END-OF-YEAR THOUGHTS

Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. Oprah Winfrey

Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us. Hal Borland

Wishing you blessings heaped up and overflowing for the new year! See you next time!

Thursday's Child

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

In 1959, Sammy Kahn and James van Heusen wrote a song for Bing Crosby to sing in Say One for Me. I hope you'll play this little video and listen to the words . . . .

God bless us all this Christmastide!

     With warm wishes from Thursday's Child

I HATE COUNTDOWNS . . .

I know, I used one last year . . . 5 days till Christmas . . . but I'd like to apologize for that. Counting down the days till Something Happens doesn't always hit a big happy note.

Consider some possibilities:
 - the Something is almost here--hurray?
 - or, the Something is almost here--eek!
 - or, the Something is almost here--why am I not happy about that?

Those of us who live by our Lists, Reminders, Post-It Notes, and other alarm bells probably don't need reminding that there are only a few days left until Something Happens. If we haven't already hit the Panic button (over there on the wall, see?), we're not straying far from its location.

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So! What can we do instead of a countdown?

How about--look out the window and really, really see what's out there.

Here in NE Indiana, there's a light snow, nearly covering the grass, but not quite. Traffic has worn the street snow down to the pavement, so travel to the bank and P.O. will be quite safe this morning.

A few leaves still hanging around on bushes flutter from time to time to remind me there's wind out there--dress warm!



Sunshine comes and goes--cloudy skies may mean more snow is coming. Enough for Santa's sleigh to make it next week? Maybe so!

My street is almost naked of vehicles--folks went to work as usual. We can all be thankful that they have jobs to go to.

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My experience with counting down to something-or-other goes like this:

--the day count sticks in my brain
--brain checks every so often to see what the number of the day was
--repeats ad nauseum

And the result is--I don't actually live in the present time, preparing for the event, thinking about the people involved, remembering past years (sometimes with joy, sometimes with tears). I'm living so far into the future--the result of all the planning and doing--that when the Big Day arrives, I'm exhausted or burned-out or bored. Sometimes all three.

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I vote for no more countdowns. (I get enough of those at the grocery and discount stores in my neighborhood.) I have my List of Things to Do for each day. The list is not crammed full. There's space in there for a quiet cup of coffee, a phone visit with one of the kids, reading another chapter of a book I love . . . . Make your own list. Make it really your own--not what you think people want you to do. 

Then, enjoy the holidays coming up. Meet up with friends and relatives you haven't seen in years. If an open house is your thing, do that. If you're a one-on-one type, create the time to visit with individuals you'll enjoy spending quality time with.

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One of my mother-in-law's favorite sayings was, "In a hundred years, who'll know?"

Works for me!

UNEXPECTED GIFTS . . .

Back in the day, we might receive a "no-reason present."

No reason, no occasion. Just because.

Recently I received one of the most valuable gifts anyone could give me--the gift of time. The soloist I sometimes accompany at church was undecided about the song he would sing for the Lessons and Carols service after Christmas. He'd given me a copy of a song he liked a lot; it was one I didn't know, and when I listened to it on YouTube, I wasn't excited about it. He also said he might sing "Away in a Manger" using one of the alternate tunes.

The next time I saw him at church, he was playing the keyboard and singing softly. "I've decided," he said. "I'll do 'Away in a Manger' and I'll accompany myself. That way I can use the soft strings or maybe some other setting."

He'd given me at least an hour that I wouldn't have had; we would have rehearsed a couple of times, and I'd have played it for him during the service.


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The day before Thanksgiving, one of my neighbors came over with a  loaf of Italian bread in her arms. "We want to share our Thanksgiving meal with you," she said. I thanked her and told her I'd be going to my daughter's house in Ohio on Friday for our holiday dinner.

As it happened, when I packed up everything to take to Ohio, I forgot the bread (it was in the freezer, out of sight). So a couple of days later, I took it to my friend Jane who'd recently had surgery, along with a can of Butternut Squash Soup that she loves and her husband won't touch. It was an unusual get-well gift, and one I know was appreciated.

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Last winter two of my neighbors came over and used their snow blowers to clean off my driveway. If I hadn't seen them out there, I wouldn't have known who did it. Their thoughtfulness made it easier for me to get out for my errands.

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Last month the guys were here to install new entry doors for me. One morning we had a power outage that lasted an hour and a half. Later one of the guys asked me if I'd tried the garage door that comes into the house--it has stuck for years, mostly in humid weather. So I tried it and it worked perfectly. "I was bored for a while, so I sanded the bottom of the door." He must have done that by hand while the power was off.

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A few months ago my sewing group, Heart & Hands, decided to ask church members for donations of fabric or if they didn't have that kind of thing, then funds for purchase of fabric would be appreciated.

