The 1st Day of Christmas - January 2009

I am happy to report Jesus had a Merry Happy Birthday indeed this month! I had the inaugural gathering of the 12 Days of Christmas Club last Saturday night. It was the first of 12 birthday parties we will be throwing for Him during 2009. And it was a smashing success if I must say so myself – and I must.

In case you are not familiar with what in the world I’m talking about I wrote a post about this back in December – The 12 Days of Christmas. Jesus is getting a year long Christmas/Birthday celebration in 2009. The gifts will be gifts of ourselves in the form of our time, resources, labor – whatever we can come up with – as a way to give back for the blessings we have all received. And there will be cake.

This month in January, my friends and I chose a church’s ministry which assists the homeless. St. John’s Downtown in downtown Houston assists the homeless in several ways. One of the things they do is provide kits of toiletry items for the men and women to have while out living on the streets. Our group gathered items – toothpaste, toothbrushes, deodorant, soap, lotions, razors, socks, etc. – and made as many kits as we could for the ministry. It was awesome how much stuff just a few open hearts could collect and create.

Then we had birthday cake and sang Happy Birthday. (If you think I’m kidding – I’m not. What kind of birthday party would it have been without cake?) Jesus seemed very happy with His gift - I could tell as He spread His joy all over the room. Check out the pictures below and let me know what you think.

And please, there is always a standing invitation for you to join us or to start doing this in your own town. Our tent is very large and includes everyone.

The 2nd Day of Christmas is not set yet, so if you have an idea for February - a group we could help or a charity that needs some sturdy and able bodies - please let me know!

Dee



Jesus gots lots of gifts this January!



And more gifts!



Putting it all together.



Some of the beautiful members of the 12 Days of Christmas Club.



The CAKE!



More Christmas Clubers anxiously awaiting the eating of the cake.



The wonderful people of St. John's Downtown recieving Jesus' birthday gift of the hygiene kits.

~

A Coarse Correction

Do you ever start looking for something and find something else, get lost in that thing and never get to the original thing you were looking for? Happened to me recently. I can’t even remember what it was I was searching for in the first place. I became so enthralled when I ran across some silver candle sticks – they threw my whole afternoon off. “Where in the world have these been?” (Right here in this cabinet.) “They would look so great on my table!”

Of course, I could not immediately dash to the other room and plop them on my table in a stylish and delightful manner. They were covered in tarnish. “I could swear there were pretty and shiny when I put them away 2,3,4 years ago.” So now you see what took up my whole afternoon. (While I can be poky, it does not take all day for me to walk from one room to another, usually.)

The thing about polishing silver is it takes a lot of elbow grease, as they say. I don’t know what they make tarnish out of but they should paint the space shuttle with it. It is impervious to almost everything. I rubbed so much I thought a genie was going to come out and grant me three wishes. I almost took to using an S.O.S pad to get the black gunk off.

Of course, that would have been too abrasive and ruined the silver. No a softer yet still abrasive cleaner was needed. A coarse sponge finally began to work nicely. The candlesticks began to shine and gleam as their silversmith originally intended. I don’t do this very often so my learning curve was a little larger than maybe most.

Carpenters understand the concept of using abrasion to make something shiny and beautiful. They run into this problem all the time and have it figured out. They use sandpaper.

In the beginning of a project when the wood is raw and splintery a carpenter chooses rough and coarse grain sandpaper. The large grains of the paper remove large chunks, stains and blemishes of the wood. It also exposes the woods beautiful natural grain that was hidden underneath all that.

Toward the end of the project the carpenter will switch to small, finer grain sandpaper. This finer paper blends out and smoothes and polishes the wood until the wood reveals its true inner beauty. The paper is still just abrasive enough to remove some tiny bits of wood but it leaves the piece largely intact as the carpenter has created it. The finer the sandpaper, the prettier the final product.

Like me trying to remove the tarnish, the carpenter cannot shape his wood and make its natural beauty shine through by using a soft cloth. That would merely clean the tarnished candlesticks or wood in its dirty and unusable form. Only after all tarnish is removed or all the fine grain and natural wood beauty revealed is a velvety soft polishing cloth used to care and protect the creation.

