Original photo courtesy of Ooceey @ pixabay.com (Some text added for this post)
TODAY, DECEMBER 25TH, IS THE BEGINNING OF THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS — the period which, for centuries, has been set aside to focus on the joy of Jesus’ having come to us in the flesh: 12 days when believers rejoice and celebrate by giving gifts to others every day.
Gifts do not have to be extravagant. They can be very simple. It’s the meaning behind them that matters — Giving something to someone you care about because you want to emphasize God’s gift to us. Probably many of you have given loads and loads of gifts to family and friends during the past couple days. But spreading out the joy and the giving over a much longer period of time intensifies the treasure of this celebration in our own hearts. And it helps to reaffirm for us that the true meaning of Christmas does not come to a close at midnight on December 25th.
In the United States especially, a majority of people seem to have the attitude that after the 25th, everything “Christmas” should come down and be packed away — and wait for another 11 months before being seen or heard from again. How sad. We would do well to take a lesson from believers of previous centuries — particularly in many of the European countries — who relished the celebration of 12 full days of joy that just got started on December 25th.
If you’ve never celebrated the 12 days of rejoicing and sharing the joy with others, try it. Begin today and celebrate through January 5th, 2020. The following day, January 6th, is Epiphany — which is it’s own celebration — focusing on Jesus’ manifestation as savior to the Gentile nations and the whole world.
Get out of the rut of making Christmas a 2-day party and then a “let-down.” Instead, get a fresh start today and let Jesus bring you a brand new revelation of who He is during this 12 days of Christmas and Epiphany season.
photo courtesy of Gerd Altmann @ pixabay.com
Country lanes at Christmas —
For the traveler, such a chore.
Snow encrusted, rutted lanes
That make manuv’ring poor.
It’s hard to see the shoulders
And the middle line is blurred.
For traffic in the other lane
No ample room’s assured.
And drawing towards the end of day,
When light is running low,
Traversing snowy country roads
Mandates my going slow.
But I’ll continue trav’ling down
Those snowy country lanes,
To friends and fam’ly, waiting me.
It’s worth whatever strain.
Besides, those Christmas country roads
Through woods and fields snow-clad
Resound with quiet so unique
It makes my heart quite glad.
They seem to wear a special peace
That blankets their domain.
And settles over me when I’m
On snowy, country lanes.
photo courtesy of Reijo Telaranta @ pixabay.com
WHAT DOES CHRISTMAS REALLY MEAN TO JESUS???
Everyone has different opinions and different feelings concerning the meaning of Christmas. What were Jesus’ feelings about coming from the throne into a tiny body that was laid in a manger at Bethlehem? That’s the focus of my most recent upload to Radical About Jesus YouTube channel: “Let’s Not Get Stuck At The Manger”
Make listening to and sharing this message part of your Advent Celebration this year.
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The following is a quote of my dad’s own words as he explained his personal response to the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941:
“The dramatic part of my life began, as that of so many members of the armed forces did, on one of the most infamous days in U. S. history — at Pearl Harbor. Even though I was only 17, I talked my dad and step-mom into signing their permission for me to enter the Marine Corps and do as much as I could to help win that war and make it as short as possible.
“Actually, I had always wanted to be a Marine. All through high school, it was my dream. At the age of 15, I’d felt the call of God on my heart to become a preacher of the Gospel, but as far as I could tell, that wouldn’t preclude my serving my country as well. And if I were going to serve, I was going to be a Marine!”
My father went forward — as did thousands of other brave and committed men and women — to engage in horrific and often mortal combat with the enemies of freedom and human integrity. He and his Marine unit faced every conceivable type of warfare — including a direct hit by a Japanese Kamikazi plane. which caused their LST to be engulfed in flames.
The Lord protected my dad and all the men in his unit, for which I’m enormously grateful. But the price he paid — and the even higher price so many others paid — is something we must never lose sight of. They did it to keep us free and safe from all those forces that would enslave us to inhumane and deadly control by totalitarinan governments.
