My Nativity Set

I packed up my Nativity set just now to be stored until next Christmastime when it will be unpacked with a renewed joy and anticipation. I had packed it up several years ago, (just as I have done since the day it came home with me) and for a few years, I couldn’t find it. Rather than replace it, I just quietly and personally bemoaned its absence during those times and chalked it up to yet another of the things that I had “lost” in the many moves I’ve made in my life. It’s funny how such seemingly small and insignificant things can mean so incredibly much. I have no clue why I remember the details and history of this Nativity set so clearly, and yet have trouble remembering such things about other greatly significant possessions. Regardless, I have decided to write about this while I can remember. I don’t recall the date I acquired this beautiful symbol of Christian faith, only that it was sometime before Christmas, circa 1980’s. I had wanted a Nativity set but just could not afford the really nice ones. I do recall that my children were all young (or yet to be born) and it was during the time in my life when I was not attending church. I resolved that until I could find one that was beautiful and elegant, yet within my budget, I would do without. Oh, there were plenty of cheap ones to be had, but they looked exactly like their price tags: distorted, cartoon-like figures painted in bright colors and missing a Wiseman or two. I suppose I could have afforded the ones that only had Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus, but I wanted authenticity. They were not the only players, albeit the most important ones, but I needed them along with the shepherd, the three Wisemen, and a few animals. I could live without the stable, I supposed, but it just seemed sacrilegious and disrespectful to leave out any of the other folks. So, I was at the Garden Ridge store in Stafford, shopping for Christmas stuff when I went down the aisle with all the Nativity sets, thinking I would just look, since I was fairly certain I couldn’t afford any of them. About the middle of the aisle, I saw it. I was very excited to find it because it was so nearly perfect. The little figures were all less than 5 inches tall, and made of a cream colored ceramic. It included an oval-shaped, polished wooden platform upon which to display them. The set included Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus, three Wisemen, a shepherd, three animals (lamb, cow, and foal), and it even had an angel to overlook them all. The price was right, so I grabbed it since it was the last one they had. I looked to see if I could find one exactly like it, only a bit larger, and there was nothing even close. That year, I had received a gift that was contained in a beautiful oval-shaped keepsake box. The lid had an image of a Victorian Santa, with a little girl in her nightgown, surrounded by stuffed and live animals. As I was taking down the Nativity set that year, I noticed that pretty box. It was only slightly larger than the oval platform for my Nativity set so it was a perfect place for storing that set. It has maintained that purpose through these many years. From the very beginning, I was always very meticulous about how I wrapped and stored each piece. I had a couple of pieces of gold colored tissue paper that I used for wrapping some pieces, and white tissue for the others. Each year, I would very gingerly unwrap the figures, smooth out the tissue paper so it could be used again, fold it up, place it in the empty box, and place the keepsake box under the tree as a decoration. Through all the moves that I have made in my life, I have had to walk away from some possessions because I had no help to pack and move it all. There were times when I was so overwhelmed by depression that I was doing the best I could do, to just put one foot in front of the other. Somehow, my keepsake box, with its precious contents, managed to make it safely through all those moves. I am grateful for that miracle. My little Nativity set is very precious to me not only for what it obviously represents (the birth of Christ), but also for symbols known only to me. Its survival through the ages represents stability for remaining unchanged and unbroken through all the trials of life. Its endurance represents my tight grip on my faith. Its smallness represents my being poor and struggling to make ends meet over the years. Its understated elegance represents humility and reminds me to remain humble, remembering that one need not have wealth to be considered elegant. It further reminds me that true wealth is determined by counting my blessings instead of counting my money. I know that I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. This year, when I went to pack it up, the white tissue papers I had used for lo these many years, were a crumbling yellowed mess. It seemed disrespectful to wrap a Wiseman in yellowed tissue paper so, after searching through options in my Christmas wrapping supplies (which for an OCD’er like me is no small task) I found tissue paper worthy of wrapping my little figures for storage. The Wisemen were wrapped in the original gold tissue; the shepherd and animals in new white paper; Joseph and Mary in red paper with white snowflakes; and the angel and Baby Jesus in red paper with darker red words saying JOY, PEACE, NOEL, and MERRY CHRISTMAS. I have always known that this tiny little Nativity set has been especially meaningful for me, but I believe this is the first time I’ve realized the depth of my feelings about it. While I would still like to find a Nativity set that meets a certain set of my personal specs, I will always display this one as the first and best.

Come and Take It!

