The Gifts of Christmas

Written Christmas night, somewhere along the New Jersey Turnpike.

Christmas seems to have been meant for travel. Nazareth to Bethlehem. Persia to Palestine. Heaven to earth. And so, each year we journey from one family-hearth to another, one birth-home to the next, wanting to reach them all, to know the hug of every mom and dad, every brother and sister.

We left my parents' house this afternoon to drive the nearly four hours to my husband's parents' house. A Christmas pilgrimage, if you will.

And as we go, my thoughts are on the scene I just left behind.




There is beauty everywhere in my Mom's house. It doesn't require massive expense to do what she does, but it does demand extensive care. Heirlooms - a few inherited and expensive, most simple and sentimental - grace the table, the walls, the rooms.



There are soft pillows, fine crystal, a roaring fire. Christmas linens, a garland of greens and little white lights, china shimmering in the candleglow. Every room, every corner, reflects the joy of the season.



I so often walk into that house feeling tired, stressed, overwhelmed - and I always leave there feeling relieved, renewed, restored...

My reverie is interrupted by the necessities of life, and it's time to take a break. The rest areas on the turnpike are named, oddly enough, for famous people who either lived or worked in New Jersey. I forget to notice if we're at James Fenimore Cooper or Joyce Kilmer or Clara Barton, I lose track of my New Jersey history when children are in a panic about stopping.

So many decisions. Cinnabon, or Burger King? World's Best Yogurt, or Wendy's? I ignore them all and just head over to the ladies' room, my youngest following me.

The sounds of other languages echo against the white walls, and other mothers hurry their little daughters along, with words I don't recognize but gestures that mimic my own.

There's one woman cleaning the bathroom. On Christmas night.

Too late, I think of thanking her. By then, she's gone.

And that's when I notice it.

Roses – real ones, pink ones – at each sink.



Of all the places to put beauty. A rest stop, on the New Jersey Turnpike. On Christmas night.

My Mom has physical issues she deals with. Decorating a home with care and detail takes effort, and even a kind of courage. She, too, gets tired and overwhelmed, and add to that her daily struggle with pain. But she knows it's worth it. Beauty is always worth it - especially when it's difficult, particularly when it's difficult. And so I'm inspired, to start over, to try again, to bring that kind of grace to my own home, my own life.

I think back to the opened gifts from this morning – nestled in crumpled, festive wrappings of red and green and gold. Beautiful things, useful things, desired things. New hopes and dreams. Like the first gifts.



Gold. Frankincense. Myrrh. To the manger? Maybe. We picture it that way on our mantelpieces, for our drive-throughs, in our pageants, and on our cards. Some say no, it was to a house they came the Scriptures say, a later place. Perhaps so. But given Joseph’s occupation and their far-from-home circumstance, it had to have been meager. Not a cattle stall, but still impoverished. And there the gifts came – gifts of beauty, of majesty, of atmosphere.

O’Neill put it this way: "Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi." I love that story, thrill to its turn of plot, its language. But that last phrase? I always pretended to get it. I'm not sure I really did.

Until tonight – and a woman with a broom and a rose by a sink, and memories of a feast, a fire, a family – as we travel in love.

It's about the gifts.

The gifts of Christmas.

Beauty in a troubled world.

Always, always worth the effort.

Because sometimes life is like a music video

This afternoon as I drove home from some shopping, I turned from my usual talk radio to the local Christian music station and caught my favorite band, Third Day, singing "Mountain of God."



The sun was streaming through the windshield, the music was playing, and the words touched my heart.

Even though the journey's long
And I know the road is hard
Well, the One who's gone before me
He will help me carry on
And after all that I've been through
Well now I realize the truth
That I must go through the valley
To stand upon the mountain of God

As I travel on the road
That You have led me down
You are here with me
Yes, You are here with me
I have need for nothing more
Oh, now that I have found
That You are here with me
Yes, You are here with me

I confess from time to time
I lose my way
But You are always there
To bring me back again

Sometimes I think of where it is I've come from
And the things I've left behind
But of all I've had, what I possessed
Nothing can quite compare
With what's in front of me
With what's in front of me.
- Mac Powell and Brown Bannister

Birthday Gifts

The name Nathan means "gift from God" in Hebrew, or "God has given." How true that has been for us, as Nathan is our gift from God. Today our son turned 14. Hard to believe.

