My sil was in a serious accident. She makes my life possible. And she will be in the rehab for quite awhile. Just getting thru the day has been difficult. I treasured her, I realized how much she did. She has the gift of helps, and she is always ready to help someone. I am praying that when she is released I can do something for her, take c/o her for a change! But Father, I don't have much strength. Would You please strengthen me with whatever I need to be useful?
It is difficult for those of us who do not have a lot of physical strength. She will be in a full body brace for the next 4 months. She cannot bend at the waste or turn/twist/roll over in bed. She also broke her arm in 2 places.
But she is alive, and I am thanking God for that fact.
Her car was so totalled and twisted and crushed if you saw the picture you would surely doubt that anyone could come out of that car alive.
Thank YOu LOrd for letting her live. Please give me the strength and courage to return to her the kindness she has shown to me.
Amen.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Saturday, July 28, 2018
It's That Time of Year...
It is monsoon season in the high desert.
That means that storms can blow up literally in 5 minutes - first, we usually have the warning of distant thunder, flashes of lightning here and there, and, if we are fortunate enough, we get rain.
Most often, we get verga, which is rain that evaporates before it reaches the ground. It seems to be a gray veil that trails beneath the clouds.
But every now and then, the virga touches down and we get a drop.
Not a sissy bit of drizzle, I am talking a DROP. Then another DROP. Pretty soon, there is no dry spot between the DROPs and the wind whips in - I have seen it strong enough to blow flying birds backwards over the rooftops - and literally within 5 minutes the water is so deep on the roads that cars flood, and the water reaches to the tops of the hubcaps.
We call that "a flash-flood" here. They. Are. Dangerous.
Within a few minutes the roads have turned into raging rivers and cars begin to slide sideways, the inhabitants trapped in a moving object that is out of control and colliding with other moving objects, seemingly without warning. Once, we left the house with dry roads and blue skies and within a mile the rain had begun to fall and turned into a deluge that obscured our vision and we could feel the current pushing against us. Happily, we escaped without damage, tho we passed collision sites as we carefully, ever-so-slowly picked out way through.
Others were not so fortunate.
Because rain is rare in the desert (which, of course, is why it is desert!) the ground becomes hard as stone. So when the rain does fall, the ground can't absorb it, and the flash-flood occurs. The cities prepare for this event by creating drainage ditches - called "arroyos" - that empty into one another, the same as natural creeks and rivers do, and what begins as dry concrete becomes 5 foot wide raging rivers of water that sweep away huge boulders (and anything else) in their way.
And in this city, the arroyos that have an overpass - providing a morsel of shade in our 99 9/10% of the time dry as a bone over 100+ degrees average summer temperatures - become home to many homeless folk. The waters rise so quickly that every summer some are swept away and drown. They try to help each other reach safety - in the process losing what little they have accumulated as possessions.
And sometimes kids think the waters would be fun to surf in (I kid you not) or even just to swim in. And every year there are PSAs warning people to not try to drive through moving water, and yet every year someone will decide they can handle it, it doesn't look that bad, and surprise surprise every year it *is* that bad and their car is swept away. So every year, some policeman/fireman/good samaritan will have to risk their innocent life trying to save the person who watched the PSAs over and over and *still* decide it doesn't apply to them.
Why do we do this?
We figure we are the exception to the rule and go merrily on to destruction.
This happens also when we look at God's rules - we try to bend/stretch/excuse our way and head straight for destruction until God in His infinite patience and mercy pulls us out of the destruction line and straightens us up a bit (sometimes a lot) and puts us back in the "to glory" line. And I know He erases the skids and turn-arounds and black heel marks where He had the scruff of my neck and pulled (hard) to keep me from falling over the edge coming up just around the bend.
The last hospitalization I had, the pain was so bad that I was reduced to moaning for 18+ hours (I thought I was screaming but family assures me I was only moaning.)
I thought of Paul and his thorn, and how Paul ever after rejoiced in his infirmities. I told God I really really needed to see His "strength made perfect" in my present infirmity - And I was honestly infirm, helpless before this onslaught of pain.
Now, I don't know about you, but when I read that part about Paul's thorn, I always thought God *did* something to ease the thorn or whatever his thing was. I thought He eased it, or decreased it or *something* to make it bearable.
But, just like Paul, God did nothing - nothing but reassure us we were in His hands, and He would get us through this with His power,
Oh, and power can't be seen.
So His strength is made perfect in weakness.
And weakness can't be seen either. At least not by human eyes. So, like Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him."
Shortly thereafter, within an hour, give or take, a nurse called a palliative care doctor and she took care of the pain.
Would I have lasted much longer? I am sure I would have, according to God's will. His present choice was to keep me around for awhile, and for that while, His strength carried me.
No, the pain didn't immediately decrease. No I didn't "feel" stronger (I was actually complaining, as a matter of fact blush) I felt that I couldn't bear it any longer and finally kept saying. "Just let me die".
I am not a stoic example of a Christian. I am a wuss. When the pain finally went away, I savored the absence. There were other complications, but none that even vaguely approached that level of pain.
And the still, small voice said, "Was My strength sufficient for you?"
Ummmmm, yeah. (Said as I hung my head.)
But it leaves me in awe, Wondering how Paul did it. In an age where relief from pain was non-existent How? Paul took his eyes off of the pain and put them on God. I couldn't tear mine away from the pain. And yet Paul and Silas were imprisoned and in stocks after having their backs ripped open with a whip, ***singing Psalms*** They were physically unable to even shoo a fly away from their bleeding backs. Obedient to what the Holy Spirit laid upon their hearts. Amazing enough for the jailer to also be in awe - and wonder that they didn't seize the opportunity to run from the jail when the doors miraculously opened. The jailer knew that he would be tortured and ultimately killed if he let any prisoners go free - he was preparing to kill himself. But Paul cared enough about the man who imprisoned them to call out, "Don't harm yourself, we are all here!"
In awe.
That means that storms can blow up literally in 5 minutes - first, we usually have the warning of distant thunder, flashes of lightning here and there, and, if we are fortunate enough, we get rain.
Most often, we get verga, which is rain that evaporates before it reaches the ground. It seems to be a gray veil that trails beneath the clouds.
But every now and then, the virga touches down and we get a drop.
Not a sissy bit of drizzle, I am talking a DROP. Then another DROP. Pretty soon, there is no dry spot between the DROPs and the wind whips in - I have seen it strong enough to blow flying birds backwards over the rooftops - and literally within 5 minutes the water is so deep on the roads that cars flood, and the water reaches to the tops of the hubcaps.
