Monthly Archives: November 2010

Making Preparations

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Today is the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the day after Black Friday, and much of the country has begun its enthusiastic preparation for Christmas. For many years that was true for our family, too. We kept our 22 boxes of decorations under the stairs in a “secret” closet in which no adult could straighten up. It dictated assembly-line emptying of the decorations, smallest people farthest in.

Every family relishes the fun of opening their boxes again and pulling out Christmas items that mean something special only to them. It’s like participating in a private holiday festival, half silly and half magical.

Nate was never big on setting out decorations or stringing lights. His enthusiasm was strongest for choosing the tree, sawing off the stump and getting it upright. He usually finished by wiring the trunk to the window behind it, hoping it wouldn’t “go overboard again this year.”

The rest of the family lost interest long before the tree was completely trimmed, but that never dimmed my holiday spirit. After they’d all been bathed and bedded down, and after Nate had settled into his nightly “bathtub hydrotherapy” with a good book, I’d head back to the boxes and put on my middle-aged-mom-music, decorating well into the night.

Today Birgitta and I did some shopping and enjoyed seeing newly purchased Christmas trees tied to the tops of cars heading home for the decorating ritual. Their ordinary evergreen would soon be transformed into a lighted, sparkling wonder, the focal point of their home for a month.

As we arrived home, our next door neighbors had finished decorating their pretty picket fence with garlands and lights, and in the twilight it was a welcoming sight. Last Christmas, seven weeks after Nate died, none of us were feeling merry. We did have a tiny, lopsided excuse-for-a-tree, but most of us were just hoping to “get Christmas over with.”

This Christmas will be different. Our “new family” will be together, which means we’ll be minus Nate but plus Micah, Evelyn and Thomas. Little children can serve as God’s instruments of joy, coaxing us to surrender to laughter and good cheer. Just imagining their expressions of glee at the ornaments and lights will make the decorating fun, even if I do it alone.

But while eagerly pulling out the boxes marked “Christmas”, I have to ask if I’m equally energized to ponder the magnificent coming of Christ. Have I lived through so many Christmases my subconscious tells me I know everything there is to know?

Jesus Christ, the Messiah of Christmas, has more depth to him than any of us can possibly comprehend. His interest in saving us, his unique way of accomplishing it and the love he expressed by becoming human are mind-boggling concepts we’ll think about throughout eternity.

As I decorate the house and yard, I’ve asked the Lord to show me something brand new about himself during this season.

And because I’ve prayed that, I’ll be eagerly anticipating his answer, watching for it, waiting for it and knowing it will come.

“The child [Jesus] grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.” (Luke 2:40)

Funny face

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All of us have visited festivals or theme parks where street artists are sketching faces for money. Most often the drawings aren’t true to the person but are caricatures bearing similarities with exaggerated differences. The artists are quite good and most likely can draw faces accurately, but what makes it fun is producing pictures in which one facial detail is highlighted and drawn larger-than-life.

The artist first studies the face he’ll draw, looking for a dominant feature. Maybe it’s a turned up nose or freckles or heavy eyebrows. Then he creates a picture around that feature. Passers-by enjoy watching the face come to life on paper, chuckling as the artist reveals through charcoal or chalk what facial characteristic he’ll overstate.

The one being drawn nervously awaits the end result, knowing he or she will be paying for something that resembles their reflection in a fun-house mirror.

When I was in 7th grade, my family went on vacation, and my face was caricaturized. Although signing up for one of these drawings is risky and the end result often insulting, this artist was kind. I didn’t get a nose and my freckles were pronounced, but “Davo” gave me bright blue eyes and a lovely ponytail.

When Nate was a young lawyer in Chicago’s Loop, an acquaintance was practicing his cartooning and asked if he could draw a caricature of Nate. He, too, was kind, making Nate look like Robert Redford in an action movie. He gave him the jaw line of Superman and the heavy hair of a Kennedy, and we had the picture framed and hung for many years.

