I’m on the edge of bawling, I am so happy.
Some of us live online, too much.
Some of us depend on the opportunity to sit down and write, figure, find information, but for the last week or two, I’ve been lost. My computer decided to have a vacation, and I don’t know why. I took it to a local business which is very busy and depends on people for his job (income) and he’s quite good, but when it comes to finding everything I used to have at my fingertips, I’m lost in outer space as I try to remember which is my password for various things–important things!! I have them everywhere and I need to sit down and organize them, leaving space to enter changes as the years go by. Ugh.
So I’m at a happy but frustrated stage, because there are dozens (maybe hundreds) of passwords and now computers make you prove that you are who you say you are or think you are and send you things that are supposed to be helpful. Such as “your childhood nickname.” Well I know what it was, but somehow, I must have put in the wrong childhood nickname, you know.
Today I found my blog user name and then, yes, I found the right password. From 2013. It can’t be, but here I am, rejoicing. I feel like one of my grandsons trying to make beauty out of Legos, and having something finally go right.
Anyway, for now, I’m happy. And have work to do.
One more thing: having my first cataract surgery today. Prayers welcome!
Tell me how you deal with frustration. Start over? Quit forever?
Keep writing and sharing?
April 11, 1965
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the Palm Sunday tornadoes of April 11, 1965 in northern Indiana. I was 14. We got out of school on one or more days that week and were turned loose to help pick up storm debris. It was sad and remains a difficult memory. The tornado hopped over our farm and hit our neighbor’s barn, which my Dad never forgot his good fortune (to be missed).
The youth from church had gathered at our house that Sunday evening before the tornado fell. I remember that well, too. The youth group leaders and my Dad stayed outside to maybe help detect what paths the ornery wind was making, while they sent us younger people down to our meager basement. We gathered in a room where mom stored stuff like glass jars of peaches, apricots, applesauce, tomatoes, green beans and some meats. We were more excited than scared, I think. Especially with the grown leaders hanging around outside. In fact, a newspaper report later said that many people missed the tornado warnings because they were standing outside, waiting and wondering, I guess.
My other memory regarding that tornado was the fact that school was out on Monday, and Mom took us to town to buy some suitable clothes (jeans, maybe) … to help us with the clean up that was set other days that week. Mind you, in those days girls wore dresses or skirts to school—no pants, shorts, jeans or any outfits of that ilk. On our farm, we were allowed to wear jeans. So wearing jeans to school was like a “school day out” that turned the sadness into camaraderie and worries into flirtations with possible boyfriends or girl friends.
We lived not far from Elkhart, Indiana and I found this picture near some of our relatives in Dunlap, Indiana who were doubly scared and worried that day. Years earlier, their home had been struck and pretty much destroyed, and they started over. But it was something our larger family always remembered, and felt sorry for the Breniser family (correct spelling).
The double funnel shown in the picture below, was nabbed by a man named Paul Huffman working for The Elkhart Truth. President Lyndon Johnson even visited Dunlap to personally see the destruction of that storm. Just a year and a half earlier, our nation had gone through the trauma and drama of experiencing the shooting death of a president, John F. Kennedy, never to be forgotten.
I don’t think I’d ever want to see one of those single funnels, let alone a double or bigger storm coming our way. We lived through a bad storm that was named a Derecho in 2012, and after about three 3 days of no electricity (and melting ice in the freezer), we finally were able to borrow a friend’s generator to get our electricity back on the very day we had hoped to leave on a vacation.
Be safe and well, my friends. And when we have the opportunity, help with clean ups or donations to those who have not been as fortunate. Blessings and prayers.
Thinking of Cruising?
My husband wanted to experience a really really big boat for his birthday so he chose a cruise ship called “Oasis of the Seas,” with roughly 5,000 passengers and 2100 crew.
If you are lucky, there comes a time in life when “the government” makes you have RMDs (Required Minimum Distributions)—and you have to take some of your “retirement money” and spend it or at least put it somewhere. Our financial advisor encouraged traveling while we could.
So husband wanted to try out the big boat. (It truly didn’t sway much at all, but we were, again, lucky, I know.) Gorgeous deep blue and lovely swashes of green waters on every side, clipping along at 20-21 knots or so. Seemingly an “endless” ocean after we launched from a port in Fort Lauderdale, Fla.
