Day three of our look at the family.

         The shortest and easiest route from Nazareth to Bethlehem was south following the trader road and passing through the open area through the coastal mountains and the eastern mountains. Not only easier traveling, but shorter. Not by much, but shorter. 95 miles going the easier road as opposed to 100 miles going the eastern road. But traveling would be more level and easier. On foot, that counted for much. The only problem was that the easy road passed through Samaria. Because the Samaritans were of mixed ancestry, Jewish and Gentile, the Jews despised them. But the Samaritans despised the Jews right back. Joseph might have been tempted to pass through that way, but it was dangerous.

         So it was the eastern route. That road followed the Jordan River southward. The river has mountains and hills on either side of it, so the main road ran along the western side of the hilly river valley rather than right along the river. Up and down hills, slipping through narrow valleys and dealing with outlaws along the way. There was safety in numbers, but Joseph would have had to avoid people as much as possible in order to continue to hide Mary’s pregnancy.

         So, how did Joseph get a nine month pregnant Mary 100 miles over rough terrain without killing her and with no one knowing she was pregnant?

         This has baffled me forever. The donkey thing was out and walking was out. A carpenter would not have owned a wagon or the animal to pull it. There was no need for such a thing. He might have bought a wagon and animal to make the journey there and back. Certainly possible. However, that would have drawn attention. People would have wondered why. After all, Mary was young and strong and had made the same journey some months back to visit her cousin Elizabeth. (Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, was a priest at the Temple. Therefore, they would have lived in or around Jerusalem. Bethlehem was only a few miles south of Jerusalem, so Mary’s trip to see her cousin was basically the same route.) I have also considered that God miraculously transported them to Bethlehem. Acts 8 says this as Philip has just baptized an Ethiopian eunuch, And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing.  But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through he preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea. This would have put Philip some 70 miles away from the place where he baptized the man, so it could have been something God could easily done. But the whole story, though planned and executed by God, still followed the human pattern. How they made the trip has always puzzled me.

         Last week, Ed Fitch pestered me to watch a particular movie that he had watched. (I probably shouldn’t say ‘pestered.’ That is negative. Let’s say he ‘insisted.’ Repeatedly.) The movie is about the Nativity story and pretty much follows the whole Catholic mythology with talking animals that worship the Baby and wise-men at the birth and all that. Still, it is very good and, if you get the chance, you should watch it just for the entertainment value. It is called ‘The Star’ and it is animated. Not really a cartoon, just animated. For the most part it is the story we were always told. BUT, there is one major deviation from the traditional story. Joseph is a carpenter. It would make perfect sense for him to have a cart. Smaller than a wagon, but needed for a carpenter to transport finished product and wood and such. A cart with two long poles sticking out of the front that the carpenter would have stood between and lifted and pulled the cart loaded with whatever he was transporting. A carpenter would have made his cart and it would be well made and balanced and easy to pull. In the movie, Joseph loaded supplies and Mary into the cart and set off. Just outside of Bethlehem the cart was destroyed and so Joseph set Mary on a donkey and they went the last little way in that fashion, thus staying with the Catholic myth.

         OF COURSE! Thanks Ed! You have solved a decades old puzzle for me! Let’s just don’t make a habit of the whole pestering, uh-insisting, thing.

         In my mind’s eye I see Joseph carefully loading the cart. If Joseph can average three mile an hour and pull a loaded cart five hours a day, (I figure that five hours would be all any man could do in that situation, up and down serious hills.) they could do fifteen, maybe twenty miles a day. So, the journey would have taken six to seven days. Joseph and Mary probably would have set out with the group of people headed south for the census. Those just walking would have moved along at around five miles an hour and walked ten hours a day easily, so their trip would only take two or three days. They would leave Joseph and Mary behind. But when they all left together, which would have been normal, there would have been some joking. “Hey, Joseph! She should be pulling you!” hahahahahaha   And they would soon be far behind the others.

         But the point is, this could have been done and it would have been accepted and it would have been the logical path to follow. Mary was struggling, Joseph was laboring and God watched as the two people He had chosen made the trip. His hand was on them.

         Always remember, just because the way is hard does not mean God is not there. In fact, we usually see in the Scripture that those doing His will struggle and deal with issues others do not.

         So the journey was on. What was next? Tomorrow, my friends.

