All I Want For Christmas is My Three Front Teeth

Merry Christmas

The last apron has been washed, dried and folded, kettle locks all removed, all of the pointsettias picked up and traveled home, jingle bells and extra toys all organized away, UW proposals prepared and delivered, gifts given, cookies prepared and shared - whew, what a season! A marvelous Advent season, in the presence of our LORD, and yet the other side of the same coin has been some very tense communication. This season has included many experiences that have just felt like they haven't been completely in synch, like an unannounced tug of war or an unexpected struggle that doesn't have complete resolution. A little bit like the board game Mousetrap that isn't exactly spaced right so even though all the parts in the chain reaction activate, the final piece, the basket doesn't descend to capture the rodent waiting in the space at the bottom.

Some days were filled with sunshine and glory and others I just felt like a great big Christmas grouch.

I am convicted of the reality that me and my family are very blessed - we are healthy, cared for, fed and protected in shelter, encouraged towards the pursuit of education and love, out of threat and danger. This little black rain cloud that has returned on different days has not been welcome or understood, and then without explanation simply floats away. Somethings were quite funny, others not so much, and many of them dealt with the dentist.

:K. has adopted a new Christmas song for herself, because of her dental experience. "All I want for Christmas is my three front teeth..." K. had a baby tooth in the front space which wouldn't release even though the adult tooth was coming in plain and clear. When arranging a dental visit in July for its extraction (so it wouldn't affect the shape and placement of her grown-up smile) the dentist simply smiled and said so confidently, "I won't need to pull it, its ready to come out any day now. You'll probably lose it at the beach." So not listening to mom, this dentist convinced my baby that all she needed was an apple and a little tongue wiggling and she would be waiting for a visit from the tooth fairy. Ooh, nothing frosts my cupcakes like being ignored! So...18 weeks later there is still a baby tooth, an adult tooth behind it longer than the tooth in front of it and a very frustrated mother who is getting more frustrated as the evening ritual has included a dramatic, forceful tooth wiggling every night in this little mouth. Another visit, in December, this time for a cleaning for everyone and the dentist's look of surprise and embarrassment to recognize that squirrelly tooth still there. I insisted on its extraction again, very insistent this time about its date...it will make all the difference. My family has met the insurance deductible for the year, and all coverage will be 100% until 12/31. What could have been a few weeks wait all of a sudden became a 6 day turn-around and K. finally got that tooth pulled. She was resembling a shark for a while, with a second row for teeth, "her three front teeth" - can you imagine?!.

:there were 52 people in church on Sunday! Passing out the last songbook from the shelf and making room for more coats were encouraging signs of sacred activity. I don't know how many of these people are going to stay with the congregation but they have included worship with us within their spiritual journey. Sure, many were there because of their annual Christmas service with mom and for a chance at a present or two and a light meal, but their presence was welcome regardless of the personal agenda. A son home from a successful boot camp requested the prayer of safety, and his mother found within that simple request the answer to her decade-long prayer for his quest for God. It was a gift from God, given without wrapping and bows.

:there is no manual to help advise or guide a child through the journey of parental divorce and dating. Even though I am 40, my mother having a boyfriend, now fiance, has stirred up unexpected feelings which aren't really anger, and aren't truly hurt, and aren't fully rational. They are just weird, plain and simple. Hearing her conversations with these new people, these new "family?" have a skewed perspective I do not appreciate or understand. My children are aware of the differences of her "stories" and are curious what they are supposed to do. So am I.

:it was 3:45 a.m. when TANK was stirring on Christmas morning...3:45 a.m.

:N. and A. both need braces and had an orthodontic visit which begins the process for the 2 of them. We have a small portfolio with some amazing pictures and structural placement of their teeth - truly cool stuff - but my mind is spinning at the thought of impending orthodontia. Their appointment was scheduled right before A. piano lesson and she just cried her whole way through her 1/2 hour with her teacher. She was so upset thinking she had done something wrong to make her mouth need braces...my poor little sweetie.

