ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS ... LESS CHRISTMAS

Sunday night we saw a production of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.”  

In our basement.

The big girls and their friend put together an elaborate play with costumes and music and several very long intermissions. Their interpretation was unique to say the least.

Mary Scrooge was a modern woman who, according to the Ghost of Christmas Past, proposed to her boyfriend at Christmas. He promptly turned her down because she “just wasn’t into Christmas, which is, like, his favourite time of year… so it just would, like, never work.” Jerk! Kind of seems like she dodged a bullet there, but maybe that’s just me.

The Ghost of Christmas Present said, “S’up, yo?” then brought her to Tiny Tim, who was repeatedly dumped on his head. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t scripted, but it did increase the pathos (and fill me with gratitude that they had cast a Cabbage Patch doll instead of little brother for the role).

The Ghost of Christmas Future was appropriately creepy in one of our camping ponchos. The gravedigger, played by a snarky cowgirl, assured Mary that this would be her fate if she didn’t learn to love Christmas.

In the final scene, Scrooge celebrates her new favorite holiday (under threat of death) by running around town in a Hawaiian dress buying cheese for all the children. This is either a nod to Muppets Christmas Carol or a reflection of my eldest’s dearly held belief that cheese is the best food in the world (the stinkier the better).

The truth is, much like Mary, I’ve been dreading this whole season. The work. The decorating. The expense. The pine needles tracked through every nook and cranny of the house. The shopping and worrying and lists and trying to get everything right. I’ve been sick for a long time and now that I’m feeling better, this is a giant obligation hanging over my head.

But I’m the Mom. So my feelings from one moment to the next are rarely the priority. Which is why I decided to bite the bullet. I pulled the Christmas boxes out of storage and determined to unpack the bare minimum. The girls pulled out the rest and put most of it in their own room. At least now I can stop stressing about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Not nearly as bad as I had built up in my head. In fact, it was fun to see how excited all the kids were. They have enough joy and anticipation and excitement to offset Mom and Dad’s general weariness.

I had to laugh at the subtext of their festive play. Not liking Christmas is the ultimate sin. Sure, Scrooge was rude and mean and greedy, but none of that was as unacceptable as being a Holiday Humbug. This is the moral of the tale as seen through preteen eyes. Also the Grinch, Shrek the Halls and countless sappy Hallmark specials.

Why is this a sin? Why do we feel this pressure? I have certainly felt guilty about my lack of “spirit” this year. I’m usually one of those Christmas-y folks that loves every minute.

Many of us take the opportunity in December to celebrate Jesus Christ. For us, the elaborate rituals of the season are all part of that, which makes it meaningful. But we don’t need Christmas to celebrate Jesus. He didn’t celebrate it himself, now that I think of it.

It is also a time to celebrate family and generosity and eating delicious food. For most of us. For some, Christmas comes with a lot of posing and pretending and pain. It’s consumerism at its worst. Greed. Loneliness. Impossible expectations.

So maybe that’s why the Grinch Hated Christmas. And maybe it’s none of our business that he did. 

It’s not a sin, after all.

Christmas is what you make of it. For some that means Martha Stewart meets Jimmy Stewart meets Angels Singing on High. For others, less is more. Who’s to say which is a better way? It comes down to personality, priorities and beliefs. So, let’s cut each other, and ourselves, some slack. Everyone should do as much or as little as they enjoy.

As for me and my house, we’ll find our Christmas spirit, just like we always do. And I’m not going to worry if we don’t.

After the show we all danced like maniacs to “All I Want For Christmas is You.” Pretty appropriate considering the one thing I’m totally excited about is sharing Christmas with our boy. Everything else is optional.

And for a moment, while L was showing her Dad how to do the moonwalk the “right” way, B was practicing her disco moves and the boy was doing an impressive running man, I felt like Christmas may be a pretty good idea after all.

So here’s me, a little less Grinch today than yesterday. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

I WILL CALL HER BLESSING

Wednesdays are busy for me. Pre-school for my 4 year old, early release for my 8 year old, dinner, bible study and AWANA…throw in an errand and we are packed for the day.

Normally, on a day where we are so crunched for time, I would say no to my children begging me to take them to the store because they have money burning a hole in their pocket. Today, for some reason, I said yes.

It was sunny but crisp outside as we turned out of our neighborhood onto the main road, I happened to see a woman on the side of the road, off a ways, near the briar bushes sitting on a duffle bag with her elbow on her knee and her head on her fist. She was in her late 20’s to mid 30’s and had BEAUTIFUL dark skin, a handkerchief covering her hair, a flowing calf length denim skirt, a flannel long sleeved shirt with a warmer coat on top, and one inch platform flip flops. I had seen this before…but not in my community. 

We kept driving and spent a good 45 minutes spending our money. I treated myself to a five bucks (that’s Starbucks to you) which is something I hadn’t done in a long time. With a new pair of jeans and a warm coffee in my hands we set off to drive home.

There she was, still sitting there with her hand on her fist and her elbow on her knee. Something in my heart said STOP. 

