Family Interactions

I love to watch our soccer coaching, Sports Center addicted, video game playing son enter the family scene at Christmas. Believe it or not, Uncle Bryan sat down on at child's small chair at Little Stuff's small table, and thoroughly engaged in creating Play Doh constructions with her. Nothing seemed beneath him; the two loved working together on what she considered important. Deference, an old fashioned word, has gone out of fashion, unfortunately. We can graciously defer to another out of duty or delight. Bryan delighted in time spent with his niece. How do I know?

Later the same day, as bedtime closed in on the 2 1/2/ year old, I watched Uncle Bryan crawl into Little Stuff's big girl bed and allow her to bury him in a ton of her favorite stuffed animals. Once ensconced in the animals, he then drew and colored with her until time for prayers, songs, hugs and kisses. Each time he pretended to sleep, he heard a strong voice command, "Uncle Bryan, Uncle Bryan," repeated multiple times. His eyes popped open and she squealed with sheer delight over the game. When the extended family can gather together, not an every year occurence, we like to play and spend time together.

Watching this scenario, I thought about the Lord and the way He condescended to do more than play with us. He came to give His called ones not just time and laughs; He came to sacrifice Himself for them. To miss the Christmas to Easter connection diminishes Christmas and allows it to degenerate into a sweet time of family togetherness and cookie giving to the neighbors and the mailman. Listen to so many of the Christmas specials and you hear the "Be nicer to people," or "Play it forward" mantras. While a display of kindness is a plus at any time, Christmas conveys so much more. Uncle Bryan may sacrifice some time and engage in childish play, but the God of the universe stooped to take on human flesh, live a sinless life, and die in my place. Now that's Christmas, and that's what we celebrate!

Family Heritage

One of my favorite parts of this Christmas season will be watching the interplay among the three generations that will gather together in Augusta, GA. Oh, yes, 10 adults, two preschoolers and two dogs will create scenes of chaos, but when all the adults know and serve the Lord, there is "joy unspeakable and full of glory," as the apostle Paul writes. Here, Santa Granpa, Brent and our granddaughter share bedtime stories together. The routine that follows in her bedroom involves saying prayers, singing "This Little Light of Mine," and "Mary Had a Little Lamb," and giving hugs and kissess all around. Ask Little Stuff what Christmas is all about and she responds, "It's Jesus' birthday." After that her lights go out, the music of her sea turtle begins and we all slip out of her room.

Years ago, when I studied Isaiah, I chose a verse for our family. “As for me, this is my covenant with them,” says the LORD. “My Spirit, who is on you, and my words that I have put in your mouth will not depart from your mouth, or from the mouths of your children, or from the mouths of their descendants from this time on and forever,' says the LORD." Isaiah 59:21. Whether you have Christians in your genealogy for generations or are a first generation believer yourself, latch onto this verse for 2010 and then share your faith -- by the way you live more than by a penchant to inject a verse into every conversation. Pray that the Lord will call each one in your family to a personal faith in Jesus Christ, a relationship that will change theri life forver.

Fear and Wonder

"Don't feel hurt, " my daughter-in-law told Dave. "When your granddaughter saw an off-duty Santa at Sam's Club, she was like white on rice hangin' on to my Mom." The two-year-old registered pure terror then, despite the Santa's efforts to engage her in friendly conversation. The blue-eyed toddler stole glances and kept asking her Mommy,"Where he go?" And before the shopping ended, she did say "Merry Christmas" to him.  Thus, Dave remained optimistic: after all, this Santa was her Granpa. The red suit, spats, hat and glasses came from a costume company, but the smile, voice and beard would be 100% Granpa. Dave and I arrived in Statesboro on Thursday afternoon, and Granpa tried on the outfit then because he planned to play Santa at two daycares on Friday, one being hers! "Daddy, No, I no like him!"  Not exactly a rave review!

Dave loves kids and moved slowly the next day when his granddaughter, frightened and crying, clung to Nanny Scarlet. Smart Granpa talked and then began to play ball with the four toddlers there, winning their trust and then handing out their gifts. As the picture explains, the fear turned to wonder and love.

I think about the shepherds, ones we consider highly favored to have received the sky-shattering birth announcement of the Christ child. "They were sore afraid," says the KJV; the NIV translates that "They were terrified." As I face a righteous God as presented in the law, terror fills me too. Only when He condescends to demonstrate His grace and mercy, does my fear turn to wonder.

Over the Rainbow

Years ago Judy Garland belted out "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in the movie version of The Wizard of Oz. What a voice and what an expression of wanting to go where we are not. The longing for what we do not yet possess drives so much of our fallen nature at this time of year. Do I really act like I will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Ludicrous, I say, but I can fall into the trap. Have you exercised control as you shopped for gifts in late November, only to reach for the credit cards now and dash into the malls in a spending frenzy? While this doesn't describe me this year, thankfully. it certainly has in years past. The apostle, Paul, writing in Philippians, says, "for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength."

I often return to the Puritan book The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs. The ideas presented there help balance me, reestablish biblical equilibrium. "A godly heart enjoys much of God in everything he has, and knows how to make up all wants in God Himself."  How can something stated so simply carry such deep meaning? It allows for fun (The Puritans have gotten such a bad rep thanks to The Scarlet Letter and The Crucible) in all the good things God provides, and yet teaches us how to meet life's gravest hurts. So my Santa husband can pose next to our pastor's daughter right after the curtain came down on her as Dorothy in Southern High School's production of The Wizard of Oz. Christians can rejoice in Advent without slipping into the excesses that often mar the season. How? By seeing the tender babe in Bethlehem also as the suffering Savior who goes to the cross on our behalf.  Connect Christmas and Easter to find the contentment and joy of Christmas.

Strength for the Season

What if Christmas comes and your world has recently fallen apart? I try to remember that not everyone gets all excited and happy about this season. Illness, financial devastation, job layoffs, or personal disappointments come without regard to the calendar's date. Despite rereading the Christmas story in Luke 2, your "inside your head" world lacks the joy, peace and love spoken of in this passage.

