Yes, the correct answer has to do with Jesus’ birth and what that means to us.

(c) Tim Scott - Fotolia.com

However, I want to focus on the celebration aspect for just a minute. I grew up in a family without the means to heap presents around the Christmas tree. My memories are not of ripping open package after package, then by mid morning, forgetting about the presents I first opened. Yes, I’m sure at the time the ripping of paper was exciting, but those memories didn’t last much beyond the mess. I usually had one present that was “the present” that was of any monetary value, and I don’t mean big money. My memories of Christmas past are of the atmosphere created by my family, mostly my Mom.

The look of our house changed with decorations, a live tree and things baking: creating the “smell” of Christmas. Much was made of decorating the tree in that many of the ornaments were handmade. I remember my picture on a canning jar lid, shellacked and trimmed with yarn, probably made at school. I wonder what happened to that ornament? I remember stringing popcorn at least once. We made an attempt to sing Christmas carols around an old upright piano that no one really learned to play. We lit candles to set the mood. (Maybe we were saving electricity, if so I didn’t know. We had the live tree because an artificial tree was for rich people).

These are fond memories.

The easy way to do Christmas is to buy a several presents and keep the kids from opening them until the moment the cameras are ready. The pictures are captured for “facebook” to prove it happened. Soon the garbage truck comes and picks up the mess and the toys (or what’s left of them) are put in the overflowing toy area.

I have been to both Christmas celebrations. It takes effort to make memories, not a lot of money. I hope this Christmas you will focus on making memories you and your kids can reflect back on many years later and remember “the feeling of Christmas.”

~Steve (or Dad or Papaw)

Lightning Always Strikes Twice by Patricia Marie Warren

Wyatt Richmond has been appearing in her life just when she needs rescuing. Now it is U.S. Marine Captain Audrey Justice’s turn to be the rescuer. It’s a matter of life or death and Audrey must use all her skills as a JAG officer and a woman to save her combat Marine from a court martial and himself.

Of course, my grandchildren are the brightest, cutest, most delightful children in the world. And, it goes without saying: so were their progenitors.

We have started the next generation of notes and phone calls from public school officials (and yes, these quotes contain my sarcastic interpretation):

“Your child (grandchild) spent half the school day sitting in the hall because he was standing in his chair then jumping off. He did not sit quietly and repentant in the hall…he sang and made noises the whole time. He sat backwards in his chair and kicked the wall.”

“Your child (grandchild) and another child were hitting each other in the (unmentionable word here) and laughing about it on the way into the lunch room. His response to being sequestered for such boyish antics was to make farting noises with his armpit.”

“We advise that you have your child (grandchild) tested for ADHD. Children who can not sit still and quietly during endless repetitive math worksheets, and who express their feelings to other children by any sort of physical contact, by definition are attention deficit.”

“No, your child (grandchild) is not the only one in the classroom who behaves this way. But here is a school psychologist’s report that will go in his permanent file anyway.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH CHILDREN BEING CHILDREN AS LONG AS POSSIBLE????

Thank the Lord for a doctor who has three young children. He is conservative in all diagnoses. He sent home his own evaluation form to be given to anyone who cares for the little one: parents, grandparents, Sunday school teachers, and school teacher. MEANWHILE, the child is to eat a wheat-free diet for the next two weeks to see if this could help his concentration in large group settings.

He suggested the diet change because I researched anecdotal stories of wheat allergies and ADHD, then reported my findings to the 6-year-old’s mother (my daughter #1). Turns out, for those sensitive to gluten, wheat intake may cause symptoms that mimic Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. We have one family member with diagnosed celiac disease, the 6-year-old’s aunt (my daughter #2). Research indicates that gluten sensitivity may be genetic.

