The Gospel According to Joe: Defining CHURCH

Photo by Daniel Dempster

Joe's Third Epistle

I use aliases throughout this series to protect the privacy of Joe, his family, and friends.

Today’s update is brought to you by better living through drugs.

Today is Wednesday, November 19, 2014. Let me get the details out of the way first, because I am uncertain how much I will be able to write tonight.
       I finished radiation treatments earlier than expected this week because they want to start chemo ASAP. In fact they wanted to start today, but I said no thanks. I needed a mental health day (as my sister has done once a quarter for the past 20 years—you should try it) between radiation and chemo. Good call! I have had two good days. Of course good is relative, but by my new standard, they were good! I start chemo at 1 p.m. and will repeat every Wednesday for the next six months or until the Lord takes me home!  The treatment consists of one drug that is infused into blood stream, one drug that is injected under skin in stomach, and two drugs that are administered in pill form—massive amounts—30 or 40 at a time. I will have some treatments in Indy and others in Columbus. Not sure how that all will fall out. Please pray that God will spare me of all the side effects that these pills offer.
       These past nine days has been rough. I’ve gone for being plugged up for four days to can’t find the valve to turn the spigot off for four days. Today we have reached a happy medium. There have been many day and nights of anguish, but God has been so gracious to give me joy, humor, hope, purpose and some relief along the way just when needed. God is good all the time!
       I have been blessed to have the company of some great friends, including my beloved pastor. Our children and their spouses have also poured into us. There are many others that want to stop in, but most days I am overwhelmed and not up for visitors.
       A funny thing happened today. Two ladies from our church stopped in to encourage us. As they were leaving, one said that her husband wanted to take care of me by filling in for Beth, my wife, so she could go to church tonight. One of the side effects of some of the drugs I am taking is panic. I panicked! I love her husband. He is an elder in our church. My son married his daughter (with whom I am well pleased). I trust that brother with my life and the oversight of feeding my soul. But there is no way that he is going to do what Beth has had to do to me these last four days! I would never be able to look him in the eye nor he me. Thanking them for the offer, I took a hard PASS!       One of the most amazing things happened this week. I was talking with Beth about all the outpouring of help, and, while many have given sacrificially of their time, food, stuff, and assistance, I wondered if God would use His people to support us financially if we were to have a need (which we don’t at this time). We have met our deductible and all medical cost is 100% covered. God knew beforehand and has provided for our short-term needs). Please understand, some friends already have gone beyond our imagination. We are living in a beautiful home in a beautiful neighborhood for free at great expense to my brother and sister in Christ.

So much God! when will You stop?

       I know myself and know how reluctant I would be to send money without seeing your financial status. Behold our God!
       The next day, I received an email from a great friend and brother in Christ. Here’s how it starts out: “We want to support you financially.”
       I assured him that I was not in need at this time and expressed my thankfulness for his willingness to be used by God. Amazing! And then in typical God fashion (He has such a great sense of humor; after all, not only did He invent sex, but He also invented humor), we got three Buckets of Love from our homeschool co-op program that our kids go to once a week. Inside these buckets were cash, gift cards, movies, laundry service for two weeks, and the most uplifting cards from students, faculty and board. Our souls continue to feast on those delights.
       Again, I laugh as God humors me even more. Did I mention they did the same thing this week? Most of these people I don’t even know and have never met. Beth and the kids are the ones who participate. Who, but God’s people?

Oh, how you have humbled me, Father!