May we never forget. And may we never allow our nation to be deceived into giving up all that they sacrificed to give us.
Part of this post is a repeat from a couple years ago. I just felt like giving it another day of recognition.
~~~
Thanksgiving in the U. S. is exactly three weeks from today, so I think it’s only appropriate that I revisit some of my Thanksgiving poems from over the years — and maybe even write a new one.
This week I’ll begin the series with two: one quite serious and one just for fun. Hope you enjoy them, and if you’re one of my own countrymen, I hope they add to your expectations for a happy Thanksgiving celebration.
AH, THANKSGIVING, HOW I LOVE YOU!
Ah, Thanksgiving, how I love you!
Golden crowning jewel of Fall,
Beacon of warmth and cam’raderie,
Sending glad invitation to all:
“Gather to worship; gather to visit;
Gather to focus on all that’s worthwhile;
Feast from tables resplendent with harvest;
Feast on the love in a touch and a smile.”
All the year’s labors weigh heavy upon us.
All the world’s problems seem bigger by far.
But out from that wearisome struggle you call us,
And laying it down, we run to where you are.
And whether in cottages, mansions, or churches,
Community buildings, or tables in parks,
We gather with gratitude full – overflowing;
To the Giver of blessings lift voices and hearts.
Then we return to life’s pattern awaiting.
Filled up with joy, we set off on our way,
Warmer and richer and kinder in spirit
For pausing to celebrate Thanksgiving Day.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
WHAT’S FOR DINNER?
I spot him there, behind the barn,
A full-plumed, regal bird.
He looks up, straight into my eyes.
I speak no single word.
It’s happened thus, in passing years —
At least for two or three:
Each mid-November I’ve set my mind;
He’s been there to greet me.
Now, lifting his head in challenge strong,
He gobbles loud and long.
I lower my gun and heave a sigh:
To kill him would be wrong!
So, wrestling with my double mind,
I trek home to my wife
To explain why, once again this year,
Ham will greet the carving knife.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I’m a musician. I play keyboard instruments mainly. Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure of using my talents to entertain audiences, to minister as organist and choir director for two different churches, to help facilitate weddings and funerals for scores of families, to compose and orchestrate numerous songs, and to teach others to use their gifts and talents to bless the world with music from their own keyboards.
These days I rarely sit down to a musical keyboard. Instead, I’m nearly glued to the kind of keyboard that is attached to a desktop or laptop computer. For, you see, I’m also a writer. Now, some people feel that I have left music behind as I’ve devoted so much of myself to the writing. But you know what? I’ve discovered a truth that, ten years ago, I may not have even thought about:
I’ve discovered that music — true music — doesn’t come from a keyboard on a piano, an organ, or an accordion. Nor does it come from a horn, a guitar, a violin, or any other instrument. On the contrary, music comes from the soul. It’s the melody, the harmony, and the rhythm of life that courses through our beings and finds its release through any number of avenues. Frequently, it is released through instruments constructed for that specific purpose, but the music of the soul is also released through words.
I find that I’m releasing the music of my soul constantly as my fingers whisk over the letter keys of my laptop. I’m letting all those melodies, harmonies, and rhythms of life course through me to touch every reader. And when those readers are touched, my words create emotions, thoughts, actions, and reactions as surely as the strains of sound vibrating from a piano or a horn. I’m calling to and capturing the soul of the reader as surely as the chords from a guitar call and capture the soul of the listener.
It is not the instrument that creates the music. In truth, the music is created from the deepest part of our being and simply seeks an avenue — any avenue — of expression. So, personally, I believe I am offering music to the world through the words that flow from my soul onto the page as surely as I have offered it in the past from the keyboard that sent forth vibrations of sound.
So, my fellow writers — let your music flow.
~~~~~
~~~
I wrote this piece for my poetry site, but decided I’d share it here as well.
