In Pursuit of the Perfect Christmas

"And the angel said unto them, 'Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord'" (Luke 2:10-11 KJV).

In the middle of one hot August 2008 afternoon my phone rang. After the normal pleasantries my sister Allison asked, "Hey Barb, what do you think about us coming up to Wyoming for Christmas?" I was stunned! No one ever wants to come to Wyoming for Christmas! For several years my parents would come up for, what we termed as, "Christ-Giving" a few days between Thanksgiving and Christmas--weather permitting, of course.

I was thrilled! Without hesitation or checking with Billy, I immediately replied, "We would love to have you guys here for Christmas!" I can't say what the rest of our conversation was about as I was already planning meals and sleeping arrangements in my head.

It wasn't two weeks later and the phone rang again; this time our daughter Amber was on the other end. "Mom, what do you think about us coming up to Wyoming for Christmas?" I couldn't believe my ears! Again, without hesitation and my mind spinning in delight I answered, "Yes! We'd love to have you guys here for Christmas...your Aunt Allison, Uncle Mike and the boys will be here, too!" Immediately, I slipped into deep planning mode.

I couldn't believe my good fortune; Christmas 2008, would be done to absolute perfection! I knew I wouldn't be receiving a similar telephone call from our son; he was preparing for his deployment with the Air Force the first week in January. He and his family would be with us in thought and prayer.

I remembered the Christmases we had growing up...Christmas in the tiny isolated oil camp, Bairoil, Wyoming, spent with our grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and, weather permitting, our great-grandparents would drive up from Colorado. Christmas, in the mind of a child and now tenderly filed away as a memory of a grandma, done to absolute perfection.

With pen and paper in hand I began to plan meals, holiday treats and snacks for thirteen people instead of the usual three or four...cold cereal, peanut-butter sandwiches, frozen pizza and Ding Dongs just will not do. The meals would be hot, scrumptious and plenty.

For the next couple of months my mind was constantly planning and preparing. All Christmas goodies and snacks would be made well in advance and safely kept in the freezers. All grocery ingredients for the meals would be purchased in advance--an extensive grocery list was written and added to daily--there would be no desperate last minute runs to the store.

Next, sleeping arrangements. We have a very small home, but I had it all under control, I had a plan. Our daughter's family would arrive several days before Allison's. Amber and her family would spend the first shift at Bill and Barb's B&B, then when Allison's family arrived we would put the first bunch up in a local hotel to sleep for the remainder of their few day's visit and Allison's bunch would bed-down in our home...yeah...that would work! Perfect plan!

Entertainment. What could I do to make this an unforgettable Christmas in Wyoming for the kiddos from San Antonio, Texas and Houston, Missouri? Jackson! We would treat everyone to a couple nights in Jackson! We would go see a fun movie one evening, spend a day at Snow King Ski Resort inner-tubing...the grand finale...rent a horse-drawn sleigh ride through the elk refuge! Perfect plan!

One more thing, what could I do to make our evening time together special, unique and memorable? I know...wonderful, personal, heart-warming family stories or poems to be told or read prior to offering thanks for the precious day and the evening's meal. Perfect plan!

The time came, the house decorated inside and out. TV tables set up an loaded with trays of delicious homemade Christmas cookies, candies, snacks and a Christmas peppermint cake. Jars of homemade hot cocoa mix, fireside coffee and spiced tea mixes waiting to be spooned into mugs filled with steaming water. Cabinets and refrigerators were bursting at he seams with groceries. The ground was white with snow and the Wyoming air cold and blustery. Firewood cut, stacked and ready to burn. File folder filled with the stories to tell--each one in a specific order and dated accordingly. Reservations made for a hotel room in town, hotel rooms in Jackson, and a family sleigh ride. Christmas Eve we would gather together as a family and attend the Christmas Eve service at church...for the first time in years. Christmas, planned to perfection!

