I’ve been blogging a little over a year. Ring the bell.
Finding Harmony was launched January 1, 2013. I remember the giddiness I felt when I pushed “publish” for the first time—like I somehow was more in control of my own destiny instead of a distant editor or publisher or company. I could be as brash or as personal as I wanted to be, no one editing over my shoulder. (Wherein of course lies the danger in personal blogs—no one editing.)
I’ve discovered I enjoy it more than I thought I would, like a hobby, instead of knitting or just reading in my free time. It is a new world. I’ve made new cyber friends, received at least one phone call out of the blue from a reader (who it turns out works at the same place as my second cousin, who I only knew in childhood), and am learning the importance of connecting with other bloggers to make even more connections.
One of the things I’ve enjoyed the most are looking at the stats or statistics, which can stroke the ego or dash one into despair, if you take them too seriously. Occasionally there is a wild surprise, and you hit 10 times your average views in a day, and you never know when one of those days will hit. My top post of the year, not such a surprise and not good news, was one about the suicide of Rick Warren’s son (it was picked up by Mennonite World Review). On a happier note, the ones about the births of my first two grandsons (here and here) were of course popular. The biggest “high hit” surprise for me was a recipe for homemade sugar cookies that mentioned my Mennonite/Amish connections as well as Presbyterian.
Occasionally a stat takes you to another world … to the other side of the world, to be exact. One day, three hits from Northern Mariana Islands showed up, as one of the countries from where someone had viewed/read my blog. What? I’d never even heard of that as a country. A quick look at Wikipedia fills me in as it being a group of islands in the Pacific, where over 90 percent live on the island of Saipan, where my father-in-law served in World War II. A personal connection.
In all visitors from something like 89 countries have dropped by. Most of those visitors probably bounced quickly elsewhere.
The stats climbed steadily and nicely throughout the year, helped of course by my two blog devotional series, one for Lent and one for Advent. Hmm, do I go for another Lent series? Can I keep them original and fresh?
It is also fascinating to see what people use for search terms and end up at my blog. Two posts last winter have brought frequent visitors all year: one was about soaking up the gorgeous and unusual flowers at the U.S. Botanic Gardens (I used the words “endangered plants,” which brought numerous seekers during the year). Another post on a sad farewell to our dear dog, (for whom we fretted many weeks about “how to know when to put a pet down”) turns out to be a frequent question of many other web surfers. It was sad but reassuring to feel that camaraderie.
The top search terms at my blog were:
- Endangered plants (link above)
- Amish homemade noodles (and numerous variations of that, about which I wrote 3 times)
- Stayman apple pie recipe (and variations)
Some search terms I love that were used often enough to show up in year long summary of frequently used terms:
- Why do my homemade noodles fall apart
- Mennonite New Years Cookies (I never wrote on this)
- I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley Mennonite (don’t ask, I have no idea!)
Regarding content, this blog is a mix of family stories, devotional reflections, family type recipes, occasional book reviews, exploration of faith roots (Mennonite, Presbyterian), and, occasionally, tips and inside stories for other writers (from my perspective as an editor myself).
Overall, I’ve found that here, recipes tend to bring the most hits. From my own experience reading other blogs, I feel that blogs that give us useful information (or just help us know there’s another soul out there going through the same thing) are what many of us look for.
So what do you like at Finding Harmony Blog? Take a second to check my simple poll. Or not. I may or may not do more of whatever people like, or I may get rid of things people don’t like.
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Thanks for following along, whenever and however you do. Subscribing (free) is one of the best ways to keep in touch. Or shoot me an email or leave a comment.
A rare personal appearance on this blog: my husband and me at a summer wedding.
Thanks, Stuart, for supporting me as I share of our lives in this way.
Confession. We are not big seafood eaters. But during the winter, when my husband gets to hankering for salmon cakes like his mother used to make, I usually pick up a can of pink salmon and feel noble for getting some of my omega-3s. (He also hankers big time for “salt fish” but that is a big production and another blog post. Sometime.)
Salmon cakes are as easy as meatloaf and in my mind a similar go to food for a busy night. I usually just kind of throw them together using cracker crumbs (saltines), an egg, a little milk, and some seasoning, then roll them in cracker crumbs and sauté lightly in some olive oil.