I looked at my rear view mirror and hanging there, was the reason why the image of that woman was so familiar to me. She reminded me of South Africa, where it is not uncommon to see someone sitting on the side of the road with a bushel of something to sell, or someone just resting for a minute. It, in fact, is normal there. In South Africa there are so many people on the side of the road…but not here. Again my heart said STOP.

I tried to dismiss it as I pulled into our neighborhood. Rationalizing it by telling myself that I don’t have time, my kids are in the car, I need to make dinner before our evening activities…Louder: TURN AROUND and just ASK her if she needs help.

I looked at that Starbucks cup and was immediately embarrassed for buying it. It was such a luxury. In fact, the last time I got back from South Africa, I didn’t buy a coffee for an entire year to make a statement about the frivolous lifestyle I wanted to leave behind. 

I could not, go and ask to help this girl, with a Starbucks cup in my car. Again: TURN AROUND and ask her if she needs help. 

What if my kids freak out because they want to go home and play with this new trinket they just spent their money on? What if we are late? What if I can’t get dinner done? TURN AROUND!

We pulled into our cul-de-sac and I pulled over before we got to the house. My 8 year old, Ty, asked me what we were doing. This is how the conversation went:

Me: “Ty, did you see that lady over by Laura’s house sitting by the side of the road?”

Ty: “Yes”

Me: “Do you think we should go ask her if she needs help?”

Ty: “Yes, mamma”

I turned the car around and headed back to where the lady was sitting. FEAR came over me and I broke into a sweat. The decision had been made, we were going back! I repeated over and over “I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me.” 

I drove my car to my friends house, who was half a block away from where the woman was sitting, left my kids there and started walking. As I rounded the corner and had her in my sights she was just getting up and grabbing her bag. 

“Excuse me, I saw you sitting here, and I was wondering if you need any help?”

She hadn’t seen me coming, so a little startled she said: “I was walking, and I got tired, so I stopped here to pray, I’ve been here praying about a lot of things, and one thing was for someone to help me.”

Sticking my hand out toward her I said “Well, My name is Adrian and God placed you on my heart to help. What is it that you need help with?”

Assessing the situation, I could tell she was running from something and she had just left. She was clean, I could smell her soap. Her clothes were clean, her bag was clean…She was not strung out on drugs and she looked me in the eye when she talked. I HAD TO KNOW this girls story. 

She was looking for a ride to Tacoma, and after talking to my friend who I left my kids with we decided that giving her some bus money and driving her up to the park and ride would be the best idea.

I cleaned out the front seat of my car and was embarrassed again. I saw that target bag with the jeans in it, a GPS, an ipod dock, and a smart phone…along with that dang Starbucks cup…I looked at her and realized all she had, was all she had with her and there she was…praying on the side of the road in her flip flops on a crisp fall day.

As we drove, I tried to pry and ask questions, she didn’t budge too much. What I did find out was she has family here in Puyallup that “she just needs to get away from.” And she’s looking to get to a truck stop in Tacoma where she will try to make her way to <something tells me not to put the city name in this blog> because the one time she visited there…it was nice. She was hoping to start a new life there. 

I pulled into the mall parking lot near the bus station and asked if I could pray for her before she left the car. She agreed. Then she reached across the car, hugged me, and called me blessing as if it were my name. She got out of the car and I watched her walk away.

By this time, I had 2 text messages from my husband telling me that my friend had called him and told him I was doing something crazy. The other one was telling me to turn the GPS on my phone on. TOO LATE!

I don’t know what she was running from.

I don’t know what she has ahead of her, although I cringe at the thought of her making it to a truck stop.

What I do know is that the Holy Spirit moved me. He asked me to step up and be a part of the plan. I am humbled that I was asked, but ashamed of the process it took for me to say yes. When it comes down to it, I’m a chicken! I obey out of fear not out of excitement. My thought process is this: Would I rather have a little discomfort now or untold pain later?” There will be punishment for disobedience either while we are here on this earth or when we meet Him face to face. 

I have to trust that He has this young lady’s life in His hands and that she will have a great story to tell someday. 

Thank you God for bringing this woman into my life for the hour that you did. She put a mirror in front of me, and I see that there are some things that need to change. I will call her blessing.

Adrian Kashporenko

THE FLIGHT

It was time to fly home from Atlanta to Seattle.  My 18 month old (and only child at the time) was my reason to board the plane first so we made ourselves comfortable before all the other passengers started to get on. She loved people watching as everyone walked by or took their seats in front of us as I silently wondered who would fill the seat next to me. As soon as I saw him, I knew he would be my seat buddy and I have to admit, I was not at top game. 

Here comes this guy with gray curly hair standing straight up in a Lyle Lovett fashion with dirty clothes and wrinkly skin that looked worn and tired of the sun. He looked homeless.  His black grungy boots were sticking their tongues out at me, as if mocking the upcoming torture I was sure to endure and the laces clicked the emergency lights strips with every step.  He squinted at every seat label as he passed to see if he was to 35 yet.  Really?!  Since when do the seats on airplanes go in any order but numeric.   I had no idea his seat assignment but was certain Murphy's Law would plop him right next to me.   He made his way down and sure enough, that empty seat was about to be filled with a furry, drunk, rude man!   Great.  5 hour flight...

