The Push and Pull of Compassion

Do you remember the pushmi-pullyu, the gazelle-unicorn or the two-headed llama in Dr Dolittle? I realized today I have a push/pull reaction to compassion these days. I went to an Arlington District Clergy meeting yesterday morning. I encountered colleagues there who were very caring, wanting to know how Jeff is doing, and how I am doing. After a far too brief word, all I wanted to do was sidle away from them. I sat on a row by myself when normally I would have sat with friends.

The push/pull is that I deeply appreciate the genuine caring and yet the intensity is sometimes too great for me. The push/pull is also that I need to let folks know about what’s going on and yet I want to withdraw.

I give thanks for friends and colleagues who care, who rejoice when I rejoice, who weep when I weep. I also give thanks for and ask for understanding for when I might seem brusque and unappreciative of compassion offered. I am not unappreciative. It’s just that at any particular moment I might need folks to just sit and let me sit. And I pray that I can offer that same gift to others when even a gentle hug, nudge or question might simply be too much.

Romans 12:15

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

One Thing

Last week in visiting Lillian who is recovering well from a stroke, she told me that her physical therapist, in releasing her from PT, told her to keep her mind on one thing at a time, and she should be able to accomplish each task. Then Lillian said with that hint of a dry smile she has that it’s hard to think about only one thing at a time.

I usually pride myself on my ability to multi-task. I get lots of things done that way. Lately, however, I been questioning this “ability.” How well do I really get things done? I have been much more mindful when I drive to focus on the task at hand. [See PR & news reports do make a difference.] And don’t I want someone to focus on me when with me rather than attending to other things—like talking on a cell phone?

Which makes me think of my need to focus on the one thing that is most needful—the love of Christ. With single-minded focus and obedience, he emptied himself and went to the cross—all for love, that we might be set free. So today, on this most Holy Thursday, whether at home, at work, or in worship (at 7:30 p.m.), the love of Christ is our focus. When we keep our mind on this one thing, then all things will be accomplished well.

Matthew 6:33

But strive first for the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Grudge into gratitude

These days I would rather not let the frustrations bother me. I would rather be able to do each task with a true smile on my lips, and gratitude in my heart for being able to serve even in a small way, but I often find a grudge there instead.

I give thanks for companions along the way who are a witness to me in dealing with those pesky frustrations—some small, some quite large. Jen has been such an inspiration to me these last several years. She takes what she reads and hears and reflects on, and it becomes a part of her life.

This past week as she had to deal with one thing after another, so many that they became not just a molehill or a series of molehills, but nearly a mountain, in the midst of it all she sang “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free…” Granted at moments that song may have been more like a prayer of desperation, but the singing of it was also a hymn of praise, and a declaration of trust in God.

And so, with that witness before me, I will seek to turn my frustrations into an opportunity to sing praise, and grudges into gratitude.

Buy Less?

How often do I make something more complicated by trying to parse the details? For years I have been trying to improve our family’s “green-ness.” Three years ago, we bought a Civic hybrid. I would love to have solar panels on our house, especially since it faces the south. We got rid of the grass in front of the house to reduce the necessity of mowing.

This morning, I glanced at an article in the Post titled “Go green without spending green,” an interview with Jeffrey Hollender, founder of Seventh Generation cleaning products. The single most important thing in going green, he says, is to buy less stuff. That elicits a hand slap to the forehead: DUH!

Thinking “green” when we need to buy new things, make replacements, etc., is important, but buying more to add to the already massive collections in our homes and waste sites is not helpful in the end.

That way of thinking also applies to other areas of my life. What actions can go a long way without requiring massive planning and adding in lots of additional responsibilities? During Lent, we often give up something as a discipline but end up adding other things to take its place. Maybe the kind of fast that is needed is really learning to do with less—less things, less activities, less scheduling, less rushing. Anyway, this is giving me something to think about during these days when what I need to learn is how to let go—let go of worry, fear, anxiety.

"Pinch a bit of skin"

When we are kids, most of us are told that we shouldn’t point at others. It’s not polite. We may even have learned that whenever we point our finger at someone, there are three pointing right back at us.