It takes a skilled craftsman to know which grain and coarseness of sandpaper to use during which stage of construction. A true carpenter uses the least coarse paper he can to get the job done lest he damage the wood. That is why some antiques are more beautiful than others – the skill of the carpenter the wood was entrusted to.

I don’t plan on becoming an expert silver polisher or tarnish remover. Once every couple of years is a-okay by me. My arm is still worn out. But I am glad there are other’s who readily enjoy the task.

By the way, Jesus was a carpenter. Do you think he knows about this sandpaper thing?

~

The Lone Ranger

The Lone Ranger is a great hero. He went about the West righting wrongs and rounding up outlaws. He saved towns from destruction and heavy-handed rule of a sheriff gone bad. The Lone Ranger – with his mask, silver bullets and trusty steed named Silver – was every town’s protector and every black-hat’s nightmare. He was a rock-star of the old West.

I just have one tiny problem. His name. It’s a misnomer. The Lone Ranger was never lone – he always had his trusted sidekick Tonto at his side. Heck, it was Tonto who saved his life in the first place, thus making it possible for there to be a Lone Ranger.

Tonto was sold so short. Ranger boy gets all the credit when in actuality Tonto did all the heavy lifting. Who tracked the bad guys? Tonto. Who set up the ambush for the Lone Ranger to capture the outlaws? Tonto. Who foils the ambushes set to harm the Ranger? Tonto. Who could hoot like an owl or howl like a coyote to scare the bad guys? Tonto.

But who do the towns-people swarm at the end of each episode? The Lone Ranger. Whose name do they seek to know? The Lone Ranger’s. Who do sheriffs from far and wide seek for help? The Lone Ranger. To whom do the towns people refer when they ask “who was that masked man?” when the Ranger and Tonto ride out of town? The Lone Ranger.

I realize the true reason he is called the Lone Ranger is because he lost his 5 other Texas Ranger buddies in an ambush – making him the lone surviving ranger. (Tonto found him, nursed him to health and now he goes about the West righting wrongs. He hides his identity so the outlaws won’t know one ranger survived.)

But really Tonto should get way more credit than he does. Tonto’s kimosabee (faithful friend) should share the limelight a little. Just once, it would be nice to see the Lone Ranger say to the town folk “Thank you but really, Tonto should get some of the credit too. I could not have done it without him.” But that never happens. Good thing Tonto doesn’t seem to mind.

I don’t know why I am coming down so hard on the Ranger. It’s not like I don’t do the same thing every day. I too have a Sidekick. Like Tonto did for the Lone Ranger, my Sidekick found me sick, weak and a wreck. He nursed me back to health. He literally saved my life. I can tell you the exact moment He did it too. But that is a post for another day. And also like Tonto, since the day He saved my life my Sidekick has never left my side.

Like Tonto, He is my guide and leads me through places where I cannot find my way. (Which is often.) Like Tonto, He takes care of the ambushes Satan has set for me. (Which is a lot.) Like Tonto, my Sidekick is always loving me and forgiving me and having patience with me. (Which is needed a lot.)

But like the Lone Ranger, I don’t reciprocate. I take all the credit. When I am successful or accomplish a goal I guarantee you I didn’t do it on my own. No way, no how. I had lots of Heavenly intervention. My Sidekick was all over it from start to finish. Every talent or skill I have God gave me. The intelligent and wisdom I possess is a gift from Him and what I do with it is a fruit of that. But I rarely admit that in public.

We scoff when we hear athletes say, “I give all the glory to God” after a big win. We roll our eyes when a movie star says while receiving an award, “I dedicate this to my Lord and Savior who made all this possible.” But why? Isn’t that what I am supposed to do – live my live so that it gives glory to God? Then why is it so embarrassing to say a simple public Thank You and a give shout-out to the One who helped me?

I am not a lone ranger. I have a Sidekick. And He deserves all the credit and the glory. I'm not selling Him short anymore. It is time He started getting the credit He so rightly deserves. It's the least I can do for the One who protects me from outlaws.

"Hi-yo, Silver, away!" (Okay, maybe I have a little Lone Ranger in me.)

It's Hard to Be Humble

“Ah, yes, the parallel bars.
“I was known as the Pavlova of the parallels. Oh, yes.
[Starts swinging on the bars.]
“Yes, It’s all coming back now.
[Sings]
“Ah, yes, I remember it. . .
[Loses grip and falls down the stairs smashing a piano]
Aagh! Well, that felt good!”

