A Second Look

"You are not your writing."  Like the passing of a baton in a relay, the wise words my friend received during her own writers "rite of passage", were now being handed to me.  "Keep writing." she rallied.  My ego was sore, and my pride bruised but her encouragement gave me second wind.  Being new to the writing world, I had never taken into consideration the possibility of my writing being turned down.  I had gotten my first rejection e-mail and it was heart breaking. I took it personally and felt utterly..... rejected.   My husband passed on his own words of wisdom after watching me pout and sulk around the house, " If you want to stay with it, you're going to have to develop a thick skin, and quick....There's more comin'."  He was right. In my sea of sent out material (ok, slight exaggeration.....I only sent out 10 so far!), only one, small seashell of a story has been excepted.  This whole writing thing is painful and the uncomfortable feelings forced me to rethink what I was doing, where I was going....and why.  I started to re-strategize.  Maybe I need to protect myself a little bit and put less of myself in my writing.  Maybe I'm sharing too much.......maybe.........My thoughts started to trail as my eyes became fixed upon a picture of an adorable teenage boy smiling at me from my face book page.  I didn't recognize him, but there was something oddly familiar that grabbed at my heart and pulled me in.  I squinted my eyes and my brows furrowed as I examined him closer.  Have I seen him before???  Curious, I began to read his story and my heart dropped down to the very souls of my feet.  I held my breath and forgetting to swallow, my throat began to dry.  The picture blurred and as I struggled to blink back the tears, I realized, he was someone I knew....... someone I  haven't seen for a long, long time.................

My beautiful brother, Henry

"Who's that?" one of the kids ask, looking over my shoulder.  I took a deep breath and re-introduced my kids to their Uncle Henry.  The room grew quiet as memories came flooding back, the kids, remembering bits and pieces that I had told them over the years, and me, remembering a miracle among the debris of pain and heartbreak.  I quietly reminded them of how he died.  A tragic, gruesome death at 17 by a single gun shot to the head.  With tears, I told the kids of my excruciating last memory of my brother and the precious memory Jesus graciously and mercifully gave me to replace it.

The last time I saw my brother, he was taunting me from the bottom of the stairs.  It had the beginnings of a bad day!  My hair wasn't working, I was going to be late for a job I hated, and my annoying beast of a brother wouldn't stop teasing me!  Feeling abused and boiling over with anger, I stormed out of the bathroom and hurled my brush at him as hard as I could throw it.  Like a scratched DVD, my memory halts frozen on a snapshot of him looking up at me; his mischievous eyes glistening and mouth wide open with laughter.  Henry left for school that morning.... and never came back.   After he died, I was riddled with guilt that I could have contributed to the deep pain that caused him to feel like the "basket case" that he wrote about in his goodbye letter.  Why didn't I know?  Why did I have to yell at him?  I was plagued with the What ifs and Should haves and I felt as if I had helped pull the trigger.

My brothers death was so violent and gruesome, we had to have a closed casket for his viewing and funeral.  It just didn't seem real.  Are they sure they had my brother?  I mean, maybe they made a mistake and he was still out there somewhere.  I mustered up the strength and asked my dad if I could see Henry; I just had to see for myself and be sure.  My dad refused and told me he wanted the last image of my brother to be a happy one.  A happy one?  No one knew of my fight with Henry and the awful, last memories I harbored painfully in my heart.  I had no closure, no chance to say goodbye and I longed desperately to see him..... one more time.....if just for a moment to say I was sorry.  The unchangeable, irreversible, "forever-laid-in-cement" circumstances laid heavy on my heart as horrible nightmares plagued me night after sleepless night.  The graphic and brutal dreams filled me with terror and hauntingly replayed like a broken record in my mind during the day.  I was exhausted, guilt ridden and full of so much pain.  I missed my brother, I wanted to fix things with him.....but it was too late.......

