Ice Storm Revelation

Competing systems collide,

In rare and mysterious fashion.

A mist or a drizzle deposits,

In layer after layer of glaze.

Not a sudden occurrence,

But building with passing time,

Changing  temperature may reverse

The slow and fearsome process.

The wise seek refuge inside,

They sleep until the sounds begin,

Creaking, groaning, cracking,

Snapping, clattering, crashing.

Morning dawns to an altered world,

Tangled limbs encased, suspended,

Fallen or bent low to the ground,

Creating a crystal palace maze.

For days the cold preserves

The sun illuminated glory

Of a world coated with diamonds

And iridescent jewel paint.

Warming begins the degradation,

With a slow and steady dripping.

Gemstones fall into the snow,

Revealing bare and broken branches.

Some will recover in the spring,

Green sprouts of new life will immerge.

Others, damaged beyond repair,

Will slowly rot away.

The red carpets of the world,

Sparkle with couture and jewels,

Flashes of light reflect from icy glamour.

But time and gravity operate.

And not every tree can bear,

The horrible weight of beauty.

Christmas Accomplished

I feel heartsick and a bit nauseous every time I see a certain ad playing this season.  A beautiful and smartly dressed woman is shown shopping for, wrapping, and giving presents.  The closing line of the ad is “Christmas accomplished.”  I am sickened because it trivializes the true accomplishment of Christmas. 

I am not opposed to gift giving.  I have spent a lot of time over the past few weeks searching for items online and in stores.  I will spend time wrapping the gifts, mailing some to family out of town, and giving others during family occasions over the holidays.  I genuinely enjoy trying to find items that are needed or wanted.  I particularly delight in fulfilling the wishes of grandchildren (one of whom has bubble wrap on her wish list).  But, I am very clear, that is not the purpose of Christmas.  When all the gifts are purchased, wrapped and given, Christmas will NOT be accomplished.

Christmas was God’s accomplishment.  The Creator and Sustainer of the Universe, the One who is infinitely wise, loved us frail and flawed human beings so much, that He was willing to become one of us in order to reconcile us to Himself.  The greatest accomplishment of any human being does not match that.  The sum total of the accomplishments of ALL human beings is nothing in comparison.  This is a mystery beyond the comprehension of the human mind.  “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”  (John 1:14)

The angels understood the significance and filled the skies with joyful singing.  Glory to God in the highest!  The shepherds, although not totally understanding, had enough of an inkling, that they traveled through the darkness to a stable where they knelt in awe.  The Magi traveled a great distance to bring gifts to someone they believed to be a mighty king.  Even Mary couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the event and pondered these things in her heart.

So…T J Maxx…your pretty lady has NOT accomplished Christmas. 

“God so loved the world that he gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16)

God gave the gift we all need.

He accomplished Christmas!

“Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”  (II Corinthians 9:15)

Dressed in Black

 This time of year, it is pitch black at 5 pm when I head home after tutoring.  This evening, I waited for on-coming traffic so that I could make the left turn off the main street and on to a side street that leads to home.  A large truck on the side street was at the stop sign giving me the right-of-way before it made the left turn on to the main street.  As I turned, I caught movement near the back of the truck.  A young woman, dressed entirely in dark clothing, ran out from behind the truck and into my lane.  She was on her cell phone, not thinking about her own safety.  I slammed on the brakes.  Fortunately, although there was a dusting of snow, the street was not slippery, and I stopped in time.

I drove away with my heart in my throat and her image etched in my mind.  A slender young black woman, dark pants, dark jacket, some type of head scarf…a print, but dark in color…cell phone to her ear.  If I had hit her, it would not have been my fault.  She was not in a crosswalk and ran out from behind the truck.  But, if I had hit her, who was at fault would not have influenced the degree of her injury.

How many times in life are there near misses?  Something terrible is only a sliver of time or space away.  I am grateful for the protection of a loving God, who spared her from injury and me from grief.

What Goes Around....

….comes around.

My heart is grieved when I see teenagers and young adults mistreat and disrespect their parents.  I have lived long enough to see what happens in the next generation.

Many years ago my mother talked to me about a family she knew well.  She was saddened to watch A’s mother say and do disrespectful things toward A’s grandmother.  She said that A would treat her mother the same way someday.  A is now an adult, who goes way past what her mother did to her grandmother.  Although her mother is still living, she has no relationship with her, and has declared that as far as she is concerned, she has no mother.

