Darn Socks

A few years ago the psychological state of "get a grip" became somewhat of a physical reality.  Holding onto things became quite a challenge.  One of my most daunting feats was putting on my socks.  This task became quite lengthy and brought me to tears more than once.  However, I think some unique insight was gained.

Socks seem to have certain areas that wear out first.  Are these worn spots created by me or something else?  Is it a crooked toe, goofy heel or some other malady?  Maybe it's bad stitching or a rock under the insole.  Whatever the situation...do I ever do anything to fix the sock?  Unfortunately, I believe I have bought into the new reality, throw away the old and get a new pair.

Here was my revelation.  I never threw anything away until there was a hole.  It seemed, though, that at every "thin" spot a callous was already beginning.  Calluses are very hard to get rid of and create their own set of problems.  Maybe I should darn my socks before a callus begins. 

Could this be my problem with new years resolutions?  Have all my failures worn holes in my life creating such thick calluses that they have become insurmountable?  Has sadness grown into bitterness?  Does loneliness grown into disillusionment?  Could misunderstanding change into anger?  Must I wait till a certain time in my life to whittle away my calluses?  Would it not be better for me to darn my socks before the calluses begin? 

Has the falseness of bitterness begun to grow?  Maybe I need to be thankful for all I don't deserve.  Has disillusionment overtaken me?  Maybe I should surround my life with good thoughts, great people and a sufficient God.  Have I created my own anger?  Maybe I need to listen and understand. 

Maybe I need to be resolute and keep my socks darned all year long.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas!

             This Old House

I like an old house.
One within whose walls
Happy children oft have sung
And soldiered through the halls.

Under the eaves a wren has found
A haven for her nest.
And furry rabbits, chased by dogs
Under the porch, a rest.

Up in the attic, though dusty and dark,
The treasures it holds are not few;
A trunk full of heirlooms, a football and games
And a memory wrapped in a shoe.

Through windows now stained with the passage of time,
With lead clasping the prism edged glass,
Sunlight is humbled to simple hues
A rainbow can't surpass.

The newel post extends its arm
Up the stairway and through the hall,
To guide the laborer from his toil,
To rest, strength to recall.

And even the walls seem mellowed with time
Having soaked up a fragrance or two;
Of cinnamon rolls and pungent rye bread
And a rosebud once glistening with dew.

And the lamp on the table, sending its glow
Through the window and out on the lawn,
Seems to welcome a friend to sit by the hearth,
Away from the hustle of town.

In an old house that's lived in, somebodies home,
There's death, and anxiety, hardship in birth;
But you can return from wherever you roam
For peace and for pardon; for love and for mirth
                                                 John O. Benson

The early morning chill will find me warming myself with an extra special cup of Christmas coffee.  A flip of a switch will burst the room into Christmas flavor. The twinkling lights will seduce me into my chair by the tree.  It will be time to settle in for a day filled with wonder.
In a sense, this year is not much unlike that very first Christmas; so much undeserving and so much receiving.  I have a wonderful wife who puts up and cares for me.  My kids who go so far as to laugh at my wonderful jokes, again.  And what about the treasures held captive under the tree waiting to be set free....Though I don't deserve such things, they are there for me to receive and cherish.  So many years ago a boy child was offered to me.  Again, I surly didn't deserve the gift I was offered, but not unlike the treasures under the twinkling lights, I unwrapped the gift and received the offering.
Where better to spend Christmas but at home.  A season surrounded by family and comfort.  May this Christmas find you at home for the holidays.  If you can't make it, maybe your dreams will take you this Christmas!

May your hope increase.
May your joy be full.
May your peace be secure and
May you relish in the love that surrounds you.

Merry Christmas!

Mary, Christmas?

What have we done?  Have we truly given our lives to Christ?  Are we all in?  Have we given our consent for God to use us at any cost?  Was Mary all in? "May it be to me as you have said."  It sure sound like it.  Do we look at Mary like we look at ourselves? 
"Poor Mary!" 
"All those hard times....how could she do it?"
"Go away you stupid shepherds, she wants to be alone!"
Do we focus on Mary as the main part of this story?  Of course, Christ is the main part of Christmas but who was His main focus? Mary seemed to have it figured out.  "May it be to me as you have said."  She knew God was working.  She knew she was being used for something special.  Do you think that maybe she knew that something special was not her?  What did she ponder and treasure up in her heart?  Maybe it wasn't about her journey at all.  Maybe the something special was the visiting shepherds. 
What did she ponder? 
"I have nothing to offer!"
What did she treasure?
"God used me to bring Jesus to the world!"
Who are the shepherds in your world?  Maybe my all isn't much, but maybe I need to quit worrying and groveling and start pondering and treasuring.
Joy and peace are here for the taking.
Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas?

There seems to be so much irony in the Christmas season.  A season that should bring peace, joy and happiness often brings sadness, loneliness and guilt of what should have been, what isn't and what may never be. 
Do you feel that the Christmas story paints us a great picture of this very special time of year?  The artists rendering of this story usually shows us a cozy manger with sedate animals all snug in warm, clean straw.  Isn't the reality so much different? A trip taken in the worst of circumstances.....a political redistricting forces a man and his very pregnant wife on a long journey aboard an ornery donkey.  Of course, no reservations were made and the only accommodation was a dirty, putrid barn.  As for sedate, the animals, I bet, were noisy and restless with the invasion of their space.  Rats and bats.....I'm sure they were there too.  Oh, I forgot to mention about a birth with no sanitation, running water or nurses.  Could it get any worse?  Possibly. 
I know I don't like visitors when I am out of sorts.  And who decides to visit but a bunch of smelly, surly shepherds.  How long do you think it was until Mary remembered that she had told the angel, "May it be to me as you have said"?  There sure didn't seem to be much "put-outness" in Mary's countenance.  In fact, it was after the shepherds had left, "Mary treasured all of these things and pondered them in her heart".
When the special time of Christmas comes, our expectations blossom into cozy wonderment.  But soon the wolves of deceit pee on our snow and the brightness becomes dingy.  The heartaches of the past year become overwhelming.  Our nice warm homes become drafty.  Our jobs become boring and dissatisfying.  Do we lose sight of the hope, the joy and the peace a small boy child has offered us?  Can the uncertainty in our lives be treasured up in our hearts and be allowed to be worked and molded into something wonderful?  Can we keep our hands out of the pot and "let it be to me as you have said"?  Can this special season let us understand a little more about the Savior of the world? 
Hope has come!  Merry Christmas!