Arek Socha @ pixabay.com
Portals
Wait before me.
I stand before closed doors
But do not let that hinder me:
“Open!”
Behold,
The doors obeyed.
And now I stand in awe.
I see what possibilities
Await.
So now
I must decide:
Will I cross the threshold?
Will I accept new challenges?
I will!
~~~~~
San Juan Capistrano Mission Photo by Jon at pdphoto.com
In the early morning of October 23 — just 11 days from today — thousands of swallows will lift off the grounds of the San Juan Capistrano mission, circle the mission once, and begin their pre-scheduled 7500-mile flight back to their home city of Goya, Argentina. They will have spent 7 months at the mission, enjoying the warm climate and excellent food — and offering their share of the work to keep the eco-system in its proper balance — particularly by destroying about a billion insects. But it will be time to go home, and those swallows will not fail to leave at exactly the appointed moment.
Their visit to the centuries-old California mission began in Goya at dawn on February 18 — as it has every February 18 for at least the past 200 years. They arrived at Capistrano on March 19 — as they have for at least 200 years — and, yes, all the mission bells did ring, just as Leon Rene’s 1940’s song says. There is a great celebration at the mission every year, and thousands of people turn out to welcome the birds to their summer home. All events are planned well ahead of time because there is absolutely no doubt that these lovely swallows will be right on time.
Argentinian magazine correspondent Enrique Bermudez, who writes for Para Todos Magazine, has made a thorough study of the swallows. He says they fly most of their 7500 mile journey at an altitude of 6600 feet and fly at a speed of 18 miles per hour. His research shows that swallows are masters at following a flight plan that takes advantage of every favorable wind. And somehow, in spite of all kinds of unpredictable natural events, they arrive exactly at the appointed time on March 19, year after year after year. How awe-inspiring is that?
Well, it must be pretty inspiring for the majority of people because the event has been immortalized in word and song for decades now. Unfortunately most people any distance away cannot be present to celebrate the event, but most all of us have the privilege of witnessing a similar miracle right in our own back yards if we care to take notice. Most of us have “closer-to-home” birds that migrate north and south at exactly the right time every year — returning at the same appointed time when the seasons change. In my neck of the woods, the most prominent migratory birds are the geese, and their v-shaped flight patterns make designs across our skies for several weeks each fall as they follow their God-given homing devices to their places of winter refuge.
And so it is in every little burg and hamlet across the planet. Then when spring pops out from under winter’s blanket, ducks, geese, and birds of various sorts find themselves on the move again, and without fail, all the members of each species of bird know exactly where they are going. Just like the Capistrano swallows, they all have this built-in guidance system that we call “instinct.” It’s an internal radar, given to them by their Creator, that doesn’t fail to take them exactly where they need to go: south in the winter, north in the summer, and even to the highest rafters of the crumbling mission at San Juan Capistrano.
But what about us? People. Do we have our built-in homing device turned on? Is it keeping us focused on our perfect destination? No matter what the season in our lives, our perfect place of safety and fulfillment is always the same place: The Almighty, Eternal, Living God.
What time is it in your life? Is it time to migrate to a new place in your spiritual walk? Do you find yourself feeling the need to live on a higher plane? Or is it getting a little dark and cold where you are now, causing you to long for more warmth and light and nourishment?
Well, the Word of God makes it clear that we each have a built-in homing device with its own internal radar. That Word tells us that we do not have to “anxiously look about us,” trying to find our path. (Isaiah 41:10). All we have to do is set our hearts on the one who created that homing device. (Prov. 3:6). And even more directly, we are told that we will find Him through Jesus Christ, who is “the way” into the heart of that Creator. (John 14:6).
Do you have your radar zeroed in on the almighty God of the universe? If so, you have a fantastic journey ahead of you. If not, maybe this changing season is a good time to make an adjustment.
