Nothing says the holidays like the annual ‘Jane’s Fudge Making Competition.’ This year’s winner was the East Coast entry. The West Coast came in a close second. My entry, representing the Midwest, was a distant third. It’s pictured below. Preparations for next year’s event are already in the planning stages. I remain hopeful to improve on this year’s dismal finish. 🙂
Christ the Savior is Born!
It all started maybe ten years ago, maybe, more. We were riding Amtrak’s Empire Builder out west somewhere. I decided to buy the souvenir coffee cup that promised unlimited coffee on any Amtrak train… FOREVER!
Forever is a long time and sometimes the Amtrak cafe car attendants forget the promises made by their marketing forefathers years ago. So, the game for me is to see if I can still squeeze a free cup of coffee out of boys and girls manning the cafe car.
Enter, Frank, or, I should say enter, me, into the cramped cafe car ‘store.’ on our our trip to Oregon. I always buy something when I go for the free coffee. It’s due to a bit of guilt I suppose. So, with my bag of M&M’s in hand I asked for the coffee. Frank says nothing. Fills the cup and says, “Two seventy-five.” That was for the M&M’s. Ahhhh, success, free coffee! He took my three bucks and then without a word slipped MY quarter change into the tip box and moved on to the next paying customer.
Since this was early in the trip, I knew I’d be meeting up with Frank again. My goal this time was to show him that there were no hard feelings about him stealing my quarter and maybe we could be friends.
My strategy was to find common ground, a shared experience. So, there I was in the cafe car again in search of something for breakfast. I turned the corner and there was Frank all bent over in the middle of the floor… picking up the cash register that had been bounced to the floor after the last batch of rough track. “We’re closed,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. Hmmmm… A Common shared experience. ! I’ll use this on my next visit.
The next trip to the cafe car resulted in another purchase and more banter. I said with a chuckle, “Looks like that duct tape will keep that cash register in place.” I grinned and followed up with, “Nothing like duct tape… Heh, heh,” using humor to crack open the door to friendship.
“Six twenty-five,”said Frank. I sensed a thaw in our formerly icy relationship.
I’m here to tell you that as the trip wore on, me and Frank became thick as thieves. We talked and talked. “Pizza gone?” I’d say.
“Yep,” he”d reply.
“These chicken nuggets come with dipping sauce? I asked.
“We have ranch dressing.” The conversation just flew back and forth.
Now I’m not saying that Frank and I are best friends …yet, but we’re getting close. How do I know this? Well, I’ll admit this here. I had wee bit of a lower lip quiver as I was getting ready to pay the last time, when Frank, concerned for my well-being asked, “Will that be all?”
I held it together long enough to say, “I’m all set.”
I think my next move to advance our friendship will be to invite Frank for a cup of coffee. I’ll buy. You see, I have this Empire Builder mug….
‘Twas the Friday before Christmas, thus the Friday before Christmas break. Students and teachers alike were anticipating this day for a long time, probably for different reasons. It was a full day, a good day.
We started with the whole student body, staff and some parents gathered in the gym for a chapel service. After a few announcements, we were led in a short meditation which was pretty much a cheer that everyone but me seemed to know. It ended with something like, “Go Jesus!” I could have just as well gone “… Go Comets, or Eagles or Rockets! … But ’tis the season, so “Go Jesus!”
The pep rally atmosphere continued with, “Get your hands together…”, from the song leader as he skillfully led us through every carol known to man, one right after another. The keyboard provided the synthesized rhythm as the students bounced, wiggled and danced to ‘Joy to the World’ … ‘Oh Come all Ye Faithful’ … and many more.
There’s nothing like the sound of children singing. Pre-schoolers, sixth graders, eighth graders most of them singing their hearts out about Jesus, the Prince of Peace bringing joy to the world … ‘as far as the curse is found…’ To wind things up, we ended by singing a host of holly, jolly other holiday songs as well.