It makes sense to me to check out all the options before we even entertain the possibility of a learning disability which will permanently affect the child’s educational experience, even if it means the school will miss out on the extra funding it would get if we allow him to be so labeled (read heavy sarcasm into that last bit). One other thought that occurs to me-since the school officials brought up the idea of medication: If we start at 6 years of age teaching the child that if he can’t sit still in class he can take a drug, where will that end? If he can’t sleep, there’s a drug for that… If he feels sad, there’s a drug for that… I see the possibility of a never-ending cycle of medicating to live. I believe there are people who truly need to use medication for specific chemical imbalances. I do not believe this is true for one as young as six years with no evidence of disorders like fetal alcohol syndrome.

Some of the symptoms we have noted in the 6-year-old (henceforth called the Dynamo, with good reason) that mimic ADHD:

• concentration problems
• fight or flight reactions to stress (melt-downs)
• forgetfulness

• abdominal cramping
• acid reflux
• attention and behavioral problems
• floating and malodorous stools
• gas
• headaches
• irritability
• joint pain
• mood swings
• nausea

Could November get any busier?

First News: National Novel Writing Month started Tuesday, November 1. I am squeezing in a word or two every chance I get. This year I am determined to “Get ‘er Done!” More on this in a minute.

Second News: My first published story was released on Amazon.com on Wednesday, November 2. I was so excited yesterday I could hardly sit still. I kept a browser open to the book’s Amazon page all through work and then at home. What an amazing feeling to see my name included on the cover! I am doubly excited about the release of Currents: A Collection of River Stories because all the proceeds are going to the Greenup County (Kentucky) Health Department to pay for ovarian cancer screenings. Clicking the cover will take you to the book’s publisher page, Turquoise Morning Press at CreateSpace, where you can be assured every bit of the proceeds from your purchase will go to ovarian cancer screenings.

I will have copies in hand around November 16. All proceeds from these will also go to ovarian cancer screening.

If you are interested in seeing how cool the book’s Amazon page is, click here.

Third News: This will shock my family members I am sure. The bathroom update is finished, the dining room is nearing completion, and the sunroom will be close to finished by Thanksgiving… and yes, we will be hosting a family Thanksgiving dinner in the newly remodeled spaces. This year’s feast will be 100% gluten-free and will have special vegan dishes for those who want them–menu and recipes will be in a later post. If I wander from the activity, I’ll be hiding away furiously trying to make my daily word count goal. Y’all will understand, won’t you?

Now back to NaNoWriMo: With the grand endeavor starting during the work week, I am already behind on my word count. At the current rate I will be finished by December 28. But hallelujah! The weekend is coming. My novel will get a big boost Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. For those few who got a sneak peek at my Currents short story and wanted the rest of the story, The Devil is in The Details is the novel I am writing for NaNoWriMo. How interesting it is getting to know Detective Jillian MacKenzie better as she works to solve the mystery of women who are dying for love. How frightening it is taking a look into the mind of a serial killer.

I DO LOVE WRITING!

Today I had visitors at work:

My two grandsons, 6 yrs and 6 weeks, stayed with me for a while when their mom went to the doctor. The 6 week old was having tummy troubles so I let the 6 yr old go out into the narthex and listen to the organist practice.

Unbeknownst to me (juggling fretful baby), the organist went up into the balcony to play the baby grand piano and the 6 yr old took advantage of the empty stage to practice his own singing. His mom returned and just a minute passed before he came running into my office. “Nana, Mom, come watch Max play the piano upstairs.” We put him off and he insisted, “Come listen to Max and those people practice!” Well…..

As far as I knew until my daughter arrived, Max (the organist), the 2 boys and I were the only ones in the building. There is a ding that goes off every time an exterior door is opened and none had sounded after Max came in until my daughter arrived.

So naturally I asked, “What people?”

“The people in white suits.”

“You mean white hair? You saw someone with white hair?”

Big sigh. “No, Nana. Not Max. The two people in white suits were with him practicing the piano. Upstairs.”

“How did you see them upstairs?”

Another big sigh. “When I was on the stage. I saw them through the window.”

My daughter and I were both puzzled and we brushed him off a bit. Although quietly and out of his hearing, I did say to her, “Who could he be talking about? Did you see anyone when you came in?” She said she hadn’t and we gathered up both boys and I walked her to the car.