We call that "a flash-flood" here. They. Are. Dangerous.
Within a few minutes the roads have turned into raging rivers and cars begin to slide sideways, the inhabitants trapped in a moving object that is out of control and colliding with other moving objects, seemingly without warning. Once, we left the house with dry roads and blue skies and within a mile the rain had begun to fall and turned into a deluge that obscured our vision and we could feel the current pushing against us. Happily, we escaped without damage, tho we passed collision sites as we carefully, ever-so-slowly picked out way through.
Others were not so fortunate.
Because rain is rare in the desert (which, of course, is why it is desert!) the ground becomes hard as stone. So when the rain does fall, the ground can't absorb it, and the flash-flood occurs. The cities prepare for this event by creating drainage ditches - called "arroyos" - that empty into one another, the same as natural creeks and rivers do, and what begins as dry concrete becomes 5 foot wide raging rivers of water that sweep away huge boulders (and anything else) in their way.
And in this city, the arroyos that have an overpass - providing a morsel of shade in our 99 9/10% of the time dry as a bone over 100+ degrees average summer temperatures - become home to many homeless folk. The waters rise so quickly that every summer some are swept away and drown. They try to help each other reach safety - in the process losing what little they have accumulated as possessions.
And sometimes kids think the waters would be fun to surf in (I kid you not) or even just to swim in. And every year there are PSAs warning people to not try to drive through moving water, and yet every year someone will decide they can handle it, it doesn't look that bad, and surprise surprise every year it *is* that bad and their car is swept away. So every year, some policeman/fireman/good samaritan will have to risk their innocent life trying to save the person who watched the PSAs over and over and *still* decide it doesn't apply to them.
Why do we do this?
We figure we are the exception to the rule and go merrily on to destruction.
This happens also when we look at God's rules - we try to bend/stretch/excuse our way and head straight for destruction until God in His infinite patience and mercy pulls us out of the destruction line and straightens us up a bit (sometimes a lot) and puts us back in the "to glory" line. And I know He erases the skids and turn-arounds and black heel marks where He had the scruff of my neck and pulled (hard) to keep me from falling over the edge coming up just around the bend.
The last hospitalization I had, the pain was so bad that I was reduced to moaning for 18+ hours (I thought I was screaming but family assures me I was only moaning.)
I thought of Paul and his thorn, and how Paul ever after rejoiced in his infirmities. I told God I really really needed to see His "strength made perfect" in my present infirmity - And I was honestly infirm, helpless before this onslaught of pain.
Now, I don't know about you, but when I read that part about Paul's thorn, I always thought God *did* something to ease the thorn or whatever his thing was. I thought He eased it, or decreased it or *something* to make it bearable.
But, just like Paul, God did nothing - nothing but reassure us we were in His hands, and He would get us through this with His power,
Oh, and power can't be seen.
So His strength is made perfect in weakness.
And weakness can't be seen either. At least not by human eyes. So, like Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him."
Shortly thereafter, within an hour, give or take, a nurse called a palliative care doctor and she took care of the pain.
Would I have lasted much longer? I am sure I would have, according to God's will. His present choice was to keep me around for awhile, and for that while, His strength carried me.
No, the pain didn't immediately decrease. No I didn't "feel" stronger (I was actually complaining, as a matter of fact blush) I felt that I couldn't bear it any longer and finally kept saying. "Just let me die".
I am not a stoic example of a Christian. I am a wuss. When the pain finally went away, I savored the absence. There were other complications, but none that even vaguely approached that level of pain.
And the still, small voice said, "Was My strength sufficient for you?"
Ummmmm, yeah. (Said as I hung my head.)
But it leaves me in awe, Wondering how Paul did it. In an age where relief from pain was non-existent How? Paul took his eyes off of the pain and put them on God. I couldn't tear mine away from the pain. And yet Paul and Silas were imprisoned and in stocks after having their backs ripped open with a whip, ***singing Psalms*** They were physically unable to even shoo a fly away from their bleeding backs. Obedient to what the Holy Spirit laid upon their hearts. Amazing enough for the jailer to also be in awe - and wonder that they didn't seize the opportunity to run from the jail when the doors miraculously opened. The jailer knew that he would be tortured and ultimately killed if he let any prisoners go free - he was preparing to kill himself. But Paul cared enough about the man who imprisoned them to call out, "Don't harm yourself, we are all here!"
In awe.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Layers upon Layers
If you are one of those who are ill right now, you are not alone.
Because I spend a lot of down time - literally down, either in bed or in my worn out recliner, which is about 13 years old, sort of shabby without the "chic" - I read a lot. I have a daily regimen of about 3 chapters/day, depending on how large the chapters are. As a result of this (and 45 years of reading thru the Bible in a different version every year) I'm pretty conversant with Scripture.
That is, the English versions.
And I am slowly beginning to recognize different words in the Hebrew as I read. I have been studying the works of Danny Ben GIGI and Chaim Torah - I highly recommend their work. They pull back the curtain a bit so one becomes aware of the difference in translation from the Hebrew to the English. There are currents beyond currents of meaning, layer upon layer, precept upon precept in the Hebrew that we simple folk are not taught as children. The Hebrew, being God's native tongue, has winks and elbow-joggles galore, things that bring it to life, from my point of view. It is amazing. and all encoded.
The ancient Hebrew sages used to say that everything that happens is in the Bible. and with the discovery of the Bible Codes, that's pretty much a given. They also used to say that there were at least 10 dimensions to life lived on Earth. Science is slowly catching up to them, only they are guessing more in the realm of 19 or 20.
We serve an amazing God. If you would like to read thru the Word in a year - or two 12 month intervals, go to the blueletterbible.org, and they have the amounts to read per day all figured out for you.
I have fallen in love with the memoirs of the old Testament - our God is an Awesome God, indeed. As I have aged, I have understood more of the subtleties - and now with Dr, Ben Gigi's insights and writings, as well as Chaim Torah (Hebrew for "Life Torah", I've discovered so many things that I should have been aware of just because of the things they did *not* say. Their teachings have exposed me to hidden meaning in some passages and Hebrew holidays and their importance to understanding not only the Torah, but the rest of the Word as well. Their works are on Amazon or other booksellers and are available on Kindle or other readers as well. (and no, I am not getting paid for telling you about them. get a free sample on Amazon and see if it is something you would be pleased with.)