Before I got the request written up for the newsletter, one of the women who sometimes sews for us brought in a big tote--a BIG tote--full of flannel from when she made blankets and other baby items for her new grandchildren. She was out of the baby business, she said, so she wanted us to have what she had left. I counted 16-20 yards of fabric, several different designs, all usable for our NICU blankets.

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Unexpected? Absolutely!

Not every gift comes with an occasion attached. What the unexpected gift brings is a connection to another person, or group.

My neighborhood isn't chummy. Most of us have jobs, or families, or plenty of projects that keep us occupied. Some of us know each other to speak to, or wave to when we're out in the yard. Then those unexpected gifts remind us that we're not separate--we're all in this together--and even if nothing is said, there is a sense of belonging.

What unexpected gifts can we give? Compassion . . . listening . . . offers of help . . . prayers . . . a note of encouragement . . . a phone call or email . . . . And, once you start thinking of someone who might like an unexpected gift, you'll be making connections.

THE MYTHS OF CHRISTMAS

First, a definition:

Myth—any real or fictional story, recurring theme, or character type that appeals to the consciousness of a people by embodying its cultural ideals or by giving expression to deep, commonly felt emotions.

[I'm repeating this post because I think it says good things about a culture figure many of us have grown up with. Perhaps, as we've matured, we've gone deeper into the "meaning" of Christmas, and have discovered for ourselves, as Linus Van Pelt says to Charlie Brown, that "this is what Christmas is all about."]
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Do you remember when you were told there was no Santa Claus? That's right--no jolly fat man in a big red suit, with a long white beard, who rode through the sky in a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer? No sudden appearance down the chimney to bring lots and lots of toys and gifts to good little girls and boys?

Some people recall this exploded myth with sadness--they feel they lost the mystery and magic of a generous saint.

Other folks, decades later, still cling to the anger they felt--they'd been lied to, betrayed, led to believe one thing, then the rug was whipped out from under them; they lost faith in those who had told them the story in the first place and then whisked it away.

You might like to search for the letter written to The New York Sun in 1897, in which a little girl named Virginia O'Hanlon asked the editor if there really was a Santa Claus. Just type in yes virginia there is a santa claus.

We all have myths and stories we've enjoyed, needed, and even, perhaps, still cling to.

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Another one was dramatized for me when I taught freshman composition. We were nearing the end of the first semester, heading into December. We'd read an essay appropriate for the holidays soon to be celebrated.

My class of 22 included students ages 18 to over 50. Not quite a bell curve, there being more in the 18-28 age range. But one woman was 50-something; she saw the world through a different lens. I anticipated a lively discussion.

The Christmas Eve activities shared by most students included school plays and concerts,  church pageants, family trips to visit grandparents. Pretty much a broad spectrum of what scholars call The Golden Age--that time that "always was, and never is." We recall the good things, we relate to the happy times from movies or television programs. We lump our childhood Christmases together and declare we "always had a happy Christmas time."

My next question to the class was, "What are you going to do this Christmas Eve?"

"Go to church." 
"Go to a party." 
"Open presents." 
"Have a big family dinner."

Then my 50-something student spoke up. She wouldn't be celebrating, not because she wasn't religious or had anything against Christmas. She was unmarried. Had no children or other relatives. She found Christmas Eve the loneliest time of the year. 

The room grew suddenly, unexpectedly, silent. 

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For most of the younger students, it was like learning Santa Claus was just a fun kids' story.

Christmas Eve was supposed to be a magical time. Presents under the tree! Big dinner with lots of food and wine! Lights and noise and action, the bigger the better!

This woman, twice their age, had injected Reality--a different kind of reality--into their world. Having no children or other family, her friends couldn't relate to her situation. And she couldn't relate to the magic and hoop-la described by the younger students.

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I'm not against myths. As an art form, the myth often expresses or illustrates truth. 

Santa Claus represents all that is good and generous. He is, in popular culture, St. Nicholas, a bishop of the church, who actually existed. Here is a portion of what is written about the good saint on the website franciscanmedia.org:

Perhaps the best-known story about Nicholas concerns his charity toward a poor man who was unable to provide dowries for his three daughters of marriageable age. Rather than see them forced into prostitution, Nicholas secretly tossed a bag of gold through the poor man’s window on three separate occasions, thus enabling the daughters to be married. Over the centuries, this particular legend evolved into the custom of gift-giving on the saint’s feast. In the English-speaking countries, Saint Nicholas became, by a twist of the tongue, Santa Claus—further expanding the example of generosity portrayed by this holy bishop.

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The myth of a universally happy Christmas Eve is not bad, or destructive. It may be the only light in a dark existence. (You might want to reread, or watch, Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol for reference.) 

Myth points to truth. Hang onto that.

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And one happy ending to the Santa Claus story is told by my friend Jan. When she learned Santa Claus wasn't real, she was extremely hurt. Her dad told her, "Santa Claus lives, in the hearts of little children everywhere."

Saint Nicholas