Don't Shoot Your Eyes Out!

Blessing Received

Last night the kids and I went across the bay to get library books and do a bit of craft and grocery shopping.  As I was nearing my last ounce of long-day patience, due to a lengthy and energetic fake-sword battle between David and Fiona, which was determined to threaten the dairy, a strange man approached me.

I thought, "Great....Yes, they are all mine and I'm sorry I don't have more control over this tournament battle, but, you see, we don't have a backyard and I don't take them out very much and especially not into crowds like these."

He explained that he was from a company called Roofing, or something like that.  Again, I had tuned him out, thinking he was planning to give me some schpiel ((yes, it is a word; I just wrote it, didn't I?)) about a discounted roof in the midst of a wet winter.

Then he handed me a slip of paper and said, "I'd like you to have this."

"Thaannkks."  A coupon, of course.

A COUPON FOR $100 OFF OF MY GROCERY BILL!!!!!!

All I could say again was, THHHANNNK YYOOOUUU," and pray my lung-collapsing sigh still held an ounce of minty freshness from that afternoon's teeth brushing.

The kids stood staring, mouths agape and perhaps drooling.

"Wow! He's so nice."

"He must know Jesus."

"I hope he's not married 'cause I'm marrying him!"

"Let me see that.  Is it really $100?"

"Does this mean we can get some ice cream?"

"Did he have freckles? 'casue I'm marrying a man with freckles."

THANK YOU.  Think: Cinnamon Breeze.

Addicted to Etsy (and Promoting a Giveaway)

So, in the spirit of trying to find not only the perfect gift at Christmastime for my beautiful and gracious daughter, Olivia, but for her eleventh birthday to directly follow, I stumbled into the slice of handcrafted heaven called Etsy.  Oh yes, I'm putting the link right there so you can join me.  C'mon, click it.

I am thoroughly impressed and not a little inspired to pull out my own and too long neglected sewing and neo-crafting supplies, put my two years of design to work literally and liberally, and make a few pennies of my own.  These ladies are that fantastic, no doubt about it.  Like I said, there's the link.  Go and take a look-see, if you cannot bring yourself to take my opinion for it.  Really: don't take my opinion for it.

Not only do I admire these ladies, but I wholeheartedly want to support them in any way I can.  Not only are they fine artisans, but they are also advertising and public relations executives, businesswomen and customer service representatives all rolled into one.  Sheesh! many of these gals have small children and infants.  They work during nap times and around bouts of fussiness, all while fully committed to the complete nurturing of their children.  Hey! that's why it's a home business, right?  Yes, I admire them.

So, today I am supporting two handcrafted companies with one blog: The Vintage Pearl and Ivy Lane.  The Vintage Pearl is a fantastic and prospering custom jewelry shop at Etsy whose creations are not only practical but beautiful, and Ivy Lane is a group of talented designers who sell their handmade children's clothing on ebay.  This week The Vintage Pearl is giving away this custom necklace to one providentially blessed girl.  Could it be you?  Go to Ivy Lane's blog and enter!  Yes, now.  Go now--n-o-w!

((although I hope it's me))

Without a Tree, It's Still Christ

Eleven years ago, I was robustly pregnant at Christmastime and poor.  My husband and I were both working full time, but only one of us was bringing all of her paycheck home.  The other was using it for other purposes.  As Christmas grew near and nearer and I realized that we did not have enough money for a tree, I became acutely depressed.

Although an unbeliever, my fondest family memories were at Christmastime and near our tree.  It seemed the only time of the year in which my mother came out of her neglectful haze and really tried to make us a family.  It was the only time of the year that she would spend direct and purposeful time with me, as we trimmed the tree and smiled over the years of school-made ornaments and decorations she kept, telling each and every story again of how I could never wait until Christmas morning to give her my gifts, but instead immediately unwrapped each one and presented it her as soon as I reached the car ((I still cannot wait well)).  

When I was older and perhaps a bit wiser, I discerned that these stories and ornaments were cherished by her.  They made her smile a warm motherly smile, not often seen during other months of the year.  Finally, I was made to believe that she really loved my toilet paper roll Santas, my elbow macaroni glitter trees, my paper plate cotton ball angel toppers; finally, I was made to believe that she really loved me.  

But she was dead by then.

Eleven years ago, I really needed a tree.  It was my first Christmas without her, and I really needed to feel loved again.  I really wanted to caress those ornaments and trinkets, to remember those stories, and to trim a tree with her gaudy fake garland and vacuum-killing plastic tinsel.  It would've been the most beautiful tree...for awhile.  It would've been beautiful until the sight of it rang hollow in my new heart of flesh.  The tree, its ornaments, the whispers of those old stories, the memories of my beautiful mother were never meant to take the place of my new lord, the true Lord, my God.  

God withheld that tree from me for my good.  In its place he brought me closer to Him, as I grieved over my mother, my ever-absent and neglectful young husband, and my dashed earthly hopes for my first child.  And, He brought me closer to Him as I learned to rejoice that He, unlike my neglectful mother and husband, was always meant to fill the void in my broken and wounded life.  

He always loved and loves me, not just at Christmastime.

He holds every homemade and sacrificial gift dear to His heart.

Boy, does He have stories to tell!  ((Shhhhhhh, Abba.))

He is always present, never forsaking me, never neglecting me.

My children belong to Him, and His hopes for them are greater than my wildest dreams for they are not bound to this earth.

This year, we don't have a tree.  Not that cannot afford one--we can.  Not that we don't normally trim one--we do.  But we, feeling led to give more at this time of year, are making some sacrifices, and the very first thing to go was the Christmas tree.  You see, although I love, love, love to sit next to a fire with soft hymns playing in the background and a mug of something rich between my palms, contemplating the glory of Emmanuel, I don't need it anymore.  I don't need those ornaments and stories to feel loved.  I don't need to fill the gap of my formerly neglectful husband anymore.  And, I don't grieve for the futures of my children either--pooh.

No, I know the Father's love for me more deeply than ever before.  It's not only "Christ with us" but Christ IN us, THROUGH us, and FOR us.  He is truly risen, He is truly King, and He is truly all I ever need.

A Little Dickens

"I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

Chew on this for awhile, and let me know if you can finally swallow.