:I do not respond to bellowing or finger snapping when someone is trying to get my attention. If I'm in another room, please wait till I return or come find me. Standing still and bellowing will be a lonely, public yelling experience for you if you want to capture my attention...I will not come for a bellowing yell. I will never do it to someone else and I will never promote it as acceptable communication towards people I respect. I don't even do it to pets, intending to capture their attention by speaking their name. A pet deserves the dignity and grace of someone using their name, and so does a person. And so do I. Forgot my name, I accept "dear" "love" "honey" or "Captain" but never "hey you." So as one of my volunteers who was counting kettle money, like he had everyday for the entire Christmas season was snapping his insistent fingers, my natural reaction was saying in my mind, "I know he isn't talking to me. He must be talking to someone else." His actions then began including a "hey" and "hey you" and then a bellowing "hey you there" with that snapping, agitated movement when I was still completing the 10,000 things I had to do that morning and had to leave the room. I came back about 2 minutes later, still unaware he had been trying to tell me something until I saw his beet red face. "Hey you" he snapped and bellowed again, and to his frustration, someone else exclaimed, "Oh were you talking to Jessie?" "I didn't know all that was for me, " I exclaimed. "I don't respond to snapping and bellowing, never have, never will. But I'll get what you need..." and I swear, the women in the room sat up a little straighter, a little prouder and little more dignified. They have obviously been the recipient of the snapping "hey you", and it is so avoidable. I must insist that the communication around our tables must have layers of grace and dignity intertwined through the words and intentions.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Bells ringing

Merry Christmas

On my knees, outside in the driveway balancing a flashlight between my shoulder and my chin, I can see the culprit that has been my nemesis for weeks. Poised just beyond reach, I can see the gleam of its reflection as it coyly enjoys its placement directly under the back bench seat of the minivan. The construction of the van seats has permitted incredible amounts of knee room for child and adult who occupy the back seat, but there is no room underneath the seat to reach in and grasp anything.

And in this absolutely unreachable spot, so close and yet so far, too small to permit my hand, too cramped to navigate my arm, too tight to manipulate my wrist, there shines the lone jingle bell.

It fell off its band of leather back in November as I travelled a Christmas kettle bell ringer from his daily location to his home. As I navigated the town, he gave the needed directions and we helped him out of the van carefully for it was quite icy and his street has a pronounced incline. In the few minutes this all took, this loose jingle bell rolled to the back of the van, drooped into the well which holds the seat and has remained there all Christmas season.

Every left turn has been punctuated by its definite jingle. Every parking lot speed bump is another chance to be reminded this bell remains in the van. Each pothole rings true and clear. I feel like Santa’s sleigh all over town, every day. My 1 ½ hour drive to my seminary classes had normally been a very intentional thinking time, with no radio or book on tape as distraction…but with this jingle bell just beyond reach, my ride resembles a Christmas toy delivery extravaganza. Travelling to brass band rehearsal each week in the neighboring county has become a jangling, jingling headache. Santa only needs to listen to those sleigh bells one night – this has been a 6 weeks prison.

I hate that bell.

I must make the effort to get it; it won’t go away on its own. I have to make the time – it won’t take much, I just have to do it. I need to empty the trunk, remove the seat, get some tweezers and climb into the trunk and stretch. It might help to have a magnet stick, we’ll see. Even though there are so many obligations and responsibilities interlaced within ministry and family life this Christmas season, I find this task is becoming more imperative – I gotta stop this bell from ringing! I have been repeating Rose Hartwick Thorpe’s poem, “Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight”, whispering it under my breath with new emphasis and connection – I feel compelled, like the poem’s heroine Bessie, to get to that bell, to keep it from ringing before I absolutely lose my composure.

Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight. http://womenshistory.about.com/library/etext/poem1/blp_thorpe_curfew.htm These are stanzas of a love story with compelling sacrifice, dramatic, essential action and persuasive personal investment. If the bell rings, her lover will be executed for whatever crime he has been accused. The only authority who can grant pardon will not arrive until after the curfew bell rings. So the reader finds Bessie poised within a decision…

She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell;
Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.
See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; 'tis the hour of curfew now,
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow.
Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs, and grasps it firmly: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

Out she swung,-- far out. The city Seemed a speck of light below,--
There twixt heaven and earth suspended, As the bell swung to and fro.
And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell,
Sadly thought that twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell.
Still the maiden, clinging firmly, quivering lip and fair face white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild throbbing: "Curfew shall not ring tonight!"

O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow,
Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now.
At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands, all bruised and torn;
And her sweet young face, still hagggard, with the anguish it had worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.
"Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"

In the face of decision, compelling love underscored the need for sacrifice. She covers the clapper of the bell with her own body, feeling the crushing blows as the bell is attempted to be rung. Because of the depth of her love, she experienced pain. The guilt of the one accused is never in question.

Compelling love underscores the need for sacrifice. Christ’s love for us can be expressed within those same parameters. In the face of mankind’s eternal separation from God because of sin, Christ stepped out – far out – into this world, born as a child whose birth emphasized with divine punctuation, “Emannuel God with us!” God’s immeasurable love through Christ did not dispute the guilt of mankind. God’s indescribable love through Christ faced sacrifice. It was not a sacrifice observed from a distance, but up close, involved and personal.

Between earth and heaven suspended, God’s compelling love is expressed through the birth of Christ Jesus our LORD. God reached out – far out – to express His compelling love. Our deepest evidence of God’s love for us is found within Christ’s birth, Emmanuel – God is with us!!

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:38-39, NIV.


“All this is from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to Him in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them. And He has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making His appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: be reconciled to God. God made Christ who had no sin to take on sin for us, so that in Christ we might become the righteousness of God.” 2 Corinthians 5:18-21

One Cup at a Time

Merry Christmas

I am humbled and inspired by God's activity within our appointment. His touch of restoration and transition have been slow but specific. There were 39 people in church on Sunday - quite a few who have returned after their first visit with someone else with them. What a difference from 5, what a huge difference. A niece, a fiance, a brother, an aunt. We even need to have a regular plan for Junior church for the little babies and toddlers. These past 6 months have included a varied layer of communication with so many community people, especially with those who have intentionally separated themselves from the corps in the past recent years.

One letter after another were delivered from our office, and in God's amazing way, many people have responded to "share a cup of coffee." Not as a group or as an execution line-up, but one at a time. Whew, because the strong things they needed to share wouldn't have worked in a group dialog very well. A cup of coffee is not a threat or a danger, yet it has opened up so many conversations, hard as they may be, and encouraged the beginning phases of dialog.

I'm glad I'm a decaf drinker, or I'd be a nerve jangling mess from the amount of coffee I have consumed over these talks. I don't need the caffeine, but I sure do love that aroma, that exquisite taste - the whole experience.

Being within the realm of transition (which is distinctly different from change) has not been easy or encouraging. This community doesn't trust the Army officer, and have held onto all the reasons in detail as to why, and show you by the fistful all of those reasons. They have names, dates, events, circumstances, wrong deeds - and they are legitimate and authentic I can't say they didn't happen or that the perspective was skewed.

Their rough and rude, cold and distant treatment of me and my husband have nothing to do with what we have done, and we have been instructed by too many to count, "Its not you, it's not personal..." as they continue with their words.

I have to disagree. If transition starts anywhere, it has to be personal.

It doesn't have to be slow, but frequently it is. Yet on Monday, I am heading out to deliver League of Mercy Christmas gifts to our community nursing homes, and there are signs that restoration is moving to a deeper level. Three people who are going with me are new to the corps and three are because of God's work through patient restoration. I don't need a present under my tree from my congregation to feel appreciated or loved - my heart is humbled and moved by God's activity through transformation and encouragement.

And it has happened, very personally, one cup at a time.