How the Grudge Stole Christmas!

Every You down in You-ville liked Christmas a lot. But the Grudge, who lived inside of

Youville, did NOT!

This imp does not live in a mountaintop mall. It lives in those, whose hearts are too small. Hearts that think Yous don't have their heads screwed on quite right, or don't walk in Yous shoes because they're too tight. Staring out from its cave deep in the heart, it hates the Yous that it thinks are not smart.

The Yous hang their stockings with bright hopes for the future. But Grudge sneaks on in and quietly lurks there. It growls with its fingers nervously drumming. It must find a way to keep Christmas from coming. For Christmas you see is that special time when Yous get together and spend every dime. They make lots of noise with their hugs and their kisses, and sit down to a feast with their misters and misses.

And THEN, Yous do something Grudge hates most of all! They stand hand in hand, the old and the small. If it doesn't do something to stop all this love, to break up Yous family and give it a shove, they will stand there together with Christmas bells ringing, and tidings of joy Yous will start singing.

It's disgusting to Grudge, the whole You-Christmas-Sing. For years upon years it's put up this this thing. Then it got an idea, an awful idea, a God-awful reason to stop this whole season.

"I know just what to do!" The Grudge laughed in its throat. And it made a quick change to its hat and its coat. It slithered and slunk that old nasty serpent. With a smirk most unpleasant, it stole every present; the fun Yous all had when the weather was pleasant. 

The unity found on an old tilted deck, Grudge smashed it to pieces and growled what the heck! The love Yous all shared, the feasts and the wine, Grudge didn't care, the nasty, old swine. The love and the joy, the peace and the patience, kindness and goodness, was now in all absence. The jokes, and the teasing, and funny kinfolk, Grudge breathed in the sulfur as it all rose in smoke.

Grudge grabbed all the hate, and it started to shove when it heard a small sound like the coo of a dove. It turned around fast, and it saw a small You! Swaddled in love, He was not more than two. The Grudge had been caught by this little toddler, who'd come from above with His living water. He stared at the Grudge and said, "Serpent, old banshee! Why are you taking the love from Yous family?"

But, you know, that old Grudge thought it was smart and so slick, it thought up a lie and it thought it up quick! "Why my sweet tot,"  the old Grudge sneered out, "You're only a light on a tree! You'll fade out."

Then the last thing Grudge took was Yous log for their fire, and curled down deep in Yous heart, the old liar. On the walls of Yous hearts, he left nothing but looks and hot ire. "Pooh-pooh to the Yous!" Grudge was grudge-ish-ly humming. "They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!

"All the Yous down in Youville, they'll never be brothers! They'll all go on thinking, it's not about others! That's a scene that I live for!" grinned the old judge, "All the Yous there in Youville holding a Grudge." So, it paused and put a sludgy hand to its ear. All the sounds of a grudge it wanted to hear. The fighting, dissension, and self-righteousness, all the noises of You-ville holding a Grudge.

"Here it comes!" grimaced that growling old Grudge, that smoldering sound of fiery drudge. It started in low. Then it started to grow. Grudge rubbed its hands with its face all aglow, stared out at You-ville, popped its eyes and then shook. Grudge couldn't believe the sight it partook.

In the middle, the heart, of You-ville He stood, sharing with Yous all that He could. The joy and the peace from that tiny Tot put a stop to the Grudge right there on the spot. His love came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.

And what happened then...? Well...the Yous, they all say, that hearts down in You-ville grew three sizes that day!  They brought back the presents, not for fair weather feasts...but for Christmas all year because they'd beaten that beast. The Grudge, it was puzzled, till its puzzler was sore. It packed up its grievance and was heard of no more. And the minute Yous heart didn't feel quite so right. They all loved one another with all of their might. 