The other week I looked up a REAL recipe though which looked good—and it was excellent, for me! My husband said he kind of preferred the old way I made them which tasted more like his mother’s (who died before I ever met him, so I can’t ask her), but he thought these were fine too. (And it might be interesting to note that while I reject the notion of chopped celery and onion in my meatloaf, I like the added texture and flavor it gave the salmon cakes, which may be why Stuart didn’t favor these as much.)
When I asked MY mother recently if she ever made salmon cakes, she said no (not a big surprise, because I certainly don’t remember them from my childhood) but she added that her mother used canned salmon a lot and my mother got tired of it. Mom said she didn’t know if it was because it was relatively cheap and easy; she recalls a salmon soup her mother made which she did not like at all. I’m my mother’s daughter and that doesn’t sound good to me either.
Truth be told, I think my reaction to salmon is the fact that opening a can of salmon gets the cats running to beg, which makes me think of canned cat food, which isn’t exactly appetizing.
But, getting over the odor, these are good, adapted from The Essential EatingWell Cookbook (2004) (recipe online at: http://www.eatingwell.com/recipes/easy_salmon_cakes.html).
Easy Salmon Cakes (my adaptation)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 stalk celery, finely diced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
15 ounces canned salmon, drained, or 1 1/2 cups cooked salmon
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 3/4 cups fresh whole-wheat breadcrumbs, (see Tip)
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Preparation
Open salmon can, drain; put salmon in a medium bowl. Flake apart with a fork; remove any bones and skin. Add egg and mustard; mix well. Add the remaining ingredients; mix well. Shape the mixture into 8 patties, about 2 1/2 inches wide.
Heat oil in the pan over medium heat. Add patties and cook until the undersides are golden, 3-4 minutes. Turn, sauté on other side; lower heat and cook total of 15 minutes to thoroughly heat through.
(Alternate: The recipe I consulted had you cook the onion and celery before adding it to the salmon; I did not do that, and it turned out fine. Here are the original instructions for that:
Heat 1 1/2 teaspoons oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and celery; cook, stirring, until softened, about 3 minutes. Stir in parsley; remove from the heat.)
Make Ahead Tip: Cover and refrigerate for up to 8 hours before sauteing/heating.
Nutrition (from Eating Well website): Per serving: 324 calories; 10 g fat ( 1 g sat , 3 g mono ); 129 mg cholesterol; 21 g carbohydrates; 31 g protein; 7 g fiber; 585 mg sodium; 97 mg potassium. Nutrition Bonus: 27% dv fiber, 171 mg calcium (15% dv).
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Charlotte, over at Mennonite Girls Can Cook, has a similar recipe. If I had found this first I would have tried it, who encourages using whatever you have on hand (mashed potatoes, stuffing) for filler/glue to hold them together.) You can buy either of their lovely cookbooks here.
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Is there a dish you make just because someone in your household loves it, or that his or her mother made?
“I feel bad taking this without paying for it,” said a young trucker accepting a cup of coffee and donut from the Lions Club “New Year’s Day Safety Rest Stop” along Interstate 81 near New Market, Va.
We assured him he didn’t need to feel badly, the goodies were all donated, and that Lions Clubs provide the service to keep drivers alert and spread cheer and good will on New Year’s Day–without accepting donations. We personally also enjoy chatting with folks, hearing where they’re traveling, trading travel war stories. One man was headed for 17 below zero weather in Toronto and was enjoying the warmish Virginia sunshine that day. Another woman had started out in Florida and was glad to have only 3 hours to finish her long trip.
Daily News Record reporter and photographer join us waiting for “customers.”
Indeed it has always been one of my husband’s favorite Lions activities. One of his oft-told stories is about a couple who just couldn’t accept the food and drink until he told them he would just have to throw it away, so they might as well drink it. The couple just could not get that anyone would do this, free of charge.
Channel 3 interviewing Tim Land, 85
This year we had no more started our two hour shift when up popped not one but TWO media outlets trolling for a New Year’s Day “good news” story. We had not called or notified them. First a reporter and photographer from the Daily News Record in Harrisonburg showed up and posted this feel good story with only a few mistakes such as I DID NOT say I did it most every year; my husband usually does. (You can’t read the whole story online unless you are a subscriber but you can see their photos and captions in the link above.) Minutes later a reporter from local channel TV 3 hit our same spot and did an interview with a former “District Governor” from our club, Tim Land (above), but I’m not sure it ever made anyone’s telecast. I found this brief blurb on their website, here. Slow news day: any day free donuts make the paper, it is a good thing!
