I'm a little behind in posting the newspaper articles to the blog, so I thought it would be a good time to catch up. Here are the last two from the month of December. The Joseph one is a re-do from a couple of Christmases ago, so if you were reading the blog at that time, you might remember it from then.
Christmas Cookies (from the 12/16/15 issue)
My little brother loved to piddle in the kitchen from the
time he was a little fella. I was more
interested in eating the food than preparing it. One day, hunger got the best of me, and I
decided to fix myself some tomato soup.
I don’t remember the details, but apparently I wasn’t doing it
correctly. Soon he was beside me with a
dining room chair, which was bigger than he was. He gently moved me aside, climbed up onto the
chair, and said “Don’t worry, Cat, I’ll fix it for you.” What a sweetheart! He fixed my soup for me
that day, and he grew to be a very fine cook.
I, on the other hand, still prefer eating the food than
preparing it, so I never really got very good at it. Shortly after I married in 1980, I invited my
parents and my new in-laws over for dinner.
The menu escapes me at the moment, but the main dish was fried
chicken. My mom and dad arrived early to
help with the last-minute preparations.
What bride doesn’t wish to impress her new in-laws with her homemaking
skills? I had just taken the chicken out
of the pan when my mom got there. It
smelled so good, and was beautifully browned and crispy. However, when my mom cut into a piece with a
knife, it was still pink. Whaaaat??? She asked me how long I cooked it, and I told
her that I cooked it until it was done.
I mean… it was nicely browned and crispy, right? Thankfully, my mom was able to salvage the
chicken, and after we had finished dinner, my sweet mother-in-law had a
good laugh as well. But we didn’t spill
the beans until after we had eaten.
I may never have learned to cook fried chicken, but I did
learn to enjoy making snacks, party food, and cookies. When Christmas time came around each year,
I’d rustle up a bunch of treats to share with friends and neighbors. I’ve always enjoyed this tradition, but
never so much as last year when my granddaughter helped me. All of the grandkids have always enjoyed
helping out in the kitchen, but when the pressure is on to produce, it normally
worked better to spend my time in the kitchen when they weren’t here. Sometimes “helping” wasn’t really helping at
all. My youngest
granddaughter has shown
a real interest in cooking, so last year I decided to let her “help” me. To my surprise and delight, she was actually
very helpful!! We made several batches
of cookies, candy, and other treats to share.
I could never have done it
without her. We have always been very
close, but we bonded in a different way that day in my kitchen – covered in flour,
chocolate on our faces, and sticky fingers.
She wasn’t just a cute little girl whose hair I braided, or read bedtime
stories, but a young lady learning how to measure ingredients and follow
directions. She was more excited than I
was with each batch of cookies removed from the oven. She even washed dishes! Precious memories indeed.
I’m looking forward to time in the kitchen with both
granddaughters in the next few days, when it will be time to let the baking
begin!! My oldest granddaughter already
knows her way around the kitchen really well, and does a great job. It will be fun working together. Not so much with my grandson yet. We will spend special time together doing
something else - just not in the kitchen. While he sort of enjoys it, he’s rather
impatient, and is more interested in the end result and eating the cookies! Maybe next year he will enjoy the preparation
and cooking process as well. What fun it will be to have all three of them
“helping” me!!
How about you? It’s
not too late!!! Drag out those recipe
books and whip up some Christmas cookies!!
************
The True Meaning of Christmas (12/23/15)
For (hopefully) most of us,
Christmas is all about Baby Jesus in the manger. For others, Christmas is
simply a time of parties, the madness of retail frenzy, and maybe a warm
feeling in the heart. Not so much about Jesus, yet a happy time of peace and
goodwill to men. For some, Christmas is just a sad time of year to be
endured.
Since becoming a mother myself,
each year when Christmas rolls around and we focus on the manger, the angels,
shepherds and wise men, I have had a much different attitude toward the
parents. Mary and Joseph. They have become more real to me than
before the birth of my own child.
The personalization of Mary and
Joseph seems to become stronger for me with every passing year. There's a
song called Mary Did You Know that has become popular over the past several
years. Another favorite song about Mary is Amy Grant's version of Breath
Of Heaven.