Everything went according to my intricately obsessively detailed plan...with one exception. The morning we were to go on the sleigh ride we awoke to closed roads and a typical Wyoming winter blizzard. We were facing a long treacherous drive home...the long way around. No sleigh ride...this time.

Christmas, practically perfect in every way!

Here it is, two years later, Christmas 2010.

What is my most memorable moment of that practically perfect Wyoming Christmas of 2008?

Sharing the church pew on Christmas Eve were my two beautiful daughters, my precious two grandchildren, my sweet son-in-law and my dear beloved husband. That one single moment while we were singing hymns of old announcing and rejoicing in the birth of God's only Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior...I glanced down and saw the sweet profile of my seven year-old grandson in the soft glow of the candle lit sanctuary...his lips moving as he quietly sang all verses to Silent Night. We were where we were supposed to be; celebrating the birth of The King in his house. Christmas...to perfection!

I encourage you to remember:

Christmas is not how much money we have or don't have to spend.

Christmas is not the brightly decorated and illuminated pine trees and houses.

Christmas is not the rich yummy foods we eat.

Christmas is not whether or not we have a house full of beloved guests.

Christmas is not the entertainment we choose.

Christmas is...plain and simple...the joyous celebration of our Savior's birth.

Leaning on the Everlasting Arms

Did you know that a child of God is never out of the reach of his loving arms?

"The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms" (Deuteronomy 33:27).

Last week I had the awesome honor and privilege to get to speak about my devotional book, Notes from the Nest, at Chic Lit - a monthly ladies luncheon at Calvary Baptist Church (my mom and dad's church) in Las Cruces, New Mexico. There were approximately 47 ladies in attendance. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I AM NOT, by any means, a public speaker. The Sunday night prior I stood up and read a devotional from my own book during our Sunday evening service. The people attending...fewer than 47...dear close church family members that I know and love. I stood at the little portable podium shaking, quivering and not breathing...and that lasted only a very few minutes. Afterward I thought, how am I going to be able to speak...for an hour...in front of a group of women I don't know, how on earth am I going to be able to get through Chic Lit?

I asked for prayer from the prayer warrior sisters-in-Christ with whom I study God's Word and my family. My prayer was for confidence, to be empowered to speak boldly about my book; my book of very personal devotions telling of God's mercy, love and providence faithfully shown through the years to my family and me.

My daughter, Meghan, fourteen month old grandson, Wesley and I travelled the two days to Las Cruces. We enjoyed a lovely and very special evening with family in a wonderful celebration of my grandmother.

Then came Tuesday...Chic Lit day.

Chic Lit begins at twelve noon with a potluck lunch. The food looked and smelled wonderful, but I knew, with the butterflies fluttering in my nervous stomach, eating was most probably not a good idea for me. So, while the ladies ate I met and chatted with a few of them and did a lot of silent praying and rehearsing.

At 12:35 my mom proudly stood up at the microphone and introduced the day's speaker...me!

With a copy of my book in hand and my carefully chosen "props" close by...ready for display...I walked up to the mic - quite pleased thus far - I didn't trip!

The first thing I needed to let these ladies know was my great fear of public speaking (no matter how big or small the public). I likened my fear of public speaking to my number one fear...needles.

I gave an example through a personal story:

The year, 1965. The place, Dugway, Utah. The event, childhood inoculation day.

All first graders...all 25 or 30 of us lined up single-file in the hallway of our little post elementary school. Like sheep being led to the slaughter we walked from the little grade school on post to the hospital. Dugway was so small one could walk and be anywhere they needed to be in mere minutes. I clearly recall standing in line with my friends; watching victim after victim as they were being held very still by one nurse in a starched white uniform and having a needle jammed into their little arm by another cold, white starched uniform. I began to hear my own heart pound through my ears as my turn quickly approached. When I found myself being held in the stranger's firm grasp - to say I stood in fear and trembling is the understatement of the century! Terror and panic overcame me and with a great burst of adrenaline I broke through the arms of nurse Ratched and ran the entire way home. I ran right into the caring and protective arms of my beloved mother...a place a great safety! After patiently listening to my horror story my loving mother packed up my little brother, took a firm grip on my arm and marched me right back to the enemy's camp!