Today I am Sad

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
~ Henry Wadsworth

You must be strong now. You must never give up. And when people make you cry and you are afraid of the dark, don't forget the light is always there

I cry with desperation

You know somebody, and they cry for you. They stay awake at night and dream of you. I bet you never even know they do, but somebody's crying for you

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will make me go in a corner and cry by myself

I laugh because I must not cry. That is all. That is all.
~ Abraham Lincoln

I love the LORD, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. Because he turned his ear to me, I will call on him as long as I live

We grow through adversity. We need not seek it out; we can all look back at moments when our lives were in utter chaos, desolation and despair. Growth comes when we respond to adversity by stretching just an edge beyond our talent and experience."
~ Dr. Robert D. Wald

  

I Survived Black Friday

Today my mind and emotions feel very much like Black Friday. They are rushing around in my head and heart like little shoppers. Wrangling and crowding each other for the first place in line at odd hours, they pursue that number one gift or gadget that will make someone's day.

Mine is peace. I have chased peace for as long as I can remember. Now, before you jump to a conclusion and yell, "You need Jesus!", let me say that I believe there is a major difference between knowing the Peace Maker and tackling peace. In this world we will continue to experience great difficulties and I do not find peace in those things. I do find peace in Jesus, but that does not annihilate the pain and heartache while waiting out the cold, dark hours.

While my thoughts scan the memory posts about happy blessings that many enjoyed on Thanksgiving day, my less than desirable experience finds me looking up toward Heaven and like Rosa, in the 1995 movie, Sabrina, saying, "So I ask to God why I am here. I say, 'Why God?' but there is no answer. So I stop crying. It take eleven years!"

My eleven years has passed more than five times and just when I think dawn is breaking I discover it is only a lamppost in a parking lot. Darkness still looms on the horizon and I am once again caught up in a lengthy and profound pursuit of that ultimate gadget called peace. Alone in the dark I enter into a sovereign solitude and begin to study my surroundings.

A lamppost not only provides illumination and reflection, but also, can serve as a marker. Whatever struggle drove us to the dark place is insignificant. What is important is that we are right where we are supposed to be. Without those markers in our life; those afflictions and millstones that drag us down, there would be no peace.

In all the chaos of Black Fridays we learn to surrender to that dark place sooner and abide there longer. It is in these somber circumstances, alone and cold, that we wait for the greatest abundance. Treasures at bargain prices; treasures such as patience, forgiveness, acceptance, compassion, and love, all wrapped up in peace.

Let's Talk Turkey

Our property joins that of our farmer neighbor. Like many others he rotates his crops every few years and hires migrant workers to harvest. Last year it was cabbage. Each morning with coffee in hand I watched the hirelings join together as a team to pick and pack those heads of the green leafy vegetable. A chuckle rose in my throat when they tossed the heads to one another more as a game than a job, and I listened to their tune as they whistled while they worked. Eventually the field was stripped and all that remained were dead heads and residual outer leaves which were quickly turned under by the colossal cultivator.

One morning after the harvesting was done I once again retreated to my porch swing. The air had turned crisp and an early haze hung over the empty farmland. There was no more laughter cracking the quiet, or whistled tunes competing with the sparrows. I was alone in the stillness and began to reflect upon the attitude of the workers. I realized they did not only harvest a cabbage crop but also reaped an atmosphere of gratitude. Their dominant mood was a positive work of artfully mastering dry, dusty labor into an environment of influence that lazily drifted into my back yard.

Thanksgiving Day is only a few hours away and we know that great gatherings and delicious dinners don't just happen. It requires some planning and preparation. And so does gratitude. But also in this we must leave room for hardship.

H.U. Westermayer said, "The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving."

Harvesting gratitude does not mean we disregard the labor of life. But that we leave the residual to the Colossal Cultivator. It doesn't mean that we are removed from the pain and suffering, or the disappointments and failures. Rather, it is a remedial remedy that acknowledges our struggles and gives us the strength to move beyond them and bring healing to our spirit.

