Space to write, space to create and space to let the spirit speak.
Write Now!
This blog started as a 'Lenten Writing Project', where we wrote each day in Lent. Now that Summer is here, let's keep up the discipline of writing with a weekly writing challenge! A prompt will be posted each week and anyone is welcome to join in and post their writing here or participate just by reading it.
Every writer has their own special light to add to this blog and all of your writing offerings are appreciated, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists or comments and encouragement.
Monday, November 26, 2012
We are gathering Holiday Stories. They can be inspirational, humorous or both. It may be a difficult holiday or a grand one. We invite them all!
A Simple and Sweet Gift There was no room and it didn't matter. It was Christmas morning and the wrapping paper was flying. All five us kids, both of our parents and one large Christmas tree were shoe-horned into that living room. There were two small couches and one chair – so we sat wherever we could – with half of us happily on the floor. Our tradition was to methodically figure out which presents belonged to which person (some years there were codes) and then carefully pass them across the room until we each had our three or four presents. Then with abandon we all tore into our presents, at the same time. Shouts and sighs and delight filled the room. We laughed and said thank you’s and smiled and showed off our sweater or our shirt or our watch or our dolls or our painting set or our train set or our pocket knife – and the party was in full swing! It was wonderful and it was the same every year and we wouldn't have changed it for the world. And then, one year, in the midst of the revelry, our Mom said to our Dad, “There’s another one.” “Huh” he replied. He was across the room and I’m not sure how he knew she was talking to him, but he did. Maybe it caught my ear because of the phrase “…another one” “There’s one more” she said smiling and looking at him. “It’s for you and it’s there, on the tree, near the top.” Our Dad smiled and stood up. He stepped carefully, slowly pushed the wrapping paper pieces aside, eased over a few gifts and made it to the tree. He pulled out a tiny wrapped package and shook his head. Then he slowly returned to his space on the couch and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a cute tiny blue box. I’d never seen anything like it. The top of the box swung up on hinge and inside was a shiny new – wedding ring. Wedding ring?? What? I was confused. Did they need to tell us something? After five kids were they finally tying the knot? I thought that………..? Were those anniversary dates part of the ruse? As a kid how do you ask your parents, in front of your siblings, “Aren’t you two married?” My head probably looked like it was about to fall off, spinning back and forth between my parents across the room from each other when I finally said “Huh?” Our mom laughed and said “Your Dad works hard, digging and carrying the equipment and all – his ring just wore down….’ He finished her thought “It got so thin I could just take that old ring and bend it with two fingers” Then our Dad looked at our Mom and said “Thanks!” It was a simple and sweet gift between the two people whose love brought us all into that room. With that we were all back into the Christmas celebration, another one that we wouldn't have changed for the world!
I think of Mary: Surprised, wondering, trusting, In her season of preparation For the birth of her child. Such a Choice!
Imagine Mary preparing: Confused by shame, Filled with joyous expectancy, Folding swaddling clothes. What’s her choice?
Even today A mother thinks twice About planning a journey At such a vulnerable time! Such a choice!
If I were Mary What would I do? To risk Life itself? To trust in the promise? Such a choice!
And so it is For each one of us, In very time and in every place, Christ is coming. Of that we can be certain.
Whether it is in Bethlehem, Kirkland, Or your home town, Christ’s coming will catch us at a vulnerable moment. The choice is always between “yes” and “no”. The risk is always Life itself.
Leaving the darkened barn after chores were finished on Christmas Eve, I held tightly to my Daddy’s hand as we headed toward the house. Ice crystals were sparkling in the starlight as our boots creaked through the snow. An icicle broke from the roof and fell to the ground, tinkling like broken glass.
Silently, as we walked through the night, I wondered how it could be that Jesus was coming as a baby, at the same time that He is God. Christmas seemed magical to my nine-year-old mind, even knowing that Santa wasn’t the one who brought the gifts. But how could God be everywhere and also be a Baby in a manger? What was the truth about God?
My senses were alert to the sounds of the night. I heard the lowing of cows in the barn. I heard the rustle of the horses as their feet shuffled the straw in their stall. And then, in the silence, I began to hear the singing of the stars overhead. Their singing was a low humming, murmuring susurration of sound. I hadn’t known until then that stars sing. How did God make the stars sing? And how could God be a Baby? What is the truth?
I looked up into the pivoting, whirling, swirling sea of stars overhead. I became dizzy with awe as I saw into the immensity of the universe. I was seeing into the telescope of infinity as the galaxies gyrated around me. And then I knew.