After telling this little ice-breaker story I began to feel more and more confident...this wasn't going to be so bad!

I read my first devotional...a very brief synopsis or outline of my life.

Then, I began more detailed devotionals...beginning with my wonderful, simple, precious childhood. I reached into my bag to pull out prop number one...a beloved, grainy, enlarged 1966 picture of my sisters, brother and me taken with Santa Claus in my grandparent's humble home in Bairoil, Wyoming. A snapshot in time when life was the essence of pure happiness and perfection.

I looked at the picture. With shaking hands I laid it down on the table beside me. Instantly, I froze. I was overcome with emotion. My eyes filled with tears, I couldn't focus on my own words written in my book. My throat tightly closed...all I could utter, barely loud enough for me to hear, was "I shouldn't have taken out this picture." All I could hear in the deafeningly quiet auditorium was the thunder of my own heartbeat pounding faster and faster. The rhythm of my breathing was anything but natural. My tears caused a cloudy film to form over my contact lenses, nothing was in focus. I just stood there looking out at the sweet blurred faces of the ladies...helpless...wanting to run to my mother's arms. Then, up walked my mom, she wrapped a loving arm around me. The air was thick with the fragrance of prayer. In a matter of seconds I realized not only was I wrapped in the loving grasp of my mother, I was also wrapped in the faithful, everlasting and encouraging arms of my heavenly Father. He gave me my voice. I spoke for an hour, and with God's help I didn't trip!

As I reflect back on the choice of my opening story I realize it was no coincidence...it was God inspired!

I encourage you to always look for assurance, encouragement, safety and strength as you lean on the everlasting arms of Jesus!

The Airman and the Deacon's Daughter

May 1977 I was a typical teenage girl living in a loving, strict, protective godly Southern Baptist home on a high security military post in the middle of the Utah desert. For the most part raising children at Dugway, Utah couldn't have been more safe and secure. But, there were a couple of challenges my parents faced: our choosing a mate outside our faith, or our running off with a G.I.

That May I was one of approximately 35 classmates who had just proudly graduated from Dugway High School. My parents and I had grand plans for my future. I had been accepted and planned to attend Christian Heritage College in San Diego, CA later that fall. Mom and Daddy couldn't have been more proud!

Shortly after graduation I was blessed with a job working in the snack bar in the post bowling alley. I thoroughly enjoyed this job. I worked as many hours as I could saving my money for my new adventure in life. And, I was able to meet many new people who grew up in vastly different places from all over the country.

Late one evening he walked in. He was a tall, nice-looking, brown-eyed young Airman every bit a gentleman with a quiet southern charm and accent. He had come in after work with his older Sergeant; a big boisterous man with an accent that sounded like he came from the southern part of the south. Both men were at Dugway that summer TDY (temporary duty) from an air base.

The young Airman and his Sergeant would come to the bowling alley for their dinner every evening. The Airman, known only as "Rasco", would generally order the same thing every day - a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with fries and a glass of milk. I loved it when he would come in. One problem, he had gone out a few times with a friend and fellow classmate of mine who worked at the snack bar with me.

One day out of the blue my friend came to work and told me that "Rasco" asked her a lot of questions about me. She felt he would really like to ask me out and if he did that would be okay with her. She said he really seemed to like me.

A day or two later he did ask me out. He asked me to go to a party with him. Of course I said Iwould! Now, even though I was 18 and a high school graduate I still had a strictly enforced curfew of 10:00 p.m. That night I had called Mom just before 10:00 and asked if I could stay out longer she said no it was time to get home. I told her I would be home shortly.

