A Special Guest

Like so many of our older friends, a woman’s husband had died many years prior and her children had all moved away to find jobs and their children were off to school and starting their own families.  So each year near the Christmas holiday, her neighbors would watch her as she trudged through the snow in her rubber goulashes and old tattered fake fur coat.  She would slowly back out of the driveway and meander down the road to the nearest small town where she would buy enough ham for two and enough potatoes, milk, cheese, and flour to make a small dish of scalloped potatoes.  She would stand at the bakery counter and ask for the same two hot crossed buns that she had every year prior that her and her husband of 67 years were married.  She would stop by the dairy department for a fresh quart of milk and was sure to get all the ingredients she needed for her famous French Apple Crumb Top pie, that she made from scratch, even now with her tired, weary hands.  Before leaving she would assuredly stop by the flower department where fresh poinsettias had been arranged in glimmering pots of red and green and she would ask the young lady behind be counter if she would graciously lift one of the pots into her cart.  The girl always obliged.  She wondered if her grandpa, now alone as well in a city far off, was shopping alone for his holiday meals, as well. 

Once the woman arrived back home, one of her neighbors would beat her to the driveway and ask if they could help her carry in her bags.  Each year, no matter which neighbor it was, they would use this moment to personally invite her over to their home for Christmas dinner, but every year she declined.  She would smile genuinely and say the same words she had the year before: “Oh thank you. You are so kind.  But I have a special guest coming to join me for dinner.  So I will be busy preparing for his arrival.”  And once the bags were carried in and placed on her counter in her small meek kitchen, she would thank whichever neighbor had been so kind this year and allow them to show themselves to the door as she began emptying her bags. 

The kind neighbor would return home feeling sad for the elder widow, wishing she would stop eating alone and accept an invitation one year, anyone’s invitation, just so she wouldn't eat another holiday meal alone. 

One year, a young boy who lived next door to the elder lady was playing in his yard, tossing snow into the air and sticking out his tongue to catch it, like a frog would over a pond.  He saw the woman heading to her car and had heard his parents talking about her the night before, wondering if this would be the year she would join someone, anyone, for dinner.  So being the curious, honest, little guy that he was, he waddled over through the snow and onto her snow blown drive, stomping his boots as to not take snow in, on a clean, dry carpet. 

She looked up with a smile as he determined to make it to her before she reached the car-door handle.  Then he blurted, as most young boys would “Hey Mrs. Thompkins. Are you going to the grocery store to get your holiday dinner?”

“Why yes I am, James. How nice of you to kick off your boots before heading up my drive.  You are a very considerate boy.  Your mom must be very proud of you.”

“Some days,” he replied honestly.  “My mom and dad said you buy food every year for two but eat all by yourself.  Is it so you can eat leftovers the next day too? My mom does that sometimes… but we usually just throw them away when they get furry.”

Mrs. Thompkins smiled.  “Well I surely do buy for two but I never eat alone, especially on Christmas.” 

“You don’t?...” James asked, with a rather confused look on his face. 

“No I don’t, ever.  Ever since my husband died and went home to be with the Lord, I have asked Jesus to join me for Christmas Dinner.  After all, it is his birthday, you know…”

“Oh…” James replied.  “How does he know to come? Do you call him up or send him a party invitation or something?” 

“I guess I do.  Every year shortly after Thanksgiving Day, I get down on my knees and fold my hands tight.  I close my eyes and sit quietly until I can almost see Jesus’ face right behind my eyelids.  And then, I just ask him.  I just say ‘Jesus, I would love you to be my special guest at Christmas dinner this year.’ And then I sit quietly for a few more minutes… until my feet start to go numb…”

James giggled.  His feet did that too at night time prayers, when they got too long. 

“Jesus has never turned me down. He’s never too busy and never too full.  Every year he assures me I won’t be eating alone and he will join me gladly, for another of my scrumptious Christmas dinners.  Seems my husband must have told him all about them.”