I thought it was another nightmare.  Sobbing, I sat on a floor in a huge room surrounded by friends and family whose hearts were as heavy as mine.  My pain could not be comforted and what I needed, no one was able give.  The rooms murmurs turned to hushed silence as a strange, yet beautiful figure approached.  In awe, I slowly rose to my feet and relief flooded my body as the remedy to my pain stood directly in front of me.  My beautiful little brother was breathtaking!  Flawless and glowing I could see his joy was full as his luminous smile filled the room.  He never spoke but I could hear him somehow and I literally could feel his words.  My heart felt as though it were going to explode with the overwhelming sorrow I felt as he told me how deeply sorry he was for causing me pain.  He didn't want me hurting anymore.   Tears of joy, relief, and mourning clouded my vision as another figure came into view and stood alongside my brother.  Jesus put his arms around Henry and smiled.  His brilliant, smiling face and body language repeated my brother's last words.  He was happy, safe....and completely whole.   I didn't want him to go...but I didn't want him to stay......I knew my brother was home.  Forever burned in my memory is the image of my brother being gently led off with Jesus' strong arm across his back.  I watched as they walked together, and as they disappeared in the soft light, my heart finally felt peace.

Originally, I had thought this dream was meant only for me.  I kept it tucked away safely in my heart, revealing it only to my sister and mom as soon as I woke on that beautiful, new glorious morning. Jesus took away that last, horrible memory I had of my brother and replaced it with a triumphant new one full of hope, contentment and peace.  I cried with my kids as I shared Jesus'  priceless gift to me that night.  Sharing with my kids this intimate moment was like a dose of reality of the amazing love of our Savior who is able to bring comfort in the way that no one else can.

Instinctively, when we get hurt we want to pull back and put our hearts safely on the highest shelf.  The heartbreaking picture of the sweet boy on facebook that stirred long buried memories of my beloved brother was a shocking reminder why I feel the need to write but a news story that aired a few weeks prior featuring Steuben glass, gave me a clear picture as to what the Lord wants done with my writing.  Since 1933, the Steuben glass company has been producing spectacular masterpieces of glassware "art" using lead crystal considered to be the clearest of all glasses.  Each piece is painstakingly inspected for the tiniest of flaws which allows only 1 in 5 glass creations to actually leave the factory.  The most valuable and prized pieces of Steuben are on display in various museums around the country and are tucked away safely behind protective walls of glass.  Amongst the elegant army of glittering and shimmering display pieces, a simple crystal plate bearing a single flower outshines all the rest.  The plate, designed and once owned by famed artist Georgia O'Keeffe, gained quite a bit of attention when, upon closer inspection, was noticed that her once flawless piece of Steuben was far from perfect.  Covered in knife marks, it was evident Ms. O'Keeffe opted against hiding her priceless piece of art, and actually put her plate to use!  She didn't display her crystal plate like most owners of a Steuben masterpiece would, but she chose to use her piece and share it.  Like Georgia O'Keeffe's crystal plate, Jesus wants our hearts to be transparent and shared with others.  Is it going to be painful?  Without a doubt, but it is a far worse fate to be sitting high on a shelf underneath a blanket of dust to not but used for the function you were designed for.

I googled, researched and thought long and hard what the phrase "You are not your writing" means.  I still don't fully understand it, but I know the Lord has made it plainly clear, He wants to be my writing.  

Are you hurting??

Paul tells us in II Chorinthians 1 that our Lord Jesus is the Father of Mercies and the God of all comfort.  Please don't hide your heart high on a shelf like my brother did, share your pain today with the Lord and the people that love you.  You are a priceless and beautiful creation, excelling even the most treasured of Steubens!

Perfect Already

It was love at first sight!  It caught my eye and beckoned me over as soon as I crossed through the door and over the antique stores threshold.  I ran my hand over the top of the huge, 12 person table and thought how perfect it would look in my 1800's farmhouse.  I wasn't shocked to see a price tag I couldn't afford but my heart skipped a beat when I saw the date that matched the age of our house.  As the rest of my family slowly sauntered off, I stayed behind daydreaming about this gorgeous piece and mentally added it to my "dream" list of  "must have- gotta have -someday" items.  Who sat at this table?  Who put all these neat nicks, dents and scratches in the top? I smiled wondering if it were naughty, little children careless with their knives and forks....did they get in trouble?  There were deeper slices and gouges that made my imagination soar.   Maybe this table doubled as a cutting board for Ma, or an emergency surgery table like I read about in my favorite book, "Mrs. Mike." Most would look at this old, beat up and worn table and see only flaws and imperfection.  Immediately restoration would come to mind... and only then would it be perfect. "No", I thought, with my fingers running over a deep gouge, "it's perfect already."