His name was Cory and he was the nicest man.  His feet didn't even stink after he took off these big work boots he had been running around in all day. Cory could tell I was exhausted as Caelan jumped up and down in my lap, tearing the pillows out from under peoples heads in the rows in front of us. He kept offering to hold her for a minute to save my legs but she wanted to save all her thrashing for me.  He told me all about his twin grandaughters and how he couldn't wait to be back home to Seattle. With kind smiles and an keen understanding of when to stop talking, the flight went by very smoothly and actually quite enjoyable.  I was glad that God put Cory on that flight to teach me a lesson. How ugly my heart was to assume such things about him but how convicted and changed I felt after sitting next to him in row 35.  Still praying the people around me felt convicted to forgive curious Caelan for pulling out their earphone countless times to ask them "whatcha doin?".

AMY BALLARD

AmyBPhotography.com

HIT BY FRIENDLY FIRE - and what I learned

Have you ever worked for a company that you supported and stood up for - but they, in turn, treated you poorly? Perhaps you volunteered and sacrificed for an organization that took advantage of you? Maybe you were part of a committee or team that you really cared about, and your teammates selfishly turned on you to preserve their own place on the team? If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, then you understand firsthand the feeling of being hit by friendly fire.

I, too, have been wounded deeply by those I trusted in the workplace. But if you know me, then you also know that I try my best to never waste pain. I ask myself what I can learn from it and how can I grow?

WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT MYSELF AFTER BEING HIT BY FRIENDLY FIRE

• I need clear structure and authority. I will not be part of an organization that doesn’t have an organizational chart in place. It must be clear who each person reports to and what the chain of authority is. If this is not in place, then I will choose to step aside until it has been established.

• I need to have the courage to confront from the ‘get go’. The moment I feel uncomfortable, I will go to the source and get clarification. I will never confront by email - only face to face. And it will be my responsibility to ask any question needed at any time.

• I will not be bullied or pressured into decision-making. I will walk away from any situation that makes me feel this way. I will ask myself and evaluate, “Why the hurry? Why the pressure?” After that, if I am not confident of my answer or my input, then my answer is “no”.

• I need to feel valued. I need the freedom to express my ideas and thoughts. I feel respected when I am kept in the appropriate loop of communication. I need appreciation for what I do right or what I do well. I also need correction and input for my growth where needed. And, I need to be challenged.

• I won’t enable others to treat me poorly. I am the only one responsible for standing up for myself. I will take full responsibility for what I have control over and I will set personal boundaries. I specifically will not allow myself to be mistreated and/or devalued in order to keep a false peace amongst others.

Christie Lee Rayburn

ChristieLeeRayburn.com

10 INCHES OF HAIR

That is how much is needed if you want to donate your hair to Locks of Love so that another little girl may have a chance at a head of hair. During our homeschool about a week back, we were talking about ways we can share and help others. We spoke of sharing our toys, our fruit snacks, our time, our energy, etc until Mama, with her ever-present big mouth, says something along the lines of "We can also share our body parts!".

If there ever was a moment where there was a Life Pause Button, it would have been that moment. I knew that if I didn't quickly add the appropriate direction on to the end of that sentence, we would have to discuss death and organ donations and how they do that and why we have to die and the conversation would end in tears as Caelan begs me to never die. Trust me...I have been there!

So...I quickly added how we can donate our hair, our blood or organs that we don't maybe need as much as other people who do. Hair?  This peaked Caelan's interest as she would NEVER consider cutting her gorgeous locks. Over the course of the week, she asked me random questions like "Does hair grow back?", "Why don't other people have hair?", "How do they use donated hair?", etc. I answered each one as best as I could and showed her pictures of what cancer treatments do to people and their hair. She was deeply touched.

On one special night, she and I did our nightly cuddle time and she whispered to me "Mama...I think I want to donate all of my hairs to a little girl who needs it." My heart melted. Not wanting to wait too long and lose the opportunity, my fingers dialed that salon as fast as I could to make an appointment.

What an amazing organization Locks of Love is! How they coordinate and appropriate all this hair that had once been trash, and turn it in to such a gift for these beautiful women and girls is unbelievable to me. I was so moved by Caelan's decision...so moved by her.

Rubberbanding the hair together to prep it for the donation. They have organized rules to make sure that as much hair as possible can be kept for re-purposing.

She was SO happy to see it get cut off. I almost cried but ended up holding it together. Not that I didn't want her to cut her hair...just shocking to see her sweet baby tendrils go away.  This was her first haircut EVER you know.

As we drove home, the view in my rear view took my breath away.  My little girl who now looks like a big, grown-up girl has cut her hair off just to give to someone else.  She recognized her over abundance and considered how she could bless someone else.  Do I do that?  In all the blessings poured out on me, do I rubber band sections and give them away?  Do I put myself under the scissors to help someone I don't know?  Do I take my FIRST harvest and give away even a portion of the things that were so graciously given to me?      

She taught me such a huge lesson that morning.  We are the parents, true...but the things they teach us sometimes...amazing.    

Amy B 

amybphotography.com/blog