Mary and Joseph were real people.
Young people. And they were real parents. Do you remember how you felt
when you first held your own child? There is no greater joy in the world.
Chances are, though, that your red-faced, squirming, screaming little bundle of
joy was wrapped in a clean blanket, after a sterile birth in a warm bed with a
host of medically-trained personnel orchestrating the event. Dad may or
may not have been present in the room at the time of the birth, but if he was,
his only hands-on involvement might have been cutting the umbilical cord.
The responsibility of the birthing process didn't rest on his shoulders,
because the nurses and doctors were there to facilitate a safe birth. No doubt
about it. The birth of a child rocks our world, and we discover within us
a love that we never imagined existed.
Mary and Joseph were real people.
I can't imagine how frightened they were. We women complain about
the discomforts of pregnancy. Can we imagine traveling for miles and
miles on the back of a donkey with a baby lying low in the womb? We have
our birth plans all mapped out, and we pre-register at the hospital a month or
so in advance. All we have to do is walk in the door, and our labor and
delivery is managed by those trained to assist us. There was no warm
hospital bed for Mary. I can imagine a frantic Joseph desperately
searching for a place to stay as Mary leaned against the smelly donkey, holding
her stomach as the pains of birth were upon her. There were no
brightly-lit rooms or warm blankets. There was a dusty barn, likely filled with
the smell of animal poop rather than antiseptic soap. There were no beeps
of medical contraptions to surround her, rather the soft breathing of the
animals, perhaps the lowing of cattle in the distance, the whinny of horses or
bleating of sheep as the background music for the birth of her child.
Young Joseph wearing his dirty travel clothes was her attendant, not a
host of nurses clad in clean scrubs. Joseph, who had no Prepared
Childbirth classes, attended Mary as she labored, and at the final moment,
received into his hands the Glory of God, as Jesus entered into the world in
the form of a flesh-and-blood human.
I wonder what Mary and Joseph were
thinking as they cleaned Him up, and wrapped him in tattered blankets?
Because of the visits from the angels, the immaculate conception, they
knew that something Pretty Big was going down. But. Did they know?
Did they know What, and Who they were holding? I like to think that God
bathed them with grace to protect them from what was coming down the road.
I can't imagine what it would have been like for them to know from the get-go
the path that He would take, and what He would ultimately submit himself to.
There are few things sweeter to me
than pictures of a dad holding his baby. I love a daddy who loves his
children, and isn't afraid to show it. Do we think that Joseph is any
different from other dads? Somehow it seems we don't think much about Joseph at
all. He was an exceptional young man, called upon by God to do a crazy
thing: Marry his pregnant girlfriend, with whom he knew HE had never been
intimate. Obedient to the voice of God, he was a faithful servant, and
did as he was told. There were no lights or cameras in the stable, but I
imagine that Joseph was as overcome with emotion as any other dad upon
witnessing the birth of his child, or upon seeing the baby for the first time
behind the glass walls of a nursery.
As Mary slept afterward, can't you
just see Joseph gazing into the face of his child, the way all new parents do,
wondering at the miracle of birth. ESPECIALLY THIS BIRTH!!
Have you heard this song? It’s called Joseph’s Lullaby. So amazing.
***********************
Go to sleep my son, this manger for
your bed.
You have a long road before you,
rest your little head.
Can you feel the weight of your
glory?
Do you understand the price?
Does the Father guard your heart
for now,
So you can sleep tonight?
Go to sleep my son. Go and
chase your dreams.
This world can wait for one more
moment
Go and seep in peace.
I believe the Glory of Heaven is
lying in my arms tonight.
Lord I ask that he, for just this
moment, simply be my child.
Go to sleep my son. Baby
close your eyes.
Soon enough you'll save the day.
But for now, dear child of mine.
Oh, my Jesus, sleep tight.
**************************************
Wow. If that doesn't give you
a new view of Joseph, I'm not sure anything can. Mary was real. Joseph was
real. Jesus IS real!! I hope this
year it all feels very real for you.
Merry Christmas, from my house to
yours!!
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