Since King David's life spiraled out of control several times, his psalms often capture the angst of the heart. Reading Psalm 20 and Psalm 25 can provide a larger perspective on life, even in the midst of grave difficulties at this time of year. "May the Lord answer you when you are in distress, may the name of the God of Jacob protect you." This opening verse meets my desire to be heard and protected. I sense that the God of the universe cares for me, knows my circumstances, and can offer me safety. The psalm continues with reminders of who the sovereign God is. By verse 7, the psalmist affirms his hope: "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God."

Psalm 25 reminds me of God's reigning authority and my sinfulness. I have, when I assess the situation honestly, had a part in virtually any terrible situation. Even if someone has sinned against me, I may now harbor anger, or guilt that is wrong. I need to confess. Beginning with a biblically sound attitude, King David says, "Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long. Remember, O Lord, your grace and mercy and love for they are from of old." Begin by acknowledging who God is and requesting His viewpoint. Add a dose of humility by reciting verse 9: " He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them his way." Finally, the man after God's own heart concludes, "Guard my life and rescue me; let me not be put to shame, for I take refuge in you. May integrity and uprightness protect me because my hope is in you."

By reading these psalms several times a day, we massage the truths into our system. Remember that the Jews memorized Scripture. Reciting the psalms anchored people when the world around them fell apart. Today we snap up a sound bite and move on. But if the Word is to give birth to changes from the inside of us, ruminating on the words must occur in our minds and hearts throughout the day.

Snow's Serenity

Snow falls insulate the world, creating a quiet we do not experience at other times. This picture, taken from our front porch around 7 AM Sunday, captures the pristine beauty of the sun coming over our woods. Since the thermometer registered 16 degrees, Dave took the picture. The photo, however, cannot convey the haunting sounds of the wind chimes as the breeze keeps them in almost constant motion. Something about snow slows me down, causes me to listen more carefully. That's probably good since the sermon series currently deals with a biblical look at many psychological tags used in our culture. The series, entitled "Battling Unbelief," has, thus far, looked at the scriptural side of anxiety, pride and shame. Although these are valid emotions, Americans are often too quick to proclaim an "it's-not-my-fault" position without seeking a biblical lens. When did we let psychology access the soul without any consultation with the Great Physician?

Far too long Christians have defined belief as merely a cerebral agreement with facts. Our pastor says that belief is "mainly an appetite in the heart which fastens on Jesus for satisfaction." If we don't fasten on Jesus, we manufacture idols that quickly own us. Our unbelief occurs when we turn away from Jesus to find satisfaction somewhere else or in someone else. In the case of anxiety, I may be my own worst enemy. Have I gotten myself in over my head financially, emotionally, or with commitments outside my home or at the office? Then the cause of my anxiety lies within  my grasp to change. Ah, but to lower my anxiety, I may have to admit my shortcomings. That snowballs headlong into my pride. When I can't perform all the things I promised to do, I experience a sense of shame. Can you see why this sermon series has my attention? The root I have to examine is not a psychological one, but rather, an examination that tests the depth of my appetite for God. I often find the fight for humility is the fight of faith. The apostle Paul reminds me to "fight the good fight," so I will continue to use these snowy. blustery days to meditate on battling unbelief: anxiety, pride, and shame.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Dave and I spent Thanksgiving in Georgia with family and had the opportunity to see Brent and Becky begin to decorate their home for Christmas. The kids live in a new development where they enjoy their neighbors. A couple across the street has two girls, 4 and 9 months, so the girls formed a friendship as did their parents. On Friday evening our daughter-in-law introduced Little Stuff to a "seasonal member" in their neighbor hood--Mr. Penguin. "Glad to know ya. Mr. Penguin. Merry Christmas," the two-year-old said in greeting. The inflatable, lighted lawn bird really captured the toddler's attention, so much so that she gave him a big hug before coming inside for dinner. Watching Little Stuff, I began thinking about neighbors.

We now build back decks and not front porches. In the suburbs we jump into the car at o'dark hundred, battle the commute, work long hours in cubicles, and often bring work home at night. Once we're through the front door, we close it, hunker down for the night, and repeat the pattern the next day. The weekends overflow with errands, sports, and church. We have neighbors, but "Who is my neighbor?" is not simply a question for Bible times. Jesus told us the two great commandments: to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul and strength, and to love our neighbors as oursleves. We have no problem loving ourselves; we do that on autopilot! But in what ways do I love my neighbor?

We now live on Winding Ridge, a development -- and I use that word lightly -- of about 15 homes. Seven of us live here year round; the others have vacation homes here. At the annual association  meeting, we gather together for a shared meal and a business meeting. I actually know more of my neighbors here than I did when I lived near Annapolis. Within the last three weeks, 5 of us have gathered for spur-of-the-moment dinners together. I like that and find it a simple way of getting to know our neighbors. So I find myself thankful for Little Stuff's exuberance over Mr. Penguin because it jostled my thinking.

Perform the Rests

Any serious musician learns to "perform the rests," as one of my choral directors taught me years ago. As important as paying attention to the dynamic markings, maintaining proper pitch and keeping the tempo are, ignoring the rests mars any performance. And this is performance weekend for the Garrett County Choral Society, so the Christmas music we have prepared this fall will finally have an audience of folks on this second weekend of Advent. The singers have given much attention to the louds and softs, staying on pitch, and not slowing the director's tempo. But will we watch her closely enough to perform the rests? Paying attention to the rests makes the difference between an OK and an excellent concert.

With each passing year, I have a greater sense of performing the rests in the Advent season...and not just musically speaking. Not every Christmas cookie must find its way to the cookie tray; not all the rooms need Christmas decorations; not every card must be mailed by December 20th. The tyranny of the urgent destroys the sense of wonder that surrounds the incarnation. We can crowd in enough activities to merit Martha Stewart's notice, yet miss the essence of the Word made flesh.  An evening spent sharing a serendipitious meal with the neighbors, a nap to regenerate my own body, or a Messiah CD and prayer from Valley of Vision can't happen unless I perform the rests during Advent. When the social calendar shows almost every night booked with activities, decorating, cooking, and shopping, the metronome swings with the frantic pace know as the holiday season. A lively tune, the holiday celebrations may hit all the right notes, but I wonder if there would be less January depression if we performed the rests before December 25th. Wishing you a rest-filled Advent.