After sailing solid for two long days, we made day stops on three very small “oasis” island countries: St. Kitts, St. Maarten, St. Thomas (all pretty close to places like Puerto Rico), and all offering excursions (for extra $ of course).
And ending with Coco Cay’s “Perfect Day” with free food on a very small island (no extra $ involved unless you went snorkeling or something).
Overall, we enjoyed three sumptuous meals a day, at our leisure, no extra tip or money required. (Well, there was the initial cruise amount which included free meals.) No making beds, no cleaning bathrooms, the “stateroom attendant” took care of that, each day, with those cute wound up “towel” animals made out of extra towels. It was sweet. Sleeping in. Reading books. Playing on phones. Watching TV news. Going to shows onboard. A fantastic hour of women and men flying from amazing heights into water and then watching the water disappear… !
Listening to karaoke contests. Singing with a guy, Andy, who focused on songs everyone knew from the 60s and 70s: “When you’re weary, feeling small … I’m on your side… bridge over troubled water” etc.”
Husband had almost daily exercise on a huge roomful of bikes and other exercise equipment, and I enjoyed rounding the huge ship’s long track 4-5 times.
The busy busy staff cleared plates from our tables before we could object, and waiters dashed to and from the numerous ship kitchens (guessing at least 4-6 of those?). They also managed to engage in conversation with us: finding out who we were, where we were from, the dot to dot games we played while waiting on dishes brought to us, remembering their own games from childhood, always inquiring if the food was tasty. Husband says he had the best New York strip steak he’d ever ever had, so that was a nice win.
The attendants were from so many countries including Europe, Asia, India, Africa, Romania, Philippines, many South American countries, even Canada and a few U.S. I was particularly excited when at breakfast one morning I noticed a mother and son (in his 20s) next to us were chatting in an interesting language, Catalan. That is now the main language used in Catalonia, an area where Barcelona, Spain is, and where I lived for almost a year as a college student. It took me back to the fun times we had with Catalan friends.
I especially admired the room “servants,” if you will, doing the “dirty work” for us. Scrubbing toilets, washing down showers, hanging up fresh towels as needed, making sure we had toilet paper. Then, one day, the bag I reserved for our dirty clothes (that I thought I had placed near the bottom of some space near drawers) had disappeared. I was a little embarrassed. The attendants weren’t supposed to take clothing of course, but I asked the attendant if he had taken my bag of dirty clothes and put them somewhere. (They were able to send clothes to a laundry on ship for you if you wanted to pay for that, but I had planned to wash our underwear etc. in the very small sink.) He was likely from one area of Nigeria and I know he was terribly embarrassed to be approached about any issue, let alone dirty clothes. Two days later, I took time to hunt in our closet for the missing clothing and to my chagrin found that I had put the dirty clothes bag inside a piece of our luggage, so no one would mess with them. I was only too happy to apologize to Igede for MY mistake. And we lived happily every after with that attendant.
A word of caution about the yummy meals, especially breakfast: by the end of the week, on the morning of disembarking, we noticed the wonderful waffles we had enjoyed were quite stiff and hard to chew, like they had been warmed over to serve to us. I mean really hard to chew. I will forgive them for the wonderful foods we enjoyed the other days.
Disembarking is a zoo, of course, and we were happy to finally land in the correct bus taking us and our luggage back to the airport. I won’t mention the terrible stiff winds we experienced flying to Dulles Airport near Washington D.C. We were so happy and thankful to be safely home and greet Britney who took care of dog Velvet and cat Pumpkin (who wondered where on earth we had disappeared to).
The world God created and still maintains is just amazing, and the endless oceans (making up 71 percent of our world) was a joy to experience. May we continue to take care of our corners of the world.
The Papers (and Other Stuff) of Our Lives
I have a problem.
I like to keep papers. I kept them at the office for 43 years, and now have kept them at my home for (when did I retire?) almost 6 years ago.
Melodie, it is time to clean the stash. Let go.
My husband has myriad bolts he won’t let go of, he might need them some day. But do I really need to keep the Mennonite Convention papers from 30 years ago because I might need to know what seminar or workshop to go to next. Those were precious, wonderful, fun, and explorative years. I loved going to conferences, going to seminars, collecting papers and mementos. But do I need to keep an office newsletter (See the “Alert” below) from 1975? Um … Melodie, you have a problem.
Do you have a problem too? Write to me, I will love it and probably keep your email or letter for 20 years. Until I die.