 

         Day two of our look at the family, a continuation from yesterday.

         I was eight years old. As the youngest in my family, I had never been around a pregnant woman. In fact, back then you didn’t say ‘pregnant.’ A woman was ‘with child’ or, more common, ‘in the family way.’ That was completely beyond my understanding. I knew it was something that happened to women occasionally and I vaguely knew that my mother had been ‘in the family way’ at least three times. But it had never intruded on my life.

         And then, my aunt became ‘with child.’

         At first I paid it little mind. It didn’t matter to me one way or another. But then Aunt Evie began to swell up. As I said, I was eight and didn’t know much about the world, but I did know that this looked like something was seriously wrong with my aunt. Everyone seemed happy for her, though. Even my father, who kept calling my uncle ‘you old son of a gun!’ Something just wasn’t right. As time went on, my beloved aunt began to slow down. She looked haggard (even though my mother kept telling her how wonderful she looked). It became apparent that standing up from the chair caused her great discomfort, and then sitting back down required special care. We farmed, but we didn’t have animals. I had never seen this before, and it was alarming. My parents had both grown up on farms and they did have animals and I suppose they thought I understood because at my age, they would have known about it all. But, though I watched carefully, I just couldn’t figure it all out.

         In the last month of this ‘being in the family way’ nightmare, Aunt Evie was in agony. I couldn’t stand being around her. I watched late Friday night TV and the scary shows that came on. Old horror movies. I was just imagining that there was some horrible creature getting ready to burst forth.

         One day my aunt asked my mother if I could come and stay an hour or two. She hadn’t seen me much and I guess she just wanted to visit with me. I DID NOT want to go, but eight year old children did what they were told back then. My aunt was laying on their sofa, looking very much like a beached whale I had seen on TV. I was not having fun. Neither was she, but she never seemed to have fun anymore. I sat in a chair way on the other side of the room (near an exit) and I answered any question she asked. Left to my own devices, I would not have said a word. Every once in a while she would wince and jerk, and finally I asked a question.

         “Are you OK?”

         “Oh, sweetie, he is just moving around a lot.”

         HAH! I knew it! There was something in there. This was not good!

         “Uh, it’s moving?”

         “Oh my, yes. Come over here and lay your hand on my belly.”

         AAAHH! Are you nuts? It will explode out of there and eat me alive! Of course, I didn’t say that to my aunt. Again, eight year old children did what they were told back then.

         On wobbly legs, I crossed the room. Very slowly I laid my hand on her belly. AND THE CURSED THING KICKED MY HAND AWAY! That was definitely not good!

         I tell that story to get back to Mary and Joseph. From as early as I can remember, all the kid’s books pertaining to Mary ‘being with child’ had her riding a donkey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. After my experience with Aunt Evie, I knew that riding a donkey was pretty much out of the question. My aunt got to where riding a chair was hard. I had ridden a donkey. It sure wasn’t like sitting in a chair. Years later I finally found it. Not in the Bible, but in some Catholic writings. The Protoevangelium of James, chapter 17. (Go ahead. Look it up. You don’t know what a Protoevangelium is any more than I did. Make yourself proud.) In that passage it says Joseph made the donkey ready and put Mary on it. Then, the older son led the donkey while Joseph followed. That is right. The older son. It is interesting that the Catholics accept the donkey but not the older son.

         So, the Bible doesn’t say she rode a donkey. It was a 90 mile journey. She was nine months pregnant. There were mountains. She could not have walked. How then?

         Well, clearly she rode something. Not an animal. I imagine Joseph was a big strapping man. I spent a lot of my growing up years around my father’s Amish friends, and some of them were carpenters. Big, strong men. But even so, Joseph could not have carried her. The only logical solution was a wagon. Being a carpenter, Joseph would not have had a wagon, or the animal to pull it. But it was all that made sense, although not very good sense. I always assigned that to the mental file of “Questions to Ask Upon Arrival.”

         And then it was revealed to me by one Mr. Ed Fitch. The simplicity is perfect. I had always over thought the whole thing. And we will save that for Sunday’s edition of this story.

          Seven days until Christmas.

Simplicity. Necessity. Innovation.