James smiled even wider.  “Well, enjoy your dinner!  You and Jesus!  Let me know how he likes your pie.  My dad says it’s better than my mom’s” and he jumped two booted back over the snow line and plopped on his fanny, swooping up more snow as he tossed it into the air above him. 

Mrs. Thompkins continued on her way, smiling even more than usual.  It seems James shared their conversation with his parents later that day, because although they and other neighbors on their block continued to help Mrs. Thompkins carry in her groceries, and continued to invite her for Christmas dinner, they were no longer sad when she declined them.  They knew she was having dinner with a Special Guest, and truly, that’s all they could have ever really hoped for. 

A Child Was Born...

Yes, a child was born… but not necessarily in a stable.  My oldest son and his beautiful wife birthed their second child this week, an adorable little girl.  Her skin is as soft as silk and her features are all miniature, yet perfect.  She is amazing to look at.  She opened her little mouth like a baby bird does for a gift from her mother.  Precious, adorable, and sacred all come to mind.  Lying in her mother’s arms, I saw her in complete comfort, knowing she would be cared for.  When daddy held her, his tall, lanky, gruff self melted as he curled himself around her, holding her as if she was made of the finest porcelain.  And yet, she is. 

She is curious and listens as voices change.  She opens her eyes wide and tries to see what and who are surrounding her.  She snuggles in immediately and seems to fully trust each of us.  I am amazed at the detail in each digit of her fingers and the wonderful patterns that have already been created on her scalp as fuzzy hair swirls and twirls around her precious little head. 

Such care God, our Creator takes as he forms each of us.  God chooses the style of our bodies, the color of our hair and eyes, the tone of our skin, and the length of our eyelashes.  By the way, hers are quite long.  God takes a bit of him and a bit of her and mixes them up with such precision that we can honestly say, “Oh yes, I see her mommy in her” and “My, my, she looks like her daddy” and both are true.  In the coming weeks and months, she will become closer and closer to all that God created her to be: a beautiful, adorable, beloved child of the One who is Love. 

All at the same time, there is such melancholy in the air.  We have talked and heard and prayed all week for parents who no longer have their child in their arms.  They brought home a similar baby as ours and ooh-ed and aah-ed over them, as well.  They wrapped them in their first bundle and snapped them into their car seat for the first time.  They made promises to God to love them fully and forever… and meant it, just as we do.  But then, without a blink of the eye, they were gone… at least from this place and our gaze.  Hearts were shattered and lives will never be the same.  So sad.  So distraught.  So empty. 

The very same week, we prepare to worship the One who creates them all.  The One who came in such a tiny, precious, and vulnerable state as our very own.  His mommy laid there with him in her arms, just as our daughters and granddaughters do today.  She looked full of life and yet exhausted, joyous and yet scared.  I’m sure she passed the Christ Child from arm to arm as visitors arrived, marveling at the sight in their midst.  Could Mary have made it through those early years if she had known her child would be taken from her?  Could she have shared him with anyone if she would have known it was some of her very own who took him away?  Or did she simply dream her dreams as we all dream ours?  Our children will grow and prosper and be a delight to many, as they grow into adulthood, making us proud, as we are the ones who one day will leave their side. 

For some it is that way.  For others it is not.  Our world is broken.  Our God is not.  A Savior was born. Just as Mary saw her son alive again, so will the mothers and fathers who lost theirs this week.  Just as Mary loved on her son every moment she was given, we will all do the same with our little Evena` Mae.  And one day, we too will stand before the Christ Child, only he’ll be all grown up… a delight to us all.  Hold your child tight tonight.  God intended it so.  A child was born…

Where Would We Be?

My favorite Christian artist, actually my favorite recording artist period, is TobyMac.  Toby writes like a poet and plays music in the hip hop genre of fast beats and thumping bass.  Great music to vacuum to.  He never ceases to amaze me each time a new album arises.  He’s been making #1 songs from #1 albums since his original band, DCTalk, hit the stage in 1988.  And yet with each consecutive album, there it is again.  Solid Truth.  I say Truth with a capital “T” because it is the greater truth of God, not Toby’s. 