Like Inspector Clouseau, I too have a special skill acquired in my youth. I can ride a unicycle. A neighbor down the street had one and I fell in love with it. I wanted one so badly. But my Dad would not buy me one unless I first learned how to ride one. Well, that’s kind of a catch 22.

So, the neighbor boy let me borrow his for a few days. I practiced for hours after school. I fell a lot. I had a lot of skinned knees and hands. But by the end of the week I could ride that unicycle with the best of circus clowns. I called my Dad to watch as I rode down the driveway, to the corner (we were the second house in so this was not too far) and back. Ha! I called his bluff and now he had to pay up. That weekend we went to the Schwinn bicycle shop and he bought me a shiny chrome unicycle of my very own.

Flash forward 20 some-odd years to Christmas 2003. The family was celebrating Christmas at my parents’ house and my nieces received a pogo-stick for Christmas. Well, we all had to go out on the driveway to give the stick a try. We had one as kids, so this was a skill I had as well. (I am very skilled at many useless things). There were all sorts of contests and someone went to find the old pogo-stick. We found it and the contests grew more fierce. (If you’ve ever seen grown men try to out pogo each other it is a sad and hilarious sight all at the same time.)

Well, I don’t have to tell you what else was in that closet – my unicycle. A few pumps of air later and I was ready to roll. “Ah, the unicycle. Yes. It’s all coming back now. . .” You know how this story ends. (Childhood skills ain’t all Clouseau and I have in common.) I tried to show(off) to my nieces how to ride a unicycle. I was not on that thing 5 seconds before it went one way and I went another. I think my eyes teared-up before my butt hit the concrete. I tried to pop right up “Aagh, Well, that felt good” Clouseau style. But my pride and my backside were killing me.

A few days later I was putting my blow-dryer away in a bottom drawer and suddenly I could not stand up past 90 degrees. The pain was searing. Have you ever gone to the doctor and on the form where it states “reason for visit” written “unicycle incident”? Humiliating. Not my finest hour. And all because I was being a big shot and showing off.

Luckily, Peter knew better than Clouseau and me. The disciples were in a boat in a storm and afraid. (Matt. 14:25-29) When they saw Jesus, first they thought he was a ghost but after He identified Himself, Peter called to Him and asked Jesus to command him to get out and come to Him. Which Jesus did. Now, Peter, upon realizing it was Jesus, could have just jumped out of the boat saying “See ya!” to the guys, thinking that he could walk on water just because Jesus could.

But Peter didn’t do that. He humbled himself and calmly got out of the boat and walked over to his friend – on the water. If Peter had done it any other way, all proud and sassy, I guarantee you when his feet hit the water he would have sunk like a stone. In fact, he did start to sink when he started to lose faith in Jesus. (Matt.14:30) Peter only had the skill to walk on the water because he was humble and faithful enough to allow Jesus to help him.

Clearly this is advice I could have used that Christmas morning. A humble heart and a little Holy Ghost help would have kept me upright. And my tailbone in tact. Humility – it is a skill I am reminded I need to practice more often every time it gets cold and “the rheumatism” flares up.

Did I mention it was 39 degrees today?

~

The Care Taker

When I was a little girl I was afraid of the dark. After my parents tucked me in at night I would lay awake in my bed and the room would come alive. Shadows would dance across my walls, I heard creaks and groans come from the closet and things definitely went “bump” in the night under my bed.

To slay these demons and calm my fears I would yell for my parents to come check things out. Dutifully, albeit sleepily, either Mom or Dad would come and look in the closet and under the bed. Of course, by the time they got there the monsters had hidden safely back in their lairs, waiting for the all-clear to come back out.

Even worse than my fear of the night-time monsters was my fear of thunder. I hated thunder. Down here in Houston we get lots of thunder storms so fear of thunder can really cramp a girl’s style. I would hear a clap of thunder and run screaming into my parents room and jump into bed between them for safety. (Not really cool when your 14 but hey, death by heart attack ain’t so cool either.) My fears of the dark continued into college where I could not sleep unless both mine and my roommates closet doors were closed. (So sad but true.)

