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Encouragement, Life Is Beautiful

A Christmas Picnic

I first met Laurie about 15 years ago when she and her husband were youth pastoring at the church we attended. Laurie led the Moms’ Group and my daughter who’s now almost an adult was two years old then. Laurie is a wife, mom, blogger, speaker, singer, friend, missionary, and a beautiful soul who loves the Lord. And she’s funny. This is a great piece and I’m honored that Laurie is writing for us today!  You can read Laurie’s blog (Living a Laughable Life and Other Things I’ve Learned) at http://laurieyost.blogspot.com/

Families all over the world are steeped in their Christmas traditions.  Year after year we count on things happening the same way and when they don’t it seems to throw off the schedule.  There are just some things that shouldn’t be changed.  I grew up in a family where Christmas day was always spent at either our house or my grandparents’ house opening gifts and eating ham, mashed potatoes, salads, rolls, etc…. Tons of time was spent getting the meal ready and tons of time was spent cleaning up.  For families that enjoy being in the kitchen that much it was fun but for me I wanted to be sitting and watching a football game, or slouched on the couch like my grandfather with my pants unbuttoned just a bit to ease the pain of what we’d just eaten.  My lot in life, because of Christmas tradition, was going to be in the kitchen doing dishes and cramming leftovers into mismatched Tupperware.  Could this really be what Christmas had to be?

I ended up marrying a preacher.  Those of you who spend much time in the church will know that the holiday season is a busy season whether it’s children’s Christmas programs, ladies’ teas, handing out food to the needy, or getting ready for the Christmas Eve service.  By the time we get home from the Christmas Eve service we are exhausted.  We decided early on in our marriage that Christmas day was going to be spent with just our little family at our house so that we didn’t have to cart the children to every relative for just that one day.  We didn’t like the idea of saying, “Here’s a few new toys but just get a glimpse of them quickly because we are leaving in 5 minutes to do the relative runs.”  Nope, we decided that Christmas would be our day to sit together and open gifts slowly as a family and enjoy talking about why we gave a certain gift to a certain person, eating cinnamon rolls, drinking coffee and enjoying the gingerbread/Happy Birthday Jesus cake that Zachary would always make. 

But then it would always come to the dinner; that loooong exhausting dinner.  When you have young children, you’re tired anyway but the thought of cleaning up after a big meal that you’ve taken hours to prepare doesn’t sit well—especially on Christmas day.  So we changed tradition.  My husband said one year when the kids were young, “Who says that we have to have a traditional Christmas meal?  We are tired from all of the ministry of the past weeks and our goal is to truly enjoy this day celebrating Christ’s birth, so let’s get pizza.”  “PIZZA!!!  Are you serious?  On Christmas you want to eat pizza?”  “Yes,” he replied and have fancy root beer and throw a sheet on the living room floor and eat it like a picnic.”  “Oh my, that seems almost sacrilegious.  Can we DO that?”  And then he said the words that were music to my ears.  “Honey, we can make our own Christmas traditions and this can be one of them.  You won’t have to be all day in the kitchen and we all love pizza so why not?” 

It was settled.  Pizza was going to be our new Christmas tradition.  The day before we order from the best pizzeria in town a few half-baked pizzas.  (and yes, we always have to tell them 2 or 3 times that we want them just half-baked).  On Christmas day we stick them in the oven and cook them the rest of the way.  We buy our fancy root beer and spread a sheet over the carpet and have our Christmas meal.  The first year we did it the kids were just small and they loved it.  We were having a picnic for Christmas!!  Now that two of the kids are in college and one just starting high school they know that when we celebrate Christmas day together it will be with our tradition:  the pizza pie.  I think at this point if I dared bake a ham that I would be looked at as a traitor.  So this Christmas, pizza it is.  I’m happy to say that I can’t wait for the clean up. 

December 10, 2014
Encouragement, Life Is Beautiful

From the Philippines to California, Jesus’ Love Follows Us

I’m always interested in how others live–how they operate in their daily lives, how they celebrate. Today I’ve been blessed by this piece written by my guest blogger from over at http://annaangela.com/ Pay special attention to the contrast between the observance of Christmas and treatment of elders in the Philippines compared to what we sometimes experience in the U.S. Take a few moments to watch the special video she created…

The streets were dark and so were most of the houses. There were no street lamps to guide the way for the rag-tag group of carolers. There were no strings of twinkling lights to beacon us to the more welcoming houses. So onward we went, house to house, ringing one doorbell after another. I stood in the darkness with my neighbors and friends, singing my heart out, one Christmas carol after another, hoping for a kind soul to give us some money. The ones who usually did had one thing in common. They had a parol.

The parol (or paról) is a Filipino Christmas lantern made of capiz shells. It is star-shaped, colorful, and bright. Most of them can be plugged into an electrical socket, and the twinkling lights dance and shine. The parol symbolizes the star that led the wise men to baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

jesuslights2

I don’t know if there’s a correlation between generosity and Christmas displays, but I remember looking forward to the houses with a parol hanging above their front door. Those houses opened their doors. Those houses listened to the carols. Those houses gave a bunch of kids singing off-key warm smiles, holiday greetings, and a couple of bills.