I noticed as I looked around, that there were some students for whom the jolly, joy and peace seemed to be missing. I wondered what the Christmas season, or any season for that matter was like for them at school and in their homes.
After Chapel we had a couple of classes, lunch and then we were off to the roller skating rink. I had strict instructions when I left home about skating. “Don’t fall and break a hip!”
I have skated every year we’ve done this since the beginning of time, which is about when I started teaching. I wasn’t about to play the ‘old fart’ card this year, either. So I skated, round and round, and round. With about fifteen minutes left I thought, “No falls, maybe I should hang it up for the day. One more lap.”
As I was completing the lap, I approached four girls in a group to the left having some balance issues. There were two students on the right just standing by the wall. Two of the girls on the left went down. I looked to the right and my way was blocked but for a small sliver of an opening. Had I tried to negotiate it I might have made it unscathed or might have rolled over the growing pile of sixth graders on the floor in front of me. My choice was made for me as my feet went flying ahead and I landed on my behind. I’d like to think that I sacrificed myself for my students and that’s what led to my fall.
All in all it was a good day. And… if I were teaching a class at the end of the day I would tell about my sacrifice which led to my (skating) fall. Then, I tell a story about how the Fall led to a sacrifice. I would remind my students one more time that Christmas is all about Jesus coming to redeem us and all of creation from that Fall, bringing joy to our worlds, as far as the curse is found.
‘Super Sunday’ morning finally arrived. As usual, the fantastic Christmas show, to say the least, was stunning! The orchestra played beautifully! Myrtle Smoot coaxed every possible ounce of beautiful sound from her musicians.
“The Fantastic Fennelli Family,” a juggling act, amazed the audience with their “Christmas Special.” They tossed shepherd and Magi dolls around and landed them by the manger in exactly the right places. Angels flew from their expertly trained hands, as if they were really flying! They juggled wicked King Herod and the Roman soldiers right out the door. It brought the crowd to its feet! As usual, the animals did their jobs, well. This year Myrtle trained the cows to moo “Silent Night.”
Becky Burnbaum had an extraordinary performance. Her solo was outstanding, including the part about saving the baby seals. There wasn’t a dry eye in the church when she placed a stuffed seal among the animals surrounding the manger. The applause at the end of the program was deafening! The only thing that could possibly have made this year’s program better would have been an appearance by Gabriel himself!
* * * *
William had been among the heavenly host who announced the Good News of the first Christmas to a bunch of terrified shepherds. The only reason he attended this year’s party was Sylvia. He watched her go through the motions in the back row of the junior choir. He noticed she wasn’t impressed with the program. In spite of Myrtle Smoot, the jugglers, Becky Burnbaum and the animals, compared to a real angel celebration, this earthly flop was a lot like the manure piling up in the parking lot.
* * * *
In church that evening, a handful of people quietly worshiped the Savior in a sanctuary dimly lit by candles and white Christmas tree lights. At home, others basked in glow of another successful Christmas Pageant.
* * * *
William was at church, as usual, watching over Sylvia – a changed Sylvia. No one could really notice the change…. but it was there. William knew it. He was getting ready for a celestial Christmas celebration…. at just the right moment!
* * * *
Pastor Bill spoke. The candles glowed. The congregation sang carols. Sylvia wiped her sweaty hands on the seat cushion. She nervously waited to sing. Her song meant something, at least to her … now …
The pastor finally turned to her and invited her to sing. “At last!” she thought. Sylvia slid out of the pew, walked up to the front, careful not to trip over the microphone cord. She stared at her feet as the first words softly, waveringly slipped out. “What shall I give him, poor as I am…?”
William was getting excited. It was almost time.
“If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb. If I were a wise man …” The people were actually listening. Sylvia stumbled a bit. “I would do my part …” As she sang, she bravely looked out over the crowd. “…What I can, I give him…” Sylvia looked up and saw Grampa Peterson sitting in the back of church, wiping something from his eye. “… give him my heart …”
* * * *
William knew this was it. The only sound heard in the church was a soft “Amen” from the old man sitting in the back. But William and a heavenly host danced, sang, and shouted “AMEN!” It was the beginning of an eternal celebration of new birth!