But I had to ponder why many people are so reluctant to accept something free? Perhaps it stems from the old fashioned term of not wanting to be “beholden”—or indebted to anyone. Related perhaps, is that people sometimes feel good when they step up and buy something being peddled by an organization—that they’re helping someone out. So when it turns out that they can’t help out afterall, and that the tables are turned and the Lions in this case are helping them out, they feel cheated, like the “good deed” has been jerked out from under them.
Most are fine with the free goods after learning why we’re doing it and happily enjoy the coffee, milk, soft drinks or donuts. Quite a few though skip the freebie: after all, they’ve just STOPPED for a potty break, right, and don’t want to stop again an hour down the road. I get that! Plus it is New Year’s Day, day of resolution not to indulge in things like random donuts.
My husband usually tells people they can just support the activities of their local Lions Club if they want to “pay back.” One young man from Louisiana said he didn’t think there were any clubs in his community and where would he find one to support? He was clearly trying to figure out how to pay back, so we just said he could pay it forward and do something kind for someone else. That seemed to help him. One head of a household, originally from Egypt said he was intrigued to run into this Lions Club as he had been a member in Egypt—(clubs are found in 208 countries or geographic areas). That felt like a wonderful connection.
Most of us do have trouble accepting what we call “charity,” or being grateful receivers. Like the free clothes closet my church operates, where the founding pastor (now pastor emeritus), Don Allen likes to remind us ,that the free items we give out there are a profound reminder of God’s grace so freely given. The clothes closet, and the coffee stop are two places you don’t need any money to partake.
A powerful reminder on the first day of a new year. As Matthew 10:8 says “Freely you have received, freely give.”
Have you ever tried to give something away that someone else had trouble receiving?
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I also enjoyed a different kind of experience earlier this year when we were collecting donations for the Lions Clubs’ many projects helping those with sight and hearing difficulties. Read about my impressions of that day here.
A Time of Going
“Have your children all left now?” people asked knowingly at church yesterday. They knew my house had been gloriously full over Christmas; the nest was emptying once again.
Many empty-nesters are saying so long to adult children and grandchildren going back to wherever.
We can be sad (and it IS SAD and hard and depressing) or we can welcome a return to routine. We can be glad if they have their own homes and lives, and indeed jobs that wed them to places other than where they grew up. I am glad that our children don’t live on the other side of the continent or the globe, but many many parents and families bear those separations as well. We can be glad for the age of the Internet and cell phones and smart phones and almost instant communication rather than the days of pony express and long train or stagecoach rides or steamship rides across oceans. For real.
You know these things as well as I so this post is merely to mark that passage and keep it tender in our hearts. It is not a time I like to take pictures, of red eyes and teared up faces. So I share just a few photos from our Christmas.
Top to bottom: cutting Christmas tree from nearby farm; Grandpa putting together a new train set for grandkids or himself?; Great Grandma Miller with new babes in arms; four generations; sister (who used to be called “Sam” holding Sam; Pert and Kathy’s night to cook, Grandma having fun; aunt Doreen, Jon and Sam; Grandpa Davis reads traditional “Twas the Night Before Christmas;” new Christmas stockings!; Tanya, Jon, Sam and Great Grandma; Michelle, Doreen and James; Hottinger family Christmas dinner.
If there is a time to greet, there is also a time to say farewell (not mentioned in Ecclesiastes 3, but it should of been!), so long, au revoir. This is one of those times.
Do you stand in your driveway and wave?
Do you hurry back to the house and get busy?
Do you begin doing the wash?
O Holy Night and a Pint-sized Alleluia
Every year I watch and wait expectantly for the “magical moment” when I feel the special spirit of Christmas. I hope you’ve had, or will have your special moment(s) during this season. I wrote this several years ago:
After 58 years, sometimes Christmas gets to be just so much rigmarole to get through. You know the drill. Even though I love Christmas and try to keep the true meaning in mind throughout, sometimes it gets to be just one more gift to wrap. It is too many dishes to wash, pies to bake, errands to run. When you are a child, every Christmas something new happens. As you get older, you are allowed new privileges, or you get to participate in school dramas and music concerts or dance in the Nutcracker. It’s pretty decorations and visits to Santa and then finding out Santa’s your dad and still trying to play the game for your younger siblings or cousins. It is exciting trips to see Grandpa and new toys and staying up late and eating cookies all day long. But how to keep the magic of Christmas alive when you think you’ve heard and seen it all?
Great niece Jade, at Christmas, several years ago.