Okay, I’m 73. Do I really want my kids to have to decide what to keep and what to throw? I remember when my dear mother began throwing stuff away, I was surprised about some stuff. Truth be told, I have some of her keepsakes. My sisters and daughters do too. And that’s okay, to a certain extent. But oh paper. Paper paper paper. It will go. Soon.
Some things have gone to a local Mennonite & Brethren Heritage site. I gave them them freedom to throw the stuff they didn’t want. Some items have gone to local libraries and Elkhart, Indiana archives. We like to be remembered. Our work likes to be savored. Especially writers who write things down. Like now.
But here goes:
[Melodie closes her eyes and plops some old old columns into a very black plastic bag and takes them to the dump. One chore done. Many more to come.]
You know what? It feels pretty good to be finally getting rid of some things. Decluttering, they call it, yes? I still have plenty of things to hang on to but slimming down our closets and garage and basement … pretty nice. And you know what else? I can keep things I’ve written here on the blog forever and ever if I want to. Oh yeah, my kids will have to delete some stuff. Some day.
For now, I need to go throw some more papers.
One daughter and husband recently talked their sons into allowing a darling little “play kitchen” that they had given their oldest son when he was just two, I think, to be given away. But when the three boys (now 11, 9, and 6) realized they’d be giving it to the little cousin they adore, they were happy–even excited–to do so.
That little two-year-old girl cousin is eating it up. She loves it. She serves tea in very tiny metal cups to her dad while he works at his job in their home.
Oh the beauty of passing things on.
(The cat finds it interesting, too.)
What do you need to get rid of?
What have you gotten rid of that was difficult?
How do you choose?
Snow, snow, snow!
Well. Here’s our fourth or fifth snow of the season, I’ve lost count. I do still care, and the soft snowfall today is, yes, beautiful and calming. We stay at home, mostly. And wait for cleared roads and the toil of snow blowing and scraping our driveway and sidewalks. It is nice as retired folks to not HAVE to go anywhere.
Even my brother and his wife built snowmen in north Florida a few weeks ago, to their delight. (They’re back to wearing shorts etc. by now but it was quite extraordinary for Floridians. Yes?)
Some of my citified grandsons in Virginia had the opportunity to build snow huts in their front yard (remember those?). They were enchanted with cuddling up inside those little holes. For as long as it lasted. When you live near a big city, things do melt pretty fast.
I am trying to be unendingly grateful, because waterfall and snowfall have been very scarce in many sections of our county and state and country (while of course some places are flooded and inundated and having to start over their lives and homes). This past week we saw rivers and creeks in our area swelling to nice heights—not over the top, just nice. Keeping fingers crossed.
We’ve lost electricity two times, so far. We can count on losing electricity 5-7 times a year. I guess that’s what we get for living in a somewhat mountainous area, where trees crash and tumble from too great of burdens on their limbs.
That’s what happens for people, too. My prayer list grows longer.
So I lived with almost two weeks of poison ivy irritating my skin and happiness. Huh? Poison ivy in the middle of winter? At last the various creams I apply get things under control, and both my husband and I (he had it too, not as bad as me) will be very very careful as we move the wood around for our woodstove in the basement which heats the whole house … using gloves and other protective gear.
Between times, we celebrate two birthdays in the family and manage to drive about 100 miles to both on days when snow was not an issue. Virginia is nice. Come on up, or down, or east!
Do you like snow, or not?
What is your favorite season?
What state or country or city do you enjoy the most?
I’d love to hear from you. Is it snowing where you are?
Saving Animals
Did you know that animals are praised in the Bible?
Ok, some of you probably have no use for animals in the house and yes they can be annoying and make extra work. They cause young and old alike to fall at times, breaking hips, arms, shoulders. Especially here in the middle of winter, it’s especially treacherous to be outside with pets and have them accidentally brush a little too close to you and you end up in the hospital.
But, I had forgotten this praise for animals in the Bible: “Lord, you save both humans and animals” in Psalms 36:6. Remarkable, yes! God cares about the animals in this world.
And of course there is the whole history of Noah building a huge animal ark in order to save animals from the flood that came in ancient times. Elephants, hippos, lions—and we hope dogs and cats—sailed on the sea for quite a while. Our pastors have held “animal appreciation” services in the summer—outdoors—so people could share their love on animals and pets.
