Snow, wind, ice, Walmart hell, spilled milk: but most of all thanks

Last evening was the first of what I hope to be many wonderful years of Christmas time memories. We decorated Christmas cookies. I know, I know, that's so cliché to say. Isn't decorating cookies as a family a requirement - at least once - while your kids are young?

There's something so magical about the build-up to the moment. If you're family is like ours, you go to the store to buy the ingredients because you don't have them in the cupboard like most. One person takes the kids (in this case it was me) while the other stays at home making last minute preparations, and the one doing the shopping calls the one at home to ask what ingredients are needed, only to have to wait for the person at home to get on Recipe Czar and find out.

Once you get to the store, in our case it was Walmart, you walk the aisles of the grocery section finding the perfect ingredients. Passing the baking powder, you spend five minutes looking for vanilla, you forget about the sprinkles and various colorful toppings, you go to the back of the store to get the butter, come back to the front to find candy, and eventually you have it all...once you go back through the middle of the grocery and find the baking powder. Then, after you find all of these ingredients, you realize - just in time - that you don't have cookie cutters. So you walk nearly every square inch of Walmart looking for cutters only to find that they placed an entire aisle of Christmas cookie decorating supplies, complete with cookie cutters (and baking powder), in an aisle next to the linens. Of course! Towels, picture frames, cookie supplies.

After you fight through the throngs of the other 2,000 last-minute gift and supplies shoppers, pay for your goods, get the kids' coats back on, and dredge the cart through the slushy wintery mix that blasted your town during the past hour of Walmart hell, you can finally head home to begin your homemade Rockwell Christmas.

Inside, Tony Bennett, Harry Connick, Jr. and Barry Manilow adorn your Spotify playlist. You find your rolling pin that was thrown in the back of the cabinet after regretfully doing this last year; you clear off the counter top and the magic begins. Batch after batch of crispy golden Christmas delight comes out of the oven. The kids are hopped-up on cream cheese icing by now, the tops of the sugar sprinkle canisters are clogged with icing because your youngest - if he's like mine - can't quit doing sugar shots with them, and momma is already dreading 4 more batches that daddy is preparing to pull out of the oven.

Then it happens. The final cookie is frosted, sprinkled, and topped with a non-traditional Hershey's Kiss. The kids are shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom to have their faces, hands, forearms, foreheads, hair, ears, necks, elbows, and bellies, wiped off before going to bed. They crash from the massive sugar high they have been riding, the house quiets and mom and dad get some time to clean up and have a couple of cookies in peace.

But there was something about this year that made me pause over and over, whether I was in Walmart jockeying for those Hershey's Kisses or pulling the icing spoon from my youngest child's clasp again and again. It was a thought that caused me to continuously give thanks to God for the blessings and memories we were enjoying before our eyes, and not get hung up on a messy kitchen or frosting-stained children and clothes.

It was the thought of all of those who don't get the opportunity to spend Christmas with their children this year. While I warm my bones from fighting the slushy parking lot at Walmart to go home and decorate cookies with my family, many families on the east coast have no home at all. While I dig my cart of kids and groceries through the snow, 28 graves are being dug in Connecticut. The list of analogies could go on and on, but I wanted to take a moment and ask you all to be thankful during the busyness of the holidays.

Be thankful if you are able to watch your kids open presents around your tree on Christmas morning. Be thankful if you have those 4 or 5 basic ingredients for a batch of cookies, as well as the basic ingredients that make a complete family. We can go crazy and flip out over the proverbial spilled milk, or we can be glad that we have little ones after which to clean up. We can go crazy and flip out over the long lines at Walmart, or we can be glad that we have the funds and resources to go shopping. We can be filled with anger and a little bit of rage while we drive 20mph below the speed limit on our way home in windy and icy conditions, or we can be thankful that we still have a house to walk into and call home.

Take a few minutes after you read this to pause and give thanks.

