Christmas Ramblings

   "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?

Write 31: Almost

{Start.}
It was almost raining as I headed down my driveway.  I say almost, it actually had been raining off and on all day, but now the rain had paused again and I was heading out into the grayness for a lovely walk down our gravel lane.  I used to dislike rain, but due to Kyrie's love of it, I have grown to like it as well.  
  The sky was overcast and wonderful and I watched a new calf scampering in the windiness across the pasture.  It stopped in surprise as a flash of lightning snaked down the sky a few miles away.  
  I didn't know how long I had before the clouds would open up again, but I was enjoying the walk.  I turned around at my grandparent's house.  I had to get something from inside and when I was ready to leave I could hear a downpour.  I debated whether to stay inside 'til it slacked up a little, but I decided since it was so warm to just enjoy it and run home.  Besides, I had my umbrella. 
  I couldn't keep a laugh from bursting out as I splashed down the lane in the downpour.  Probably will be the last rain I enjoy this year.  It has almost gotten too cold for a run like that.  I reveled in the currents that covered my flip-flops and surged around my ankles.  Lightning flashed and I was getting soaked, but I was loving it.  
  I wish that everyone could have that kind of fun.  Freeness, laughter, a run in the rain, before winter almost overtakes us.  Pure happiness.  I almost wish that autumn could stay forever. 
{Stop.}

Write 31: Bacon

{Start.}
  When I was a child, oatmeal was "weekday breakfast fare" and on Saturdays, Mother fixed a "special breakfast."  One of the "special foods" was bacon which, somewhere along the line, creative Kyrie or myself decided we would pretend was scorpion.  Was this because of the imaginative play that my Mother inspired through the crafts and play things she would provide?  Or was it because novel ideas, far away places, and exotic foods were part of our growing up and our heritage?  
  My grandparents were missionaries in three South American countries for about 34 years all told.  Missionary blood is in my veins, and bacon, with it's well-done curling "endpoints" looked a whole lot like the tails of the scorpions on the traveling shows we would watch on Sunday evenings after church with my Dad.  My mother grew up on the mission field, she would read missionary stories to Ky and myself as we were growing up, "the world" was at our fingertips, and "foreign lands" were more familiar to me than an icee from the gas station.  (Yes, I still remember wondering what that thing was my friend was slurping away on.  No, I was not a deprived child.)
  So, what will the Lord do with me?  Where will He have taken me when the story of my life is all told?  I can only imagine.  And wish and pray and prepare as best I can so that wherever, whenever, however, I can eagerly say, "Lord, here I am.  Whether You call me to a place that eats bacon or fried scorpion, I'm ready--with Your help!  Here am I, send me!"
{Stop.}
Five Minute Friday is a blog get-together hosted by Kate Motaung.  You can link up with us over at her spot in the bloggosphere where you can read her post about bacon, as well as meet up with some other fantastic writers! And if you're wondering what Write 31 is, I'll let you discover what this brilliant is idea for yourself! :) 

Write 31: Sea

{Start.}
  My family and I live about 45 minutes from the sea.  Yes, I mean the ocean, that gigantic body of water that surrounds every single continent on this earth and if I was to get in a boat I could (hypothetically) travel to any people group or place on this planet.  (It's a pretty astounding thought to me.)
  Today, my Mother and I traveled to a certain coastal town to attend a funeral and later to do some shopping.  While we were shopping I found myself coming into contact with four unrelated, physically disabled people.  
  Most people who know me, know that I am currently pursuing a degree as a physical therapist assistant.  Disabilities draw me and I found myself longing to go up to those people and tell them how much they are valued, how special they are in the eyes of their Creator, how much I would love to get to know them as a friend and unique individual.  But instead, I stood in my spot in the checkout line, wishing, wondering, praying, hoping, wanting to be used by the Lord someday when I am able to practice the schooling I am getting.  
  The Bible says that we as believers are to cast our bread upon the waters so that after many days it may return to us.  {Ecclesiastes 11:1.} The Bread is Jesus Christ, the Son of God whom we are told will bring about good results in the hearts of those who believe in Him. {John 6:35, 48, 51.}  I want to be one that offers that Bread of Life for hungry souls to enjoy and to feast on.  Not just in the lives of disabled but whomever I meet--these dear people need to know the God I know and I have the privilege and responsibility to share His news with them.
{Stop.}

Write 31: Hope

  Lamentations 3:18-21, "And I said, My strength and my hope is perished from the LORD:  Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall.  My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.  This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope."

