Go beyond magic meaning only the supernatural. Think of enticing, marvelous, and a touch of heavenly. Along with worship those words when combined with meals give us cherished memories of Christmas tide. The Wedgeworth tradition was to have a full meal the night of the 24. Mother could be out of the kitchen on Christmas Day and time of eating left overs wasn’t a stress. By candlelight we ate eye of the round roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, hot rolls, and homemade ambrosia. Early that morning I sat next to Daddy as he wiped off a fresh coconut and used an ice pick and a hammmer to knock a hole in one of the eyes. Then he poured a stream of fresh coconut milk into a glass for my morning treat. The rest of the preparation was breaking the coconut and carefully lifting out pieces of white meat with the tip of a paring knife to grate. Then he peeled and sectioned naval oranges we had made to trip to the mouth of the river to buy the week before. Canned pineapple was acceptable to toss for the final ingredient. Properly chilled, ambrosia was the food of the gods.

As Smiths we added an extra meal to the month. Sometime in December each of the five of us got to invite a friend or a family to a celebrating meal. The group was varied. The five year old invited her dad’s secretary who was always wlcoming to her. The older son asked his car pool friend’s whole family. David invited a Mexican employee and his wife. Another son chose a favorite young teacher from Maryland. The children made place cards and chose dessert. One year we used Christmas cutters to shape seasonal donuts

Married,I kept the time of Christmas Eve meal; however tweaks happened. All of us went to Christmas Eve service and we usually managed to hear that some person was missing at that moment the family necessary to make a meal more than just food. Come join us! Worship was ended with a Silent Lord’s Supper on the 25. Five families came back to our house for several years with whatever leftovers they had to have a Holy Picnic to wrap up to the season. The final treat was eggnog mixed with ice cream, presented in a silver bowl, and dipped individually into punch cups. Cinnamon was optional. In the year ahead, meals await. Make them more than bread alone.

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with them and they with me. 

Revelation 3:20

Some things just happen from pots boiling over, to surprises (at least to the unsuspecting one), or accidents. The last one one can be fortuitous or not depending on the outcome. A good part of my life I thought a good preparation for Christmas was externals. The first needs were mainly a tree and stockings with a smattering of carols for atmosphere and a pageant at school. About my fifth year of teaching while December focus could still be Christmas and not Winter Holiday, I became aware of an Advent Wreath, lots of symbolism in a circle and the opportunity to strike matches and light candles and talk about prophets and mangers and shepherds and stars with some other options of one’s choice. Then the demographics of my class changed and we focused on our individual definitions of value words like Hope, Joy, Peace, and Love. We wrote Holiday Memories and posted on lockers in the hall. The preparing offered by church was readings from Isaiah, Matthew, and Luke and a sermon each week to tie to the scripture. 

Little by little that list of original importance began to lessen. In my high school years, we went to the Espiscopal Christmas Eve Service where a robed choir processed down a center aisle singing, “O, Come All Ye Faithful.” Our church in Houston gave focus to Advent with commissioned banners and an Advent Book with twenty-five writings by various age church members. These pieces were a personal response to the theme for the week. Over several years, I came to depend that these would be spiritual comments that easily lead me to “a child is born ” attitude.

Whoa! The Discipleship Committee focused this year on Once Upon A Family, introduced as a messy family. Sunday notations and comments on hymns helped me feel the usual “warm and fuzzy,” close to God moments. Others were children’s drawings, sweet, of course, and recipes, and stories of what some family “always did.” Our family seemed too varied to belong: places to be stretched over 600 miles, people attending were those who were expected and those who appeared, and once friends from Saudi helped fold a special napkin design for a table set with silver and china. Our family is split this year: three here; four in another state. Since I am leaving Friday to fit with the four group, I read ahead December 25. Star shine and angel song came with this sentence: ”I hope you now know more about the family of God for you in this place.” I heard this message and came with them to the manger, joining a group that is my special family of God. If we don’t come, we can’t tell what we have found. May we join, rejoice, and go out to impress all with our story.

