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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Lives Matter…Even Furry Ones!

Last Friday, I decided to read through a few recent articles before I started to work on my writing assignments.  Unfortunately, once more nothing but bad news appeared on my computer screen.  I read about cop-involved shootings, protests, natural disasters, and other sad events.  After a while, I finally pushed myself away from the computer with a sigh.  I stood up, stretched, and walked into the bathroom as I thought about…

“OH, DOGS!”  I cried out as I saw the mess that was left on the cool, tiled floor.  We have a huge, fenced-in, lush backyard and puppy training pads laid out in the front room, and yet the dogs still choose to make their messes right in front of the bathtub.  With a groan, I quickly cleaned up the bathroom and then thoroughly scrubbed my hands.

After drying off and hanging the towel back on the rack, I left the bathroom and walked into the living room where two of our three dogs, Friskie and Cowboy, were comfortably snuggled down into the big, soft, cushiony pillows that make up the back of the sofa.  They like to climb up on top of the couch and then plunge their little bodies down into the pillows as if they are falling into quicksand.  Only their sweet, round, dark eyes and cold, wet noses are visible.  The third dog, Starburst, was cuddled up in a little, round, furry ball on the big, brown puppy pillow by the television.

“Alright, dogs,” I call out to them as I clapped my hands together to get their interest.  Starburst lazily raised up her head and scootched her furry, white and brown body forward.  Friskie and Cowboy slowly and clumsily pulled their bodies up from the cushions like lazy, little swamp monsters.  Once I had their full attention, I pointedly asked, “Who made the mess in the bathroom?”

Of course, none of the dogs would confess, even though Starburst and Cowboy looked directly at Friskie, who had lowered her head back down into the pillows.  Otherwise, Friskie refused to admit any wrongdoing.  “Alright, fine,” I answered, surprising myself by how much I sounded like my own mother.  “None of you did it.  The mess just made itself.  No, no, don’t get up.  I got it all cleaned up.  Just go back to sleep…”

And that’s when I suddenly noticed a large, nasty, runny, orangey, thick fluid on the carpet just a mere two inches away from the puppy pads.  I stared at this new mess in shock for a few seconds wondering which dog had been sick.  I was suddenly spurred into action, however, when little Starburst suddenly moved forward from her comfortable position on the puppy pillow and prepared to clean up the chunky fluid by licking at it.  (I know that’s really disgusting—but that’s the way it happened!)  Once again, feeling absolutely revolted, I quickly cleaned up this new mess as the dogs once more settled back down to sleep.  I was sincerely and totally grossed out.  I never had children, so I never had to deal with projectile vomit, gross diapers, and disgusting messes.  Fate sure was catching up with me now.

Finally, after the orange mess was cleaned up, I walked around the room and checked on all three dogs to make sure they were not sick.  When they seemed to be all right, I walked back to the bathroom to thoroughly scrub my hands clean once more.

A few minutes later, I decided to go to the kitchen to get some iced tea.  I walked through the living room…

…and that’s when I heard it…

I stopped for a moment and looked around the room.  What was that noise?

And then I heard it again…

UUUUHHHHH!

What was that?

UUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh.  The noise was a very loud, low, deep sound with a scratchy-throated screech at the end.  It sounded just like a person gagging for breath as he or she was choking.  Choking?

I looked around and that’s when I noticed little Starburst.  She had now moved off of the puppy pillow and was lying on the hardwood floor of the dining room.  The deep, guttural noise she was making continued to get louder.

UUUUUUUHHHHHHH!  UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh, Starburst was choking!  The dog was choking!

“Star?” I called out as I ran over and knelt down beside her.  I reached out my hand and gently touched her side.  But before I could say or do anything more, she yanked away from me as if my touch had hurt her.  She moved away and crawled underneath the table.  Even though she was further away from me, her gags had gotten louder.  I crawled underneath the table after her.  Now, when she saw me, Starburst suddenly lifted her right paw out as if she was reaching for a lifeline.  But her paw quivered twice before the rest of her body began to shiver violently.  Oh, my gosh, the little dog was starting to convulse!  Her whole tiny body was now shaking as she continued to gasp for air!

In a panic, I got up and grabbed my phone off the table.  I quickly pushed the touch-screen buttons to call my sister-in-law, Mary, who is the actual owner of the dogs.

