Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving, for me, is a variegated tapestry of memories.  My earliest years meant a trip to Grandma’s house to gather with family.  Thanksgiving was most often our family’s big event together so that Christmas could be spent in our individual family units.  The spread was enormous; with Mom having 8 living siblings, how could it be anything else?  There were tables all over the public areas of the downstairs. We ate; we talked; we fellowshipped; we played.  That old house had been home to family roughly since 1939.  What memories it held!  What memories we made!   Grandpa stepped away from us into Heaven in 1976.  Without his gentle presence, Thanksgiving was forever altered.  In 1979, it became obvious that Grandma could no longer live alone; she moved in with my mother’s oldest sister and her husband.  Thanksgiving was a different venue that year, because the family home place had been sold.  What none of us knew was that 1979 would be Grandma’s last Thanksgiving with us. For in December of that year, she had a stroke that would ultimately end her earthly life. 

We began to meet in different venues after that, because no one had a house big enough to accommodate the entire family. Finally in 1997 we settled on my cousin’s new house, because it would hold us all.  

If those reading this blog will forgive me for some intensely personal and poignant memories, I would like to share my heart.  In 1977, my mother had her first serious and potentially life threatening illness. She had congenital heart issues and heart issues caused by a childhood illness.  These would cause bouts of A-Fib that were exceptionally draining and potentially life-threatening.  Such was the case in the fall of 1977.   Daddy was out of town on business. Mom and I were at home.  I attended classes at my Bible College and came home begin homework, but I was greeted with the news that she needed to see her primary care physician.  She drove us across town to the doctor’s office.  His reaction to her condition was to put her immediately in the hospital. For, you see, she had multiple blood clots and would require surgery to remove them.  It was an arduous procedure to recovery.  She was placed on Coumadin and Heparin.  This would be a life-long sentence which would cause problems as she suffered ups and downs physically. She was well in time for Thanksgiving.  Five years later, we nearly lost her again when she suffered from complications from a ruptured ovarian cyst.  She recovered in time for Thanksgiving, and we rejoiced.   Four years later she nearly died from a ruptured appendix as they were attempting to discern the source of her problem.   Once again, God graciously gave her a recovery, and we rejoiced.   Yes, we had another Thanksgiving together. The years passed, and not every Thanksgiving was spent with family.  One year we hosted the youth pastor and his young family. It was special to share that day in a different way.

 

As the years passed, aunts, uncles, and a cousin stepped away. In the milieu of years, Mom was placed on oxygen 24/7. Then in 2000 we met at my cousin’s house once again as had become our tradition. Mom was definitely unwell, having drastically slipped in strength and stamina since the summer.  Her heart condition was catching up with her.  On that particular day, her physical condition dictated that we make a trip to the ER.  Little did we know it was the beginning of the end.  Sure enough she stepped away into Heaven in January of 2001.  Daddy would follow 11 years later. 

The holidays bring poignant memories of our time together. I would be lying if I said that that I do not miss, but this I know – my God is faithful – my God is near – my God will lead me until  the day I too step away to see my Lord face to face.   

Today I give thanks for the memories and  because I know He holds me fast and will do so until that day. Amen

Christmas...I Believe

Christmas … I Believe -- Santa or Not

The topic of Santa Claus is controversial in conservative evangelicalism and this blog entry is not a diatribe on the perils teaching the belief in a now dead and canonized individual who gains access to houses by the ways of household chimneys.  Personally, I find it a little creepy.  Since I have neither a true fireplace nor a chimney, he won’t be paying me a visit. Each of my parents grew up with opposing views. As far as I know, my dad grew up with some knowledge of the Santa figure, although he was fairly logical and perceptive about life and not given to much fantasy about jolly men in red suits and flying reindeer.  I think he knew the source of his gifts.  On the other hand, my mom was one of ten during years of the Great Depression.   My grandparents never mentioned Santa, because they did not want to explain why the jolly man in the red suit left bigger and cooler presents for kids on the hill on the hill while they got very little. Mom and her siblings often got the little furniture set repainted and maybe some candy with some miscellaneous items … yeah they were that poor, but they did not know it.  They were happy and loved each other.

