The Perfect Holiday Gifts!

I really wasn’t trying to be difficult.  I wasn’t trying to be argumentative.  I wasn’t trying to cause stress or anxiety.  Instead, I was being completely honest.  Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I always gave the same truthful answer.

“Nothing,” I always said to all of my friends and family members whenever they asked about Christmas presents.  There honestly wasn’t anything I wanted.  I already had everything I needed to be happy.  I have good food, clean water, safe shelter.  I have books and music.  I have clothes, a job, a car.  I have my five senses—and, many times, a sixth.  According to a lot of people, I have an overabundance of emotions…and they are probably right!  I consistently laugh, cry, and love without boundaries.  I have family, even though I may get on everyone’s nerves sometimes.  I live with three dogs who love me, and a cat that is still on the fence but is slowly getting used to me.  I have friends who may not always be in my life but are always there for me when needed.  I have freedom for adventure and travel.

What more could I possibly want, especially on the holiest day of the year?

As I have gotten older, the traditions of Christmas have changed for me.  For the past several years, I haven’t decorated trees, or put up wreaths and holly, or accepted presents.  I usually like to spend Christmas alone in meditation.  Some people find this unusual but for me it is the best way to honor the Savior without the distraction and stress that usually comes with the holiday.  I enjoy simple pleasures.

For example, I woke up at around 2 am on Christmas morning.  I climbed out of bed and walked into the living room.  I had a strong desire to look out of the big picture window and stare at the dark night sky and gaze at the stars.  But instead of darkness and stars, I find a night white with quietly falling snow.  I sat snuggled up in a blanket on the living room couch as I leaned towards the window and watched the snowflakes magically dancing across the front lawn.  I prayed, meditated, and sang songs Christmas carols to myself.  My mind also kept swirling around the events of the day.  The afternoon of Christmas Eve, 2017, was spent going out to lunch with my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.  The day was full of laughter as my brother and nephew tried to “out-funny” each other.  I tried to compete with them, too, but I couldn’t keep up with their quick wits and sly one-liners.  I’m usually laughing too hard at their comedic challenge to think of anything funny to say.  But that’s okay, because I have since become one of the best laughers around.  This afternoon was no different; the event ended again with my brother mockingly yelling to his son, “You’re grounded for being funnier than I am.”  And again, I found myself laughing joyfully before I finally got up from the couch and went back to bed to snuggle warmly and contentedly under the covers.

When I awoke again on Christmas morning, I carefully drove my car across the dusting of snow on the side streets to the local Quiktrip.  I parked in a narrow space at the far end of the small lot.  I grabbed my purse and climbed out of my vehicle.  As I walked toward s the entrance, I noticed a young woman holding the door open for several people who walked into the convenient store.  Her back was towards me so all I could see was her long, dark blond hair that flowed over the collar and down the back of her black and white checked winter coat.  I approached the woman and circled around in front of her to get to the door.  I reached out my hand to take the door from her, but she pulled back away from me before swinging her hand towards the entrance.

“No, please, go ahead,” the woman said to me as I now saw her sweet face and beautiful, big smile.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said to her.  But then I stopped and smiled at her as something my brother, Tony, always said to me.  Whenever I refused gifts or tried to be defiantly independent, Tony would tell me, “Don’t deny other people the right to be good to you.”  So, now, I smiled at this young woman and realized that she was giving me a gift.  Kindness, the willingness to do simple things for other people, is a dying art lately.  So, now, I looked at this woman and said, “That’s very sweet of you.  Thank you so much.”

As I walked through the door the woman held open for me, she happily shouted out, “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you.  You, too,” I said back as I stepped into the warmth of the crowded store.  I couldn’t help laughing as I looked around at the other patrons.  Everyone was wrapped up in a heavy coat to ward off the winter chill.  And yet, underneath the coats, everyone was wearing cozy, colorful, flannel pajamas or tattered, comfortable sweats.  I have found my people, I thought with a laugh.  I, too, had just slipped on an old jacket over my sweats before leaving the house.  I love people best at their natural quirkiness.  I love people who are just as comfortable walking around in nightwear as they are in business suits.  And, of course, today was a day like no other as everyone politely dodged around each other as they whispered, “Excuse me,” “No, you first,” and “Merry Christmas.”  I listened to the joyful, happy voices as I paid for my coffee and walked back out to my car.

