Day Twenty One 2016

Tonight at the end of the Christmas Eve service there was the traditional singing of Silent Night, and lighting of the candles from the Advent Christ candle.

And apparently tonight I can’t sing silent night, all I can do is cry.

But my Matthew was there with me, and I wasn’t alone, and it got better.  

A light shines in the darkness

and the darkness does not overcome it.

Day Twenty 2016

Tonight we went to Christmas Eve service and Pastor Kent said the twelve days of Christmas start tomorrow, so I figure I am off the hook for not making it to 25 days on target.  I have till Epiphany, and I heard from Kent who surely heard it from Jesus. 

My favorite part of the Christmas eve service is the children’s pageant, where the youngest children enact the nativity story.  It is an exercise in chaos.  Regardless of how prepared Kristin is, the play is like herding cats, and never seems to go the way it was planned. That is what I love about it.  

Tonight I thought the show was stolen by a little girl I thought was portraying a sheep.  She vigorously flapped her arms and nodded her head throughout the performance.  I thought maybe she was an angel, but the angels all had halos and wings.  I even asked Matthew, he said she was a sheep, and he had no idea why the sheep was flapping her arms.

As it turns out, she was a dove, which was confirmed by the children’s minister afterwards.  She was an excellent dove, and her performance makes so much more sense with that bit of information.  I blame the costume department.

After it was over my boys recalled when they had their turns as shepherds.  My Paul recalled that the year he got to dress up, none of the children’s costumes fit him. So they gave him a sheet, and a head wrap.  He looked like a shepherd until the head wrap he was tugging at came off and then pretty much he was a 10 year old in stripped sheet.

Children’s Christmas pageants? Always bring me joy.

A Star! A Star!

According to lore a star shone in the sky over Bethlehem to let the Wiseman and Shepherd’s know where to find the infant Jesus.  My friend Sandy Ferree is particularly fond a quote that says “If it had been three wise women they would have asked directions, arrived on time, helped deliver the baby, cleaned the stable, made a casserole, and brought practical gifts, and there would be peace on earth.”

That may very well be true. Well maybe not the peace on earth part. But the rest, perhaps.

When I was struggling to decide if I should move to Colorado and completely uproot my family and leave my Oklahoma friends behind, I kept asking for a burning bush.  I thought if God spoke to me from a small shrub that was on fire I would be clear what I should do.  But yeah, I’m not Moses, so. . .

Two years ago after we were here and Kat had a job, when everything got all shook up at her former DHS office in OKC I told her that was our sign that we had made the right choice.  Even though it was scary and less than smooth transition I felt as though that gave us some confirmation that if we had held on to what we had in OKC that it wouldn’t have lasted. 

So I envy those wise men with a big giant star pointing them in the right direction.  Even better to be a shepherd and have some loudmouth angels telling them “HARK! Get your butts in gear, he is over there!”  Lucky for me I am married to a wise woman, so my stable is clean and there is a casserole in the oven waiting when I get there.

The truth about Santa.

The other night my friend Nicole commented on what I had written that she raised her girls believing in Santa.  She offered it up as something of a challenge, because she knows my boys were raised to believe that Santa is not real.  So here is the cold, hard unvarnished truth about Santa.  It does not bother me for other families to believe in him.

I grew up believing in Santa, and left on my own, in all likelihood I probably would have done Santa with my boys.  However, Kat was raised differently than I was.  Her family didn’t do Santa, for all the right reasons. 

When Kat and I were newlyweds the whole ‘do we have a tree or not’ sort of eclipsed the Santa issue for us.  I have written how Kat’s sister raised her daughter Elisa Gail to know the truth about Santa, and failed because her mother in law told Elisa that Santa was real, and then showered Elisa in Santa presents every single year.  How do you argue with a Granny like that?

So since I sort of won the tree issue, I compromised with Kat and we didn’t tell Paul about Santa.  The first year we really had issues was 2001, when Paul was 3 and Matthew was a newborn.  That was mostly because Paul didn’t trust strangers, and he was certain Santa was a stranger, and a nosy one at that.  What business is it of Santa’s what Paul wants for Christmas?  Combine that with his big brother protectiveness, (NO, Santa can NOT give my baby brother a gift, that is a brothers job!) and Matthew grew up without much temptation to believe.