By the time I came along, my parents made some conscious choices about Santa. Yes, I would sit on the lap of the Department store Santa and share my Christmas list.  I played the game well, but I knew it was it just a game. Mom and Dad had decided that Santa had no place in our home; Christmas would be more about Jesus than stuff. We still had our tree, our gifts, and the stockings, but I knew it was Jesus we celebrated.  My parents told the story (I do not remember doing or saying this) of the time when I was a preschooler observing our city’s Christmas parade.  Our mayor approached me and asked, “Little girl, what’s Santa, going to bring you for Christmas?”  My response was “Nothing.”   Apparently, he was about to go into meltdown before my blue eyes locked with his and I said something like “Santa doesn’t bring it, Jesus does” He walked away satisfied.


My parents'  only reasoning in the Santa factor was ... if we tell her there's a Santa and she's finds he fake,  will she think Jesus is just a nice story too?   Some people think that's a weak argument, but I knew from day one that the man in the red suit (inside the Sears building) was pure fantasy and that Jesus in the manger (on top the Sears building) was absolute fact.  It was cool to have that understanding. Not every kid was that blessed.

The Santa issue always brought a sense of guilt though. I always felt like I was sinning when I watched Rudolph or any of the Santa Christmas specials. My mistake was in never asking; I just assumed and saw a frowning God. I have realized in recent years sometimes a well-intentioned conviction can become a legalistic force for no good reason.  Santa is a part of fun and pretending of Christmas.  To some degree, he embodies the magical selflessness of the season. Let’s not thrown the baby out with bathwater, to use a tired cliché.  Saint Nicholas may be dead, but Santa lives in the magic of Christmas as we live out the selflessness of the season. Do not allow Santa to replace the Savior, but be balanced in your approach to the season.  Celebrate with joy!

Grace at Christmas

                                                          Grace at Christmas

Christmas is a time of reflection. This year is no exception. When I was 11, my maternal grandfather was hospitalized with an intestinal blockage as complications of severe diverticulitis. His illness was severe and the hospitalization long.  I do not remember much about that Christmas except that it seemed as though a cloud hung over it.  I remember assembling with two of my cousins, a brother and a sister down in our playroom … we were going to do something to cheer the sagging hearts of our parents and grandmother. We decided to stage the Christmas story interspersed with the singing of Christmas carols.  For some unknown reason I took it upon myself to direct the production.  It all progressed quite nicely until we got to the Magi. We were singing “We Three Kings” and moving just as quickly as we could toward Bethlehem and the manger when girl cousin told us to stop that they did not go to manger. At that point, there arose a great family debate. You see, no one had ever told my 70-year-old grandmother the truth about the Magi and the Christ child and we had a whole lot of convincing to do. My uncle who to this day is an insufferable tease looked at me and said, “Director, you blew it.” At that point, the entire family erupted into laughter. The tensions were forgotten.  Grandpa was still gravely ill, but Jesus had given a hurting family the gift of laughter when they needed it.    Oh, he did recover and spent the winter recuperating at our home.  He lived until my first year of college.  God is gracious and good all the time.

                 It was early December again and my senior year of college. Mom, Grandma, and I were on our way to the dedication of a new church. All of a sudden, Grandma slumped over in her seat.  Her last words to us were “Go on where you’re going, I’ll be all right, “   Of course, Mom being a nurse noticed the signs of a stroke. We turned the car around and headed for the hospital. Providentially, Mom knew the attending physician. We were able to get Grandma settled, but she never fully regained consciousness to my knowledge. Christmas was again a subdued time as we each met separate family units ---trusting in the sovereign grace of our Father.    Grandma went to be with her Savior shortly after Christmas … all in His time.  Yes. God is good all the time.