I spent the rest of Christmas day in quiet contemplation.  I was feeling blissful and at peace, just the way Christmas is supposed to be.

So, see, there wasn’t anything I needed for Christmas.  But I had received the best gifts of all: laughter, kindness, peace…and once again, I had received from God and the Savior the perfect Christmas holiday!

 

 

 

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No Angel

For the last 25 years, I have celebrated a minimalist Christmas.  I don’t set up a Christmas tree.  I don’t put out any decorations.  I buy a few presents, but don’t expect any in return.  I don’t watch any Christmas specials.  I don’t set up my native scene.  My small plaster figurines of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the angels are safely wrapped up and tucked away in storage.  I usually spend every Christmas alone.

I wasn’t raised this way.  My mother loved Christmas.  It was one of the few holidays she continued to celebrate even after her children were grown.  Mom always decorated a Christmas tree using ornaments she had collected throughout the years.  Most of the decorations consisted of cotton ball snowmen, clothes pin reindeers, and clay handprints Mom’s children made in elementary school.  Mom always loved these awkward, lopsided, misshapen ornaments the most.  Every year, Mom also set up a native scene, though she always had to stop my sisters and me from playing with the Jesus figure as if he was our very own baby doll.  She would put vines of holly around every door and trays of candy on every table.  Mom always said that Christmas is a time for miracles.  That idea is the only tradition of Christmas that I carry with me from my childhood.

While so many people celebrate the holiday with the traditional tinsel and glimmer, Christmas for me is always a time of quiet reflection.  I always spend Christmas day in prayer, meditation, contemplation, and silent worship of Christ.  I want this one special day to be 100% God-focused.  I don’t want presents, or trees, or wreaths to distract me from my communion with Christ.  Even though I celebrate a modest holiday, it is continually filled with peace and elation.  The feeling is so blissful, I always pledge every Christmas that I will make this joy last all year long.  I’m always determined that I will continue to hold Jesus in my soul.  I want to get to know Christ more; I want to carry him within my heart and not let minor things of this world bother me and cause me to lose my focus.  I want to maintain Christmas joy for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, this year, I didn’t even make it a week….

Christmas was on Sunday, December 25^th, of course.  For the next few days, I was happy, and peaceful.  I felt grateful and blessed.  All my good intentions, however, crashed down around me by Thursday, December 29.  Yes, Thursday…just four days later!

That morning, I woke up at 2:30 to get to work by 4.  I started the day off well.  I said my daily prayers before I walked out the door.  The drive to work in the morning darkness was enchanting and thought-provoking.  I thought about life and God and everything in the universe.  Twice that morning, on two separate occasions, two of my co-workers talked about God with me.  To my surprise, they just randomly began to discuss God’s graciousness, his goodness, and his love for all of his children.  Their conversation made me smile.  Their words just enhanced the bliss I was already feeling.

A little later that morning, the computer I was using suddenly froze.  I tried everything I could think of to get the computer running again.  I turned it off and on; I punched control-alt-delete several times.  All the quick fixes I could think of failed me.  The computer remained frozen on a bright blue background with the computer logo flashing across the screen.  I told myself not to panic.  I took a deep breath and remembered that Archangel Michael was the angel to call on to fix appliances.  So I placed both of my hands on the monitor and started to pray:’

“Archangel Michael, please help me.  I have a lot of work I need to complete and the computer won’t work.  I need your help to fix my computer so I can finish my assignments.”

Suddenly, I heard a beep and saw a flash out of the corner of my eye.  In the midst of my prayer, the computer came flickering back to life.  I thanked Archangel Michael for us assistance and was able to get all of my work done on time.

So, the day was going well with many opportunities to remain God-focused even during my hectic working day.

So why did I suddenly lose my faith that afternoon?