“Hello,” Mary answered her phone sweetly and I felt horrible to have to give her such bad news.

“Mary, it’s Jamie,” I screeched.  I didn’t wait for her to respond.  “Starburst…”  I stuttered, “Starburst is sick.  She’s choking.  She can’t breathe and she started convulsing now.  What should I do?  Where are you?”

“Oh, my God,” Mary gasped.  “I’m nowhere near home right now.  I’m babysitting the grandkids.  I can’t leave them.  But I’m going to call someone to come help you, okay?  I’ll get someone over to the house really fast.”

“Okay, okay,” I answered as we hung up.  God, I had studied and taught abdominal thrust, CPR, and first aid for years, but would those techniques work on a little dog?  Could I possibly call 911?  I crawled back under the table.  Starburst now let me touch her, but I think it was just because she didn’t have the strength to pull away.  “Starburst,” I whispered to her.  “Little Starry…Baby…it’s going to be okay.”

UUUUUUHHHHH, Starburst replied to me.  She was still gagging and her little body was convulsing terribly.  I reached out and pulled her gently towards me.  I raised her head and stared down into her little face.  Oh, my God…Starry’s beautiful, soulful, brown eyes were completely unfocused now!

Oh, my God…  Her left eye stared lifelessly ahead while her right eye had rolled off to the far side.  Then both eyes suddenly began to roll to the back of her head.

That was it!  I pulled the dog out from under the table and held her tightly.  I got up from the floor with little Starburst in my arms and grabbed my keys off the table.  I was going to take the dog up to the vet’s office that was just a few blocks away on State Avenue and 78^th street.  It was after 5 o’clock already, though.  I didn’t know if the office was still open but I hoped they would have some kind of emergency information posted somewhere by the front door.  I had to do something to help this tiny dog.  I love this dog so much.  “God, please,” I prayed as I ran into the living room.  “Please, God, please let this little dog be okay.  Please, God, don’t take this dog.”

UUUUUUUUHHHHHH!

I squeezed little Starry close to m y chest as I ran and prayed.  “Please, God…please, I love this dog.”

Just as I yanked open the front door, Starburst’s body suddenly stopped shaking.  There was one more hard UUUUUUUUHHHHHHH…

….and then silence.

No more movement…no more noise…

…just stillness… and silence…

And then the dog coughed.  She coughed.

“Starry?” I called to her as I held her away from me to look at her face.  I stared down at the little dog and suddenly saw her small mouth move.  She suddenly worked her furry jaw up and down in a chewing motion

…. and then she swallowed.

She swallowed…

And then Starburst opened up her eyes and looked directly up at me.  I stood very still and stared down into Star’s sweet, funny face.  We just stared at each other for a moment.

And then Starry took a deep breath and whimpered.  “Ummmmmm  ummmmm”

It was so different from the loud choking sounds of a few seconds before.  This sound was soft and tender and heartbreaking.  Starburst now feel limply against my chest as she started to whimper uncontrollably now that her horrible, scary ordeal was finally over.  I held her tight to me and cried right along with her as I gave thanks that she was now miraculously okay.  I sat down slowly on the couch and tried to sit Starburst on the floor but the little dog wouldn’t leave my arms.  We cuddled together for a while until her cries finally calmed down.  I placed Starburst carefully down on the floor.  “Oh, Star!”  I sighed as she ran over to the dog dish and began to eat.  “Seriously?”

After her near fatal choking crisis, she was now snacking on dry dog food.  I don’t know if the whole ordeal had just made her hungry or maybe she just wanted to show me that she wasn’t afraid to eat again.  Yes, she had been through a bad choking experience but she showed no lingering fear as she chomped on the food.  I just shook my head at her and laughed.  Then, once she was satisfied, she crawled back up into my lap.  For the rest of the evening, little Starry  followed me around the house and wouldn’t leave my side until we both exhaustively fell into our own beds and went to sleep.

The next day, I came home from work and checked on the dogs to make sure they were okay and there were no messes to take me by surprise.  I went into my room and turned on the computer to catch up on the news.  More deaths, more disasters…

And suddenly there was a knock on my door.  I got up and opened my door to find Starburst waiting patiently in the hallway.  Now as she saw me, she jumped up and down, daintily dancing on her tiny, white, hairy paws.  Starry would run towards me and as I stepped forward she would joyfully jump up and back and spin around before prancing back towards me once more.  I laughed as I playfully chased her back into the living room where Mary was cuddling with Friskie and Cowboy on the couch.