       Whether I live or die, my family will be like these families and pour into others, not knowing the specific needs, but, rather, giving sacrificially as they serve the Savior.
       I want to clear up something that’s been bothering me, something I think I may have misrepresented regarding the Church. It is one of two organizations instituted by God. The other is marriage. He likened the Church to His Bride. (I would be honored to explore what God’s Word says about His Church, its purpose, and its attributes with you.*) I fear that I have told you all the man-centered benefits of the Church, which are much the same as our views of God.
       Most people—and I was one for so many years—believe God to be a kind of cosmic genie. He’s here to grant us all the goodies whenever we are in need and provide the miracles. That, my friend, is a small, inaccurate view of God. The full teachings of Scripture reveal a high, God-centered view of Himself. The blessings that I have mentioned poured out on our family about the Church, reeks of a Santa Claus view, when in fact the Church exists to glorify God, to equip the believers for battle, to discipline the members, and to confront habitual sin and heresy with the purpose to restore the believer to the Body, to proclaim the Good News of Christ to the unbeliever, to rightly divide the Word of Truth, and to provide oversight of our souls by the Church leaders. These are some of the eternal benefits of Church. Taking care of each other is a temporal benefit, one that shows the rest of the world the love of Christ for our believing brothers and sisters.
       I didn’t understand these truths until I began serving and got engaged in a healthy church. I was the Lone Ranger Christian, bucking against the institution of Church, not wanting anyone to tell me how or when to worship God, thinking I could do church on my own. All they want is my money. And, God, You are one lucky guy to have me on your team. Boy, was I wrong on everything. Scripture is very clear on these matters. Don’t believe me? Read the Bible. Have someone help you understand. I have many friends that do church out of obligation, duty, habit, kids, tradition, fear, guilt, social club etc. Some don’t go because of the reasons I’ve listed. Some don’t go because the Church is full of hypocrites. You know what? You are right! There are no perfect churches because they are all filled with sinners like me. And if you believe like I do, that at least 50% of church goers are not true believers, but, rather, wolves in sheep’s clothing, then you will be all the more skeptical of church. But know this: There are churches that preach the Gospel and the full counsel of God. Find one and GO! If you need help finding one, I have resources. If you are going to a spiritually dead church stop today, even if Mommy and Daddy still go there, and run to a church that loves Jesus and feeds your soul from the very Word of God!       I have had so many rich conversations with people vía email and text these past few weeks. I wouldn’t trade them for this cancer. I thank God every day for it. Sound crazy? Not if you know my Savior. Engage me on it. I would love to tell you more. One of the things I have shared with several people is that I know why I have this cancer! Want to hear? I thought so.
       Two years ago, I was challenged by a dear brother in Christ to really fight my sin and idols and really love God. I began praying in earnest “Lord whatever it takes!” God has answered my prayers. He alone is faithful and worthy. He is refining me with His fire. He has torn down and trampled every idol I am aware of: sex, lust, entertainment, food, relationships, titles, education, wealth, money, income, security, toys, land, house, vacations, spiritual knowledge, giving, pride, career, busyness, comfort, health, children, and wife, just to name a few. God is teaching me so much. Sure I would like to be rid of this cancer but I pray that I never go back to what I was. God is oh so faithful and I am so thankful for how God is using this cancer for His own Glory and my eternal benefit.
       It is late, I am tired, and I have a big day ahead of me. I am praying for you that God would open your eyes and save you, if you are not a true believer, and if you are, that He would draw you nearer to Him.        Please pray for me, also.

Trusting in Christ alone,

Joe

Husband, Father, Friend and Follower of Christ, Saved by His Matchless Grace and Forgiveness by His Death on a Cross for a Wretched Sinner as I.

*If you wish to dialogue with “Joe” on any topic raised in this series of letters, please “Comment” including your email address. As his health and strength permits, he will be happy to converse though email with you. As the owner of Sweet Water from the Rock, I reserve the right to moderate comments. –Sharon Kirk Clifton

Again today, Blogger allows me no changes in text style. I apologize for emboldened font. That is not my choice. Blogger gives me no choice on this day.



The Gospel According to Joe: The Body of Christ at Work

Joe's Second Epistle

I use aliases throughout this series to protect the privacy of Joe, his family, and friends.

Today’s update is brought to you by the Church!

Today is Saturday November 8, 2014. Last Saturday, my cousin Bob and his wife Cici stopped by. It was an encouragement to see them. We always enjoy talking to them. Bob always makes me laugh and raises my spirit. Next time you see Bob ask him to tell you about his dermatologist appointment. I hurt myself laughing.

       I think I missed my first election since being of voting age. I hope they got it done without me this time! I have moved four times in the past two weeks, so I am hoping that the campaign donation requests don’t catch up to me for a while. My sister Martha, who also has been fighting cancer (Breast Cancer) the past nine months warned me that there would be many silver linings along the way, perhaps this was one J.        Martha has been such an encouragement to me, and of course now I have so many regrets of not supporting her like I could have because I was “too busy.” God has such a good sense of humor!

       Speaking of God’s humor, let me tell you some funny stories that happened to me just the other day. Monday morning, we were prepared to travel to Indy to begin the process of radiation therapy when Dr. Val called at 7:45 a.m. and told us that he talked with his partner here in Columbus. The Columbus doc could get me in the same day to start the process. We didn’t have to go to Indy! Wow! That would save us approximately 3 hrs. a day of severe discomfort. So, we headed for Columbus hospital for a 1:45pm appointment to do the initial consultation hoping to get started on Wednesday.

       Oh! Back to the funny part. So I got up, took a shower, and was already out of juice. So instead of brushing my teeth I decided to Listerine it. We were still living in the RV [since the new owners of our house had taken possession], and I had this huge bottle of green Listerine. I reached for it and noticed there was another small bottle of clear Listerine. Upon inspection, I learn that it is Ultra Clean 3X, more powerful! I asked Beth if I could use it.