Quite often what we don’t like in someone else is something we actually don’t like in ourselves; it’s just that we seldom realize it. Only today I listened as one person described another as not being able to see from any perspective but their own. As I heard this, I thought that the description actually fit the speaker quite well too. Then, as I smiled in a bit of smug superiority, I thought it can describe me at times.  Oooh. Caught.

I have a physiological analogy for this in my life. Several years ago, I kept smelling something that seemed a bit off. I thought it was the smell of stale smoke wherever I went, but then I discovered what it really was. It was a symptom of dehydration. I was dehydrated. So now, when I start to wrinkle my nose in distaste at a smell, I actually pinch of bit of my skin together to see if I getting dehydrated again.

In other aspects of life, I also need to “pinch a bit of my skin.” Before I jump to judgment on someone else, I need to examine myself and find where I err or fall short.

Matthew 7:3-4

Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye?

The Heartbeat of God

During the days immediately after 9/11/01, one song kept resonating through my mind. It was a Taizé song that repeats: “The Lord is my light, my light and salvation. In God I trust. In God I trust.” Singing that over and over calmed my spirit in those days of such fear.

When I am suffused with joy, the words and tune of “Bless the Lord, my soul, and bless God’s holy name. Bless the Lord, my soul, who leads me into life” (Jacques Berthier), well up within me.

When I was in college, the young man I dated for several years seemed uncomfortable when I would break into a snatch of song. He would say, “Life is not a musical.” That’s when I realized that my life is indeed a musical. Music expresses what I feel, what I think; music teaches me; music calms me; music excites me. I learn best when words go to music.

Later when I read The Magician’s Nephew, originally the 5^th book in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, I found an important image. Aslan the great Lion, Son of the Emperor over the sea, sings all of Narnia into creation. In music, I find my deepest connection with my Lord. It is as though in music I am connected with the heartbeat of the One who set all of Creation into motion, who infuses it with saving grace, who calls to it from the telos, the “end” or goal, as it were.

And so, I invite you to sing a hymn of promise of that telos with me:

In our end is our beginning, in our time, infinity;

in our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity.

In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory,

unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see. (Natalie Sleeth)

Colossians 3:16

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God.

Centering Prayer

This past Sunday evening we had the first of our Lenten Centering Prayer Series. Someone said it was like doing yoga. I was reminded of my first real experiences with centering prayer in the summer of 1980. Jeff and I were freshly graduated from seminary serving our first congregations. Our new friend Jim introduced us to a monthly ecumenical study group that met at Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville.

We would begin at 2 p.m. with the monks’ regular afternoon prayer in the Chapel, and then move into the chapter room or library. Father Edward and Father Andrew would welcome us, and invite us into twenty minutes of centering prayer. Wow! Was that hard at first!  Think of it: twenty minutes of intentional silence, not speaking, not even silently; twenty minutes of silence shortly after lunch, in the summer, in a non-air-conditioned room with the windows open.

We each had our own word, usually a name for God, to help keep us centered on God. When we found our thoughts wandering, that word repeatedly silently, with our breathing would bring us back to the center of listening to God. After our time of centering prayer, we would then vigorously discuss the book we were reading for that year.

The monks of Holy Cross Abbey gave me a real gift by teaching me that prayer comes in many shapes—some very structured like the prayers of their ordered services; some free flowing as in spontaneous prayer; some silent and nourishing. All of it is a way of speaking with and, more importantly, listening to God. The more time I spend with my Maker, the more I will look and sound like my Maker.

Smudged Crosses

On Wednesday, as I traversed the halls of the massive Johns Hopkins hospital I kept seeing people with black crosses smudged on their foreheads. I wondered what others in the crowd thought as they saw them.

I thought about many things: first--that we are made from the dust and to dust we shall return. We are mortal. None of us will get out of this life alive. No matter how much we love it, no matter how much we cling, we will die. That might sound like a morbid thought, but I don’t think so. The reality is that we are mortal. Knowing that our life here on earth is not limitless makes it that much more precious.

Second—I thought about how thankful I am for the congregation with whom I serve in ministry—for all the times we have worshiped our Lord together. I am so thankful that this is a community of faith that is so faithful and loving. I am so thankful for Becky and others to willingly take up the mantle when I am not able to be present. I thought about the Young @ Heart folks with their smudged crosses at noon.

