Searching for Easter

   I go looking for Easter in Walgreen's. Even though one might be fooled, it is not there among the Peeps, the plastic baskets, and the fake green grass.

   I wander down the aisles of the Hallmark store replete with their perfectly aligned cards and matching envelopes. Scattered everywhere throughout the shop are pink, blue and yellow bunnies nestled alongside hand-painted eggs. This is not my Easter either.

   I join the throngs in the grocery store, filling my cart with treasures for a meal that I will serve to cousins and sisters and husband and children at Sunday lunch. The cash register goes ching, ching, ching, and I am out of there with a laden car and a tired back. This, too, is not my Easter.

   Once home, I set the table, arrange flowers, and slice mountains of squash and onions, grease casserole dishes, tear lettuces, and chop herbs. I am working ahead. It is special, this beauty I seek to create, but it is not Easter.

   I walk outside to bask in the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine. The silver maples are showering their helicopter seeds all over me. I wink at the sky and smile. But Easter? No, this is a compelling beauty from a Divine hand, but it is not Easter.

   I climb back into my Bible, suddenly thirsty for the Holy cup and the bread. I want to linger there at the meal shared with My Beloved, but I am called onward toward a hill outside the city of Jerusalem. It is here that I find a story played out that shakes my soul to the core. It is a tale, oft told, of a suffering and a sacrifice so wretched and so raw that it is at once almost unbearable and unbelievable. I am suddenly there. I smell the blood. I see the heavy splintered form of the cross and the broken God-man upon it. I look into the faces of the betrayers and know that their shame and their guilt mirrors my own. I know what I deserve. But the God-man hanging there will have the final word. "Forgive them," he cries as he shudders and gasps for air. Then He cries out to the Father.

   In a little while, the sky grows dark. The earth shakes. The bolts of lightening accelerate as they penetrate the darkness with a terrible light. I quake inside as I turn back to the cross. It is finished. The God-man breathes no more.

    I want to run from the scene. I am a betrayer and a rebel of the first-order. I don't even have to wait until the cock crows. I know my own heart. I feel the crushing weight of my own sin and my paralyzing grief. And yet. And yet.

    I limp through the days bereft. The morning of the third day dawns bright and beautiful. The women have been busy with their preparations. Their faces are worn with grief and exhaustion but they are filled with a sense of mission and purpose. They have come to anoint the body of the Beloved One. I have tagged along.

   One of the women runs ahead, spurred and driven by a need deep within her. Yet something is amiss. The guards have disappeared, and the giant stone is no longer blocking the darkened entrance to the cave-like tomb. A deep and powerful voice pierces the quiet surrounding the tomb. It is coming from an unusual creature standing vigil by the tomb, "Why is it that you seek the living among the dead?" The air seems to quiver at the sound of his words.

  The angel looks with something akin to incredulity at the mounting disbelief in the face of the stumbling weeping woman. Like her, my human mind struggles to apprehend the words and all that they imply.

   She runs to look inside. Her voice trembles as she announces that the tomb is empty. My vision grows blurry. How can it be? THE TOMB IS EMPTY. I fall to my knees, and something inside me begins to take on a life of its own.

   What is this glorious hope, this unspeakable joy rising up within me? Can the terrible suffering of the God-man on the cross find its completion and its consummation in an vacant tomb with its empty ledge and neatly folded linen?

   Yes, yes, my soul cries. Yes. This, this is my Easter. It is an empty tomb. It is here in the dust of the dimly lit cave that I have come to find life. And hope. And victory over an ancient sin and despair that have held my soul in their clutch. This tomb, this place of burial where the body of the Messiah was laid to rest is the Easter I have sought. And it is not just mine. It is for all who dare to believe.
    My heart leaps within me at the truth and the glory of it all.

Christ the Lord is Risen. 

Indeed, He is Risen! 

Let the earth and the heavens rejoice...

The Husband's Christmas Letter 2013

   

     The Husband works for an incredible organization, Pinnacle Bank, that allows him the freedom to send his Christmas reflection to all 750 bank employees each year. It is a special gift that he does not take lightly. I look forward each year to reading what he has written. This letter really pierced my heart. Here is this year's letter sent the week before Christmas! Read it and you'll see why I love this man so much.

Christmas Blessing 2013

As we once again approach that joyful time of the year, Christmas, I want to challenge and encourage us to contemplate two aspects of this most extraordinary day in the history of the world.  First, I challenge you to really ponder why and how we celebrate Christmas and the indescribable joy which it should represent to us , and secondly, something upon which we rarely focus in our celebration – the three Wise Men and what they should represent to us.