“Starburst wanted you to come out and play with her,” Mary informed me.  “You don’t’ have to if she’s bothering you.”

“She’s not bothering me at all,” I told Mary.  “I’m just so relieved she’s all right.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” Mary sighed.  “I think you are her best friend now.”

“Yes,” I agreed.  “We are very bonded.  We’re best buds now.”  I got down on the floor as Starburst rolled over onto her back so that I could rub her pale belly.

I had told Mary the details of what had happened the day before.  Now my sister-in-law stated, “I think when you picked her up yesterday from under the table and held her tight, you probably dislodged whatever was in her throat so she could start breathing again.”

“Probably,” I answered, “but I don’t really know what happened.  I just remember holding her and praying…”

I stopped talking and Mary and I just smiled at each other.  Mary got up from the couch then and called, “Come on, dogs.  Time for dinner.”  I think all three dogs understand the word “dinner.”  They all trotted after Mary into the kitchen as I walked back into my room and sat down at my computer once more.  After a few minutes, there was a knock at my door again.

I got up and opened the door.  Starburst walked into the room and over to my chair.  I knew what she wanted.  I picked her up and placed her on my lap after I sat back down in my chair.  I rocked her back and forth as I looked at the articles appearing on my computer screen.  Nothing but bad news.  I clicked off the computer and pulled Starburst close to me as I realized that it really doesn’t matter how much money we have or what job we do or what kind of cars we drive.  When it’s all over, the only thing God will want to know is how much compassion we displayed and I how much love we gave.  Because all life, no matter how small and furry, is precious in the eyes of God.  In God’s glory, all lives matter, I thought as I cuddled tiny furry Starburst close to me and once more gave thanks for God’s sweet mercy.

 

 

 

 

The Faith of a Child

Sunday afternoon, I decided I needed to be free of all distractions.  Over the last month or two, I had fallen behind in my work.  With my cross-country move, starting my new job, and completing my novel, I had taken time away from writing my blog, my poetry, my journal, and my short stories.  I wanted to get back to writing again on a set schedule so no aspect of my work would suffer.  In order to do that, I needed to leave the house.  Facebook, laundry, cell phone, and TV are just a few of the culprits that can distract me from getting my creative endeavors accomplished.  With this thought in mind, I decided to head up to the local Wendy’s restaurant.  I was determined that I was going to sit in the restaurant for at least two hours, sipping cups of iced tea and writing several pages in my notebook.

About an hour into my work, I was making good progress.  I felt focused and thought I could work through the rest of the afternoon.  I had written two poems and had started scribbling ideas down for a new short story.  For a brief moment, I became stuck on a particular aspect of my narrative and glanced up and away from my notebook.  I had meant to look away for just a moment…but it was a moment that broke my concentration and suddenly I could no longer focus.

My mind had wandered over to the next table about ten feet away from me where a family of four had sat down to enjoy their dinner.  The parents were sitting with their backs to me, so I could not see their faces.  The two beautiful young children, however, were facing towards so I could see them two clearly.  The girl was around the age of seven with bright eyes and straight, long blond hair that was pulled by blue ribbons away from her smooth, round face.  The little boy appeared to be much younger as he sat forward on the bench of the booth.  His small feet did not even reach the floor.  Like a typical 5-year-old, he swung and kicked his legs joyfully as he ate his meal.  Both children were incredibly well-behaved and radiated a glow of good health and the happy inner light of youthful joy.

I smiled at the children before turning my attention back to my notebook.  I was reading over the ideas I had scribbled down when I suddenly heard a small sound.  I glanced up and realized the little boy was now speaking in an enthusiastic, sweet voice that bridged the distance between our two tables.  I tried not to listen.  I didn’t want to eavesdrop but his words kept getting my attention.

“Mom,” the child said, “remember what I told you was going to happen in 45 years?”

Though I could not see the mother’s face, I noticed that her body suddenly grew tense.  Her movements seemed to be on pause for a moment as she stared at her son.  I didn’t hear her response because she spoke in a soft whisper.  I could only hear a few mumbled sounds but her voice was too low to make out any words.

“Mom,” the child said again, “I told you before what was going to happen in 45 years.”

Now, the mother cleared her throat and answered, “In 45 years, I’m going to be 79.  And you are going to be 50….”