This Thanksgiving let the peace of Christ keep you in tune, and in step with each other as you cultivate thankfulness. Don't go off and do your own thing. Let love have the run of the house. Give it plenty of room in your life. And while you're at it, whistle a tune while you harvest your gratitude, dance to a little Plymouth Rock, and be thankful you're not a turkey :)

Snow, Snow, Snow Friday Five

My friend Singing Owl has this to say about the coming winter. "I am looking at the weather forecast with a sigh of resignation. You see, our glorious unseasonable stretch of sunny days is ending and rain mixed with snow is in the forecast. The weather guy actually said, "This is probably the last nice day till spring, folks..." So, I am trying to plan ahead. Help me out, please."

I'm always glad to help out a friend so here is what I do when it's cold outside:

1. What is your favorite movie for watching when curled up under a wooly blanket?
This time of year, it's hard for me to pick a favorite movie. There are so many wonderful ones that just feel like cold, and snow, and Christmas. But, under that wooly blanket; which by the way, would be red with lovely wide, white fur to match the dresses of 'the Haynes sisters', I would snuggle up to White Christmas.

2. Likewise, what book?
Light the fire, burn the candles, and get cozy for a book by Richard Paul Evans. I love to revisit the character Mary, because I too mourn the loss of a daughter. I weep each time I read about the letters in her Christmas Box, and the tears I shed are cleansing.

3. What foods do you tend to cook/eat when it gets cold?
When the weather turns cold, I turn to soups, stews, and chili. My mother used to make mulligan stew. I wish I had the recipe because it was a childhood favorite of mine. I think she may have gotten the recipe from her Navy dad.

4. What do you like to do if you get a "snow day" (or if you don't get snow days, what if you did)?
Ahh...the beauty of snow days. I tie back the curtains and love to watch the snow fall, blow, and drift into mounds of a white wonderland. The fire crackles, and I feel warm and free to do anything I please. It may be baking chocolate chip cookies, curling up with a good book and hot chocolate with tiny marshmallow pillows, or crocheting a new afghan.

5. Do you like winter sports or outdoor activities, or are you more likely to be inside playing a board game? Do you have a favorite (indoors or out)?
At fifty-eight with a broken thermostat I like to be inside. But, I have my old Arabian friend who likes a clean stall and having his hay and grain served up proper, so I really don't mind donning my warm woolys and spending some time in the stable. Afterward, a warm fire, popcorn and a movie is a winter staple :)

Bent But Not Broken

The sumptuous sunrise was sneaking up on the crack of dawn. Morning doves and sparrows were rehearsing a score fit for a rising production. The velvet curtain haze, heavy from the sultry day before, slowly rolled back to reveal a mighty scene surrounded by Arcadia azure clouds and pastel puffs of pink. Early shadows cast an amber glow on waves of grain, and prism dew drops, strung along the way, sparkled tiny rainbows in narrow aisles. Perfect peace was center stage and the only intrusion was that of an occasional cricket catching the early show, or the scurry of a furry creature running late for a very important date.

As I strolled along, heads propped up on pillars of gold invited my touch, and I moved my hand across the tops of gilded wheat. Its spiked hair and knotty kernels tickled my palms. Intermittently, a bent reed bowed to me, and I resisted the urge to straighten it, knowing that my feeble attempt to correct it would break the already bruised fiber. Even my most tender touch to coax it to an upright state would destroy what was designed to thrive in this predisposed prominence.

These stalks pushed through the stubborn sod and burst into life just as the others. Their substance, as valuable as those that surrounded them. Their worth, no more, or less significant than any of the hundreds standing beside them saluting the sun. The only difference was their stature.

Some of us are kindred to these bruised reeds. Designed to thrive in a bent but not broken ability, we are blown over by the wind of circumstance, and pounded to live as an incurvate. Like clay, we are centered and turned taller until tipped by any number of influential iniquities. It might be the design of a debilitating disease, disability or depression; the crease of a sacred trust violated, or the shape of physical or sexual abuse. We might be stamped by the loss of a child or molded to mothering one with a disability. It could be that we are folded by a formidable financial crisis, or mottled by a multiple of these miseries.