As the stars shimmered above me, I was showered with certainty that God was infinitely boundless, immeasurable and fully present. I was filled with reverence and surrounded by Love. I began to understand the Mysterious Truth.
Advents began with practices for upcoming Christmas Season performances. Upon the return to school and Sunday School after Thanksgiving, we were given scripts, music and rehearsal schedules. Lesson plans in both settings were arranged around the necessary preparations. In elementary school in the forties in Great Falls, Montana, it was taken for granted that whether you attended church or not, you were Christian and would participate. There might have been some objections, but being ethno-culturally challenged myself, I was unaware of them. Everyone in my classes learned and sang both secular and religious Christmas music and spoke the lines that were assigned to them with confidence or trepidation. Our instructional time and content during the month of December wrapped around this holiday season, which seemed only normal since family and community life did too. Our artwork of Christmas stockings and trees, Santa, candy canes and stars, as well as nativity figures and scenes, decorated our classrooms and the hall. We learned about the history and read the classic literature of our annual Christmas traditions. We made cards and gifts and discussed the upcoming party for the last day. Songs were practiced in our individual classrooms, combined grade level classes, and in the gym where we marched in, took our seats, stood up and sat down perfectly in unison according to the music teacher’s gestures and sang our songs in grade level order. After participating in all the preparations, I missed the first three years’ performances due to measles, mumps, and rubella in successive years. The fourth year, I had a cold, but declared I was going to take part no matter what. At Our Savior’s Lutheran Church, we had fewer practice sessions to be ready for the pageant. I mostly remember singing in those black skirts and white tops with big black bows at the neck. Later, when I was in the Junior High Chapel Choir, we had our own burgundy choir robes. In fourth or fifth grade, I was chosen to be Mary, which wasn’t as exciting as it I’d expected. I had to sit on a chair staring at the doll in the manger throughout the whole program. My dad said I did a lot of wiggling around which I imagine I did. I doubt that Mary just sat there like a statue all the time. I thought it would have been more realistic to have my own doll that cried when you moved it, took water from a little bottle into a hole in its mouth and had to have the wet rag diaper changed. But who asked me? At Christ the Good Shepherd Lutheran in San Jose, where I belonged for part of my adulthood, one of the newest babies in the congregation arrived from the other side of a draped box on Christmas Eve at the moment Mary “brought forth her first-born son” and proceeded to steal the show. Which, after all the waiting, expectation and preparation for Christmas, was authentic.
A Simple and Sweet Gift
ReplyDeleteThere was no room and it didn't matter. It was Christmas morning and the wrapping paper was flying.
All five us kids, both of our parents and one large Christmas tree were shoe-horned into that living room. There were two small couches and one chair – so we sat wherever we could – with half of us happily on the floor.
Our tradition was to methodically figure out which presents belonged to which person (some years there were codes) and then carefully pass them across the room until we each had our three or four presents.
Then with abandon we all tore into our presents, at the same time. Shouts and sighs and delight filled the room. We laughed and said thank you’s and smiled and showed off our sweater or our shirt or our watch or our dolls or our painting set or our train set or our pocket knife – and the party was in full swing! It was wonderful and it was the same every year and we wouldn't have changed it for the world.
And then, one year, in the midst of the revelry, our Mom said to our Dad, “There’s another one.”
“Huh” he replied.
He was across the room and I’m not sure how he knew she was talking to him, but he did. Maybe it caught my ear because of the phrase “…another one”
“There’s one more” she said smiling and looking at him. “It’s for you and it’s there, on the tree, near the top.”
Our Dad smiled and stood up. He stepped carefully, slowly pushed the wrapping paper pieces aside, eased over a few gifts and made it to the tree. He pulled out a tiny wrapped package and shook his head. Then he slowly returned to his space on the couch and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a cute tiny blue box. I’d never seen anything like it.
The top of the box swung up on hinge and inside was a shiny new – wedding ring.
Wedding ring?? What? I was confused. Did they need to tell us something? After five kids were they finally tying the knot? I thought that………..? Were those anniversary dates part of the ruse? As a kid how do you ask your parents, in front of your siblings, “Aren’t you two married?”
My head probably looked like it was about to fall off, spinning back and forth between my parents across the room from each other when I finally said “Huh?”
Our mom laughed and said “Your Dad works hard, digging and carrying the equipment and all – his ring just wore down….’
He finished her thought “It got so thin I could just take that old ring and bend it with two fingers” Then our Dad looked at our Mom and said “Thanks!” It was a simple and sweet gift between the two people whose love brought us all into that room.
With that we were all back into the Christmas celebration, another one that we wouldn't have changed for the world!