       “Sure go ahead. I’m sure Allie won’t mind”. I took an extra-large swig knowing how bad my breath smells to me, let alone to some unsuspecting doctor or nurse. Upon gargling, I noticed a burning sensation unlike any I had ever experienced before. While said liquid was still in my mouth, I quickly re read the bottle. Yep, Ultra Clean 3X. I held it in my mouth as long as humanly possible, timing the expulsion so perfectly between that fine line of killing every conceivable germ in my mouth and passing out. At this point I begin to see a light of hope at the end of the tunnel. My thoughts turn to Why don’t they just use this stuff for chemo? And then to I bet I have the freshest breath on Earth! After a solid one minute of drooling over the sink, unable to talk, breath or spit I get the bright idea to use the green bottle. It tastes like candy!

       At the hospital, I saw the doc, and he looked over my charts. At that point, he decided to bump all his other patients and put me at the front of the line. It was a long afternoon. I was able to get my first treatment Monday around 5 p.m.

       They focused radiation on my lower back. The x-rays show more issues than you can shake a stick at in my back. An hour after the treatments, the nausea set in. By 8 p.m. I was vomiting every 30 minutes. Beth was able to get some meds for it to subside by about 1 a.m. But not before wrecking my ribs and diaphragm, which is now the source of most of my pain. It was a very hard start to the week.

       Tuesday was new day bringing new hopes. After a night of hardly any sleep and plenty of time for prayer about many things, there was clarity for me as to where we should seek treatment. My good friend Luke had advised me early on, calling it a “no brainer.” It became crystal clear to me now that we needed to stay in Columbus for one reason—our church. For the benefit of our family and the benefit of the church. I know that only you who are in a healthy church will fully understand this. Others will see my decision as stupid, especially since there are treatment centers that specialize in this cancer that have average life expectancy results from 1.9 to 5.7 times better than the average hospital. Indy/Columbus is not one of them.

       I asked Beth to begin working on a place for us to call home. True to form, she began by praying and reading Scripture because that’s who she is everyday, not just when her husband is dying of cancer.

       God worked mightily and swiftly. Beth received a call from her good friend Amanda, with whom we used to go to Church.

       Here are the first words out of her mouth: “Beth, can I help you find a house today?” Who can do this but God? Amanda has only recently become aware of our situation and certainly knew nothing of the decision we’d made 30 min earlier. Amanda began working (or, more accurately, God did) and within two hours she calls Beth back to tell her that by 8 p.m. that very night we can move into a house that would be fully furnished with beds, a hospital bed, recliner, wheel chair, food, appliances, and the necessities to live! Who but God and His Church?

       It turned out that there was a Christian family we met four years ago that was prompted by God (in the middle of the night) to remove their beautiful 5 bedroom home from selling it on the market two months ago in order that they could minister to a family in need. Two months ago! Who but God and His Church?

       Now here is the coolest part. None of these people go to our church. Do you see? God is not only using our church (Bible Baptist, a small but faithful body of 125) but three other churches in our community: Terrace Lake Community Church, Parkside Baptist Church, and the Reformed Presbyterian Church, to bless us and provide for our needs. I am so encouraged by the faithfulness of God’s people as they serve in the local church. I have many friends that claim to be believers and yet do not get connected and serve in a local Bible-preaching church. I once was that guy about seven years ago. I could not go through this battle, or life, for that matter, without my church and church family.

       I live to tell you my story and would love to have an honest discussion on the matter. Dying, I am learning brings about the boldness about which Christ instructs us in His Word. And here is the funny part; we are all dying. My window is 5 months to 5 years, but the reality is that you may beat me there! So, please engage me. It truly is the only thing that I am living for, which is to Glorify God and sharing the Gospel.

       So, by Tuesday at 8 p.m., with the help of dozens of people from four churches, we were ready to move out of the RV and into the beautiful home! Beth and the kids met at the house and thanked those moving us in. Tears of joy seeing God’s overwhelming love, protection and provision flow freely from our family as they witness firsthand the hands and feet of God working through His Bride the Church. Words cannot express what my heart feels even now.

       Tuesday was also the day I found out from Allie that the bottle of Ultra Clean 3X Listerine had recently been swapped out with rubbing alcohol! Needless to say I had yet another training session with kids.

       Wednesday was my best day this week! Because of the hospital bed and the new home, I was able to get out of bed without injuring my poor back, and Luke, my good friend and brother in Christ made the trip from his home in Iowa to pray with me and encourage me in the Gospel. Who does these sorts of things? I understand friendships. I understand family but what I am learning is that our brotherhood in Christ is a bond that lasts an eternity and that eternity has begun in this life for true believers. I realize as I am writing there is another church that is supporting us: Luke’s church in Iowa, Oak Hill Baptist.