Music and Advent

I don't know when I first sang; I only know that singing fills me with joy. And harmonies, especially in the tight chords, give me chills. Music truly communicates in ways that touch the soul. Part of the Christmas concert for the Garrett County Choral Society will include the 1991 song, "Mary, Did You Know?" The deity of Christ leaps from the words of this song, revealing acts in the baby's future that Mary, the teenage girl chosen to bear the Christ child, could never have imagined. Yes, He would one day "walk on water, save our sons and daughters, give sight to the blind, calm a storm with His hand." This Jesus would gain a huge following for the miracles He performed. However, the lyrics then make a play on words that some find offensive. "This  Child that you delivered will soon deliver you." Now Jesus steps out! Others may have startled the world with slight of hand miracles, but Jesus' claims far exceed any miracle worker."When you kiss your little baby you have kissed the face of God," and "The sleeping child you're holding is the Great 'I Am!'" I want the truth of these words to seep into every fiber of my being. Why? Because the truth conveyed changes lives from the inside out. Not just a behavioral change, but a heart change that destroys favored idols in me and allows me to bring glory to God.

I've also listened to Michael Card's The Promise today and asked for the Lord to allow me a deeper vision of Christ this Advent season. "As a sign to you, the one born today will be wrapped in rags, asleep on the hay," sings Card. The lowly shepherds got a spectacular birth announcement and sought this babe, but the vast majority in the world slept on that night. In so many ways, our world, desperate to be relevant, universal and non-judgmental, sleeps also. But we who call Him Lord also can miss the mystery of the incarnation. We decoraate, buy, feast, and scurry through Advent, worried that we will not get it all done. Somewhere, everywhere in the bustling activity, we miss the time to prepare ourselves for the amazement of God with us, Immanuel. "If God is with us, who could stand against us?" "There is no height nor depth that can ever separate us from the love of Christ." If that's Christmas ho-hum, I haven't paused to look afresh at marvelous news of Chritmas.

Then tonight a group of women from church gathered here to watch the DVD of Paige Benton Brown talking about what we must tell the next generation. Paige pleads with her listeners to really see all that Christ is-- His power, majesty, and love for us as His called children. I don't need a new idea for a gift, another recipe to dazzle the family, a two-week diet to shed pounds before the feasting begins, or a change in my circumstances. In Jesus, Immanuel, I have everything; without Him, I have nothing. May the star's light of Christmas stop me right over that humble stable so I can fasten my eyes upon the promise named Jesus. I want to hear and sing the music of Christmas with a deeper view of the Child of Promise. May this Advent give us all the time to look at the sleeping baby who is the Son of God.

Cold Dampness and Christmas

On this final day of November, the darkness outside belies the clock's 4:45 PM time. I've watched snow flurries and rain while I made oatmeal/craisin/white chocolate chip cookies to share with another couple coming tonight for spaghetti dinner. Dave managed to burn the trash and order some Christmas gifts via the internet, but the day appears pretty grim. I miss times of quiet with Little Stuff when we could just watch Veggie Tales together on the couch. Alas, I'm in Maryland and she's in Georgia.

Into this dismal day the background sounds, thanks to Cindy Bauchspies and Michael Card Christmas CDs, propel my spirit right into Advent. A day such as this one takes me to the cold dampness that I associate with the difficulties of the first Christmas. Whatever the weather that first Christmas night, the Christ child entered a hostile environment as He nestled down in a feeding trough. The Creator of the universe entered His world to find anger, hatred, and ultimately, death. No bright lights and tinsel, no blow-up reindeer or holiday buying sprees. Yet, for the likes of you and me, He gave up the splendor of heaven to walk this earth, tempted in all ways as we, and to lay down His life as a ransom for those He would call to faith in Him. I wait in this Advent season, savoring the depth of such a love.

Happy Turkey Day!

"Thanksgiving Spirit" doesn't have the Madison Avenue ring of "Christmas Spirit," and for that, I am thankful! Yet Thanksgiving Spirit has a warmth that will, hopefully, escape the advertising mogels for years to come. So Happy Turley Day, as Little Stuff's dress proclaims. Count God's blessings all day!

Our son, daughter-in-law, Dave, and I all had a hand in the food today. Austyn Grace's taste buds resonated most with our traditional monkey bread and fruit breakfast, and the pumpkin cake recipe I got from a Pillsbury Bake-Off contest years ago. Considering family favorites, we cook both a turkey and a spiral ham, and make mashed potatoes and a sweet potato casserole. A neighbor on Bearfoot Road had sent something new, a great compote of cranberries, apples and oranges; the girls liked it; the guys passed in favor of stuffing -- no surprises there!

Calls to and from Hawaii and Massachusetts allowed us to extend "thanksgivings" with other family members. Football, some Christmas decorating, as well as coloring, stickers, play-doh, and naps occupied most of our day together here. Meanwhile, the Hawaii branch of The Wolfe's Den enjoyed scuba diving. The thing that resonanted in each activity, each verbal exchange, was a sense of abiding peace coupled with an overwhelming knowledge of God's blessings in our lives. These showcase His grace, not any worthiness of ours. Our children, their spouses, their in-laws -- all know Jesus personally. III John says, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth." (v.4) No wonder the cornucopia defines Thanksgiving to me!