My brothers knew I was afraid of the dark and loved to play on this. One hilarious night (I’m being sarcastic here) when I was in high school we were on vacation in Colorado and they really played it up. The ceiling of the house we were staying in was made with those acoustic tiles you see in office buildings (I didn’t say it was a nice house). After I had gone to sleep they grabbed a tube of toothpaste and lifted a ceiling tile in their room, reached over the wall and lifted a ceiling tile in my room and squirted toothpaste down on me! They wanted to hit me in the face with the toothpaste and scare me to death. Too bad for them they missed. It landed on the pillow beside me, where I thought it was a rat – and scared me too death, which is really pathetic because I heard them doing all this! (I still have not gotten them back for this – but they had better sleep with one eye open.)

Over the years, you would think I would have outgrown my fears of night-time monsters but not so much. Lucky for me, I have added to them with more adult fears and anxieties. These too keep me awake at night at times. These fears are of the world, my life, my future, my problems, for my loved ones, you name it – fear and anxiety comes in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes my fear and anxiety paralyzes me – emotionally, mentally, physically. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) I can’t crawl into bed with my parents anymore – at my age that would be a tad creepy. So, I have to find a different protector to save me.

Luckily, I do have a Father that asks me to give all my fears, worries and anxieties to Him. Our Heavenly Father asks us to cast our cares on Him and He will sustain us and we will never be moved. (Ps. 55:22) This is wonderful news. As long as we believers trust in Him and cast our cares and worries on Him, God will take care of us and we will never be moved from His grace. I don’t know about you, but I can use all the grace I can get.

I have to admit that I am really good at casting my cares on God but I am not so good at leaving them cast. I find myself taking them back – worrying again, being anxious again, coming up with new things to worry about. The thing is, is that I can’t have it both ways. I can’t ask God to handle my business and then still hold onto it. He doesn’t work that way. Either I handle it or He does – but not both of us. Letting go of the steering wheel is just so scary.

But here’s the thing, the times I have relinquished control, everything worked out fine. The disasters I worried about did not come to pass. The boogie man did not eat me alive, so to speak. The times I have not given up my fears to God, I was miserable, tormented and probably made the situation worse and last much longer than necessary. So here's what I'm going to commit to memory in my head and heart:

“Whenever I am afraid,
I will trust in You.
In God (I will praise His Word),
In God I have put my trust;
I will not fear.
What can flesh do to me?”
(Ps. 56:3-4)

I am slowly learning that when I trust, really trust God as He asks me to a peace washes over me that is amazing. Just like the peace I had when I was little and sleeping between my parents during a thunder storm, when I allow my Heavenly Father to be my Care Taker I can rest in peace safe from life’s storms. What more does a parent want for their child? What more does a child want from a parent?

And I know my Mom and Dad appreciate me having someone else to check the closet in the middle of the night.

~

When Life Cliques

I can be rather quirky (no commentary please) and I attract a like group of friends around me. I always have. (Just ask my Mother.) I like it that way. It makes it far more interesting to have friends who are not like me and who are not like each other.

In school, I always got along with the pretty people (although I was not one of them – just ask my brother); I got along with the smart, nerdy people (although I too was not one of them – again just ask …you get the gist); I got along with the jocky, athletic types, as well as the shy, silent people.

My current state of friendships is solid, vast and diverse. Like snowflakes, no two of my friends are alike (although several are flaky – Lord love ‘em). And as happens with diverse friends not everyone gets along all the time. That’s going to happen when people with different temperaments, philosophies, goals, world views and personalities get together. Luckily, my friends and I don’t live together so we keep any differences down to a dull roar.

But what if we did live together? And what if we worked together too? I would bet you my dear friends would not stay my dear friends for very long. Not on purpose, mind you, but because that’s human nature. It’s hard for people who are not family relations to share all that time and space together and not drive each other crazy at some point.

So, I have to admit I don’t know how they did it. What did they know about getting along that I don’t? 12 grown men. All with different backgrounds and careers gave up everything to follow 1 man and be His clique. His posse. His friends. Full time. And not kill each other in the process.

The faithful 12 followed Jesus wherever He went. They watched as He performed miracle after miracle including healing the blind (Luke 7:21), the sick (Luke 7:10), helped Him feed thousands with the 5 loaves and 2 fish (Matt 14:17-21), and calming the raging storm by speaking to the wind (Luke 8:24-25).

