Christmas Spirit

List in hand, I headed to the grocery store yesterday to do my shopping for the big meal. We have two stores nearby, one a bit more upscale, and one regular supermarket. I've had a hankering for a smoked turkey, and for some reason, Sam's Club doesn't seem to stock them anymore. We used to have them regularly for Christmas dinner, and for about $15 a pop, thoroughly enjoyed them. But the past few years, I've come up empty handed when I've gone looking for one.

I called my two neighborhood grocery stores. First, I called the regular supermarket, asked for the meat department and sat on hold for 10 minutes. Enough of that. I called the upscale store, and they said they could order me one, to which I said that would be great.

So, yesterday was the day, and I headed to the upscale grocery store, full of Christmas cheer. I had just listened to the flash mob version of the Hallelujah Chorus, was moved to tears, and ready to face the crowds. The upscale grocery store likes to think of itself as an American version of a European market, so by design, the lot is divided up into small sections, the aisles are cozier, and there is none of the big box feel whatsoever. Most of the time, this lends to its charm, but when everybody and his brother is out picking up stuff for Christmas dinner, things tend to back up and it's just a wee bit annoying.

I made my way back to the meat department, picking up a few things along the way. I had talked myself into doing all my shopping there, no matter what the cost, just to save some aggravation and some unnecessary wear and tear on my Christmas spirit. That was until I picked up my smoked turkey. Imagine my heart-stopping shock when I glanced at the tag and saw the smoked turkey had nearly quadrupled in price from the last time I had bought one. Blending in with the rest of the upscale shoppers, I acted like spending over $50 for a turkey was something I did all the time. But on the inside, I was seriously deflated. It absolutely took the fun out of the rest of the entire day.

Determined to not spend another dime at the upscale grocery store, I made my way to the checkout, swallowed hard and paid the piper, and then headed to the supermarket to get the rest of the goods, grumbling under my breath the whole way.

Who knew that an overpriced turkey could so quickly ruin my day?

I called Girlfriend on the phone to complain, and in the nicest possible way, she told me to let it go...it's just money...it will probably be a superb turkey...just enjoy it and don't think about what you paid for it.

Half of my weekly grocery money on a turkey and I'm supposed to be happy about it?!? I don't think so!

Grrr.

Humbug.

I slunk (slinked?) home, determined to be in a bad mood for the rest of the day. And when Flyboy arrived, I let him get his clothes changed, put his feet up, relax a little, and then I hit him with my tale of woe. He understood exactly how I felt. He didn't scold me for not finding out in advance how much it would cost before ordering it, but he commiserated with my disappointment with complete camaraderie of spirit.

It reminded me of one of my all-time favorite movie quotes. It's in "Shall We Dance", when the private investigator asks his client (who had him following her husband) why people get married anyway. She responds, "because we need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet. I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything - the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things...all of it. All the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.'"

I just love that. And it played itself out exactly in my life when Flyboy witnessed and validated how I felt. And that's all it took to help me find my way back to remembering what this is all about anyway. It's not about food (be it reasonable or overpriced). It's not about crowded parking lots or stores full of grumpy people. It is about the spirit of giving that was demonstrated by God the Father on the first Christmas night.

Now, a day later, it's Christmas Eve. I've spent a good part of the day prepping food for tomorrow's meal. Pebbles' family is coming and this meal is my gift to them as they prepare to leave for several months in Florida. They are giving the gift of the use of their home to our new associate pastor and his family who will arrive next week, so they've had their hands full between emptying closets to make room for guests and packing up to leave. Being on Christmas break, I am blessed with the gift of time and am so happy to be able to serve them in this way.

And, in a few hours, I'll be leaving for church to get the candles set up for tonight's service. Our youth pastor is delivering the message - the first time in 27 years that Flyboy has had the chance to sit and listen on Christmas Eve instead of preach. This is a wonderful gift for him, and a nice gift for our congregation who would rather not listen to him cough his way through (he has a cold).

Blessings are all around us. Girlfriend was right - letting go of the turkey was precisely what I needed to do.

There is a light snow falling - the kind that brings with it that sense of beauty and newness and contentment, the perfect way to usher in the celebration of our Savior's birth.

Merry Christmas.

No Place Like Home

Way back when our kids were around 12, 10, and 8, I got a part time job. It was my first job outside of our home (I had taught piano). Times were a little tight, and it seemed like the right job for the right time. I worked for the YMCA supervising a before/after school program. Clothes laid out, lunches made the night before, and I left early in the morning to head to work. A friend from the kids' school who lived nearby my workplace dropped them off after school, where they stayed with me until 5:00, when the program ended.

I remember walking down the stairs at church and being engaged in a conversation with a couple who stopped me there to talk. The husband said, "Hey - I hear you got a job! That's great news! Now you can be fulfilled!" My first instinct was to sock him in the chops, but I refrained, opting to listen to the little voice dressed in white as opposed to one dressed in black. My second instinct was to beat my breast and yell, "Man, are you daft?!?" Finally, I composed myself, smiled, and said, "Fulfilled? I was perfectly fulfilled at home. Why would I need a job to be fulfilled?"

I spoke the truth. And it is just as true today as it was then.

Working is hard. I can put on a good show, keep it together, maintain my obligations at church and at home, and even, from time to time, make it all look easy.

But that's not the truth.

The truth is, it is hard to be gone from home 45-50 hours a week and keep all the balls in the air.

