(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 7: The Way of Warfare)
December 23
The first thing Ryan Fisher felt when he awakened was an obnoxious cold wind, pelting his face with sleet. The searing pain coursing down his legs and across his chest further aroused him. Opening his eyes, he saw movement outside, but the angle of his SUV in the ditch made it difficult to tell what was happening. One thing was sure – the distant siren and flashing lights were for him.
Another thing became certain pretty quickly. Assuming he lived, Ryan Fisher would spend Christmas alone. There’d be no plane to catch, and nobody boarding a plane back to Birmingham. Not in this storm.
It was the end of the day from hell, punctuating the week from hell, capping off the year from hell. And now, freezing and in shock, Ryan Fisher closed a mental door. He was done. [click to continue…]
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 6: The Way of Reflection)
“Livie, why did you teach Lit?” Katie asked her grandmother, eyes rolling with attitude.
“Because I wanted to teach high school kids, and they made me pick a subject,” the bright-eyed woman said with confidence. “Anyway, they already had a football coach.”
Olivia Driver opened the door to her guest room, parted the curtains, and opened the blinds to let the morning sunlight in. Though it was early, her straight, silver hair looked beautifully radiant, as always. Her trim frame and purposeful pace revealed an energy that defied her 78 years. Olivia was on a mission. Today she had planned (she always had a plan) to get the boxes and paper from the closet and start wrapping gifts. This would be a Christmas to remember. All her children and grandchildren would be there, along with those three adorable great-grands.
And this would be Olivia Driver’s last Christmas at her home of 34 years.
January would bring changes, and it was all Olivia’s doing. Four years after her husband’s death, she had decided to sell the house and move to a nearby retirement/assisted care community. She had already completed a thorough inventory, planned an estate sale, tagged the furniture and other items she would move with her, and scheduled the move-in. Only one keep-or-toss decision remained for this retired Literature teacher. And in the streaming sunlight, it caught her eye.
There at the foot of the bed was a large cedar chest, covered by a beautifully-crocheted afghan. Throughout her grandchildren’s younger years, Livie (that’s what they called her) had invited them to explore the Chest of Wonder. [click to continue…]
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 5: The Way of Watching)
Ken Johnson’s answer had become automatic, though dead-on accurate. Whenever someone found out he had flown helicopters for the army in Viet Nam, they would often ask, “So what’s it like to be a pilot in Viet Nam?”
“Months of boredom,” Ken would say, “followed by 15 minutes of sheer terror.”
Ken’s military training, and his subsequent years as a police detective, had made him an expert at noticing things that others were oblivious to. He would pass a random building in a strange city and mutter, “Somethin’ not right going on in there.” He could spot and usually identify one of 18 different kinds of smiles, or when an interviewee was lying or hiding something. But none of his experience or training, including the gritty lessons learned from a failed marriage and some very tense relationships with two of his adult children, could have prepared him for this.
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 4: The Way of Waiting)
For Scotty Thomas, Christmas was cruel. What other word can you use to describe living in a house where Dad enforced a hard-nosed rule: Christmas presents were for Christmas day?
“But can’t I open just ONE?” Scotty would ask.
“No,” his dad would say, smiling.
“I think I know what this one is,” Scotty would say, shaking a wrapped present under the tree.
“Think all you want,” Dad would reply. “You may be right. You may be wrong.” Inevitably for Scotty, it was a little of both.
Like any good 8-year-old, Scotty also had razor-sharp radar for any kid who seemed to get a better deal. Jeremy Walker got to open the give from his sister a day early. Jeff Dunaway opened family gifts the weekend before Christmas day. But Scotty’s appeals landed on stone.
As Scotty grew older and wiser (age 10 now), he became more sophisticated in his approach. If he couldn’t win by appeal, he would conquer by steal. Scotty set out on a mission to find hidden “treasures.”
Snooping through his dad’s workshop and in the attic, Scotty hit the mother lode a full 10 days before Christmas. A new bicycle, video games, a skateboard, some table games, a basketball, a couple of posters for his room, a wristwatch… this was going to be an amazing Christmas.
The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 3: The Way of Hardship
“This won’t be easy, Erin.”
“I know. It quit being easy three weeks ago,” Erin replied.
“You know I can’t guarantee we will have a scholarship still available if you change your mind.”
“Give it to somebody who can use it. I think it’s gonna be a while,” said Erin in a voice both hollowed by grief and steeled by determination.
Those words still hung in Erin’s heart as the elevator doors closed to mirror her 32-weeks-pregnant frame – and to part company with the destiny she once had been sure lay before her.
For Erin Lucas, life had taken a vicious turn. Always an honors student, a Pre-med Junior majoring in Biochemistry at LSU, Erin had taken up what looked like permanent residence on the President’s List. And she had overcome considerable obstacles to do it.
Raised (if you would call it that) in a dysfunctional home, Erin had last seen her father at age 16. Her mother had done the best she could to provide for Erin and her sister, often working two jobs to make ends meet – not an easy task for a middle-aged woman in south Mississippi with just a high-school education. But it was worth the sacrifice and grief to see to it that Erin and Emily would get a college degree in a high-paying field.