His latest album “Eye On It” and it’s respective single by the same name has really got me thinking this Advent/Christmas Season.  The chorus goes like this: And where would I be, without You? / I’d be packin’ my bags when I need to stay / I’d be chasin’ every breeze that blows my way / I’d be buildin’ my kingdom to just watch it fade away / It’s so true.  Have you taken a moment this season to think about where you would be if Jesus was never born?  How his life has affected you and your life?  How it has affected your family, your friends, those your life connects with every day?  I can answer those questions pretty easily.

Where would I be? I’d be packin’ my bags when I need to stay. I remember several times when my husband and I struggled.  It was the strength of Christ and all I learned from his life here on earth that gave me the courage to stay and not walk away.  Instead I worked at forgiveness, patience, and sacrifice in order to make my marriage work.  And the payoffs??  Oh my! My marriage is awesome and wonderful and full of love and grace and joy today.  I am so very thankful I didn’t pack those bags.

Where would I be? I’d be chasin’ every breeze that blows my way.  I have done it before I lived my life for Christ, and I know I would have done it again.  But since Christ came into my life and shared with me that I was a daughter to the King of all kings, a princess to the One who created all things, my need to chase breezes has subsided.  I still have urges from time to time to pick up and move on, but that urge is quickly replaced with reason, compassion, and thoughtfulness for why God has me where I currently am.  I can trust his Spirit to guide me and leave the breeze chasing to the fall leaves. 

Where would I be?  I’d be buildin’ my kingdom just to watch it fade away.  So true.  I have put hours and hours, seven days a week into building my kingdom and I’ll tell you what, it was for nothing.  It was my dream, but honestly, it was an empty dream.  When I wanted to own an art gallery and worked three jobs to do it, and moved into our third building in less than a year, I thought “this is it!”  But it wasn’t it.  I worked 12 to 15 hour days to create something that came deep from my heart, only to have others want me to create them another that matched their couch.  The consumer’s desire dictated my work and more often than not, by the time I did everything they wanted, it wasn’t my work anymore anyway.  Building my own kingdom left me empty and discouraged.  Now that I am doing what God called and created me to be doing with my life, my art doesn’t have to please anyone.  I can create what I want and it doesn’t have to match anyone’s couch! 

Those are just a few of my responses to Toby’s latest masterpiece.  What about you?  Where would you be without the One that was born to save you?  Where would you be without the baby Jesus being saved from genocide as a toddler?  Where would you be without Jesus’ mother raising her son to follow his Father in heaven’s will to go into ministry?  Where would you be without living a life of love here on earth, that we might know God in a much greater way?  Where would you be without Jesus giving his life that you might have life abundant, pushed down, shaken, and flowing over?  Spend some time at the manger this Advent/Christmas Season answering these questions and hope to see you soon, as we all celebrate together the coming of the One who changed it all.  Blue Christmas (for those struggling) at 5 pm and “It’s Not Your Birthday!” Candlelight Service at 7 pm this Christmas Eve at Concord United Methodist Church.  Where would you be without him?

http://youtu.be/8qGa5rIOB28

Family, Food, Faith, and Phlegm

Before getting started I need to say thank you.  A couple weeks back I shared my disdain with my son’s neighbor, a woman who struggles with paranoid schizophrenia, and the fact that her utilities had been shut off.  I also gave opportunity for you to respond in loving kindness and compassion.  And you did… to the tune of $965.  Heroes are not a thing of the past or only printed in comic books.  They are real and affect lives every day.  Thank you, heroes.  May your capes continue to flap in the wind and may the world be a better place to live because of your presence in it. 

As for me and my house, we are nestled under a quilt today with a hot coffee in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other.  Chap Stick has been laid out on the table in front of us, along with antihistamines and decongestants, antibiotics and glasses of orange juice.  Advent has begun and so has the cold and flu season.  I suppose you cannot expect to have 60 family members over to visit, a third of which are under age six, and not expect to get a bug or two. 