Third—as I was exiting the elevator in the lobby of the Weinberg Center, I saw the nurse practitioner from Jeff’s surgeon’s practice. We had seen her earlier in the day, but now on her forehead, she bore that black cross-shaped smudge, and I was glad for that quiet witness.

Fourth—as I sat in the congregation Wednesday night and heard the scriptures of Ash Wednesday read, I thought about how difficult it can be for us to go out into the world bearing our smudged crosses, proclaiming not only our mortality, and our repentance, but also our allegiance to the One who made us and redeems us.

I give thanks for you and for your prayers. Jeff is recovering from surgery. They were not able to remove the cancer, though they removed part of the colon, leaving him with an ileostomy. Chemo will follow. Jeff is in fairly good spirits. He is thankful for the gift of life, but even more for the gift of God’s redeeming love in Christ.

Joel 2:12-13

Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.

Sighs Too Deep for Words

Last year, in a seminar I attended, I shared about Jeff’s then upcoming liver surgery, and said I didn’t know how to pray about it. One woman heard that as if I said I didn’t know how to pray, or that I was so emotional I couldn’t pray. She proceeded to instruct me in how to pray and how to let others pray for me. I appreciated the thought but what I meant was that in my limited perspective I truly did not know what to pray for. I cannot see all possibilities. I do not know truly what is best so that is when I especially rely on the Spirit. When my words fail, I simply pray for the best that is possible in God’s view and then let the Spirit intercede for me.

I am in that place once again. Jeff will have surgery once again, this time on his colon. My spirit is heavy; it is weak. I give thanks for the prayers of others. And I rely on the Spirit to intercede for him, for me. God sees all possibilities. God knows what is the best possibility, so all I can do is simply place it all before, within our Lord, the One who made heaven and earth--all creation, the One who shaped us out of the dust of the earth and breathed life into us, the One whose love for us is so boundless that this One came among us to live our life, share our grief, die for us and rise to new life for us. With sighs too deep for words I stand before this God who is Three-in-One and in my weakness, I find living breath.

Romans 8:26

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. 

A Interesting Perspective on Retirement

An interesting perspective on retirement was shared with me recently. A good friend when faced with a diagnosis of cancer found that he was sad and angry that he would not be able to enjoy his well-deserved retirement. After all, he had put in many years and much commitment into his career as a Family Practice physician. Wasn’t his retirement supposed to be his reward?

As he sought to chastise God for this disappointment, he said God had a different word for him. God told him that he had been given gifts to be used for God’s purposes, and that God would let him know when he would no longer need to use those gifts, and it had nothing to do with retirement.  My friend seemed to find peace in this new perspective. He knew that he would not necessarily work forever, but that his God-given gifts were not just for use in his career. They were to be used in God’s service. It was not a work for later rewards, but a use of his gifts for Christ’s kingdom.

We get so caught up in the world’s ways of looking at quid pro quo and rewards that we forget our God has a different economy. What would it be like for us to look at the gifts we have been given in such a totally fresh way? How much more pleasure could we find in serving in God’s kingdom in this way? How can we look at what we do as a way of using our gifts of healing and service rather than earning a reward or just a living?

Letters

Letters can be either a quaint relic of past times or a vivid glimpse into someone’s life. The Sisters in Spirit just finished reading and discussing a recent book The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. As Marybeth told us, it’s an epistalotory novel—one that’s written entirely in the form of letters. It’s a delightful read that gives a glimpse into life on a Channel Island occupied by the Germans during WWII, and shortly thereafter.

Part of the discussion was about letters and how much they have meant in our lives. Some have saved letters sent to them when they were younger. Others have letters exchanged between their parents or grandparents.

Personally, I found that when I used to write letters I tended to put a whole lot more of my inner thoughts into them than I intended. It was actually a bit unnerving to me because I felt so much more vulnerable. Even my family Christmas letters tend to be on the introspective side, so Jeff often has to edit them a bit.