And I will pray heartily that they bless you - every time I pick one of their books up, I know I will be blessed . No "hi falutin'" giant words or intricate webs that lead you in and out so much you feel upside down! I do hope you try one of rhier books - and if you do, please let me know what you think.
Their books are the culmination of years and years of work, and we get to learn more about the Love of God towards us And those thoughts had all been hidden in the Hebrew. Layers upon layers of meaning - no human could have put things together in the precisely elegant, eloquent way our God has.
La Chaim!
Because I spend a lot of down time - literally down, either in bed or in my worn out recliner, which is about 13 years old, sort of shabby without the "chic" - I read a lot. I have a daily regimen of about 3 chapters/day, depending on how large the chapters are. As a result of this (and 45 years of reading thru the Bible in a different version every year) I'm pretty conversant with Scripture.
That is, the English versions.
And I am slowly beginning to recognize different words in the Hebrew as I read. I have been studying the works of Danny Ben GIGI and Chaim Torah - I highly recommend their work. They pull back the curtain a bit so one becomes aware of the difference in translation from the Hebrew to the English. There are currents beyond currents of meaning, layer upon layer, precept upon precept in the Hebrew that we simple folk are not taught as children. The Hebrew, being God's native tongue, has winks and elbow-joggles galore, things that bring it to life, from my point of view. It is amazing. and all encoded.
The ancient Hebrew sages used to say that everything that happens is in the Bible. and with the discovery of the Bible Codes, that's pretty much a given. They also used to say that there were at least 10 dimensions to life lived on Earth. Science is slowly catching up to them, only they are guessing more in the realm of 19 or 20.
We serve an amazing God. If you would like to read thru the Word in a year - or two 12 month intervals, go to the blueletterbible.org, and they have the amounts to read per day all figured out for you.
I have fallen in love with the memoirs of the old Testament - our God is an Awesome God, indeed. As I have aged, I have understood more of the subtleties - and now with Dr, Ben Gigi's insights and writings, as well as Chaim Torah (Hebrew for "Life Torah", I've discovered so many things that I should have been aware of just because of the things they did *not* say. Their teachings have exposed me to hidden meaning in some passages and Hebrew holidays and their importance to understanding not only the Torah, but the rest of the Word as well. Their works are on Amazon or other booksellers and are available on Kindle or other readers as well. (and no, I am not getting paid for telling you about them. get a free sample on Amazon and see if it is something you would be pleased with.)
And I will pray heartily that they bless you - every time I pick one of their books up, I know I will be blessed . No "hi falutin'" giant words or intricate webs that lead you in and out so much you feel upside down! I do hope you try one of rhier books - and if you do, please let me know what you think.
Their books are the culmination of years and years of work, and we get to learn more about the Love of God towards us And those thoughts had all been hidden in the Hebrew. Layers upon layers of meaning - no human could have put things together in the precisely elegant, eloquent way our God has.
La Chaim!
Monday, March 19, 2018
Thoughtful... What do they see?
Thinking today about Jesus and His great love for us.
We receive His love 24/7 He knows when days are rough or difficult for us - He is using them to whittle us down, to conform us to His image.
That reality is difficult to imagine.
Me, conformed into His image.
Wow.
In American Sign Language, the sign for "Christian" is a combination of two components: the sign for Jesus + the marker for "person".
Literally, "Jesus person."
Am I living that way, tho? When folks are around me, do *they* see Jesus in my person? Do they feel that love that I receive so nonchalantly flowing through me to them?
Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India for more than 50 years, spent the last 10+ years of her life in bed, in pain from a fall into a covered ditch. How did she endure?
She once shared with someone who was feeling "put upon" at the moment: "See in it a chance to die."
Not an easy thing to do. I confess I am one of those who would like to live a Romans 12:1 life, but somehow I keep falling off of the altar. I am far from being perfect, as those around me can verify.
"See in it a chance to die."
Am I willing to do that? Willing to, in effect, *choose* the role of the foot washer instead of the one being washed? Not the poor, put upon, pitiful "saint", but a joyful and loving *chooser* whose 20/20 vision sees the chance to die to self - and does.
Oh please Lord, make it so.
Selah.
We receive His love 24/7 He knows when days are rough or difficult for us - He is using them to whittle us down, to conform us to His image.
That reality is difficult to imagine.
Me, conformed into His image.
Wow.
In American Sign Language, the sign for "Christian" is a combination of two components: the sign for Jesus + the marker for "person".
Literally, "Jesus person."
Am I living that way, tho? When folks are around me, do *they* see Jesus in my person? Do they feel that love that I receive so nonchalantly flowing through me to them?
Amy Carmichael, a missionary to India for more than 50 years, spent the last 10+ years of her life in bed, in pain from a fall into a covered ditch. How did she endure?
She once shared with someone who was feeling "put upon" at the moment: "See in it a chance to die."
Not an easy thing to do. I confess I am one of those who would like to live a Romans 12:1 life, but somehow I keep falling off of the altar. I am far from being perfect, as those around me can verify.
"See in it a chance to die."
Am I willing to do that? Willing to, in effect, *choose* the role of the foot washer instead of the one being washed? Not the poor, put upon, pitiful "saint", but a joyful and loving *chooser* whose 20/20 vision sees the chance to die to self - and does.
Oh please Lord, make it so.
Selah.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
A big thank you to Mr.web runner for unlocking my blog -I thought I'd have to start over and that was A very unwelcome thought, indeed.
So...what's going on?
In January 2017, i began to become very ill, an AB probably would have coughed once and been fine. But for me, life doesn't 'work that way . Because of the Myalgic Encephalitis, nothing is simple. And because I couldn't move around much,,It translates into into a bowel obstruction .and then unleashed pain everywhere.One delightful add-on from ME.
The bowel obstruction cleared fairly quickly.
Unfortunately, It stirred up my costochondritis, which is medical language for inflammation where the ribs insert into the sternum. This time, the sternum ( the "breastbone} pain went thru the roof. It felt like a power tool ripping thru my chest. All I could do was moan loudly, jt was embarassing and I tried to shut up, but the pain was so bad I couldn't. They were giving me the usual dose of morphine in my IV, 3 mg , and it did nothing. ONe nurse got an order for Dilaudid and gave it right after the 3mg MS. Finally,after 15 hours of moaning, it released. I was sooo grateful!
But alas, the next day it began again, once more reducing me to moans. All that existed was the pain and me. I was begging for "somedy, please!" to help, but after 20 hours of it this time, I started begging them to just let me die.