         I grew up near an Amish community. My father knew many of the Amish men and so, as a boy, I fished and hunted with them. It didn’t seem strange to me at all. Early on I learned that just because they lived a ‘simple’ life (which none of us could comfortably live), they did so by choice. Not because they were stupid, but because it was their way of life. I also found that they often needed to do something that might require some item from the English (their word for us) life, such as roller bearings for their wheels on their buggies. When they need something of that nature, it always amazed me how well they were able to modify something to make it work.

         Simplicity. Necessity. Innovation.

         Marsha and I were commissioned as home missionaries for the Southern Baptist Convention while we lived in Florida. To the Southern Baptist, the northern reaches of this country are far more mysterious and bizarre than the Amazonian jungle. So, since we were from the frightening North and were familiar with the dangerous natives, as well as the horrible weather, we were sent to the mission field of Ohio. We wound up in Warren, Ohio. I grew up just north of the afore mentioned Amish community. Warren was about the same distance to the south of that same community. While on that ‘mission field,’ it was necessary that I have a regular job. I fell back on what I had done while in college and seminary, that being working at an auto parts store.

         One day an Amish man walked into the parts store and came to my position. A typical Amish greeting. “Larry.” “Eli.” Then to business. He lay a worn out brake shoe on the counter. I gave him a quizzical look. He answered, “Rear, 1968 MGB.” “OK, Eli. Those are rare now, but I should have it by the end of the week.” “I’ll be back Saturday.” And he turned and walked out. My counter partner, Bruce, walked over. “He has a 1968 MGB?” “No Bruce. He put the rear axle of a 1968 MGB on his buggy so he would have brakes that could stop his horse if the horse started running if a car passed to close.” Bruce’s eyes grew big. “Wow! I wonder what else he has on his buggy?” I looked at Bruce from the corner of my eye. “Well, he has an exhaust system for the horse, but the horse isn’t too happy about it.”

         Simplicity. Necessity. Innovation.

         It always makes me bristle when I hear people say, or read what people say, when they say that Bible folks were a simple people and needed to have their myths about a God to explain the simple events around them. Poor, simple minded Israelites had no Google Search or Twitter. They couldn’t grasp complex thought. Yet, it was the ancients who worked out geometry, who could steer by the stars, who knew the weather patterns. We could not be whisked back into their time and survive, but they would be fine, after a month or so, in our time. We have not evolved because of our technology. We have devolved.

         And all of this brings me around to Mary and Joseph.

         First, Mary. We have Mary, the mother of Jesus. Mary Magdalene. Mary, the sister to Lazarus and Martha. There are a few others. Mary comes from the Hebrew Miriam, who was the older sister of Moses and Aaron. The word, in the usage of the Old and New Testaments, means ‘they rebelled.’ We have been given certain mental pictures of these women. Miriam, a loving sister watching over her infant brother. Mary, the mother of Jesus, quiet and reserved and kind of wimpy. Mary Magdalene, the repentant prostitute. Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, an impulsive dreamer. All of which is nonsense. These women we adults by Biblical standards. This would be their later names which would reflect their personalities. They were rebellious women. Miriam is called a prophetess of God. Only men spoke as God’s messengers, but Miriam had something to say and did so with authority. That was her rebellion. Mary Magdalene was not called a prostitute anywhere in Scripture. That is a Roman Catholic concoction taken from thin air. ‘Magdalene’ means she was from the town of Magdalia. There is a Roman record from Magdalia (also known as Magda) that list various men as prominent businessmen and one woman, known as Mary. How dare she be a business owner. That was her rebellion. Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, dared to enter in a room of men and sit at the feet of Jesus. That could be done outside, but not inside. When Martha complained to Jesus, she would have said, in Aramaic, “Have this rebellious one help me.” That was her rebellion, to sit and listen. So why was Mary the mother of Jesus called rebellious? I don’t know, but I am thinking she was a spitfire. She was early in her pregnancy and walked 90 miles from her home to the home of Elizabeth! She was no frail little thing.

         Then, Joseph. A carpenter. Skilled hands. The kind of man who was stable. A working man and yet the type of man who used his mind to figure and plan. Based on the times and customs, he would have been a young man when he made a deal with Mary’s father for Mary as his wife. Mary would have been a small child. Today we would look at that as a perversion, but it was how things were done. By the time Mary could be married, Joseph would be fully established in his career. I see, in my mind’s eye, Joseph watching Mary grow up. (Nazareth was a small town) She of the rebellious spirit. I wonder if he ever shook his head and wondered if he had done the right thing.