Paul, who wrote letters to instruct, encourage and reprimand, told the Corinthians that they were his letters to the world. If I am a letter written by Christ, not with ink but with God’s living Spirit, then what message do I give to those I meet? Do I really give a glimpse of how God is working within me? Does the essence of my life convey God’s grace and mercy? Is God’s justice evident in the lines of my life? What will my children know about God by how they can read my life? It makes me pause and consider.  What about you?

Sit with me

I’m tired this week. It’s been a tough go. I find that when I’m tired I can say things I don’t mean, or less nicely than I mean. So I invite you to sit with me as I ponder my favorite psalm. Thanks to Fr Roland Murphy, the towering Carmelite, for whose class I had to do a Psalm journal, lo these many years ago. It was a gift then. It is a gift now.

Psalm 131

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,


   my eyes are not raised too high;


I do not occupy myself with things


   too great and too marvelous for me.

 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,


   like a weaned child at its mother’s breast.

Like a weaned child,


O Israel, hope in the Lord


   from this time on and for evermore.

(NRSV with a Murphy slant)

God Willing and the Creek Don't Rise

Years ago a woman I knew had a standard response about any upcoming event: she’d be there, “God willing and the creek don’t rise.” While there was a bit of humor in her response, she really meant it. Back then I confess that it sounded on the pessimistic side to me.

I’ve had a few more experiences since then and now know that often the creek does rise, in a manner of speaking. I am far more aware of the very real possibility that my plans can go awry in any number of ways. I put an event on my calendar with the full intention of honoring it, and growing up in my family, that means that it will be honored if at all possible. There are times, however, that subsequent events come up and my calendar intentions get shot to pieces. Sometimes those unexpected disruptions come because of my boys, sometimes my husband, sometimes my work, and sometimes other circumstances.

Keeping in mind that one of my guiding principles is that “their lack of planning does not become my emergency,” there are times that there is a genuine emergency or a necessary interruption. Another guiding principle I’m working on is my level of reactivity. While I may feel like jumping down the throat of who- or whatever has disrupted my plans, I find it often to be a chance to take a deep breath and reflect on where God’s grace is evident, or on how I might be an evidence of God’s grace in this instance. I cannot foresee how God may well use this situation to bring about good.

So God willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be there to do what I said I’d do, but if the creek does rise then may I have the grace to wait for the good that God will bring about.

Romans 8:26, 28

Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along… That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. [The Message]

Losing One's Life

We just finished our annual Groundhog Day tradition—watching the 1993 movie Groundhog Day. The arrogant, self-centered prig Phil Connors endures a purgatory of seemingly endless repeats of the same day. Through his ordeal, he enters further into self-centeredness, at one point calling himself “a god, not THE GOD, but a god,” because he knows what is going to happen before it happens since he has seen it so many times before. He descends into a morass of suicides because he can’t take it anymore, but every morning he awakes to the 6 a.m. alarm on February 2^nd. The beauty of poetry and music begin speaking to him. He begins using his time to see what others might need, rather than filling his own desires. Finally, one February 2^nd comes when he is able to say, “I don't deserve someone like you. But If I ever could, I swear I would love you for the rest of my life…. Whatever happens tomorrow, or for the rest of my life, I'm happy now... because I love you.”

For all the times that Phil tried to take his life out of despair, it didn’t make a difference because he was not really “losing his life.” His focus was still completely on himself. When he comes to the point of being able to be completely in the moment, giving up any thoughts of trying to manipulate his way, of working things to his own advantage, he loses himself, and his new life begins.

In some ways, I understand Jesus’ words that if we want to save our life then we have to lose it, but I almost always stumble over those very words at a burial, especially when those gathered are minimally Christian at best. Even Christians find those words difficult. Aren’t we supposed to love life? Why should we hate it? Why should we lose it? This time in watching Groundhog Day I saw Jesus’ words come to life in a new way. While Phil is a caricature of self-centeredness, in some ways he represents me. Whenever I seek my own advantage, my own pleasure to the point of centering on myself, then I forfeit my life. I may not die, but I will not have fullness of life. That comes when I am able to surrender my self-centeredness and seek to serve as Jesus served.

Mark 8:35-37 For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?