When my bloodwork came back, the chemistry showed I'd had a small heart attack. They wanted to do some cardiac testing, but I refused. I long ago decided to be a DNR (do not resuscitate) . As a nurse, I know that CPR doesn't give you miracles every time like on TV, and the last thing I want is to be a problem for my family.
So when I got to CCU I made sure they knew. The pain was still crushing. They shot in another 5 of MS and some Nitroglycerine to oxygenate the heart muscle. One of the nurses, on her own, God bless her, called a palliative care doctor for me. She came in and evaluated me, And ordered a dose of MS 5x nomal -15mg . "We might need to go higher, " she said. The nurse, eyebrows raised, said dryly, "Well, it will either stop the pain or put her into a coma."
It stopped the pain. Thank You, LORD!
The next day, an up and coming young cardiologist came in and tried to convince me to go thru the cardiac testing. He wouldn't give up.
Finally, I looked him straight in the eye and said:
"If I crash and you bring me back, I will sue your underwear off!!!!!"
l hadn't realized a nurse was in the room until she let out a guffaw. The doc laughed too and thru up his hands. "OK, OK1' he said, "I get it"
After 9 days in the hospital, I was really dizzy and weak. For every day you lay in bed you lose a week of conditioning They sent me to a nsg home to get back enough strength to be at home.
There went another 2 weeks.
Finally I was home! I coasted along slowly with a visiting nurse twice a week,
ON September 6th, my sil and I had planned to go out to dinner - It was my baby brother's birthday, who had died in 2003. I told her I needed a nap first. I felt exhausted, which is not unusual with ME.
About an hour later she was getting hungry and looked into my room. I was sleeping.
So she gave me another hour, until she was starving, and came in my room. When she couldn't wake me up, she realized I was in a coma.
She called 911, of course, and they checked my blood sugar.
It was 35 - a few above not breathing.
So I wound up in the hospital for about 15 hpurs. By God's blessing, I had no complications.
Then 2 weeks later, I fell and hit the door jamb. My sil came running, and when I started to sit up, blood was spurting everywhere. I had torn my scalp open on the jamb. Took around 13 stitches.
Since then, thank You, Lord, Ive been ok. (I'm hoping this year will go a little easier.)
The word I've picked for this year is "Savor."
Each moment, each day, each anything, I want to be fully aware of it. I realized That I've not been treasuring my days, and @ 70 this year, I have not-so-many left. If you are reading this, I highly recommend it - it's already made a difference for me.
May the Lord richly bless you this year. Savor each day - and, please, remember that we are not promised a tomorrow, As the Psalmist said, "teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (I'm a little late putting this into practice - don't be like me!)
.
So...what's going on?
In January 2017, i began to become very ill, an AB probably would have coughed once and been fine. But for me, life doesn't 'work that way . Because of the Myalgic Encephalitis, nothing is simple. And because I couldn't move around much,,It translates into into a bowel obstruction .and then unleashed pain everywhere.One delightful add-on from ME.
The bowel obstruction cleared fairly quickly.
Unfortunately, It stirred up my costochondritis, which is medical language for inflammation where the ribs insert into the sternum. This time, the sternum ( the "breastbone} pain went thru the roof. It felt like a power tool ripping thru my chest. All I could do was moan loudly, jt was embarassing and I tried to shut up, but the pain was so bad I couldn't. They were giving me the usual dose of morphine in my IV, 3 mg , and it did nothing. ONe nurse got an order for Dilaudid and gave it right after the 3mg MS. Finally,after 15 hours of moaning, it released. I was sooo grateful!
But alas, the next day it began again, once more reducing me to moans. All that existed was the pain and me. I was begging for "somedy, please!" to help, but after 20 hours of it this time, I started begging them to just let me die.
When my bloodwork came back, the chemistry showed I'd had a small heart attack. They wanted to do some cardiac testing, but I refused. I long ago decided to be a DNR (do not resuscitate) . As a nurse, I know that CPR doesn't give you miracles every time like on TV, and the last thing I want is to be a problem for my family.
So when I got to CCU I made sure they knew. The pain was still crushing. They shot in another 5 of MS and some Nitroglycerine to oxygenate the heart muscle. One of the nurses, on her own, God bless her, called a palliative care doctor for me. She came in and evaluated me, And ordered a dose of MS 5x nomal -15mg . "We might need to go higher, " she said. The nurse, eyebrows raised, said dryly, "Well, it will either stop the pain or put her into a coma."
It stopped the pain. Thank You, LORD!
The next day, an up and coming young cardiologist came in and tried to convince me to go thru the cardiac testing. He wouldn't give up.
Finally, I looked him straight in the eye and said:
"If I crash and you bring me back, I will sue your underwear off!!!!!"
l hadn't realized a nurse was in the room until she let out a guffaw. The doc laughed too and thru up his hands. "OK, OK1' he said, "I get it"
After 9 days in the hospital, I was really dizzy and weak. For every day you lay in bed you lose a week of conditioning They sent me to a nsg home to get back enough strength to be at home.
There went another 2 weeks.
Finally I was home! I coasted along slowly with a visiting nurse twice a week,
ON September 6th, my sil and I had planned to go out to dinner - It was my baby brother's birthday, who had died in 2003. I told her I needed a nap first. I felt exhausted, which is not unusual with ME.
About an hour later she was getting hungry and looked into my room. I was sleeping.
So she gave me another hour, until she was starving, and came in my room. When she couldn't wake me up, she realized I was in a coma.
She called 911, of course, and they checked my blood sugar.
It was 35 - a few above not breathing.
So I wound up in the hospital for about 15 hpurs. By God's blessing, I had no complications.
Then 2 weeks later, I fell and hit the door jamb. My sil came running, and when I started to sit up, blood was spurting everywhere. I had torn my scalp open on the jamb. Took around 13 stitches.
Since then, thank You, Lord, Ive been ok. (I'm hoping this year will go a little easier.)
The word I've picked for this year is "Savor."
Each moment, each day, each anything, I want to be fully aware of it. I realized That I've not been treasuring my days, and @ 70 this year, I have not-so-many left. If you are reading this, I highly recommend it - it's already made a difference for me.
May the Lord richly bless you this year. Savor each day - and, please, remember that we are not promised a tomorrow, As the Psalmist said, "teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (I'm a little late putting this into practice - don't be like me!)
.
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Feeling Sad about Judas
As we draw ever closer to the harrowing last week and triumphal victory over death, I've been doing a lot of thinking about Judas lately. He's often seen as such a one dimensional character, I felt sure there was more to it than that.