         But then an angel comes to the rebellious girl. In time she tells Joseph and an angel comes to the hard working and stable man. These two are going to set out on a one time only adventure.

         We will talk about that tomorrow.   

 

          My, it is different this year, isn't it? Many of those things that make Christmas are gone. Was it “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer?” Was it kids waiting in line to be hoisted onto Santa’s lap? Maybe a classic holiday movie like “It’s a Wonderful Life” or “A Christmas Story” or “Miracle on 34^th Street?” Perhaps it was that great old classic “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” Songs trigger memories. “Silver Bells,” “White Christmas,” I’ll Be Home for Christmas” or, for the sheer magic of the holiday, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” Our ladies play Christmas music starting at 9:15 every morning during Advent and this is my fifth Christmas here, but I have never heard "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." But this year, because we cannot gather, because people we know are sick, because the world has been turned over, nothing seems like Christmas. But, lest we lose our perspective…….

          It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Really, it was bad. Joseph was beside himself. Mary had gotten pregnant. Joseph knew it wasn’t his doing. He had spent years working toward that moment he would be able to marry Mary. The marriage had been arranged years before, when Mary was a tiny little girl. It was the way things were done. There was not supposed to be much, if any, contact between the betrothed couple. Joseph, learning his trade and making his way in life, preparing for that day when they would wed. Mary, growing up and learning all the things she would need to know as a young wife. But, there was still some contact. Joseph was able to see her grow up. She was with her family at synagogue, she was with her mother at the market, she would be at play with the other children. Joseph had seen her. Occasionally, in rare moments, they would even share a few words. It was just such an occasion that had set Joseph’s life into a turmoil. Mary had come to him and told him that she was pregnant, that she was pregnant with the Messiah. She said she was the virgin Isaiah had spoken of, the one who was to give birth to the Promised One. Joseph let his mind drift back to that moment. He had stared at the girl. Was she joking? No, there was a fear in her eyes. Well, if she wasn’t joking it could only mean that she had been unfaithful, that she had violated the oath her father had made with Joseph all those years before. If she was pregnant people would find out. They would blame Joseph. Perhaps both would be stoned to death. Even if they weren’t stoned, Joseph’s reputation would be ruined. There was only one thing to do. He had to turn her in and let the village elders deal with her. It would be horrible for her, but she had done something unspeakable.

          However, Joseph did care for the girl. He certainly wasn’t wealthy, but perhaps he could arrange for her to leave town. There were those who took care, quietly, of such people. There were ways. It would cost, but Joseph couldn’t bear to see young Mary harmed, perhaps even killed.

         And then came that fateful night. As Joseph slept that night he was visited by an angel. This creature verified all that Mary had said. After all of these centuries, Messiah was coming. And Joseph now had a special job. He was to raise the child. Joseph woke from the dream and did as he was instructed, but it was a hard thing. Mary was fixed on the idea of having the Messiah. Joseph, on the other hand, had to give consideration to other things. For one, how do you keep a pregnancy secret? People were going to know! How was this to be handled? That seemed to be working out when Mary went off to her cousin Elizabeth’s home. They would have lots to talk about, anyway. The word was that Elizabeth, an old woman, was also pregnant. She was supposed to bear the forerunner, the one prophecy said would show the way for Messiah. Joseph hadn’t really believed that when he had heard the news, but she was a woman well past the age of giving birth, yet she was going to give birth. That deserved some consideration, a miracle in itself. Now Joseph knew that Mary would bear the Messiah, so it did make a kind of weird sense. Mary going to live with Elizabeth for a time, helping her with the birth of the forerunner, all was a good thing. Maybe Mary would be there for her own birthing. It seemed the perfect solution. Eventually, Joseph would go there, take Mary and the Child and move to a place where no one knew them and start their family life.

          Then, the horrible news. Word came directly from Rome. A census was to be taken. Everyone had to go back to their family’s town of origin. This was a nightmare. Mary was already in the area, since Zechariah, Elizabeth’s husband, who was a priest at the Temple and had to live near Jerusalem. But this changed everything. Mary would have to return to Nazareth so that she could travel with Joseph, her betrothed husband, to his town, which was Bethlehem, but she was very pregnant. Not only that, but Joseph’s whole family would be there. They would figure it out, someone would do the math. They would know. Worse, because Mary had been living with Elizabeth, Zechariah would be implicated in the crime of concealing a woman of low morals. This was bad, very bad.