We have another Nathan now (though we call him Nate, a nickname he sometimes uses) - and he is another gift from God. He's our son-in-law of six months, and today he turned 21.

Two Nathans, two gifts. One name, one birthday. One faithful God.

May you both be strong men of God, always serving Him, and honoring those you love. You're both already on the right track.

Happy Birthday!


(An added note: Nate is 6'4", and Nathan is getting there. This picture was taken in front of Bethany and Nate's first Christmas tree in their apartment tonight, after a family dinner at Applebee's.)

President Gerald Ford

I've been working on a Christmas essay, but wanted to share these thoughts on President Ford's death first.

This morning, I opened my laptop and learned of the death of former President Gerald Ford. Even before reading the many articles on his life and presidency, it was odd the random things that came to my mind right away.

I thought about how the 93 year old Ford just recently became the oldest living former President (a position long held by John Adams, and then superceded by Ronald Reagan).

I thought about watching on television Ford's "WIN" (Whip Inflation Now) button and speech (that seemed corny even then), hearing about his much-publicized falls (always a silly journalistic pastime and the brunt of so many jokes, especially given the athletic nature of this particular president), and the assassination attempts on his life (and the bizarrely memorable name "Squeaky" Fromme).

I thought about Gerald Ford's family - his wife's public disclosure of alcoholism and addiction, her bout with breast cancer, and her candor about her children. "The Betty Ford Center" ushered in a new era of acknowledgement about celebrity substance abuse.

I thought about Ford's daughter Susan. She was exactly my age, and when he became president, I decided to write her a letter. I must have asked her some questions, and I recall her answers in the response she sent me. "I have a cat. Her name is Shan..."

I thought about this never-elected president's entrance into the White House following Richard Nixon's resignation - an event memorialized in my family by the front page copy of the newspaper we saved and stuck in a drawer at the cottage, since it happened that summer while we were on vacation. It's still there, and gets pulled out now and then by someone seeking casual reading material, and finding history.

I remember voting for Gerald Ford in my first-ever presidential vote in 1976, thanks to the passage of the 26th amendment just before I turned fourteen five years earlier.

And in all the memories of Gerald Ford, what I remember the most are his words "Our long national nightmare is over," in the presidential pardon he extended to Richard Nixon. Ford was criticized for that, and many say that was a major reason for his later defeat to Jimmy Carter. Historians since then have praised the move, believing it was a courageous act.

Pardon. Forgiveness. And more than that: a full remission of the legal consequences of an offense.

I don't know the criteria for scholars' "Great Presidents" lists. I know my own preferences, my own standards. Maybe a better list would be "Great Moments in Presidential History." To me, Gerald Ford's pardon of Richard Nixon is one of those. It was controversial, it was divisive, it was bold. And it was a lesson this nation and its individuals needed then, and still need now.

Ford's death on the eve of a new year is symbolic. Forgiveness. Remission. A fresh start. The greatest gift ever given, and ever received.

With prayers for Betty Ford, Susan Ford Bales, and the entire Ford family. And for a nation to understand the message of President Ford's legacy.

Midnight on Christmas Eve

There are many, many wonderful Christmas hymns and poems, and this year I discovered one new to me, from AmblesideOnline's list of Christmas poems. Enjoy reading of the One who knew no "No," who brought us our salvation.

Merry Christmas...

A Hymn on the Nativity of My Savior
by Ben Jonson (1572-1637)

I sing the birth was born tonight,
The Author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it,
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light, and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.

The Son of God, the eternal King,
That did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger;
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, which heaven and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.

The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no "No,"
Both wills were in one stature;
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made Flesh indeed,
And took on Him our nature.

What comfort by Him do we win?
Who made Himself the Prince of sin,
To make us heirs of glory?
To see this Babe, all innocence,
A Martyr born in our defense,
Can man forget this story?

More Christmas Thoughts

OK, I can't believe I'm doing this, this being the 'world wide web' and all, but -



Yes, those are my feet.
Yes, those are pink argyle toeless socks my friend Jane gave me.
Yes, nine toes (one little one is hidden under the sock) are Revlon Red.
But one is not. The wounded left 'great toe' (as the nurse called it) is sporting Neosporin, and that's it. No nail polish. No nail. Weird, huh? (Not as weird as posting it on the internet...)