He is so often called "Judas Iscariot" that people often think Iscariot is his last name, so to speak.
It's not.
Iscariot means "the one from Keriot," a small southern town in the lower part of the country.
And all the other disciples seem to have come from the Galilee, which is in the North.
Was it something they called him to tease him?
Did it grate on his nerves, as constant teasing tends to do? Make him feel "less than", not included? Did it stick in his throat and fester?
Things that fester have the unhappy attribute of spreading a bitterness in your heart that taints everything. Perhaps his heart became super-sensitive, taking offense at the smallest thing.
Is that why he stole money?
It couldn't have gotten him anything - Judas would know if he suddenly started throwing cash around, everyone would know exactly where he got it. So the only thing he could have done with it is bury it, or put it somewhere "safe" for use later, when they got to be big man on campus for the new kingdom.
And then there's the fact that Jesus, Who knew he was money hungry, had selected him to carry the funds.
I think He was giving Judas an opportunity to learn how weak he was, to choose right instead of false security.
I always wonder how 30 pieces of silver could have been enough money to buy a field. Did the money he pilfered go into paying for that field too? As a potter's field, it wouldn't be good for much else - the potter would have scraped every bit of useful clay from the topsoil to make his pots- if there had ever been any topsoil to begin with.
Perhaps he realized that Jesus knew every penny that should be in that moneybag.
And perhaps there should have been enough to feed the 5000 and then some. If he had piped up and offered the $$ to feed people, would Jesus have multiplied the money instead of the bread and fish? Or done some other miracle that would have blessed Judas and changed his heart.
Every phrase having to do with money became a billboard for Judas. Many times quotes are attributed to "Peter said" or "John said" - the words about money are rarely so noted.
And their inclusion in the Word is interesting. Nothing is there by chance. Every word is there for a reason.
Maybe Jesus was showing us that He warns us subtly when we begin making wrong choices. His response to remarks about money bears study. Was He speaking to Judas about his wrong choices?
And then there's the kicker.
When Mary of Bethany brings her precious carved marble bottle of nard to break for the purpose of anointing Jesus, Judas loses it. All that lovely money - wasted! He can't control himself. I hear him in my head, speaking in a derogatory tone - "this could have been sold for a hundred denarii (100 days wages) and the money given to the poor."
Those reporting this incident add as a side note (all paraphrases mine) "Judas didn't give a fig about poor people. He said that cuz he was a thief."
So they knew.
They all knew.
The question is, did they know before or after?
I can't imagine they knew before. Judas wouldn't have been a beady-eyed shifty character they could all recognize -or he never would have gotten the moneybag in the first place. At the same time, I can't believe that Judas was tight with the other guys. Did they trust him? Like him even?
Jesus was always taking Peter, James and John with Him for special things. To raise someone from the dead. To be transfigured. Always those three. Peterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohn. Never him.
So when the nard was poured out and he didn't have a chance at all that dough, he couldn't stand it. Jesus didn't seem to care about any of the things he thought were important. This wasn't working out the way he'd thought it would.
Jesus went up on that mountain and prayed all night and the next day He chose him to be one of His special 12 followers.
Him!
And Judas thought there would be a lot more...well...prestige in the position. But it was Peter, James and John who got all that stuff. He did get the moneybag. And he knew how to take the most out of what he'd been given.
And did.
So when he lost the money, his disappointment made itself known.
And what did Jesus do?
In front of them all, all the people at this feast, Jesus rebuked him.
Put him down.
And all because of a woman. How embarrassing!
He couldn't bear it.
The next paragraph always stood out to me in chilling tones. It reads, "Then Judas looked out for an opportunity to betray Him."
And even then, Jesus gives Judas more than one last chance.
He tells the whole group that one of them will betray Him. And they all ask "Is it me?"
Can you imagine how Judas felt at that moment?
Everyone was saying "is it me?" He couldn't say that, and he knew he had to.
I always thought they said it dramatically, one at a time. But thinking of Judas, I changed my mind. If they had, they all would have heard Jesus say "You know it's you (my paraphrase again). Instead it's recorded that when Jesus told him to do quickly what he had to do, they all thought he went to buy something needed for the Passover.
I think Judas panicked.
It is recorded that the Pharisees did not want to have Jesus killed @ the Passover.
Did not.
I think he ran out of the upper room straight to the Pharisees.
"We have to do it now! He knows! He knows! We have to do it NOW!!"
The pharisees must have scrambled to get enough people together to hold a "court" and a mob big enough to take Him from the apostles and disciples and all His followers, even if they wanted to fight to protect Him. How they must have celebrated in their hearts. "We've got Him now. We have the power. Not this ragged Galilean."
So Judas leads the mob to where he knows Jesus will be. When Passover came, the city grew to an estimated million or more people. Remember, the men were required to come to Jerusalem three times a year. And there were not that many places to buy lodging. Often the Mount of Olives was a camping place - the families would find a piece of ground to make a fire and cook dinner, to sleep - it lasted a week. And since Jesus didn't have so much as a hole in the ground to sleep in, He would take His disciples with Him to the place across the street from the Temple.
And how heartbreaking it is that Judas betrays Him - with a kiss.
And even then, even then, Jesus gives him another chance.
"My friend! Why have you come?"
Judas knew He knew why he'd come. He knew this was his chance to distance himself from this act of betrayal.
And then Jesus asked the mob who they were after.
When they said His name, He responded with "I AM." (the "he" in your Bible was added.)
And they all fell down.
Power went out from Him and dropped them all to the ground. All the cheap ruffians with their clubs and rough ways. All the guard from the Temple that had heard Him teach and yet could ignore the memories that had so impressed them.
What would you do if you were going to beat up on someone and they turned to you and whoop! You were laid out on the ground?
I should think you would pause and reconsider what you were about to do.
Then Peter chops off some one's ear and blood spurts everywhere and this guy is screaming and grabbing his head - and Jesus calmly picks it up and sticks it back on!
The screaming stops.
The blood stops.
The guy is perfectly healed - no muss no fuss. But with a soggy, bloody garment all could see.
Again, a subject to ponder and a chance to re-evaluate your plans.
But no one even seems to notice.
Doesn't this seem a bit odd to you?
It does to me.
And all I can think of is how Satan blinds you - the further off track you go, the less you can recognize things as being "a bit odd." And these folks were white-cane-and-dark-glasses blind.
I think Judas had a moment of clarity here..
I think he re-evaluated.
Perhaps he thought to force Jesus' hand and make Him declare Himself king - but surely he would know that his betrayal would disqualify himself from being a BMOC in the new regime.
