The First Snow 12-5-2002
The snow has been falling since early in the morning. It is the first snowfall of the year. The world has taken on the dreamlike state of a fresh snow – the sounds are muted, the air is still, the snowflakes float lazily down from the sky. The tires and shoes crunch the snow with the muted sound known around the world. The traffic is snarled – each motorist gripping the wheel in a valiant effort to urge the car forward while maintaining a straight path. The normal commute of 40 minutes stretches to 2 hours as car after car is added to the latest parking lot – formerly known as Interstate 55. The speed limit sign mocks the crawling cars as it warns – Speed Limit 60 MPH. The traffic report for the city is the same for every highway, “Snow covered, accidents in all the lanes, and allow extra time.” Ah yes, we remember those 90-degree summer days and wonder why we didn’t appreciate them.
The snow has been falling for over five hours now and there is white covering the world. Gone are the brown, dry leaves so prominent yesterday. Gone is the newspaper trapped under the bush. Gone are the cigarette butts littering the crosswalks. Gone is dust covering the car tops. Gone are the colors of the ads on the billboards. Gone is the chaos of the store parking lot. Abandoned cars now are fresh white sculptures adorning the streets. Magic lines of white connect phone poles. Railings and stair steps betray their forms as piles of undisturbed white are heaped high. This is the special time of the snowfall when the world is white and quiet.
Soon the traffic will melt the snow in the streets into brown, wet slush. Soon the scrape of shovels and plows will fill the air and reveal the stained concrete beneath. Soon the sidewalks and stairs will be mounded with hard packed bumps just waiting to trip unsuspecting pedestrians. The earth will shed its white covering and reveal the ugly features to which we have grown so callous.
On our front yard we have a manger scene. It was purchased many years ago and consists of three wire sculptures covered with lights. Mary and Joseph flank the Infant Jesus lying in His manger. During the day the scene is recognizable due to the wire mesh covering the various forms. The observer can see the outline of the Holy Family glowing white. It is at night that the real beauty is revealed as the lights shine forth the shapes of Mary, Joseph, and the Baby for all to see. The darkest, coldest night cannot diminish the glow and warmth of the scene.
As the snow covers the earth and I gaze upon the Baby Jesus, I pause to reflect on how He came into the world – how He Who knew no sin came into the world. How He was tempted in every way that I am tempted, yet knew no sin. How my life – my sin-filled life – has been washed clean – pure and bright – by Jesus. The snow-covered world – despite all its beauty – is nothing compared to the cleansing Jesus provides. I look at the snow and am filled with awe – I look at the Baby and am filled with thankfulness.
I pray, “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”
The snow has been falling for over five hours now and there is white covering the world. Gone are the brown, dry leaves so prominent yesterday. Gone is the newspaper trapped under the bush. Gone are the cigarette butts littering the crosswalks. Gone is dust covering the car tops. Gone are the colors of the ads on the billboards. Gone is the chaos of the store parking lot. Abandoned cars now are fresh white sculptures adorning the streets. Magic lines of white connect phone poles. Railings and stair steps betray their forms as piles of undisturbed white are heaped high. This is the special time of the snowfall when the world is white and quiet.
Soon the traffic will melt the snow in the streets into brown, wet slush. Soon the scrape of shovels and plows will fill the air and reveal the stained concrete beneath. Soon the sidewalks and stairs will be mounded with hard packed bumps just waiting to trip unsuspecting pedestrians. The earth will shed its white covering and reveal the ugly features to which we have grown so callous.
On our front yard we have a manger scene. It was purchased many years ago and consists of three wire sculptures covered with lights. Mary and Joseph flank the Infant Jesus lying in His manger. During the day the scene is recognizable due to the wire mesh covering the various forms. The observer can see the outline of the Holy Family glowing white. It is at night that the real beauty is revealed as the lights shine forth the shapes of Mary, Joseph, and the Baby for all to see. The darkest, coldest night cannot diminish the glow and warmth of the scene.
As the snow covers the earth and I gaze upon the Baby Jesus, I pause to reflect on how He came into the world – how He Who knew no sin came into the world. How He was tempted in every way that I am tempted, yet knew no sin. How my life – my sin-filled life – has been washed clean – pure and bright – by Jesus. The snow-covered world – despite all its beauty – is nothing compared to the cleansing Jesus provides. I look at the snow and am filled with awe – I look at the Baby and am filled with thankfulness.
I pray, “Come, Lord Jesus, come.”