It was around 1:00 a.m. "Rasco" was driving me down the deafeningly quiet dark street to take me home. As we approached my house I told him, "By the way, my parents have forbidden me to be with a G.I.." Needless to say, out of great fear he immediately stopped the car at the corner, leaned over, gave me a quick kiss good-night and politely opened my door. I walked the rest of the way to our little pale yellow cinder-block post home on west 5th street. Ever so quietly - or so I thought - I opened the front door and started down the lengthy dark hallway to the room I shared with my sister, RoiLynn. Suddenly, the strangest thing happened. This pair of brilliantly Tide white boxer shorts started toward me from the other end of the pitch hall! For some reason being attacked in the dark by a pair of flailing white shorts struck me as insanely funny (could also have been that I had been drinking at the party) and as I would get tickled the shorts just continued in their valiant pursuit of parental justice.

A couple of days following our first "date" Rasco walked into the bowling alley with some news. His request for an early discharge had been granted. He would be leaving in two days to out process...I cried. I had fallen in love with my young handsome Airman from Andrews called "Rasco." While holding hands across the small square table in the noisy little bowling alley my prince asked me to marry him. Without hesitation and with much exuberance I accepted his simple proposal!

I went home and told my folks of my new plans. Needless to say this did not go over well!

My sweet Airman told me he that knew my dad liked to golf and he had seen him on occasion at the golf course. He said he would just go up to him and introduce himself. I immediately replied, "Oh no you won't". In an flash I was back in that dark hallway with a pair of angry white boxers. I didn't want my quiet young Airman to experience the wrath of my upset, angry and seemingly over-protective dad.

That day I packed up the very few things that were mine and loaded them up in my prince's coach. The following day when I went to pick up my last paycheck my little brother Chris met me. He had briefly met my Airman, told me he liked him and wished me luck. Within minutes I rode in a crowded little two-door chevette through Dugway's main gate headed for a place called Andrews Air Force Base (or so I thought) with a man, I wasn't quite clear on his name.

Well, I very soon realized that "Rasco" was not a nickname and less than 3 weeks from our first date I, too, was answering to this strange new name. Oh, and he was not from Andrews Air Force Base, but rather from a small town called Andrews in West Texas.

Within the first three years we had three new little "Rasco's" our son Christopher and identical twin daughters Meghan and Amber. Our family has been greatly blessed. We've had more than our share of trials and struggles. God has proven himself as always faithful in his divine provision and protection of our little family.

Here it is the year 2010. Billy and I will celebrate our 33rd anniversary today! We live in a simple, cozy little home on the Wyoming prairie. We are blessed with six beautiful grandchildren.

"Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us" (Ephesians 3:20).

By the way, my parents and my sweet Billy enjoy a very close loving precious relationship with each other. Sometimes I even think that Billy could "run home" to my folks before I could! And, if you are wondering, Billy also was raised in a southern Baptist home!

As I gaze out at the beautiful mountain range from the porch of our home I thank God for my wonderful friend, partner, husband...my Billy and I say aloud to my heavenly Father, "Wow! All of this-and the promise of heaven, too!"

I encourage you to be thankful to your heavenly Father, who wants nothing less than the very best for you.

Chris

Today marks five years since the Lord called my beloved younger brother Chris home. God gave Chris to us for 42 years, 10 months and 25 days. When I think of his 15,669 days on this earth I'm reminded of the words to the old hymn, "This world is not my home, I'm just a passin' through."



Some of you knew Chris only as the young boy or teen...some of you may have only known Chris as the grown man, and some of you reading this may have never had the wonderful privilege to know Chris at all. No matter where you are in this list I hope that after reading these few words you will learn something new and wonderful about this very special...and only brother of mine.


Chris left to carry on this earthly pilgrimage a wonderful, loving wife and two beautiful children...all three of whom enjoy an extraordinarily close relationship with the Lord.


Also left to carry on are two of the most loving and giving parents God has placed on this earth, a grandmother, three sisters, many nieces and nephews, aunts, uncles and cousins who love him dearly and, to this day, miss his physical presence and gut-busting, red-faced, tears-rolling laughter in an almost unbearable manner.


While living on this side of heaven Chris was a good brother, beloved son, sweet grandson, cool uncle, quiet nephew, devoted husband and loving father...a man faithful to his church and a man who loved the Lord and his family.