A couple years ago my special Christmas moment didn’t come until New Year’s night, of all times. That was when my husband and I celebrated Christmas with my Indiana relatives: Mom, sister, husband, nephews, niece, great nephews and nieces and a few step-this or that thrown in.
After our evening supper of “pick up” food and snacks, I was trying to keep a couple of kids occupied so they wouldn’t get bored in the rather subdued and QUIET atmosphere of the 55-and-up retirement complex where my mother lives. So I took the smaller kids out to the lobby fireplace where fake logs flickered invitingly and the Christmas décor was standard (but gorgeous) retirement home fare. The children were: a great niece just-turned-three; a great nephew, four; and a great step-niece, five.
We took turns telling stories: they could be made up, true or a combination of both. The rule was you just had to tell whether your story was true or not. (The two younger ones had a hard time figuring out the difference between true and make-believe, not surprisingly, but that’s another blog post.) Sometimes we added to each other’s stories. I wracked my brain to come up with exciting memories from my own childhood to embellish my stories and they seemed to love them. I was on a roll.
Then I said, “Shall we tell the Christmas story?” I wasn’t really testing them, or trying to figure out how much they knew, or how/if they were being taught Bible stories. I was just a desperate aunt trying to keep the entertainment ball rolling.
The just-turned-three year old started out the “progressive story telling” in fine form and announced, “Jesus was born!” My jaw dropped a little, partly because to me she was still a babe-in-arms, barely talking. I was thrilled to have her boil down the Christmas story so succinctly. I replied enthusiastically, “That’s right!”
Then her five-year-old cousin added, “To save us.” Again I could only affirm the direction the conversation was going, and let it flow. Kristin added, “And he died on the cross.” Right again. I think I added something appropriately affirming and theological, but the kids had preached their own sermon. They had boiled down the essence of Christmas and Easter and left my head spinning and my heart rejoicing. I knew that I finally had my special Christmas moment for the year, on New Year’s night, no less.
I was pleased that these children were apparently getting the Bible stories. Their parents, like so many young adults in our culture, had come through years of not much church attendance. But now they were going to church and apparently the kids were being taught enough of the Bible stories to get Christmas oh so right. On that holy night in late December, the last night of the year, a pint-sized alleluia sang around my heart. They had ministered to me in my Christmas weary fatigue. Thank you Jade, Zachary and Kristin.
What was your special moment this year? Or are you still waiting and watching for it?
The 12 days of Christmas have only just begun …
P.S. I’ve taken a bit of a blog break due to the holidays and wonderful visits with family, but plan to resume posting several times a week next week.
- The donkey. The Bible doesn’t say Mary rode a donkey but that was the normal method of travel in that day.
The Man Who Saved Christmas
He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. Luke 2:5
This is a story about a long-awaited Christmas trip by my mother five years ago. Mom loves to travel and will try almost any adventure at least once, i.e., see here.
That year my siblings and I tried to think through options for getting Mom to Florida, to spend the holiday with my brother who lives there. After exploring plane, train, and car (one of us driving her), she decided she would be happy to take “the Amish bus.”
There are at least two Midwestern companies (here) which drive buses to transport Amish (and others) who desire to spend a week or two or several months in the south. The buses stop and pick up passengers in the areas of Indiana and Ohio where there are many Amish families and travel all night.
Mom investigated both companies and figured out which would work best for her schedule; we called to make sure she could be dropped off in north Florida a few hours from my brother’s home. We all felt good about her safety in traveling this way. If the bus got stranded by snow, she would at least be with a group. I never gave a second thought to whether someone should help “put her on” the bus; the pick-up point was a Walmart store less than a mile from her home. She should be able to handle that, right?
None of us had thought either about the fact that a Walmart parking lot can be a huge and very busy place a couple of days before Christmas. There were large trucks in the parking lot, so she didn’t have a clear view. Mom asked permission and proceeded to park near the rear of the store so she wouldn’t take up customer space while she was gone. Then she walked around the parking lot where she thought the bus might appear. It was a zero degree day, and she was dressed more for a bus ride than waiting outside. She went inside to warm up. She asked store personnel, but no one knew anything about where the Amish bus picked up passengers.
The time for her bus to arrive came and went, and she was very anxious. Not having a cell phone, she thought about trying the lobby pay phone to call the bus company. By this time it was 20 minutes past the appointed time, and she grew frantic. What if she had missed the bus? She wouldn’t get to spend Christmas with her son, wife and three great-grandchildren. The adventure started turning sour. Then she saw an Amish-looking man and thought there was a chance he might know specifically where the “Amish bus” usually picked up travelers at Walmart.