Spirit/Wind

A favorite image of the Spirit for me comes towards the end of the movie How To Make An American Quilt. Some folks would call it a chick flick, but not so. It is a wonderful story of how love has entered and changed the lives of several women who are part of a quilting circle. They share their stories with Finn, granddaughter and great-niece of two of the women. Finn is finishing writing her dissertation—after having abandoned a few along the way. The finished document is on the desk when a wind storm begins, blowing the pages through the window and about the town. The wind disturbs the well-laid plans and static relationships of the women. Through its power and disruption it brings about reconciliation and recommitment for several of the women.

While all metaphors and analogies fall short of the reality, I like this image of the Spirit/Wind because it reminds me that my well-laid plans are often meant for the purpose of keeping relationships and life static. When I have everything neatly arranged in a satisfactory fashion, suddenly God’s Spirit blows in through the window disrupting my neat order and plans. I am faced with God’s creating power. I am invited to enter into that whirlwind of power to allow God to stir up grace within me and about me.

Sometimes I welcome that Spirit/Wind, but sometimes, I confess, I resist it. And that is when its power is most needed to stir me from complacency or resignation, to move me towards the mystery of a future lived fully in God’s grace.

I invite you to see where God’s Spirit/Wind blows through the windows of your life to draw you out of whatever holds you in complacency or resignation, and move you into the fullness of God’s grace.

John 3:8: The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Good Thing/Bad Thing

Several years ago, we started doing a recap of our day by lifting up one good thing, and one bad or not-so-good thing. Sometimes we try to sneak by with an “oh, it was all good, or okay,” but on the whole we try to honor it. This practice helps us put voice to our experiences. It helps us to clarify them.

Usually the good thing is fairly simple and straightforward. I confess that I don’t always put a whole lot of detail into the not-so-good thing in particular. I don’t think an adolescent should have to deal with all the worries of an adult, but I do think it is good for them to be aware that adults deal with worries. I do sometimes bring up something where “I blew it.” I’m not perfect, and sometimes I cause the not-so-good thing. I need to be honest and admit it.

This practice is akin to a spiritual discipline called Examination of Conscience. Where have I loved as Christ loves? Where have I not acted in a loving way? Where have I heard God in the moments of the day? Where have I shut my ears, and my heart? Where have I seen Christ in the least of these? Where have I averted my eyes?

Good thing today? I witnessed students really wrestle with a tough predicament in one’s internship and heard as they offered genuine wisdom and insight.

Not-so-good thing today? I’m getting bogged down in details that fog my vision and make it difficult for me to see and hope clearly.

Really good thing? That even on days when I blow it, or find hope difficult, God meets me in the moments of my days, and holds me in the darkness of night, offering me healing grace.

Psalm 63:5-7

My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips when I think of you on my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.

The Runaway Heart

Several years ago, a Bible study for children used a little book called The Runaway Heart. I can’t find it anymore but I think it’s a good “story” for us all. It goes something like this:

The heart was doing its work of pumping blood around the body when it looked around and thought, “I am the most important part of this body. Without me, the body can’t live. And they don’t even realize it. Look at the rest of them, thinking they are so important. I think I will just run away.”

So the heart ran away. It rolled down a hill, enjoying its freedom and thinking about how much the others would miss it when they realized it was gone. That would show them! Without eyes to see where it was going, the heart ran into a big rock and couldn’t go any further. It sat there pumping for all its might, but no blood was coming into it to be filled with oxygen and pumped out to anywhere else.

It just sat there beating, flub-flub, flub-flub. As it sat, it wished that it could see where it was, or hear any sounds. It wished it had the lungs close by for company. It wished it had hands to feel its pulse beat. It wished it had a voice to call for help, but it just sat there beating, feeling lonely, and to tell the truth a whole lot silly for having run away in the first place.

Suddenly gentle hands came and picked up the runaway heart, cleaning off the dirt, and placed it back where it belonged. The heart flubbed for joy; blood was flowing through it again. It was back in the body, doing it’s important work so that the rest of the parts of the body could do what they did best.

Each part of the body has its function. Each function is important. Without each part, the whole body would not be able to do its work well. As Paul tells us, that is the case with the Body of Christ as well. Each of us in the church has a gift, a function. They are all important, vital even. It doesn’t matter if that part is big and flashy, or small and behind the scenes. It takes all the parts to make the whole Body!