My husband and I have had numerous cats and dogs in our lives and in our various homes (we only had three moves—lucky, I guess). We both grew up in homes with some acreage and pets were expected to stay outside—in barns, sheds, and occasional dog houses. My dad allowed our dog to sleep in our covered porch in the winter, on a rug, and I’m sure while it was chilly, it was decently warm enough for our various dogs (only ever had one at a time).
Stuart and I now usually travel with our dog Velvet and she has come to expect that she gets to go with us on various excursions. (We never take her to town … just on trips.) We’ve paid extra to have her sleep in our motel or hotel rooms and she watches and guards us like the “sheep” that we are. She is a mix of Australian shepherd and mutt, and as she gets older the more tuned she is to making sure animals and us are dutifully taken care of. (Annoying as heck for her to bark and bark for our cat Pumpkin when she wants to come in through the deck door, and then sniffing the cat to make sure the cat’s ok.) Velvet also barks goodbye on the phone to our grandchildren, who love that. Not sure who likes that little fun more: grandparents, grandchildren, the parents of the grandchildren, or the dog.
Our cat history is expansive, mainly when the children were preschoolers up through high school. We had batches of kittens that had lovely coloring and were easy to find homes for. All our children had their specific favorites. Let’s see (records kept by Michelle, recorded in January 1997) there were all these:
Tigger, Ceasar (Dad’s cat), Bibbs, Sunshine, Puff, Shelly, Darkhorse, Boots, Butterball, Squirrel, Muffin, Sad Sack, Blacki, Wonder, Perfect, Inky, Autumn, Sicky, Torty, Bossy, Comet, Cleopatra, Space Bars, Midnight, Bubbles, Sage, Paprika, Brainy, Sniffles, Reebok, Nike, Kodak, Lucky, Tie-Dye, Larry, Curly, and Moe. 😊 (There are some missing cats on this list because Michelle stopped recording them for us. I know there was at least Paisley but can’t name any other. And ask my husband sometime about his cat Tango who scared the daylights out of me once upon a time, before we were married.)
Now there’s a list of cat names if you are in need of any. Most of these were adopted out to friends, neighbors and occasionally we advertised in the paper about our kittens. I did adopt a cat, Riley, who had very white long hair from my daughter’s friend who needed to find a home for him. I looked at the photo they sent us and he charmed me so much that I agreed to adopt him. I loved/took care of him until he died a natural death in 2015. And Boots was Michelle’s very special cat for many years. But Boots ended up dying of cancer. We even actually paid for the first surgery (something we rarely did for animals with cancer), but we knew she and Michelle were so attached.
Our dog history includes: Wendy, Junebug (or just June), Fable, and now Velvet. All of them were basically of mixed heritage.
Are you an animal fan—or prefer not to have pets?
I’m sure the day will come when we can no longer take care of a dog. A cat? Maybe.
You might enjoy reading about a neighbor friend who adopted Dog 3 because he was very much in need of a home. She’s writing a book on their trials and adventures. Check out Sharon Landis’ stories here.
You can also read more about the life of my dear Riley here.
Farewell and Godspeed
As the world bids so long to former President Jimmy Carter, I will just share this wonderful photo of Jimmy with my Mom and Dad. They were “hard Democrats” as my mother used to call themselves, so supporting such a devout church goer and hard worker and helper around the world was an easy choice. Please note how firmly Jimmy held Dad’s hand in that photo, literally helping Dad with his cane (cane not visible in the photo). So many are paying deserved tribute these January days to this fine man.
Dad is holding his cane in the right hand, and Carter helps him be steady. Photo sometime between 1992-2004.
My daughters and I were also privileged to hear Carter speak at a Mennonite Church Convention in Orlando, Florida in 1997.
Mr. Carter reminded those at that convention that the word Christian literally means “little Christ.” He explained that “every time I make the claim, ‘I’m a Christian,’ I am saying I am a little Christ.”
I looked up the origins of that term and here is what I found at Christianity.com: “Scholars say ‘Christian’ comes from the Greek word christianos, meaning “little Christ.” Stories say the term was used as a jeer, as their enemies would poke fun at them by calling them diminutive versions of their Savior — as in, “Look at those ‘little Christs.’”
I like Carter’s explanation. He said “We do not claim this in a proud, boastful way. Instead, we are to strive in every way to be as loving, giving, humble, wise and self-sacrificing as Christ was and is.” The wordplay helps remind us that Christians need to be aware of that truth and live it every day.