When the organist came back into the office I nonchalantly asked, “Did you have anyone practicing with you in the balcony?”

“Nope. Just me.”

This beautiful building I work in was built in 1858. Standing on the stage you can see up into the balcony where a gorgeous stained glass window illuminates the room. Today is very overcast and the sun wasn’t shining through the window but it is so large that the room is always lit. What did our little one see up there? Or perhaps whom? He didn’t specify whether the two people in white suits were male or female. I am not a believer in spooky things so I will go with my first instinct: The beautiful classical music that Max plays was accompanied this day by visiting angels who couldn’t pass by an opportunity to glorify the Creator in this lovely place He has provided for Worship.

I’ve been contemplating how my life reflects the true character of God.

So often who He is can get distorted when we exert too much of our own personality into our presentation of Him. Our ideas of who God is tends to be influenced by our life experiences. If we were nurtured as children, we see God as a loving Father. If our upbringing was less nurturing, we tend to see Him as critical and demanding of perfection.

The best way to share the true nature of God is to first spend time sitting quietly at his feet — drinking in His character through His word. If we make time to really get to know Him from His very own mouth, then our testimony of who He is and what He has done will be alluring to others. They will desire to hear more about Him. Then our opportunities to share Him become times of nurturing growth in others.

Pay attention, heavens, and I will speak; listen earth, to the words of my mouth. Let my teaching fall like rain and my word settle like dew, like gentle rain on new grass and showers on tender plants. For I will proclaim the Lord’s name. Declare the greatness of our God! ~Deuteronomy 32:1-3 (HCSB)

(Dear IOW Participants: I haven’t been able to get LinkyTools to work. Please leave a comment with your blog links. I will try to correct this and add your links to the list as soon as possible. Thanks!!)

Walking through New York on Friday morning heading to the 9/11 Memorial, I anticipated the emotions I would feel, but never realized how deeply it would affect me. As I was walking, I looked down into sidewalk grates and thought that they seemed kind of full, possibly from trash, possibly from ashes from the World Trade Center. When we reached the fence that surrounded the site where the new Freedom Tower and Memorial site are being constructed, my throat was tight and my mind just kept replaying the events of that tragic day. The other people around me didn’t understand why I was affected so much; they were only 7 or 8 years when the attacks happened and didn’t fully realize the magnitude of what this meant for our country. Walking up to a higher catwalk where we could see more of the construction site, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of people jumping from the buildings, of the towers falling, or of the face of the girl that I knew who was on one of the planes. I think at one point my sobs drowned out the sound of the cars below, at least in my own head.

I stood at this site where 3000 people lost their lives on September 11, 2001 knowing it was the catalyst for so many people who stand in service to this country and for those who have given their lives during the horror on that day and since then to make sure it never happens again. I realized that we can be so absorbed in our lives we forget that we only have these lives because of the willingness of people to give service to and sometimes die for the freedom that we take for granted. One of the students with me came and looped her arm through mine. She said, “Sometimes it’s hard to have to remember.” We cannot become complacent and forget why we can live the way we do and what has been sacrificed for that.

We walked into the Memorial Museum which has been set up in its temporary location near the site. As I went through the room packed full of people, seeing the timeline of events, the live memorials made for the victims, and even some of the letters, photos, and fire or police department patches, I just cried. When you don’t remember or you push the memories out of your mind, it’s easy to act like they never happened. Standing there, the memories I had suppressed hit me all at once, knocking the breath out of me.

A friend with me asked if I wanted to look up the name of the girl I knew, so we did. As we scrolled through the list of names, it made my heart break to see so many names. How many people may have died at the World Trade Center who didn’t get their name on this list? How many people have died fighting to protect the lives of people they never knew? These people deserve to be honored as well. This Memorial will be a beautiful tribute to the victims, families, and those serving this country.