Early in the month I started to list specific items for which I gave thanks this year... the free gift of a motorized scooter; a loving husband who plans, but really trusts our finances to God in the midst of the economic downturn; God's kindness in having Stacey assigned to Hawaii instead of the expected Okinawa base; the richness of solid reformed preaching from the pastors of both the church in Severna Park and the one in Oakland; the gracious neighbors in both locations; Becky's good health as she carries the baby girl expected April 1st; the joy of travels to spend time with family; the excitement of Brent's first book coming out in December; the pain killers that help me function day to day. My list goes on, but the idea I want to purse this coming year involves thanking God more on a daily basis. Since Thanksgiving hasn't been packaged yet, this could stay our secret for a while. Happy Turkey Day!

Holiday Happiness

A few days ago Little Stuff and Grandma started to work on a ginbgerbread house as a surprise for Mommy and Daddy when they returned from Florida. This Grandma's idea of fun involved making things instead of hitting the mall with many other holiday shoppers. Given my inability to get around, the vast majority of my shopping happens via the Internet anyway.

Armed with the "everything you will need" gingerbread house, we started what would turned into a three-day project. Thankfully, time doesn't bind retirees or toddlers, so we worked for a while and then stopped, planning to resume another day. Most of my time went into attempting to control Little Stuff's sugar consumption! Sprinkles, red and green peppermint swirls, rainbow-colored dots, frosting, gum drops, and confectionery sugar kept her tasting as we went along. I loved her laughter, her licking my fingers, and the memory making! In this season of giving thanks, I still tell the Lord thank you for the simple things that involve telling the next generation about Jesus by spending time with them inside and outside church.

God-centered or Man-centered?

While at worship in Statesboro, Georgia this morning, I thought about the way I express thanks at this time of year when we gather around the Thanksgiving table. Most thoughts cast a look back at the people, blessings and lessons of the past year(s). Always a stickler for supporting details instead of mere generalizations, I have added several times this month to a list of specifics in my prayer journal. A sovereign God has allowed family, friends, teachers, choir directors, pastors and neighbors to walk alongside me, and for them, I am thankful. Around the people, God has swirled events and lessons in His work of making me look more and more like Jesus. Yet, the bulk of my thanksgiving centers on the past and on me. But what about giving thanks to God for the present and future?

Each day I need to thank God for His strength in my life, calling upon Him as my great physician and asking Him to superintend my day's activities, my heart, my tongue. I also should remember to thank God that His presence to guide me offers tangible proof of  my daily need for direction and His kind willingness to lead. How aware am I of thanking God daily? Do I presume on grace? As the apostle Paul puts it, "May it never, never be." So I will think more of thanking God in the present.

I also want to thank God for the future, captured in the youthfulness of Little Stuff as she stood by the duck pond on Saturday. Only in Jesus Christ can I offer

hope to her and to those God brings into my life this coming year. Whether princes and countries rise or fall, whether the economy rebounds or continues in a slump, whether I know pain or good health, the sovereign Lord holds all peoples and events in His gracious hands. How I thank Him for the assurance of the future.

As we gather to celebrate Thanksgiving this year, I will endeavor to make the day one that focuses more on God than man. How?  By casting a concentrated look at things present and future and thanking God for them. 

Gingerbread Houses and Scooters

What possible connection can exist between a gingerbread house and a scooter?  This Granma's 2009 list of  "Thanksgiving Blessings" includes both!  A few weeks ago, Granpa picked up a kit for making a gingerbread house, thinking our granddaughter and I would enjoy constructing this sweet

confection together while her Mommy and Daddy traveled to Miami to visit Uncle Bryan. The first step, gluing the house pieces together with frosting, went slowly, but by giving Little Stuff a taste here and there, the first step came off without a hitch! We add the decorations tomorrow afternoon!

The second blessing, a free scooter that a neighbor on Bearfoot Road gave us, traveled to Gerogia with us and has allowed this Granma such freedom and mobility. A trip to the mailbox means the two of us zip out the driveway with a toot of the horn. We gather the mail from the box, place it in the basket, take a spin around the neighborhood, and come back huddled together. How could this daily task be any more fun?

Well, it's even more fun when the scooter morphs into a chariot for Little Stuff to attend a princess birthday party, with Granma as her driver. Scatter the fairy dust, and a bit of magic emerges for us both. I clasp her hand, head for the garage, place the birthday gift in the basket, and with a toot of the horn, we head off, my heart filled with thankfulness for the simple joys today held: a gingerbread house and a battery-operated scooter! Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

Helping

In our busyness as a society, we Americans have too often abdicated neighborliness, care, and simple helpfulness to the government. The politicians develop a program, create an entire bureacuracy to oversee the activities, and finally, assign a series of watchdog levels to monitor the bureacrats. The resulting "help" to the intended recipients falls woefully short of the good intentions of those who introduced the bill that started the government ball rolling. How can we make changes? We need to teach the next generation the joy of serving, helping out when the "volunteer" hours are not a graduation requirement or met with pay. What better way to start than with the curly blonde we know as our granddaughter.

When we arrived in Georgia, Grandpa wanted to wash his Jeep, so he showed her how to wash the sides and then rinse. Yes, the job took longer and we all came into the house soaking wet, but the laughter was brighter than even the silver Jeep. "Little Stuff" had helped Granpa adn loved every minute. Why do we stop doing this, I wondered? Somewhere during childhood, we must stop practicing service for fun. Do we resent the time involved in extra laundry? Want the job done in 15 minutes and know that we can accomplish it without the "help" of littler ones? Whatever it is, we have paid a high toll for the time we may have gained here and there. I found it ludicrous when a teacher friend had to arrange the freshmen volunteer hours for all the 9th graders in her homeroom. That's right. She found the activity, set up the times, and had to check back to see who showed up and who did not. For those for failed to appear, the teacher got to arrange another activity. Pleazzzzzze!

This afternoon, while Granpa and I are babysitting for five days, we went to a local park to see the ducks. While there, I saw one or two big pinecones near the place we parked the Jeep. I got the idea of making some autumn wreaths as a surprise for Brent and Becky's return. As Granpa and Little Stuff started off for a walk, Dave asked if I could use more pinecones if he found them. As soon as I smiled and said yes, Dave had an instant helper. Looking at this photo, I know I'm thankful for the opportunity to grandparent! 