[Previously published in “Christian Home and School” – December 1994″]
Sylvia’s guardian angel, William, and the others were no busier these days just because of Christmas. Angels are always praising the Father, after all. There had not been a more special Christmas for the angels since the very first one, when the Lord Jesus, himself, came to earth! Actually, as far as the angels were concerned, things have gone quite down hill since then — and that included the town’s annual Christmas bash!
* * * *
“Sylvia,” said Grampa, rising slowly from the worn armchair. “It’s coffee time!”
“Yuck,” she said, making a face. With her nose pointed at the ceiling and her eyes smiling, she continued, “Young women like me require a more sophisticated beverage than that. I’ll have the usual.”
“Grape soda it is then!” He chuckled as he shuffled over to the oak table, enjoying their weekly coffee time game. “You know the big Christmas program at church is coming up in a couple days,” said the old man as he settled heavily onto the wooden chair.
“Yaaaah,” muttered Sylvia, her mood changing. She set Grampa’s cup on the saucer and poured the black brew into it.
Grampa Peterson spooned a small pile of sugar and dripped a little milk into his coffee. He slowly poured a bit of coffee into his saucer to cool. “The house looks good.” He sighed and sipped from the saucer. The snowflakes were slowly falling outside the window, peeking past the curtains at Grampa and Sylvia. The two of them talked like old friends, as he and Gramma had done before …
“I got it all started, you know, back then, this Christmas Festival thing. It wasn’t like it is now.” His grandfatherly voice strengthened as he continued. “We needed something to help us focus on the real meaning of Christmas. We needed something to get us back on the right track.” Sylvia sipped her drink and noticed the ring of white hair surrounding Grampa’s bald head. It reminded her of the halo around the heads of angels she saw on Christmas cards. She had heard this story before, but didn’t mind hearing it again.
“Was it such a big deal back then, Grampa?” she asked.
“There was just one church that did anything in it then. We just got together and worshiped. That’s all, no fuss, no dressed up angels, no sheep and cows in the parking lot to clean up after.”
“P-U!” Sylvia plugged her nose. She remembered the breeze spreading the scent of the cattle’s Christmas offerings around the church.
“Just plain and simple,” he reminisced. “That’s what is was back then.” Grampa’s eyes traveled from the Christmas tree, covered with ornaments like a blanket of memories, to the fireplace. The old ashes in it were as cold as his heart felt after Gramma died. “Nice work on the mantle, Sylv,” he complimented.
“Oh, it’s not the way Gramma did it,” she replied. “She could get those family pictures in just the right places with the candles and evergreens.”
“Your grandmother hated the rat race that Christmas had become, especially the last few Festivals.” Grampa nibbled on the wing of an angel cookie. “Why, when it first began, we would get together and have a simple service of praise to the Newborn King. Now, it’s turned into the town’s greatest gift to itself.”
Six weeks ago Sylvia would have had none of this talk from her grandfather. She heard the story told and retold. It was beginning to sink what Christmas is all about. She slowly realized that it’s an inside thing. The Savior, who usually gets pushed aside and forgotten at Christmas, needs to be number one inside. Sylvia interrupted Grampa’s reminiscing. “I’m singing for the Sunday evening service, Grampa. I’d like you to be there if you can.” Sylvia knew that Grampa Peterson, still affected by Gramma’s death, hadn’t been to church since the Christmas decorations went up.
* * * *
Angel William watched as Sylvia finished her coffee time conversation, cleaned up the dishes and left for home. He noticed that even though she missed the final rehearsal of the grand, extra special Christmas Festival, the beginnings of a small smile curled around the corners of the girl’s mouth.
[to be continued…]
“Amen!” Mr. deWit, the math teacher, ended his prayer and dismissed the class with, “Have a great Christmas vacation.” The students dashed out, free to enjoy the holidays.