Was it really because he got in a snit and had a hissy fit? Seriously?
We'll never know.
What we do know is that Judas, indeed, had second thoughts. I think he realized, finally, that Jesus did love him, that He was his friend. And that he had betrayed very innocent blood.
But, true to form, Judas never humbled himself. He could not repent. He felt he had to fix it himself. So he ran to the Pharisees and to show he was really serious, he threw the money at them. Money! He willingly threw it away. Perhaps he thought they'd let Jesus go, and he could undo what he had done.
"Sorry 'bout that Jesus. I don't know what I was thinking! But we're ok now, right?"
But the Pharisees laughed at him. "That's not our problem, buddy - you did it, not us. And what's done is done."
So Judas is left guilty. He couldn't undo it, though he tried. He couldn't fix it. And the ones he thought would value him for giving Jesus into their power laughed at him.
Everyone would know he did it.
Perhaps someone from the twelve would discover and spread it around that he was a thief, too.
There was no place to go, no place to hide. He'd done an awful thing that he couldn't undo.
Jesus would never forgive him. Never.
There was nothing left. He couldn't bear being exposed like that. He couldn't repent - he couldn't get close to Jesus to talk to him. Perhaps he tried. Another thing we'll never know on this earth.
So, he killed himself.
And suicide is always a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Satan whispers incessantly that it's the only way out. You can't endure it. Your name will be everywhere. You'll be laughed at and never trusted again. You'll have to do the meanest of manual labor just to survive. No new reign and no prominent position. Nothing. No way out.
And yet, when he died he faced something a thousand times worse than exposure. He sought out peace on his own terms. He didn't go to the Father Jesus had taught him about for 3 years and ask forgiveness. He remembered only too well Jesus saying the Son of Man would be betrayed - and woe to that man doing the betraying. "It would be better for that man to have never been born."
The evil one blinded him to repentance, stirring his guilt so much he actually thought it would end with death, and he would have peace.
And got hell instead.
In the end, I think Judas worshipped only himself. His pride couldn't take the blows he himself had dealt - he willingly gave himself to the love of money, which the Word tells us is the root of all evil. It puts you at the center of your existence, it gives you a false sense of power, it makes you think you need no one and nothing else.
So you do things that, at first, singe your conscience.
And then they don't.
So money, and the person behind it, become what you worship.
And salvation something you laugh at.
And you forget, if you even ever knew:
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God."
Selah.
He is so often called "Judas Iscariot" that people often think Iscariot is his last name, so to speak.
It's not.
Iscariot means "the one from Keriot," a small southern town in the lower part of the country.
And all the other disciples seem to have come from the Galilee, which is in the North.
Was it something they called him to tease him?
Did it grate on his nerves, as constant teasing tends to do? Make him feel "less than", not included? Did it stick in his throat and fester?
Things that fester have the unhappy attribute of spreading a bitterness in your heart that taints everything. Perhaps his heart became super-sensitive, taking offense at the smallest thing.
Is that why he stole money?
It couldn't have gotten him anything - Judas would know if he suddenly started throwing cash around, everyone would know exactly where he got it. So the only thing he could have done with it is bury it, or put it somewhere "safe" for use later, when they got to be big man on campus for the new kingdom.
And then there's the fact that Jesus, Who knew he was money hungry, had selected him to carry the funds.
I think He was giving Judas an opportunity to learn how weak he was, to choose right instead of false security.
I always wonder how 30 pieces of silver could have been enough money to buy a field. Did the money he pilfered go into paying for that field too? As a potter's field, it wouldn't be good for much else - the potter would have scraped every bit of useful clay from the topsoil to make his pots- if there had ever been any topsoil to begin with.
Perhaps he realized that Jesus knew every penny that should be in that moneybag.
And perhaps there should have been enough to feed the 5000 and then some. If he had piped up and offered the $$ to feed people, would Jesus have multiplied the money instead of the bread and fish? Or done some other miracle that would have blessed Judas and changed his heart.
Every phrase having to do with money became a billboard for Judas. Many times quotes are attributed to "Peter said" or "John said" - the words about money are rarely so noted.
And their inclusion in the Word is interesting. Nothing is there by chance. Every word is there for a reason.
Maybe Jesus was showing us that He warns us subtly when we begin making wrong choices. His response to remarks about money bears study. Was He speaking to Judas about his wrong choices?
And then there's the kicker.
When Mary of Bethany brings her precious carved marble bottle of nard to break for the purpose of anointing Jesus, Judas loses it. All that lovely money - wasted! He can't control himself. I hear him in my head, speaking in a derogatory tone - "this could have been sold for a hundred denarii (100 days wages) and the money given to the poor."
Those reporting this incident add as a side note (all paraphrases mine) "Judas didn't give a fig about poor people. He said that cuz he was a thief."
So they knew.
They all knew.
The question is, did they know before or after?
I can't imagine they knew before. Judas wouldn't have been a beady-eyed shifty character they could all recognize -or he never would have gotten the moneybag in the first place. At the same time, I can't believe that Judas was tight with the other guys. Did they trust him? Like him even?
Jesus was always taking Peter, James and John with Him for special things. To raise someone from the dead. To be transfigured. Always those three. Peterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohnpeterjamesandjohn. Never him.
So when the nard was poured out and he didn't have a chance at all that dough, he couldn't stand it. Jesus didn't seem to care about any of the things he thought were important. This wasn't working out the way he'd thought it would.
Jesus went up on that mountain and prayed all night and the next day He chose him to be one of His special 12 followers.
Him!
And Judas thought there would be a lot more...well...prestige in the position. But it was Peter, James and John who got all that stuff. He did get the moneybag. And he knew how to take the most out of what he'd been given.
And did.
So when he lost the money, his disappointment made itself known.
And what did Jesus do?
In front of them all, all the people at this feast, Jesus rebuked him.
Put him down.
And all because of a woman. How embarrassing!
He couldn't bear it.
The next paragraph always stood out to me in chilling tones. It reads, "Then Judas looked out for an opportunity to betray Him."
And even then, Jesus gives Judas more than one last chance.
He tells the whole group that one of them will betray Him. And they all ask "Is it me?"
Can you imagine how Judas felt at that moment?
Everyone was saying "is it me?" He couldn't say that, and he knew he had to.
I always thought they said it dramatically, one at a time. But thinking of Judas, I changed my mind. If they had, they all would have heard Jesus say "You know it's you (my paraphrase again). Instead it's recorded that when Jesus told him to do quickly what he had to do, they all thought he went to buy something needed for the Passover.
