Noel

Christmas may be the time of year I most enjoy. I say "may be" because I really love every time of year! Summers are right up there at the top of the list, vacations visiting far away family and discovering rich resources all around me, Halloween with a chance to be costumed and silly, Thanksgiving prompts reflection of all I am and have been blessed with, Easter promises newness of life, and tax refund season!
I appreciate the season changes, falls colors, snow layered bare branches of northern winter trees, once barren branches that glow with bright blossoms against a cloudless blue Spring sky. I look forward to all of these treats offered in only a short window of time notched out of each calendar year.
Still, Christmas holds a spot in my heart that almost cannot be rivaled. I love the sights, the sounds, the smells and the feel of Christmas, I love to say Merry Christmas to every one I interact with, it has a nostalgic ring as it leaves my lips falling pleasantly on even my own ears. I love to hear the Salvation Army bells ringing outside the stores and the same old familiar songs of the season piped through the speakers once inside. When the house is filled with sweet smells drifting from the kitchen, and the tree or wreath or garland of fresh cut evergreens compete for my nose's attention, then I know this is Christmas!
There is excitement as plans are made and implemented, names are drawn for gifting, gifts are made and shopped for until the just right one is wrapped up with pretty paper and bow and given it's place of honor under the tree to await it's presentation. There are parties that require party clothes and party foods and gifts of appreciation for the hosts who thought highly enough of each guest to include them on their list. There are beautifully lighted trees and yard ornaments, lamp posts with festive banners stating greetings for a merry happy jolly joyous season, traditional Christmas movies watched over and over every year because it's just not Christmas without them, hot drinks to sip, special concerts dramas and services at all the local churches. There are sparkle dusted greeting cards expressing Christmas sentiment and wishes from family and friends, some of whom we might otherwise not hear from the whole year, yet at Christmas it's good to know we're thought of, and so for the season they are displayed around a door frame or mantel serving as little reminders of how rich life really has been, and continues to be.
I remember. It is a time to recall the people places and events that have over the years been life shaping milestones.
I was fortunate to enjoy both sets of Grandparents throughout my youth and some of my fondest memories revolve around Christmas's shared with them. I remember a silver foil Christmas tree with an electric wheel that shone red, green, yellow and blue light onto shiny glistening branches as it turned underneath. I remember some of the gifts they gave me, white fur mittens, white "go-go" boots, white ice skates that I learned to skate with on the frozen ditch in my own back yard, and hand crocheted sweaters and booties in bright happy colors. We gathered at their homes with aunts uncles and cousins to enjoy each others company, the time made more festive with candy dishes of assorted hard Christmas candies in the shape of striped ribbons and soft centered raspberries, and nuts that had to be cracked open.
I remember waking my parents long before the sun came up unable to sleep with such anxiety for the presents to reveal the secrets they held behind their look at me I'm for you don't touch me until Christmas papers! Dad and Mom would tell us each year not to get out of bed until it was getting light out, but an excited child's mind is easily convinced that the brightness of moonlit snow is indeed the first signs of dawn! Out of exasperation over several consecutive previous early Christmas mornings, my Dad finally resorted one year to set an alarm clock outside our bedrooms with instructions not to wake them until the alarm sounded. Knowing we had to wait to open our presents until then, we fell asleep. There was no need to lie awake waiting and watching for the morning light. The alarm sounded and we ran to wake up Mom and Dad. As they emerged groggily from their room confused and bewildered by the complete darkness still filling the house, Dad checked the alarm to find he had inadvertently set the clock for the early hour he'd hoped to avoid! We had a great laugh and still tell the story with more great laughs, best of all though, us kids got to open our presents! We did go back to bed after those early mornings, but I'm pretty sure there was not much sleeping going on, there were new treasures and goodies to be enjoyed after all!
I remember some of the gifts from my parents, a pump organ one year! New pj's, fuzzy slippers, a jewelry box with a spinning ballerina, Dr. kits, Chatty Kathy, a lavender plaid outfit with lavender stockings and a second outfit in aqua plaid with aqua stockings, a baby buggy, a metal dollhouse that had to be assembled with tabs inserted into slots for it to become 3 dimensional, with furniture, that I still own, and a vanity with a vintage mirror enjoyed by my daughter all these years later. One year my brother gave me a pair of platform tennis shoes that I'd seen and liked while out on a Christmas shopping trip, and another year my great aunt Barbie and uncle Norman gave me a heart shaped turquoise cloisonne necklace.