Thanksgiving weekend my mother came down from Oscoda, my sister and her family up from Georgia, and my brother and his family up from Onsted.  The twenty three of us had not gotten all together for a Thanksgiving gathering in more than thirteen years.  We connected four long tables so we could all sit together, passing the food family style.  My mother and I sat in the kitchen until 1:30 in the morning the night before as we peeled apples for the Dutch Crumb Top Apple Pies and chopped the walnuts, apples, celery, and cranberries for the Cranberry Jell-O Salad.  We laughed so hard at times we almost piddled.  I remember doing the same with my great grandmother years ago when I was just a young girl. There’s something about women in the kitchen together that, after so many hours, leads to deliriousness. 

Once everyone arrived we took them next door to Farmer Bob’s for a tour of the cows and calves.  The kids stuck their hands out for a long tongue lick and giggled as calves jumped like deer and moo-ed  quite different than they had ever learned.  After dinner, all the children gathered to make turkeys out of Oreo cookies, peanut butter cups, malt balls, candy corn, and frosting.  Adorable little gobblers… well, until you bit their head off.  Tasty little gobblers, either way. 

Just seven days later 47 additional family members descended upon our farm.  My husband’s parents, siblings, and their families had not gathered for Christmas in over 13 years as well (the year we left north and went into full time ministry).  We do our Christmas gatherings a little early due to the fact I get so busy once Christmas nears, so we invited them all for a Christmas dinner and worship the next morning.  The leftover turkey was just about gone from the Saturday before so three hams were glazed and baking.  We set aside the mashed potatoes and gravy and opted for Finley’s American Grill style sweet potatoes soaked in butter with brown sugar and honey.  What a hoot it was to see several of us picking up those hot potatoes, unwrapping them slightly, just enough to wedge two slabs of butter down their mid-section, drizzle on the honey, and drop a teaspoon of brown sugar on top for good measure.  Can you spell decadent? 

After dinner the kids gathered to frost their own sugar cookies.  Several licked their plastic knife each time they dipped it into another color of frosting.  Hmmm… maybe that’s where the germs got passed?  Or could have been the confusion of whose cup was whose during desert… or maybe the multitude of hugs and kisses that got handed out at every corner.  Doesn’t really matter.  It was all worth it.  Family, food, faith, and phlegm: the typical holiday combination.  Please pass the pie… and a tissue.  Aaaa-choo!  

Tasting Good!

What does a restaurant, a couple of musicians, a preacher, and a few hungry people have in common?... More than you think.  Each time I am on vacation from my own church, I enjoy finding other churches to attend for worship.  It’s nice not to lead and just slip in the back unnoticed.  Sometimes I attend a large mega church and belt out rocking praise songs as we sing to the Lord.  It’s easy to lose my not so perfect pitch in a crowd so large.  Other times I attend new forms of worship like a new church start that sets up and tears down weekly in a local school cafeteria.  This week I chose the latter. 

A friend of mine has taken worship out of the usual worship environment and into the world.  Literally.  It’s called “The Church in a Diner” and it actually meets in a… well… diner!  It also meets on Monday night at 7 pm, rather than the typical Sunday morning time slot.  These facts fascinated me for several reasons.  I never get to sleep in on a Sunday morning.  I enjoy learning new forms of worship.  And I love to eat out!  No brainer!  I was in. 

My husband and I arrived about 10 minutes to 7 and noticed a large mobile banner out near the road stating that the “Church in a Diner” worshiped here tonight.  When we opened the door to the restaurant, there was another banner, though this one was tall and vertical.  It not only stated the name of the church, but also the three simple words “Curious – Creative - Compassionate” clearly across the top.  We were greeted and immediately taken to a table.  Other than the two banners and two musicians in one corner, nothing looked any different than other restaurants I had visited. 