       Some of you don’t go to church because it’s “full of hypocrites.” Most churches are, at the most, 50% true believers, the rest are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Some of you have been burned by church people.

       One thing I know for certain—there are no perfect churches because they are all filled with wretched sinners like me, but there are churches that preach boldly the Word of God and God has much to say about His church and why you should be serving in one, growing and living out life with fellow believers in the church. He designed it. He calls His Church the Bride of Christ. He has instructed us plainly to be part of a healthy church. Most, if not all, the books in the New Testament were written to the Church, not to individuals. Engage me on this. Search the scriptures. Your eternity hangs in the balance.

       My body continues to wear down. I can see it daily. My zeal for God increases daily. Scripture most days is the only thing that satisfies me and encourages me. When I read Scripture now it truly comes alive! It jumps from the pages in living color. I see it Lord, I finally see and understand! Oh how I pray that you will see it, too. That the God of the universe will save your soul! That the Almighty King of kings and Lord of lords will save you from your religion of works. That your dead faith will be brought to Life by Christ, the only one who can save you. I pray that God will be glorified.

       God is good and worthy of my praise. I thank God daily for this cancer. I pray for Him to use me up for His name’s sake and when He is done, to take me Home. I pray that that day comes quickly.

In Christ alone,

Joe

Husband, Father, Friend and Follower of Christ, Saved by His Matchless Grace and Forgiveness by His Death on a Cross for a Wretched Sinner as I.



The Gospel According to Joe: From Intended Evil to Eternal Good

Joe's First Epistle

I'll use aliases throughout this series to protect the privacy of the family.

"...you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good..." (Genesis 50:20, ESV)

Joe, a friend of mine, recently received devastating news that sent his life into a nosedive, one that affected the whole family. His son, a corporate lawyer, immediately took on his dad's role as CEO of the family business. Joe's wife Beth, a homeschooling mom, added the role of Joe's primary care-giver.       

       Joe and Beth have served in leadership for our church for many years. They also are active in various homeschool groups, so many folks stepped up to stand beside the family and help in diverse ways. We all sought to encourage them in any way we could.

       Then Joe began sending email messages. He, our brother who was experiencing his own private, pain-ridden hell, was at once sitting at the feet of Jesus and being tutored in extreme grace! Through his messages, he shared what the Saviour was teaching him. I asked permission from Joe to share his messages, and he granted my request. May they bless your heart and life, Gentle Reader, as they have mine!

*******

Today is Wednesday, October 22. It's my birthday. I'm 56. Those who know me well know that birthdays are not important to me. I rarely remember anyone's. I think I will remember this one as long as I live...which brings me to my story.

Today we moved from our 6,000-feet-of-excess log home. It rests on a 50-acre parcel of land that we have aptly named Utopia. We loved our home, but more than that, we loved the land and the freedom it afforded our family of now 12. It was our dream home. The kind of home that you think of when having family reunions and a gaggle of grand kids coming home to year after year. A place where they can ride four wheelers, shoot guns, hunt, fish, ride tractors, swim, BBQ, explore, creek-walk, get stuck, get hurt (a little), and relax. We sold it for reasons only God fully knows to a wonderful and generous family that has already blessed us in ways they may never know. Here's one example; they are allowing Sunny, our golden Lab, to stay with them for up to a month as we make the transition Who does that these days? Not me!

So back to my story. We turned over the house to the new owners at noon and then proceeded to Indy for a follow-up appointment for my back surgery at 2 p.m. The back doctor referred me to a specialist to tell me about the results of the two biopsies they did on my vertebrae. Beth and the two younger girls accompanied me while Stephen and Allie went to a college soccer game with a bunch of friends. As we rounded the corner to the hospital and I provided the necessary backseat driving directions to my wife, we saw entrance, Number 4, that I was instructed to enter. Both Beth and I were taken aback a little as we read the big sign over the door: CANCER CENTER. It may as well have been in flashing neon lights! Thankfully, the girls were oblivious to the sign as they were busy doing their school work.

At the reception desk, I gave the name of the doctor I was to see. That’s when I learned she was an oncologist. A very competent lady and pleasant. She met with Beth and me to inform us that I have multiple myeloma which is bone marrow cancer. Bone marrow cancer is a little hard to get your mind around. It permeates the body and can show up anywhere and is best treated by bone marrow transplants combined with chemo and radiation therapies. It is incurable. Without treatment, she said, I had a year or less. Radical treatment could extend my life expectancy by two plus years. She and my son (Tyler the doctor) are saying there are some good reasons to pursue treatment.