Traditions 12-12-2002
Traditions – every organization, church, or family has them. The Christmas season seems to be filled with traditions. Bunny’s school staff has the tradition of “Secret Santas” – each staff person is paired with a different staff member and they exchange secret gifts throughout the season. Gifts can be edible, collectable, or delightful. The “Secret” of who is whose Santa is revealed at the staff Christmas party where one larger gift is exchanged.
Our family has the tradition of a real Christmas tree. For most of our married lives, Bunny and I have walked the fields, mountains, or forests to find and cut the perfect tree. Sometimes we drove to Colorado and found our tree on the side of the mountain. One time we walked the woods to find just the right tree. Most often we drive to a tree farm. This year was no exception. We drove to the country, sat on a wagon and rode out to the field to find the perfect tree – 2002. We walked through the snow – next time we wear boots, not loafers – and found just the tree for us. We called the man with the saw and he made the cut. Up on the trailer went the tree; up onto the wagon we climbed. The next stop was for hot chocolate and cider with freshly popped popcorn. The tree was bundled into the truck and we drove home – stopping for our traditional “after we found the perfect Christmas tree” lunch.
The tradition in our house is that Dad centers the tree in the stand while Mom makes sure everything is straight. Once the tree is standing tall and straight, Dad strings the lights, the family places the ornaments, the tinsel is hung and the train is assembled under the tree. This year was no different
As we were draping the tinsel, I could hear my Mother insisting to her children, “one strand at a time.”
Bunny has kept the tradition of “one strand at a time” alive in our household. The game was for the children to wait until backs were turned to see if they could toss handfuls of tinsel high over the tree and watch them arch down – without Mom or Dad catching them.
As I separated and placed each strand of tinsel I heard Mom saying, “one strand at a time.” I heard Bunny instructing our children, “one strand at a time.” I reflected at what good advice that is.
Whatever task I have before me, I must remember that I can accomplish lots – if I take it “one strand at a time.” The backyard wasn’t completed in a day or a week, but took five years to date. The children weren’t raised all at once – we had to take it one day at a time – one crisis at a time – one celebration at a time. My eighth grade students didn’t learn Algebra all at once – it was one problem at a time. Kindergartners learn their alphabet – one letter at a time. If I concentrate on the results – I am discouraged. If I concentrate on the pieces, I am encouraged.
We are given the command to “teach all nations.” That is an overwhelming task. If, however, I can teach just one person at a time – and we each teach one person at a time – soon the whole world will know Christ!
Our family has the tradition of a real Christmas tree. For most of our married lives, Bunny and I have walked the fields, mountains, or forests to find and cut the perfect tree. Sometimes we drove to Colorado and found our tree on the side of the mountain. One time we walked the woods to find just the right tree. Most often we drive to a tree farm. This year was no exception. We drove to the country, sat on a wagon and rode out to the field to find the perfect tree – 2002. We walked through the snow – next time we wear boots, not loafers – and found just the tree for us. We called the man with the saw and he made the cut. Up on the trailer went the tree; up onto the wagon we climbed. The next stop was for hot chocolate and cider with freshly popped popcorn. The tree was bundled into the truck and we drove home – stopping for our traditional “after we found the perfect Christmas tree” lunch.
The tradition in our house is that Dad centers the tree in the stand while Mom makes sure everything is straight. Once the tree is standing tall and straight, Dad strings the lights, the family places the ornaments, the tinsel is hung and the train is assembled under the tree. This year was no different
As we were draping the tinsel, I could hear my Mother insisting to her children, “one strand at a time.”
Bunny has kept the tradition of “one strand at a time” alive in our household. The game was for the children to wait until backs were turned to see if they could toss handfuls of tinsel high over the tree and watch them arch down – without Mom or Dad catching them.
As I separated and placed each strand of tinsel I heard Mom saying, “one strand at a time.” I heard Bunny instructing our children, “one strand at a time.” I reflected at what good advice that is.
Whatever task I have before me, I must remember that I can accomplish lots – if I take it “one strand at a time.” The backyard wasn’t completed in a day or a week, but took five years to date. The children weren’t raised all at once – we had to take it one day at a time – one crisis at a time – one celebration at a time. My eighth grade students didn’t learn Algebra all at once – it was one problem at a time. Kindergartners learn their alphabet – one letter at a time. If I concentrate on the results – I am discouraged. If I concentrate on the pieces, I am encouraged.
We are given the command to “teach all nations.” That is an overwhelming task. If, however, I can teach just one person at a time – and we each teach one person at a time – soon the whole world will know Christ!