We had a few rocky years where Matthew was convinced it was lying if he let other people believe in Santa, but we have recovered from that.  With minimal scaring to the adults involved. (Read about it here).  Which brings me to my point, I am ok with other people telling their kids about Santa and believing in that, provided you are ok with me telling my boys otherwise.

It may be that I am like the atheist who thinks he might be wrong about God.  The arguments with true believers make me uncomfortable.  And that my friends, is the truth.

Do you hear what twenty-three?

Do you have a favorite bible verse? Is it your favorite because it speaks to your heart, or because you memorized it in bible school when you were a child and have never forgotten it? I think both are equally valid.

Kat has Isaiah 54:10. Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you. Her dad shared it with her when she was in HS or College and she memorized it, and it has helped her through some tough times.

My boys both love Micah 6:8 He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly[a] with your God. They learned it at camp the first year my Matthew got to go and it has stuck with them. Twice since then they have heard sermons on that verse in church and it always provokes a conversation after church.

I know I have different verses memorized, but the only one that comes to mind is that one about sexual purity that I learned my freshman year at OBU. Don’t ask. And no, it wasn’t something that I thought really applied to me, it was one that OTHER people thought applied to me. I said don’t ask.

My Matthew’s favorite verse? It is found in Luke chapter 2 And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is born in the City of Bethlehem, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men' Yes it is the bible verse from Charlie Brown, but that is not why it is his favorite, even though Linus is his favorite. About 3 years ago his children’s choir did a Christmas musical and he was selected to read that line. He had never been chosen for a speaking part in church before and even though he is the original class clown, he took it very seriously, and had it mostly memorized even though he was allowed to read it.

From that time on, when he hears it, he says ‘that’s my verse papa!’ Maybe he just means that it is the verse was his line. But I like to think he means more than that, because a verse about an angel sharing the good tidings of great joy is a powerful message for a child. For any of us.

God Rest you Merry, Twenty-Two. .

In 2007 at work all the employees were given jackets with our company logo on them. The jackets were very warm but for one reason or another I never really wore mine. Last year when I started traveling to Denver I resurrected the almost new jacket and wore it to the office. My coworker Candi wears hers as well, and every time we wear them everyone in the office makes a big deal about how great they look and how can they get one. They were not popular when we got them the first time, and they were not an inexpensive gift, but to hear people talk they are much in demand.

So we did some looking and were able to locate the same jacket and ordered them for some of the office staff for this year. At $65 a pop I wanted this gift to be a huge success. Only, of course it wasn’t. The jackets fit differently and the people that got the jackets would rather have the thermal shirts and bags that the other employees got. All this to say, sometimes, maybe it’s better not to try and replicate things we liked about past Christmases.

I am telling myself this in attempt to let go of the feelings I have when I heard that the church here in Denver is not having Christmas eve services. When Kat shared that info with me I said the most unchristian hateful things. I know you are shocked. But really, it is Christmas Eve. The night that we are supposed to be celebrating Jesus’ birth, right? And no church?

I maybe am not the most devote Christian, and I am certainly not the most conservative or traditional one, but I do like Christmas Eve services. I have mocked the one at the UU church in Tucson, but I’d visit it again in a heartbeat. I attended and participated in so many Christmas Eve services at First Christian in Tucson, and I know I would be disappointed to go back, but I would in an instant. First Baptist FBC was not the same, but still familiar when I went back in 1999. And really, I don’t know that I am looking for someone to recreate the Christmas Eve services of my past, but. . .

I fully admit I must be old, or at least ‘old school’ when it comes to this issue. I get it, Christmas Eve on a Saturday night, when you have to have church again on Christmas morning is a lot of church. But how often does it happen? Once every 5 or 6 years? I almost feel like this is the new version of the churches that canceled Sunday morning church because it was Christmas morning back in the 90’s. Really, what is this about? Making more time to be with families? My family wants to be in church on Christmas Eve. Or at least, I want my family to be in church on Christmas Eve.