"Yuck!"  I moan.   Disappointed, I shake my head and scrunch up my nose in disgust at the woman staring back at me from my bathroom mirror.   My shoulders slump as I wonder out loud, "I still feel like me.....why can't I look like me!"  It's hard watching the slow, gradual and unstoppable transformation of aging!  The ever growing, sagging bags under my once bright, youthful eyes, the deep creases that are taking up permanent residence on both sides of my ever paling lips, age spots, zits (Still!  As if wrinkles aren't enough to deal with) and the refusal of my aging eyes to wear my beloved contacts.  Pulling back the skin on my face, I call my husband over.  "MUCH better, isn't it?" I ask waiting for his reply.  He matter-of-factly answers, "Yeah, great if you like looking like a freaky alien."  "What does he know!" I think to myself as I grab for my bag of tricks to hide all my forming imperfections.  Smearing on my foundation, I sense His disappointment.  He sees the beauty..........why can't I?

Helpless, my husband stood quietly by as the brushes, powders, pencils and tweezers worked at a frenzied pace.  Frustrated at the limitations of my Cover-girl age defying foundation and its inability to cover age spots, my eyes filled with tears and my voice choked as the flood of negative and hurtful adjectives rushed out of my mouth and over my tongue.  As my soul purged its true feelings about my appearance, in my ear, I could hear ever so softly, a hissed, "Yessssssssssssss!"  Through bloodshot eyes, I could see the pain on my husbands face, mirroring how my Jesus felt.  Chills ran down my spine at the realization that the hurling insults that were meant for me, deflected off the mirror and hit the two people I love the most.  My blood ran cold sensing Satan's pure delight at the sight of the devastation my flood left behind.  My words hung heavy in the air as my husband held me tight and bravely became the first to organize the clean up. He spoke from his heart as he gently put my feet back on stable ground, "Please don't take this wrong but if your face were burnt off tomorrow, I'd love you just the same.  I love you."

Satan slithered further into the shadows as Psalms 139:14 was whispered to my heart.  I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Fearfully, I learned, means with great reverence and heartfelt interest; wonderfully meaning unique and set apart. I was fashioned from my Master's hands with care, love and with purpose (Isaiah 44:24). No one is like me...no one's story reads like mine.... I am uniquely marvelous! Being discontented with the way I look or the way I am, is a direct insult to the One who I am made in the image of.  If I despise myself, than I must also despise my Saviour!  Being held by my husband, I picture Jesus as part of the embrace. Satan was no where to be seen as I became cradled in the arms of forgiveness.

We went back to the antique store, and my table was gone.  I stood in the empty spot and silently hoped that whoever bought my table appreciated every nick, dent and scratch.  That table had a beautiful story to tell and it was perfect just the way it was.  The antique store around me slowly disappeared as I saw Jesus come into view.  Smiling, He put His hands firmly on my shoulders, and gently squeezed as he looked at me.  Uncomfortable, my eyes look down at my feet as I feel Him examining every crease, age spot and wrinkle; lifting my face to meet His, He lovingly whispers, "Perfect already."   Maybe that beautiful table was never meant for my kitchen, but for my heart instead.

The Sacrifice Jar

My husband and I decided many Christmases ago to simplify Christmas for each other and exchange only stockings.  Once the kids are in bed on Christmas Eve, with the house quiet and the Christmas tree lit, we sit together on the couch and like two excited kids, we empty the contents of our stockings and Oooo and Ahhh over each little gift.  It's a sweet, peaceful time, stripped from the typical, dreaded anxieties of gifts not being the right size, fit, shape or color.  As I pull each gift from the dark, depths of my red, velvet, Gingerbread Boy stocking, my heart warms at his choices for me that he proudly points out "spoke" to him.   It's my husbands loving reminder to me every Christmas Eve that not only does he love me.....but he knows me.  Through the years, however, my stocking stuffings have gotten more than my little sock can hold so like the popular Christmas song, "The 12 Days of Christmas", my own true love started the tradition of surprising me with my overflowing goodies every day for about a week before Christmas Eve.  I look forward to him emerging from our bedroom with his hands behind his back and the mischievous half smile on his face.  I've gotten beyond picking a hand and started my own tradition reaching around him feeling, poking and squishing, trying to guess my newest surprise before its brought out in front of me revealed.  My favorite surprise this year so far?  A new coffee mug!