Don't Miss Thanksgiving

The Madison Avenue buzz wants Americans to focus on November 27th, two weeks from today, because that's Black Friday. And if we walked through WalMart in Ocotber, we experienced whip lash, seeing Halloween and Christmas items across from each other in the same aisle. What happened to Thanksgiving? Shhhh, let's keep it our little secret lest the moguls of the advertising world start to market "Thank Ye" trees with mini Pilgrims, tiny conucopias, and strings of yellow, orange and green lights. No, except for the food and florist ads, Thanksgiving has not yet fallen to commercialism. And for that I am extremely grateful.

Thanksgiving centers around family traditions, soup kitchens that feed the homeless,  gardens' bounties of food and beauty, people stopping to express genuine thankfulness for their blessings. When our sons lived at home, we placed five kernels of corn on their plate one year, talked about the first Thanksgiving, and asked them to name five items of personal thanksgiving. Over the years, the activity morphed into expressions such as, "I'm thankful for my family, friends, house, food, car that runs..." You get the idea. While we did appreciated these things, the reporting sounded somewhat rote and not well thought out. Rarely did someone thank the Lord for the ability to keep praying for someone who was tough to like. We didn't usually thank God for character development when it came slowly and with halting steps.

Busyness posed another problem as I shopped, baked, made a floral arrangement, ironed the good table cloth, and got out the china for this family occasion. I had not given much over-the-entire-month time to replay the year in my mind, to really count my blessings. The truth expressed in Ephesians 5:19-20 advocates continual thanksgiving. "Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." So this year I grabbed my journal when the specific things came to mind and wrote them down. One blessing has come from my being part of the local garden club's herb committee. They taught me about putting the last of autumn's leaves and home grown lavender into glycerin water to create the free arrangement pictured above. Such a simple joy, an expression of beauty that causes me to reflect on God's creation. I have already listed nearly 30 things now, taking the time to savor each as it has come to mind. As the advertisers flood the mailbox with the November 27th sales, I hope they continue to skip Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday and I don't want commercialism to ruin it!

Thanks to our Veterans

I thanked my husband this morning and wished him a Happy Veteran's Day. He left Buffalo, New York in February 1967, headed to Phan Rang AFB, north of Saigon. When then President Lyndon Johnson sent his new son-in-law there, I sure prayed that LBJ loved Lt. Robb and wanted to see him serve on a relatively safe base. Since Dave's folks lived in Honolulu that year, he flew in from Nam, and I cut a week's worth of college classes and flew in from Buffalo. During that week, Dave asked me to marry him in August 1968, and I said "Yes,"  He returned to duty in November, and I returned to classes. February loomed closer, and while my excitement grew, Dave's base started to go on nightly alerts. The TET offensive launched the very week Dave was due to come home. The day scheduled for his arrival came; I left Houghton College in the midst of a blizzard and drove to the Buffalo Airport, not knowing if he'd even arrived on that plane. I'd received no confirmation or call regarding the his incoming flight to Washington State. Standing virtually alone at the gate, I watched the passengers disembark and walk across the snow-covered tarmac. A few military personnel emerged, but not my Dave. The horrible scenarios that swirled in my brain consumed me, and I turned to leave. Suddenly he appeared...the very last passenger off the plane. What a fantastic reunion we had, despite the fact that the airport announced its immediate closing and it took us hours of inching along the higway to get back to campus! That happened almost 43 years ago. And yes, we married that next summer as planned. I have always thanked God that Dave arrived home safely after his year's tour of duty.

Attending hometown parades with fire trucks, American flags, patriotic music and retired veterans marching side by side always chokes me up. Let the high school band play the "National Anthem" or "God Bless America" and my tears start. What a privilege to live here in America. When I see a man or woman in uniform at the airport or in the mall, I try to say, "Thanks for serving," but I don't always remember. This year I've seen many stores and restaurants offer some ways of saying thanks. Perhaps we are mourning the tragedy that occurred at Fort Hood. Maybe we know more of the importance of our military. I hope so. You see, Dave came home to the jeers of war protesters. He and those who served in Nam received very little thanks. The Nam vets heard far too many snide remarks about their lack of savvy. What hadn't they gone to Canada? People considered the Nam veterans stupid for serving in an immoral war.

It took Dave several years before he could visit the poignantly austere Viet Nam Memorial in DC. I still can't go there without experiencing a real emotional drain. The sacrifices made by those men and women met with ingratitude from protestors who had the right to protest only because of the military's protection of the rights guaranteed to all in the US Constitution. So I salute the men and women who have served and who currently serve; their sacrifice allows us to enjoy our freedom. I hope we remember throughout the year and not just on Veteran's Day.

The Difference Between Do and Done

For years I lived by the "to do" list. Almost every night before I went to bed, I wrote a 4 X 6 card with the things to be accomplished the next day. Theoretically, I then fell asleep, having cleared my mind of responsibilities by having them written on my card.
However, many nights I lay with open eyes mentally adding things until I got up and added another card or started with a fresh card detailing the new "others" on the list.

Many years ago my Mom told our Bible study that we girls expected too much of ourselves. She told us we went to bed discouraged because we had only crossed 15 items off our 23-item list. Had we not done 15 things? Where did we lose sight of the accomplishments? In her day Monday was wash DAY -- all day. Sorting heralded the start of the process. Clothes went into the wringer washer, then to the extractor, then out on the clothesline (think New York State winters!). When dried, or frozen, the clothes came into the house, went on radiators if thawing was required, and were folded and put away. Since no one then owned the amount of clothing we do now, the wash day completion was imperative. Even with Mom's pep talk, I spent years living by the legalism of the "to do" list.