I had been working hard.  I had multiple assignments and was doing my best to complete additional jobs for a few people who had called in sick.  I thought I had followed all assignments correctly.  I thought I was doing very well and remained in a state of grace…for a while…

Only when I believed I was being unfairly criticized by my supervisor for a miscommunication did my faith and my peace desert me.  When I felt unnecessarily attacked in front of my peers, my focus suddenly shifted away from God.  I had given into my ego.  I had given into my fears.  Why didn’t I just continue to trust in God and know that this moment would pass, too?  Why didn’t I remind myself that God still loved me and he would not forsake me even when I felt humiliated and disrespected?  Instead of just nodding my head and correcting the situation, I argued back that the directions I had been given were not clear.  I demonstrated to my supervisor that I had done the work according to her plan.  I continued defending myself by reminding her that I had checked in an hour ago to explain what I was doing with the assignment and my supervisor had told me I was correct.

But as I argued my point, I didn’t feel vindicated or victorious.  I felt horrified, sad, and embarrassed by my behavior.  I was ashamed of myself for not just letting the perceived injustice go.  I responded to the stress of the moment with more stress.  I responded to negativity with negativity.  I made a bad situation worse.

For just that moment that Thursday afternoon after Christmas, I had slipped away from God.  I remind myself that I am only human; I am by no means an angel.  I am here on earth now to learn and to grow and to change and to better my soul the same way I must do in every lifetime.  I just have to accept that there will be times when I will fall from grace, and I must keep the faith that God is still there for me even in those moments.  I have to remember that God will always be by my side even when I am far from perfect.

I still feel angry with myself now that, for a brief moment, I lost sight of what was really important in this world.  Now, I search for God once more.  I open my heart and my soul again to accept Lord Jesus Christ.  And I must remember even when I have my bad moments, I am still one of God’s children.  I am one of his lesser angels…and he still loves me all the same…He will guide me to heaven even in those moments when I do not think I am worth the effort.  He has come to save my soul from my own ego and insecurities….

In Christ, I am continually reborn….

And maybe, just maybe, that is the true meaning of Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alone for Christmas

“Christmas is a time when you should just feel good.  Christmas is a good time,” my fourteen-year-old nephew stated as he gazed at the twinkling lights on the tree set up in the family room of my brother’s home.

Mike’s pronouncement of Christmas was very simple, and yet he had said so much in just those two sentences.  I knew exactly what he had meant.  He wasn’t referring to a “good time” in the sense of lots of presents or a big party.  We had, instead, been discussing the importance of Christmas and the actual purpose.  Mike couldn’t understand how anyone could be depressed and upset at this time of year.  My nephew, however, still believed in the starry-eyed wonderment of miracles and magic at Christmas.  It’s a shame that so many adults lose that enchantment as they grow older.

I tried to explain the situation to him.  “Well, Mike, for a lot of people, it’s difficult if they are all alone.  People can become very depressed when they feel isolated.  We need to bond with other people.  When there is something special happening like Christmas, and someone cannot share it with another person, it can be very upsetting.”

“But it is still Christmas,” Mike insisted.  “What does it matter if you’re with other people or all alone?  It’s all about how you feel about Christmas, right?  It’s all about making Christmas special no matter where you are, right?  What else really matters?”

I smiled at my nephew, but didn’t say anything more.  I no longer wanted to talk about depression or anxiety over the holidays.  Instead, I wanted Mike to enjoy the magic of Christmas as he experienced it now at the age of fourteen.  I didn’t want negative talk to destroy his ideal of Christmas now or in the future.  As I also looked at all of the twinkling lights that made the small room seem like a charmed fairyland, I prayed that Mike would never lose his sense of wonder.  Life can beat that out of people very quickly…and Christmas, for so many souls, can be the worst time, especially if they are all alone…but, then again, I had to admit, Mike was definitely on to something.

Over the past several years, I have spent Christmas by myself.  I had moved a thousand miles away from my family home in Kansas City, Kansas.  I have spent solo Christmases in England, Tennessee, New Mexico, and California.  A few times, a lot of my gracious, good friends in many of these locations would invite me into their homes for Christmas dinners.  Though sometimes the situation could be a little awkward when friends had big family gatherings that included trading presents and family memories, I was always grateful for the invitations.  However, as I grew older, the invitations were no longer offered.  Many of my friends had grown up, moved away, married, and had their own families now.  As we all moved ahead with our lives, invitations to Christmas gatherings ceased.  I was for several years, completely on my own over the holidays.  What was I going to do?

As the season began to unfold, I would stress over what activities I could do to make my lonely Christmas bearable.  I could spend the day watching movies; I could go out of town…or just for a walk around the block; I could see what restaurants might be open (even though I felt guilty knowing other people had to work on Christmas Day); I could have the luxury of reading uninterrupted for hours; I could volunteer at shelters…My mind raced for days, loaded down with thoughts about Christmas.