Me? Not so much. But I have promised my wife and son to remain open to consider. I am interested in managing the pain but not so much in extending my life. This world is not my home and I look forward with great anticipation to meeting my Savior, Christ Jesus. Don't get me wrong. There are many things I would like to see accomplished; mainly growing old with my wife, seeing all my children grown and sharing the Gospel with family and friends. I will continue for as long as God allows.

On Monday October 27, I have a radiology appointment to discuss treatment, a full body skeletal scan, a bone marrow biopsy procedure, and a bunch of lab work. This will help the doctor determine the stage I am in and the recommended treatment options. I have an appointment on October 31 to review all of those results with the oncologist.

So, I pray for you. That the salvation, peace, and understanding that only the Word of God and Christ can provide will come upon you and that you, too, will experience the joy and confidence in Christ that I have. I rejoice in this: that God chose to save me before the foundations of the Earth even though I was His enemy. Amazing!

In Christ Alone

           Joe

          Husband, father, friend and follower of Christ, saved by His matchless forgiveness and grace by His death on the cross for a wretched sinner such as I.

Christmas Reflections 10: More Than 1,000 Words ~ The Art of Ron DiCianni

"Simeon's Moment" by American artist Ron DiCianni



"It is my sincere hope that my paintings
 will result in your encouragement and
 knowledge of God.

 "What you will be seeing is the fruit of
 decades of effort in honing my craft. I am
 honored and continually amazed that God
 uses these efforts in the body of Christ. I
 feel it's what I was born to do.

 "I realize that any painting can make you
 look. I'm hoping that mine will help you
 see."  ~Ron DiCianni

You've probably seen the art of Ron DiCianni (pronounced dee cee AH nee) many times before. Early on in his career he illustrated for some major corporations, and he was the official artist for the United States Olympic Committee for the Moscow Olympic Games. His work also graced the covers of This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness, both authored by Frank E. Peretti. Though I read both of these books and appreciated the cover art, which initially drew me to the books (yes, you can tell much about a book by its cover), I didn't know who the illustrator was. I awakened to DiCianni's wonderful work through Max Lucado's and Joni Eareckson Tada's Christian Tell Me storybooks. Of course, they're in my library. I'm a storyteller!
       As I listened to Morning Edition on NPR this morning, they praised the work of an artist whose paintings look like photographs. I understand the skill required to produce such a work, but I have to ask myself why. Why would one want his canvas to look like a photo? Just take a picture. Let the artistic eye of the photographer show through the shot's composition, angle, juxtaposition of light and shadow, and darkroom/Photoshop expertise. Nonetheless, that artist's work is highly acclaimed, and that's fine, but not my preference.
       I prefer the complexity, the subtextual elements in a work by DiCianni. I cannot glance at one of his paintings and move on to the next. My eyes probe every square inch, seeking what is not easily seen.
      Case in point: the image above. Simeon's Moment. Remember Simeon? You can read about him here. He'd served the Lord in the Temple his whole life and awaited the fulfillment of the coming of the Christ. Carefully consider DiCianni's painting. Notice the enraptured look on Simeon's face. Do you see the tear. The emotion the artist expressed with that one tear would take paragraphs for a writer to describe. Here is a close-up:

Detail of DiCianni's Simeon's Moment





        Can you hear the emotion-filled worship erupting from the depths of Simeon's soul as he cradles the Creator of the universe to his bosom. Is the tear one of joy? Is it one of thankfulness to our merciful Father? Or is it inspired by a terrible vision of that Child as a Man suffering the indignation of the Cross for Simeon's own sins and those of a wretched, sinful world? 

       Jesus! The Light pierced the darkness of this world two millennia ago. Look again at the detail. DiCianni identifies the infant in Simeon's arms as that Light with the four-pointed star coming from the child. See it? The cross-shaped star?

       And of course you caught the underlying depiction of the world, signifying that the Babe came not only to the Jews but to all the world's people, for "all have sinned and fallen short of God's holy standard" and are in need of a Saviour!

       An interviewer asked DiCianni if he deliberately hid symbolic elements in his paintings. Here is his response:

 



"I have never set out to hide anything in my
 work. Rather, there are elements of secondary
 and tertiary importance to the central theme
 represented in my work.

 "In a painting we lessen the importance of an
 element by changing its size, color, or rendering.
 The lesser elements become slightly obscure
 at that point. When a person 'discovers' them
 later, it can seem that the element was hidden.

 "This is why it is very important to study
 these paintings. When you think you have the
 overall theme — after you 'get it' — it can be
 exciting to discover related messages that
 will expand your appreciation for the things of God."