I have always assumed that the disciples knew each other, liked each other and got along. That Matthew, John, Simon-Peter, Philip, Bartholomew, Andrew, James (son of Zebadee), James (son of Alphaeus), Thomas, Simon, Judas, and Judas Iscariot (the one who betrayed Jesus) were one big band of brothers. Well, maybe not so much. (Did you notice Mark and Luke were not part of the original 12?)

Turns out they had disagreements too. Matthew was a tax collector. Those guys were about as popular in Jesus’ day as IRS agents today (not to disparage the IRS but the truth must be told). I can imagine fisherman Simon a/k/a Peter didn’t get along too well with moneyman Matthew. John thought himself pretty great. In his gospel he constantly refers to himself not by name but in the third-person “the one who Jesus loved” – like he was pointing out to the others Jesus liked him best. (I’d punch a guy like that in the face after about five minutes.) And you think back-stabbing Judas was real popular with the guys?

But they all put their differences aside. Put their focus on their common goal – the bigger picture – Jesus. The end-game was more important than them as individuals. Jesus was Lord and about to become Savior and spreading that message was vitally important – more important than any petty personality conflicts or differences of opinion.

I’m certain it was hard. After all these men walked away from their own families and friends and jobs to walk with and be friends with Jesus. Someone they had just met. After His resurrection they each could have gone home and picked up where they left off. But they didn’t. They went their separate ways but to continue spreading the message individually what they had started together. And all because of Jesus’ simple request of friendship “Come follow me.”

When nobody else believed, when nobody else would follow, when nobody else would answer His call those 12 did. And their friendship changed the world.

Jesus is making the same simple request of friendship to each of us. Will you let Him be your friend and you be His? It just might change your world.

~

A Little Leave-Behind

Typically I am not the first person you would turn to for dating advice. For starters it’s been years since I’ve been “out there” so I would have no idea of what is hip. Additionally, even when I was out there I had no idea of what was hip. And lastly, I was never a good judge of whether someone liked me enough to remember me and call me again. I always needed a little help. This last part was agonizing.

Thankfully, I learned the ancient art of the “leave-behind.” Men and women have been doing this for years, decades – centuries probably. My Mother even confessed over Christmas that she used to do it in college. (Sorry about sharing your secret Mom.)

The Leave-Behind is of course the accidentally-on-purpose forgotten item left in my date’s car or apartment (we were there innocently listening to a new CD – what did you think we were doing?) to be retrieved later, to help me procure another date. The item – in college it was my new CD (for my Mom it was a handkerchief, how sweet); today it might be a cell phone or Blackberry. The item was only left once I decided this was a person I wanted to see again. In the event I did not, you can bet your bottom dollar I made a last minute bathroom dash to double check my handbag to ensure all contents were safely secured inside before departing.

If, after the requisite day or two Mr. Right had not called I then was free to call him for the very innocent reason of retrieving my Leave-Behind, errr, CD. (In my college days in the 80s it was still a bit iffy for the girl to call the guy). This always worked perfectly. It always led to an invitation to another date. And usually I let them keep the CD – a little something to keep me in their mind’s eye.

Then I added a new twist to the leave behind – the Leave-Before. Leaving a little memento (still generally a CD – sue me I’m a sucker for music) on a doorstep or car windshield. This was to procure a date with someone I had a crush on but who had not yet asked me out. That way the recipient had to call to say Thank-you then listen to the music, all the while with me stuck on their brain, helping me and my cause as it were. (I am a genius.)

Well, I would be a genius if any of this was my idea. But the Leave-Behind and the Leave-Before are not original to me (or my Mother) so I cannot take credit. No, the Leave-Behind/Before started geniously enough about 2,009 years ago when the Creator of it left His something behind not just for one person, like I did and most people do, but for everyone. (The Man was all about sharing.)

Jesus and His Holy Spirit is the original Leave-Behind. Prior to His crucifixion Jesus told His disciples that He would be going away, that He had to go away but that He would be leaving them with a Helper – that if He did not go away the Helper would not come. (John 16:5-7).

