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.

Not necessarily one foot in front of another, but definitely getting there. Sometimes the motion comes with rapidity: a slick hot slide, a perfect arch off a diving board, a caught toe beginning a downward motion. Other times the forwardness is unsure at first. One acquaintance’s first step was to say what he planned. Once that information was out in the world, he was free to begin tweeking it to become what he really wanted to do.

For me most accomplishments from organizing a fabric drawer to starting lunch begin with a list. Scraps of paper litter my house. These are seldom neat and orderly and are not always easy to read. The ones I like best are the CWS/GPS. They help me take out a car and go from one errand to another in an efficient manner. I’ve tried it on brain power alone. I end up with destination 3 being nearer destination 5 and destination 4 gets skipped in frustration to be tried another day. With lists I can recycle on completion and have a righteous feeling.

If I have managed the list correctly then tackling the task is less stressful. Starting to thaw the frozen tapatila by 10:00 am. guarantees a lunch on time. Monday list always has a reminder to take out garbage after 6:00 p.m., so I don’t have to greet the garbage men in my bathrobe early on Tuesday. Pay my house tax bill by the 15th or the post office may not make the delivery downtown in two weeks. The reward for these actions is either a line drawn through or a heavy red check. Either is effective.

I can read these paragraphs and laugh. Fortunately and unfortunately a responsible organized mode is my default. Many times in life that has been just what is needed. I also welcome and gratefully enjoy those people or moments whose steps lead me into impetuous unstructured responses. After all, we had varied costumed personas for Halloween on Tuesday night. Coming up on Sunday is a mighty organ chord and we all rise to sing “For All the Saints”, remembering the different steps taken as they stream in as a countless host .The children’s version “I Sing A Song of the Saints of God” mentions we can meet this varied group “in school, on the street, and in the store,” and best of all, “We can be one too.”

These were all commended for their faith. Hebrews 11:39

I don’t think I’ve started with a Bible verse and sometimes I have had to seek and search to match where I hoped I was going. I have always liked Job where God is reminding Job that He (God) takes care of the details that make a difference. “Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place……… It is changed like clay under the seal, and it is dyed like a garment.” This seemed to fit some ideas I mulled over on having definition.

We usually think of definition as a word by what it means providing clarity or specificity. Demure is feminine word and stalwart leans toward masculine, though not necessarily, Our son sent a customer to an expert for an opinion. When the report back was made, the comment on the information was good, but the customer felt the deliverer was taciturn. My son said, “Yes, he is not loquacious.” Definitely a man of few words.

I am having to make a change in a beneficiary IRA I inherited. Only 7 years have passed to get to this point. At this final step, I needed help with the 21 pages that defined what I wanted to do. It wasn’t just words that slowed the process. It was the meaning of whole sentences. Helper number 1 transferred my call to a “document expert.” Page by page I defined each line with a X or a check in pencil as a guide to filling in. I just got a phone call that all was accepted to this point and we could move forward.

My favorite to notice are the definitions that catch the eye by changing the shape. Teenage girls arch eyebrows with a dark pencil. Block letters assume a 3-D appearance with shading giving depth to the various parts of that letter. I’ve reacted in fright in a semi-dark room because a chair with a shirt over its back was defined in my mind as a goblin coming to get me.

Welcome the winter dawn as it defines the day at 7:38 a.m. where I am now. The paper is clearly seen on the grass. Gently the light defines the curb bending to the street and sunlight moves toward a brightness appropriate for the season. The day once again finds its place, becomes what it is defined to be, and we had nothing to do with the happening.

“Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place, so that it might take hold of the skirts of the earth, ……. It is changed like clay under the seal, and it is dyed like a garment.”

Job 38:12

No, not Shakespeare, rather Sir Walter Scott in 1808 who wrote “What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” Those who know this line assume that to instigate or be involved in a web can lead to harm or entrapment. For a spider, this may be its primary purpose.

Yet, go beyond face value. Some background facts. The alternate name of cobwebs comes from an archaic word “coppe” which meant spider. At least four types of webs exist depending on the family that weaves them: orb, funnel, tubular and sheet. The orb web size depends on how large the spider is because it has to take a free leap from one line to the next nearest to create cross lines. Sheet webs are those messy tangles that encase crepe myrtle trees and are cleaned off with a strong hose spray. Web strands or spiders are used by humans to test drugs, to be cross hairs in telescopes, or to give a tremor to the music in an African cow horn.

Most importantly, web strength defies its nebulous appearance. Some research states it is stronger than steel even though other studies deny this. If you’ve ever run under a web by accident, though, pulling loose does take perseverance and effort. So, think positively and consider the webs we weave to support our life journeys. They do vary by who we are. Mine are a mixture of family, students, church, gardening, sewing, with friends being crosslines between various strands. Each line leads us to a special time, activity, or relationship. I’m noticing that some do get snapped by wind or life changes. They may dangle a bit and leave us hanging on to whatever is left.

So my web is dwindling, a little ragged around the edges. Some treasured activities have been lessened by age or strength, and the support of some friends has been clipped by the completion of their journey. Middle son and I watched the celebration of the end of a 63 year special connection this afternoon. The togetherness was there from marriages to children to trips to not as young as we were.

Not really a web, yet a reminder of a thread still holding on is a poem ” The Threads in My Hand” by Howard Thurman. This is the ending of a litany that identifies life threads: “One thread is a strange thread – it is my steadying thread/ God’s hands hold the other end.”

I will be your God throughout your lifetime— until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.

Isaiah 46:4