 At the end of our first year of retirement and my year anniversary of making no "to do" lists, I love the grace of life lived without legalism. This past Sunday Dave and I took a "car hike" after lunch. I asked Dave to stop the Jeep as we crossed a tiny tributary of Bear Creek when the sunlight and water caught my attention. I got out and a branch caught a shaft of sunlight and dazzled in front of my lens. We had just visited a local artist's fused glass studio, bought one of her pieces as a Christmas gift, and enjoyed the beauty and serenity of her yard. Sunday afternoon beckoned us to revel in God's creation -- and no  "to do" list for Monday hung over my head. Such freedom!
Yesterday, after cleaning, dusting and completing the window washing, Dave and I opted for a mid-afternoon DVD after a soak in the hot tub. 

I thought of the parallels between life in the fast lane and retirement pacing  as they compare to one's faith. So many religions relate security of the next life and comfort in this world to performance. Follow such a religion and the "to do" list hangs precariously over my head. Do a prescribed prayer, sacrifice, duty, etc. and I will please the chosen deity. Living by grace in all that Jesus accomplished on my behalf means He accepts me as His child. That doesn't mean license (St. Augustine said, "Love God and do as you please.") but it means living and serving out of gratitude and not obligation. The Gospel offers relationship and not religion. As my pastor said on Sunday, "Legalism says 'do'; the Gospel says 'done.'"

Homemade Memories

Happy Halloween from the Georgia Wolfes straight to Granma and Grampa's hearts. Although we couln't go around the neighborhood with our granddaughter, we vicariously took the trip via photos. We have thankful hearts for her patient Daddy who did the cutting on the jack-o-lantern but engaged his daughter with the seeds, and for her Mommy who brought infectious giggles to the festivities. Her Georgia grandparents joined in the fun, carrying coffee as Little Stuff sought sweeter goodies for her bag. I reran my mental camera to the days when Dave carved while Brent and Bryan decided how the teeth should look on the jack-o-lantern that year. I remember, too, the Oscar the Grouch costume Dave and I constructed; green fun fur for the head, fuzzy green pjs that we had, and a tinfoil covered trash can that had straps over the shoulder that held it in place. Happy memories!

Families solidify a society, and simple traditions strengthen family ties. Despite trendy phrases about villages that raise a child or the importance of community, Scripture talks most about family. Only in Judges does Deborah use the word village. God brings Israel into being with a call to Abram and promises to bless him through his family. Later, Rahab and her family, escape the destruction of Jericho, and she enters the lineage of Christ. Still  later, the New Testament refers to believers as the family of God. The psalmist offers this: "A father to the fatherless, defender of widows, is God in His holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing..."

The family traditions at your house at the end of October may include mums and corn stalk decorations, Reformation Day celebrations, face painting, pumpkin carvings, and silly costumes, or a myriad of fun activities. I hope you took the time to stockpile these memories; you'll draw strength from them in the future.  

The Creek, the Seasons, the Lord

In the midst of God's creation out here in Accident, Maryland, stand the markers of change. I wrote earlier about Bear Creek's movement as it relates to our children. Next, the movement of autumn to winter caught my eye as the trees literally looked stripped of their leaves in a matter of days. This transformation coincided with Dave's Mom's move to a small nursing facility. Just this morning, emails arrived asking me to pray for people facing health issues, and for a pregnant woman who lost her baby seven months into her pregnancy. No certainties support us. Companies who promised retirement pensions default; the stock market fluctuates violently; our health status changes with one visit to a doctor. Where do we turn? What gives stability in the midst of living real life in a broken world? We yearn for stability that also reflects reality. To whom do we cling?

Moses, no  stranger to tragedy, triumph, and unsettledness, wrote Psalm 90. In it he discovers rock solid stability, something we do not personally produce in this world.  "Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were born, or you brought forth the earth, and the world, from everlasting to everlasting, you are God." Our aim then settles into a daily prayer as we live in the midst of transitions: "Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom...May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children. May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us -- yes, establish the work of our hands." Next, Psalm 91 affirms that the Lord alone must root us in all changes. "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust." As we cling to Him, we "find rest for our souls" as the psalmist puts it, or that "the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus," as Paul wirtes in Philippians. And these promises stand whether the creek moves on or the seasons transfer power and beauty for barren limbs.

Transitions

Yesterday Dave's 93-year-old Mom moved to a nursing home, a house actually, that accommodates five residents. Mom has lived with Dave's oldest brother and his wife for more than four years now, and her physical needs have continued to increase. So Mom, an avid New York Yankees' fan, watched her large flat screen TV, the one with the extended baseball package that allows her to watch hundreds of baseball games, move to her new room.


Transitions happen throughout our lives here "under the sun," as Solomon wrote. I took two pictures from the back porch about ten days apart. Here nature mirrors the rapid transition from the glorious colors of autumn to the bare trees that await the first snows.  the family knew this time of change for Mom would come, so we have prayed for Mom's transition to her new surroundings. After having visited two other larger facilities earlier this year, we thought we'd found a good placement, but when our sister-in-law and niece found this house, the size seemed to fit Mom better than any other facility. With hearing and vision loss that couple with a shy, private personality, Mom's needs just don't center around bingo, dancing, and other group activities. Still, change affects us all --Mom and her family. Thankfully, the Houston Wolfes live only minutes from Mom and will visit frequently.The five-year-old twin great granddaughters will liven up Mom's new residence on their after-school visits.

I thought about Ecclesiastes where the Preacher reminds us that all transitions, including the trying of everything -- meaningful work, wisdom, folly, pleasures, wine, women, money --all represent a chasing after the wind. Only in the final chapter does the author give a meaning to life. "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man." Our family finds comfort in Mom's life and new surroundings; we also pray she can process this latest transition. She did "remember [her] Creator in the days of [her] youth"; I simply want to know more of the faith and wisdom that have sustained her over the years. That way I can move more graciously through the transitions God has planned for my life.

Cars, the Continuing Saga

Dave and I left here on Thursday morning in the rental car, headed back to Frederick to get our now repaired 1997 Sable. The "nothing wrong" pronounced by the garage in Severna Park on Monday turned out to be an alternator and battery cable, something relatively cheap to repair. In "car speak," that translates to anything under $1000. However, we had dropped our 1999 Jeep off with a local mechanic here in Western Maryland before we ever headed east. Great week for vehicles!