Soon one of the musicians welcomed us all and invited us to join in the singing, if we wished, as words were projected on a screen hung obscurely on one wall.  The projector was professionally mounted on the ceiling just like at Concord UMC.  About half way through the second song, I noticed we were worshiping.  One of the musicians led us in a simple prayer as he wrapped up the singing and soon the pastor was in the forefront.  He simply meandered among the tables, turning around to look directly at different tables at different moments.  He engaged me directly several times.  He did the same to others.  He began walking through the book of Jonah, all four chapters, like a buddy telling hunting stories across the Thanksgiving table.  At one point he got under a table and another he stood on a chair to make his points.  People laughed along with him as he kept everything informal and relational. 

Before he finished he showed a couple short videos of some of their newest church members as they shared how they either were invited or invited others.  They also shared why they liked this church so much.  Answers included that they worked on Sunday mornings, this church wasn't stuffy, and people were compassionate rather than stuck in surface chit chat.  One man shared directly with my hubby and I that his old church wouldn't allow him to talk about his daughter’s addiction with prescription drugs and that he and his wife were raising their grandkids until she came out of rehab.  He was told “this isn't the place for that.”  I thought (and said aloud with shock) “then where is?!”  He answered immediately “here.”  Another man shared with us how many times in scripture Jesus shared a meal with others as he taught his Father’s ways.  I thought, “true, true…” 

An hour or so later, a phenomenal hand-pattied burger and fresh cut fries later, and I was no longer hungry.  Both my spirit and my belly were filled to the rim.  Haven’t been to a church in a while?  Or maybe never?  You might want to try it.  God is up to something new and boy, does it taste good!

Everyone Needs a Hero

I rarely struggle over what to write about each week.  I just kind of wake up and know.  Today I was thinking about two different issues.  And then it hit me: it is not either or.  It is both, because the one leads to the other.

Allow me to explain.  I wanted to share the outcome of our Hometown Hero votes last week.  With over 120 nominees in the Concord area, one hero stood out above all the rest.  It was easy to see how Nancy Thompson was voted Girl Scout Leader of the Year and Jenny Purucker the Military Personnel of the Year.  It certainly didn't surprise me that Regis Klingler was voted Boy Scout Leader of the Year or that Brett Black was appreciated with votes claiming he was the Police Officer of the Year.  Yet when all twelve categories had their winner surface, one jumped out of the water. 

She actually took top honors in the category of Historian.  You can often find her putsying around town in her antique turn of the century car wearing a pooffy gown, complete with pantaloons and a bonnet.  She chaplains for the American Legion, is one of the volunteer day managers at the Open Door Free Store, and is always up to something between Concord United Methodist Church and her husband’s church, 1^st Presbyterian Church of Concord.  She’s a go-getter and can sometimes rub people as pushy.  But then again, nothing ever got accomplished by someone who was not.  There is never a question of whether or not she’ll accomplish what she said she would.  Rather, the question becomes what she’ll have YOU doing to make it happen. 

Beyond all her accomplishment and fortitude, is something even more heroic.  Brenda Walters is an incredible wife, daughter, and friend.  She allows Carl to meander and serve wherever his heart desires.  She supports her mom and dad in all their endeavors.   And somehow she knows when a friend like me just needs a special song and some hands laid on for prayer.  Yes, Brenda is the 2012 Hometown Hero and will continue to be a hero long after the ballots are faded and her engraved name on a plaque begins to tarnish.  It’s what she was created to be.  So if you see her floating around town with her cape all up in ruffles, congratulate her on another year of super-heroing.  The Concord area is a better place because of it. 

And as for the second thought of the day: More heroes are needed in our communities.  My heart broke last night for a woman in her fifties who had her electric shut off.  Her gas was shut off about six months ago (and remains so) but she was surviving with a small electric space heater.  She suffers from schizophrenia and has been living in the same run down single wide trailer for more than 25 years.  My son and his wife do their best to look out for her when they can.  They are a young couple with a baby on the way and a toddler to boot.  My son is in college full time, plus works so his wife can be at home and raise their children in ways that please our Lord.  So their resources are minimal, though their hearts are large. 