A very well intentioned member of my extended family contacted me the other day to tell me that she had "heard" (on Facebook) that there was a threat of harm to soldiers' families from our so very porous borders down south and that I might consider taking my stickers off my car, taking the sign down from my yard, and removing the flag from my front door that signifies that this home is the home of one with family on active duty with the military. This alleged threat had been corroborated by a friend of her coworker, whose daughter was in the military and had asked her parents to take the yellow ribbon down from the front of their house. I thanked her for her concern and said I would look into it and I followed through. What I could discern from the few credible resources I could find was that back in early September there had been "chatter" about a possible threat to Fort Bliss (in El Paso) from our southern border. I found nothing else to substantiate any threat (outside of the average everyday threat from so many illegals freely crossing our borders). I called this person on the phone and told her that I did not feel that there was any threat that would warrant the actions she recommended but I thanked her for her concern for my well being. I told her that a similar subject had come up in our Bible study group about how, in the last days, we will be required to take the mark of the beast or be slaughtered. The question was posed, would God be OK with someone taking the mark of the beast but rationalizing that, "God knows my heart and He knows that I am a believer. Surely He will understand it to be the better part of valor to survive and fight from within to destroy Satan and his armies." Uhhhh . . . . hmmmm . . . . yeah . . . NO!!! And just, NO!! The parallel notwithstanding, the more I thought about it, the madder I got. NO, hell NO, I will NOT take down my Proud Army Mom stickers, nor will I even consider removing all the outward and visible signs that I am proud to have my son serving in this United States Army. Not now, not ever. Not in this land of the free and home of the brave. If I die standing up to say I am proud of my son and his service to this country, so be it. Far too many have given their lives for the freedom we have in this country and I will never, EVER, allow myself to be intimidated by such threats. I will say it loud and say it proud. I am an American and I have the right to stand up and be proud of my son and proclaim the honor of his service. I know that my son’s family: natural, extended, steps, halves, in-laws, outlaws, and every other kind are ALL in support of his service, and as proud as they can possibly be of him, just as I am. I guess I am just rebel enough to not be so easily intimidated. That is all.

Come and take it!

Ok, I'm pissed off again so I shall employ this platform for my rant! Let me describe a scenario and I ask you, my dear readers, to keep an open mind. Person B is in the act of obeying the law. Person A comes along and wants to break the law. Why, oh please explain to me why, Person B should feel any obligation or duty to enable, facilitate, or otherwise assist Person A to break the very law that Person B is obeying. Logic would dictate that the premise is ludicrous at best! Ponder the scenario thusly: Person B and Person A are walking down the street, when A decides that he wants to knock off the liquor store on the corner. Given the parameters of the described scenario, B would be expected to be an accomplice, simply by virtue of his geographical placement near A. Seems silly right? Oh but apply that kind of twisted logic to a freeway, where law-abiding B is driving the posted speed limit in the left lane of the freeway because there are so many slower drivers in the other lanes. Here comes A (which clearly stands for asshole!) running right up on the bumper of B, flashing his brights and even honking his horn because, after all, the whole world should know how important A is, right? So please, by all that is holy, explain to me why I am expected to move over and allow the asshole to fly past me while I am driving at the posted speed limit. Why should I be inconvenienced by having to change lanes just so some jerk can exceed the speed limit? Lane changes are inherently more dangerous than driving within a single lane, so by expecting the law abiding driver to move out of the way exposes him/her to greater risk of a collision, while the speeder proceeds safely on his/her way. Logic? Out the window! Fairness? Non-existent! The only intelligent, logical conclusion is that if you are driving at the posted speed limit, and some asshole comes up behind you, let the asshole go around you if he wants to speed. A law-abiding driver should never be expected to make it easier for another driver to break the law. Period. End of story.

(I thought I had already posted this here but apparently it was overlooked. So, now, just because I wanted to, here it is.) I had completed a task at my job yesterday (October 2013) and I was silently admiring my work when irony descended upon me. Damned irony and its smug ass self! I began to laugh one of those big belly laughs but I knew it was simply a ruse to keep the tears at bay. The company owner had ordered some marketing postcards to send to her list of contacts in honor of Thanksgiving. Along with the obligatory marketing catch phrases, she had included her family recipe for pecan pie. The fallibility of Spell Check notwithstanding, when her recipe came to the point where the recipe directed to “pour the mixture into a prepared pie crust,” all 250 of her postcards read, “ . . . pied crust.” In toying with different plans to rescue the project, I discovered that the printing was fresh enough to sit gingerly on top of the heavy card stock and could simply be scraped off: brilliantly simple, right? Plus, the finished repair job was so effective that one would have to really look closely to even notice that there was anything at all that was ever amiss. Doing so however, required a very sharp knife or razor blade, a steady hand, and a gentle touch, so as not to mar the card stock. One little mis-scrape of the blade, and there went the darned e at the end of pie. So I had sat for two days scraping my big fat ass off and I was so proud that I had salvaged what would have been either a waste of the company’s marketing dollars or worse, the damage to the image of the company that couldn’t even spell pie. Yep, it was a job well done, no doubt. Then . . . irony, damn you! Not so very long ago, I remember a time when being proud my work or having a sense of accomplishment about my job meant something very different. I have always taken pride in my work. Back in the day though . . . if I had done a really good job it meant that someone’s family was made to feel more comfortable, or a really sick person’s pain was relieved, or that a critical change in condition was reported to the doctor so that the right treatment could be given. Dammit, I literally saved people’s lives!!! I made a difference in someone’s life because I kept a mother from dying too soon or I gave someone another five years or ten years with a loved one. Good God, my work was an extremely meaningful contribution to the world and to humanity. So I laughed because I was proud of scraping a “d” off of 250 pieces of what most people were going to consider junk mail. How horribly pathetic is that?