I love my week long surprises, so for Jesus' Birthday this year I thought I'd share my Christmas Stocking experience with Him and make His birthday last longer than just one day.  So, my quest for "Gifts for Jesus" began a few short weeks ago.  I shopped and stockpiled a few presents, wrapped them, and waited with excited anticipation until I could give them to Him one by one!  I could barely contain my excitement as He opened His first gift.  With eyes wide, I clasped my hands in delight!  I knew He was going to just love it!  As the wrapping paper came off, terror gripped my chest.  That's not what I wrapped!  "Oh, Jesus!  I'm so sorry!  That's not what I meant to give you.....it looks awful!!!"  Embarrassed, I quickly presented Him with His gift meant for day two.  "Here, try this one, Lord.  It's much better, I promise."  He untied the red, satin ribbon, and began peeling away at the festive wrap, when again, I saw glimpses of another gift that was definitely NOT what I had wrapped.  "Master!  Forgive me!  These aren't the gifts I picked out for you!" Gift after gift, it was the same.  I was mortified!  Each gift when I wrapped them looked perfect, until He opened them and in His light they looked filthy, warn and broken.

I looked closely at Him.  What had I done wrong?  Why were my gifts turning out to be dismal failures and what possibly could I give Him that that wouldn't look hideous illuminated in His beautiful light?  I looked down at His hands, lovingly caressing my disastrous attempts at gifts for the King of Kings.  A lump formed in my throat and my eyes filled with tears when I noticed what I had been missing; the holes in His hands and feet; the scars of my Saviours sacrifice for me.  My heart dropped realizing each gift I gave to my Jesus, came with little to no sacrifice on my part.  A smile to a stranger, a kind word, a gentle touch......all beautiful gestures, and I could tell He liked them.....but it wasn't what He really wanted from me this Christmas.  My eyes turned to my closet and in my heart, I KNEW what He wanted.  Like a spoiled child, I inwardly stomped in defiance..."But I can't give that, I want it, too! My heart grew heavy as I felt His loving, brown eyes on me.  I couldn't take my eyes off His hands; my heart felt pierced at the visual reminder of the valuable, priceless gift He gave me.  My Master left His kingdom in heaven.... for me; He traded his kingly throne for a stable and an animals manger.... for me; He was beaten and bruised and hung to die on the cross....for me. He adopted me as His own and vowed to take care of me every moment of every day since I became His.  Not once has He broken that promise.  It was decided.  I opened the closet and reached in.............

I held the jar that had been meant for another purpose than what I had stolen it for.    I felt guilty as I turned the cold, glass in my hands.  The "Sacrifice Jar " was meant to sit on the kitchen counter as a living lesson for our family on the joys of sacrifice and to paint a visual picture for the kids of Jesus' sacrifice for us.  Each family member would sacrificially give to the jar for a family or person in need we felt the Lord wanted us to help.  We had just filled a need and it sat empty, taking up space on my counter...that is.... until I found another need for it; storage for the money I earned selling my first story.  I didn't make a lot....but enough to get the juices flowing and dreams airborne.  I planned on getting something big and exciting....kind of like a trophy...that I could look on with pride that I had earned with my writing.  Mourning the loss of my dream, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.  My Father held me close as He whispered softly, "We did write a good story together, didn't we?"  I turned to see His shining face and beautiful, wide smile.  Together.  It was never my story, my money, my jar.  It was His all along.  Given to me..........to give back to Him.  The jars original purpose to teach my children the valuable lesson of the joy in sacrifical giving........fulfilled its mission as my own heart swelled as I presented my Saviour and King..... His gift.

Last night, as the kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly brewed, Biggby hazelnut coffee, I hugged my favorite, new mug.  My husband gave me a weird look.......with a satisfied smile knowing he had chosen correctly.  Who knew empty mugs....and jars.....held so much joy?

Happy Birthday, Jesus!! 