They left, running, and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. Seeing was believing. They told everyone they met what the angels had said about this child. All who heard the shepherds were impressed.

Luke 2: 16 – 18

The parts all go together to tell about a baby and no one can tell it better than children. I teach 1st first and second graders and through the years many have added a younger brother or sister to their family. When I acknowledge the addition the next Sunday their introduction is always the same. They hold their hands apart to show us size and they lean over slightly and make a gentle round motion to describe the head. Their voice becomes very quiet and their hand flutters where a slowly rising and falling middle should be for us to know how to pat in just the right way.

When all the pieces go together to tell Luke two, it is most memorable if presented as a pageant by 4 and 5 year olds. Over a once a week meetings through the fall, our church has polished the production to be told with costumes and musical quatrains that are easily memorized . The program is fleshed out with 6 through 10 year old handbellers and proud parents singing a carol to cover changes of groups.

The moment comes when about twenty-six very focused costumed children come on the stage with only a little shuffling to find the post-it note that will mark where they stand. The story begins with the solo by the Donkey who tells of bringing the couple to the Innkeeper who offers them a stable bed. A mike is very carefully passed on to the Red and White Cow who provides a manger and Sheep with Curly Horns whose fur keeps the baby warm. Of course Sheep need Shepherds though one did get distracted by his stand on note and had to sit on the floor for a bit to straighten it out. The Angels sang and my favorite animal, the Camel told with a straight face about having a hump and traveling a-glump. The Star shone in the sky. The very youngest Wise Men wore crowns and held gifts to occupy their hands. Finally a joyful, smiling Mary picked up the baby, and she and Joseph declared they would “care for Jesus.’ All adults stood to join in Silent Night, photos were taken, and memories were stamped indelibly for this year.

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

Luke 2:6 – 12

This was on a 3″ X 1″ sticker I thought I’d never use until I started down a words and stories I love road after choir last week. All is a jumble, so I may as well start at the beginning. I vaguely remember at age four ( because I mostly always did what my mother said) standing in front of a fireplace and saying “A Visit From Saint Nicholas” for a group of ladies. The first TV special the boys saw was “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” with Doug stomping the floor at the end and crying, “Bring back the Grinch” These are other words that define December.

Agreed,Luke 2 et al are foundational, yet over the years other offerings seem to help the lights shine brighter. I had a collection of books that I fanned out with cedar twigs on the coffee table. We broke up housekeeping for a move to Swift Blvd. and I left all behind without a second thought, and this day I am sorry. Among our Christmas music last week we sang one of Chesterson’s poems “The Inn at the End of the World.” The poet calls us all to that place,”We follow the feet where all souls meet at the inn at the end of the world…….- and a Child comes forth alone..’ Do that Googling of Chesterton and he has several works presenting the darkness of winter and a place to find home.

A Christmas Carol is retold in enough forms that the story can be followed as we mature and are able to grasp Dicken’s flow of English and can delight in ghosts of past and present and the cry of a small crippled boy, “God bless us, every one!” Henry VanDyke’s The Other Wise Man ties us to an interrupted journey that happens even with our best intentions. .

Children, anxious for gifts and well aware of upsets, especially if the house has a cat among the inhabitants, welcome being able to hug their knees and even laugh uproariously. “Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree” brings some humor. Even better are Raphie’s predicaments in “A Christmas Story.” Who doesn’t cherish the family that gives life to The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.

The most memorable recountings have a miracle to reinforce the truth of the season. A change comes to a woodcarver as he, directed by a small boy, creates a special creche. The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey is noticed by the whole town. Poems give each of us a part in the larger story. Jack Keats used delightful illustrations of the boy with the noisy drum : “I have no gift to bring; I played my drum for Him, I played my best for Him.” Christiana Rossetti circles us around again to darkness in her ‘ In the Bleak Midwinter’, offering the realization that we are neither shepherd nor wise men, and yet we do not come empty handed. The words fall like a hammer: “Yet what can I give him: Give my heart.” Don’t you be sorry for words you’ve put aside. Be like Mary and fill in your own kept up with story: an angel, a journey, an inn, a child, shepherds.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Luke 2:19

In spite of pluses, Thursday messed up my mental week. I woke up Friday thinking it was Saturday and was disjointed from extra driving time on a busy highway. Then I hit a brick wall. That Thursday was the beginning of the 6th decade of Smiths at the ranch for Thanksgiving and no one noted it. Labor Day 1963 was the inaugural gathering of 16. I missed the first November grouping because I took our new baby to Louisiana. Most years after that through teen years of generation 3, a group came and celebrated. A good rallying cry. “To the ranch!”

