Sunday Morning Poetry

One of my earliest memories is of being bundled

up by my mother and taken outside on a snowy

January night to look at the stars.

I must have been four or five,

still small enough for my slender mother to carry.

We stood on the veranda of our house in Virginia,

a heavy shawl wrapped around us both,

gazing over white fields at the sky

as my mother pointed our the constellations she knew.

"The North Star is the brightest star in the sky, "

she whispered, her warm breath wreathing my ear.

"Once you find it, you can always figure out where you are."

Nestled against my mother,

I found this instruction both sensible and enchanting,

and I have never forgotten it.

by Suzanne Berne

from Perfect Mornings, Perfect Memories

so many angels

Sometimes we feel a lot like this rock formation, don't we?
Alone. Isolated. In a barren place.

And then...
Oh, and then.

We open our hearts and find that there are
so many angels just waiting to take us in.

Thank you, friends.

I took the photos on our road trip vacation this summer.

an unexpected absense

I have never been one to write the sad things. I almost never record the hardest moments of my life. The act of writing wholly immerses me in my feelings. And since I don't want to feel worse, I very rarely write the pain. If you could read my old journals, you would find gaps, stretches of time when I wrote almost nothing. Those were the hard times. Those were the moments of great struggle or pain. I never write the sad.

And so I have been away from this place. I have not been here for weeks - a longer blogging absence that I've experienced. In fact, I am not certain why I am here now. I am still sad. Still struggling. But, I am hopeful, too. Maybe they are right. Maybe we can accept loss if we give ourselves some time. I don't know.

What I do know is that I am tired of being away from here. I have been missing my friends, missing our connectedness. And so I am here. Without much to say, I know. But still here...

Say hello, won't you?

2012

I have a prayer for you, my dear friends. And for me.

This year...

May you recognize your blessings.

May you experience wondrous growth.

May you take every opportunity to laugh

and never miss a chance to serve others.

May your challenges make you stronger.

May you have more tears of joy than of sorrow.

May your family be safe and happy

and your friends hold you near to their hearts.

May you grow and learn, laugh and play.

May you never forget to show love and to be grateful.

Most of all, may you go with God, and trust Him each step of the way.

Happy 2012, friends.

Sunday Morning Poetry

Luke 2

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Bimbo

Our family was living in Indonesia when I knocked out my brother's front tooth.

I was five and Brett was two, and it really was an accident. We were playing on the sofa and Brett was bending over to get a ball. His behind was stuck up in the air. It was as though there was a target just on his backside. I just gave him a little nudge on the rump and he went flying. Right into the edge of the coffee table. I guess I'm lucky that all he lost was a front tooth.

Being Indonesia in 1976, there were no surgical dentists in the country. Mom, Brett, and I had to travel to the Philippines to get my brother taken care of. I took my favorite stuffed animal with me. Bimbo was a monkey doll (pictured above) and my treasure. As we were leaving the plane Brett asked to hold my stuffie. I wouldn't let him so his requests turned into a whine. Pretty soon Mom made me let him hold Bimbo. I specifically remember telling her that "Brett is a baby and too young to keep up with Bimbo. He's sure to loose it." Mom made me let him anyway - no doubt to stop the whining and because I was the one who got us in the pickle in the first place. We had our first cab ride with Brett gloating over Bimbo the whole way. When we arrived at the hotel and the cab was long gone, I looked around for my monkey friend. Bimbo was nowhere to be found.


Brett had left him in the taxi. WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

My poor mother. Can you imagine being alone in a strange country with a two year old son who needed medical care and a five year old crying daughter who just wanted her monkey back? Mom tried to console me that some poor child who didn't have a lot of other stuffed animals back at home was sure to discover Bimbo and treasure him and love him and give him a good home. I wasn't having any of it. I wanted my Bimbo back and I wanted him NOW!

I didn't get him back. Of course.

What I did do was hold that over my brother's head off and on for years. When we got into bickering matches, and I couldn't find anything else to say, I could always end it with, "And anyway - you lost my Bimbo." Conveniently forgetting that he had only been two.

Fast forward to the Christmas I was 15. My brother was now 12 and a notorious tightwad. He always had plenty of money because he never spent it. Gifts from Brett were really from Mom with his name signed on them. Until that year.

It was Christmas morning and Brett was wiggling with excitement. It wasn't about his own presents, either. It was for me to open my gift from him. As I started to open it, my Mom told me that Brett had spent his own money to buy this for me.

Bimbo!

Mom had spotted it at a church yard sale. Brett had insisted on spending his own money to buy it for me. Even though Mom was happy to pay for it, he wanted this one to be 100% from him.

My best surprise ever. My best Christmas present. My best brother.

Merry Christmas, Brett.

The Junior Mint Christmas

As adults, we all know that there is so much more to Christmas than just receiving presents. We know that the time we spend together and the love those presents represent are far more important. But, we also have to admit that the gifts are really, really great. To celebrate the spirit of love-filled giving, I thought I would spend this week before Christmas sharing stories of Christmas presents. I hope you'll join me each day to celebrate this season of gifts. I hope you'll share stories of your own in the comments. Merry Christmas, friends.


One of my favorite Christmas gifts of all time wasn't even a gift for me. It was a gift for my Mom, given over thirty years ago. To this day, whenever anyone in our family mentions The Junior Mint Christmas, we all smile. Let me tell you about it.

It was 1979 and we were living in the Azores, Portugal. My Dad was in the Army and we found ourselves in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on Terceira Island. This was long before the days of email, cable, and cell phones. There was one television station and that signed off the air each night with the national anthem. If you wanted something, you bought what was readily available at the base commissary or PX. There was no internet, no catalogs but Montgomery Ward, and no affordable international shipping. In short, no shopping. In spite of the difficulties, my Dad always managed to do something amazing for my Mom for Christmas.

It was a few weeks before Christmas when a big box appeared under the tree. It was about half the size of today's copy paper boxes and it was labeled to Jackie, love Carl. My Dad told her to feel free to shake, she'd never guess what was inside. She shook it. And, don't you know, that thing rattled. A lot. Like a box of broken china. Dad said, "No. Nothing is broken. It's supposed to sound that way." All Christmas long we took turns shaking and guessing while Dad grinned and his eyes twinkled. I'll never forget Mom's puzzlement, her guesses, her laughter. Or Dad's delight as the guesses got odder and odder as time went on.

Christmas morning came and we all listened with our breath held as Mom gave the box one last shake. I can still see the smile on her face when she finally peeked inside. You would have thought it was a box full of diamonds. Inside was a gross, yes, 12 dozen, boxes of Junior Mints. Dad had talked the commissary officer into ordering Mom's favorite candy for Christmas. Candy she hadn't tasted in years - her perfect Christmas present.

I'm not sure, but I think Mom might have eaten the last Junior Mint the day we left the Azores for good. And, my best gift that Christmas? A lesson in loving, a lesson in creativity and thoughtfulness, and the confidence that comes from knowing your parents are truly in love.

Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad.

The picture above is of Split Rock just off Terceira Island.