I love all of DiCianni's work that I've seen, but Simeon's Moment is definitely a favorite. What's yours?

Question: Gentle Reader, do you see other significant, subtle elements in Simeon's Moment?



Christmas Reflections 9: Nylon Stockings for Lunch

I always knew that Santa Claus was a wonderful fantasy. Mama never took me to sit on his lap, at least not that I can recall. Perhaps she wanted to protect me from the disappointment of a nearly giftlessgiftless," because I usually got something practical--a new pair of oxfords from Schiff's Shoes, a cozy flannel nightgown from Grant's, or a blouse from Kresge's dimestore. It was never anything frivolous such as a transistor radio from Sears'. Christmas morning. I say "nearly

 

My gifts to Mama were handmade in the early years. After all, one would have to collect a ton of empty bottles to get anything really nice. I was in junior high when I decided that she deserved something better than a potholder woven on a borrowed toy loom or a boot-scraper crafted from pop bottle lids nailed to a small square of plywood. (After all, we lived in the heart of downtown New Castle, Indiana, so we seldom had mud on our shoes, and any snow that might be on them would melt away long before we had trudged up the three flights of stairs to our apartment.) But what could I get her, and how could I pay for it?

 

I began to walk the aisles of the stores looking for just the right present. One day I decided to go into Mary Woodbury's, the finest ladies' apparel shop in town. How brazen of me to even walk through the heavy brass and plate-glass door! The floor was carpeted in some plush stuff. My oxfords sank in up to the laces. Soft music played in the background. An intoxicating fragrance filled the air. I inhaled deeply, trying my best to be quiet about it. It would never do to sniff loudly in Mary Woodbury's.

 

I couldn't stand there and take root in the rug, so I forced myself forward to the perfume counter. Mama liked perfume, though I'd never known her to wear anything but Coty's L'Oreal, which was sold at the corner drugstore.

 

"May I help you?"

 

I turned to see a well-dressed sales clerk with meticulously coiffed hair. At least, I assumed she was a sales clerk. Could it be Mary Woodbury herself? Suddenly I felt like a ragamuffin who had wandered in off the street . . .which was exactly what I was.

 

"I . . .uhm . . ." Quickly, I picked up one of the perfume bottles. "Can you please tell me how much this is?"

 

"Yes, miss. That would be eight dollars." I gulped and hoped she hadn't heard. "Shall I wrap it for you?"

 

"Uh . . .no, thank you. I think I'll keep looking."

 

Next to the perfume was the hosiery counter. I walked over to take a look. The clerk stayed right with me. She showed me a pair of Van Raalte nylons that came in a box with tissue paper. How elegant! How perfect for Mama! And they were . . .possible . . .if I really saved. A mere two dollars and ninety-nine cents.

 

The junior high had no cafeteria, so Mama gave me a quarter everyday for lunch at one of the numerous hamburger joints within walking distance of the school. Doug's, with it's killer hamburgers and steaming chili, was my favorite. Both the burgers and the chili were fifteen cents apiece. During this parsimonious time, I got one or the other and drank water. Thus I was able to stash a dime per day for the Van Raaltes. As Christmas drew closer, I skipped lunch all together. The thought of Mama's getting all dressed up to go somewhere, slipping on those luxurious stockings, and asking me to fasten the clasp of her double-strand graduated pearls (a remnant of more prosperous years) helped me forget my growling stomach.

 

Two days before Christmas, I walked into Mary Woodbury's and up to the hosiery counter with cash in hand. The same clerk came up to me.

 

"I would like one pair of the Van Raalte hose, size 9, in taupe, please."

 

I could have sworn the clerk was pinching back a smile, but she may have just stifled a burp. "Would you like that gift-wrapped, miss?"

 

I stood on tiptoe and leaned over the counter so that only she could hear me. "Is that extra?"

 

"No, miss."

 

"Then, yes, please."

 

On Christmas morning, Mama ever so delicately loosened the tape of the silver-wrapped Van Raalte box, pausing only to notice the embossed Mary Woodbury's sticker near the bow. Memories of those afternoon hunger pangs vanished in the light of her smile. It was absolutely delicious.

Christmas Reflections 8: Santa and Me

 

I never really believed in Santa Claus, but I loved the idea of that jolly old elf. Since we lived in the heart of our small central Indiana town, my path to and from school took me past the courthouse where a wee "Santa Cottage" stood between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Santa, assisted by "Mary Christmas," held court there.

Each afternoon a long queue of children and parents wended down the sidewalk and curled around the corner. Several times each year, I would step to the end of that line and go through. Santa probably wondered why I squinted at him, but I was trying to see the man beyond his disguise. I played the game and give him my wish list, and then Mary Christmas handed me a whistle lollipop, all the while giving me that "Haven't you been here a few other times this year?" look. The lollipop was what I really wanted.