The man replied, “Well, they usually park out there” (by the road—not at all in the area where she had been waiting). Then he added, “Just a minute.”
He was the type of Amish who drive cars, of the “Wisler” church. He buzzed out to the bus and spoke to the driver. The driver said they were waiting on a woman with my mom’s name. My mom’s rescuer responded that he knew where she was, and drove back to retrieve mom and her luggage from her car. In the few minutes it took to do all this, she learned the man was the nephew of a man who our family had done business with for many years. His uncle ran a “feed mill” and had been a good friend of my farmer dad who bought feed for his livestock there.
I (and the rest of us) will be forever grateful to this “Good Samaritan” who saved the day—who indeed saved Christmas for my mother that year. Mom felt that God led her to speak to this man. She was embarrassed that the other passengers had to wait so long but appreciated their good-spirited response to the delay. The bus driver soon made up much of the lost time as they headed south.
My learning was to try and think through all eventualities and ask questions like “Where does the bus park?” and “How will you get your luggage from the car to the bus?” My other take-away is I hope I am willing to help out any stranded or forlorn person who I can safely help.
Christmas should be full of Good Samaritan and Welcoming Innkeeper stories.
What is your favorite “Good Samaritan” Christmas story?
And P.S.: Mom is flying today by herself from Indiana to Washington D.C. and we can use your prayers for Good Samaritans and all other holiday travellers!
Also, one of my all-time favorite blog finds was discovering Katie Troyer’s blog featuring intimate and beautiful photographs of Amish enjoying the Pinecraft area of Sarasota, Fla., where many Amish live during the winter (and where I have also spent time.) Katie has many photos of the “Amish bus” arriving and people greeting one another. I know, photographing Amish? Many do not object as long as they do not pose for a photo. Katie is also somewhat of an insider. Do check out her lovely photo essays here.
This story appeared earlier in Mennonite World Review.
Jake’s Change
But Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept. Genesis 33:4
This may seem like an unusual story for Christmas, but it tells a story of grace.
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Jake, everyone knew, was a pretty slick operator. He got what he wanted. “He’d cheat his own brother,” the neighbors said, and they were right.
Before he was ever born, local legend went, Jake and his brother Eric, fraternal twins, struggled in their mother’s uterus. Eric was born first, heir to his father. But Jake came out grasping Eric’s heel. The midwives said it was a bad sign.
Eric and Jake may have been twins, but were as different as they looked. Eric was an outdoor kind of guy. Jake was, well, some said he was a momma’s boy, preferring to cook and help his mom in the house. Rumor was that one day Eric was starving to death and smelled the homemade soup Jake had been cooking. Eric said that Jake could have the rights of the first born if he’d only give him a bowl of soup.
Eventually the old man died but in his last moments, Jake and his Mom tricked the blind old man into rewriting the will, making good on the weak moment when Eric had said Jake could be the first born. When Eric found out he wanted to literally kill his brother. They had never gotten along. Now this.
Mom urged Jake to take off for her brother’s home in a distant city. On the way Jake stayed in a cheap motel that had a pillow as hard as a rock. When he tried to sleep, he had a dream about angels going up and down a stairway. It made him think. In the morning he got the Gideon Bible out of the drawer and read awhile before going on his way. Maybe he had been a little too conniving. What if his brother came after him? Would he really kill him? Jake made a rash promise to God that if he was just able to get back home safely, then maybe he could believe in the God that his father had always tried to tell him about.
When he got to his uncle’s place, he soon discovered he had met his match in Uncle Larry, who just may have been more of a wheeler and dealer than Jake. He promptly fell in love with Uncle Larry’s prettiest daughter, Rochelle (cousins weren’t too closely related to marry back then). But she had an older sister, Linda, and custom was the oldest had to marry first. Jake struck a deal with his uncle: I’ll work for you for seven years if I can marry Rochelle.
Time arrived for Jake to marry Rochelle, and Larry threw a big wedding feast. Jake got drunk, and Larry substituted Linda for Rochelle in the honeymoon suite. When Jake realized what had happened, he screamed to his uncle, “How could you deceive me like that?” His uncle shrugged and said the oldest had to marry first.
Memories of the deception he pulled on his own father haunted him. Larry said he could marry Rochelle after his honeymoon with Linda was over, if he’d work for Larry another seven years. Which he did.