            

               

 

 

The Big Move

I moved to the junior high on the hill with some trepidation; I had heard stories … most of them grossly exaggerated, but some of them true.  Students had five minutes to change classes in maze of students and hallways; anyone who was tardy was kept 15 minutes after school for the first tardy. I never found what happened for subsequent tardiest.  Then there was ROOM 4 … the detention room for perpetual rule breakers or those who even dared to bring chewing gum on to school premises … yes those where the days. In addition, we actually had a dress code. Girls had to wear dresses or skirts or slacks with tunic tops; boys wore slacks and collared shirts.  It was a tough year.  About mid-year, my parents informed me that we were moving … not very far, but it would mean a change in schools and a change in churches.  I was not overly sad to leave the school and I was just beginning youth group; so the change was not overly traumatic.   We moved to a neighboring county. I am not sure why we made the choice.  I do know that it was in God’s plan.  The first house we built we built did not seem to fit our family’s needs.  The unique thing about our property was that backed up exactly to the land owned by the church we had chosen to attend. We had built our house in proximity to the church.  About that same time, the church added an additional staff person … a youth pastor and needed an additional parsonage. Because of the location of our property, the deacons approached my parents and asked if they would be willing to sell the house and land.  When my parents asked my opinion,  I told them yes, but only if they could get me closer to the church than we already were --- now that was a monumental request seeing we lived three doors from the church.  The only available property  was an unoccupied barn, owned by a man who people would said would never sell … but God moved on his heart and he sold us his barn, we converted it into a house. My schooling remained a problem … I ended up in a small Christian school for one year … a school that confirmed me in my externalism that Jesus loved me for my good behavior… that I had to try really hard to keep Him happy. I came away with an aura of pride that I was better than those girls who wore short skirts and listened to certain kinds of music … this was the 1970’s. I wanted Jesus and my parents to be proud. It was not until years later in Bible College I came across the verse in Titus 2 “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us…” and it was not until well until into my adult years that its meaning gripped my heart.  I longed for a  real relationship with Jesus and my parents, but I was so busy with my legalistic lists trying to impress and earn their love when they just wanted me.  Now I grieve at what I lost … At least I still have Jesus.  And nothing is lost or wasted or in His hands.

Fourth Grade and My Special Friend

Fourth grade was like a breath of fresh air.  I was in  the strict teacher’s class; the other teacher was easy going; always happy, but I was to find out  my teacher was safe.  The schedule was written on the board the every morning, and as a child who liked predictability and that made me feel secure.  My teacher  introduced me to some cool chapter books; she actually read TO us.  She made us write stories, and eventually that gave me the idea that I maybe I could actually write.  I soared in her class, because she saw me as a whole person, and not as kid with problems.  I also think fourth grade was also enriched because I had a special friend who was just a year younger than I was.  Our parents had been reacquainted at a PTA meeting the previous April.   We  were similar in personality and tastes.  Her father pastored a church nearby. In its nascent stages it, met in her house.  That fascinated me … going to church in one’s home !  She also had her very own creek behind  her house. Of course  we were cautioned about  it, but we could always imagine. She also owned a dalmation; I had only read stories about such dogs. I thought such dogs were always black and white. Hers was tan with brown spots; I was later to learn he was  merely dirty form rolling around in Carolina red dirt. They eventually moved to another location with a church and parsonage adjoining.  When my mother saw the house, there was a flicker of recognition. My grandmother had been married in that very house fifty years previous  to my friend’s  church owning it.  Our family had ties to that area of  town, and Grandma had told stories to my mom about her earlier years.  I could just imagine her coming down the stairwell of the house as a bride.  And such adventures we both dreamed up in that house! 

Around the same time, the Bible Club that had met at the Acklands’  home relocated to our home.  It would be meeting in the basement of our house on Fridays.  Our house seemed the perfect location, as we  could entice the children coming home from the local elementary school where I attended.  The same woman who had assisted the Acklands would be the Bible teacher, song leader, and anything else the club required.  We simply provided the snacks and the location.  Those were  generally happy days.   I wanted to bask in the security of childhood forever, but I would learn that time stands still for no one.