So long to Jimmy Carter. He is enjoying a holiday from his many efforts and reunion with his dear wife, Rosalynn. I was privileged to receive a personal letter from her thanking me and others when our organization, Mennonite Media, included her in a documentary sharing her long journey at the Carter Center in Atlanta, working to help those suffering from mental illness.
I will remind us that no matter what you think of Mr. Carter’s politics or the job he did as president, in his years after his presidency he demonstrated over and over again what a loving, gentle, daily walk he had as a “little Christ.”
May we be and do the same.
Parts of this appeared in a devotional I wrote for Rejoice! Magazine. More devotionals or a subscription from Mennonite Media can be found here.
Guest post by my mother Bertha Miller (1924-2021), and used in Purpose magazine in 2009.
“During retirement, our home also served as a small bed-and-breakfast. My husband, Vernon, also operated a modest carpentry business since he could no longer farm. In our garage he loved making wooden doll houses, toy barns, and other wood projects.
To advertise, we erected a large heavy sign on the corner of two busy roads in Elkhart County, Indiana.
We made the sign ourselves years earlier. It worked well as our main advertising tool. Then a storm blew it down, breaking off its heavy wooden posts.
In his high 80s, Vernon was diabetic and mostly wheelchair bound—but he puttered around in our yard working from either his wheelchair or our riding lawn mower, taking care of flower beds, dwarf orchard trees, and shrubs.
Even though it was hot in the middle of summer, my husband insisted the sign had to go back up, as soon as possible, or we’d lose business.
Vernon was as stubborn as a dog on a leash following an interesting scent. So nothing would derail him from trying to fix that sign ourselves, alone, without asking for help.
All of our tools for that job were old fashioned: a manual post-hole digger and a shovel. The temperature was 85 – 90 the day we went out, and sweat poured form my husband’s body as he began to dig. I knew the exertion would make Vernon’s blood sugar plummet, but I hadn’t thought to bring candy or anything to drink for him. We only lived a quarter mile away and I had ridden my bike and Vernon had attached the digger and shovel to his lawn mower.
I knew we couldn’t do the job alone but who would take time to stop on busy State Road 19 to help us old folks? Old folks who should have known better, right?
Then out of nowhere came this couple, young and strong. They stepped out of their car. They seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. The husband saw what was needed, grabbed the digger and dug two deep holes in no time. And I, sensing an opportunity to get Dad some sweets, pedaled home for water and candy for Vernon as fast as I could go.
The couple stayed long enough to get the sign set up and make sure it was in those holes, deep and secure.
My faith in humanity was restored. We wanted to pay them, but they just said, “Give it to your church.” Then they turned to their car and left.
Were these people angels to help two elderly folks living near a state highway?
Whether celestial or human, they were angels to us.”
By Bertha Miller published 2009. She gleefully accepted payment from Purpose magazine, which is no longer published.
***
Mom died in October of 2021 and Dad died in 2006. We miss them both. We will try to be angels whenever we can!
Did you or your parents or grandparents make mistakes?
Take risks you didn’t approve of?
Did you ever have someone help you out and then quickly disappear?
Blog post – December 23, 2024
I was so weepy all Sunday morning.
Mainly it was the deeply moving and beautiful song which starts out, “My Soul Cries Out with a Joyful Shout.” Our hymnal (and thankfully I have this hymnal at home) tells us that the “world is about to turn.” The title of the song is actually “The Canticle of the Turning.” It uses an “energetic Irish folk song” as the melody (yes, my name but not spelled that way), and is basically Mary lifting her thoughts to God after being told by the angel that she would be bearing a special child.
But for me it brought back to life my father’s deep deep call to do what he could to help others—to save the world, if that doesn’t sound like too big of job. Here on Monday morning it again speaks to me of our Dad (and Mom, who was his right-hand-woman all her life and beyond). The tears just eek out of my wet eyes. It is also the season of course, of remembering our many loved ones who are no longer with us.
In our congregation alone, it keenly brought back our loss of six members who passed on to glory this year. Our loss. Their gain, glory be to God.
Dad was born to be a farmer, like many of his generation, worked hard all his life until he could work no more but along the way his call to other farmers to help raise corn and wheat and whatever to share with “needy people” around the world by starting a farm for the entire community to till, plant, and harvest. And then he invested money himself to go with Mom to see the countries where the food was going so it could satisfy his curiosity that it was indeed reaching the “hungry peoples of the world” as he used to pray, (using his awkward 8th grade education in sharing his yearning with others). He was a Conchie, (conscientious objector who served almost four years). I was reminded of this in the World War II book I am currently reading, so he was mocked for that in a difficult, horrible war. We still pray and long for an end to all violence and war, dear God.