“Right!” grumbled Sylvia as she made her way past the faded Christmas decorations surrounding the door. She dreaded the start of this vacation, because of Sunday! “Have a nice vacation, yourself,” she mumbled. “Bah humbug!”
* * * *
William, busy as usual, performed his angel work which, of course, is doing the work of the Father. Children need protecting, after all, and Sylvia needed special attention these days.
* * * *
“I don’t want to go to Grampa Peterson’s again!”, she spouted to Maria as they stepped from the bus. Snowflakes melted on Sylvia’s long dark hair as she and Maria walked down the side of the road. “Why me? Why can’t he just, just….hire someone else to dust and shovel snow and –.” A passing car splashed slush from the street in their direction showering her like a waterfall. The soggy snow smacked Sylvia, soaking her socks.
Because of her duties at Grampa Peterson’s she missed most of the rehearsals for the town’s Christmas program, the biggest event of the year, held the Sunday morning before Christmas. Rehearsals began six weeks ago, under the able direction of Mrs. Myrtle Smoot. Sylvia tried out for the youth solo. She wasn’t chosen, because she couldn’t be at all the practices. She was stuck in a corner of the junior choir, and Becky Burnbaum would be the featured junior soloist with the adult choir! Sylvia was steamed!
Sylvia’s mood improved somewhat by the time she reached Grampa’s house. She loved Grampa Peterson and was always polite. She worked hard for the old man. Gramma died only a few months ago, and at seventy-two his arthritis slowed him down.
Grampa Peterson knew Sylvia was skipping practices. Sylvia’s mother made her help out after school every Monday and Thursday. Today, of all days, Grampa needed her to help decorate the house for Christmas — on the day of the dress rehearsal for the fantastic Christmas Show!
[to be continued…]
“In the Bleak Midwinter…”
The fog lay like a blanket over the fields surrounding the school the other morning. The driveway lights cast an eerie glow in the pre-dawn darkness. The slush, slurped beneath my boots as I walked the chilly circuit along the ‘bus drop-off zone.’ For me, this week is Bus Duty Week. Here are some random thoughts…
“What can I give him poor as I am…”
I guess people don’t get into Christian education to get rich. However, … (Oh, don’t get me started. Why ruin a perfectly good blog with a rant about teacher salaries.. Just never mind…)
Anyway, I don’t count myself among the poor by any means. I’m rich in many ways. Much of that comes by way of the students I teach and the people I work with here at school. Here comes another bus…
“If I were a shepherd…”
How many buses roll through here every morning? I don’t know. There are buses from our school and buses from the local public school. All bringing the children for another day of learning. But not just any old learning, but learning in which teachers are leading students to a greater knowledge of and closer relationship with Jesus. Indeed, it’s a special privilege and more so, a great responsibility.
“If I were a Wise Man…”
The other day – I had three boys in tears at different times during the day… a student’s cut thumb, not clotting and needing several Band-Aids throughout the day… two students icing some jammed finger or something and the girl drama. No wait! There was no girl drama that day. (Gift of the day?) If only I were a wise one.
Then, there was a bus driver of one of the public school buses who liked to talk…. What do you do when it’s 7:30 in the morning, 22 degrees, wind out of the north, and you’re shivering, one layer short of being barely comfortable, waiting for that last bus to pull in? Why, of course, talk creation and evolution with one of the public school bus drivers! Doesn’t he have some kid to pick up somewhere? Lord, give me wisdom… patience…. and a warming trend.
“What I can, I give him…”
So there I was this week, waiting to greet, guide and protect my young charges as they made the transition from their at-home world to their world of learning. The little ones turning to the right and the big kids going left, each taking a different path to hopefully the same destination… learning about God, his world and how to make a difference in it. It starts with a heart belonging to Jesus, which makes all the difference in the world, for the world… his world.
“I give him my heart.”
*********
Coming Next… “The Angel’s Amen!” – a story
Walk as Children of Light 