Well after many years and numerous sons, Jake was a rich man, but longed for home. Maybe he could buy his brother’s forgiveness.
On his way home, he again stopped at the terrible motel. It still had rocks for pillows. He remembered the deal he had made long ago with God, that if he got back home safely, he would serve God the rest of his life.
He sent messengers and his family ahead with gifts, while he prepared mentally to meet his brother. He had another powerful dream, fighting a man all night. No one could win. Finally, in his dream, the other guy knocked Jake’s right hip out of joint, saying, “You will wake up tomorrow and take a new name, Israel, as a sign of your change. You have learned your lesson. Crooked as you are, God loves and accepts you.”
Jake woke up. What a dream. His right hip was powerfully sore. As he crossed the river on the last leg of his journey, he limped. Jake could see his brother coming and so he hobbled forward, bowing to the ground as he neared his brother.
But Eric ran to meet him and threw his arms around Jake’s neck, kissing and hugging him. Jake knew that everything was going to be okay. God had made good on their deal—and that lousy limp would always be a reminder that even inside, he would never again be the same. (Adapted from Genesis 25-33, and with a tip of my hat to my high school Bible teacher, Darrell Hostetler, who helped me love the story of Jacob)
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Christmas is a powerful reminder that God does love us and sent us Jesus. And the world has never been the same.
Jacob and Esau’s story is also a reminder that old rivalries and family conflicts can be put to rest.
Your thoughts?
Ted Swartz and the late Lee Eshleman perform the story of Jacob and Esau memorably in this DVD produced in the late 90s. Still worth checking out if you’d like to share this story with new generations.
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. John 14: 1 NRSV
No Room in the Inn and Mother at the End of Her Rope
Many people visit Disney World over the Christmas holidays. It is a fantasy come true, or a near disaster? Our family looked forward to our children’s first visit there in the 90’s. Isn’t it the epitome of every kid’s dream?
My parents, who at that time spent their winters in Florida, were paying for the visit, as they did for all of the other grandchildren at the “appropriate age.” We rented a hotel for one night—not the deluxe kind inside the gates but a cheap, cheap one on the outskirts, We booked two rooms for the seven of us for the day after Christmas.
We headed to Disney World early in the morning and enjoyed most of the day but by late afternoon the lines were forever and my parents were tired. We agreed that I would go check them into the hotel, and then I’d return to the park. We agreed on a meeting time and place: 6:30 should allow me plenty of time to make the trip and get them settled into their room. This was long before cell phones, of course.
Traffic was horrendous and by the time I got to the hotel, the desk clerk said there was only one room reserved for us, and they had no more rooms in the inn. They said all the other nearby hotels were full. We would just have to rough it with all the kids on the floor (fire codes not withstanding). I fetched my parents some sandwiches from a nearby fast food restaurant, and headed back to Dizzy World.
By then the traffic was almost at a complete standstill, and as the time approached to meet up with the family, I was past the point of crying. I knew there was no way I could get to the grounds, park, and get to our appointed meeting place by the agreed upon time. They would just have to wait. They wouldn’t be happy, but what choice did I have? I turned on some music and let “Peace Like a River” flood over my soul.
Meanwhile, my husband heard an announcement that there were no more visitors being allowed into the park. They were full. He, too, started to panic. How would I get back in? He talked to an attendant. They got on the phone.
Finally I got to the gate and by then the flow of visitors had eased enough that they did let me in. But once on main street, I couldn’t go anywhere! Crowds were lining up for the daily parade and it was quite impossible for me to move anywhere. By now I was more than 45 minutes past our agreed upon time. I couldn’t cry now. They just had to wait.
Then I devised a path by snaking in and out of stores: with the crowds all out on the streets, if I could make my way into a store, I could traverse the width of the store in relative solitude, go out a side door, and then push my way through the crowd when on the street, gaining ground much faster. In and out I went for a few blocks.
At long last, I was within sight of our meeting place. My husband was on the phone with a guard, saying they had to let me in. I hollered and finally managed to throw myself into the arms of my anxious family. We were all past being upset with the late hour—just glad to be reunited in that mass of humanity. For the rest of the evening, my husband made sure we held hands whenever we pushed through crowds so that no one got separated. How scary when the youngest was just six.