We had a parol. I loved sitting on the porch and staring at the lights bursting in intricate patterns. When my family immigrated to California, we didn’t bring our parol. It was too big and delicate to travel with our belongings. That wasn’t the only tradition that changed.

Christmas in the Philippines brought neighbors together. We drifted in and out of each other’s front doors. Children visited the elderly to give them a “mano po.” It is a sign of respect where you bring the back of an older person’s hand to your forehead and say, “Mano po,” translated to, “Your hand please.” It is also a gesture of receiving the blessings of the elders, and around Christmas, the elders also gave the blessing of money.

As a historically Catholic country, most people went to mass on Christmas Eve, and then back home to eat a feast, first as a family and then as a community. Neighbors traded dishes, and then someone would pass around the firecrackers and Roman candles.

Firecrackers are mostly illegal in California, and rag-tag caroling is intrusive. There is no open door tradition and neighbors barely know each other. There is more formality about Christmas: party invites, plate settings, and perfectly decorated trees and houses. Also, though a historically Christian country, most people forget what Christmas is really about.

We could all use a parol, bright lights that point to Jesus.

A few years ago, my parents went to the Philippines for a vacation and returned with a parol. I love staring at it. It gives me the warm feelings of Christmas that children get so excited about. It reminds me of family, togetherness, and the Love that sent Jesus here on Earth. That made me realize that a parol is really only a decoration if we don’t know what it means.

Christmas in California doesn’t have that homely, organic, and grounded feel of community, at least not in my community. And it’s true that most of us move at lightning speed with so much to do in so little time. Yet there are many bright lights here that point to Jesus.

Of all the traditions that have changed since I’ve moved to America, I love that the best. I’ve become part of a body of believers that may not know the neighbors on our street, but we do our best to help our neighbors in need.

We have carolers who come together every year to raise funds for missions. Our Children’s Ministry send shoeboxes to Operation Christmas Child every year. We have a ministry that brings the church to the elderly in homes and assisted living because they can’t come to the church.

And there are many other ministries and organizations that do the same and more. I’ve noticed that about America. We can be very good at getting together to help our neighbors, whoever and wherever they are.

What I love about having lived in two different countries is integrating cultures together. I love the apple pie sitting next to the pancit. The parol shining next to twinkling lights. Exchanging dishes with the one neighbor we know best, and helping neighbors around the world through missions and ministries. Giving and receiving blessings not just to and from elders, but to and from everyone, whether in gifts, in wisdom, or in acts of kindness.

The spirit of Christmas, the Love that sent Jesus, crosses cultures and boundaries. This Christmas, let us all become parols. To neighbors on our street or to neighbors we’ll never meet, let us become the bright lights that point other people to Jesus.

December 9, 2014
Life Is Beautiful

Man’s (And Woman’s!) Best Friend

Not everyone has pets and not everyone wants one, but for those of us who love our animal friends, we can get pretty serious about it. I once read a quote (paraphrasing) that we may have many pets in our lifetimes, but for most pets we are their only humans. I found that pretty profound. Think back to all the pets you’ve had so far in your life. For many of us that will be quite a few. But how many humans has your pet had? The likelihood is that not many or maybe just one…you.

My first-ever pet was a blonde Cocker Spaniel named Brandy. Our family had a bent towards Cockers and it’s no surprise. They’re adorable with those sad, big eyes and floppy ears. They’re generally snuggly and loyal. Brandy was a wanderer. Once in awhile, she’d get free from the yard and I remember my parents quickly deploying my older brothers to go find her. They’d take off on their bikes riding through town calling to her while my older sister and I stayed behind fretting we’d never see our faithful friend again.  She always returned but eventually quietly left us for good a few years later in her old age. But 30-some years since then, I still think of her fondly.

We had two more Cockers after Brandy. Sparky was rust-colored and I claimed him as my own. When he passed away my freshmen year of high school, I sobbed for days.  He had been my canine BFF. Black Buffy came later and favored my sister and when I got married, a black cocker is what we brought home.  Cuddles stayed with us until I was expecting my second baby and in between there, my parents’ dog Lady, had literally stayed by my side through my entire first pregnancy. It was no surprise she then became the self-appointed guardian of my daughter once she was born.

My dear friend Luke came to me quite by surprise. We were in the market for a pup to rescue. I was expecting my son at the time and had a husband who worked nights and I wanted a dog in the house. It made me feel more secure. And I loved dogs. I envisioned this cute, cuddly, tiny little pup. I had him or her all picked out in my imagination. It’d have longer hair and big eyes, much like a Cocker did. We showed up at the vet’s office on a whim after learning they had a puppy who needed rescuing. What we saw was anything but a cuddly, tiny, big-eyed, Cocker-looking puppy. What we did see, however, was a gangly, fawn-colored, six-month-old Labrador-Golden Retriever mixed boy. But he looked at me and I looked at him, our eyes met, and it was all over.