Jesus and His Holy Spirit is also the original Leave-Before. Jesus still had many things He wanted to say and teach but the disciples were not ready yet to learn them, so the Helper would be the one to guide them into the truth for the Helper was the Spirit of Truth. (John 16: 12-13).

Jesus told His disciples, and us, the Holy Spirit He was leaving in His place would live with us and in us. He would not leave us orphans. God is sending this Holy Spirit in Jesus’ place to teach us, guide us and remind us each and every day in all things and in all ways of the love of God. (John 14:14-21).

At the time the disciples were not really sure what Jesus was talking about. They surely would rather have Him than some unseen Holy Spirit “helper.” But by going and leaving behind His Holy Spirit to each of us Jesus gave much greater than He could have ever accomplished by staying here Himself. The Holy Spirit Jesus left for us is a gift to each and every believer. It is that still, small voice inside from God helping guide us and strengthen us and encourage us and love us every single minute of the day.

Jesus dwells in every person who accepts Christ as their Savior. That means there are millions of “Holy Spirit Jesus’” in the world, not just one. This time the parts are greater than the sum.

I’d call that the ultimate Leave-Behind.

~

The Goodbye/Hello Girl

Ahhh, made it! There it is at last jumping up and down and waving its welcoming arms at me like a long lost friend – 2009. The air is fresher here, the sun is warmer and the world is so much brighter. Now, if I could only stand up straight, take my hands off my knees, clear my eyes and get enough air in my lungs to start enjoying it.

I feel like I have just run a marathon – a really long marathon. I am not insane enough, errr, physically driven enough to voluntarily enter a marathon. All those weeks, months, years of training and preparing for it, not to mention the actual running of the thing – just thinking about it now is making my Achilles’ tendons ache.

The best thing I can see about running a marathon is the finish line. There are people cheering you and congratulating you for finishing – no matter how long it took you to cross that line. All that hard work over the past year has paid off, you have done something not everyone has done or can do – and you have the souvenir t-shirt to prove it.

Of course, I would imagine that at the very moment you cross the finish line most non-professional runners just want to stop moving for a moment, catch their breath, let the feeling come back into their legs and the sweat dry from their eyes. You finished; you can now go home and celebrate your well deserved victory and move on the next item on your “Things To Do Before I Die” list. But before you do you will take just a moment and look over your shoulder and see the course that you bested.

Oh, there were moments you thought the course would best you and then there was The Wall at mile 19 when you really started to question your sanity. But you made it past the pain, the cramps, the doubt – all the obstacles – and now you are on the other side and still standing. That’s cool. (But I am still never doing one voluntarily.)

They say (whoever “they” is) that every marathoner learns something during the run that they will use to help them run better next time. Next time!? 2008 was just enough for me and ‘though I learned plenty, there isn’t going to be any “next time” if I have anything to say about it. (And as I didn’t actually have any say about it this time, I hope I made good enough notes in my “runner’s log,” just in case.)

As the clock chimed from 2008 to 2009 and I put one foot into the New Year and took my last foot out of the old one I had this wonderful sense of accomplishment. I made it! In reality, the only thing that happened was Wednesday turned to Thursday and that happens every week so actually nothing changed – but everything changed. Like every marathon runner, I am changed for having run the distance.

I imagine this was much like what Jesus felt like after being in the desert for 40 days. It is hot in the desert and he did not have 40 days of water or food with Him. What He did have was Satan tempting and taunting Him. But Jesus did not give in to the temptations, the doubts and taunts that were put before Him. He kept His mind on the finish line – His Father – and He made it to the end. (Matt. 4:1-11).

The bible is silent as to how Jesus felt after surviving His ordeal but I imagine He felt pretty good and energized and ready for action – after a really good meal, of course. That’s what 2009 feels like – fresh, new and full of possibilities. I think it’s true, there really is a “runner’s high” that kicks in after running one of these things. It charges you up and gets you ready for whatever lies ahead. I think I have it right now (that or I’m still a bit woozy from New Years Eve). Either way, 2009 is indeed going to be an exciting New Year.

Goodbye 2008 – so long, sayonara, I won’t be seeing you later (and you can keep your souvenir t-shirt).

Hello 2009 – good to see you, glad you’re here, what took you so long? It is going to be a great year (just as soon as I recover from my mile-23 leg cramp).

~