I think I was also weepy thinking of our grandchildren, and particularly that we had just spent 3 days deeply involved with our youngest grandchild in “babysitting” as her parents tried to work at home. This grandchild was especially welcome for the whole family just because she turned out to be a girl (at last, after five wonderful boys!). She is at the stage where she wants to “help” or asks for “help” and cries madly if and when she is shuffled off to bed. There is more playing to be done, of course. Reading books and singing along with verses that we know. Doing little dancing jigs. (Irish?) It was a glorious time and spoke to me that I am now of the generation where I must also help see that my grandchildren are raised and taught to be good people, no matter what.
I’m still crying, see my red eyes?
No, that’s good you can’t see me. I’ll be fine and knowing that we too must do what we can to impart wisdom and energy and faith and good will to the world. The hymn ends with a strong message “Though the nations rage … we remember who holds us fast … till the spear and rod can be crushed by God who is turning the world around.”
Again, wishing you thoughtful holidays and love shared around tables, in backyard football fun, opening gifts large and small, hugs and kisses for one and all. Amen.
***
For more on my father and mother, perhaps you would enjoy our family memoir book. If you haven’t already read it.
December 18, 2024
“Girls, girls, GIRLS!”
No, this is not a dance, nor a bawdy house of women entertaining men, or the other way around. I’ll get to that in a minute.
Christmas is coming and things are getting wild in many a household where children are getting excited and think they can’t wait for the big day, or days.
Here at our house, the Christmas tree is finally up, the various manger scenes are staged around the house, our biggest manger scene decorates the entire top of our piano. Thanks to our dear neighbor Barbara who made clay figurines and gave them to me one Christmas, which I was drafted (and happy) to paint, however we wanted, by the following Christmas. Those figurines have been going strong 40 some years.
Going back 40 years, my oldest daughter reminded me today of how I used to calm our daughters down when things started getting wild. Not just at Christmas but anytime in the year.
We owned only a few videos that we played and one of their favorites was the old classic “Cinderella.” If you recall, the ugly stepsisters in that story or movie were frequently found clashing with each other, tearing clothing or objects on their jealous days.
Well, recently my oldest daughter was having one of those days with her three sons, ages 11, 9 and 6, heating up for Christmas. They were bickering loudly in the back seats of the minivan. My daughter said she was reminded of how I would sometimes say “girls, girls, GIRLS” in an operatic overly-dramatic voice like the stepmother in Cinderella when I wanted their attention or cooperation.
But my daughter didn’t say that. Instead she started chuckling to herself, which was so weird for the boys to hear her laughing in the middle of their squabbling that they stopped their wrangling and asked what was so funny.
Thus my old reminder for our three daughters, (then ages roughly 6, 9, and 11) came circling or gushing back to her at just the right moment, and she relaxed. And she couldn’t help laughing, because they did settle down and changed course a bit.
Another line I used to use with our daughters also came from the Cinderella video. If our daughters were all lazing around their rooms like say on a Saturday morning when they were supposed to be picking up books and toys and dolls and stuff, I had another Cinderella classic line to dig up. As in, when the wicked stepmother would get that mean look on her face and scold her poor young Cinderella with “Oh, I see we have timmmme…. on our hands,” she’d look Cinderella crossly in the face and dragged out the word “time.” Which of course was a reminder to Cinderella to get busy with her endless chores, and kinda worked for my poor little Cinderellas too. It also kind of worked when they were complaining about being bored…
So if things are getting a little upshtona (a Pennsylvania Dutch word, I think, for a big mess, correct me if I’m wrong, dear sisters), which MY mother used to use if indeed our house was messy with Christmas doings–just take a big breath or so, sit down in your favorite chair, look around the house, and treasure each and every minute you have with those little ones … and the bigger 11 or 16-year-olds too.
It’s almost Christmas.
Mary and Joseph didn’t have a great time either juggling along a dusty road to their destination in Bethlehem to pay taxes (of course our local property taxes come this time of year, too). And Mary, greatly bloated with the precious baby still inside her, had to ride jostling on the donkey.
Enjoy. Savor. Gather your kids or grown-ups around as you can, and cherish the moments.
Merry Christmas.
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