It actually is a bit worse now, since I re-injured it night before last. The world is a scary, scary place when you have a sore toe, let me tell you.

It doesn't hurt too much as long as absolutely nothing is touching it, which creates a slight shoe issue. (I'm glad for our unusually warm December, though Hannah is still praying for a white Christmas.) So - on Sunday I managed to slide into these little beauties:



and when I was on the platform with 25 kids, yes, I was a tad nervous. I didn't want to collapse in pain in front of the congregation when some well-meaning young friend came up to me during his or her part.



Can there be anything better than Christmas? Today (this week, actually) we've been working on Christmas craft gifts for family members, church teachers, and young friends (if you're in any of those categories, please ignore this and look surprised!)



The "Gifts in a Jar" are almost ready, awaiting the fabric circles and recipe card.



The "Bam" seasoning (a recipe for "Baby Bam" is here) is under way (we need more paprika).

Nathan's been doing his woodburning (the kids' chocolate candy creations are in the background),



and Hannah is knitting and making gifts from her own little cross stitch graphs.



She made two of the crismons we used for church Sunday - she did the cross and the Alpha & Omega sign.



It all looks rather peaceful and happy on the surface - which is a good thing for me to realize, since it often feels so stressed and chaotic. My plate is full, sometimes to overflowing, it seems. But then, that means so are my blessings. And stepping back a moment (making sure there's no one and nothing behind me!) is important. Writing it down here is important for me. Recognizing the gifts God has already given me fills my heart with gratitude - and anticipation in imagining the blessings He has yet to give.



I do have my one very quiet Christmas spot - very late at night, when everyone is asleep, I sit and work on the laptop, doing the pictures for each week and helping with the planning for church programs. I wrote about Chapel's wonderful Sunday here on the church blog - go and take a look, there are many pictures I took, and a description of our great time in the Lord.

One of the best things about being a part of my church family is seeing them strive for excellence in serving and worshiping Jesus Christ. And then hearing and witnessing an event like this past Sunday has another whole layer of meaning.

For so many of them, I know their stories. I know the struggles in their lives, the hardships so many experience, the burdens they've been carrying. Some of those trials are known publicly, others are private, deep, and personal. And I see Jesus in their faces, through their songs, by their walk.

It makes the music reach new heights, it deepens the messages, it sweetens their service. And it makes me proud - and honored - to be a part of them.

I can't wait for the next Sunday. Heels and all.

Christmas Thoughts

I've spent most of the day on the couch, dealing with an uncooperative bandaid on a recent wound, but I won't overshare. The situation was resolved, and tomorrow's another day, wherein my biggest challenge is footwear, a minor, minor problem in the scheme of world events.

But - it's still Christmas, and I want to mention a few things.

Our tree is on its way -



tomorrow we'll put up the last few ornaments, and add the final touch of 'manger hay' (a little tradition I began by accident long ago. I had some dried flower-type sprigs and stuck them in our Christmas tree when Bill and I were first married, just to add a bit more to the sparsely-decorated tree. By the time Bethany was little, it was a yearly addition. She asked me about it once, and I offhandedly said it was "manger hay" - and the name stuck).

* * * * * *

Speaking of Bethany (about to celebrate her 'first married Christmas' - she gave me some wedding pictures that I'll scan and put up here soon), here's one of my favorites of her:



I meant to celebrate St. Lucia's Day yesterday, but The Injury sort of rearranged my plans. St. Lucia's Day is a Swedish holiday (though it seems to collide happily with Italian culture, for I never met a Swede named "Lucia"), in which the oldest daughter (that would be me, growing up; actually the only daughter) gets up before dawn (that never happened...but I figured in Sweden, that had to have been way later than in New Jersey this time of year!) and serves her parents coffee and special buns. Being definitely not a morning person, and rather klutzy in the kitchen, my own youthful attempts at this were rather pitiful, but I liked trying, nonetheless. And years later, Bethany and I served my parents a few times on St. Lucia's Day. My Mom is my favorite "Swedish girl"!