But the young child was not satisfied with this answer.  “No, Momma,” he protested.  “Don’t you remember what I told you?  When you and I die…”

Now the mother began to frantically whisper again.  The tone of her voice was kind, but her body continued to be tense as she spoke quickly to the boy.  She tried to explain to the child how they would both age over the coming years.

“No, momma,” the boy interrupted her.  Though he spoke in a steady voice, the volume had increased as he tried to get his mother to understand.  “Remember, I told you when we are going to die.”  Then the child must have suddenly become aware his mother’s agitation.  He said, “It’s okay, Momma.  You don’t have to be afraid.”

Again, the mother spoke but her voice was too soft to hear.  Her hands began to idly pick at the food still lying on the paper wrappers in front of her.

The child responded, “Momma, you don’t have to be afraid.  I won’t let you be afraid.  It’s okay, Momma.  Heaven is wonderful!”

Again, the woman stiffened as she listened to her small son.  “Remember, Momma.  Heaven is beautiful!  Do you remember what’s going to happen to us when we get to heaven?”  The child then began to laugh.  “Don’t you remember, Momma, what it’s like in heaven?  I remember, Momma….”

Both the young girl and the father said nothing as the child talked.  The family now sat in stunned silence as the child talk about the glories of heaven.  He spoke about the love of God and a complete absence of fear and worry.

Finally, the family stood up from the table and began to walk to the exit.  Halfway across the restaurant to the door, the mother suddenly stopped, looked down at her son, and then engulfed her tiny prophet in a deep, loving embrace.  Slowly, they pulled apart and the mother gripped her son’s hand as they walked out of the door together.

I sat still for a moment as I contemplated what I just heard.  The phrase “A child will lead them” entered my mind.  Children are born into this world knowing all about heaven, the universe, past lives, and healing secrets.  Children can see angels and departed loved ones, and they understand God’s mercy in ways adults can no longer even contemplate.  It’s so sad that we lose the ability to truly know God and witness the glory of his universe as we grow older.  We lose the fascination of childhood.  We lose the possibility of the impossible.  We give up as we grow up.  We let go of faith, and hope, and miracles just so we can exist in a world that is fleeting at best.

I want to know the glory of God and the universe as I did when I was a child.  I want to be that five-year-old again who has no doubt about heaven and believes in all possibilities.  I want to be that child who saw angels and felt the presence of God in all things.  I thought about the bible verse from Matthew 18: 2-4:

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

Now, I smiled and put away my notebooks.  It suddenly didn’t matter how much work I could accomplish.  All my anxieties had disappeared.  I just had the sweetest of distractions and didn’t want to let go yet of the joy and happiness I was suddenly feeling.  I got up from my table and walked up to the front counter.  I bought myself chocolate ice cream which I hadn’t eaten in years.  I went back to my table and sat down slowly.  I tilted back in my seat and put my feet up on the opposite chair.  I sat for several minutes, enjoying the sweet taste of the ice cream as I watched the pink and orange glow of the sunset.  Life is not a distraction.  Yes, indeed, there is nothing to fear.  Heaven is wonderful!

 

 

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.

 

 

Past Life Regression

I have always believed that the purpose of life is to learn lesson about love and the universe so that we as people can become more Godlike.  However, one life is not enough time to learn all of the lessons we need to know to better our souls.  As a result, I am a strong believer in reincarnation.  So, when I had an opportunity to learn more about past life regressions, I was deeply interested.  I had never tried regression therapy before and was extremely curious.

Last summer, I sat in the audience at the Hay House I Can Do It! conference in Austin, Texas.  I was excited to see Dr. Brian Weiss’s presentation.  Dr. Weiss is a psychologist and hypnotherapist who specializes in past life regressions.  I was familiar with Brian’s work.  I had read his books on past life regressions, including Many Lives Many Masters, Messages from the Masters, and Only Love is Real.

I was intrigued from the moment Dr. Weiss came onstage and began to talk about his background.  Dr. Weiss explained how he became involved in past life regressions.  He was extremely low key and spoke in a smooth, quiet, almost monotone voice.  Yet, his warmth, humor, and conviction held my interest.  I hung on his every word and wanted to know more.