We made up for lost time by trying to hurry to as many rides as we could in the waning hours. My oldest and her father could have kept going until 1 a.m., but finally I had had it. I wanted to leave. I was exhausted. Father and daughter begged for one more ride. Suddenly I thought my purse was not in my hand. I lost my composure and had the closest thing to a panic attack I ever had—crying and struggling to breath on the streets of Fantasyland. Then my middle daughter saw that my purse, rather than being in my hand, had simply slipped to the crook of my arm, and I didn’t even realize it. Everyone tried to calm me down, and father and older daughter finally got the message that it was really, truly, time to take mother back to the hotel. My middle daughter kept saying, “Mommy, don’t have a nervous breakdown!” I said, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”
I do wonder if there was a point at which Mary—the pregnant, in-labor Mary accompanied by her ever-loving but maybe overly ambitious and optimistic Joseph, just lost it—in their search for lodging that eventful night. I’m sure if Mary was angry with Joseph, later on maybe it was one of those special family memories she “pondered” deep in her heart. We do know they both got angry at their son, Jesus, and probably at each other, when Jesus was “lost” when they made a big holiday trip to Jerusalem when he was 12 years old.
Every family has experiences like this—even (or maybe especially) during the Christmas holidays. And somehow if we can survive them, and live to laugh about them, we will treasure them in our hearts as part of what it means to be a family.
Do you have a bad holiday memory that has turned into something you can joke about?
The music I listened to that stressful day was from the Mennonite Hour music collection, which you can browse here.
Peace be to you, and peace be to your house, and peace be to all that you have. 1 Samuel 25:6 NRSV
Mars, Venus, and Families at Christmas
If men are from Mars and women from Venus, and if Christmas is the season when all expectations are heightened to experience the very best of everything like I wrote about here (great food, gifts, decorating, entertaining), then many of us are primed for Titanic disaster every December.
Men and women have different experiences and expectations of Christmas, don’t you think? Why is my husband not fretting if there aren’t ten kinds of cookies to offer visitors or take to share at a party, work, or church function? He’d just as soon have his old favorites, chocolate chip and peanut butter. He just doesn’t get the cookie decorating thing that the kids and I enjoy so much: a six-hour project to create confections that get snarfed down in two chomps. Those fancy cookies are too small anyway. So why would he be inclined to help make cookies if he doesn’t care about the fancy ones?
If I host a party at our house, he’s likely to decide it’s a good time to finally fix the leaky pipe under the kitchen sink and two hours before guests are to arrive there is dirty water, a soldering torch and pipe glue spread out over the kitchen floor. Just this week I had to verbally restrain him from installing a new light fixture over the sink.
He doesn’t understand why I go to all the fuss of pretty once-a-year decorations, fancy hor’dourves, and candles. Just give him his armchair, the remote, some party mix (now, if I didn’t make him that garlicky stuff every Christmas, I’d be out of a job) and a Dr. Pepper, and he’s happy. (So what’s not to love about a man with simple pleasures?)
But it is not just husbands and wives who sometimes tear their hair out about each other at holiday time. One year the family of a friend of my daughter sent us a nice holiday photo of their whole family. I told Michelle the picture was very lovely and that her friend looked very elegant in the picture.
Michelle told her friend this via instant messenger and this is the conversation that ensued, that she cut, paste, and sent me, just because she knew I’d enjoy it:
Friend: HaHaHa. I was soooo mad when they took that. I was so deathly sick.
Michelle: Aw….!
Friend: It was over thanksgiving and we were all SOOOOOOO cranky.
Michelle: Well you definitely look nice in it. 😛
Friend: LOL. Thanks.
Friend: Yeah, it was so funny because [sis] and I were SOOOOO cranky and my mother was yelling at us and was like “YOU WILL take this picture,” and then my brothers were all just being jerks
Michelle: You fake it so well though
Friend: It was hilarious
Michelle: When I saw the photo, MY first reaction was when did they do THAT?!
Friend: I NEVER have my hair up like that in pics but I was sick and hadn’t taken a shower and was REALLY cranky that they were taking the picture that day 😉
Michelle: I was trying to picture when they could have lassoed you guys to all stay in the same place and look at the same camera 😉
Friend: LOL. What’s worse is when they decide to do family portraits and we have to go to Target or Sears or Walmart and they’re all like “Act like you love each other! Why are you standing so far apart??”
I share this because I’m sure that nothing like this has ever happened at your house.
By the way, the hassle was truly not reflected in their picture.