Sure I could find another church service to attend. With strangers. And maybe I will, but I have a hard enough time making myself go to church with the people I am just beginning to get to know. So I don’t know that I can make myself just pick a new church with strangers for one service.

I remember a conversation that I had with my Granddad Kinkade in 2002 about church. I was telling him I didn’t like the big contemporary churches with the praise bands and choruses projected on the walls, and I asked why it was so hard to just find a regular church like what I was used to. He said you can’t go looking for those churches anymore, because they aren’t there, and even if you find one like that, it’s not really the same as what you want it to be. He said God wants you in church.

So on the one hand, that conversation tells me to accept that maybe those Christmas Eve services I miss don’t exist any longer and that what is important is that I am trying to join in with other believers on Christmas morning. But the part where he said ‘God wants you in church’ also makes me think that maybe God wants everyone in church Christmas Eve.

Thirteen in Killarney!

Have you seen the movie “Buddy The Elf”? I am not a big Will Ferrell fan, but this is an amusing film. One of the best lines in the film is "SANTA!!!!! Oh my god! I know him! I know him!” Every time I hear this line quoted it reminds me of a very earnest 5 or 6 year old Elisa Gail.

I have told the story before that when my niece Elisa Gail was a baby, Stephanie and Clyde made a decision that they would not ‘do Santa’ with her. They were honest with her at a very young age and told her there was no Santa, and that her presents came from her parents and her family.

The only problem with this plan is that Clyde’s mother Dorothy told Elisa that Santa was real, and then made sure that there were tons of presents from Santa every year at her house. This led to some very heated conversations with a small determined child.

“No Uncle Judson, SANTA is real! My Granny knows him! She knows him! He works at the Wal-Mart with her! He is REAL!”

Hard to argue with that logic!

Five GOLDEN Rings Ba Da Bum Bum

Ok, it looks like I haven’t run out of steam yet.

I have a confession to make. My boys do not believe in Santa Clause. I know, it sounds bad. I grew up with the myth of Santa, Kathleen did not. When Kathleen’s sister Stephanie had a daughter she made the decision that she was not going to do Santa with Elisa. So, Steph told Elisa the truth when she was pretty young. She explained that there was no Santa and that all the gifts come from family and friends. Elisa’s granny (Clyde’s Mom) told Elisa otherwise and then showered her in gifts from Santa as proof. I can remember a 4 year old Elisa telling me I was all wrong about Santa, because her granny knew him.

So, when Kat and I had Paul, we agreed that we could forgo the Santa tradition, (since Kat already compromises on the tree). I had no idea what a challenge it would be. Of course marketing and advertising are against us, but that is almost beside the point because the boys know what they see on TV is not real. The problem is that when my boys tell people that they do not believe, they are always corrected and usually by adults. When Paul was little it was somewhat amusing when people asked him what Santa was bringing him, because he always answered ‘nothing’ and smiled. When he was 4 they had someone come to his day care dressed as Santa and it was reported to me that Paul did not want to sit on his lap and talk to him, that they had to bribe him with chocolate AND a candy cane, that they had to give the treats to him BEFORE he would sit on Santa’s lap and that then he would not tell Santa what he wanted. They asked him if Santa could bring a present for his brother and he LOUDLY let them know that he, PAUL, was getting a present for his brother, and no one else was ALLOWED to.

But all of that is secondary to what my Matthew has gone through. Please understand, we tell the boys every year that it is ok for other kids to talk about Santa and to believe in Santa, and that it is absolutely not their job to tell everyone. In fact, I encourage them to keep their mouths shut about the whole thing. Matthew, however, has a very strong sense of truth and not truth. And in his world, not truth is a LIE, and there are big consequences for telling A LIE. So he cannot help but share what he knows about Santa, and it always gets him in trouble.

Before he started kindergarten an extended session worker in the church nursery told me that Matthew was telling all the other little children there was no Santa and that he was ruining Christmas for them, and that if I did not put a stop to it he could not come back to the nursery. I gave her my blank stare and said, “thank goodness we believe that Christmas is about Jesus then.”