Merry Christmas!

It's GO time

Here it is. Day one.

I am done with the sugary-filled late night snacking. I am writing off, for good (this time), the 'seconds' trip to the stove after dinner round one. I am forever changing my ways as an apathetic couch potato by replacing them with goals and aspirations of health and endurance.

I am officially entering the world of dieting.

My brilliant strategy in the past has been to simply not eat as much. I suppose years and years of training my stomach to rely on mass quantities of glutinous proportions on a daily basis has brought this concept to a screeching halt.

The last time I attempted to lose weight I reduced my daily caloric intake by significant proportions. Why? Simply because I had an appointment and physical screening seven days from submitting my application for a life insurance policy and I knew the forty(+) extra pounds I was carrying would put me in a higher rate class.

Result: I did ok on the exam, my weight was higher than expected, and I never completed the application process.
Failure. (p.s. I know that scale weighed at least four pounds higher than ours.)

Realizing the importance of family

Often times I gloss over things like: talking to my parents, in-laws, even really close friends, because of our ‘I had somewhere to be 20 minutes ago’ way of life. While praying with my son the other night before bed, I asked him if he wanted pray for us. He did, and quickly began rattling off names of his friends from Sunday school, his playgroup, classmates from his preschool, even our house and dog!

His innocence made me stop and realize that too often I overlook the important thing in life: family. I asked him, "Do you know why it is important to remember and be thankful for our family?" Two year olds don’t have much theological or introspective analysis for a question like this. Perhaps the real reason is: because there are so many people – young and old – that don't have a close network of friends, family, or even a place to call home. All of this in some way makes up what I call FAMILY.

What are you thankful for? Now think of your answer like this: if your answer were taken from you today, how would it affect your life tomorrow and going forward?

Under New Management

I received the following story from a professor this week. I thought the message was so great that I wanted to share it with all of you. It resonated with me as I celebrated my TWO YEAR birthday of being a Christian this past Sunday. I hope you enjoy it.

For a few years I had the privilege of working with The Salvation Army where I heard a story of an illiterate man who was converted through the work there.

This man went regularly to the Salvation Army citadel. One day he came home rather disconsolate. His wife said, "What’s the matter?" He said, "I’ve just noticed that all the people in the Salvation Army wear red sweaters, and I don’t have a red sweater." She said, "I’ll knit one." So she knitted him a red sweater.

The next Sunday after he went to the citadel, he still wasn’t happy. His wife said, "What’s wrong this time?" And he said, "I just noticed all their red sweaters have yellow writing and I don't have any writing."

They were both illiterate, but she said, "Don’t worry about it. I’ll embroider some writing for you." The man’s wife had no idea what the letters read, but began copying a sign from a store window opposite their home. She then embroidered the words of that store sign onto his red sweater.

When he came back the next Sunday, she said, "Did they like your sweater?"

"They loved my sweater. Some of them smiled at me when they saw my sweater."

What neither of them knew was that the copied sign off the store window read:

“UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!” Says it all, doesn’t it?

God is still in the life transformation business!

Courtesy of Rev. James Carder

I lost the signal, but not the Faith

Every morning I leave for work at 5:30 a.m.  The grueling nature of dark winter mornings can sometimes act as a sleep agent, while at other times it is perfectly peaceful and therapeutic.  After I finish my usual 7 – 4 shift at the office, I jump in the car and drive the seventy-two miles back to my driveway; collect the daily mail, run inside to a cozy house, happy wife, excited dog, and one little boy that can’t contain himself from screaming, “I want daddy to tackle me!”

The commute, which after nearly four years I have determined takes seventy-minutes to complete, sometimes leaves me wishing something closer to home would fall into my lap, while at other times has me thanking God for such solitude and peace.  I have free reign over the iPod, CD player and radio.  In the morning, Dr. Dobson and John Fuller of Focus on the Family often funnel their way through the speaker until I reach the half-way point, where I switch to a more local signal, while the ride home is left to the mood I’m in that day.  But it’s at that half-way point, when I’m listening to the radio and the signal gets weak, where I get impatient; it’s the same place in life that makes me edgy and thinking, “Why can’t I get a signal?”

