a war on memories
I grew up in Battle Creek Michigan. Cold. Snow. Shoveling. All things I now can fondly remember from my comfortable mild climate in Southern California.
I can’t remember a Christmas morning growing up that I didn’t have snow on the ground. Now I can't bear when the weather drops below 50 degrees.
I'm sitting here listening to the "12 Days of Christmas" from The Muppets (with John Denver of course) on Spotify, the invention of which has alone increased my Christmas spirit 100-fold. The lights from a Christmas tree gleaming in the corner of the room (that my wife has beautiful decorated, I can't take any credit for).
As I read through daily news I see a headline that I've seen before, years ago and still current today, "The War on Christmas". Now this article was proving that there is no war on Christmas, only groups seeking to divide people over non-issues, which I mostly agreed with.However as I share what Christmas means in my memory, my point is this, no one can ever have a war on Christmas.
It resides
(however corny it may sound and biologically incorrect it is)
in the heart.
The Ornament
I received a tradition from my parents of the Christmas Nail.
Probably purchased from the Christian bookstore, who knows if they still sell these old things. It was a simple iron nail, blocky and antique looking. We would take the nail and put it near the trunk, holding onto a strong branch. As we placed the nail on the tree, our family would be reminded of one resounding fact.
Christ coming to the earth in human form. To Die. For Freedom.
Now that is something to be joyous and sing about!
No one could ever take that away from me, or stop me from retelling that experience to my family, friends, and community. It's only about christmas gifts when we realize what we have actually been given.
A Little Pain
My second and final memory is about pain.
What is the Christmas season if not for a little family induced pain and suffering? Now I'm not referring to indigestion from too much nitrate filled foods, or from arguments over who said what first.
I'm talking about my physical pain that came in the form of being volun-told every year about my service project. My parents always made service a priority as a family, and this was no different during the Christmas seasons.
Some of my best and coldest memories were placed there in front of that church.
We were a live nativity for hours and hours. We would stand out and sing a few songs as we were dressed as shepherd or angels. And we would freeze.
I'm reminded in that pain of what God chose for the time and place of His entrance into this world. The world He loved. It was a humble entrance for a king. That was the beginning of a life of a servant-king.
Many people have related current world issues to the nativity and I won't beat a dead horse (or donkey).
We serve a servant leader,
follow righteous master,
believe in truthful savior,
trust in a dependable king,
hope in a real messiah,
draw towards a kind counselor,
love upon a God who loves us and
who came as a helpless child.
A Savior who washed feet, ministered to undesirables and died a convicts execution.He rose again on the third day, conquering death in place for each person on this world who will believe in Him.
I pray for the strength to live this season in light of this truth.