Only in my head it was more like “listen you hateful hag, you are not in charge here, and you are not the parent of my kid, I know people that will shank you, you crazy witch.” Only I didn’t think witch, which led to another internal dialog about how she made me cuss in my head in church and how that was not very Christ-like of her, and that I hoped God would get her for that. And I think I showed remarkable restraint for that.

So the moral of this story is my kids do not believe in Santa and don’t make me shank you.

Day Two

Either you missed out on day one, so essentially you are late for the party, or you came back for more.

I am calling today’s memory Christmas Karma or how tree envy can bite you on the . . .

When I was in the 2nd grade (circa 1977) my mom had made the decision that rather than spend the $ on a Christmas tree she would donate that to a local charity, and instead she would take evergreen branches from a friend who had recently trimmed the trees in his yard and we could decorate those. The result was 3 or 4 very large branches stuck in a giant green plastic laundry bucket filled with sand and water to hold them in place. It did not look tree like; instead it more closely resembled a deranged shrub. But the decision had been made so we hung lights and ornaments.

The last day of school before Christmas break my teacher Ms. Dickson asked all the children who did not have a Christmas tree yet to raise their hands. If she had asked for children who were not going to get a Christmas tree, or whose parents could not afford a Christmas tree I would have kept my hand down, but because she said “yet” I thought I had a chance, so I raised my hand. I was the only one who did, so either everyone else had been blessed with a real tree that year, or they were too afraid to admit it. Ms. Dickson graciously informed me that I could take the classroom tree home.

I was so excited as I waited by the curb with my tree for my Mom to collect me. Luckily the family vehicle was a blue 1972 VW van so I knew there was plenty of room. When the van rolled up and the door opened there was already a tree inside. My sister Jenni had brought home the first grades classroom tree as well. My mother had tried to explain to Jenni’s teacher, and then to mine, that it wasn’t that we could not afford a tree, it was that we had made the decision as a family to give that money to charity. I do not know if the teachers believed her or not, but either way, my tree joined my sisters in the van.

I was set to undecorated the unsightly bush in the dining the dining room and hang our family treasures on my tree, but my Mom was not going for that. So this was the year that Jenni had a tree in her bedroom, and I had tree in my bedroom, and we opened our presents seated around Charlie brown’s Christmas tree’s mutant cousin.
But wait . . . there is more.

Flash forward to 2004. My Paul was in the first grade and Matthew was 3. If you know Kathleen and me, then you know that the tree issue is sort of a compromise. I come from tree people and Kathleen comes from not tree people, (no they are not Jewish, although that is a common misconception). So, some years we have a big tree, and some years we, ok, *I* have to make do with a miniature tree, (or several as the case may be). 2004 was not a big tree year.

That year Paul’s elementary school had been adopted by a local church and in the fall every child received a school uniform and a new pair of shoes from this church. At the beginning of winter every child received a warm jacket. I was a little uncomfortable with this as Kat and I can certainly afford to buy our children what they need, and even if that were not the case, their grandparent’s would never let them go without. However, the argument was made that I would rather be a little uncomfortable about it and have some children who might really need these items get them, than to refuse the gift that was offered.

After the coats I was thinking we were done with the free gifts. I know now I was wrong, so very wrong.

Right before Christmas break there was a knock on the door one night. I opened it to find a man dressed in a Santa Clause suit and his merry band of helpers. Paul had been selected to be the recipient of Santa’s bounty. They brought in several wrapped presents for both boys, and since we did not have a tree they also gifted us with a three foot artificial light up color changing led tree. I showed them the mini trees we had up, I showed them the wrapped presents on top of the entertainment center, and I offered to show them the gifts I had not wrapped yet as proof that we absolutely were not the people that needed this blessing. I was practically begging them to take this stuff away, but they would not listen. The more I tried to explain, the more they looked at me with that “bless his heart” expression and I knew there was no way I would ever convince them that we were not a needy family.

I do not fault Paul for this fiasco. I am sure they asked his class who had a tree, and we did not. Or more likely he made a pronouncement that Santa wasn’t coming to his house, since we do not do Santa (which is a story for another day), and it was taken the wrong way.

My Mom was not around to hear how this played out, but I am sure she would have appreciated the symmetry and poetic justice in the whole story.