Gifts Of Spring

I love the sound of our vacuum!  Not so much really when I'm pushing it, but the loud rumble seems to take on a happy melody when it's being pushed by someone else!  The low roar of our vacuum is a happy announcement to me lines are going back in my carpet and the dirt and dusties are going bye-bye!  Ahhhh, the sound of clean! The whirl of the vacuum isn't the only pleasing sound providing music for my tidy hungry ears. The squeakity-squeak of paper towel against our windows and the swish of the broom on our kitchen floor blends in perfect harmony adding to the joyous song! The symphony of spring cleaning in December my orchestra of kids play is beautiful to this conductors ears!

There is a purpose, really, to this Mom's need for clean in December.  Three years ago, I wanted to find a way for the kids to be able to give to one another and experience the joys that come with gift giving.  I didn't want to just hand them a wad of cash and let them loose in the store.  A)  Money doesn't flow that freely around here and B) gifts that come easily without some sort of sacrifice seem to kind of fall flat.  Mom and Dad have to earn money for the gifts under the tree, so the lesson of work and sacrifice is an important one to teach.  Spring cleaning was the perfect teaching tool......teaching the kids the valuable lesson that work and giving go hand in hand.  These cleaning jobs enabled them to not only earn gifts for each other but they double as gifts for Mom and Dad!  The gift of a sparkling, organized, spring-cleaned home done with excitement and zealous glee!

In 2008, "Christmas Chore Coupons" or "Christmas Cash" (from year to year the name seems to slightly morph!) was born.  Each year, Kris and I brainstorm a master list of "extra mile" chores (chores different from daily chores) ranging from organizing bedrooms, window washing, vacuuming out the van and even playing with the guinea pigs.  The difficulty of the task would determine how many punches the job was worth.   Each child receives their own coupon with areas for punches; 10 punches earned a gift and a unique shopping experience with Mom at "The Lash Country Store."



When they are ready to "cash in" their 10 punches, they let me know which person they want to shop for and I get the store ready, complete with gifts, wrapping paper and cards.  It's fun waiting at our bedroom door like a gate-keeper as I examine the coupon for the proper amount of punches for entry (like I didn't know already.....I am the master of the hole punch! :D)  It warms my heart watching  each child search for the perfect gift for their brother or sister that they worked so hard to earn.  Together we wrap the gift with the paper designated for that person and with excited chatter we wonder whether or not their brother or sister will be able to guess what surprise lie hidden inside!  Its neat to think that each gift snugly tucked in Tinkerbell, Cars or Toy Story wrapping paper, is nestled in so much more.  Each gift is wrapped and taped in the sacrifice of time, energy, effort and beautifully, topped off with a big, bow of love.  The shopping trip with Mom at the "Lash Country Store" comes to an end with my favorite moment, the signing of the card.  The heartfelt, written words of love and friendship expressed by each outshines my sparkling windows and floors and leaves a lump in my throat and my eyes misty!

It's my hearts desire that "Christmas Coupons" spotlight the type of giving our Lord and Savior loving gave us that blessed Christmas morning! He gave the beautiful gift of Spring, giving us shiny new hearts through the sacrifice of His birth and death for each of us...if we accept it.  Though December generally brings snow and cold; blossoms of spring appear in my freshly, scrubbed home........love renewed through gifts of Spring!

Itchy Nose Syndrome!

Snuggled on the couch underneath my favorite, t.v viewing blanket, I let out a contented sigh.  We survived another year decking the halls for Christmas and shockingly, it went smooth!  No catastrophes, no blow-ups....no tears!!  The glow from the t.v and our newly, decorated Christmas tree filled the living room as the we huddled together on the couch; comfy, cozy and content, basking in the joy of surviving another year.  I smugly thought back to all the clearly marked storage tubs and the ingenious diagrams and detailed lists that I left tucked in with the decorations easily showing where everything was to go.  That had to have been the key!  Feeling proud of my OCD and exceptional organizational skills, my head swelled a bit larger at the thought of the Christmas Decorating Contract I drew up a few years back that we all re-read together that morning to keep the "grouchies" away.  Traditionally, it is NOT a Norman Rockwell Christmas scene over here on decorating day, the day after Thanksgiving!  Grumbles and mumbles from good ol' Mom and Dad replace the smiling, cheerful ones that can be seen in one of Mr. Rockwell's paintings....and the kids?  In our family portrait....children are no where to be seen, they scatter keeping as far away from the "grouchies" as possible. 