But the fact remains, we are bruised reeds thriving in the fertile soil of Ecclesiastical truth, "The race is not to the swift, or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant, or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all. Moreover, no man knows when his hour will come. As fish are caught in a cruel net, or birds taken in a snare, so men are trapped by evil times that fall unexpectedly upon them." (Eccl. 9:11-12)

Had the lot been cast differently, we might have been any other head on a pillar, but it was not meant to be. If we feel degraded and discouraged in what was created to live in bruised ability, we might attempt to force ourselves to stand straighter only to find it impossible to do so. The striving for self correction does nothing more than force us to horrendous habits and helplessness. Our feeble fix only finds abuse, our self acclaimed ability only bias, and there is no lack of others who stand over us in pity or judgment. In our bowed state we must also endure pietistic platitudes. Those vile verdicts of the religiously righteous that make judgments upon us and tell us we can be healed if we have more faith, more prayer, more holiness, more...more...more....The flippant fingers that try to feebly force us into the upright position by spiritualizing pain with the sublimity of suffering, positive proclivity, and the too blessed to be messed, stressed, or pressed mentality.

The reality is this. It is precisely our bowed state that gives us strength in weakness, and honor in humility. The apostle Paul knew it as a thorn in the flesh. Agonizing affliction and confounding constraints are of the highest value. Suffering that is allowed the presence of God becomes something more, something beautiful. God takes our thorns, weaves the heart of the gospel into them and places them upon our head as a crown. Yet not one pierces without His knowledge. Those drops of bereavement from the sharpest thorns produce the most delicate roses whose petals sweeten the world with compassion, tenderness, and love.

That we can stand tall in humility, yet bow to kiss the Hand that hurts; that we can find, in the midst of suffering, a love for our fellow man that is greater than our own; that we can commune with the Christ of the cross and carry his gospel in the very heart of our pain is the liberty of the bruised reed, and the healing of the brokenhearted.

Friday Five Friendship

Talk about writer's block! Mine has been more like a few square miles. I've been around and around that block for the last month and haven't found one crack to squeeze through. Even though my little plot has been filled with an array of scenery, I have not been able to write a single line about depression, oppression, highs, lows, surprises, demises, or mass hysteria. So, in an effort to jump start my pertinacious pen to put something in writing I am sharing a Friday Five from over at revgalblogpals where Songbird writes: "If you're ever in a jam, here I am. If you're ever in a mess, S.O.S. If you're so happy, you land in jail. I'm your bail. It's friendship, friendship, just a perfect blendship. When other friendships are soon forgot, ours will still be hot.

For today's Friday Five, here are some questions about friendship and my answers. If you would like to play along, leave your answers in my comment box.

1. Who is the first first friend you remember from childhood?

This is a painful one for me. I didn't have a childhood friend. My home was not kid or friend friendly. I do remember beginning a friendship with someone, I think her name was Kathy. Her dad owned the bar that my father frequented whenever he had the chance. One day our fathers got into a heated argument and I was never allowed to see Kathy again. When I was sixteen I met my best friend. We've been married for 41 years this November.

2. Have you ever received an unexpected gift from a friend?
I am sorry to say, I have not.

3. Is there an old friend you wish you could find again? Or have you found one via social media or the Internet?
I have no old friends to find, but I do enjoy making new ones.

4. Do you like to get your good friends together in a group, or do you prefer your friends one on one?
I enjoy both, but my preference is a group.

5. Does the idea of Jesus as a friend resonate with you?
Most definitely! Jesus is the friend who has always been there for me. In my childhood, He was my familiar Stranger. I felt His presence in my loneliest and most painful times. He is still the one I run to, cry to, scream to, and bare my soul to. I am so grateful He choose me.