With regards to this particular day, to me unquestionably Christmas is the most important day in the history of the world and reflects the greatest news ever given to mankind.  The baby’s birth in the manger was the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy:  Isaiah 9:6 – “ For us a child is born, to us a Son is given. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace  “and to the shepherds in the field an angel proclaimed in Luke 2:9:  “I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people. Today in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you, He is Christ the Lord. “  Through this day, there are several poignant messages given which we should recognize and claim.  First and most importantly – God loves you.  This love He has for you encapsulates His nature, for in His very essence God is love.  Secondly, God is with you:  Jesus is actually named “Emmanuel” which means “God with us."  Thirdly, God is for you – He wants you to succeed in the things that are truly important.  He desires a vibrant relationship with you – If not, why would He have sent His Son to be with us except to relate with us – not to judge the world but instead to love it and save it.

Let’s not forget the Prodigal Son story in which the father runs out to greet the returning wayward son who had previously abandoned his family.  THAT is the story of Christmas.  It is the Father who runs to greet us in the form of a babe. The Bible clearly states that we were all destined for eternal death in sin but God did not turn His head on us, but instead sent His Son to be with us and ultimately to be the vehicle through whom we can be reunited with Him forever.  Is there anything of greater value to be celebrated?  Life is tough – in fact very tough. Our lives resonate with poor choices; friends disappointing us; family trials; divorce; business failures; debilitating health conditions; deep suffering, separation, and even death. At some point some or all of these are a part of each of our lives.  HOWEVER, Christmas is that good news of great joy which is for everyone who chooses to accept the gift, such that we have something of God's own eternal nature coupled with the power of a heartfelt joy which can supersede and even conquer the temporary circumstances which cause us great unhappiness and anxiety. Through our Lord we now have access to that peace which surpasses all understanding.

You see, a major part of the “Good News” of Christmas is that YOU matter to God.  He knows everything about us – the good, the bad, and the ugly – and He still loves us.  We are not an accident – He has a plan and purpose of life for each of us.  Christmas is God’s chosen time.  It is not about religion, for Jesus did not come to bring us a religion,  but instead He came to bring us a relationship – the opportunity to know Him; love Him; accept Him as Lord; and be forever reunited with Him.  God sent Jesus to us as the most extraordinary gift possible so we could know what He is like.  God did not want us to love him from a distance but instead desired to love us up close.

Now as to the Wise Men, far too infrequently do we place any emphasis upon them and scrutinize exactly who they were  and why they are important to us.  The Wise Men were part of a totally different culture. They are fascinating people. Certainly in the manger, they looked out of place with their fancy clothes and gifts.  The Bible refers to them as “Magi” – quite wealthy and highly educated – a combination of philosophers, scientists, and astronomers.  They were also seekers of the truth.  In Matthew 2:2 they ask:  “Where is the baby who was born to be the King of the Jews?”  They wanted to worship Him.  They were willing to go to any length to find Jesus – to come from the Far East to the Middle East in Bethlehem to find Him – to embark on a four to five month (or possibly longer) journey across a scorching hot desert to find Him.  All the major religious leaders of the world were basically right there in Jerusalem,  only six miles from Bethlehem,  but none of them were seeking Jesus.

Can you imagine what it must have been like when the Magi first saw the baby Jesus?  He looked to be just another baby in a dirty manger, yet they knew immediately that He was the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  They experienced such depth of emotion that they stopped in awe and fell on their faces to worship Him.  Also, remember what these Wise Men did next – they gave Him gifts as part of their worship – gifts representing their very best – gold; myrrh; and frankincense.  They bowed down and gave Him their treasures.

So the question for you and me is:  “What will we give Him?” 

Will we give Him our trust?  Will we give Him first place in our life so that nothing robs Him of that place? Will we look at those things which quite frankly represent idols disrupting our relationship with God?  Will we give Him our Heart?  In that most special place of our heart is what we love; what we most deeply value; those things about which we care the most.  Will we share our love for Him with others?   Will we be seekers of Truth like the Wise Men?  And most importantly, as with the Wise Men, will we give Him our best – not simply our leftovers but instead our very best?  Do you ever contemplate that just maybe God wants a present from us?  Jesus said that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a pearl so valuable that one would sell everything and anything to obtain it.

So the difference in giving our present to God -  our most valuable treasure – our Heart – we immediately get something back in return even more valuable – what a deal!!  The best ever of which I have heard!! We are never to be separated from Him. 

So this December 25^th, I wish for you a most special and blessed Christmas – knowing how much God loves you; how He is with you regardless of present, past, or future circumstances; how in His omnipresence and omniscience He is always watching you and always for you.  I pray that we all will give Him our very best and most precious treasure such that we will enjoy Him, not simply at Christmas, but for all eternity. 