                                                                                                                     

                                                                                                                                     


My hopeful thinking that I found the key to our new found decorating bliss was interrupted by a horrific sound that I was no stranger to at this time of year.  NO.......WAY!!   Oh please, not again! The unmistakable sound of clinking glass and bulbs and the rustling of pine needles and ribbon was as loud as a lumberjacks "TIMBER!!!", jostling me back to reality from my self-absorbed day dream of Christmas perfection.  My ninja-quick reflexes kicked in and this pink, robed Bruce Lee burst out of her blanket cocoon and was up like a shot to examine the damage.  Standing above my tree that lay in a heap on the floor that I had spent so much time on, placing each bulb, ribbon and bow in just the right spot in artistic, perfect precision, was when I felt the first little twinge.  My hand went straight up to my nose.  With my family gathered around, I could feel a unified, silent gasp..........."Oh oh....."

In a police line up, its not hard to picture Oscar the Grouch, green, wild-haired and dirty, leaning out his dented trash can alongside Grumpy Dwarf with his long face, crossed arms and sour attitude. Next in line, standing shoulder to shoulder alongside Grumpy, another guilty grumbler stands; the axe swinging, little rumbler, Grimli, from "Lord of the Rings".  All three are guilty as charged with the "grouchies" and if you were to look a little closer, you'd see a fourth in this rowdy band of brothers. Yep, that'd be me....maybe towering just a tad taller.......but just as guilty and armed with the same prickly attitude.

                    Guilty of the Grouchies!


                                                                                     
Growing up, I remember talking to the Lord about my battle with the "grouchies" and telling Him how hard it was to control my short, hot temper.  I prayed, "Lord, if ya just gimme a warning the "grouchies" are coming...... you and me.....we can stop it before it gets nasty."  I was really little, but I was convicted in a big way!  It wasn't long until one of my brothers did something that really got my juices flowing and I got an answer to my prayer.  I felt a little feather tickle in my nose.  Weird.  I tried the Sabrina "Bewitched" nose twitch to stop it.  I'd sniff and rub and rub and sniff but it just got stronger and stronger until.................KACHOOO!!  Thinking something just crawled up my nose and died, I shook it off.  Until the next time my temper flared....and it happened again!  This continued on a few times until I finally got it, this could be my sign I prayed for.  I learned a lesson that day.  A) Be careful what you pray for!  and B) The Lord really does hear and answer our prayers!!

That was YEARS ago, and at 42, every time I get annoyed, ticked or miffed, my childhood answered prayer still faithfully kicks in!  It's a instant, visual cue to the ones who know me best the moment my hand shoots up to rub my nose an inward battle is taking place.  With each itch and feathery tickle, I feel the Lord's eyes upon me; watching to see how I handle the approaching "grouchies" with my flashing red warning light He installed in the middle of my face.  With each nose rub, I weigh my two choices.  Go with the moment and let it all fly, or heed the warning and batten down the hatches and lasso my tongue. 

Rubbing my nose and letting out a loud sniff, I look sadly at my beautiful tree.  I had no clue where to start.  Kris bravely made the first move and lifted my mangled tree back to its upright position.  It looked as sad as I felt!  I managed to heed the warning from the insane tickle in my nose and kept my mouth shut....for the most part. I did manage to muster up a few chuckles and even practiced Prov. 15:1 to answer one of my kids questions in a soft, sweet tone.  I was told later it was a little too sweet (over compensation, I think!) when I asked how I did with this years decorating battle with the "grouchies".  Good news, I got a passing grade!  Bad news, I still have work to do!

Thinking back (not only does pride come before the fall!), being organized is great and, yeah, it was a big help, but the smoother decorating year wasn't due to the diagrams, lists or the even the decorating contract.  The perfect Rockwell picture stamped in my head of sugar plums, steaming cups of hot cocoa and merry, carol singing is my expectation every year at decorating time.  No one can live up to my perfect standards, even myself, so I am disappointed every time and left with the "grouchies".  This year, however, my heart was in a different place.  November's 30 Days of Thanks gave my heart and attitude an adjustment and like a visit to the chiropractor, my spotlight on thankfulness popped them back in their proper positions; of praise and worship.  The side effect I witnessed was astounding when I purposely took the time to think and meditate daily on what the Lord has graciously and generously given me! Joy filled my heart when I saw my Master's hands in my everyday!

