Regaining My Childhood Love Of Christmas

This Christmas season, I've suffered from a severe case of nostalgia. Most of it has to do with the fact that I will be spending Christmas morning alone. My wife has to work Christmas morning, and my children are all spending Christmas somewhere else. It's been a long time since I've left Harrison, Arkansas to go share Christmas with any of my family, so I don't have any room to complain. My children have all moved on to bigger, and busier cities where they could find employment or to live near their spouse's family. Being a self-employed handyman, it is extremely difficult to break away at this time of year because business is extremely slow, money is tight, and it is all we can do to buy gifts. Needless to say, I'd been in a little bit of a funk.

Actually, I have everything to be thankful for. At 58 years-old, I'm in good health, my strength is good, and my mind is reasonably sharp. I have a home, good vehicles, and all the toys I can play with. My wife is a joy, and her love for me is more precious than anything on earth. I attend a wonderful faith fellowship, have a fantastic pastor, and have fellowship with some of the most amazing men I've ever known. I am blessed to be gainfully employed by a prince of a man who treats me with the respect, and honor I've always longed for. My days are spent working with a young man who loves Christ with all his heart, and who helps to keep me young. I am grateful to God for all I have, and the people who surround my life. Still, knowing that Christmas morning I would be alone had kind of tinted my enthusiasm.

It was in this mood, that I had a profound moment of being tenderly touched by the Holy Spirit. It was in the middle of the last snow storm we had, and I'd headed into town early so I could use my computer at the church. It was about 5 in the morning, the roads were slick with ice, and the 10 inches of snow hadn't even begun to melt. I'd already passed a few homes decked out in lights, and had thought to myself how much I used to enjoy taking our children to see the lights when they were young. As I stopped at the four-way in our town square, I began to weep uncontrollably. I was so overcome, I had to pull over. Somehow, the Christmas decorations in our courthouse square took me back to my childhood. I suddenly felt the awe, and wonder of Christmas once again. All around me the lights glistened off the icy road, off of store fronts, and lit up the massive snow drifts with a wash of color. Suddenly I was a kid again enraptured with the Christmas lights.

I found myself remembering going through Enid, Oklahoma as a young boy of seven or eight. My Mom, and Dad were on their way home to Ponca City for Christmas, long before I-35 had ever been built. I was laying in the back seat of the car looking out the rear window at the lights strung from light post to light post. At one point I remember it being like a tunnel of lights as we drove through downtown. They formed swirls of light on the frosty rear window and through the side windows. Then the most gi-normous Christmas tree I'd ever seen made me sit up. It was so tall, I couldn't see the top of it. The ornaments were like three times the size of any I'd ever seen. I remember feeling that Enid had to be the best place to live. To make the moment even better, it began to snow. Not little bitty flakes, but giant enormous flakes that seemed to be amplified in the cars headlights. We drove from Enid to Ponca City through this amazing snow storm that wouldn't stop. I was too young to know that my Mom, and Dad were scared witless. All I remember is driving up to my grandma's house, and her leaning out the front door with a brightly lit aluminum Christmas tree behind her. I'd never seen one before, and I dashed into the house completely ignoring my grandma's advance for a hug. That image of her leaning out her front door framed by the glow of the porch light, and Christmas tree lights is one of my favorite memories. I'm sure she'd been worried sick about us, but when you're seven years old, you don't know these things.

Christmas time for me is always about lights. I remember the childhood trips to downtown El Paso, Texas where the huge Christmas tree stood in the fountain in San Jacinto plaza. Lights were draped in elegant strands from buildings down to the plaza and from street light to street light, making the square appear to be a canopy of lights. The backdrop to this amazing display of lights was the Mariachi Bands doing Christmas music beside the tree. Let me tell you, there are many times I miss hearing Feliz Navidad, and the traditional exchanging of tamales.