Which brings me to this: what if we cut out just one of the activities or parties or “have to’s” or “extra gifts” this year? I’m not going Scrooge or Grinch—but wouldn’t we all be happier with ourselves, our spouses and our children if we cut back just an inch—and maybe save some time and money in the process?
I’m sure God never had all of the above in mind when deciding to give the world the gift of Jesus anyway.
What Christmas-related story can you share of your Mars or Venus mate
(without getting into trouble with said mate)?
This story was first published in my regular syndicated weekly newspaper column, Another Way, see www.thirdway.com/aw (which can be used in any local paper; email me for details).
On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Matthew 2: 11
Family Glue
One of the things that many people seem to enjoy about Christmas is observing certain rituals and traditions. Family sociologists tell us that ritual functions as a way of imparting family values, memories and bonding. Whether they actually keep families together is another question. I think the high divorce rate pretty well disproves that. You can slavishly keep a bunch of family traditions and wind up divorced.
Still, traditions can help bring people together. I’ve interviewed Tony Campolo twice, once in person for a radio program here, and another time by phone for Living magazine. Tony is a sociologist, professor, author of many books and an Italian Christian humorist.
In one of his speeches, “Tradition: Key to a Close Knit Family” Tony recalls (some of it tongue-in-cheek) his family’s hallowed Christmas traditions from longer ago:
“At our house when our kids were little, we were big on ritual; the kids would get up on Christmas morning at 5 a.m. I don’t know what it is about kids and Christmas. Any other day you can’t get them up, but on Christmas, everyone gets up at 5 a.m. But the rule at our house is you can’t go in and get the good stuff under the tree until Mom and Dad get up at 8 o’clock. We don’t believe that God is up before 8 o’clock at our house! The kids can get up and play with the stuff that we’ve hung in their stockings in their room, but can’t open the good stuff.
“Then at 8 a.m., we go in and get them, walk right through the living room with all of those presents, and right in the kitchen and have breakfast! You say, how do you get kids to eat breakfast on Christmas morning? Easy, we’ve always done it this way. We have a ritual. That’s ritual, that’s tradition.
“Then after breakfast, Bart, the youngest, would go to the pile of presents under the tree, and get a present, and bring it to Mother, and say, ‘Who is it for?’ Mother would read the label on the present, the present got delivered to that person, the person would open the present, we’d all comment on it, pass it around, we’d all look at it, appreciate it.
“And then it was time for Present # 2! You say, ‘It’s going to take you all morning to open presents!’ You bet it will.
“You say, ‘That’s terrible.’ No, what’s terrible is when you let kids jump into the pile of presents and in three minutes Christmas is over. Instead, we drag it out.
“Ritual makes it delicious, ritual heightens the excitement, as you sit there, trembling, wondering who is going to get The Big One.
“And then in the afternoon we always went to visit my parents and we always went to visit my wife’s parents. And you say, ‘Always?’ Always. Never deviate. A ritual is a ritual. ‘Why are you so rigid?’
Well, it is simple. One of these days I’m going to be the grandfather, and I want my kids with their kids to visit me. And they won’t visit me unless they have it as a ritual. I want my kids to be trained like Pavlov’s dogs; I want my kids on Christmas afternoon feeling that they have to go see Grandpop and Grandma or else they will have a nervous breakdown! I like that in my kids, and there is no way of insuring that the next generation will do what they are supposed to do unless you wrap it up in a ritual!”
Used by prior permission. See Tony Campolo website for more video stories.
Tony, later in his speech, confesses that rituals do have to change as the family grows and adds new members, in-laws, step-children, grandchildren. But you get his point. Conserving family traditions and rituals is a way to create memories and glue for your family.
When couples first get married and start their own traditions, they may argue about everything from what kind of lights to put on the tree, to what kind of tree to get, whether it is artificial or real, whether to put it up early or late. My husband and I put up our tree this weekend; I missed being able to do it with children and we had a discussion about switching to LED lights, discarding the lights he used from before we were married. This is the first time he was ever willing to discuss getting new lights, due to changing technology and energy savings.
The Christmas season can be rife with this type of stress, decision making, and desire to have “everything perfect.” The sooner we learn that things don’t have to be just so—and that compromise and adapting are also part of the scene, the sooner we will have a truly merry Christmas in the spirit of the Christ child whose birth we celebrate.
What is your most ironclad tradition that you have to do a certain way
or someone will feel “it is not Christmas”?
Or, was your most recent discussion about a tradition or custom you’ve
had to adapt and change because of changing life circumstances?
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