Our lovable Luke

Our lovable Luke

Luke came home and was our staunch protector, faithful friend, strong boy, who at one time put himself between my kids and a much larger, much scarier looking stray dog that came on our property. Oh, how I loved Luke. He was our trusty steed and when he met an untimely passing, I was undone. He had been through so much with me personally…a difficult pregnancy and birth, and he’d loved my Dad who had loved him right back. He was a tie to my father who was also gone. Again, I sobbed for a solid week, desperately pained by this loss.

Now, we have welcomed Lillie our Beabrador and years later with a new husband, came a new puppy, Gracie. These animals love us so. They watch over us while we eat to ensure we don’t choke (that is what they do when they stare at me when I eat, right?)

"Watch" dogs over our meals.

“Watch” dogs over our meals.

They miss us when we’re away from the house. Even if we’re absent for a few short minutes, they greet us with enthusiasm as if we’d been away for months. Maybe to them, one hour feels like seven, just like dog years. I’ll admit, it’s a pretty great feeling to have pets jumping all over you expressing their love and devotion every time you enter a room. Gracie pines for my husband when he’s out of the house. She will sit in the window and await his return. She’s definitely his dog.

Gracie keeping a lookout for her "daddy" to return.

Gracie keeping a lookout for her “daddy” to return.

If you are fortunate enough to have a pet who’s waiting at home for you, who keeps your bed warm and feels comfortable enough to back it’s butt up to you while you sleep (as gross and annoying as it may be), accept the blessing.  Even though we may have many in our lifetimes, each one is special and each one is beautifully loved. These little charmers love us more than we now and to them, we are their whole world!

Quote Courtesy Josh Billings

Quote Courtesy Josh Billings

 

November 28, 2014
Uncategorized

Kindness, Strangers, and What’s Good About Both

This happened outside my home today.  I saw him back into what he thought was our driveway.  Only it wasn’t. It was a ditch. With all the white out there it was hard to determine which was which. As he gave his truck the gas, I felt his pain and watched him slide deeper into the ditch, solidifying his position. I have been in similar situations many times before…too many, if you ask my husband, so I could relate this man’s plight.  I wanted to be able to help him but I couldn’t. I was home alone and had no ability to pull him out of the ditch. Simply put, I felt really bad for him.  When he got out of his truck, I could see he was wearing what I liken to a mechanics uniform with his name on the front. I imagined he was a hard worker, maybe of slim means and that the deer in the back of his truck might be what would feed his family this winter.

He's really wedged in there.

It reminded me of the many times I’d gotten stuck in the snow, but of a particularly scary time. My son was about three or four years old and we were on the way to pick up my daughter at school. We took the usual route which included a usually well-traveled back road. It was winter and I was careful, but we hit a patch of invisible ice and the next thing I knew, my Jeep was spinning in circles in the road.  I remember feeling terror and that same feeling of helplessness and I still swear to this day that I heard glass shatter as we slammed into the ditch, HARD.  I immediately looked at my son, snug and secure in his car seat. It had done its job and protected him. He had a bit of a stunned look on his face but he was perfectly fine. Thank you, Lord. I checked for cuts, certain the broken glass had hit him somewhere. Immediately scanning the damage, I could see there was none. I had clearly heard glass breaking in the back end of the vehicle when we hit the solid, frozen, deep ditch and now, upon further inspection, the entire vehicle and more importantly, my son and I, were intact.

I breathed a thankful prayer before realizing the road was not well-traveled at all that day. No one was around. It was freezing. My cell phone had spotty service out on this country road and my daughter who was about eight at the time was waiting for us at school, likely wondering where we were right about then. I tried driving out of the ditch but it was literally a no go. We were stuck and we weren’t going anywhere without some help. Once again, I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do but pray and wait. No one was coming for us.

We didn’t wait long until a guardian angel-a kind stranger-came upon us. He had a big pickup truck no less. With his swift help, we were out of the ditch and on the way to get my girl in no time. The only payment he would accept was my gratitude, which I gushed. He was on his way quickly like this was something he did every day on his way by. Though we lived in a very small town at the time, I’d never seen him before or since that day. But I’m still ever thankful for his kindness. He could have driven past us and gone about his day. Surely he had somewhere to be and things to accomplish. He was busy like the rest of us. But he wasn’t too busy to help a mom and her baby out of a ditch. This was over seven years ago and my son and I still recall the kindness of this stranger.

Free at last...because a kind stranger bothered to help.

Free at last…because a kind stranger bothered to help.

So when I saw this (above) happen about fifteen minutes after this gentleman slid into the ditch, I was thankful on his behalf. The man hooked up the trucks, pulled out the stuck truck, and was on his way with a wave. And that was that. But for this man who was previously wedged in the ditch, his whole day was changed, I’m quite sure. He didn’t have to wait in the frigid air for a tow truck and he didn’t have to suffer the expense of one either.  For him and for me me in my situation, the kindness of strangers made all the difference.

What can you do to take mere moments from your day that might make a monumental difference in someone else’s life?

November 19, 2014