I remember the Christmas we went to Aztec, New Mexico. The small towns in the four corners area were alive with Christmas decorations. As we drove nearer to Aztec, the snow began to fall, and there was a light dusting of snow over the red sandstone boulders that lined the road.

Now that I'm older, I understand the meaning of Christmas lights. Still for me, the lights are the myriad of angels in joyous song exclaiming God's love for man through the birth of Jesus. Christmas will always be a time of light, joyous music, and delightful food, but it is so much more. It is a magical (yes, magical) time when we light up our daily routine with the gift of light, love and laughter.

As I wiped the last of my tears from my eyes, I wondered what had brought me to tears. Our town's seasonal decorations aren't Christian oriented, and there wasn't mariachi music in the square. Strands of lights didn't form a tunnel of light to drive through, and my mind wasn't focused on any of it. The tears had come from something I'd lost, and was given back to me. . . . A childlike love of the season.

So, I'll leave you with this thought; There is nothing offensive in the lights of Christmas, there is nothing wrong with celebrating the birth of a man who came to rescue us. Whether you are Jew, Gentile, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist or just don't care, what harm is there in remembering a little baby who brought so much hope to the world. Have we become so cynical we can't even enjoy that much? Are we so politically correct we can't recognize that a little child needs to believe in something more than themselves. A jolly old elf can't harm anyone. What's the big deal if some fighter pilot gets the joy of strapping on his fighter jet and escorts Santa across the nation? I guarantee you, that pilot wants to fly that jet and is willing to let Santa go to the White House. 

I'm thankful I got my childhood back, I'll wake up Wednesday morning, eagerly await the phone calls from my dispersed children, I'll call my lovely wife, my brothers, as well as my Mom and Dad.  Once I've talked my head off, I'll put Miracle on 34^th street in the DVD player. I may even do the Grinch, simply because I love the music, and wait for Glenda to come home.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Of Skunks, Shields, and Beatrice Bandersnatch

Have I mentioned yet, I hate skunks.  I know, I’ll probably get nasty terse comments from those of you who have had your pet skunk neutralized, sanitized, and , made house compatible, but it won’t change my opinion one bit.  I live out in rural northwest Arkansas, amidst cow pastures, deer runs, squirrels, armadillos, roadrunners, ground hogs, and other wildlife.  I enjoy them all, except for the skunks. 

When we first moved here in 1995, I didn’t know how prolific, nor did I have a clue as to how determined the little creatures are to take up residence underneath your home.  After about the twelfth ‘skunking’ in less than a year, I finally succeeded in securing my home from their attacks.  These attacks usually came on Saturday nights just before church, so I began calling them the skunks from hell.  Every once in a while, I’ll let down my defenses, and one of the little buggers will slip in through some impossible hole.  This has gone on for nearly eighteen years now, until Beatrice Bandersnatch came along.

Beatrice Bandersnatch is a jet black miniature . . . .something.  We were told she is a ‘pidoodle’ but I don’t know what that is.  All I do know is that when she first came to our home as a small puppy, she left her pidoodle puddles everywhere.  This tendency forced me to put her out on our enclosed patio on the back of our home.  We put her out at night, and leave her there during the day while we are at work.  One of the unintended benefits of her being on the patio is a rapid decline in skunk attacks.  “Bea”, as we call her, is a yapper.  Her sense of smell is terrible, but she can hear birds in the back yard, squirrels in the pecan tree, and . . . other dogs barking everywhere.  SHE IS TERRITORIAL!  She loves people, but can’t stand critters, especially birds.  (This is one of the reasons I go to the Church office to enjoy the sparrows.)  Did I mention that Bea is not my dog?  She belongs to my wife, but that is another story. 

Anyway, for the last four years, we’ve enjoyed relative freedom from skunks, until two nights ago. After four years of potty training, and battling with her to keep her off of our bed, I finally relented to allowing Bea into the house on cold nights.  The first two nights went remarkably good, she slept in her bed, didn’t yap, and she didn’t leave any surprises.  Sunday night, the temperature was surprisingly warm for December, so Bea wanted to stay out on the patio.  Out she went.