* * * * * *



We went to see "The Nativity Story" Saturday night. Do go and see it, if you possibly can. I'm not a movie critic, I just know when a story touches me, and this one did. It's not perfect: the wise men (who are pretty funny, believe it or not) show up in Bethlehem that night along with the shepherds, for instance. But it gave me a night to let my imagination really enter into what life was like then - what village culture was like, what family life was like, what travel was like (every mother in the theater had to be thinking the same thing, "what must that have been like?").

I loved several parts of the movie, especially. They had Mary witness the birth of Elizabeth's son John. I had always felt the Scriptures leave this open as a possibility, though it doesn't say specifically that Mary was there. I often thought it would have been quite an experience for pregnant Mary to witness this miracle, and to have gained some firsthand (and necessary) insight into her soon-coming childbirth.

I loved how the Scriptures about Elijah were repeatedly told to the children, and to baby John: "not in the earthquake, not in the wind, but in a still, small voice."

Joseph was fleshed-out as a righteous man, in a very believable manner. There were moments of foreshadowing - like the snake in the water, or his disgust at what the temple had become. The music was beautiful, too.

Our group was adults, teens, preteens, and a couple of children just six years old. There are some scary scenes (a few glances of crucified people along the roadside, there because of their rebellion against Herod, presumably, and also the scenes involving the massacre of the little babies, and there is a scene in which a young girl is taken away from her parents), but the children with us were warned about those, and seemed to come away from the movie with many questions. We talked in the car the entire way home, about all sorts of aspects of the Incarnation. (For more details on what's in it, check out Plugged In's detailed review.)

* * * * * *



I'm no Martha Stewart in the decorating department (she's from my neck of the woods, a Jersey Girl, though I heard her once say "Candy" so perfectly on TV, and had to laugh. I know no one in NJ who would pronounce it like that...) but I did splurge and buy her "Holiday Handmade Gifts" magazine at the grocery store. If Christmas were two months away instead of (gulp...HOW many days away??) well, less than that, I'd try some of these ideas. They're actually quite lovely and 'do-able.'

My most original idea this year was to put candy canes in a glass vase and tie some red yarn around it in a bow. (I generally decorate with Christmas books, come to think of it.) But - candy canes - lots and lots of candy canes - make me happy. (Red things make me happy: apples, poinsettias, cranberries, candy canes, brand new red heels that I'm not going to buy this year for obvious reasons...but I digress.)

The more you study candy canes, the more you see the differences in them. I'm not a fan of purple or green or orange or tutti-frutti candy canes. I want the real thing: strong red stripes against a brilliant white shepherd's staff-shaped cane. Peppermint. And plenty of them (we put them on our Christmas tree, too - just before the manger hay).

I know about the book The Candymaker's Gift and its emphasis on how every aspect of the candy cane is symbolic. I even have the book, among all my other Christmas books. I've read other histories of the candy cane, placing its origin in 1670, with a choirmaster who was trying to keep his boys quiet during church with some special candy (makes sense to me...my grandmother was always giving us special mints and hard candy out of her pocketbook).

But what shocked me most this year was something on the back of "The Original Bob's Candy Canes" box.

From the beginning of the tradition of the Christmas Tree, it was customary to decorate the tree with symbols of the newborn Christ. Candles represented the Light of the World, the star recalled that first Christmas night, and the shepherd's crook symbolized the humble shepherds in the fields near Bethlehem who were first to receive the news, "Unto you is born a Savior."

It's a wonder the box hasn't been outlawed. Maybe the store managers haven't taken the time to read the fine print. "Bob's" candy canes are usually pretty good, so I'll keep on buying them, and maybe I'll write the company, too, just to thank them for their packaging.

* * * * * *



After sitting down in the afternoon with a cup of coffee (she is Swedish, after all), she thought to herself, "Instead of getting all frazzled and ready for Christmas, I should get ready for Christ, and what He's going to do in my life in the next few days."

That's my paraphrase of the words of Evie Tornquist-Karlsson in her recent radio interview with Cindy Swanson. (Cindy's blog, Notes in the Key of Life, has the link to the audio of the entire interview.)

I loved Evie's music (another Jersey girl, come to think of it - an unexpected recurring theme in this post), even had my aunt sing her "You have everything in Your hands/Jesus, I love you" song at my wedding. "Come On, Ring Those Bells" was one of my favorites. Her musical range was deceptively broad, and her vocal quality was captivating. She even sang in my church once - and for reasons that escape me now, we were away at the time (but we were told she prayed for the Pastor and his family to have a great, great vacation!).