Did I mention that Mama was a bit of a controller?
You can imagine the, “concern” Erin encountered when she brought Donnie Lucas home from Baton Rouge over Christmas break during Erin’s freshman year. [click to continue…]
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 2: The Way of Worship)
Jason Strong hates Christmas.
Well, at least this part of it.
And on this quiet Monday afternoon, he lies face-up on the stage floor, staring at the blackened ceiling of the church building he calls home, wishing it would all just go away.
Jason’s a twentysomething worship leader at a contemporary church. On his more philosophical, argumentative days he can tell you all the reasons why worship music should reflect today’s culture, not try to recreate the culture of Lawrence Welk. “Dude, nobody drives to work listening to pipe organs on the radio,” he loves to say. And they certainly don’t at Ovation Church, either.
But Christmas is a problem. “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Joy to the World” tend to make lead guitarists feel a bit out of place. And at Ovation, even the youngest of adults starts pining away for the Christmas traditions of their childhood.
Ugh.
In the spirit of the season, Jason and the band try to cooperate. But honestly, he feels like a fool – leading a band of square pegs into jolly-round holes. What the heck is “Excesis Deo” anyway? And don’t even get him started on “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”
(The Twelve Ways of Christmas, Part 1: The Way of Surrender)
Journal entry – December 10 – Today I leave my family and the security of the familiar. I go to have questions answered, knowing that I may only come away with more questions than answers. I go to be healed, knowing that the process will carry me through more pain than perhaps I have ever known. I go to learn how to break the cycle of false intimacy and shame, knowing that the price for this so-called “true intimacy” may mean the disruption of every significant relationship I have. But go I must. I have covered some of my confusion in lies just to get to this point. My defenses have been forced to surrender, even as my addictive personality continues to cry out, “I want to live!” I go to get “well” today. And I’ve never been more frightened in my life.
Darla White stares at a random spot on the wall of her new home-away-from-home – a two-bed, dorm-style room where she is the only resident for now. Past the denial, beyond the multiple fantasies of suicide, the grief of losing her 11-year-old daughter, and the months of memories lost to alcohol and prescription drug addiction, Darla is a shell of the woman she once was.
Nobody’s calling her “Supergirl” now, she thinks sadly, as she catches a glimpse of her hollow expression in the mirror. And it’s just as well. [click to continue…]
Q. – Dad, why do you wait until Christmas Eve to do your Christmas Shopping?
A. – Because the stores are closed on Christmas Day.
Christmas has its own unique mashup of truth and myths, and every year somebody ultimately brings up both. I was asked on one occasion what my favorite Christmas myth was. I’d like to share my reply with you.
My favorite Christmas myth has nothing to do with Nativity scenes, jolly little fat men, or reindeer with nuclear sinus infections.
Christmas is coming
The elves have been away
Now they’re returning from their holiday.
If you haven’t any reindeer
An airline flight will do
If you haven’t got an airline flight,
Then God bless you.
Christmas is coming
Although it’s still July
We’re going shopping, and no asking “Why?”
Hobby Lobby has your ornaments
And artificial pines
If you don’t have one in your town
Then shop online.
Christmas is coming
The elves may call it quits -
Santa’s reducing all their benefits.
If you haven’t got insurance
Obamacare will do
If you haven’t got Obamacare
It’s time to sue.
“Congress, in an election year, is scrambling to give people some of their money back in order to avoid [a recession] (which begs the obvious question…).” source: Seven Ways to Recession-Proof Your Life
Dear Carrie, 
December 23
Olivia Driver opened the door to her guest room, parted the curtains, and opened the blinds to let the morning sunlight in. Though it was early, her straight, silver hair looked beautifully radiant, as always. Her trim frame and purposeful pace revealed an energy that defied her 78 years. Olivia was on a mission. Today she had planned (she always had a plan) to get the boxes and paper from the closet and start wrapping gifts. This would be a Christmas to remember. All her children and grandchildren would be there, along with those three adorable great-grands.
Ken Johnson’s answer had become automatic, though dead-on accurate. Whenever someone found out he had flown helicopters for the army in Viet Nam, they would often ask, “So what’s it like to be a pilot in Viet Nam?”
For Scotty Thomas, Christmas was cruel. What other word can you use to describe living in a house where Dad enforced a hard-nosed rule: Christmas presents were for Christmas day?
“This won’t be easy, Erin.”
Jason Strong hates Christmas.
Journal entry – December 10 – Today I leave my family and the security of the familiar. I go to have questions answered, knowing that I may only come away with more questions than answers. I go to be healed, knowing that the process will carry me through more pain than perhaps I have ever known. I go to learn how to break the cycle of false intimacy and shame, knowing that the price for this so-called “true intimacy” may mean the disruption of every significant relationship I have. But go I must. I have covered some of my confusion in lies just to get to this point. My defenses have been forced to surrender, even as my addictive personality continues to cry out, “I want to live!” I go to get “well” today. And I’ve never been more frightened in my life.
Q. – Dad, why do you wait until Christmas Eve to do your Christmas Shopping?