I remember my son sharing that their neighbor had been living without running water for months before he went over to do his best at getting the plumbing back in order and running again.  She lives on a mere $600 a month disability.  She talks to herself often and finds daily life scary and frustrating.  My question is simple.  Why was her electric turned off?  It was 29 degrees last night.  When we arrived to bring supper to the kids, my son was next door working on getting a kerosene heater filled and running, before she froze to death in her sleep.  He still had hours of homework to complete and a few hours of work to get in before he went to sleep.  But first things came first.  It always does for heroes. 

I know we've spent months talking about government programs, entitlements, and deficit spending but this is just plain wrong.  When we closed all the mental health hospitals in Michigan years ago and placed all our mentally ill neighbors on their own, I cannot believe we didn't have some other support plan in place.  We need a few more heroes in our communities like Brenda, my son, and daughter-in-law.  If you’d like to be a hero and help this woman get her utilities back on for the winter, I would be glad to get any gifts to the utility companies in her name.  You can send them to CUMC, PO Box 366, Concord MI 49237 with “Hero” in the memo.  God bless you… and your capes. 

Please Don't Wake Me...

I had a dream that I woke up the day after the elections and found that America had voted for more than a president or a few proposals.  We voted for a new day and a new way.  We voted that for the first time in a long time we would take our future into our own hands and stop looking at others to do it for us.  We voted to set aside not only partisanship, but bigotry, hatred, and negative doomsday attitudes. 

I woke to a nation that got out of bed and made a conscious choice to see if their neighbor was in need before living into their own excess.  I saw elderly baking for young couples, middlers helping with home maintenance for those handicapped, and young families taking it upon themselves to stop by and visit some of the people on their block who haven’t been feeling too well.  I saw a pot of soup being carried into a divorced man’s home and a retired man under the hood of a single mom’s broken down car.  Televisions were off, hobbies were set aside, and everyone woke to a new way of being neighbor.

I rubbed my eyes briskly and there, I still saw new life.  I saw an unemployed woman offered a job with benefits and equal pay at a company that decided enough profit was enough profit, while adding another person to the payroll would simply be an investment in their future profits.  I saw a school adapt their teaching styles to more than the top third of their students and I saw administrators giving their creative, passionate teachers more leeway in their curriculum choices.  I saw mediocre students being tutored after school by some retired neighbors who needed a purpose that mattered, and I saw poor students encouraged to find their strengths, even if that meant learning techniques well outside the box.  And I saw exceptional students, even the poor ones, given ample opportunity to earn a college education as others who were already afforded one assisted with the cost. 

I also saw people who were very different than each other, sitting down for coffee in each other’s homes as they listened to each other’s views and truly heard what their once-adversary was trying to explain.  Not only Democrats with Republicans, but Native Americans with Anglo Saxons, Mexican migrant workers with CEOs, and homosexuals with religious leaders.  Everyone was learning from each other and enjoying each other’s company, while their children played together in the next room.  The next generation wouldn’t know the hate that prior generations were bred to feed on.  And I also saw people of different faith going to worship together.  Signs had been pulled up in front of churches, synagogues and temples.  They weren’t needed any longer.  Everyone knew they were sacred places of worship, and that was enough.  Divisive names were no longer needed.  In fact, after worship let out each day, the people shared their coffee hours as Jews and Christians, Muslims and Buddhists, all sat around tables and shared their worship experiences that day. 

I knew it was all too good to be true but also realized we’ve been talking about peace on earth, goodwill toward all humankind, and being a nation where liberty and justice was truly for all.  So it actually made sense.  What didn’t make sense was why it took so long for people to wake up, like I did today, and realize that I could make it happen.  I could and you could and everyone could… if we simply decided to.  So really, it wasn’t too good to be true.  It was just good enough to become a reality, if we really want it and aren’t just giving it lip service. 

I woke up today and realized that today is the first day of the rest of my life, and the life of the great nation we live in… no matter who is president or what proposals got passed.  Please tell me I am not dreaming?  Please tell me we have all had enough sliding down the slippery slope and today we have all turned a new leaf?  And if you cannot, then please, just let me sleep… I don’t’ want this dream to ever end.