Chris dearly loved animals. I remember when we were growing up our house was littered with scraps of paper with my mom's simple little sketches...horses, cows, birds, dogs, cats, giraffes, lions and lambs. Chris was forever asking mom to draw a particular animal and read to him the passage of scripture about how one day the lion would lie down with the lamb.


I'm so glad he followed his calling and chose a career in the medical field...treating and tenderly caring for people...from years spent in the neo-natal unit working on precious preemies to adults young and old while serving as a registered nurse in the critical cardio-care unit. He was so caring and compassionate and truly loved his position in this life. The only part of his job he disliked was telling family members of the passing of a loved-one...which he always did with deep compassion, sorrow and grace. I realized after his passing that there were countless lives he touched during his all to brief career.


I knew early that Chris would never be able to make a career as a mechanic--I realized this the morning after Billy, our three small children and I found him on a desolate Texas highway--towed his truck into a town and finally got to bed at 4:00 a.m. The following morning we were informed that when he "changed his oil" for the trip he had drained every ounce of transmission fluid and added four more quarts of oil to the motor! This is a story our family as told over and over around the dinner table...and laugh every time as though it was being told for the first time!


Chris never enjoyed being in the limelight. Even when he had received his many accolades and awards--mom and daddy would hear of such accomplishments from others as Chris, in his sincere humbleness, never would toot his own horn.


When I think about Chris I always think of the time when my youngest sister, Allison, was about to be born. My sister, RoiLynn, Chris and I went to stay with our grandparents in Bairoil, Wyoming for several weeks. Chris, only a little over 3 1/2 years old at the time, started to cry as we drove off in the Wyoming desert with Grandma and PopPops. PopPops always called Chris "Trit". When we would come upon the many, many herds of antelope along the drive PopPops would say, "Look there, Trit, look how the antelope run when they see ol' Trit coming!" This would make Chris laugh and excited to see the next herd run and run at the sight of ol' Trit.


PopPops then created new lyrics to an old familiar tune that our family continues to sing to this day. To the tune of "Here Comes Santa Claus" he would sing as the antelope ran, "Here comes Trittifer, here comes Trittifer, right down Trittifer lane..." and so on.


PopPops passed into Glory November 1989. I can't help but wonder, when Chris was being greeted and welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven if over the rejoicing and harmonious melodies of the angels there was one man standing tall above the others--boisterously belting out (in a most heavenly way) a resounding rendition of "Here Comes Trittifer."


It's been five years now for those of us still living on this side of heaven...but, for Chris...only but a moment. How I long for and look forward to a great reunion with those who have gone on before me.

I encourage you to give God the glory for each new day he gives to you!

4th of July...picnics, bbq, friends, family, fireworks, home-made ice cream--a day of great celebration as a child growing up on a military post. Now I sit here at my computer wearing my "Proud to be an Air Force Mom" t-shirt-- the smell of sulfur from neighbors setting off fireworks is coming in through my window. My stomach filled with that 2nd bowl of home-made ice cream...and I reflect on what the day really means.

I am proud of my family's rich and diverse military heritage.

I can't seem to find adequate words to describe my gratitude and indebtedness those who made personal sacrifices for the freedoms I am blessed to enjoy. Sacrifices of time, home, family and lives. I know the cost of my freedom has been exceedingly high.

As this day draws to an end, I am reminded of my childhood...every night I was blanketed in security and safety as the tune of "Taps" would softly waft through the cool night air:

Day is done, gone the sun,

from the hills, from the lake, from the skies.

All is well safely rest,

God is nigh.

Go to sleep, peaceful sleep.

May the soldier or sailor God keep.

On the land or the deep,

safe in sleep.

Thanks and praise,

for our days,

'neath the sun, 'neath the stars, 'neath the sky.

As we go, this we know,

God is nigh.

I encourage you to give thanks for the freedoms you enjoy that came at a great cost.