Often times in life we find ourselves asking God this same question: why won’t you come in?  We desperately change channels, racing from one program to the next, seeking a good signal, one that will put us in a good mood or bring some form of materialistic salvation, but to no avail.  It’s as if we’re on our own for a bit and we don’t know what to do with ourselves.  After all the hours of listening to music and messages, we aren’t patient-enough to slow down and reflect for as little as one minute on anything.  These are the moments that we need to stop and think, “I’ll just be patient, and something will come my way soon.”

Just the other day I was driving home and really wanted to hear the ending of the song that was playing.  In an instant, my signal became so full of static I could barely hear anything.  I was so upset!  I started pushing seek time and time and again, and it only found a couple of stations, ones I didn’t want.  Just then, I stopped and though, “God never forgets where we are.  If we seek His signal, and we’re patient, eventually He’ll give us something we’re intended to hear; something meant specifically for us.”

Where are you in your commute in life?  Are you happy with station and praying you never lose it, or are you desperately seeking for something better?  The apostle Paul writes: I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  Philippians 4:11 (NIV)
Copyright © Holy Hoosier, 2009

I'll be home for Christmas

This Christmas season, many of us will gather in our homes and fellowship with family around a home-cooked meal, watch our children get excited about their presents, and perhaps even watch part of The Christmas Story together on TBS. It is one time each year where we share the blessings God has given each of us by offering gifts to our loved ones and catch-up with family members who have traveled back home, marveling at how tall their children have gotten and smothering them with stories of how they used to look.

But this Christmas will be slightly different for my family. It is the first Christmas without my grandpa and my uncle, as they both passed-away earlier this year: grandpa in March and Uncle Lawrence in August. While they will both be greatly missed this year, it is not the first Christmas this family has spent without Uncle Lawrence.

During WWII, Uncle Lawrence served as an intelligence officer for the allied advance; in both the African and Italian theatres. During our time spent together over the years, I often asked him about the war. Hoping to hear stories about the Nazis and battles in general, I never quite understood why he would avoid wanting to discuss it; at least, in-depth. After all, I was an avid movie fan and the Allies always came home victorious. Sure, there was the occasional antidote here and there about the Germans, but they were usually followed by a distant stare as his voice would fade; sometimes accompanied by a lone tear. It would not be until later in life when I would see the HBO documentary Band of Brothers that I would begin to better understand the painful memories he had harbored for fifty or more years, as those interviews which preceded each episode would evoke the same emotion in those men; American heroes.

But one Christmas season, just a couple of years back, our family was eating dinner at a restaurant and the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” was playing. As we each dimly hummed the melody in our own key, my grandpa said, “We used to listen to this song when Lawrence was in the war.” I don’t recall a word being spoken at that moment, as that lone sentence sent a tingling chill down my spine. For the first time in my life, I began to realize what a sacrifice it was for families to sit at home around the tree with un-opened presents while their family member(s), aliens in a distant land, were at war, and praying for their safe return. Grandpa mentioned how as a family they would listen to that song, a song meant for that very reason, and not say a word.

I read the joy in a family member’s Facebook status this week that her nephew was returning home from Iraq for Christmas, and this memory, as it always does, came to mind. I will probably never don military fatigues or learn how to shoot an M-16; suffice it to say – I hope things don’t get that bad. However, many of us have been touched by the sacrifice of someone in our family answering the call of duty, to defend America. Let us stop, this Christmas, be it the next time you hear this song or see a report about another I.E.D. or roadside bomb, and pray for those troops whom you will not see this Christmas; for they will be home with us, if only in our dreams.

Copyright © Holy Hoosier, 2009