I didn’t know Sunday had a special name growing up. Christ the King Sunday. A proper ending to the liturgical year even if Baptist didn’t celebrate, just the Sunday after Thanksgiving, an opening to slide into December. This year still had four days of November to wrap up and some appointments and commitments and pay attention to the last month on the calendar. A son-in-law did take the autumn leaf wreath down and put up greenery and a red bow as a hint of a new season.

So, on this Tuesday morning, I start looking for the door to open to continue our contact of a beginning again time. I need only minimum decorations: a small artificial tree, a few treasured creches, and a bin guarded with an angel to hold your Christmas cards. I bought poinsettias at Kroger for front porch pots. The schedule is tweaked for church and that will allow me one more year to sing with the glorious offering of music that narrates the four weeks to come, Advent. I reach out to turn the handle and open the door to Week One, a reminder that what was promised came to pass.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

The longer comments were last week. I really hope you don’t read this until the end of the day. Dishes are washed and left overs, if any, are put away. Your feet are propped up and if all is just right, an almost asleep child is curled on your lap. Someone exhales and says quietly, “Now that was just right. “

I want to tell one story and then just list thankful verses that are a scatter shot. Several years ago I became part of a third Sunday night church supper group. The age ranges from the forties with teenagers to me who had taught some of them as first graders. Last Sunday 17 of us,I think, met for supper in a members’ yard. The weather was just right. Visiting rambles as we eat and at a winding down point we have prayer requests, a wise comment, say goodnight and move on. It was a good time to be thankful and we were comfortable to be specific: I had a driver which is become more of a necessity, a teacher in HISD had been transferred to a better position, one couple was flying out the next day to visit an in-law part of the family. As we wound down someone said, “Do you remember Sunday nights when we used to hold hands across the aisle and sing, “Grace to you. ?” A choir member started and all joined it. Quietly we moved through about four choruses. Then someone said, “What are some thankful verses.”

Maybe stop right there and wrap up with yours. They have their beginning in scripture. Most importantly they have a home in our hearts. “Give thanks unto the Lord for he is good’ his love endures forever.” “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts. And be thankful.” “I always thank my God for you.” Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances.” “With my song I give thanks to him.” We hugged and patted and went our way to the perfect wrap-up of the day,

I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for Thou, Lord, only makes me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:8

Not until next Thursday, yet preparation is part of the process. In spite of the saying Thanksgiving is a traditional American holiday, a varied population now has their own take on the day; however, all seem to involve singularly or together food, gathering, and traveling. Spoiler alert, those are my paragraphs. Step in as your memory leads you.

For the majority, The Bird seems to hold center stage. Math is necessary to pinpoint how many are coming and how much meat is needed for the main meal and sandwiches in the evening if that is your plan. For a wedding gift, I got two long handled turkey spoons to serve out dressing: homemade or store-bought, cornbread or white toast, giblet or plain, baked in the turkey or served as a side. My daughter’s in-laws have only had smoked Greenberg turkeys. The taste is ok. The come hither smell is definitely missing. So far it has taken ten emails from various Smiths to verify that all sides are covered, especially the desserts. The last decision is whether a presentation is made of the whole bird garnished with orange rings and sprigs of parsley or is the plater brought to the table sliced and ready to be prayed over and served.