  Lamentations 3:24, "The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him."
 
  Lamentations 3:26, "It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the LORD." 

{Start.}

Hope.  We use the word so much in American English.
"I hope I don't get stuck in traffic." 
"I hope my family gets to make it for Christmas."
"I hope my dinner isn't burned when I get home."
 The words here in Lamentations penned by Jeremiah (the Weeping Prophet) aren't the same, though.  In Jeremiah's case, he knew that God was One in Whom he could trust, one that never fails nor lets His people down.  
  When we put our hope in God, we are putting our trust in Him.  We wait on Him for whatever outcome He sees best.  We exercise patience and we watch to see what He will do on His behalf.  Yes, I did say on His behalf and not on mine.  Sometimes when I watch His hand to see what He will do, if I am expecting Him to do things exactly my way, I'll wind up disappointed, but when I expect Him to cause the right plan to unfold, (the plan that will bring Him the most glory and adoration), then whatever He allows to happen, (whether I would normally consider it good or not), must be in His control and must be exactly what He wanted. 
Three things: 
  In the first verses, Jeremiah remembered what the Lord had done before when he was in a miserable state. Jeremiah could take comfort from that.
  In the second verse, Jeremiah remembered that the Lord was his inheritance, rich and wonderful.
  In the last verse, Jeremiah reminded himself of something that is good to do: to hope and quietly wait for the Lord's deliverance. {Stop.} 
 I should trust that the Lord will bring about the right outcome (in other words, hope) without getting frustrated in the process (quietly wait) and I should expect that the Lord will come through at the right time (quietly wait) without getting discouraged through the minutes--or decades--that tick by.
  My Lord is good!  He is my Hope and I will trust in Him!

Write 31: Perhaps

{Start.}
  As a young, single woman, I was not very comfortable with seeing the word for the day, but instead of trying to conjure up some kind of made-up thoughts about it, here I go:
  With every New Years' Eve, with every birthday eve, with every "just because" moment that comes randomly, I face this word, this idea: Perhaps.  Perhaps this will be the year I get married, perhaps this will be the time that I meet the man I will marry, perhaps, perhaps, on and on. 
  This "perhaps-ing" can be emotionally exhausting and can leave a heart raw and desperate.  It is not my God's will that this be the case with me.  Yes, I desire marriage one day, when He is ready, but for today, I am His to serve Him with courage and fervor. 
  Marriage is not the fix-all cure for what ails a girl.  I used to think it was.  Jesus Christ is the Only Fix-All and with Him as my Guide, I can face and move forward with the life He has for me Today, Now.  
  So perhaps I will one day marry, but that is all speculation.  Today and forever I am certain that I will always be the Child of the King of Kings and that I have an eternal home reserved in Heaven with my Savior forever.  
  Living for a man is exhausting, living to please a mortal is discouraging and disappointing.  Living for and to please the Precious Jesus Christ is rewarding, invigorating, hope-filled, and joyful.  He has my life in His hands and my future in His control.  With Him I am safe and can rest in His completely trustworthy heart. 
{Stop.}

Write 31: Whisper

{Start.}
  It was just Kyrie and me growing up and, man, did we get into some scraps sometimes!  I remember one day we had been "at each other" and my mother exercised great wisdom in how she dealt with us.  
  At that point, we were living in a house that had a long closet surrounded by hallway.  Hard to imagine, sorry, but suffice it to say, she put Kyrie at one end and me at the other and told us to stay there 'til she let us get up.  We weren't supposed to talk to each other or move from our spots.  Somewhere after the first fifteen seconds, we were soon trying to regain contact with one another scooting as far off of our "spots" as we could and as close to each other as we could, whispering and wanting to get up and play again.  Finally, Mama came back through and we asked her if we could get up.  Only if we were going to play nicely together, she said, and we very eagerly agreed.  
So many other times when Mama would send us to bed, Ky and I would lie awake for long time, whispering stories to each other, making "caves" under the covers for our sock puppet "snakes" or our "hand people" to play in.  I didn't realize how much Mother was aware of our activities as we would whisper away the time we were supposed to be sleeping.  Sometimes she would let on, other times, not. Finally, we would succumb to weariness, and {Stop.} fall asleep, happy and at peace with each other.  
  What are some of your special childhood memories?  Maybe you were close to a sibling, or maybe you had a special friend in your neighborhood that was like a brother or sister.  Feel free to share your happy story in a comment!