The rubble is no longer there and the bodies aren’t visible, but it truly affected me in a way that I never imagined it would. I was in the 10th grade that day and I was sitting in a classroom in Utah when they announced the attack on the United States and the 3 locations that had been targeted and hit. I remember seeing the towers fall and hearing the cries of my fellow classmates as the realization of what was happening struck us. Myself, along with the other students who had parents in the military and who lived on the Air Force base were called out of class and dismissed early. My sister and I picked up our brother from school and spent the next 5 hours trying to get home. My mom was stuck 45 minutes away and my dad was locked down in his building on the base. My sister took the role of both of our parents to keep us safe and calm. She was always strong for us, even though I know she was freaking out as much as I was.

It’s so ironic to me that we when picked up my brother from school that day (he was in the 6th grade), he was laid back. He didn’t understand what was really happening, and even thought it was kind of cool that each car was searched upon getting onto the base and the base was surrounded by armed military police. This year, near the 10 year anniversary of the attack of 9/11, he will be serving overseas with the Marine Corps because of something he did not understand 10 years ago, when he was just a kid.

I remember at the time my dad was one year from retirement and I was so fearful that he would be the one being deployed. I never dreamed that 10 years later, it would be my brother I would be scared for – this brave brother who is never selfish and always puts others first. In March, my brother had surgery on his back and all I could think about was the recovery and how the doctors would determine if he was clear for deployment. I love him and I was very selfish in my hopes that he would not be cleared. No one wants to get those deployment orders and I certainly don’t want my brother fighting in a war zone.

The Bible says in 1 Timothy 1:7, “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity (of cowardice, of craven and cringing and fawning fear), but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of calm and well-balanced mind and discipline and self-control.” (AMP) Russ is no longer a kid; he is a man, my brother, and most of all, my friend. Now, he even gets the role of my Hero.

Our lives are free because someone else has given up theirs, either in death or in service. Praise God for those willing people and their families. John 15:13 says, “No one has greater love than to lay down his own life for his friends.”

I will not forget the events of September 11, 2001. I will not stop praying. I will not take my freedom for granted.

There is a fresh face in the publishing world, Kim Jacobs, owner of Turquoise Morning, LLC. Her dream come to reality company, Turquoise Morning Press is an exciting new option for authors looking to find a home for their work. I first met Kim at the KYOWA Dogwood Writers Conference in 2009. For a year and a half I knew her as romance author Maddie James. Her gracious enthusiasm was instrumental in me becoming more serious about my own writing.

When she launched Turquoise Morning Press last May at her Career Writers Network Workshop, I couldn’t have been more excited. Watching this endeavor grow into a viable business is no surprise to me. Our conversations throughout the last few years convinced me of her ability to take 30+ years in the writing and education worlds and develop a company that advocates for new writers and provides yet another platform of success for established authors.

One of the most appealing aspects of Turquoise Morning Press as a publishing house is that Kim has not limited the company to a single genre. TMP publishes everything from anthologies, fantasy, romance, and memoir to children’s, middle grade, and young adult books. She has assembled a cohesive team of editors whose skills are varied enough to assure each author gets personalized attention. It is a balanced package tied up neatly in one small press, something I think is unique to TMP.

I am working my way through the book lists at TMP collecting the ebook offerings in my favorite genres as well as purchasing the print books to go on my “author friends” bookshelf. The publishing world has been turned on its ear by the advent of digital book readers and Kim is wisely guiding Turquoise Morning Press to the forefront of small publishing houses by simultaneously releasing their offerings in both print and ebook formats. This is one company that I believe is destined to become a star!

“For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” Hosea 6:6

This is where I am today: Seeking a pure, unadulterated relationship with Holy God. I am impatient with guilt-heaping legalism. There is Kingdom work to be done, but I don’t think it comes from marking things off a checklist:

• attended Sunday school ….. check
• read my Bible daily ….. check
• tithed 10% all month ….. check
• invited my neighbor to church ….. check

It looks like a pre-flight checklist… and some people seem too consumed with making sure they are ready for flight that it leaves them no time to be consumed with the condition of another’s soul.