Christmas Presents 12-19-2002
The other night I had the house to myself. I sat on the couch bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree lights and let my mind travel back over the years to past trees – past Christmas memories. I thought, “What is Christmas really about?” As I relived past Christmases, I would have to honestly say, “It was about the presents.” Yes, for the first years of my life, it was all about the presents I would receive. I can recall going to church on Christmas Eve, reciting my lines, eating the cookies, changing into pajamas, setting out the milk and cookies, kneeling at the bedside and praying fervently for – a BB gun, a real crystal radio, a big boy’s bike, an erector set, Fort Apache, or any one of a myriad of presents. The excitement of awaking my brothers to tiptoe into the living room to see the tree and its promise of one special gift evokes powerful memories. Yes, for the first years of my life it was receiving presents.
Then there was the special Christmas when I was older that life began to shift. I was still happy to open presents, but now it was more exciting to watch them being opened. Every year I tried to get just the perfect gifts for Mom, Dad, and my brothers. I wanted to give them the gift that they would always remember. The one special gift not unlike the ones I had received that gave me immeasurable joy. One year I gave Mom a gift that brought tears to her eyes. One year it was Dad’s turn for tears. (Brothers just settle for a good-natured tussle on the floor.) Each year the goal was to bring tears of joy to my parent’s eyes.
When I married it was still the presents – only now it was Bunny that held my heart in her hand when she opened my present to her. Each year I tried to listen to her dreams, remember the hints and decipher the body language so that I could give her the perfect present – the one gift that would take her breath away. Sometimes I did. Her look when she opened her present filled my heart with such joy that it seemed as if it would break. When the children came, it gave us more opportunities to try to present them the perfect present. Each Christmas we tried to give the kids not only a present, but also a happy memory.
Then one year life changed again. No longer was “presents” was what it was all about, but rather it was “presence.” The greatest gift we gave our children’s Grandparents was our presence on Christmas Eve. The look of pure joy on my parents’ faces when we all piled out of the station wagon was better than any present we could have given them. On Christmas Eve, Dad sang louder, Mom baked more and we laughed longer when we were together.
With our youngest son turning 21 and our daughter-in-law expecting our first grandchild in March, I now know firsthand that Christmas is all about presence. It is not just family members either. It is being surrounded by the children at the school Advent service, the widows at the Christmas Eve service, the neighbors at the party and the friends gathered to celebrate the season that make this season special for me.
Yes, Christmas is about the “presents” – the greatest present I have ever received is the gift of Jesus, my Savior. Yes, it is about the “presence” – His presence sustains, comforts and guides me in my daily walk.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.
Then there was the special Christmas when I was older that life began to shift. I was still happy to open presents, but now it was more exciting to watch them being opened. Every year I tried to get just the perfect gifts for Mom, Dad, and my brothers. I wanted to give them the gift that they would always remember. The one special gift not unlike the ones I had received that gave me immeasurable joy. One year I gave Mom a gift that brought tears to her eyes. One year it was Dad’s turn for tears. (Brothers just settle for a good-natured tussle on the floor.) Each year the goal was to bring tears of joy to my parent’s eyes.
When I married it was still the presents – only now it was Bunny that held my heart in her hand when she opened my present to her. Each year I tried to listen to her dreams, remember the hints and decipher the body language so that I could give her the perfect present – the one gift that would take her breath away. Sometimes I did. Her look when she opened her present filled my heart with such joy that it seemed as if it would break. When the children came, it gave us more opportunities to try to present them the perfect present. Each Christmas we tried to give the kids not only a present, but also a happy memory.
Then one year life changed again. No longer was “presents” was what it was all about, but rather it was “presence.” The greatest gift we gave our children’s Grandparents was our presence on Christmas Eve. The look of pure joy on my parents’ faces when we all piled out of the station wagon was better than any present we could have given them. On Christmas Eve, Dad sang louder, Mom baked more and we laughed longer when we were together.
With our youngest son turning 21 and our daughter-in-law expecting our first grandchild in March, I now know firsthand that Christmas is all about presence. It is not just family members either. It is being surrounded by the children at the school Advent service, the widows at the Christmas Eve service, the neighbors at the party and the friends gathered to celebrate the season that make this season special for me.
Yes, Christmas is about the “presents” – the greatest present I have ever received is the gift of Jesus, my Savior. Yes, it is about the “presence” – His presence sustains, comforts and guides me in my daily walk.
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.” So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger.