MERRY  CHRISTMAS!

Ed White

Taking a Break

   It began with a crashing computer. The one with all of my photographs on it. Then one excuse began piling up after another. My stress level kept rising. I could not organize my thoughts or anything else, for that matter. So after much angst, I gave myself permission to take a break from blogging. Something that is supposed to be fun and therapeutic had ended up becoming a burden. Not a good idea.
   I am back today with a repost of a very special Christmas blessing that has a place of honor in our home each and every year. I just put this treasure out today. I know. It's the week before Thanksgiving. And here I am decorating for Christmas. But I have a good excuse. A really good excuse. I am having my right knee replaced the day before Thanksgiving. So unless I decorate today and tomorrow, the Christmas decor will pretty much be nonexistent. Thus...I have been dragging out my treasures and putting them out...smiling all the way. It's been a delightful day. 
    I do hope to update you all on my knee replacement (this is my third joint to be replaced.) It's not exactly something to which I am looking forward, but it is something that I most definitely need to do. Look for me later. I will be the one in the hideous white TED hose that will carry me right through Christmas. Maybe I'll just pretend to be a snow bunny this year...right.


     During the first twenty-five years of our marriage, it became a tradition for me to purchase something reminiscent of the nativity as a part of the Christmas gift The Husband and I gave to one another. Thus it is that our home at Christmas is filled with creches. When Christmas is over, I don't even put them all away. Some of them remain in place throughout the year as a perpetual reminder of the "Gift" they represent. Some are ornaments that hang upon the tree; others are fashioned of wood, ceramic, or clay, and one set is made entirely of felt. It is just perfect for little grandbaby hands to hold and to move and to place just so over and over again.
       However, the favorite of all of my creches is a very humble nativity, one that is not likely to attract a second glance unless you know the story behind it. Despite its lack of supposed beauty, it has a place of prominence in our home: it has its home on the entry hall table to greet guests when they come in the door. 
       The base is a slab of unfired clay made by one of my children. There are little figures crafted by another of my children, where once there were four figures, only three have stood the test of time. Sadly, Joseph has completely disintegrated. The figures are accompanied by a hand-lettered banner made by yet another child and finished off with a clay plaque by the last of my children. Thus, this beloved nativity represents the collective efforts of all four of our offspring. It was not planned this way, but I am convinced it was a gracious coincidence guided by a heavenly hand.

     The banner is twenty-three years old. I wouldn't trade anything in the world for the "Goly to God in the highest..." Goly was a first grader's way of writing "Glory," but I am sure that God understood exactly what this child of mine was trying to say. 
     Another child lovingly crafted the base which originally was shaped more like a cave and had an overhanging top that has long since broken off. It holds the three figures (there were once four). There is  Mary; she is the figure on the right bending over the tiny figure resting on a bed of clay. It is Baby Jesus but his head is no longer attached to his body and must be carefully positioned or it will roll off on its own. To the right of Jesus and Mary is a lion, crouching in the snow. When the son who made the figures came home with this nativity with the lion, I had the audacity to ask him, "A lion?"  (I am thinking a cow or sheep might have been more appropriate, but mothers should learn early never to ask children questions like this, unless they want to immediately be put in their place. I will never forget that he looked at me with something akin to disdain as he said, "Of course, Mommy, don't you know that the lion goes with the lamb?"  And so it does. I cried. He patted me. 
      The Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God...they go together, do they not, and indeed, are they not one and the same? Yes, some of the most profound truths come out of the mouth of babes. 
     The final complement to this treasured creche is the little clay plaque in the back:.You can barely read it, but in case you can't, I'll tell you: It says, "Jesus I Love You." It was originally supposed to be a cross, an Easter decoration, but when this child brought it home he told me,"I couldn't do the cross, Mommy, I wrote Jesus a letter instead. I thought He might like it better than the cross. I wanted to tell Him thank you." I cried again. He said, "I want it to go with the manger." It was springtime so I asked again, "Do you want me to put it out with the Easter things?"  He shook his head firmly. "No, this cross is a letter, and it goes with the manger." 
       How could it be that a child understood something so deep, so powerful, so profound?  How could he grasp at the age of five, the very essence of the cross? How could he know that the cross, the terrible, wondrous cross, is also a letter, an I-love-you letter from a Holy God to His beloved, yet sinful people. 
       So you see perhaps why this tiny fragile nativity holds a place so dear to this mother's heart. Each child of mine made his or her contribution, unplanned and unscripted over the course of many years to make it complete. There is a Banner of Love (Goly to God...). A little cave to cradle the Holy Family. A lion to stand guard and to lie down with the lamb.  And finally, a love letter that would and should have been a cross, except that a little boy wanted so much to write this letter to say thank you to Jesus for the cross. And the child knew intuitively that this was no ordinary baby, this was a baby born to die to save us from our sins. Christmas irrevocably linked to Easter. It is no accident that we must become as little children, is it? And once again, I cry, "Lord help my unbelief. Help each of us to believe with the wonder and the certain faith of a child."