We made the exchange of rental car for the Silver Sable Steed and drove on to Annapolis and a delightful evening with friends. Thursday evening Dave heard from our mechanic out here. Dave and I had both experienced a unique sound emanating  from the Jeep when we drove up steep hills on the Interstate. The mechanic could not duplicate the loud "thunking" sound in his shop. He made a suggestion about tires, but beyond that, he had no answers for us. He however, did not charge us anything because he did not find a clear problem that he could fix. Oh that the shop down east had the same policy!

Hmmmm. What to do next? On Friday Dave and I camped out with other family members as we waited together on the second floor lounge of Anne Arundel Medical Center. Thankfully, the surgery went well, and we had several hours' input from my brother and four nephews about, you guessed, it, CARS! Thanks to their input, earlier discussions Dave and I had, and the Internet, Dave had tons of information. We inched ever closer toward buying another car as my husband surfed the Web for low mileage Jeeps. Did we mention that the 1999 Jeep has 223,000 miles? Dave would find a potential vehicle, email the individual or auto salesperson, search for Car Fax, seek values given the options on each Jeep, and chat about it with me. The other five men own cars, trucks, SUVs, and motorcycles. I heard more about 4-wheel drive versus all-wheel drive than I'll ever need to know!

The good news? The Silver Bullet, AKA, the 1997 Sable, took us into the Shenandoah Mountains and home to Western Maryland  without so much as a hiccup. However, a stop in Virginia resulted in the purchase of a 2005 Jeep with only 13,000 miles on it and a boat load of amenities! Sometime early next week Dave and I will return to Virginia and drive the "new" Jeep home. About the car name? I always name cars. The Sable drops down to the Silver Slug and the Jeep inherits the title the Silver Bullet. 

Cars!

For years I have felt that heaven would not have cars. After all, they have caused me many tears, and Scripture promises no tears in heaven. However, in this world, God uses vehicles to teach patience, trust, and stewardship. Somehow, the Lord figured I needed a refresher course this week.

I pulled out of our driveway in the 1997 Mercury Sable at 8 AM on Monday, bound for the homeschooling tutorial that meets in Severna Park. I planned to teach an 11:30 class about stewardship of abilities as it relates to post-high school career plans. With a 30-minute cushion and all materials in tow, I headed east bound. About an hour into the trip, I noticed that the battery light winked at me for a few seconds. Hmmm? What did that mean? Off went the heat, the radio, the headlights. Hi O Silver, away! The Silver Bullet Sable responded; off went the light. On with the cruise control and the rest of the trip.

Later, just outside Frederick, the RPM needle suddenly points to zero, but I'm still traveling at 60 MPH. WHAT is this? A little adventure ensues as I maneuver a couple of miles driving on the shoulder of the road at 40 MPH, but then my trusty steed gallops off at 65, keeping up with the rest of the horse power on I 70. Meanwhile, Dave's making cell calls; a friend meets me at the garage where I leave the lame car, and the friend drives me to class; another friend takes me from class to her home for lunch. By 5:30, she has graciously invited me to spend the night and head back in the morning with the silver bullet, which, by the way, has been pronounced "Fine, Can't find anything wrong!" The labor cost for the "non-repair" of my car is $95.00, but the old car has a clean bill of health.

My trusty steed turns over fine at 9 this morning, and I fill her tank with gas before turning west. I fill my lungs and begin to sing everything from  praise choruses to Bach's Cantata 140 -- in German!  Alas, in Frederick (What is it with this town?) the RPM needle nosedives, and the speedometer needle follows. Coasting to the side of the Interstate, all systems stop. Instead of singing, I'm on my dying cell phone with Dave, roadside assistance, Dave, roadside assistance, Dave....you get the idea.

Within 50 minutes the sad steed sits quietly atop the Jerr-Dan, and I have miraculously managed to climb (think Everest here!) into the cab of the truck. Within a few minutes I arrive at the repair shop Dave has located and checked out on the Internet. Next an employee from a car rental place close by picks me up and takes me to my next stop. A few more calls to Dave, insurance company, Dave... Deja-vue.  I've seen this pattern earlier today.  After a few "sign here, initial here," repeats, I hold the key to a little Hyundai. "Sorry, m'am. This is the only car we have available."  Somewhere in the befuddled recesses of my mind, echos "Mountains! I live in the mountains of Western Maryland, and this little pony can really get me home?"

However, miniature horse, lean and light, did hoof it over the mountains, and I arrived home shortly after 2:30. My thanks rose as I realized the protection the Lord had given me. We will now get another lesson in trust and stewardship as we face the repair bill (alternator and battery cell) and pray for wisdom about replacing the 12-year-old Sable. I learned yet another lesson in patience from the experience, and more patience will be needed as we process the possible car-buying issue.

My husband, not wanting me to have had a completely bad day, had a surprise waiting for me when I got home. He had washed all the windows here at the cabin! Washed windows?  What a man!

The Creek Keeps Moving

Living very close to Bear Creek provides a reminder about life. The water flows hard after the rains we've experienced this weekend. Yet, even without the heavy rains, the water keeps moving. It might be a mere trickle, but the creek meanders or gushes all the time. Life mirrors the creek.
Some hard times during my life passed at flash flood speed, and I give thanks for that. Other difficulties reflected a season of drought, a time when the water inched its way along. Small rivulets formed; the water seemed to stop or simply move at a snail's pace. Small progress came, but almost imperceptibly. Lacking patience, I wanted the creek of pain to crest and then move out of my life quickly. Bring on the meandering good times and let me float on the lazy river in my inner tube. Sadly, the ability to freeze the good times does not work; even in the dead of winter, the creek's water flows under the ice. And who wants to smell a slimed-over pond in summer? Parents who try to hold a particular time in a child's life only stagnate the water.

A look at the current culture for children and teens finds two extremes to avoid: the creek that flows at a dangerously fast pace, setting up a deluge that can lead to tragedy and the creek that someone wants to dam up and stop.