My heart would go out to a one person celebrant. Options offered by churches or a thoughtful friend are possible. Even our three person family included a variety at times. My dad had ag boys tending to animals over the holiday and they shared our meal. The families around our block had a moveable feast one year and another year a variation of a picnic on the badminton field between two houses. Smiths gravitate to Live Oak Ranch after years of gathering to eat and then to wave good-by the next morning as hunters left for a deer hunt. In your history, who are you sitting between in your very special year?

My Thanksgiving vision is being suspended above a vast map looking at transportation from wagons in years past, to a 1950 Chevrolet moving toward Shreveport, to an airplane from Chicago descending to land at San Antonio. My favorite memory is a wet cold Thanksgiving when two young adult cousins had met up at an A&M/UT game and impetuously decided to join a feast of family and food. And there was room at the table for everyone. Tradition matters and this very year is open to add a special memory. For whatever is served, whoever can be a part, wherever it is held, be thankful and look ahead. A commandment given at an earlier time fits this year perfectly.

Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

John 14:34

I typed it in. If you, the semi-vast group affirmed that you were once again on the receiving list, I would give you a Thursday off. Then on Sunday night through Monday morning names started appearing, “I am here for you!” Not as many as Taylor Swift or even a local influencer, yet each reply recalled to mind a face and why that person was important to the cockles of my heart. Like Henry V as Shakespeare had him say, I stood and proclaimed:

But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

We group do matter to me. Without you, a song is wasted on empty air or art collects only dust in an ancient dark cave. If no one reads, what is the point of writing. I only wish each one of you could know another and move from my story to your story to that unusual connection with someone else. I choose a topic and think that younger family members might not have heard that particular tale. The details are not all clear, yet one email has had a week that only needs to be lived once and survival counts. A rare response appears, “How did you know I wanted to be cared for?” Then the morning comes when I brew a pot of hot water because I never put grounds in the proper place. You can join the chuckle that I not only did that, I poured a cup and got as far as lifting it to my lips before reality dawned. Sometimes you gotta laugh.

We’ll never be able to spill over into my house together and take turns sharing, yet if I work it just right a send share your thought request might create an immense picture of life as it unfolds. In the meantime, just consider this Thursday is not a mistake to be taken back, but the opportunity to say thank you and hum a bar of “We’re on the road again.” After all, without you I would lose my defining phrase: An old lady who writes.

Two are better off than one because together they can work more effectively. If one of them falls down the other can help her (sic) up.

Ecclesiastes 4:9 -12

Do what I ask and I may promise to name my next cat after you, maybe. If you read these regularly, or sorta, or once in a blue moon, I need your momentary help. After five years of my doing what I really wanted to do: three paragraphs and a Bible verse and whatever comments I got at times that made me feel warm and cozy, the wires of the world got crossed. Two major mishaps occurred. In spite of paying a reasonable amount to Wordsmith to take care of internal sending forth, the message appeared that this site wasn’t available. Then return comments were either not going forth or being sent back.

Choices were to try to find a professional who really understood the problem or to see if screen by screen I could uncover a solution alone and standing on a windswept mountain top. I, of course, tried option two. I believe strong women can face a problem and find a solution. Trial and error (lots of errors) revealed that I had never updated my email from hotmail.com. I edited to use the move up to iCloud, pushed save, and have waited two days for a third company to send a validation request on the email. That is now done. Even if you don’t choose to subscribe to the Thursday offerings, you can pop in at letmetellya.org in moments of need. Supposedly the recipient list is intact.

This is what you can do to be a helper in the my world. When you get this on a Sunday night this week (I promise not to do a Thursday coming up), could you do a reply in an email to me that words of wisdom arrived or comment in the appropriate place and we will see what happens. I chose a modern version of the only verse I thought applied because while God my have been available in days past, this particular need of Him may not have been necessary.

 Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

Phillipians 4:6 – 7 The Message

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This is an in-between sending. For some reason sending is going ok, but receiving and responding is tangled until some new technology is loaded and I understand how it works. So remember my name and the Thursday comments will go forth. Sometime next week I will have to make some changes that I may need to find help to make work. Please think kind thoughts and figuratively hold my hand while I try to update. Charis, hopefully for progress.