    It is my Advent song this year...starting with the Week of Thanksgiving.

from the archives

   

Go and Pray...

I used to hang my purse on the back door knob when I got home. (Now I put it on the laundry room door; I must have a thing for door knobs and purses.) At this point in my life (many many years ago) I had a four week old baby and a 16 month old toddler. The baby was feverish. I had called the pediatrician's office as soon as they opened and was given one of their coveted early morning appointments. At that point I scrap the plans for the day and am now on my way to the doctor's office.

The baby is already bundled up and in the car in his little infant seat. Getting him settled is the first of my trips to the car. My sixteen month old son is toddling around the house in his normal fashion. I grab him, put on his jacket, pick up the diaper bag, and begin to dig around in my purse for the keys. The keys are on a large silver bracelet type ring, thus relatively easy to find. No keys in the purse. I put the toddler down and search again. No keys. I sit down on the floor and carefully sift through the purse again. No keys. I move on to the diaper bag, checking every pocket. No keys. I am getting really worried.

What if my toddler had taken the keys out of my purse?

Everybody knows how children love keys. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
   
I look my toddler in the eye, and ask, "Keys?"

He nods his head. I ask him, "Did you take Mommy's keys?"
He nods his head again.

At this point I don't know whether we are playing a nodding game or whether my son is really responding to my questions. I can feel the sense of panic beginning to rise. If he has taken them, I am up a creek without a paddle. I run over to the toy box with him in tow and quickly began to search, all the while saying, "Keys?" and hoping against hope that he will respond. No keys. I search the den quickly without success, and then I realize that I need to get the baby back out of the car. Done.

Doctor's appointments at my pediatrician's office are not that easy to come by, especially morning appointments, but that is the least of my worries. The baby is obviously feverish and my sixteen month old cannot tell me where he has put the keys. I am running all over the downstairs looking everywhere that I can think a toddler might put the keys...to no avail.

I start crying. I don't know what I am going to do. I look out the door to see if either of my neighbors who might let me borrow their cars are home. They are not. I am praying as I go through the house again.
I take a big gulp as the impression moves into my thoughts.

Go and pray.

"I am praying," I say to God in my head.

 The impression is stronger.

 Go and pray.

The Husband and I sleep in a heavy antique bed that belonged to my Momma's family. It has deep side rails and wide slats. When I am struggling with something, I will often go and kneel to pray on my side of the bed. I feel the impression ever so strongly as I move toward the bedroom, so I grab the baby and my toddler and off we go. I get the baby settled and then kneel down beside the bed. My toddler follows suit. My frustration with him starts to melt as I watch him bow his little head. I pray aloud and ask the Lord to heal my baby, to help me find my keys, and to bring some desperately needed peace to my heart and our home. I don't stay there long. Toddlers don't let you stay immobile long, even if it is for prayer. I remember that my son patted my hand as I finished praying out loud.

I look down as I open my eyes and began to pull myself up. As I do, I catch a glimpse of something glinting in the light.  I reach toward it. As my hand goes down between the bed rail and the side of the bed directly in front of me, there, caught on a slat, are the car keys on the big silver ring.

I am dumbfounded and in awe. God has directed me to the ONLY place where I would find the keys.

I know without a doubt that I would NEVER have looked there on my own,  and I would NEVER have found them had it not been for the fact that I felt impelled by the Holy Spirit to go kneel in that exact spot and pray. If the keys had fallen through, they would have fallen onto a flat box under the bed where I would NEVER have seen them. But they didn't. They were waiting there. For me to find them. When and only when I knelt to pray.
   
Kneeling to pray beside that bed is not something I do every day. I am usually praying on the run.
But that day, the impression was so strong.

Go and pray.

I wish I could tell you that I understand how prayer works. I don't. But I trust the One who calls us to follow Him into the marvelous and glorious mystery that is prayer.

All I know is that prayer is not about me. It is all about Him.

Song of My Heart

     They say that music soothes the savage beast...and I would agree that music readily touches my soul, perhaps even more quickly than the written or spoken word. Music is a language all its own, and I wish I knew more about neuropsychology and the way music operates on the brain...wait, no I don't...that would only feed my life-long obsession with the acquisition of knowledge. All I need to know is that music calls to me, music ministers to me, music touches me. Music also ushers me into the presence of God. And there is no more glorious music than the music surrounding the Passion of Christ.
     Like many of you older folk, I grew up with The Old Rugged Cross. My grandparents loved it, my husband's grandparents loved it, and my mother-in-law wanted it played at her memorial service. It was.