But I think I appreciate Evie even more now. I heard the words of a godly woman on that interview, I listened to her passion for people to know Christ around the world, and she made me want to draw even closer to the Savior. (Be sure to listen all the way to the end - her comments about Christmas are powerful.)

* * * * * *



Every year, there's a special Christmas moment just for me. Some years it has occurred late in the quiet of a night, when I've been going over my lines for a Christmas drama - and suddenly it's all clear, I see and feel the role I'm to play, it just happens. Other years, it's taken place during a rehearsal at church - when it seems the very presence of God is in our midst, and our journey becomes the destination, our practice is perfected by His power, and we see Jesus anew.

This year at Chapel on the Hill, we've been having special Christmas presentations each week. It's a big commitment, and so there are frequent rehearsals.

I'm not in the choir. I tease my Dad (who is both Pastor, and choir director) that he doesn't want me in it, but truth is, God has other things I need to be doing on Sunday mornings, either with the children or with a new ministry of providing visuals in each service.

But I went to rehearsal the other night, Bill was helping in the sound room with his friend Johnny, our kids played downstairs with the kids of other choir members, and I was working on some decorating projects for next week's special "Christmas Sunday Family Dinner." I was wandering in the back 'catacombs' (a behind-the-baptistry narrow hallway, connected to some little storage rooms) looking for some stashed-away ribbons. I was climbing down some wooden steps in a semi-darkened stairwell, when I heard it. The Hallelujah Chorus.

I crept quietly up to the platform door to the sanctuary and opened it. There, I could sit unnoticed behind some Christmas trees and just listen.

One of the choir's songs for Sunday contains the Hallelujah Chorus - and I was listening to this 27-voice group from an unusual proximity.

"And He shall reign forever and ever..."

I could hear the men's voices blend together, even as I knew the identity, the face, the life and testimony of each one. I heard the women answer, and through the single sound I heard my mother, my aunt, my daughter, my friends, my sisters in Christ.

"Forever and ever, Hallelujah, Hallelujah..."

It was my Christmas moment. There may be more, but if that's the one for this year, it was a treasure, like an ornament I take out and hang on my tree. I'll remember that moment, and hide it in my heart, making room for Jesus.

Hallelujah.

Memories

Before a lovely post about "Christmas Thoughts," I thought I'd write something well, er, a little different.

I'm going to miss that left toenail.

I considered - only briefly - sharing a photo or two of how that toe looked this morning, but hey, that would be considered 'oversharing' - and something worthy of a medical site. (I may still send those pictures to my brother, or someone who might enjoy - or deserve - a gross-out.)

I'll give a brief word picture instead.

Imagine a car hood, fully open.

Yep, that's what it looked like after a familial foot collision that took place in the kitchen last night. (I will not name names, as the person in question only meant to approach me for a hug, and is still living with the horror of having inadvertently hurt me.) And yes, there is a reason you think of torture when you ponder such an injury. I think I hit the third heaven, and saw the Apostle Paul on my way up. It. Was. Painful.

My husband is wonderful, my parents brought chocolate and candy canes (a favorite of mine, as I'll post later), my kids were all concerned, my friends were calling or e-mailing to check up on me, my church family prayed, and today my doctor was masterful.

Dr. Ostergaard is an unusual physician. He is known in his small-town community as a caring man who used his 'free time' to help out with local sports when his daughters were younger. He has taken vacation time to serve God in missionary endeavors around the world. And over ten years ago when he was in his early fifties, he wanted to give back to the country he loves, so he enlisted in the Reserves - and when soldiers in Germany were called to Bosnia, his original plan of being at West Point was changed and he was sent to the army base in Germany. He was glad to do it.

He's an excellent family doctor, in tune with each patient's needs. He is a man of compassion, and prayer. He is a Christian who is unashamed of the Savior, and he lets the Word of God comfort his patients, through the literature he leaves in his old-farmhouse office, through his gentle and unhurried conversations, and by the wallpaper. Yes, the wallpaper.

In amongst This Is Your Digestive System, models of the human ear, and Ten Ways to Lower Your Cholesterol are calligraphic renderings of the very promises of God.