And then on the day of my first Christmas alone, I woke up slowly after a good sleep…and prayed.  I thanked God for this day.  I counted my blessings.  I prayed for the health of my family.  I asked that all people were joyous…and then I smiled and I laughed as a sense of pure peace flooded over me.  I realized then that it didn’t matter how I spent Christmas.  I had been blessed with even having another Christmas….and suddenly that seemed like the best gift I could have ever received.

I laid in bed and stretched and thought of some of my friends who had asked me how I was going to spend the holiday.  I had answered, “I don’t know.  I think I’ll read, watch movies, go for a walk, volunteer…I don’t know…I guess it will be a day of surprises.”

Some of my friends would look at me with envy and make statements like, “Oh…I want to have your Christmas…we have to spend the day at my in-laws’ home…and I can’t stand them!”

So on that Christmas morning, I stretched and felt really good that I had a day of peace.  Pure, real peace…the peace of a thousand angels.  And then I realized, I was not alone.  I would never be alone on Christmas.  For this was the day that Jesus came to his people, to save us from sin, to love and protect us, to guide us through our lives, to give us hope and faith and love.  I spent the next several days in a happy glow.  I felt connected to all people.  I could feel their hearts and share in their love and kindness.

I may have been by myself, but how could I have ever felt alone on Christmas?

So now this year, I listened to my nephew talk about Christmas.  “Aunt Jamie, it’s really not a holiday,” he declared.  “It’s how you feel in your own mind.  I still don’t understand how people can feel sad at Christmas.”

“Neither do I, Mike,” I said, ending the conversation, “I guess no one can really understands if they have never felt alone on Christmas Day.”  The feelings of depression during Christmas are something I can’t explain, for I have never been alone.

This year, after nearly twenty years, I am spending Christmas with family.  Together, we have put up a tree, decorated the house, watched Christmas shows on TV, viewed plaza Christmas lights, and listened to Christmas music.  It’s so enjoyable to be with family at this time of year…but it was also a beautiful day when I was alone.

After all, as my 14-year-old nephew said, “Christmas is in your heart.  It’s a state of mind.”

So wise, Mike, so very wise!

 

 

 

Christmas Miracles

When I was a child, one of my favorite things about Christmas was my mother’s candy dish.  On Christmas Eve, Mom would fill a white, plastic, divided Tupperware dish with different sweets and place it on the kitchen table.  Christmas Day was the only time that her children could eat as much candy as we wanted without having to ask.  I would help myself to an endless supply of miniature peanut butter cups, Turtles, peanut clusters, various chocolate cremes, and M&Ms throughout the entire day.  As a child, I certainly indulged voraciously in one of my mother’s many Christmas traditions.

Mom loved Christmas.  “Christmas is a time when all of your dreams should come true,” she would say.  “Christmas is magical.  Miracles always happen at Christmas.”

My mother always tried hard to make Christmas a special time for her children.  She would scrimp and save all year, usually going without new clothes or shoes for herself, in order to have enough money for gifts and special treats.  Mom was always concerned that she would not be able to get the presents her children wanted in time for Christmas morning.  What if the stores were sold out?  What if we had a snowstorm and couldn’t leave the house?  What if the car broke down and we no longer had the money for presents?  Mom always started Christmas shopping in August.  The only problem was that every week one of her four children would suddenly change his or her mind about the gift he or she hoped to receive.  Mom was continually returning and purchasing gifts for her children until Christmas Eve.  So much for shopping early….

Our favorite presents, however, were always the little items Mom would place in our stockings.  Mom had bought each of her children a large, fluffy, white-and-red stocking.  Each year, she would fill up the stocking with small trinkets and knick-knacks that were always fun, entertaining, and enjoyable.  Her children would always rummage through the stockings first before even looking at the rest of the gifts.  Our Christmas stockings were always the most exciting and hilarious part of Christmas morning.  Mom would fill the stockings with costume jewelry, small dolls, Hot Wheel cars, puzzles, travel size bottles of shampoo, postage stamps, batteries, candy, cosmetics, and lottery tickets.  My mother would always be very clever and creative when filling our stockings.  The miniature stocking gifts would change, of course, as her children matured, but there were two consistent items that Mom would place in my stocking every year.  I would always receive a popcorn ball, which filled out the toe of the stocking, and a new, sealed tube of Chapstick.  A popcorn ball and Chapstick were always in my stocking every Christmas morning.