I give thanks for all of you and the work you do to make the whole body of Christ Crossman function. I give thanks that Christ Crossman is a part of the whole Body of Christ, serving in our place. I give thanks for Dulin, and Galloway, and Calloway and Mt Olivet and all the other parts of the Body of Christ for doing their work for the Body in their own place.

What is the work, the gift you are called to do in the Body?

Mindfulness

I’ve been thinking about mindfulness. This has been vital in how I have been able to get my weight more under control. I have to think about what I will be eating, not only as I eat but as I plan my day. When I get lax about it, then it becomes easier for me to pick up food on the run. That’s when I get into trouble. And over the Christmas to New Year’s time frame, there were all kinds of goodies sitting around that just kept calling to me. So it’s back to mindfulness.

It’s not just in relation to food that this is important for me. There are so many areas of my life that get out of control when I am not mindful about them. I tend to be an “out of sight, out of mind” kind of person. If something is out of my view for any length of time, it is very easy for me to forget about it. I “lose” things this way, only to be rediscovered later often when I no longer need them or have already replaced them. This happens to me even in my relationship with God. I get so busy that I “forget” to take time to strengthen the relationship so other things begin to take precedence in actual practice.

Well aware of this tendency, God through Moses asked the people to “recite [these words] to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” [Deut. 6:7-9]

So to help us remember, every morning Maxwell and I read the Upper Room devotional at breakfast. What are some of the ways that you seek to be mindful about your relationship with God?

Deuteronomy 6:4-6

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart.

The Grass Withers

A friend of mine mused recently whether 2010 has just been a colossal waste of time. Several other friends immediately reminded him of what he has accomplished this year—the renovation of what was almost a decrepit house into a wonderful, sturdy beautiful home for his daughter and her family—and of the time he has had with his two young grandsons. He said he wasn’t thinking of it personally but in terms of civilization.

I think about this year and in some ways I know what he was talking about. We have witnessed quite a lot that is disturbing. The list would vary depending what side of the aisle one occupies politically, but there has been enough disturbing news to fill many lists. And on the personal side, I look at the pile of medical reports and insurance forms that indicates a bit of our journey this year. It can be almost enough to make me cry, “Do over!” or “Let’s get to 2011 fast!”

I would prefer to look back at a year and tally up all that has been wonderful—there has been joy, for sure: watching Aaliyah grow and seeing my sons mature not the least among them. As I look back, I do see the joy, I see the blossoms, but I also have become ever more aware of what Isaiah wrote, that the “constancy of people is like the flower of the field.” It withers; it fades. If I am to build my happiness, my contentment there, I will be surely disappointed. Isaiah goes on to say, “The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.” This is a guiding principle. Here I can put my trust and hope. “On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.”

Where do you put your trust and hope?

The Gifts of Christmas

When I was a little girl, I was always really excited about Christmas. On Christmas Eve, I would lay awake in bed listening closely to hear Santa’s sleigh bells. Living in south Texas, we didn’t have a fireplace, but I knew that Santa would come in to the house however he could. We left out milk and sugar cookies for him on the piano bench. In the morning, there would only be a bit of milk left in the glass and just crumbs on the plate, stockings full of fruit and candy along with a special gift from Santa for each of us.

When I was twelve, my grandparents were in a car accident on Christmas Day, while heading to our Christmas evening dinner. Granddaddy died. Ever after that, Christmas always had a bit of a sad touch to it as well. I tried to assuage that sadness by concentrating on the gifts—choosing just the perfect gifts for everyone, and anticipating the gifts I would receive. I found, however, that the feeling of emptiness grew.

As I have reflected on this over the years, I have realized that the gifts don’t really matter to me. I do enjoy seeing others open their gifts. I enjoy their delightedness when I open the ones they gave me. What I appreciate the most is being with those I love—family and close friends—and knowing that in an amazing gift of love God chose to come and live with us in order to bring us life.

So on Christmas morning this year, in the midst of the presents, I will give thanks for my family around me, for my family who lives in other states, for those who I will not see again until the Day of Resurrection, and for friends who fill my life with love. I pray that you may know joy from this gift of God whose love is so full that the Father and the Son and the Spirit all encompass us with ever-flowing grace and mercy.