I've read those Scriptures in that office many, many times, and have been reminded to taste and see...



...that the Lord is good. He truly is.

I'm not really upset about losing the nail (for want of a nail the kingdom was lost...how does that poem go??), it's fine, and I'm grateful for God's grace, but also wondering the most important question, really, of the holiday hour.

What will I wear for SHOES???

Leavin' on a jet plane

Thanks to my sister-in-law's frugal sleuthing and Southwest Airlines' Internet Special (Update: $39 each way! Not bad...), Bill and I and the two younger kids will be spending a few days in early January in....

OK, not southern Florida, or Bermuda, or any other marvelous tropical locale...

but rather in that winter wonderland of (drum roll, please...):

CHICAGO!

Well, let's put it this way - it's obviously love. A great city, surely, but in January??

Yep, we're having a late Christmas-time celebration with my brother Chuck, sister-in-law Lauren, and my four niephces (there really, really ought to be a plural for "three nephews and one niece").

And...you need to know this WHY?

Becauuuuse - it's my little way of saying: make the effort. Do whatever you can, whenever you can, to make the effort to "Do Family." We want to make our own homes a place of love - but it's vital that we show our kids what the grown-up version of those relationships can look like: for them to see their parents with their parents, their parents with their brothers and sisters...

Yeah, I know - in some instances, it would be showing them what you don't want it to be like. (Not the case here, just for the record...) But - making the effort still shows "honoring" those family members. And maybe, just maybe, it can be the year in some homes for a second chance, a new direction, or even - reconciliation.

Christmas for us this year: here in New Jersey with our kids (including new son-in-law!) and my parents, Christmas in Baltimore with my husband's parents and brother, sister, and niece (should be fun!), and Christmas in Chicago (maybe I'll get to see this: 21-year-old nephew Chuck's latest artwork, four and a half stories outside Sports Authority)...

Make the effort.

After all, travel is all a part of Christmas: Nazareth to Bethlehem, the Far East to Israel, heaven to earth...

Christmas!

Could there be anything better than Christmas?

With us, it starts sometime in the summer, when Dad says to us one sunny afternoon on the deck at the cottage on Lake Ontario, "This is what I'm thinking about for Christmas..."

By fall, the sounds of Christmas have begun, as the choir practices week after week. (We had our first of five Chapel Christmas Celebrations on Sunday - I just wrote about it here on the church blog, Chapelccino.)

Then the shopping begins. No, I'm not one of those whose gifts are all bought and wrapped by October (I've been known to rush out to a store on Christmas Eve day). I mean the shopping for Operation Christmas Child - our shoebox-filled presents to be sent to children around the world. It's the real starting point of our Christmas.



And then it's always a special treat when we get to enjoy the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall.

"It's Christmas time in the city..."



We went in last week, all eight of us (Mom, Dad, Bethany, Nate, and Bill and I and Nathan and Hannah), and from the very start, we knew something was different. The show seemed brighter, more alive, with more color, more energy. Sure enough - I read in the magazine that night that there are new elements to the show but also some new technology.

The theater was totally re-done a few years ago in its art-deco style.



But it's the show that's so terrific. My favorites are the Rockettes themselves (being a perennially uncoordinated soul, I marvel at what they do),



especially the stunning precision of their Toy Soldiers routine - in which they take 'falling with style' to a new level.



I love the part when an ice rink rises up from the orchestra pit and skaters - with dancers in the background - perform to the music.



But in the entire show, there is nothing to match the moment when the full Christmas account is read from Luke 2, complete with prophecy from Isaiah, to the scene of shepherds, sheep, wise men and camels, and concluding with the reciting of "One Solitary Life" -

"All the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, all the kings that ever reigned, put together have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that one solitary life..."

It's moving on its own, but to realize it's being re-told, night after night, in the "city that doesn't sleep" - what a proclamation, what a message!

Things are busy at church, as we plan and put on our Christmas celebrations (the link above), have church dinners and parties, go and see "The Nativity Story" with the Cross Culture youth group on Saturday, work on and buy gifts, put up our tree (cutting it down this week), figure out travel time to see family, and just plain rejoice!

I can't wait to go through each day of this Christmas season...


(The first image is a detail from a painting by my brother Chuck.)