I loved being home with my kids, and when they were all in school, just being at home. There is something about having somebody at home to keep the fires burning. Somebody to pick up the dry cleaning, take the vacuum cleaner in for repairs, do the banking, mail the Christmas gifts, plan and execute hospitality events, oh, and yes...do the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Even now, given the choice, I would much rather be home than at work. I think of how much easier Flyboy's life would be if I were on the home front taking care of all the domestic needs, allowing him to come home from a high-stress, high-needs job and just rest.

But for now, that is not to be. Our reasons for me working are just as valid as they have ever been, and while I might wish to be at home, it's not going to happen.

Except for days like today.

Today is the beginning of my two week "winter holiday", during which I intend to fully celebrate CHRISTmas, spend time with family and friends, be domestic, and rest. Since I do have to work, there is no place like a school to offer the most paid holidays around, fulfilling my desire (every now and then) to be at home. I am certainly blessed.

Night Sounds

Apparently chronic sinus issues have turned me into a snorer. I don't notice that I snore. Unless my dear Flyboy were to let onto me that I snore, I would never ever have known it. He has snored for a very long time, and the few times that our grown-up family has shared a hotel room while traveling, the kids have teased him relentlessly. He says I don't snore loudly. I'm relieved to hear that. He snores like a chain saw in need of a tune-up - with snorts and starts. But I don't mind. In fact, I am oddly comforted by his snoring after all these years. It is proof that he is sleeping, and sleep is a very good thing.

I was sleeping peacefully the other night, when suddenly I heard a very small scratching noise. At first, in my stupor, I thought it was Flyboy trying to find the on switch to his heating pad, or perhaps the control for his side of our Sleep Number bed. But it was going on for far too long to be either of those noises. My next thought was a mouse scratching inside the wall, or God forbid, under the bed. I hate rodents. With. a. passion. I think I hate rodents more than God hates sin. I would rather dispatch a black widow spider than set up a mouse trap. It just gives me the heebie-jeebies. To the max.

I woke up just enough to realize that it was, indeed, Flyboy who was making the noise, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he was doing. I rolled over and said, "Are you having a problem?"

I didn't know it until later, but yes, he was having a problem. His problem was me. I was snoring, and he was reaching into the under-bed-storage-drawer beneath his side of the bed to retrieve a pair of earplugs in the dark. I didn't even know he kept earplugs in there. Makes me wonder what else he's hiding down there. I may have to look.

Anyway, he just said, "I'm looking for my earplugs. I'm sorry, I thought I was being quiet. I can't believe you heard that."

What he thought about saying was, "Am I having a problem? Yes - you are snoring and keeping me awake." But he was far too considerate to wake me all the way up by guffawing at my notion that he had a problem when, in actuality, I was the problem.

Thank you, dear.

Besides, I wasn't snoring. I was purring, which defined by Webster means to "make a low continuous vibratory sound usually expressing contentment." Yes, that's it. I was just purring and I can't believe he heard that.

A Down Day

A year and a half ago, I was finishing the end-of-year tasks at school, preparing to direct Vacation Bible School, moving mulch in the yard, and dealing with Flyboy's second cancer diagnosis. The stress added up and my body revolted. My back went out (THAT had never happened before) and I was down for three days.

This week must have been even harder than I realized, and the pre-back-going-out twinges I felt the last time have been zapping me the past few days. I decided to cancel today and stay flat.

I have always been on Flyboy to listen to his body, rather than figuring the solution to any and all pain is to push through it. Today, I am taking my own advice and laying low. "I Am Legend" is on TV, but I can't even watch it. Quiet. Rest. Down day. That is what today is all about.

Why do we find it so hard to put on the brakes? Especially at this time of year when the days fly by at warp speed? It's always something that keeps us running. Shopping, parties, more shopping, rehearsals, and on it goes. Sometimes we just don't know when to stop.

Apparently that's what back twinges are all about. I learned this the last time. When the back says, "enough already!", my job is to say "sir, yes sir!" and take a break. The back speaks, and I listen.

Running - whether ahead of God, or away from God...whether toward a goal or just in circles...whether reaching for something superfluous or something meaningful - sometimes too much running is just too much. God not only suggests a Sabbath-rest, He commands it. And the punishment for ignoring the need for rest is, of all things, death. I think ignoring the need for rest is akin to committing suicide in a slow, long and painful manner. Maybe that's what the verse in Leviticus is talking about - a lack of rest is a death sentence, plain and clear.

So, today - right smack dab in the middle of the busy holiday season - I am indulging in a self-imposed day of Sabbath rest. I got the message, I'm listening to my body, and I have skidded to a grinding halt. I think I'll take a nap.

Lessons From a Baby

Yesterday, I enjoyed my Gigi-duty of caring for Peanut during second service at church. She could undoubtedly go to the nursery, but this is *our time*, and I'll enjoy it as long as her parents will let me. As always, she was a little angel, contentedly looking around and taking it all in. Even when she started to get sleepy there was no fussing, she just laid her head on my shoulder every now and then, popping it back up again to make sure she wasn't missing anything.

Finally, during the potluck after church, right in the middle of the gym, when the level of conversation noise made it hard to think, Peanut decided it was time to go to sleep. She conked out right in my arms, and slept there for a good long while. Her other grandma, Betty, came over to visit and commented on Peanut's ability to sleep right in the midst of all the noise and activity, and mused there was a lesson there for all of us. Again I was reminded of our need to stop and rest - even in the middle of the busiest time of the year.

Peanut looked blessedly serene as she snuggled in my arms and slept. What better, safer place is there to sleep than in the arms of One who loves us and not only would - but did - give His life on our behalf? This afternoon, following a stressful week I'd just as soon not repeat for awhile, I think I'll climb up into my Father's arms and enjoy some tranquil, peaceful rest. I'm safe there.