On a hill far away stood an Old Rugged Cross, 

the emblem of suffering and shame; 

and I love that old cross where the dearest and best 

for a world of lost sinners was slain.

     I remember as a child wondering why I should love that old cross, for the death that the One died upon it seemed so terrifying and horrible to me, but as I grow older, I have come to value the sacrifice and to see the cross for its terrible and enduring beauty. For in it or upon it, lies the means of grace. The Way to the Father. My way to the Father. The cross represents my adoption record. Fully paid. Fully satisfied. And because of that cross I am afforded the privilege of being the daughter of the Most High, His child. And He is my Abba, my Papa. It still seems unbelievable to me.
     Yet my all-time favorite Easter hymn is the more modern Easter Song written by Keith Greene,

Hear the bells ringing, they're singing that you can be born again

Hear the bells ringing, they're singing Christ is risen from the dead.

The angel up on the tombstone said, "He is risen just as he said. 

Quickly now, go tell his disciples that Jesus Christ is no longer dead."

Joy to the World, He has risen, Hallelujah

He is risen, Hallelujah...

      Without fail, I always cry when I sing this song. I love that it brings Christmas, The Cross, and the Empty Tomb together in such a wonderful way. Joy to the World. Yes! I can seemingly never get enough of all that Christ offers me. Daily I find myself in sore need of His redemption, His grace, and His mercy. I am ever thankful that He freely offers me this and more. I scarce can take it in.

      Be Thou My Vision is not an Easter hymn per se, but this ancient church melody is the cry of my heart today:

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that thou art -

Thou my best thought by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

           

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise,

Thou mine inheritance, now and always

Thou and thou only, first in my heart,

High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.

    

  High King of Heaven, my victory won,

May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'n's sun!

Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,

Still be my vision, O Ruler of All. 

     Without a doubt, I am so very thankful to be His.

The Hope of Spring

   Once upon a time a crotchety and quite skeptical English don of no small intellectual mettle reluctantly found his way to faith in Jesus Christ and we are all the better for it. From the classic Mere Christianity to the incomparably magical Chronicles of Narnia, Clive Staples Lewis, better known as C.S. Lewis, continues to push us and prod us to believe in more than we dare and to hope against all hope that there may be found within the wintry heart of man a means of grace that brings with it a solid hope of spring.

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
                                                 The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

Source: Uploaded by user via Jo on Pinterest

Jesus is risen just as He said He would

   
And heaven and nature sing.
And the song is spring
And spring becomes the fount of Hope in the frozen heart of man.

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Blessed Be the Tie That Binds

    A wife laid her husband to rest today. Without a doubt, the love between the two of them was the love of a lifetime, a love that lasted nearly a lifetime, and was a love that transcended nearly everything else in their lives...except their faith.  The husband's failing heart and weakened body had not diminished the depths of love and tenderness this man felt for his bride. Even after sixty-seven years of marriage.
    I remember watching them as a couple many years ago when their health was not an issue. His eyes would light up whenever she entered the room. He continually found her to be delightful and funny and lovely. She was his girl, his M.E., and his love for her was as palpable and real as the sun that hangs in the sky. She felt the same about him. He was her rock, her best friend, her defender and her champion. She could always count on him to be there and to make things better. It was what he did.
   Together they were happier than they ever were apart. She glowed in his presence and became even softer and more lovely. He was tender and protective of her. And nothing gave him greater joy than making her happy.
   Year after year he was granted a reprieve from a variety of physical ailments that drained his health and vitality. As a man of steadfast faith and confidence in the surety of heaven, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he would stand before his Lord and Savior, Jesus. One day in the last season of his life here on earth, unbeknownst to his bride, he sat down to write her a note. I am sure that he thought long and hard about what to say to his beloved. He penned these words and then tucked them away in a place where only she would be sure to find them when death and the glories of heaven came to claim him.
    Here is David's last love letter to his bride, Mary Edith. You better get have some tissue handy. You are gonna need it.

and if I go
while you're still here . . .
know that I live on,
vibrating to a different measure
behind a thin veil you cannot see through
you will not see me
so you must have faith
I wait for the time when we can soar
together again
both aware of each other
Until then, live your life to the fullest
and when you need me,
just whisper my name in your heart
I will be there...