          More than once, as the couple traveled south from Nazareth toward Jerusalem, Joseph had wondered how this would all work out. Out of necessity, they stayed away from other travelers. Mary was obviously in distress. If they could have stopped along the way, but that couldn’t happen. Joseph had to be in Bethlehem. And Mary would have to give birth in Bethlehem. That was what the prophecy had said, so it had to happen that way. When she gave birth, it would all be over. Mary’s premarital pregnancy would be discovered. There would have to be a mid-wife, after all. Questions would be asked. Somehow, Joseph would wind up with the baby. The angel said he would name the child and if he named Him, that meant he would be raising Him. But, what of Mary. No one would believe her. Joseph couldn’t see the end being good.

          Mary was very close to giving birth. They had to hurry. The trip was dragging on and for Mary it was excruciating. They arrived as evening fell, going to a boarding house for a place to stay. Bethlehem was a very small town and there were not many such places. As it happened, the boarding house was full. The keeper of the house offered a stable, which Joseph accepted. What choice did he have?

          And this is where Joseph found himself. Mary was suffering. The only place he could put her was in this smelly stable. Not knowing what else to do, he lined a manger with straw to place the Baby when He came. And how on earth was that to happen? Give him a saw or a hammer or a planer and Joseph was in his element. Given time and materials, Joseph could build a bed for Mary to be laying in and build a proper crib to lay the child in. But all this was rushing on so fast. He didn’t know how to deliver a baby! How did this all fit into God’s plan? It was out of control, or at least that was what Joseph saw.

          Mary called out. It was time! Joseph pulled himself together. He had to handle this. The Baby was coming…….there He was! Joseph lifted the Baby and quickly wrapped Him in some scraps of clothing. His heart was pounding, sweat ran down his face. He looked over at Mary and lay the Baby down in the manger to see to her. What was he supposed to do now?

          And then, the door flew open. Men, apparently shepherds based on their clothing, rushed into the room. There was praise on their lips as they ran. Sizing up the situation, they went into action. Joseph stepped aside. These men, giving praise and practically shouting, knew all about giving birth and taking care of all the needs. Now, here as the promised Lamb was born, who better to tend to the situation that these shepherds?

          God had seen to it all.

          At the beginning of this blog, I asked what it was that made Christmas special to you. I named off some things that are made up, pretend things. They have little, if anything, to do with the truth. For me as I grew up, even the religious story seemed wrong somehow. It seems in the telling of it, that Mary and Joseph were as cool as cucumbers throughout. Everything was under control. I always thought that if I was Joseph, I would be going crazy. Mary and Joseph always seem to be portrayed as the same age, but they weren’t. According to the practice of the Jews, Mary would have been much younger. Then there is the whole thing about travel. In the narrative we are used to, Mary rides a donkey to Bethlehem. I have ridden a donkey. I cannot imagine a woman, nine months pregnant, riding a donkey the 110 miles from Nazareth. With mountains between the two places, Mary would have been lucky to have done 20 miles a day. So, a trip of six days on a donkey. These people were walkers. More likely they walked. Maybe she rode in a cart. But I doubt it was a donkey.

And I have always wondered about a carpenter delivering a baby. Joseph was one of the finest men we see in the Bible. God chose Him to raise His Son. But, he was a carpenter. The shepherds, I believe, were there to do more than give praise. They were experts and God used them.

The Roman Catholic Church created a long, drawn out narrative about the birth of Jesus from just three New Testament chapters. We have the name of the inn keeper, multiple animals, a drummer boy, wise men attending the birth, a star in the sky, snow in Bethlehem, calm and collected people and a sweet infant Baby who does not cry. I prefer to think God used real people doing the things real people do and having the fears and hopes real people have. It is a mighty story, a wonderful story. Take away the make-believe and it gets better and better.