There is, believe it or not, another side effect to a heart happy, light and filled with joy.  In God's word, we can find that giving praise and thanksgiving to our Lord and King can lead, in most cases, to joyful contagious singing! Isaiah 50:4..."joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody (singing!)"  and Ezra 3:11 ".....and they sang together by course in praising and giving thanks unto the Lord; because He is good, for his mercy endureth forever...." With my own heart happy, light and filled with God's mercy's, it's easier for me to be that playful, lighthearted Mom singing crazy, made-up songs that my kids crack up to and inevitably, one or all start singing along! The "voices of melody" and the word "they" implies multiple people, multiple voices.  Joy...... is extremely contagious!  But, question is, how do we keep a heart happy, light and full of joy?  David writes the prescription in Psalms 100.  A daily dose of this song should keep the joy flowing!

Make a joyful noise unto the Lord all ye lands.
Serve the Lord with gladness: come before His presence with singing.
Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.
Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name,
For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.


It's amazing to think this prescription of David's is thousands of years old and this cure for our hearts is still as potent as ever!  Now, I wonder if he's got anything for itchy noses?

     

Scrooge, Thanksgiving and a pile of Post-Its!

It's like a scene straight out of Scrooge!  Hunched over my stacks of receipts and bills, I examine each one; my face squished in a grimace and my eyes narrow in intense concentration.  I punch the numbers in my over sized, blue calculator and watch with increasing anxiety the slowly dwindling total. Sighs, moans and growls escape my tightly pursed lips.  I can feel my heart start to pound and my stomach tighten.  My hands begin to shake as I copy the ever shrinking total in my checkbook ledger.  This is usually the time my kids choose to come hippity hopping in the kitchen to see what Mom is up to.  They quickly turn to scamper at the sight of their Ebenezer Mom's head buried in her hands and the low, muffled response to their cheerful greeting, "Just gimme a minute, I gotta figure this out!"





I don't know what it is about me and bill paying.  It's kind of like being back in school and having homework...homework that never gets done.  Every month the bills get out....every month they come back.  I've been late on a couple of them before and to me, late notices are like a big, fat "F" on my report card.  I picture in my mind the bill sender as a cross old teacher with one fist clenched on her hip and the other hand with a wagging finger shaking back and forth crossly in front of my nose.   Month after month this goes on.  The shaky hands, the stomach aches........the Scrooge attitude.  Every month.....that is....until this month.






Post-it Notes and their lack of glue has shed a new light on Thanksgiving for this Bah-humbug, bill paying gal.  The 22...and counting.... colored sheets of square, barely glued paper hanging on my fridge has done the job of Jacob Marley and all three Spirits of Christmas to make this bill paying Scrooge a believer.  A believer in what?  A believer in God's daily provision!  Our family's "November's 30 Days of Thanks" started with a movement to take back Thanksgiving and give thanks where it's due....our Lord and Savior.  Bending over every morning to re-stick the previous days thanks, forced me to look at all 132 of our thanks.....and counting..... multiple times a day.  Today, however, I felt defeated by the steady flow of silent, drifting notes and I gathered them up in a pile and placed them next to the fridge.  Random holes of exposed refrigerator were tall tale signs where thank yous to Jesus were once stuck.  One of the kids noticed the gaping holes and the pile of fallen notes and asked what happened.  I told him we needed sticky tack to give the Post-It's extra sticking power.  A few teeny pieces of sticky tack to the back of the renegade notes and they were finally stuck in place!

                                               
                                                                               



My bill paying attitude.....the lack of faith of my Lord's providing for me and our family.....was like Scrooges gnarly fingers flicking each Post-It note of thanks down.  With every grumble, growl and moan I was removing a thanks from the fridge.  It was like I was telling Jesus, "Yeah, thanks for the groceries last month but.... I know THAT won't happen again!" Being thankful should encompass not only the past provisions, but my provisions of the present and future.   Like the sticky tack on our post-it's, Jesus' words in Luke 12:22-30 works like superglue and holds our thank you notes up permanently for my doubting eyes to see.  Jesus lovingly tells us that He WILL provide!   He has blessed us with so much, yet, how easily I forget.  For 21 years, He has faithfully paid every bill, provided a roof over our heads and food for our table.  For the next 21 years.....and beyond.....He promises to provide for those same needs.  ".....Oh ye of little faith.....seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye of doubtful mind........your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.  Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."  If my Master says He will take care of me.....His promises are true!