Real...a Profound Truth in a Child's Book

  We all know that sometimes the wisest words come from the simplest of places. Thus, it is no surprise that children's books are often filled with indelible truths...truths that stay with you long after the books themselves have been returned to the shelf.
     The Velveteen Rabbit is one such book. It has long been a favorite of mine. My dear Momma gave each of my children a copy one year for Christmas when they were very young, and as I read the book to each child, it became his or her favorite, as well. I cannot wait for the opportunity to share the timeless story with the next generation. I think Little One is just about ready.
    Moreover, at this juncture of my life, I am drawn once again to the poignant story and the wisdom found in this very lovely children's story by Margery Williams.

Source: photos2.meetupstatic.com via Rachel on Pinterest

Source: 123freegiftscardsforu.com via Nikole on Pinterest

Source: amazon.com via Helen on Pinterest

As I have reconsidered Margery Williams' words, the application to my faith journey is obvious. 

The truth is that Real is what my faith is all about. 

Real is The Way that has been made for me.

It began in a manger, revealed its purpose on a cross, and found its victory in an empty tomb.

Real is the gift freely offered to me. 

A gift I can never deserve, but a gift nonetheless.

It is who I am, what I believe that I am becoming and what I long to be.

It is the now, the not yet, the promise of what is to come, and the everlasting.

It is a conundrum. 

Real means having my heart of stone become a heart of flesh.

It means dying to self. 

It means letting go.

It means vulnerability.

Authenticity.

And a stripping away of the vain things that charm me most. 

Real means freedom.

It means moving closer and closer and closer to the

loving arms of the Savior.

It means leaning so near to Him that I feel his breath on my face.

It means never wanting to leave His embrace.

No matter what it costs.

all photos from Pinterest

Christmas Card 2012 and The Husband's Christmas Letter

    Merry Christmas from the White Family....

Thanks once again to the marvelous
Emily O. Holmes Paper Lovelies
for our card design!

On another note...

The Husband works for an incredible organization, Pinnacle Bank, that allows him the freedom to send his Christmas reflection to all 750 bank employees each year. It is a special gift that he does not take lightly. I look forward each year to reading what he has written. Here is this year's letter sent just before Christmas:

Christmas Blessing 2012

We are now in the season of “Advent” and with it comes that sense of joyful excitement that Christmas Day is just around the corner.  The word “Advent” itself denotes great anticipation and expectation with the Latin word adventres translated as “coming,” while the Greek word for Advent, parousia, is usually associated with the arrival of royalty.  For us it represents a great sense of “yearning” as we prepare to greet our King.

At the same time, while the traditional sense of excitement and joy is certainly present as we prepare to celebrate one of the two most important (in my opinion) days in history, I must confess that for me there is also a sense of numbness; of sorrow; and lingering mourning which I continue to feel.  Needless to say, the events of last week in Connecticut have shaken people to a level of disbelief possibly never before felt as we contemplate the loss of twenty beautiful young children to a tragic act of both terror and evil that so clearly reflect the fallen state of mankind.  So as I have continued to contemplate these young children and the families who have been devastated by this act, I have begun to realize this is a perfect example of why we celebrate with such great exuberance the birth of the Savior on Christmas Day.  For it is for times such as this that He has come to be among us.  He and He alone is the Master Healer of the wounded of heart; the Prince of Peace; the source of comfort and joy that ultimately supersedes our worldly circumstances.

Born in a obscure village to a peasant woman, Jesus came into our world of pain and suffering through Mary – who suffered the physical agony of childbirth with no pain relief; He was born in the cold of winter with the cleanest thing around Him being the hay covering the floor.  Christmas is about joy, but it is a joy that is reached through and never drifts far from human suffering in a fallen world where this precious Messiah would ultimately redeem our sin and our suffering.  As confusing as it may appear to be, how special it is to know that Jesus came to Earth amidst suffering for the ultimate expressed purpose to suffer because we suffer.  His love for us is so great that His purpose and desire was and is to remove eternal suffering from all who come to Him and proclaim Him as Lord.  As with the recent Connecticut deaths, let us not forget the infanticide that Herod ordered when he killed all male children under the age of two.

It is difficult for me to fathom the transformation which Jesus endured in leaving the glorious perfection of Heaven for a manger in the cold of winter.  Even more so, knowing that his place of birth was prophesied in Micah 5:2 seven centuries prior to this day we celebrate next week – it is indeed amazing that he was willing to leave the glory of paradise to become poor so that we could become rich in eternal things.