        Here is a challenge for you. If you are reading this, you can read the Bible. For me, the real Christmas story is something I treasure. Please, read Matthew 1 and Luke 1 and 2 the first part of 3 and e-mail me back with your thoughts. Forget what you have ‘known’ all your lives, and tell me what you see when you actually read the chapters. Blessings to all as you search His Word. My e-mail is oldirishguy51@yahoo.com

           The Christmas tree has dramatically changed in my lifetime, and I am not sure that this is a good thing. Understand, I am not running down the Christmas tree. As a little boy, the Christmas tree ignited a feeling in me that cannot be explained. Money was always tight at our home. What gifts there were did not have the MADE IN USA label on them, like all my friends. Ours all said MADE IN Japan. I didn’t care. Made it seem exotic. But the tree always said CHRISTMAS! to me. A week before Christmas it was out to the woods to find just the right one. Chop it down. Tie it to the sled and pull it back. My father would put the stand on it, twisting and turning the tree to hide the crooked trunk, then setting the wondrous, sweet smelling tree right where Mom wanted it. My mother and sisters would then start the decorating. I always wanted to join in, but our father always told me to sit down, that decorating the tree was women’s work. Still, it looked like serioius fun! Then, when the tree was all decorated, it would get plugged in for about five minutes. We weren’t allowed more than that because those bulbs got so hot. Our mother or father would always tell a story about someone they had known who had left their tree on too long and it had caught fire and burned up all the presents. Was the story true? I don’t know. The names seemed to change every year. I do know that the tree wouldn’t get plugged in again until Christmas Eve then again on Christmas morning, just long enough to open presents. My father would sit and keep a wary eye on the tree, looking for smoke. So, maybe the story was true. It still amazes me that now a tree can stay on all night and be no hotter than it was when it was first plugged in.

         Christmas trees now are different. First, they are mostly artificial. How many of us uttered the phrase, “I will never have an artificial tree in this house!” We love the smell, we love the going and getting a tree, we love the experience. What we don’t love is being barefoot in June and stepping on a needle. We don’t like the mess of taking it down and getting sap and needles and twigs and branches all over when you drag it across the floor. We don’t like trying to figure out how to lean the tree to hide that bend or the bare spot. A real tree is nice for a short while. Then it becomes a headache. At some point, artificial became the order of the day.

         This affects how we decorate. Trees used to be coated with tinsel. A few years ago I watched a Red Skelton Christmas special. I know, exciting TV. Anyway, the tree in the living room on that special looked like a rocket ready to blast off. So much glorious tinsel! Now, however, you don’t put tinsel on artificial trees. Way to hard to take it off before you put the tree away. Year old tinsel just looks sloppy. As a boy, we would cut the branches all off with the tinsel still on them, take that to the burn pile and burn all that. Then we would cut the trunk up into small pieces that would get thrown into the fireplace one at a time to get that pine log popping and smell. Now, you take off the decorations, take the tree apart and pack it all away till next year. The only person I know in recent times who has tinsel on his artificial tree is the organist from our church in Ohio. He had a Christmas room that faced the road in his place. A bachelor, he had put his silver artificial tree up years ago in that room. He decorated it the way he wanted it decorated, tinsel and all, put it in the window and closed the curtains. Come Christmas time, he would dust it off and open the curtains for all the world to see. I thought it was a great idea. No one else in my family did.

          Now, we don’t just decorate the tree, the tree is the decoration. How many homes have just one tree anymore? There is the ‘big’ tree, which may not be the biggest, but it is the one around which presents are placed. There is the theme tree, which doesn’t necessarily have traditional decorations. It has a theme. Then, there are the trees that are placed because that particular square yard of floor space is virtually begging for a tree! We will call these accent trees. An accent tree can go anywhere for any reason. Usually not decorated except for lights, the accent tree gives off a pleasant glow on a cold winter’s night. Or, on a hot and muggy Florida or Texas night. The accent tree can be decorated, though. After all, when there are thousands of decorations in dozens of boxes, they have to hang somewhere. We can do this because we have gone artificial. We can pack a whole forest into our homes and, come that first weekend in January, make it all disappear into boxes.

          Like a lot of men, I just don’t understand. In Sam’s Club one year, right around Halloween, there was this conversation; “Oh, look! The have their trees up!” The husband was not impressed. “Of course they do.” Kind of sarcastic. “Let’s go look!” The wife was excited. So, off to the artificial pine grove in Sam’s they went. The husband grudgingly said, “Yeah, we probably need to replace our old tree. It is looking rough.” The wife let out a disdainful grunt that said, without words, that her husband was a twit. “The living room tree is fine! This for another room!” The husband seemed a little confused. “Another room? What other room?” “I need tree for the kitchen.”  “WHAT!? A tree for the KITCHEN!!??? WHY?” She gave a withering look to her idiot husband. “Fine. I’ll look when I am out by myself.”