Living It: Neighborhood Times and Grandma's House

 Living It : Neighborhood Times and Grandma’s House

I grew up in a neighborhood full of children … there was usually someone to play with. Our safety was ensured by the installation of sidewalks on our side of the street. No one cared if we road our bikes on them …it was really a child’s world. There were woods behind  our houses. We invented, our own world where we were the adults, but it was somewhat troubling to me. I was not ready to be in charge. The absence of parents of was troubling to me … I never played Barbies very much for the same reason.  My gullibility made me an easy target for practical jokes and left me with a deep sense of feeling unworthy and fearful.  I tried to buy in the adage that “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” However, words and cruelty even when done in childhood jest cut deep, because children don’t have the cognitive capacity to discern what is funny and what is not.   

One of the bright spots in those years was Grandma’s house.  The house itself is still standing and overlooks the  Gateway YWCA.  She had 10 children and over 20 grandchildren.  There was usually a cousin or two play with at her house. We generally got along pretty well … Grandma was by nature a peacemaker.  Her front porch itself was place of peace. There was a glider and porch swing on the front porch and swing set in the back yard beneath a spiraling oak tree.  If we got really bored we could walk to Mr. Willard’s store just as our mothers has when they were younger.  Grandma’s house had upstairs – something none of our houses had … our imaginations could run wild there, especially with a cedar chest full of clothes.  The steps yielded hours of a game called rock school.  It was best played with three cousins. Two cousins would be  students, and one would be the teacher.  We would begin by sitting on the lowest step. The teacher would hold a stone or button in her hand and we would ascend the steps by guessing correctly which hand the “teacher held the button/stone in.  The one to get to top first was declared the teacher for the next round --- not very exciting by today’s standards.  However, remember, we did not even know what a desktop computer looked like.  Color television had just  been affordably invented. There was one room, though, I usually avoided, and I that was Grandma’s bedroom.  It was dark and had an ominously ringing clock that frightened me, i.e. it sounded haunted in contrast to her house of peace.   Ironically, I had memorized many verses of Scripture about fear and trust, but somehow I had failed to apply the verses to my life. Memorization had been something I had done to get stickers and smiles, without a thought that I could actually use the Word of God in my everyday life.  Jesus said of the Pharisees in John 5, “You search the Scriptures for in them you think you have eternal life, but you have no dependence on Me … no real life … (para).”  I was already beginning the downward spiral into Pharisaical living, all the while keeping it hidden … but isn’t that what Christian Pharisees do?

Other Influences ' Our friends the Acklands were advancing in years, and Auntie Maud wanted to be near her sister who lived in Canada. Therefore, we packed them up and helped them move to Canada. It was an adventure. They took their beloved dog Tippy (Tippins) … I had known that dog since I had known the Acklands and saying it was like saying good bye to a set of grandparents. We took our little dog along, if I remember correctly. Think of it … an elderly couple … a little kid … two dogs … and my poor parents who were responsible for the whole operation. There was one additional thing. Uncle Harry had to have his tea. These were English people, and so we had tea at the proper times. It was a long journey, but not the final farewell; for the next twenty years, we would make the trek to Canada to check on them, until Jesus took them to Heaven. After all, they were Daddy’s spiritual parents. One of my deepest regrets is that I was not astute enough to ask questions about the Welsh revival and life on the primitive mission field. God puts people in our path for us to minister to, but also to deepen our walk with Him. I remember the tea times at their home. They gave me my own special bunny cup to drink from whenever we gathered at their house for tea. When they moved back to Canada, they let me keep it. Not very far from our home was small, but growing Bible College by the name of Piedmont. Different professors used do supply preaching at our church. One of the men was the Dr. John Reinert. His wife also assisted as organist at our church. I remember how kind he was to a little kid and how sad I was when he died. It seemed sudden to me. It was the first time I ever attended a funeral home visitation. Another professor from those early years was Carl Bollinger, who taught Bible and Science at the college. He stopped by the house on an errand one night when I was playing with my Easy Bake Oven. It was electrically run, but powered mainly by a light bulb. Mr. Bollinger was fascinated with the whole process. Years later when I enrolled at Piedmont, he remembered my little oven. Men who were important enough to teach college but took the time to make a little girl feel like she mattered communicated volumes. Hmm, come to think of it, that is what Jesus the Rabbi of the New Testament did and we are to follow in his steps.