Thoughts about and for my kids

My trip to Washington to greet Matthew as he returned from Afghanistan was amazing. It was a great weight from my shoulders to see him back on US soil, safe and sound. It was not until I had arrived at the relative isolation and anonymity of my Barbie-doll seat on the return flight however, that the tears came. They were both an uninvited guest and a somewhat welcome release. I did my best not to cast that blubbery cloud on the limited time I had to visit. I wanted it to be a happy visit and it was. The overwhelming sadness I felt was almost too much to bear. I told myself that I was sad because it felt like my family was breaking apart. From there, I traveled to the land of empty nests where one is allowed to mourn for the fleeting years of their childhoods now long gone. The evolution of my progeny from infancy to their current state of independent adulthood is acceptable as it is the expected and desired outcome-the payoff for all those turbulent years of rearing. There is a large measure of satisfaction in seeing them achieve adulthood. So why the sadness? Well, the very independence that I so determinedly passed on to them has now taken over and they are all forging their paths through the world. And this is a problem because . . . ? Aha, the bitter truth emerges: their independence forces me to face my own mortality. So, dear children, are you listening? Pay attention now and hear me well. I implore you - each of you - do NOT allow that Vera Jo gene to invade. It is the very devil - SATAN himself!! No matter what, you can never, ever, turn your back and walk away from your family! In the end, what do any of us have anyway? Family is all that we have. We come into this world with a family and we go out the same way. Nothing else is as important as your family. They are the ones who love you even when you don't want them to. They love you even when they, themselves, don't want to. Don't believe it if anyone says any differently. Do your best to stay within one day's road trip from each other. Your life may depend on it! Really!! You will be so glad you did. Kids need their cousins. Think about it - James, Katherine, Michelle, Kelly, Jennifer, Jason; and don't forget Tammy and Tiffany; Rhiannon, Stephanie, and Jeremy' Stephen and Ramona. Don't you all wish you'd had more opportunities to be together? I know you do. Remember all those times when Jennifer and Tiffany would come and stay with us and the times we went on road trips together? Great fun, good times, wonderful memories, right? Don't deprive your children of memories like those!! They are priceless treasures and worth more than you could ever imagine! You all have the foundation that you need to do well in life. How you all arrived there is a mystery to me-I take no credit whatsoever. Nature vs. nurture is the age old debate, but the debate notwithstanding, I have always believed that people become what they become either because of their environment or in spite of it, and usually some combination thereof. As each of you continues on your individual journey, know that I am extremely proud of you all and I feel particularly blessed that God placed each of you in my life. Take a moment to reflect and you will discover that, individually as well as collectively, you are making your own unique and worthy contributions to society. Never sell yourselves short!

Need Service?

Parting is such sweet sorrow . . .

Again today I will bid farewell to my son, Matthew and daughter-in-law, Brittany as their leave comes to a close. This one is especially hard for me since, unlike all the other times, this one is open-ended. I do not know when I will see them again. Every other time, there was an end date; a goal to be achieved; something I could hang my hat on; an event to take place that marked the time: boot camp to Family Day, then to graduation, then to pre-deployment leave, then to the triumphant return and post deployment leave. . . . . But now, there is no finite time frame, nothing to hang my hat on, no date certain to which I may look forward. I know that sounds melodramatic, since I know that I will see them again, and they are but a phone call away now, instead of across an ocean. Yet still, I'm sad to see them go. Heck, I feel the same way when Amy leaves, even though she's just a few hours up the road. Funny how now that my kids are grown and able to meet their own needs, I find myself needing to keep them close. Bittersweet for me, but also a great comfort to know that each of them will be just fine in this old world. They have all achieved a measure of success in life for which I prayed fervently. I am so proud of all my kids (and that includes Chris, Nick, Mali, Jonathan, and Brittany) that my heart could burst. I love them so very much and I thank God for blessing me with such bounty!!!