Several years ago, as I sat on my front porch just enjoying the beauty of autumn, gazing fondly at a huge tree in my neighbors yard, this poem just started running through my soul. Today, as I thought about the fact that it’s the first day of autumn, 2019, I decided to re-post that poem so that all my new readers can enjoy it as well. After things get so far back in the archives, hardly anyone ever finds them. So I hope you enjoy this little reminiscence with me.
Leaf by tender leaf,
I watch this stately monarch
Dressing up for fall.
Gold, russet, yellow,
And brilliant red — her choices,
For she loves them all.
Hour by passing hour
The change begins subdued – but
Then bursts into flame.
I revel in the site.
My heart belongs to Autumn.
It’s joy calls my name.
The troubles that have pressed
Throughout the year now ending,
Though they’re present still,
Are restrained by the power
Of Autumn’s golden glory
To subdue all ill.
My heart belongs to Autumn.
Indeed, it always will.
~
Just a little whimsy I posted on my poetry site, but I thought you might enjoy it too. It goes along with the whimsy I was feeling when I painted this doodle-ly piece. [I don’t think doodle-ly is really a word, but I’m a writer — I can make up my own words. 🙂 ].
I know a forest filled with rainbow colored trees.
And every time it rains, they lift their leafy heads.
For God’s great promise spoken to Noah years ago,
With bow that promised we’d have no more floods to dread,
Reflects its multicolored prism on these trees,
And God’s great faithfulness from tree to tree is spread.
Two years ago today, I lost my very best friend of many years when attorney and civic leader Kent Bartholomew Mann was killed while riding his bicycle. It’s been a very sad two years for me. Kent was much more than just a friend. He was also my best-ever book editor. Although a lawyer by profession, he had a most amazing and creative gift for writing and editing, and many were the times I sat with him, or called him, and said, “Hey, I’ve got this scene that really needs so-and-so, but I’m stuck.” His creativity would go to work on the problem and almost always come up with an idea that was just right. He helped me so very much in my writing, my business, and my ministry.
Without question, Kent was my toughest critic, and my strongest and most faithful champion. He constantly challenged me to my highest and my best in every area of my life. More than once, when a situation just got too hard to deal with and I was ready to throw in the towel, he absolutely refused to let me quit. [And it’s hard to argue with a guy who stands at 6′ 7″ and weighs over 200 pounds. :)]
I was not the only person he touched with his kindness and encouragement. I have realized over this past two years that there is hardly any sector of my home town to which I can go where I am not reminded of how he did something in that place that helped someone – sometimes an individual, and sometimes an entire group of people. Was he perfect? Certainly not. But he was the truest kind of friend.
We spent hours working on one of my inspirational novels on the afternoon of the day he died. When we stopped for the day, I walked out the door with our plans made to pick up the work again the following morning. Three hours later, he was gone from this life.
I’m sharing all of this information simply to make this point: In the world we’re living in right now, true, trustworthy friendships are rare. If you have been blessed with that kind of friendship, value it as gold. Cherish it, nourish it, and guard it with your whole heart. These words offer the most sincere wish I can make for you in honor of my beloved friend.
Kent Bartholomew Mann is gone from this world, and it’s a darker place as a result. But he is still very much alive in my heart, and his legacy of love and friendship still lightens the shadows.
~~~~~
I want to step out in adventure,
But each time the first step draws near,
Before I can start to move forward,
I’ve run, face-to-face, into fear.
I long to get out of my humdrum
And into new elements wade,
But just when I find my direction,
I realize I am afraid.
What am I to do with myself then?
I have no solution in mind.
I look at the fear, and I dither,
Which means that I get left behind.
Perhaps, I’m not meant for adventure,
And everyday life it must be.
Oh, that would be such disappointment;
From humdrum I’d never be free.
No, I must be stern with my psyche
When my knees start to tremble and sway.
Courage is not being fearless.
It’s taking the plunge anyway.
~~~~~
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