Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

I was listening to an interview with Sting as he talked about winter—how the landscape is bleak and cold but beautiful at the same time. Sting, of course, is accustomed to snow in winter. He does not live in Alabama. He lives in England. Even so, I thought what he said was interesting—that we need the stillness and quiet of winter for solitude and reflection—and to fire the imagination.

Some of my friends and family think I’m a Scrooge because I tend to see Christmas as something I have to survive, not something I can enjoy. The truth is that I love the season and what it means, but I’ve never been able to celebrate it the way I want to—with stillness and quiet. Christmas always turns into a mad rush to the finish line, hurrying here, hurrying there, when what I really want is time for solitude and reflection in between times of reconnection with the people we love. Somehow it always gets compressed.

The winter months that follow, however, give us permission to slow down. It’s cold out. The roads are wet. Might as well stay home.

Remember that John Denver special from the 70s, when he performed under a glass dome in the Rockies during winter? Outside, the mountains were snow-covered, but John and friends were warm and toasty in their biosphere. They were standing in a frosty world, yet protected from it.

So are we. And that’s what I want to think about in the still months of winter that follow Christmas.

Sunday Morning Serenity

 

This is not my most serene Sunday morning. We have a church breakfast, followed by lunch and gift swapping with the parents. Yesterday, I hit the mall for one last present at 8:30 a.m., went to the nail salon (my present to me), bought groceries, made lasagna for lunch today, got a breakfast casserole ready to pop into the oven for the breakfast, wrapped gifts from us to Mama and Daddy, from Daddy to Mama, and from Mama to me (I did some of her shopping for her). AND I took a second to admire the moon with little Rory and his grandmother next door. I am very, very tired (like a lot of women I know this time of year). And I completely bailed on Christmas cards. I meant to at least get mine done for the church's card swap, but even that didn't happen this year.

So . . . MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I'll try to do better next year.

P.S. I was listening to some Christmas music this morning and always seem to land on the Canadian Tenors. Their version of "O Holy Night" is one of my favorites, and I was struck today by a line I never paid attention to: "till He appeared and the soul felt its worth." Christ made the soul feel its worth--made all of us feel our worth.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." John 3:16

Sunday Morning Serenity

These two. Both are recent graduates, baby cousins all grown up—Abby and Adam.

Yesterday, I drove to Auburn, my alma mater, for Abby’s graduation, and I have to say, I came away hopeful. You don’t realize how the years are wearing on your sense of possibility until you see an arena full of young people who believe anything is possible. And it is. We just forget that as we get older.

It’s important to support the young people in our families and communities, to show them that they matter and that we believe they really can make a positive difference in the world. I saw that yesterday as graduates filed onto the stage to accept their diplomas.

In the midst of all those robed twenty-somethings stood a man old enough to be their father, wearing no cap or gown. When he stepped to the head of the line, it was announced that he was accepting a diploma posthumously for his son. The applause was thunderous, but then the graduates who were still seated on the arena floor began to stand, and the rest of us followed their lead in giving this father a standing ovation. The same thing happened when a young woman accepted a diploma for her deceased brother. The students led the rest of us in a show of respect.

Since I went back to Southern Living, I’ve been asked (more than once) what it’s like to be a woman of a certain age working with Millennials. It’s actually pretty inspiring. They’re smart, they’re kind, they work hard, and they believe anything’s possible.

Now that I think about it, that’s what this time of year is all about. Christmas is the season of love and grace and forgiveness and new beginnings. It’s a beautiful reminder that anything’s possible. Let's hold onto that.

[Image by Amanda Elliott . . . and I hope she doesn't mind that I lifted it. You can't trust family.]

Sunday Morning Serenity

This morning, I had some serious Christmas fun. A sweet couple with two little boys moved into the McKinneys’ house this summer, and the fellas will find on their doorstep today a request for address verification from the North Pole. Their mom is totally in on it.

I was inspired by my Granny, who knew how to show kids a good time. She used to call my baby cousin Dane (he’s married with three kids now, but he’s still my precious angel) and tell him she was Mrs. Claus. They would have a long conversation about the toys he was hoping for. Granny made that call every Christmas Eve—probably until he was driving, knowing her. (That's Dane pictured above, with his Uncle Rich next to his Grandma's Christmas tree.)

I’ve heard Daddy talk about the way Granny would shop for everybody when she worked at Loveman’s—how she loved wrapping presents and always had the prettiest ones under the tree. Sadly, I do not share that gift (no pun intended). Loved ones have been known to make fun of my wrapping, and I can’t say I blame them. I’m terrible at it. No patience. No vision. Just get some paper around those Dearfoams and move on! Bow optional.

While it’s true my gifts sometimes look like a preschooler wrapped them, I do love surprise opportunities to make people happy. Those seem to appear more readily at Christmas.

Nothing makes you feel better than making somebody else happy, just because. It doesn’t take a grand gesture or an expensive gift. Sometimes a cupcake will do the trick.

It’s all about love and joy freely shared, with no expectation of anything in return. Let’s try that:)

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Our church is hosting a Hanging of the Green service for the community tonight (6 p.m. at First Baptist H’ville, if you live in the area). Preparing for it reminded me of Christmas programs past—the ones with homemade angel wings and bathrobes for shepherds’ costumes.

I think one of my favorites was an interdenominational celebration—our church and the Methodists down the road—back in the seventies. It was held in front of the town clinic, which is now the police department. We had a live Nativity scene—real animals and everything. We didn't have the budget to rent a camel, but I think we had a cow and a donkey. Or maybe it was a goat and a donkey. In any case, we had livestock.

The combined choirs sang from a flatbed truck. I was the pianist, playing an old upright that the men had loaded into the back of Uncle Chick’s pickup. When we weren’t “ministering in song,” I had to wear gloves because it was freezing cold. People from all over the community turned out for it, huddling together in the cold night air to celebrate Christmas with us.

That’s really what I remember most about that service—the sense of community, of celebrating the birth of Christ with people who had deep roots in this place and strong ties to each other.

When Missing Isaac first came out, one of the more critical reviews came from a reader who didn’t think the people were realistic—nobody’s that loving, forgiving, caring, etc. That stung at first, but then I kind of felt sorry for her. I grew up with people who are that loving, that forgiving, that caring. And I’m especially thankful for them this morning. (I’m also thankful that I won’t have to wear garland-lined, poster board angel wings tonight.)

With a little help from the Canadian Tenors, Happy December!

[Illustration by Stuart Miles @ Freerangestock.com]