I can’t be consumed with that. I took care of making sure I am ready in April 1975. I will be on the flight. But for now, I want to be about building a relationship with God so I can be equipped to be in relationship with others. How else will they want the same pure, unadulterated relationship with Him?

Here is what I want in a checklist:

• learned an awesome new truth about Almighty God in Sunday school ….. check
• gained strength for my day from the Word …. check
• invested my resources in another soul this month ….. check
• spent time really getting to know my neighbor ….. check

I love how The Message puts this passage in Hosea:

I’m after love that lasts, not more religion.
I want you to know God, not go to more prayer meetings.

Isaiah, a contemporary of Hosea, also had something to say on this matter — ritual just doesn’t meet God’s ideal for true worship:

Why this frenzy of sacrifices? God’s asking.
Don’t you think I’ve had my fill of burnt sacrifices, rams, and plump grain-fed calves?
Don’t you think I’ve had my fill of blood from bulls, lambs, and goats?
When you come before me, who ever gave you the idea of acting like this,
Running here and there, doing this and that–
all this sheer commotion in the place provided for worship? (Isaiah 1:11-12 MSG)

God spoke with clarity on what He wants from believers in Isaiah 1:17:

Say no to wrong.

Learn to do good.

Work for justice.

Help the down-and-out.

Stand up for the homeless.

Go to bat for the defenseless.

True God-focused worship is what the Lord expects of us. He also wants us to stop being self- and program-focused. And just fretting over what is wrong in the world is not enough. He wants our worship to have hands and feet.

Nina is hosting In Other Words at Mama’s Little Treasures.

1 year, 9 months, 27 days ago

The day I officially became a Marine mom was one of the longest days of my life. Little did I know the full impact of that proud but excruciatingly painful day. The most profound impact was on my perception of time. While boot camp for my son dragged out from the normal 13 weeks to 17 weeks since he had to spend three weeks in the medical platoon, the days for me seemed to become twice as long…the ticks of the clock more pronounced but ever so slow.

On July 13, 2009, I hugged my boy and watched him walk away from me into a future in which I would just be part of the periphery. It is a place to which I have yet to become fully accustomed. November 5, 2009, I once again hugged my boy, but this time I was second, holding back for his lovely sweetheart to get the first embrace. November 11, 2009, I watched as I officially became second in his life when my son married this beautiful girl who had been the daughter of my heart for two years already. April 8, 2011, we visited our son and his wife in their new home. Their excitement at owning their first home was contagious. The position of second began to fit a little better as I saw how utterly happy they are together.

And then…

A new date stamped its name on the calendar of my mind. April 11, 2011, I watched my son hand his wife his deployment orders. After she read them with a carefully guarded expression, I listened to them discuss the merits of the actual location to which he would be deployed. I was across the room and somehow the distance lengthened as the reality of the topic they were discussing ripped into my heart and burrowed into a wound that won’t seem to scab over.

There is no itchy evidence that this wound will get better. I keep it bound tightly, careful with every word and thought, trying not to peek at it. But still I am aware of it every minute of every day. There is nothing that the pain of this wound does not color. If I speak of the deployment my throat narrows, choking me with a fear so tangible I sometimes feel I can barely breathe. If I look forward to the birth of our newest grandchild, the probable absence of his uncle at his birth is the very next thought.

I spoke my fears aloud in church yesterday, haltingly, waiting for the crush of tears and fear to pass between each sentence. How the idea of someone aiming a weapon at my son, or setting a bomb that might destroy his transport is strangling me. I expected that the truth of the Word of God given to me by my friends might bring relief.

I was disappointed.

I am still devastated.

I am still terrified.

I wonder if the joy of the Lord will once again be my strength.

I wonder if there will come a time where the truth of His pure Love will speak peace to my soul again.

In the meantime, the tick of the clock is so very loud now. And it has sped up, hurrying to a date I do not yet know…a date which will crush me more than anything in my life ever has.

I HATE WAR!