"I'll get all the ingredients together and then when Kyrie gets in, we can stir it up together."
My Mother began rummaging in her deep chest freezer for the candied fruit stored there. Even though I can barely make heads or tails of it sometimes, she usually has the deep freeze all figured out in her mind. She has a system, she knows where things are in her realms, not just in her food storage, but in her desk and dresser drawers, her closet, and the under-bed storage containers. "A place for everything and everything in its place" my Grandfather used to say. I guess she got it from him. It was passed down to Kyrie, too. If I ask to borrow anything from her, be it shirt or stapler, she can tell me exactly where whatever it is should be. "Top right-hand drawer in my desk on the left-hand side at the back" she might say and there it will be. She has the gift of organization, definitely. I guess that's why she's such a great secretary at Victory Road Academy.
So Mother gathered the ingredients. The night before she had searched through her recipes for just the right one: The Grandmother's special fruitcake recipe. You may laugh. You're welcome to. Maybe your encounters with fruitcake have been less than pleasant. Perhaps you have always thought that fruitcake was no more than a joke, a gift you give to those you want to prank. Not so with our family. Oh my! this is the best fruitcake ever. I can't give you the recipe (top secret, you understand), but I will say it doesn't have a drop of alcohol in it and it does have an ingredient that causes me to feel curiously smug: a cup of decaf coffee! :) Yep, my Grandmother's fruitcake is the best. Last year we didn't make it. There were several things that we didn't do last year without our dear Grandmother, but this year making fruitcake was on our list of "musts".
So Kyrie came in and in just two or so hours, we had the cakes slid in the oven. Okay, it shouldn't really take that long, but we weren't in any hurry and, too, after a year of not making it, we had to be refreshed on just how to do it. But after all the prep time and all the baking time, the results were well worth it!!
Fruitcak-ing isn't the only thing we've "been into". We got the decorations put up the day after Thanksgiving. (If you haven't seen this video, you really should! Ky and I found it hilarious and so relatable!) We've spent time watching movies as a family and playing some games. Tonight, though, I found myself sitting with my family and wanting to find something fascinating to look at as I surfed the internet. My thoughts were distracted by the recent holiday outfit updates one trendy mom has posted on her pulled-together blog. She's so perfect. So pretty. So stylish. Another "cyber sister" and her life floated through my thoughts. Her family is gorgeous. She is sweet and gentle, honest, and humble. Her photography is excellent and her blog posts leave me gazing and longing.... and discontented. "When I marry...." or "When I have my own home..." These are the thoughts that march unchecked across the terrain of my brain. Wait a Minute!! Who said you could get in here?! I closed the lid of my computer and looked around our living room. Dad had headed to bed by this time, but I had gotten to play three games of Mancala with him. Mother sat beside me looking at her computer and Kyrie was brushing her teeth in the bathroom just down the hall. I began to express appreciation for the things I could see around me. Although I felt kinda crazy doing it, I needed to do it. Not just for me, but maybe for my family, too. "Don't say what you don't like," Kyrie had said once. "Talk about what you love." I don't think the saying was necessarily original with her, but it was so true and I, who have a tendency to be negative at times, have tried to implement it as I think to do so.
"I love our floor rug. It is so pretty. That was so sweet of Aunt Edna to get it for us." My eyes moved to our furniture set. "We've got a nice mission-style coffee table." I lit on the items collected on the shiny glass surface Kyrie had bought for Mother ten years ago. Mother had so wanted something to protect the top of her spiffy coffee table and Kyrie with her huge, generous heart had bought it for her. "I like the Christmas magazines Kyrie put out for us to enjoy. They're so Christmas-ey." Kyrie poked her head out. "What did you say?" I repeated myself. "Oh," she smiled that cute, pleased grin of hers.
"I like the pinecones," I continued. "They're so simple and decorative. I like my metal bell and its cheery 'ring-tone." I laughed. "I like our ornaments and our variegated lights. I like our garland. I like our Purple Angel. She's so regal and elegant." This little crepe lady has adorned our bookcase at Christmastime for years. Purple's not really a Christmas color, but Kyrie and I love her and pull her out each year to join our assortment of mix-matched, sentiment-filled conglomeration of Christmas decorations. "I love our Christmas card from the Steiners. It's so retro and Christmas-cheery." Mother hadn't really said anything yet, but she smiled and nodded intermittently as she researched better quilting methods. Kyrie hadn't seen the Steiner's card and now arose to inspect the card. "Ooh!" (Obviously she liked it, too.)
"I like our straw paper garland on the rafia/twine. It's so simple and special."
Suddenly my home was wonderful. It had been all along, but I had been so caught up in someone else's life, in those who have "perfect existences" (when I know better; they really don't have flawless lives). I hadn't taken time to consider all the special parts about my own. I have so much to be grateful for, to thank my Heavenly Father for, and yet I had focused on what others have that I don't. How sad. How shameful that it was so easy to do.
I started reading Corrie ten Boom's Tramp for the Lord (with Jamie Buckingham) tonight. Her dependence upon the Lord is so convicting to read. I fear all I have being stripped away: my family, friends, health, any attractiveness I might have, anything I have "going for me". But doesn't that indicate that I'm leaning on them instead of the One Who gave them to me? And if He should take them away, which He has the right to do if He so chose, what would my reaction be? Would I be drawn to Him because of that pain or would I shrivel up like a plant with too little soil? This Christmas I have so much to learn, not only in culinary skills, but in my relationship with the Lord Jesus. Is He enough for me? Yes, Christ is Enough. He is More Than Enough,... but do I know it?