Mary’s Choice
ReplyDeleteI think of Mary:
Surprised, wondering, trusting,
In her season of preparation
For the birth of her child.
Such a Choice!
Imagine Mary preparing:
Confused by shame,
Filled with joyous expectancy,
Folding swaddling clothes.
What’s her choice?
Even today
A mother thinks twice
About planning a journey
At such a vulnerable time!
Such a choice!
If I were Mary
What would I do?
To risk Life itself?
To trust in the promise?
Such a choice!
And so it is
For each one of us,
In very time and in every place,
Christ is coming.
Of that we can be certain.
Whether it is in Bethlehem, Kirkland,
Or your home town,
Christ’s coming will catch us at a vulnerable moment.
The choice is always between “yes” and “no”.
The risk is always Life itself.
"The risk" it really does always feel so vulnerable... nice
DeleteChristmas Stars
ReplyDeleteLeaving the darkened barn after chores were finished on Christmas Eve, I held tightly to my Daddy’s hand as we headed toward the house. Ice crystals were sparkling in the starlight as our boots creaked through the snow. An icicle broke from the roof and fell to the ground, tinkling like broken glass.
Silently, as we walked through the night, I wondered how it could be that Jesus was coming as a baby, at the same time that He is God. Christmas seemed magical to my nine-year-old mind, even knowing that Santa wasn’t the one who brought the gifts. But how could God be everywhere and also be a Baby in a manger? What was the truth about God?
My senses were alert to the sounds of the night. I heard the lowing of cows in the barn. I heard the rustle of the horses as their feet shuffled the straw in their stall. And then, in the silence, I began to hear the singing of the stars overhead. Their singing was a low humming, murmuring susurration of sound. I hadn’t known until then that stars sing. How did God make the stars sing? And how could God be a Baby? What is the truth?
I looked up into the pivoting, whirling, swirling sea of stars overhead. I became dizzy with awe as I saw into the immensity of the universe. I was seeing into the telescope of infinity as the galaxies gyrated around me. And then I knew.
As the stars shimmered above me, I was showered with certainty that God was infinitely boundless, immeasurable and fully present. I was filled with reverence and surrounded by Love.
I began to understand the Mysterious Truth.
Lovely just Lovely. Thank you
ReplyDeleteAdvents in My Childhood.
ReplyDeleteBy Marlene Obie
Advents began with practices for upcoming Christmas Season performances. Upon the return to school and Sunday School after Thanksgiving, we were given scripts, music and rehearsal schedules. Lesson plans in both settings were arranged around the necessary preparations.
In elementary school in the forties in Great Falls, Montana, it was taken for granted that whether you attended church or not, you were Christian and would participate. There might have been some objections, but being ethno-culturally challenged myself, I was unaware of them. Everyone in my classes learned and sang both secular and religious Christmas music and spoke the lines that were assigned to them with confidence or trepidation.
Our instructional time and content during the month of December wrapped around this holiday season, which seemed only normal since family and community life did too. Our artwork of Christmas stockings and trees, Santa, candy canes and stars, as well as nativity figures and scenes, decorated our classrooms and the hall. We learned about the history and read the classic literature of our annual Christmas traditions. We made cards and gifts and discussed the upcoming party for the last day.
Songs were practiced in our individual classrooms, combined grade level classes, and in the gym where we marched in, took our seats, stood up and sat down perfectly in unison according to the music teacher’s gestures and sang our songs in grade level order. After participating in all the preparations, I missed the first three years’ performances due to measles, mumps, and rubella in successive years. The fourth year, I had a cold, but declared I was going to take part no matter what.
At Our Savior’s Lutheran Church, we had fewer practice sessions to be ready for the pageant. I mostly remember singing in those black skirts and white tops with big black bows at the neck. Later, when I was in the Junior High Chapel Choir, we had our own burgundy choir robes. In fourth or fifth grade, I was chosen to be Mary, which wasn’t as exciting as it I’d expected. I had to sit on a chair staring at the doll in the manger throughout the whole program. My dad said I did a lot of wiggling around which I imagine I did. I doubt that Mary just sat there like a statue all the time. I thought it would have been more realistic to have my own doll that cried when you moved it, took water from a little bottle into a hole in its mouth and had to have the wet rag diaper changed. But who asked me?
At Christ the Good Shepherd Lutheran in San Jose, where I belonged for part of my adulthood, one of the newest babies in the congregation arrived from the other side of a draped box on Christmas Eve at the moment Mary “brought forth her first-born son” and proceeded to steal the show. Which, after all the waiting, expectation and preparation for Christmas, was authentic.
Brings back memories! Thanks Marlene!
ReplyDelete