Day 24.....Thanksgiving Day.....November's 30 Days of Thanks.  I'm thankful for second, third and infinity chances for bill paying Scrooges like myself with little faith......and sticky tack comes in handy, too!

Thirty Days of Thanks

I couldn't believe my ears!  Scanning through radio channels on my way to the boys' orthodontist appointments in Ann Arbor, Bruce Springsteen's recognizable, gravelly voice broke through the static.  "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" worked like a smelling sauce and my abnormally still boys were snapped from their reading trance!  Anakin and the rest of the Star Wars crew were left to fend for themselves and my once quiet library on wheels was now full of loud, off key singing. As the boys and The Boss shouted of the arrival of St. Nick, I looked around my van in dumbfounded shock, recalling how just that morning I had emptied it from its Halloween clutter of discarded costumes pieces and candy wrappers.  Christmas, I found out later that day, was not just blaring on the radio, but like a freight train eager to leave the station, it was making its way full speed at places like the Mall, Walmart and even T.V. commercials!  Grinning Jack-O-Lanterns, scary skeleton masks and aisles of Halloween candy were now being upstaged by Santa and Snowmen.  Standing in front of the huge Christmas tree looming just inside the entrance of Walmart, sounding like an old Wendy's commercial, I picked my jaw off the ground and found myself asking, "Where's the Turkey?!" 

It really shouldn't be that much of a shock.  Thanksgiving, a holiday with Christian origins, has had it's long, turkey neck on the the chopping block for a long time and the world seems to be working over time trying to silence its gobble.  Thanksgiving is just a reminder of when our country was young and Christ was in the center.  Amnesia is the worlds goal, and a good dose of egg nog in the veins of our children as soon as the month of November hits, is their solution.  How do we as Christians fight back and take back this historical, Christ-centered holiday?  Simple, leave a legacy of tradition even stronger than Rudolf and his red nose.

Tradition:  "An inherited, established, or customary pattern of thought or action."  I'm a big one for establishing tradition! Any chance I get, I try to tack a new one on and like clockwork I make sure they happen....why?  Tradition = family unity!  Traditions don't have to be fancy.  A few of our weekly examples are popcorn on Sunday nights, Saturday Morning Muffins and Friday Night Pizza/Movie Night.  Traditions can come in all different shapes and sizes and none is too small to be included!

We as parents can breathe new life into Thanksgiving for our children by expanding their view of this popular "all-you-can-eat " feast day by adding a few new traditions on.  What traditions can you start?  One we have used over the years is "Thanks-living" treasures by Family Life Today.  We get out our treasure chest shaped box a week before Thanksgiving and read the pilgrim story and the devotionals each day right up to Thanksgiving.  Recipes (hard tack is the kids' favorite!), pictures, and little trinkets are all used together to help teach the kids the Christian origins behind the holiday. 

After my Ann Arbor trip radio shock moment, I decided it was time we add another Thanksgiving tradition to our arsenal and shine an even brighter spotlight on the holiday.  Emphasising the "Thanks" in Thanksgiving weighed heavy on my heart and the phrase, "Novembers 30 Days of Thanks" popped into my head.  That's it!  We're going to retake Thanksgiving in 30 days! From the time the kids could write, we found it important to teach the kids thankfulness and gratitude by writing their own thank you notes. Verbal thanks is great and we encourage that, too, but there's something about going the extra mile and writing a hand written note that really cements the feeling of gratitude. Friends and family have received notes of thanks......but our God hasn't.  Kelsey came up with a post-it thank you note idea for the fridge with each family member writing their thanks on the post-it note of the day. Every day, the collage of thanks will be added to until the end of November, when the word "Thanksgiving" will be evident for all to see.   Our 30 days of hand written "Thanks" will create a colorful masterpiece displaying God's merciful and gracious "giving"!  November 30th, will be a day of rejoicing with a fridge full of rainbow post-its notes of promises fulfilled! 

So, how about you?  Are you up for the challenge?  Let's take back Thanksgiving.....in 30 days!