Expected Turns

As I’ve contemplated the closing moments of this year, I’ve tried to imagine what this past 12 months would have been like without friends and family. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad year. Yet how miserable it would have been without people who care around me.

Today I heard a couple of unrelated stories about people who have had to face adversity and who felt they had no one to turn to. What a terrifying existence!

I hope that you will be someone who others can and will turn to. And that you will discover those to whom you can turn. No matter who you are, you truly need hope around every turn.

Take some expected turns in this new year.

Personal Freedom

Just one of those things I already know. Forgiving others frees me.

I recently realized that I had a couple of lists. The individuals on both were people I had been in conflict with in the past. The factor that allowed me to differentiate between the lists was forgiveness.

The group of people I had forgiven is a comfortable list. I’m not saying that everything is great with those folks. On most of them, I don’t know if they have forgiven me — although I know I have apologized for wrongdoings and asked for forgiveness. But I’m comfortable — both with the list and the people. I feel easy around them. Once again, I’m not positive about how they feel. I can only do what I can do.

That other one is troublesome — the unforgiven list. For whatever reason, I haven’t been able to bring myself to let go.

And I have, thus, denied myself freedom.

About time to make some New Year’s Resolutions — with names and faces attached.

‘Tis the Season

I ran up to our local discount store to grab paper towels and toilet bowl cleaner for my son’s business. Being a week before Christmas, the parking lots were crowded and the aisles packed with shoppers.

I’m pretty good at buying paper towels and toilet bowl cleaner, so I was back to the front of the store in no time. I jumped into the express lane, four carts back from the cashier. Things were moving a little slow, but most of the folks in front of me were challenging the 20-item limit.

To keep from crowding the aisle behind us, a middle-aged couple fell in beside me.

“You know why the lines are so long, don’t you?” the man asked.

“Lots of people here tonight” I opined brightly.

“No, that’s not it,” he insisted. “It’s because of who they hire here — they’re not from around here.”

“Excuse me?” I sputtered.

“They’re not from around here. They’re from across the border — or at least their parents were.” He looked at his wife and asked, “If they weren’t married, are they still parents?” Then back to me, “Everyone knows they can’t work like we do — they’re slow.”

Figuring out that I was talking to a home-grown, West Texas bigot, I decided to go along. “So these people we’re talking about — Canadians, huh?”

“Why, no. Why would you say Canadians?”

“You said they were from across the border — you didn’t say which one.”

“This guy’s crazy,” my slanted friend said to his wife as he pulled her toward another cashier.

By that time, I was next in line. My cashier, a friendly woman, efficiently rang up my items and took my payment.

“Feliz Navidad,” she chimed. Then, she smiled and winked at me, “Do you really think I look Canadian?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I know a lot of really nice and extremely talented Canadians and they just look like people. Like you.”

“In that case, I think you look Canadian, too.”

“Thanks,” I said as I rolled my cart toward the parking lot.

Taking Care of Business

Twice this last weekend, I selected a seat in Cullen Auditorium that would give me the greatest vantage point for watching our church children’s musical. For most of the last twenty years, talented, dedicated adults have focused a good portion of their autumn lives on selecting, rehearsing and producing these extravaganzas with our little ones. I applaud them — not with the tongue-in-cheek attitude of “they should be blessed because they’ve had to deal with all those kids.” No, I applaud them because of the incredible ministry they have.

The purpose of the annual event is to allow our children to tell the story of Jesus. And they do that with passion and ability that far surpasses their few years. But another reason for the musical is for these wonderful adults to tell the story of Jesus to these kids through the everyday business of a Christmas program.

During the first matinee, I videotaped the close-up performance of my granddaughter. Sure, there was a larger story — and an official DVD being shot with a wider lens — but my focus was Landrye. I was thrilled to watch her give serious attention to the cues from the directors and to carefully do her part. She really took care of business.

But what brought me to tears, both at the performance and as I sat editing the video that night, was watching her sing, “Tell Me the Story of Jesus.” I don’t know what she may face in her life — what challenges, what opportunities, what sadness, what opportunities. But I know that her song — her request — to hear about Jesus is and will be the most important business she can ever be about.

When she sang, it was if she were singing to me. I just hope that I can take care of business. I pray that, to my dying breath, I can tell her the story of Jesus.

Christmas Party Place

We had a great Christmas party for the office last night. Great home-made food. Pleasant conversation. And we were blessed by being at Patsy and Jerry’s place. A veritable Christmas wonderland.

I don’t know how many get-togethers are hosted by these two every year. Or how many total people have crossed their threshold. Or how many burgers have been flipped on the backyard grill. Or how many linens have been changed to accommodate overnight guests — many who just call to see if there’s “room at the inn.”

Last night, while Patsy and Jerry were giving tours and telling stories about Santa collections and special photographs, I was clearing a few plates from the table when I literally was stopped in my tracks.

In a side chair was a little embroidered pillow with the inscription, “May your house always be too small to hold all of your friends.”

In this expansive residence, I was awed in thinking how small this place was in relation to the number of Patsy and Jerry’s friends. And I was warmed by the thought that I was one.