The world of consumerism calls out with the siren song of the fast flowing waters. Grow up as a rushing current, gain all manner of sensual pleasures early, shop at Victoria Secret, hang out at the mall. Consider just the logo choices available on a T-shirt found at Old Navy or Wal-Mart. Hottie, Born to Shop, Slave, and similar words identify females. Disney, L.L.Bean, Abercromie and others get free advertising  by slathering their names across even a simple shirt. And what ever happened to a cotton T, one without Lycra or spandex? The world of entertainment also has a flood ready to drown youngsters. Many conscientious parents would never let their kids see an R rated movie. Good, But what's openly shown in an R flows rampantly along in a PG-13. Another torrent involves what girls and guys hear and read. Crude, rude and violent come down the creek, each carrying debris that fouls the water. People often quote Proverbs 4 but stop too soon. "Guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life," says verse 23. The following verses warn the reader to watch what they say, what they look at , and where they go. A wise parent chews on the ideas in the text and discusses the applications with the children in the family.                                     

If the torrential rains of the 21st century spell disaster, why not dam up the waters? Stagnation does not produce healthy adults any more than the swirling eddies that accompany racing waters. To remain almost immobile in a pool of pity, anger or depression benefits no one. Hanging on to good things such as childhood triumphs, beauty, or intellect develops a smelly body of water not even fit for the fish that park rangers use to stock the creek. Pampered children often develop into adults who can't function in a world where they are no longer the princess or king of the mountain. A child cut from a team, musical ensemble or  drama production can bring out both the parents who want to make sure their child's creek flows swiftly or those who do want the child to tread water right here forever. The apostle Paul addresses this scenario in I Corinthians. There he reminds us that he thought, talked, and reasoned as a child when he was a child, but put away childish ways when he became a man.

So act wisely as your children pass through the creek waters. In the Egyptians' rush to kill the fleeing Israelites, Pharoah's army "sank like lead in the mighty waters." Later in Israel's history the prophet Isaiah warned, "the waters will fail from the sea, and the river will be wasted and dried up." For parents to navigate the childhood and adolescent years, Proverbs 18 offers this aphorism for meditation: "The wellspring of wisdom is a flowing brook."

Faithfulness, Flowers and Forgiveness

My dear husband of 41 years demonstrates love to me all the time. Whether he remembers to charge the battery on my scooter, brings me a fresh cup of coffee in the morning, or plants the flowers I buy or receive free from my great next door neighbor, Dave never enjoyed outdoor yard work, and Garrett County features a huge rock collection in it soil. So as he patiently planted mountain lilies, stargazer lilies and replete daffodils on Tuesday, his faithfulness came shining through again. Coming home from our trip to the Flight 93 Memorial, on Wednesday, we stopped at Baker's Nursery and the man even let me buy another mum, a huge burgundy beauty in a 9-inch pot. He did that, even while knowing I couldn't dig the hole, plant the mum, cover with soil or mulch the site afterward. He illustrates amazing love and demonstrates his faithfulness to me!  I often hear about the difficult adjustment to retirement, and perhaps a year is too short a time to make any pronouncement. But I can make an observation.

As humans we will disappoint each other, often not intentionally, but we do it just the same. Our expectations, especially in marriage, go toward perfection: a Sir Galahad as a husband, or a current Hollywood starlet as a wife. The only one faithful one hundred percent, no offense to Dr. Seuss' Horton, is God. We all live like Mayzie part of the time, doing as we please and leaving someone else maintaining our responsibilities. A retired couple lives around each other more now than at any other time in their marriage. Discovering activities to do both together and apart helps develop a new richness in each individual. The mistake lies in expecting every need to be met by the other person. In Hosea God says, "I will betroth you to me in faithfulness, and you shall know the Lord. Only God can meet all our needs. After all, Psalm 36 teaches that  only God's faithfulness that reaches to the clouds.

Eighteen Minutes from D.C.

When the volunteer ambassador told us that this Pennsylvania ridge stands only 18 minutes by air from Washington, DC, I again marveled at the devotion that cost the lives of those on Flight 93 and spared the Capitol while Congress was in session. The last 30 minutes these 40 heroes lived must have been horror-filled moments, time when no one would have blamed them for self-absorption. But some of the men devised a plan, led by Todd Beamer's now famous war cry, "Let's roll!" A lesser known story involves a flight attendant's phone call asking her mother's advice. Even if some passengers could gain entrance to the cockpit, the terrorists had knives while the crew possessed no weapons. Her attendant's mother suggested boiling water to throw on the terrorists. Americans facing death showed such valor, heroism, and selflessness. These characteristics deserve our thanks and esteem. We need to remember these civilians who fought so bravely.
The United States plans a three-phase memorial near the crash site and will buy 2200 acres for that purpose. But to embed in head and heart what happened here, we wanted to see this hallowed ground in its stark simplicity, wind whistling over our heads. Walking slowly around the area, we read the names on the benches, the sentiments written in granite as well as in pencil; we gazed at the firemen's and police officers' helmets. Mementos left here come down regularly, receiving cleaning and storage for future placement in the memorial. To date over 34,000 items have been left.

Inside the adjacent shelter, we read the transcript from the flight recorder and shuddered at the horror of the conceived plan that, thankfully, was not completed that day. New York City and DC had already sustained such tragedy. Then we lifted our eyes to the flag flying in the distance, the flag that marks the actual spot the Boeing 757 slammed 40 feet into the ground. Since survivors consider that place a cemetery, the general public does not have access to the area. Today's crowds revealed a predominance of retirees, Yet, we hope that students and families with young children will also visit here. The Parks service hopes to break ground for the memorial November 1, and complete phase one by the tenth anniversary in 2011.

Turning to leave, we know we have stood on hallowed ground today. One memorial stone summed up my thoughts as we drove away on this clear fall day, an October 21 that resembled the weather of a September day eight years ago. "For our heroes of 9-11-01: Never forget them lest we be attacked again."