          It is not always a bad thing, though. One year, Marsha got the wonderful idea of making a theme tree with the theme of candy. Most trees will have a few candy canes, but Marsha’s theme was real candy. She got the idea while studying a box of those little chocolate covered marshmallow Santas. The perfect ornament and, as a bonus, one of the few candies I love! Our son was in high school and he, like me, didn’t really go for candy. But he does love the chocolate filled gold coins. So, Marsha decorated the theme with chocolate covered marshmallow Santas and little mesh bags of chocolate filled gold coins and, of course, the obligatory candy canes. It was highly suspicious, but the Santas and the coins began to disappear. (The candy canes survived. Odd.) Marsha had to go out and buy more. Several times. Where could all this be going, she wondered. Adam insisted it was mice. I felt it was more likely a squirrel that had gotten in or perhaps the monkey that had been terrorizing the neighborhood that Spring, Summer and Fall. (A completely different story.) Either way, we assured her that it was Christmas and on Christmas, we are suppose to overlook a little excess.

          Memories of Christmas trees are the best Christmas memories for me. With a real tree, you had to set it up and leave it up with no decorations until all the branches settled in a natural way. Six to ten hours. One year when I was growing up, the tree had settled and the women had decorated the thing. My father plugged it in for those precious five minutes. We didn’t know that Dusty, the cat, had already climbed up the tree, found her branch and had fallen asleep. When the lights went on there was a startled cat howl and Dusty shot out of the top of tree with enough force to make the whole thing fly over backward. Marsha’s first Christmas with my family (we were dating) also featured a falling tree, this time knocked over by my mother. Christmas morning, when our son was eight, he came into the living room and saw his new bike. Excited, he sprinted across the floor and did a flying mount onto the bike. Bicycles are not made to be mounted that way, from the side and at speed, and he went right into the tree. A real tree with lots of tinsel, it went over. We pulled him out and set the tree up. The tinsel was now laying sideways on the tree, like it was in a high wind. We left it like that for the rest of the season. Seems like the memories that make me smile the most feature trees laying on the floor. I wonder if that says something about the way my brain works?

          I had always felt that if Marsha were to be gone from my life, I wouldn’t have a tree. Nothing against trees, really. Just a Christmas tree is about family. Now, a tree would just be a sad thing. BUT!!!!! This year I do have a small, white ceramic tree on my desk, thanks to Nancy Miller and Janene Dawes. Plugged in, it is quite pretty. Stop in and see it.

          So, if you haven’t done it already, put up that tree!

          Senior year in high school. A classmate, Dave, and I were being recruited by various colleges for sports. Dave was a runner and I played football. Several of the colleges he was being recruited for were the same as mine, so we took a week and just visited colleges in Ohio and at Ball State in Indiana. Dave and I were both fairly new Christians. Dave eventually decided to go to a Christian college that did offer cross country and track. I was pretty locked into a particular school until one Sunday when the Lord let me know that I was changing plans. I wound up at a Christian college that didn’t offer football. Sports were a thing of the past.

         That was 1974. In 1975 I was invited to be the music and Youth leader at a little church in Tennessee, 85 miles from my school. Since October 5, 1975 I have been in the ministry.

         Practically my entire adult life. I have been bi-vocational (meaning the ministry and a regular job) for some of that time. But always the ministry. I can’t even say I have been focused on the ministry. It is just my life. I was made for this one thing. The Lord has given me a few different avenues of ministry, but always the ministry. Not a career, not a chosen field. Just my life.

         And then, two years ago, my wife stunned me with the news that she was leaving. In time I found out some of the particulars. Someone she had known before we had even met. He pursued her for seven years via Facebook and then she made her fateful decision. That is all I will say on the subject now. It isn’t a part of this story.

         I was done. I couldn’t continue in the ministry. My partner was gone. I was crushed. Those of you who were here at the time remember. I was a mess. To me it had come out of the blue. We had done our first Trunk or Treat at the end of October and she was full of plans for the next year. Then, two weeks later, boom.

         I couldn’t go on in the ministry. I gave my ninety day resignation notice to the church. I started to close myself in. That very thing that had been as constant as oxygen to me for all those years was leaving me.