In times as we have recently experienced, we may be tempted to cry out to God in anguish and accuse Him of a sense of aloofness – of not answering our questions and our pleas for answers.  And yet we must only look to the story of Lazarus and the confusion which surrounded his death to see two of the most powerful words of the Bible in John 11:35: Jesus wept.  So rather than a sense of separation, we see tears that represent something so different.  While having the power to stop, reverse, or allow any action, God’s wisdom suggests that He keeps specific things from us in order to determine our real trust and faith in Him.  As in the case of Lazarus, He enters into our grief and sorrow as an example of perfect love – showing us that it is okay to have a sense of a broken heart as evidenced by sorrow and weeping.  By His birth on Christmas and living amongst us, He gives us not simply answers to our questions, but much more – He gives us Himself.  He gives us His tears; He gives us His anger at needless tragedy and repudiation of His commands; and most importantly, He gives us His Hope.  In our deepest sense of despair, He offers us not simply consolation, but far greater, He offers us resurrection.

Because Jesus was born into humanity, He opened the door to eternity for each of us.  Let us not be consumed by the gifts – giving and receiving.  Let us not merely celebrate Christmas, but instead know that we are celebrating Christ – the joy of a loving Christ presented to you and me as a gift through the grace and mercy of our Heavenly Father.  I encourage you, in the midst of whatever trial, challenge, or disappointment you face – to hold fast and firm to the joy and wonder and glory of it all – the Emmanuel, God with us!  The Christmas story is the ultimate rescue mission – Jesus coming to earth offering us the opportunity to be free from whatever enslaves us.

“Praise To The King of Kings
You Are My Everything
And I Will Adore You”

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Marvelous Wonderful Savior...Come to Earth as a Babe

I never grow tired of marveling over the wonder of it all...

Source: marvelouskiddo.blogspot.com via Kathy on Pinterest

 A Christmas Poem by Christina Rosetti (written 1872, later set to music)

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Some Children See Him

 Some children see him lily white,

The Baby Jesus born this night.

Some children see him lily white,

With tresses soft and fair.

Some children see him bronzed and brown,

The Lord of Heav'n to earth come down.

Some children see him bronzed and brown,

With dark and heavy hair.

Some children see him almond-eyed,

This Savior whom we kneel beside.

Some children see him almond-eyed

With skin of golden hue.

Some children see him dark as they,

Sweet Mary's Son, to whom we pray.

Some children see him dark as they,

And ah, they love him, too.

The children in each different place.

Will see the Baby Jesus' face,

Like theirs, but bright with heav'nly grace

And filled with Holy light.

O lay aside each earthly thing,

And with thy heart as offering,

Come worship now the infant King,

'Tis love that's born tonight.

No Easy Answers

 Newtown, Connecticut. 

A dot on the map no more. 

Seared in our hearts and minds this day, the fourteenth of December, two thousand and twelve.

Your population of 27,000 has grown exponentially.

Your children have become our children.

Your loss our loss.

Bear ye one another's burdens 
and so fulfill the law of Christ.

We want you to know that you are not alone. 

We are standing with you.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Knees bent.

Hands raised.

Praying.

If our hearts feel raw,

we know that yours feel shredded and torn in two.

The unthinkable has happened.

To you and those you love.

Weep with those who weep.

There is One whose heart breaks with yours.

I am running to Him tonight with your name on my lips.

Suffer the little children to come unto me, 
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

I am the Good Shepherd. 
My sheep know the sound of my voice, 
and I call them out by name.

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Source: Uploaded by user via David on Pinterest

No one can snatch them out of My Hand.

Ever.

Source: images.search.yahoo.com via Lynn on Pinterest

Those who are His are His forever.

Our prayers are with you.

You are not alone.

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The Many Traditions of Christmas

     Among the traditions that our family has embraced for Christmas, the lighting of the Advent Wreath and the Christmas Eve Birthday Party for Jesus are two of my favorites. I never spent any money on either party, just used the simplest of decorations for each, yet both hold a certain poignancy of memory for me.
    As for the Advent Wreath, we adopted this tradition at home primarily because it was a tradition celebrated in our church. Each Sunday during the four weeks before Christ's birth we would light a candle during Sunday evening dinner and read a portion of the Christmas story from the book of Luke. We would have a candlelit dinner on those Sundays and it was always a special time.  I remember my children asking as their father read part of the story when they were little, "When is the baby getting borned?" "When does King Jesus get here?"
    I love that as the candles burned lower, the anticipation of the Holy Child's arrival was building. For my own Advent Wreath I always simply gathered pine boughs and holly from my yard and wreathed them around an old brass candle holder I had picked up at a garage sale. There were four white candles and either a fat candle for the middle or a single red candle in a candlestick in the center. Nothing fancy. Just what was on hand.

Source: flickr.com via Roberta on Pinterest

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I love the simple white plate filled with fresh eucalyptus
and stacked with white candles....lovely!

Source: sinnenrausch.blogspot.com via Christina on Pinterest

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The mixed greenery used here is especially appealing.