After his short lecture, Dr. Weiss explained that instead of bringing individual people up on stage for a regression, he was going to attempt to take the whole audience through the procedure.  I was thrilled; I really wanted to try a regression, but didn’t really know if I could relax enough to be hypnotized with so many people around.  I decided to try anyway because I really wanted to do this.  I really wanted to experience what a regression was like.

Dr. Weiss began by telling the audience that he would be taking us through three different stages: childhood, in-utero, and past life.  He instructed us to view our lives playing out in our minds like a movie. Okay, I think I can do this.

Dr. Weiss then told us to close our eyes and he was going to guide us to a childhood memory first.  I laid my head back on the seat, breathed deeply, and let myself completely relax.  I cleared my mind of everything but Dr. Weiss’s voice.

Suddenly a scene popped into my head.  I saw a farmhouse in the middle of an open field.  There was nothing else around.  I could just see a small, white house in a field of waving wheat.  The paint on the house looked fresh and the grounds and fields were very well-kept.  However, I found my focus centering on the picture window that was next to the front door of the house.  I was fascinated because there were wasps flying around the screen on the window.  I don’t know why this took my attention.  I don’t know what it could possibly mean, but I was completely focused on the wasps that buzzed around the window.  I just knew that this scene of the farmhouse out in a field was from the 1950s, which is a decade before I was born.  I don’t know why I was seeing it so vividly.  It certainly wasn’t a part of my childhood.  I knew within myself that it was a past life.

Suddenly, I heard Dr. Weiss say, “I’m going to take you back in-utero now.”  I suddenly sat up a little in my seat.  Oh my gosh, I thought, I did it wrong!  I already went to a past life!  The farmhouse was not my childhood.  I had gone too far back already. Have I completely messed up my opportunity now to experience more?

I put aside my anxieties and desperately concentrated on Dr. Weiss’s voice.  Okay.  I am in-utero.

And suddenly the most amazing feeling came over me.  I started to cry.  I knew right then that my mother didn’t want me.  My mom was completely stressed and upset about her pregnancy with me.  But then I suddenly understood something.  My mother has always loved me.  She did want me; she was upset because I was her third baby in three years.  I could feel her stress and desperation as she realized she was now  further tied to my father.  There would be no escape.  I started to cry as I felt my mother’s anxiety.  I tried to pull myself out of the moment, but the feeling was just too deep.  The emotion was too strong.  I didn’t have the strength to pull myself away.

Finally, Dr. Weiss’s voice broke the connection.  Dr. Weiss announced that he was now taking us back to a past life.  “Now, look down at your feet,” Dr. Weiss directed.  “What kind of footwear are you wearing?”  I obeyed Dr. Weiss’s command, but saw something completely different than my white, long, narrow feet.  Instead, my skin was dark, my feet were wide, and I was wearing rope sandals!

Oh, my gosh!  Dr. Weiss’s directed the audience to now look up at the people around us.   I looked up and immediately caught my breath.  Directly in front of me was the gentle, kind face of the Virgin Mary.  Oh, my gosh, I was with Mary!  She was laughing and talking to me, and I believed that she was my sister or cousin.  We were very close.  Then the scene changed and I saw myself walking with Jesus as I listened to his words. The last scene suddenly caused me to burst into tears.  I witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.  I was standing next to Mother Mary looking up at Jesus on the cross.  I was physically in real time crying deep sobs now as I gazed upon the scene.

However, I was suddenly pulled away from the image of Christ on the cross by the deep cries of a young woman sitting in the seat next to me.  The woman began to shake back and forth as huge sobs wracked her body.  I pulled a small packet of Kleenex from my bag, pulled free a tissue, and handed it to her.  She wiped her eyes while I patted her back.  Suddenly, I found the young woman in my arms as we both cried for several minutes.  I was so involved with the emotion, I hadn’t realized Dr. Weiss had ended his presentation and walked off the stage.  The young woman and I slowly calmed down and then started to laugh.  After a few moments of sharing our experiences, we said good-bye to each other and left the theater.

I felt refreshed and renewed.  I felt strong and capable.  I felt Jesus Christ walking by my side.  Now, I can’t honestly say that the experience was real.  Maybe the scenes with Mary and Jesus were nothing more than a reflection of my growing faith.  My faith in Jesus Christ has increased tenfold over the last few years.  He is my hope, my savior, and my best friend.  Was I actually at the crucifixion?  I don’t know.  But I do know this: I am forever connected to Jesus Christ and his many blessings.