be-musings

If you live in Mission, Urban Planet has winter coats on sale for $10. My brother-in-law has a great idea of buying one (or more) and giving it to the underprivileged or street ministry. I'm going to get one today for that reason...I wish I could get more. Does anyone want to join me in this? I think perhaps Union Gospel Mission or New Heights might be able to accept them.
If you don't live in Mission, I'm sure there are other places with great sales right now, and charities that could take the coats off your hands.

Bear with this pasted story - it will be worth the read. Although it is about Santa, it reminds me of what Christianity is about.

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!" My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" She snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumour has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go." "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car. "Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbours, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's second grade class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible). Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever, officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumours about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

Merry Christmas to you all. So many of you have been Jesus for me. I thank God for renewal of life and for friends and family.

Matthew was still gung ho to cook when he woke up yesterday. But when Scott picked him up from school and said they had to shop for a couple ingredients, that was the end of chef Matthew. Shopping made it not worth trying.
Maybe another day.

Tonight Ben and Colin cooked supper for us. Delicious teriyaki stir fry with chicken and leftover roast cubes. It was a treat to have them cook.
Scott and I like watching cooking shows lately. We watch Iron Chef, and Take Home Chef. I do feel some guilt that we watch these, when people in other countries are struggling to stay alive. I haven't figured that part out for myself yet. Anyway, what we used to do in private (cooking shows) we have just begun to do in front of the family. Sometimes with the family. Scott has even started his "secret ingredient challenge", where every couple of weeks he brings home an item, and I have to come up with a way to cook it. I don't always have to do the work, as last time it was a joint effort. Eggplant in pasta sauce. I couldn't really taste the eggplant (maybe that was a good thing), so I didn't do great on the challenge. He says he already knows what the next secret ingredient is, and we haven't seen or used it before.
Perhaps inspired by the guys cooking tonight, or by the show we watched, Matthew has decided to cook tomorrow night. He has chosen stuffed peppers, garlic bread, and hamburger. He thinks he will do most of it himself with just a little sous-chef help from Scott and I will be the taster. While he is in bed, I have just printed a simple recipe for them to use. Matthew is confident that he will cook a great meal. I wonder if he will still feel that way tomorrow, or if he will decide it's too much work.
I'm thinking it's Nathan's turn now.....

My mom is considering moving to Mission, and has warned me what life near her will be like. What do you think of this proposal?

When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid,
And bring so much happiness...just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.
Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
And I'll bounce on the furniture...wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

When they cook dinner and call me to eat,
I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat,
I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table,
And when they get angry...I'll run...if I'm able!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

I'll sit close to the TV, through the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick.
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
And play in the mud 'til the end of the day!
(When I'm an old lady and live with my kids)

And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,
I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.
My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
And say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"

I've been thinking about bitterness and forgiveness over the past several months. It's hard for a person to go through a major change without having to grapple with things that they perhaps don't want to. Late spring last year I had a moment which remains clear in my memory. When thinking about some things I was struggling with, I asked God to remove the intensity of emotion. I didn't like what I was feeling. I told him I would rather not care than have the feelings of insecurity and frustration. Oh,it never worked of course. Maybe that's okay, because it's the things of the heart that make us compassionate toward each other. Biscotti once told me about bumping into others and smoothing the rough edges off each other. That's a bad, loose translation, and I think Erin should tell us what it really was. I didn't necessarily like hearing that, because that means it's okay for others to rub us raw, doesn't it? In my non-whiny mode I realize this can in fact be a good thing. But when the festering is happening all we can feel is the scrapes and pus. Ouch.
This summer our church took a break from meeting in a public place (because we had no place) and met in homes. We barbecued and talked and laughed. One of the things we talked about was bitterness and forgiveness. We talked about the hold that bitterness has on us, because we hang on to the things we shouldn't by pouting, claiming we're hard done by, sometimes in an effort to control people or situations. In the meantime, it's the event that controls us because we won't let it go. And we can't let go sometimes until we become sick beyond sick.
I have steadily realized that releasing this is something I need to do on a personal level and perhaps sometimes we need to do on a corporate level. Not a fake thing where we make people do it or appeal to their wacky emotions, but a real thing that lifts the weight of what we are carrying. This is my prayer for myself.
I don't totally know how to do this, and with some memories I'm not willing to yet. That's me being honest. I hold to some things to protect myself from a repeat occurrence...it's tough to do that without letting it be a stone tied to my foot as I try to swim. I don't know yet how to balance that, but it will come.
I have learned some things about caring for those whom I might not have wanted to care for. Prayer is a good step in that it softens my heart toward what God would teach me about myself and others.
This path isn't figured out yet, but I think that it will pay off if it gets figured out. I don't expect to really get to the end anytime soon, but hope that I will grow in forgiveness and grace.


Forgiveness, not anger, after Amish school massacre.

Yeah, I've had a full life. A full range of emotions and experiences. Maybe not as rich or varied as some who have traveled a lot and had money or others who have experienced war every day of their lives. I think that's where I'll go with this.
I've blogged before about not understanding war and politics. Also blogged about some times when I've felt sorry for myself. One thing I don't understand is why I was born here in Canada and someone else my age was born in a less advantaged place. My life is easy compared to so many other places. I don't live with bombs outside my place, with limbs missing from war activities, with the fear of genocide or torture. It makes me ask why I have it so good and others don't. It also makes me wonder how others find so much to be thankful for, who live under these conditions.
Scott posted a picture of two sets of children. Is it my imagination, or does the girl on the right look genuinely happy? Sure teaches me something about true joy not being dependent on circumstances. And how we aren't thankful enough for what we do have.

Our church meets at a cafe, called Main Street Cafe. This is a new place for us, though not for the business.They've been around for five years.
Lately business hasn't been as good, and it's been causing some stress for the owner. We like him, and we like the environment for the Saturday night 'services'. So we decided to do something to help.
Now, when the topic came up I have to admit I was hesitant. I find life busy, and taking on something extra for no certain result was more than I could imagine when we first starting talking. But the others in our home group inspired me by their example. They stated that as Christians it is our place to help those who we can, and that is how they viewed helping the cafe. So we brainstormed what we could do to bring encouragement and perhaps some cash to lift the spirits of the owner and give him hope.
We're getting in deep now. We've painted for 5 full nights, and next we'll be decorating. We have no experience as restauranteers, but we're game to be a sounding board regarding menu, provide a menu format (Scott), bounce ideas around for marketing changes, organize some events to bring in business. We don't have the answers, but we're game to put in some extra time there once in a while. Well, at the beginning perhaps a lot.
I learned something about being "the feet" of Christ on that first night that we talked about this. I realized I'm more reluctant than some others at times, and for that I was ashamed. My level of commitment wasn't as open as theirs. It taught me.
So now I'm rolling with it, and in deep...perhaps too deep, but that's how I do things. I'm excited and tired at the same time.
This might not result in any great benefit for the Cafe, but it's an attempt. And a good lesson about being involved in what happens around us.