, but an actual few hours of power outage and we're about to lose our minds. We still had our phones, thus also able to see all the cussing going on about how the schools messed up again by opening on Friday. And how the weather man missed it big-time, so nobody could raid the stores for bread and milk before the big Event to keep from starving. We have at least one of these every year in the South. Schools let out, cars get abandoned, people miss work. We don't have snowplows and salt trucks like they do up North. Besides, down here it melts then freezes again. You can't ski on that, much less drive. It probably does us good to get our lives interrupted, occasionally, to remind us of how good we have it. 

I remember one of these Events, back in the winter of 1982. My sister and I were both engaged to be married. We were living at home with our parents when a massive ice storm hit Atlanta. The whole family eventually made their way home from jobs and school, taking many hours. My sister's fiance decided to aim for our house, since it was closer than his, so they curled up on the couch, canoodling. Everyone hunkered down in the living room with a roaring fire and hot cocoa. I was thankful to have made it home, but feeling sorry for myself because my beau was an hour away, in Smyrna. We had only weeks to go before our wedding. I didn't imagine I would see him for several days with all that ice locking us down. Suddenly, there was a knock at the back door. I walked into the kitchen to see a cowboy hat and a grin in the window. That crazy man had left a perfectly warm, safe house to drive through hours of snow and ice, wind and weather, to get to me. 

All these 36 years later, I still remember that feeling. I'm from a wacky and wonderful family. I knew he was going to fit right in. But I especially knew then that he loved me.

Love in the Pandemonium

Here we are again, another rushing, rocking holiday season. I got out my pen and marked up the family calendar with upcoming activities. Ken has our markers colored-coded. Of course he does. Mine is purple, and now the wall looks like someone smashed grapes on it. Meanwhile, we have an active renovation going on in the nether regions of our house, so it looks like a bomb went off in here. I'm desperately trying to get the back fourth of the house painted, the tree decorated and everything put back into place before our company party (Southern Homes and Land) here next week. Nothing like pressure to stop the mojo. 

Tonight, as I muse over the day and laugh at all the plans that got shot to smithereens, I am sincerely focusing on what matters. One of my sons, Daniel, was working on that back bathroom, so we got to enjoy his warmth and irreverent humor. The guy could be a stand-up comic. His wife and darling daughter Maddie popped in, like a whirling dervish of fresh air. Then another son, Jon, joined us towards lunchtime, hauling in their infant twins Bennett and Addison, along with their dear Mama and non-stop delight Annabelle. The two four-year-old Energizer Bunnies never tired, and by the time they left, I needed a nap. It was like a really fun, happy tornado blowing right through the house, leaving as quickly as it came. The only thing that could have been better was if our third son and his family would have been able to be here too. There was much sawing, buzzing, music and commotion, then suddenly everyone left, including daughter Liz. Ken and I collapsed in our recliners and acted like old people.

I know that I will indeed have to get some serious work done in the next few days if we're going to have a company party here by Wednesday. But I have to say, if it's not perfect, if the dust bunnies live to see another day and the junk all gets crammed into a back room, it needs to be okay. There's a lot more to be missed if I don't stop and enjoy the moments, the opportunities that present themselves along the way. I can spend all my energies making this place perfect or I can remember what Christmas is really about. It takes five seconds to stop the merry-go-round and then enjoy all the reasons for the season. The decorations are just gravy. We don't always need gravy. I cracked up when I read these words in my Bible the other day: "I make peace and create calamity; I, the Lord, do all these things." Isaiah 45:7. If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans!

Abundance in the Decrease

I had a dream last night, as real as earth. I could even smell the dirt, that delicious aroma. My family and I were deep into a structure that we had built years ago, with much sentiment rising from my emotions. When I awoke, I cried bittersweet tears. It at first seemed because of the loss of the house and the land, but the reality was the loss of that season of our lives. You simply can't hold back the tide of time. It moves ever forward. Change comes whether we want it to or not. Children grow up, our folks die, stuff goes into landfills. Our stubborn insistence that things must stay the same can hamstring us, though. I love the scripture in Proverbs 31 where God talks about that awesome woman, how she strengthens her arms and takes on the world and the future with a fresh face. So I got up this morning, washed off my sadness, read my Bible, prayed for my people and got on with the day. The devil is the father of lies and he'd like to keep us down for the count, with thoughts that are simply not true. 

My parents are facing the Big Move, where they are letting go of their home and moving twenty miles closer to civilization. It's hard to do. It feels like failure, like the end of the world. All the things that they've spent their whole life obtaining are going out the door for pennies on the dollar. It's an admittance that they are growing weaker and that they are on the decrease, rather than the increase. In the world's economy, all seems lost. But in God's economy, they are getting richer and richer. They started out as teenagers, poor and hungry, everyone doubting whether their union would last a year. They scrimped, saved, worked, toiled and trod water to make a life together. Inch by inch, they kept moving forward. Stability came. Three kids came. They improved everything they touched. The world again scoffed when the Lord broke through and gave them a heart of flesh for a heart of stone. Then came the salad days, the years of increase and full hands. Marriages, grandkids, great grandkids, houses, land, projects, more houses, much laughing. The clock ticked. The bodies began to feel the gravity. Sternums cracked open, years of desserts showed their ugly sides, tickers wore out. The air became heavy and not so easily obtained. Is this where, as Solomon talks about, all is vanity?

Nay, nay, quoth the truth. My parents, by God's grace, have a spiritual heritage far beyond what the eye can see, though the eye can still see precious fruit: three children (with in-laws), twenty-one grandchildren and lots of weddings, fourteen great-grandchildren (with one on the way), and untold numbers of spiritual children. Over Thanksgiving, with family all about, I heard three of my 4-year-old granddaughters (they came here in a batch) mention their love of God. I heard prayers from sweet little lips. I saw love and service all around. Where the world is at war, killing and hating, devolving into abuse and addiction, I saw a family filled with life, wisdom, hope. Funny thing, at the heart of it I did not see two people who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. What I saw was a couple surrendered, humbled, trusting God more than their own goodness. People full of faults, cracked at their core but turned over to the grace of God, grace that is greater than all their sin. On this planet, there are manifold riches -- gold, land, houses, prestige, titles, fame. In the end, none of those matter. They all burn up. But in the harvest of days, when all is said and done, there are kings that are not of this world. Truly, all that glitters is not gold.