I think Judas panicked.
It is recorded that the Pharisees did not want to have Jesus killed @ the Passover.
Did not.
I think he ran out of the upper room straight to the Pharisees.
"We have to do it now! He knows! He knows! We have to do it NOW!!"
The pharisees must have scrambled to get enough people together to hold a "court" and a mob big enough to take Him from the apostles and disciples and all His followers, even if they wanted to fight to protect Him. How they must have celebrated in their hearts. "We've got Him now. We have the power. Not this ragged Galilean."
So Judas leads the mob to where he knows Jesus will be. When Passover came, the city grew to an estimated million or more people. Remember, the men were required to come to Jerusalem three times a year. And there were not that many places to buy lodging. Often the Mount of Olives was a camping place - the families would find a piece of ground to make a fire and cook dinner, to sleep - it lasted a week. And since Jesus didn't have so much as a hole in the ground to sleep in, He would take His disciples with Him to the place across the street from the Temple.
And how heartbreaking it is that Judas betrays Him - with a kiss.
And even then, even then, Jesus gives him another chance.
"My friend! Why have you come?"
Judas knew He knew why he'd come. He knew this was his chance to distance himself from this act of betrayal.
And then Jesus asked the mob who they were after.
When they said His name, He responded with "I AM." (the "he" in your Bible was added.)
And they all fell down.
Power went out from Him and dropped them all to the ground. All the cheap ruffians with their clubs and rough ways. All the guard from the Temple that had heard Him teach and yet could ignore the memories that had so impressed them.
What would you do if you were going to beat up on someone and they turned to you and whoop! You were laid out on the ground?
I should think you would pause and reconsider what you were about to do.
Then Peter chops off some one's ear and blood spurts everywhere and this guy is screaming and grabbing his head - and Jesus calmly picks it up and sticks it back on!
The screaming stops.
The blood stops.
The guy is perfectly healed - no muss no fuss. But with a soggy, bloody garment all could see.
Again, a subject to ponder and a chance to re-evaluate your plans.
But no one even seems to notice.
Doesn't this seem a bit odd to you?
It does to me.
And all I can think of is how Satan blinds you - the further off track you go, the less you can recognize things as being "a bit odd." And these folks were white-cane-and-dark-glasses blind.
I think Judas had a moment of clarity here..
I think he re-evaluated.
Perhaps he thought to force Jesus' hand and make Him declare Himself king - but surely he would know that his betrayal would disqualify himself from being a BMOC in the new regime.
Was it really because he got in a snit and had a hissy fit? Seriously?
We'll never know.
What we do know is that Judas, indeed, had second thoughts. I think he realized, finally, that Jesus did love him, that He was his friend. And that he had betrayed very innocent blood.
But, true to form, Judas never humbled himself. He could not repent. He felt he had to fix it himself. So he ran to the Pharisees and to show he was really serious, he threw the money at them. Money! He willingly threw it away. Perhaps he thought they'd let Jesus go, and he could undo what he had done.
"Sorry 'bout that Jesus. I don't know what I was thinking! But we're ok now, right?"
But the Pharisees laughed at him. "That's not our problem, buddy - you did it, not us. And what's done is done."
So Judas is left guilty. He couldn't undo it, though he tried. He couldn't fix it. And the ones he thought would value him for giving Jesus into their power laughed at him.
Everyone would know he did it.
Perhaps someone from the twelve would discover and spread it around that he was a thief, too.
There was no place to go, no place to hide. He'd done an awful thing that he couldn't undo.
Jesus would never forgive him. Never.
There was nothing left. He couldn't bear being exposed like that. He couldn't repent - he couldn't get close to Jesus to talk to him. Perhaps he tried. Another thing we'll never know on this earth.
So, he killed himself.
And suicide is always a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Satan whispers incessantly that it's the only way out. You can't endure it. Your name will be everywhere. You'll be laughed at and never trusted again. You'll have to do the meanest of manual labor just to survive. No new reign and no prominent position. Nothing. No way out.
And yet, when he died he faced something a thousand times worse than exposure. He sought out peace on his own terms. He didn't go to the Father Jesus had taught him about for 3 years and ask forgiveness. He remembered only too well Jesus saying the Son of Man would be betrayed - and woe to that man doing the betraying. "It would be better for that man to have never been born."
The evil one blinded him to repentance, stirring his guilt so much he actually thought it would end with death, and he would have peace.
And got hell instead.
In the end, I think Judas worshipped only himself. His pride couldn't take the blows he himself had dealt - he willingly gave himself to the love of money, which the Word tells us is the root of all evil. It puts you at the center of your existence, it gives you a false sense of power, it makes you think you need no one and nothing else.
So you do things that, at first, singe your conscience.
And then they don't.
So money, and the person behind it, become what you worship.
And salvation something you laugh at.
And you forget, if you even ever knew:
"It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God."
Selah.
Friday, December 23, 2016
A Boomer Christmas Memory
Kids the world over are getting ancy.
BUT they are shining up their halos and trying to be "good" for only a couple more days.
In my family, the kids( of whatever generation) couldn't hack it. Time stopped. Presents under the tree, from relatives "back East," which, growing up in California, was the whole world, cuz West was pretty much water for a loooong ways away.
After the youngest sib found out the jolly old man wasn't really related and thus had no power over us, we began to celebrate the holiday the Swedish way, which is, to open presents on Christmas Eve, because Christmas Day was the birthday of baby Jesus.
heh-heh-heh….
No more running screaming down the stairs at 0600 (or earlier) - and altho the excruciating wait for the morning light was over, my dad, with a twinkle in his eye, found plenty of ways to keep "excruciating" in view.
After a dinner he ate soooooo sloooooowly, all the dishes had to be washed, dried and put away. No such thing as an automatic dishwasher in antediluvian days, my brother and I washed by hand, dried by hand, put away by hand - and, for one day of the year, no dawdling occurred.
None at all.
Then we had to "go get Grandma."
Now, my Grandmother was made of spun sugar - and steel. I loved her Swedish accent and ancient gingerbread cookie recipe, only concocted at Christmas, and decorated with little silver balls that broke your jaws with their rock hard exterior.
No one can make her gingerbread cookies.
All of us got the recipe directly from her.
And all of us agree: she didn't write down the entire recipe.
And no one has figured out what secret ingredient she forgot to include.