The Santa in the shack did not sound at all like the Santa on WCTW. The latter's voice was deep and jolly. He seemed genuinely interested in the children who called in their requests. Years later, that radio Santa became the publisher of a local weekly. He gave me my first writing job. He paid me to do what I loved. Imagine that! Merry Christmas!

Note: Santa, pictured above, occasionally disguises himself at Stephen Hollen, a storyteller of some renown, though he may also appear as Mark Twain, Buffalo Bill Cody, "Doc" Hollen, Ebenezer Scrooge (yes, it's true), and other nefarious characters.

Christmas Reflections 7: Christmas Center Stage

I love the pageantry of Christmas. Cantatas, children's plays and musicals, young adults' dramas, "specials," live nativities, and caroling. I think much should be made of the coming of Incarnate God into the flesh of humanity. The birth of the King of kings is monumental, after all. It changed all of history. The entire Bible--Old and New Testaments--points to the 33 years on Earth of the Christ, the eternal Son of God: His birth, life, death, triumphant resurrection, and imminent return.

At church whole families are involved from September until show time in preparations. The walls of the church building resound with music proclaiming the birth of the Newborn King for three months. It is a busy, cheerful time as choirs rehearse, actors learn lines and blocking, children repeat their parts until they say them in their sleep, fathers build simple sets, and mothers sew or alter costumes.

Hearts pound, tummies quiver, and knees knock as presentation time closes in. The scent of candle wax and fresh evergreens waft on the air. Grandparents arrive early to vie for choice seats, the ones providing the best camera shots. Pews fill to capacity, and ushers scurry around setting up folding chairs.

The sanctuary lights dim. The music begins. The chattering audience, filled with electric expectancy, falls silent as the program participants march in.

Then it's over. All that's left to do is to dismantle the sets, fold away the costumes, file the music, store the ornaments, and vacuum the carpet. But for three glorious months the lives of the church family revolved around that monumental moment 2,000 years ago when God became man in the form of a wee babe, born in a borrowed stable to a peasant virgin and laid in a common manger. Therein Rests the true pageantry of Christmas.

Christmas Reflections 6: A Birth Most Imminent

 

Just hear those sleigh bells jinglin', a ring-ting-tinglin', too. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.
It was a cherished ritual with us--myself and my two daughters. At least once a Christmas season, we would bundle up against the cold, get in the car, and take a grand light tour, stopping off first at a gas station for tall, steaming cups of some specialty holiday coffee or cappuccino. Then, with music of the season playing in the background and us joining in, we'd head for the most spectacular displays we could find, the ones where folks stopped their cars, dimmed their lights, and sat for awhile to take it all in.

You know the spot. You have one in your town, most likely. Perhaps it is a neighborhood where on a special night the streets and walkways are lined with luminarios. Or maybe it's the home of a retired man whose hobby is converting his garage into Santa's workshop and his lawn into a quiet Bethlehem scene once a year.

Giddy-yap, giddy-yap, giddy-yap! Let's go! Let's look at the show. We're ridin' in a wonderland of snow.

We usually visited the flashiest displays first, before wandering onto quiet streets. One night, colored lights shone through a fresh layer of snow, turning neighborhoods into a surrealistic winter wonderland. We rolled the car windows down, willing to endure the cold in order to hear the sound of our tires crunching snow. The icy glow of a nearly-full moon added to the mystery of the scene. We were in an upscale suburb, and most of the properties were decorated to some degree. Brightly-lit Christmas trees stood where they could be seen from the street, electric candles glowed in each window, and wreaths of fresh evergreenery hung on heavy doors of wood and brass.

Let's take the road before us and sing a chorus or two. Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.

One house stood out for its lack of adornment.

"Stop," I said to my older daughter who was driving. "Let's go back to that house."

Both daughters asked why. "I can't explain it, but I just think that we should carol the people who live there."

My younger daughter who was sitting in back leaned forward. "Do you know them?"

"No. That doesn't matter."

We went back, parked the car, and walked up to the door. I knocked firmly, and, without waiting for an answer, we began to sing in three-part harmony, as we often did at church.

Silent night. Holy night.

The door opened, and there stood a young man and his wife. He had his arm around her to warm her.

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed. The little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head.

The young woman looked up at her husband and smiled.

We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year!

"Thank you. Thank you so very much," said the woman. "I'm in labor. We're on our way to the hospital. And I was not looking forward to the ordeal ahead of me. But I know I can make it, now. I really needed to hear your lovely caroling."

"Yes," the man said. "Thank you. And merry Christmas to you, also."

