Good Christian Men, REJOICE!

 

Good Morning! Merry Christmas!

                Good Christian men Rejoice! With heart and soul and voice! Give ye heed of what we say: Jesus Christ is born today! Ox and ass before him bow and he is in the manger now! Christ is born today, Christ is born to day!

                I’m going to start with something not typically thought of as a Christmas activity: Holy Communion.

                I’m not a stickler for wafer and wine, so if you have even a stray Cherrio and some breakfast juice that will be fine. The references will be from Matthew’s Gospel, chapter twenty-six

‘While they were eating, Jesus took the bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat, this is my body given for you.”

‘Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “All of you drink from this; this is my blood of the promise poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin.”’

                And there you have it, the thumbnail of God’s gift to us. All of you know what happened next, Jesus was arrested, tried, then crucified. Three days later he arose fulfilling the promise of life.

                Merry Christmas!

 

Santa Claus

             This fell into my email in-box about twenty years ago, and I trot it out for inspection every now and then. Since I haven’t done so recently, this year I’ll abuse you with this.

                              A CHRISTMAS STORY

                   I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.  I was just a kid.  I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered.  "Even dummies know that!"

                   My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me.  I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns.  I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.  It had to be true.

                   Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything.  She was ready for me.  "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous!  Don't believe it.  That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!!  Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

                   "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked.  I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

                   "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.  As we walked through it's doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.  That was a bundle in those days.  "Take this money," she said, "And buy something for someone who needs it.  I'll wait for you in the car."  Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

                   I was only eight years old.  I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

                   For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.  I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.  I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker.  He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.  Bobby Decker didn't have a coat.  I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter.  His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he had no good coat.  I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement.  I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

                   I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.  "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.  "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly.  "It's for Bobby."  The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat.  I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

                   That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.  Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

                   Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge.  "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."  I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.  Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open.  Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.  Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.

                   That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous.  Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

                   I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95  

 Author Unknown

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            If anyone knows this author, please let me know as well.

            I would normally draw something up in the Critters of Habit style to go with; not this year. Later maybe.

            Melanie, you may remember sending this out back in 2004, or not. In any case this chicken has come home to roost.

Dana “Madman” Hansen

Thanksgiving

There is a verse, from the Psalms, I think, that reads: "Be still, and know that I am God."

Today, Thanksgiving, marks on the calendar the official jump day from the merely normal mad scramble of juggling job, family, bills, special obligations, a second job and special projects (and the list goes on) to the truly insane mad scramble of shopping, getting the best deals, measuring to the penny how much we can put on the charge card, getting the emergency car repair done ("Why did it have to break down now?"), baking, special concerts, special programs, travel (and this list goes on as well), on top of the "normal" amounts of everyday craziness.

Is it any wonder that people tend to fly off their nut a little bit this time of year?

It didn't used to be this way.

So, before you sit down to the turkey and gravy (or ham, or lobster, or lentil loaf, depending on your preferences), take a moment to be still. Be still in your activity, be still in your mind.

Be still in your soul.

Remember the five kernels of corn the Pilgrims called supper that first winter. Remember the help the Native Americans provided. Remember the long days of toil and sweat the Plymouth colony exerted the following summer in preparation against a repeat of that winter.

Remember their thankfulness to their God, who taught them that, there would be troubles, but that, with Divine Providence (I believe their term was), they would win through.

Thanksgiving is not Turkey Day. It's not just the kick-off to the Xmas season, or the day we pull names from a hat to see whom we will gift this year. It is not just a day we gather with family for the obligatory nod to the people that we would not ordinarily associate with if we weren't family. It's not even a day to renew old friendships in that same family. All of this goes on, it is true, to a greater or lesser extent, in each family.

But that's not what Thanksgiving is all about.

It is a time to indeed be still, and know that God is God, and to properly observe and recognize all that He has done throughout the year, and throughout our lives.

Don't be like I was, blaming God for all that was wrong in my life. He may have allowed it, but He did not cause it. And He was there to lend me a hand whenever I let Him. Not choosing to let Him help, that was me. I've learned a little, though.

My life is by no means perfect, or even calm. And I still have days where I go off my nut (this past week, for example) when the crises become too many for me to handle, and I forget to ask for help. That's an old habit, and hard to break. (And besides, it goes against my prideful nature.)

But God is still faithful, even when I am not. And He is sustaining me and my family.

And, looking over the last week, the last year, the last five years, the last ten years, in fact, my entire life, I have a lot to be thankful for. I'll spare you the list. Just know that it begins with my first breath, and ends with my last breath, whenever that will be.

Be still, and KNOW!

Yes, You Can!

Devil Discouragement

Today is the day after Christmas, and with it comes the usual (for me) seasonal blues. Christmas for me has always been an up-and-down time of year. Charlie Brown and I are two of a kind: We know we should be happy, but we're not.

In my case I'm fighting a chronic pain that takes over at a certain point, especially when I've missed taking the aspirin on schedule. Then the old reliable car turned out to not be so reliable. Mostly my own fault, though. I didn't get the regular maintenance schedule done & the battery went flat after being let set a few days while we were off to Grandma's house. So it goes.

I could go on, but then I'd be risking getting myself even more down than I am. Time once again to take the opposite tack: Christmas Eve was beautiful, with a full moon shining through the clouds and off of the snow around my brother and sister-in-laws mountain home. That is where we had the family get-together. As they say, a great time was had by all. The three-year-old is amazed all over again with all the stuff that goes on at Christmas.

And I'm amazed right along with her. I've often said that every adult needs an eight-year-old kid with them all the time, to remind them of what the world looks like. I'll amend that to 'needs a kid of any age'. One of the little girl's best friends is the moon, and has been so ever since I pointed it out to her. Once. When she was about a year-and-a-half old.

She's even helping me with my vocabulary. "Dang it!" is no longer in my list of things to say (never mind anything stronger), because if she's around, she'll repeat it with every bit the same inflection and vehemence that I used. And it doesn't even sound 'cute' coming out of her little mouth.

SO. No more cussin'. Not even the soft kind of cussin'.

And so by blessing her with goodly speech, I bless myself by speaking better in the first place. And so the blessings continue.

When the pains start, she is a joy, and helps me knock the "Devil Discouragement" in the head, just by being herself, and makes me smile in spite of myself.

That points up something important: One of the best things a body can do to lift themselves out of the doldrums is get along side of a little kid and have them show you something they've discovered, or sing you a song they've just made up, or look at (no helping, now!) a picture they're drawing or coloring. This is right up there with helping someone fix a flat tire.

I'd go on a bit more, but I need to get to my day job. But remember, whenever the Devil Discouragement tries to bite you on your heel and slow you down, do a good thing for someone else, thereby kicking him loose at the same time.

Have a great day!

Yes, you can!