Several years later, when I moved away from Kansas, I had no idea what happened to my Christmas stocking.  I didn’t have any Christmas traditions of my own.  I didn’t put up a tree.  I didn’t string lights around my apartments.  I didn’t buy special foods.  I never decorated.  Over the years, I spent Christmas alone in quiet meditation, just enjoying the peacefulness of the day.  My childhood memories of Christmas sustained me.

Last August, after twenty-three years, I moved back to Kansas.  I am currently staying with my brother, Tony, and sister-in-law, Mary, in the home where I had spent the last few years of my childhood.  This holiday season is rather bittersweet.  My mother had passed away almost six years ago.  I was thinking of her and all of her Christmas traditions last weekend when Tony and Mary began decorating the house for the holiday season.  Tony was carrying up the artificial tree from the basement and setting it up in the family room.  “Wow!” I asked him.  “How long have you had this tree?”

“Oh,” he answered, “it’s about sixteen years old.”  As he continued to put the branches together, Tony and Mary told stories of past Christmas holidays.  They talked about financial struggles, old and new traditions, family losses, happy moments and times of stress.  They told stories of their first Christmas together and heartwarming anecdotes of when my fourteen-year-old nephew was a baby.  When the tree was finally up and completely decorated, when nothing but the soft glow of the multicolored lights illuminated the space, Tony and Mary stood in the middle of the room with their arms around each other and gazed lovingly at their tree with tears in their eyes.  That’s when I realized that this sixteen-year-old artificial tree was as real and as lovely as any tree in the deepest forest.

After a few minutes, Tony and Mary continued decorating their home with nativity scenes, Santa Claus figurines, and toy trains.  Tony reached into one large box and pulled out some fluffy red and white objects.  “Look, Jamie,” he called to me.  “I still have all of our stockings from when we were kids.”

“You do?” I asked in surprise.  “I haven’t seen mine in years.  I didn’t know it still existed.”

“Yeah,” Tony answered.  “I put all of them up on the mantel every year.  It’s not Christmas until the stockings are hung up.”  Tony proceeded then to hang the stockings carefully over the fireplace.  After a few minutes, I smiled as I realized how the family had grown.  Now, nine stockings hung over the fireplace.  I stared at the one that had my name printed in red glitter at the top of the stocking.  Suddenly, I noticed something.

“What’s in my stocking, Tony?” I asked him.

“What?” he answered and then laughed.  “Nothing’s in it.  It’s not Christmas yet.”

“No, Tony,” I said, “Look.  There is something bulging out in the middle of my stocking.  What is that? Did you put something in it?”

“No,” Tony stated.  “I hang up your stocking every year.  Since you usually aren’t here for Christmas, I don’t put anything in it.  It’s always been empty.”

I got up from my seat on the couch and walked over to the fireplace.  I reached my hand into my stocking and grabbed the object that was creating the small bulge in the middle of the fabric.  I pulled my hand out, looked at the item…and laughed.  “Oh, my God,” I said.

“What? What is it?” both Mary and Tony asked me.

I held my hand out and showed them that in my palm rested a sealed, unopened tube of Chapstick.  “How did this get in there?” I asked.

“That is strange,” Tony responded.  “After twenty years of hanging your stocking on the mantel, I never noticed it.  I didn’t know that was in there.  Are you sure you want it?  It’s got to be at least twenty years old.”

But I didn’t think so.  I smiled as I stared at the tube and then closed my fingers tightly around it.  “Thank you, Momma,” I whispered.  “I love you, too.”  This was my first Christmas in Kansas with family in twenty-three years.  I believe that my mother was welcoming me back home and wishing me a very happy Christmas.  People think I’m strange when I tell them this story, but I don’t care.  I believe my mother is still with me and she is watching out for me.  The tube of Chapstick was her way of letting me know that she still loves me and is happy I am home.

After all, Christmas is magical.  Miracles always happen at Christmas.