To me, the most interesting part of an artist’s caricature is the moment just before he puts chalk to paper when he’s studying the face in front of him to decide what feature(s) he’ll amplify. It reminds me of how we often see ourselves. We exaggerate certain features in our minds and think other people are judging us as a caricature rather than accepting the real us.

The other side of that dilemma is our looking at someone else and judging them unfairly based on one physical feature or even just one facet of their personality. I’m disgusted to say I sometimes do this, and I know God is highly displeased when I do.

What if the Lord looked at me that way? What if he said, “Margaret, you missed a chance to help your friend today; therefore you are a lazy, self-centered bum who never lifts a finger to help anyone. That’s how I see you.”

When I fall short, God may put me in a disciplinary situation but he is always and forever the God of new beginnings. Although he’s the one person who judges with complete accuracy 100% of the time, he sees me through the perfection of Jesus Christ and sets judgment aside because of that.

An artist creating a caricature looks at me with the desire to transform my face with humorous characteristics. God looks with a desire to transform me into a person of improved character. There’s a big difference.

Although an artist’s caricature-drawing is good for a few laughs, God’s character-building is serious improvement, good for all eternity.

“May you always be filled with the fruit of your salvation—the righteous character produced in your life by Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:11)

Thankful for…. that?

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Thanksgiving has historically been Nate’s and my holiday ever since we got married on that weekend, 41 years ago. As holidays go, it’s a pretty good deal for the hostess with one big spread, no gifts and minimal entertainment. Guests don’t expect fancy French sauces or first-time recipes on Thanksgiving. Instead everyone wants the menu to be “just like always,” and so the cook can leave her cook books shelved.

Last year’s Thanksgiving arrived two weeks after Nate’s death, and we were all numb. Most of the family was still in town, though, so we went ahead with the dinner at our Michigan cottage, feeding 28 guests. I fought tears the entire time and could only eat a small salad.

This year my sister Mary offered to host the dinner, since her family would number 18 and ours only four. I felt like I had the day off, since my Thanksgiving prep was only two pies and a veggie platter. So at breakfast we lingered over our oatmeal and talked about memorable Thanksgivings of the past.

There was the year we moved a week before the holiday and hadn’t unpacked our big roasting pan when it came time to cook the 25-pound turkey. Because disposable aluminum pans weren’t around that long ago, we roasted it in a 1”-deep jelly roll pan with a watchful “basting barista” pulling off the juices just ahead of spill-overs.

We also remembered a Thanksgiving morning when we were greeted with 14” of snow, but unploughed roads didn’t keep a single guest away. Then there was the year we hosted several international students but couldn’t come up with red sauce hot enough to make their Thanksgiving fare palatable.

Two years ago I overslept and didn’t get the bird into the oven soon enough. When carving time came, the turkey choice was neither light meat nor dark but pink, a major dilemma for poultry. We carved away the outer edges and nuked the rest in microwaveable chunks, not a recommended technique.

While finishing our oatmeal, we all got serious remembering two consecutive Thanksgivings that could have turned tragic. In the first, Mary’s van was t-boned at high speed on her side of the car. An impact one foot farther back would have killed her. As it was, the front of her vehicle was sheared off, but she escaped with only a sore shoulder.

The next year another accident frightened the four youngest girls as all of us caravanned in five cars to a movie on Thanksgiving night. A lake-effect snowstorm had blown out of nowhere, making the roads extremely slippery. The girls’ Durango fishtailed out of control, spinning around and flying off the expressway. They smashed into a short piece of guard rail that just “happened” to be in the right spot, which prevented them from careening into oncoming traffic. Although the Durango was in bad shape, the girls suffered only a few head-bumps.

This morning as wild rains pounded the windows, we cleared our dishes and recognized how many reasons we had to be thankful. Every family has its unique holiday stories of mistakes, flukes and near-misses, but the trick is to pluck out every opportunity to lavish gratitude on the Lord.

After all, isn’t that what Thanksgiving is for?

“Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
and his wonderful deeds for mankind.” (Psalm 106:21)