I have seen this in my own family.  The children who lied to me, swore at me, and were generally awful to me as teenagers have had terrible struggles with their own teenagers.  One has asked me more than once, if I wished it on her.  NO!  NO!  No matter how hurt I was, I never once wished that revenge for me would come through my grandchildren.  I never wished it, but with great sadness, I knew it would happen.

I am currently trying to convince someone of this.  She is behaving most cruelly toward her mother.  In a few days, she will be looking lovingly at her own child.  She will convince herself that this sweet little babe will never break her heart.  She cannot see into the future and know that everything she dishes out will fall back into her own lap…probably multiplied.

It is futile for me to hope I am wrong.  It may be better for me to hope, that I don’t live long enough to see it.

Script for a Horror Movie

Amos, as inspired by God, wrote a horror movie script…who knew???  The scenario described reveals a man running away from a lion.  He is catching his breath feeling relieved that he has escaped the lion, when out pops a bear!  Running from the bear, he reaches his home and shuts the door supposing he is at last in a secure place.  He leans against the wall in exhaustion.  Uh-oh!  A snake swings down from the rafters and bites him!

The judgment of the Lord is certain.  It may not come on the time table we expect, but it will come.

Why?  The people described in Amos are religious without sincerity.  They make a show of their rituals, but have no genuine care for the poor and needy.  They may pretend to worship, but give no thought to what is right and just.  They are consumed by pride in themselves and complacency regarding anyone else.  They use every method available to advance their own cause, not caring who is harmed in the process.

Amos watched what went on around him with grief, as do many genuine believers today.  We look around and see many of the same characteristics in our society.   People in our culture seem focused on being entertained and having material possessions.   Except for an occasional spasm of conscience, so little thought is given to the poor and suffering in the world. 

Repentance would be preferable, but, I am afraid that the lion is coming, followed by the bear and the snake.

The Dollhouse

When I was just a little girl...about 65 years ago...my grandfather made me a dollhouse.  It wasn't just any dollhouse, because my grandfather wasn't just any grandfather.  He was an unusually creative man.  It was Grandpa, not Grandma, who decorated for holidays, hand-painted Easter eggs, and according to my mother, made Halloween costumes when she was a child.  How I wish that the Christmas village scene he created for the mantle had been preserved.  I remember standing on tiptoes as a child peering into the house where a tiny man sat reading a newspaper next to a decorated tree and into the church where the racks on the pews held tiny hymn books.  The mailman walked down the street carrying a sack of tiny envelopes.  I have no idea what became of that treasure which pre-dated by many years the commercial Christmas villages available in stores.

My dollhouse, on the other hand, languished in my parents' basement for years...I'm not sure I even knew it was there.  by the time it was moved to my basement, my daughters were pretty well grown, and I knew my son wasn't interested.  Many times, I said that someday I would refurbish the dollhouse.  I am a grandmother, and three granddaughters (ages 9, 8 and 6) will be at my home on Thanksgiving Day this year.  I decided it was now or never, so over the past couple of months, I have spent a huge amount of time renovating the dollhouse.

After the remodeling was complete, and the kit of furniture assembled, I was still searching for items to make it seem like a real home...tiny dishes, pots and pans.  My sister-in-law reminded me that her mother (my mother-in-law) had loved dollhouses and had quite a collection of such items.   She passed away 2 years ago and her stash of dollhouse goodies is still in "the nursery" of the home in which my 96 year old father-in-law now lives alone.  What a treasure trove!  I found a tiny china tea set, a frying pan, tea kettle, some dishes, candlesticks, and a couple pieces of furniture that were the right size.

Today it is completed and set up in my living room awaiting some creative play.  I doubt that it ever occurred to my grandfather that someday, I would restore the dollhouse.  I hope he would be proud of me and pleased that I have added my creativity to his.  I think he would be delighted that his great-great grandchildren will play with his handiwork.  


I adored my Grandfather and working on this project has been an act of love for him and for my grandchildren.

The Hand Unseen

The hand unseen weaves quietly,

The fabric of my life.

Each fiber hand-crafted,

Colored and formed by the Master.

The hand unseen soothes gently,

The turmoil that surrounds.

Touching my fevered brow,

With a cooling holy calm.

The hand unseen pushes firmly,

As I fearfully take a step,

On a path unknown to me,

But plotted out by Him.

The hand unseen works swiftly,

Laying out the next tile,

Of the winding pathway,

His omniscience, my faith combining.

The hand unseen covers securely,

When the winds of life howl,

When the piercing cold or heat,

Threatens my spirit’s survival.

In astonishment I stand before,

In gratitude I bow to,

In relief I lean against,

The loving unseen hand.