Then it happened. 

I have a few questions for the Lord when we get to heaven, and one of them will be about skunks.  The unmistakable aroma of skunk began to waft through our bedroom, and Glenda moaned “There’s skunks under the house.”  

“There can’t be.”  I replied while desperately hoping it was all a bad dream.  Then I heard Bea barking her head off.  I got up, turned on the porch light, and looked out the back door.   The door to the patio was closed, I opened the door just a crack , and was assaulted by the most violent odor on earth.  In all my time on this earth, I’ve never smelled such a high concentration of skunk smell.  I quickly closed the door, and retreated into our ‘stinky’ house.  Bea continued to do her territorial bark for nearly two hours, while I tossed and turned in the pit of skunk hell. 

Discovering what happened would have to wait till that afternoon, as my wife, and I both leave before daybreak for work. 

When I got home yesterday evening, I began my walk around the usual places where the skunks have gone in before.  Everything was good.  Then I came around the backyard.  Needless to say, it was not good.  The smell was deadly to say the least.  There, at the bottom of the glass door leading to our patio was this dinner plate sized greasy splotch of skunk spray.  The picture of what happened, became  clear to me in an instant.  Bea, who’d been in the house for the last few days, had ‘surprised’ a skunk as it made its way around our home.  In terror at the sight of this ferocious black creature barking at it, the skunk let go.  SPLAT all over the glass.  

I began to laugh as I realized how remarkably funny this must have been.  If it hadn’t been for the glass door, Bea would be a stinky ball of fur in a kitchen sink being washed with tomato juice.  She had a shield, but she didn’t know it.  For her, the glass is a boundary to her freedom.  It keeps her from running the yard as she likes to do.  (She has never run away in the four years we’ve owned her.)  We actually keep her in the patio to protect her from the many coyotes that infest the area.  She isn’t afraid of anything except for my brother’s white Labrador that passed away just recently.  Without fear, we knew she was no match for the pack of coyotes that roam the area.  Therefore, she is in her glass cage, free to bark, free to live, but not free to run at night.  It was at this moment that I had a Spiritual insight.

Christ is our shield.  He is there, transparent, but strong.  From the outside, to those looking in, it may appear as if Christians are imprisoned within a glass cage of silly rules that have no apparent purpose.  Beyond our transparent shield, there are so many harmless pleasures that can be enjoyed.  Outside of the confines of the ‘patio’ is a world just waiting to be discovered.  To outsiders, the patio of our faith must appear to be a cruel, rigid prison.  The glass ‘rules’ of kindness, compassion, love, and forgiveness, are not conducive to success in this modern world.  The posts of prayer and bible study are a waste of time to those who’ve never experienced the strength they provide in times of trial.  The shield of faith goes unseen, until the enemy comes at us.  Then we realize how valuable it is.  Those things that would destroy us, splatter harmlessly against it, while we continue to yap at the enemy from the other side.  We find shelter in the Lord of Hosts.  We still see the evil around us, but it doesn’t come nigh our tent.  Does the stench of sin still waft all around us?  Yes, but we are untouched by it.  Does the enemy still prowl around at night seeking to devour?  Yes, but he is repelled by the power of Christ’s love for us. 

As my days on this earth become fewer, I’ve learned to trust the shield of faith.  Psalm 91 has become a mantra for me.  I’m like the little sparrow that nests within the framework of the tabernacle, my shield, my fortress, my residence is within the presence of God.  I only keep my eyes open to see the surprise on the face of the wicked when their best efforts splatter against the shield of faith.  I meditate upon the transparent glass of faith, able to see out, but not desiring to ‘be’ out.  That is the new creation I’ve become in Christ Jesus. 

It cost me a night of sleep, but it was a good lesson.