On our way out of that neighborhood, God gave us another blessing. A family of deer numbering seven or eight wandered onto a broad, snow-covered lawn just as we were about to pass. Again we stopped the car and dimmed the lights. The deer lingered, watching us watching them. For several minutes we sat there, sipping the last of our drinks, cold by now, before heading for home.

There's a birthday party at the home of Farmer Gray. It will be the perfect ending of a perfect day.

Christmas Reflections 5: One Raggedy Christmas

The tree, bedecked with cherished ornaments, garlands, and twinkling lights, stood in front of the living room window. We had carefully placed the creche on a white sheet beneath it.        While we kept our gift-giving to a minimum so that it didn't usurp the true meaning of the day, that year circumstances curtailed spending all together. The country was in a recession, and my husband was out of work. So I decided to sew. I warmed up the Singer and began working on huge Raggedy Ann dolls for our two little girls. Keeping it a secret from them while having to work in front of them was the challenge. I could do the machine sewing after they had gone to bed. Constructing the body and the clothes was the easy part. 

       Embroidering the face, the heart, and the "I love you" took many long hours. As Christmas drew nearer, I found myself working much of the day and into the night on the hand sewing. My daughters watched me rooting every strand of red yarn for the hair.

"What are you doing, Mama?" they asked.

I wouldn't lie to them. "I'm making Raggedy Ann dolls. Do you like them?"

Their faces lit up. "Yes! Who are they for?" I knew they wanted me to say that they were for them, but a mama has to have some secrets, especially at this time of year.

"They're for two children who won't have many presents on Christmas morning. I want them to have these dolls. Do you think they'll like them?"

"Yes," each said. They accepted my explanation. I was glad they didn't ask more questions.

Christmas Eve came, and our tree was still bare of presents. On Christmas morning, however, two rather large gifts appeared behind the creche. After we read Luke 2, it was time for them to open their gifts. When they realized that each had one of the Raggedy Ann dolls, they began dancing around.

"But, Mama, you said these were for two other children," one said.

"Yeah!" the other chimed in. They thought they had caught their mother in a lie.

"I never said that." I remembered, because I had been very deliberate in my wording. "I said that they were for two children who wouldn't have many presents on Christmas morning."

That Christmas, they actually received three gifts: a mama-made doll, a lesson in critical listening, and a story to tell to friends through the years. They still have those dolls. In fact, my grandchildren now enjoy them.

Christmas Reflections 4: The Candy Counter

Candy came in seasonal waves. Some stayed around all year: assorted gum-drops, orange slices, peppermint and wintergreen lozenges, coconut bon-bons and haystacks, Boston baked beans, and redhots, for example. Those were fairly stable, not melting when the weather got hot. (Most of the five-and-tens were not air-conditioned. That luxury was reserved for a few restaurants and drugstores in the 1950s.) Though some chocolate candy hung around all summer, very little was sold.

Who wanted chocolate in the summer? It would melt before you could eat it. And then there were the worms. Sometimes I'd defy the odds and buy a Hershey's bar in July because I was craving chocolate (yes, the addiction started early). After all, it was well-wrapped in that silver foil. Surely it was okay. But it wasn't okay. It was discolored, and there were tiny worms wriggling and gnawing their way through the bar. Mama said that the worm eggs were always in the chocolate, that they waited for hot weather to hatch.

Come October, all of that changed. The clerks knew the little girl who lived up over McShurley's Shoe Store and the Coffee Shop, and they knew why I kept an eye on the candy counter.

"Sharon Kay, chocolate candy came in today."

"Really? Did you get the maple nut clusters?" Those were Mama's favorites. We didn't buy them often, because they were sixty-nine cents a pound, more than twice as much as a pound of orange slices, but when they showed up in the sparkling glass bin, I would go searching for empty soda pop bottles. If I could find eighteen, I would get thirty-six cents when I redeemed them at the A & P. That was enough for half a pound of maple nut clusters.

Then came Christmas. Forget chocolate! The French creams had arrived. They were so fresh that the sugar shells on the outside had hardly hardened. The inside would eventually stiffen to stone, but right now it was soft. Some were fruit-flavored, while others tasted almost floral, like an elegant, edible perfume.

Along with the French creams came the Christmas hard candies. My favorites were the filled ones: black-walnut pillows, candy raspberries, and chocolate-filled straws. While I always loved the colors and intricacies of of the ribbon candy, I never bought it, deciding that it would be too much of a challenge to eat.

Most of the time, I feasted on the sweets only with my eyes, but occasionally Mama would give me a dime or I'd skimp on lunch to have a nickel for a bit of candy. It helped us to make it through our temporary poverty.