And how appropriate that wooly lamb's ear is used to 

represent the Lamb of God.

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Here is a sweet baby proof design, imagination required!

Source: google.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

Our birthday Party for Jesus was also simple and always took place on Christmas Eve. The Husband would read the Christmas story in its entirety. The long awaited babe had finally arrived. There was usually a great sigh of relief. The final light in the Advent Wreath would be lit. Then the lights were all extinguished and the children waited in darkness while I scuttled into the kitchen to bring back the cupcake with the single candle, surrounded by unlit cupcakes back into the room. Each person would have a chance to blow out the single candle and talk about why he or she was thankful for Jesus. Then we would talk about the meaning of Emmanuel, God with us, and the fact that Christ is the Light shining into the darkness both in the world, and most importantly, into our hearts. My heart is warmed that my children are embracing this tradition with their own children. It's a tradition so simple and easy to execute, but one fraught with great meaning.
   Here are some additional ideas. There are a host of resources available for the celebration of Advent on Pinterest and other blogs. Don't get overwhelmed. Just keep it simple.

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I love Christmas, but what I love the most, is the truth behind Christmas: The King of Heaven coming to earth in the form of an infant, a child born to be the sacrifice and the atonement for the sins of the world. It is at once both a wonderful and terrible truth, is it not...Emmanuel, God With Us.

Here She Is Again...The Christmas Bride

    A friend of mine recently asked me if The Christmas Bride was coming back again!

    "Of course," I replied. 

    And here she is in all of her glory...

     One of our oldest family Christmas traditions was borne out of desperation rather than necessity as the age-old axiom asserts. In the early years of our marriage my husband and I argued incessantly over the annual purchase of the Christmas tree. It is not that the man was the incarnate Ebenezer Scrooge, but rather the one who tended to view life from an immensely practical side (I suppose ole Ebenezer did too). My husband's point of view was based on the fact that since we traveled 500 miles to spend Christmas with my family of origin every other year, the purchase of a Christmas tree for a house that would be vacant on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day was totally superfluous. But I, who was raised by the Queen of Christmas Decor, knew otherwise. 

      It mattered little whether the house was occupied on the actual day of Christmas or Christmas Eve...the tree was an essential component of the festivity and celebration of the season. Yet my husband would not budge. Thus I was forced to badger, cajole, plead, and use every resource available to convince the recalcitrant man that a Christmas tree was a vital purchase EVERY single year.

     Once I had won this battle, I had little time to rest on my laurels before another problem arose. The tree was purchased and firmly ensconced in the living room but alas, there were very FEW LIGHTS and virtually NO ORNAMENTS. What was a girl to do? I was desperate. I had won the right to have the tree each year, but who wants a naked tree in the house...staring at you night after night waiting and begging to be dressed in some appropriate holiday finery. And I knew better than to go to my husband and ask for more money to purchase items that he already struggled to find necessary. And so in my desperation I prayed for inspiration and inspiration I found.

     The first year I popped popcorn, bought cranberries and made garlands galore until my thumbs were sore from the needles going in and out, in and out as I strung for hours on end. And when I realized the next year that I was in the same boat as before because used popcorn and cranberry garlands are only good for the birds... I prayed once again. On the hunt in our tiny apartment, I dug through an old trunk to find carefully preserved bows, ribbons and leftover tulle from our wedding. I also found a few bits -- a yard or two here and there-- of several laces that I had purchased to embellish a dress or two. Soon these ribbons and laces found their way onto the tree and over time have become the tradition in our home. Now there are ribbons from our daughter's wedding and some gorgeous antique lace given to me by a special friend over 20 years ago that have been added to the original collection.

      Each year these ribbons and bits of lace more than garnish our tree-- they serve as the tree's primary decoration and help to make each tree a object of beauty. 

    When my daughter was about six or seven, she was helping me drape the tree in its finery when she turned to me and said, "Look Mommy, our tree is a bride." 

     And I stepped back and squinted my eyes just so. And then I saw it. The tall green lady in her odd bits of lace and ribbon had suddenly become a very beautiful bride. And so it has been for the past thirty-five years that all our Christmas trees are brides. Each one different and each one beautiful in her own right. 

      I love it. 

     For me, it is another extension of the picture of Christ and his love for His people, the Church. We are His bride and He is the Bridegroom. And each year when we celebrate Christmas, we celebrate the mystery of the unlovely who become the lovely by the grace, mercy, incarnation, and sacrifice of God. And each year our tree stands in her bridal glory as a tangible reminder of that glorious and powerful love.

      And here is our tree in wedding finery, another reminder to me of the faithful love of God and the fact that despite the darkness that prevails in the hearts of men, Jesus is the Light of the World.