 

 

Christmas Eve 2014

I woke up early on Wednesday, December 24, 2014, Christmas Eve.  I had no plans for today…or tomorrow, for that matter.  I am single with no children.  My sisters and brother are in Kansas while I’m in California.  My close friends are celebrating with their own families.  I don’t have a tree or lights or presents.  I wasn’t concerned, though.  Many of my Christmases have been spent this way. Though I dream of some day celebrating Christmas in all of its traditional glory, this Christmas Eve began as just an ordinary day.  I decided to start my day with my usual diet coke at the local McDonald’s.

I walked up to the counter and the clerk smiled at me.  “Large diet coke again this morning?” he says as he greets me.  They know me here.  I work at the trade school in the same commerce area.  I come here to decompress in between classes.

“Yes,” I answered, “but I think I’ll have breakfast this morning, too.  I’ll also have a Sausage McMuffin.”

“Good,” the clerk smiles as he punches a button on the register.  “That will be $1.29.”  I look at him in bewilderment for just a moment.  The man just continues to smile.  “The drink is on me this morning.  Happy Holidays!”

I smile and thank him profusely as I hand him my money.  I get my food and drink and sit at a booth in the back.  I take out my book and eat as I read.  I linger for a while even after I have finished my meal.  It’s nice to relax and read without having to hurry back to my students this morning.

Suddenly, my mind was dragged away from my book as I heard a loud booming voice.  “Not what is expected,” the strong bass voice sang out. I watch as a heavy set, bearded, dark haired man in a dirty, black t-shirt and jeans sits down a few booths away from me.  I think for a moment that he is listening to music.  I thought he was singing out to music on an iPod, and for a moment, I am jealous.  I have always wanted to sing in public places.  But I never can.  I immediately choke on the notes as soon as I hear the sound of my own singing voice.  So now, I watched the man intently as he continues to sing and suddenly I realize that he wasn’t listening to any music.  There were no devices around him providing sound.  And now he has begun to shout instead of sing.  “Not what is expected,” is no longer a tune but a deep menacing demand.  I suddenly thought that maybe I should leave now.  Being a woman alone, I feel intimidated in situations like this.  But I couldn’t stop watching this man as I wondered to myself, why do I sometimes confuse different with danger?.  I don’t get up from the table; I don’t leave.  Instead of being afraid, I am mesmerized today.  I listen to the man as he continues to sing/shout, completely oblivious to the people around him.

Suddenly the man got up from his table and walked over to my booth.  He suddenly stopped and looked at me.  “Do you have some change?” he asked.  “I need some food.”

I stared at the man for a moment, and then I opened my purse.  I kept the contents shielded from his view as I pulled out a few crumpled dollars.  “I don’t have any more than this to give you,” I told him and he was grateful. He smiled and accepted the money.  He thanked me and walked away.  I watched as he walked over to another table and asked a woman with two small kids for a few dollars.  She, too, opened her purse and handed him some money.

As the man walked away from the woman, an elderly gentleman who was sitting a table away from me suddenly called out to an employee who was cleaning tables in the dining room.  “You always let people like that in here?” the elderly gentleman demanded.

His question triggered my own.  “How would you define ‘people like that’?  What does that mean?”  I wanted to ask him.  But I didn’t confront the gentleman.  Instead, I wanted to laugh.  Here I was sitting in McDonald’s with my large bag full of books and journals.  I wore no makeup, did not fix my hair.  I was wearing my old gray sweats and a large oversized pullover.  I smiled as I thought, That guy could be talking about me!  People like that….

I felt tears burn my eyes then as I sipped my free drink.  I considered the man in the dirty, black t-shirt.  I considered this day, Christmas Eve.    Someone had given to me in my unkempt, messy, unattractive state…and I had given to someone else.  And so it goes…Christmas Eve…and I suddenly understood the meaning of Christmas better this year than I ever had before.

A few minutes later, I decided to leave.  I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.  A small girl was leaning on the door holding it open for the customers.  I smiled at the child who couldn’t have been more than 7-years-old.  “Are you holding the door for everyone today?” I asked her and the child looked up at me as she smiled and shook her head.  “That’s very nice of you,” I said.  “Thank you so much.”  Her only response was another big smile.  I know I have been blessed today…And so it goes…on and on…the innocent giving….the glory of the Christmas season.