But I digress (a touch of excruciating here - just so you get a bit of the feeling)
She, of course, was in cahoots with my dad on the excruciating part. My normally spry, up for anything, moving right along grandmother was always having a bad day on Christmas Eve.
Altho her eyes were also twinkling, she limped her way in from the cottage behind the main house, accompanied by the traditional Swedish moan of "Uff da!" with every step.
Every excruciatingly slow step.
Offers of "Let me help you, Grandma" were met with brave refusals of help, and in that Swedish accent I so loved, she would say "no, no, I come. I come."
After Grandma was seated, my dad would say, "Where's Mom?" and the search would begin anew. My mother was somewhere upstairs, wrapping a last minute gift, or looking for one she had misplaced, or whatever ex-cru-ciat-ing idea she came up with.
FINALLY all would be assembled and one of my brothers would begin to read the tags on a present and pass them out.
Trying to add a little speed to the process.
Only to have one or the other of my parents say, "Not so fast! Not so fast! One at a time."
Which, of course, would be met with the traditional chorus of our long, drawn out, excruciated Christmas groans.
And so it would go, until we had turned the pile of presents into ripped off sheets of obviously not recyclable wrapping paper, drawing from my mother the perfected, sad Christmas sigh.
Because we were not a wealthy family. My father worked many Saturdays doing painting jobs for a bit of extra cash.
My mother would always wrap a new pair of sox for each of us 4 kids to make the number of presents seem more prolific. She never agreed with my ungrateful, indignant and disgusted comment of "Moooom! Sox are NOT a real present!"
She would calmly smile - and say, "Yes, they are." And that would end the discussion.
The next generation of kids had, of course, one parent that wasn't used to the Swedish Christmas Eve early-opening-of-presents dispensation, so the kids would come over on Christmas Eve and open their presents from the grandparents and assorted uncles and aunt, and then get a second gig on Christmas morning to open stuff from Santa and/or, depending on their ages, their parents.
The generation after that had yet another parent unschooled in Swedish ways, and this one adamantly against this Swedish hocus pocus…. but got bartered into the position of the kids being able, on Christmas Eve, to open ONE single Christmas present of their choice, but they had to choose a gift from one of the non-parent people.
Which never seemed to be a problem.
Ever.
And now another generation has begun to appear.
Another non-Swede has been added to the mix.
And it remains to be seen how this one will react.
The excruciating experiences of Swedish traditions 60+ years ago are now, seemingly, stowed away with the ghost of Christmas Past. I don't know if the barter will work with this one.
But I'm pretty sure of one thing:
I'll bet the kids growing up would agree with me 100% that sox are NOT a real present.
BUT they are shining up their halos and trying to be "good" for only a couple more days.
In my family, the kids( of whatever generation) couldn't hack it. Time stopped. Presents under the tree, from relatives "back East," which, growing up in California, was the whole world, cuz West was pretty much water for a loooong ways away.
After the youngest sib found out the jolly old man wasn't really related and thus had no power over us, we began to celebrate the holiday the Swedish way, which is, to open presents on Christmas Eve, because Christmas Day was the birthday of baby Jesus.
heh-heh-heh….
No more running screaming down the stairs at 0600 (or earlier) - and altho the excruciating wait for the morning light was over, my dad, with a twinkle in his eye, found plenty of ways to keep "excruciating" in view.
After a dinner he ate soooooo sloooooowly, all the dishes had to be washed, dried and put away. No such thing as an automatic dishwasher in antediluvian days, my brother and I washed by hand, dried by hand, put away by hand - and, for one day of the year, no dawdling occurred.
None at all.
Then we had to "go get Grandma."
Now, my Grandmother was made of spun sugar - and steel. I loved her Swedish accent and ancient gingerbread cookie recipe, only concocted at Christmas, and decorated with little silver balls that broke your jaws with their rock hard exterior.
No one can make her gingerbread cookies.
All of us got the recipe directly from her.
And all of us agree: she didn't write down the entire recipe.
And no one has figured out what secret ingredient she forgot to include.
But I digress (a touch of excruciating here - just so you get a bit of the feeling)
She, of course, was in cahoots with my dad on the excruciating part. My normally spry, up for anything, moving right along grandmother was always having a bad day on Christmas Eve.
Altho her eyes were also twinkling, she limped her way in from the cottage behind the main house, accompanied by the traditional Swedish moan of "Uff da!" with every step.
Every excruciatingly slow step.
Offers of "Let me help you, Grandma" were met with brave refusals of help, and in that Swedish accent I so loved, she would say "no, no, I come. I come."
After Grandma was seated, my dad would say, "Where's Mom?" and the search would begin anew. My mother was somewhere upstairs, wrapping a last minute gift, or looking for one she had misplaced, or whatever ex-cru-ciat-ing idea she came up with.
FINALLY all would be assembled and one of my brothers would begin to read the tags on a present and pass them out.
Trying to add a little speed to the process.
Only to have one or the other of my parents say, "Not so fast! Not so fast! One at a time."
Which, of course, would be met with the traditional chorus of our long, drawn out, excruciated Christmas groans.
And so it would go, until we had turned the pile of presents into ripped off sheets of obviously not recyclable wrapping paper, drawing from my mother the perfected, sad Christmas sigh.
Because we were not a wealthy family. My father worked many Saturdays doing painting jobs for a bit of extra cash.
My mother would always wrap a new pair of sox for each of us 4 kids to make the number of presents seem more prolific. She never agreed with my ungrateful, indignant and disgusted comment of "Moooom! Sox are NOT a real present!"
She would calmly smile - and say, "Yes, they are." And that would end the discussion.
The next generation of kids had, of course, one parent that wasn't used to the Swedish Christmas Eve early-opening-of-presents dispensation, so the kids would come over on Christmas Eve and open their presents from the grandparents and assorted uncles and aunt, and then get a second gig on Christmas morning to open stuff from Santa and/or, depending on their ages, their parents.
The generation after that had yet another parent unschooled in Swedish ways, and this one adamantly against this Swedish hocus pocus…. but got bartered into the position of the kids being able, on Christmas Eve, to open ONE single Christmas present of their choice, but they had to choose a gift from one of the non-parent people.
Which never seemed to be a problem.
Ever.
And now another generation has begun to appear.
Another non-Swede has been added to the mix.
And it remains to be seen how this one will react.
The excruciating experiences of Swedish traditions 60+ years ago are now, seemingly, stowed away with the ghost of Christmas Past. I don't know if the barter will work with this one.
But I'm pretty sure of one thing:
I'll bet the kids growing up would agree with me 100% that sox are NOT a real present.
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