         But, folks in the church wouldn’t leave it alone. I would get through it, they said. There was still lots of ministry to do, they said. The church folks expressed their love and support in many ways, especially prayer. My world had collapsed and they were offering to help me rebuild it.

         And the Lord wouldn’t leave it alone, either. For the first month I was on autopilot. Then, bit by bit, the Lord began to pierce my conscience. No, I am not done with you. Not just yet. You will stay right here and do My work. Finally, I told God that I would stay (the church allowed me to rescind my resignation) until He gave me the OK to leave. Inside I felt I was ready to go, but I just couldn’t go yet.

         It has been my experience that God will, on occasion, take a Spiritual 2X2 to my head.

         Tanner and Sydney Chamberlain (members of our church) were looking at adopting a child. It wasn’t working out well. Sam and Amanda Hann (Sam is the son of two of our members, but Sam and Amanda were members of another church) were also looking to adopt a child. My wife and I adopted our son (40 years in April! Oh my!) and I felt a deep burden for these two young couples. Even with my own personal issues going on, this was a weight on my soul. I started making some phone calls and e-mail contacts to friends around the country. One dear lady, Beatrice, in Fort Edwards, New York, told me she was glad I was still concerned for people. It wasn’t people in general, just these two couples. I mean, I still had concern, but reaching out to my network of prayer partners was something I had done a lot of before. I felt Bea didn’t quite get it, but she was getting it just fine. I was the one coming up short. The Lord was using something I felt strongly about to pull me back to the job at hand.

         Sydney got pregnant. In typical God fashion, He crossed us all up. I made the joyful calls to the prayer partners. Now we had to pray through the pregnancy. That was a good thing.

         But Sam and Amanda had a major setback. No fault of their own, but a hard thing. More phone calls, more e-mails. A friend in Ohio assured me that God would take care of it. Another friend in Arizona felt it was a matter of God’s time. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I was the one walking you through disaster not so long ago. I want this to happen now! At this point in time, I had met Sam once and Amanda never. They didn’t go to our church. But people in far flung places were praying for them.

         In September of 2019, Sydney was due to deliver. This was exciting. But also, in September the divorce my wife was seeking was going to be complete. For that last hearing, I had to go to Cleveland. The way it was going to work out, the divorce would be on one day and the birth was on the next. I wouldn’t leave the courthouse in Cleveland until four in the afternoon. If I were going to get home that night in time for the birth the next day, I would have to drive a considerable distance in the dark, which I am no longer comfortable with. I decided I would get a room and do the drive the next day (six hours) and miss the birth. But that little flicker of the pastor flame hadn’t quite gone out. I could get home that night. I was still Syd and Tanner’s pastor and I could get home.

         And I did. Next day I got to see Syd before she went in. Radiant was the only word that fit. The family and I waited. They were all excited. I was struggling to stay awake. Word came that Clay had been delivered. It would be a little while before anyone could see them, so I decided I would come back the next day and meet the little guy. I had to get some sleep. The next day I got to see a miracle baby and I felt the nudge from God. “How could you ever walk away from this?” Which was true. As I left the hospital I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, I could do this a little longer. But there was still the issue of Amanda and Sam. That deeply grieved me.

         But then, November of 2019, word came that Sam and Amanda had adopted Ezra. I am a little fuzzy on it all, but as I understand it, they were on a list and this happened suddenly. There was a whirlwind of activity. And then there was a family of three. When I got that news, tears filled my eyes. A lump came to my throat. I was dizzy. God is so good! I sent out some e-mails. One friend said, “See, I told you God had it.” A burden was lifted from my soul.

         Two years ago I started a particular blog like this; It is, as I write this, six AM on Wednesday morning, November 14, 2018. This is, altogether, the hardest morning of my life. It was the blog that I used to tell the church what had happened with my marriage. Time has moved on. Amanda and Sam and Ezra now come to our church. Today, November 29, 2020, I was given the great joy of dedicating to the Lord, both Ezra and Clay. Our God is a God of miracles. He has placed children who should not have been, into the arms of loving parents. And He has renewed the life of an aging minister who thought it was over. Back on 11/14/2018 I was shedding tears as I wrote that blog. On 11/29/2020 I am shedding tears as I write this blog. These tears are much, much better.