I don't think the gifters even really considered that their gift may be the ones that I'd remember all my life, and that as I remember the gifts I'd think of the gifter and the time in which it was given, which fills my thoughts with even more memories and that these memories would inevitably be the bigger and better gift.
I've lived a whole other life since then. I've raised my own family as we've witnessed the Christmases come with the hopeful anticipation of excited little ones. I've known the joy of seeing their sweet faces light up with the thrill of the gift. And just as they have come they have gone, marking poignantly the all too fast passing of time. My parents babies babies are having babies!
I know what I have, I know what a gift I've been given to have a life filled with loving family and friends. It is a life not without difficulties, but it is a life with a support group to get on the other side when the difficulties strike. It is a life woven with strong cords of hope, help, forgiveness, encouragement, joy, and rememberances of all that created those cords.
It saddens me deeply when I hear the dread in some peoples words as they speak of the time they will be expected to spend with their families, as if it's the last thing they want to do with the last people they want to do it with. Somewhere along the way they forgot, or perhaps just never realized that it is all so much bigger and better than themselves! Some have very legitimate reasons for awful memories and that saddens me even more, it is a little less of a choice for them, instead a grim reality. May they be given the grace to see their way to a future of hope.
We have today, here, now. Yesterdays well lived help make today valuable. If we are fortunate to have tomorrow would it not be in our best interest to create the strong cords today that will make our future a warm soft cover of strength confidence and beauty, one that is pleasant and comforting to wrap up in?
Christmas has passed by only a couple of days. In a couple more days correspondence and transactions will be dated with an increased number indicating the start of a new year, the end of an old whose chances for greatness, for meaningful purposeful living, will never again be offered.
Christmas for me will always be a time filled with the thoughts and memories of a life well lived because I am one of the fortunate ones who has been personally touched by the founder of Christmas, the one for whom the day is established and celebrated. It is He who set the example by which to live in order to create the cords necessary for that pleasant comfortable cover that every one of us desires and needs. No matter what the future holds, the previously woven cords are mine, they cannot be taken from me.
It's been another sweet Noel. How many more might I dare to wish for, how many more might I have the privilege to spend in the company of my loved ones?
The new year quickly approaches, a fresh start, a whole new set of days ready to be filled with opportunities taken and not missed. May I rise to this challenge, may I emerge on the back side 365 days from now with a new cord to weave into my cover, and...
may you.
P.J.

Just before 8:00 a.m. on a September morning 32 years removed from this one, a second son was delivered to me. In that moment everything in the world was right. I was a very young mother with 1 son already and that day at 21 years old with these 2 small boys, there were really no other concerns in my life. The whole big vast world was narrowed down for me to that here and now, those boys and me, our family.
I had determined to have a natural childbirth, and by that I mean no drugs, and I decided I would breastfeed. Bearing in mind it was the 70's and "modern" childbirth techniques typically used drugs to aid in the "comfort" of the mother-to-be during the birth process, which involved a labor room from which when dilated to 10 centimeters, quite ready to "deliver", the laboring woman would first have to get on a gurney to be wheeled to the sterile delivery room where a move to yet another bed equipped with cold steel stirrups and bright overhead lighting awaited to assist the team of professionals required to make this thing happen. Episiotomies were automatically performed since it was easiest for a doctor to stitch a clean intended cut than an unintended messy tear, of course that added an extremely unpleasant element to recovery!
As soon as they baby was born he was whisked away to the nursery where he was cleaned up, measured and weighed, eye dropped, foot printed, poked and prodded, and about the same time mom was wheeled into yet another room, this the one she'd stay in for 3 days, the little bundle would be brought to her and for the first time, about 2 hours after delivery, they'd finally "meet". There were schedules to be kept in a well run maternity ward, so baby visited mom between meals and after the Doctor checks, returning to the nursery for the night so mom could get as much sleep as possible before going home to the real world and her new expanded role in it.
It was customary to complain about hospital food but I relished my 3 days of meals prepared for me and served to me in bed! Physical discomfort seemed to increase before it improved; still that 3 day hospital stay was the closest I'd ever get to being taken care of so well.
Baby care just automatically included bottle feeding which I intended to opt out of, choosing instead to rely on God’s design as the superior choice, and while disposable diapers were available, they were not nearly as dependable as today's Cadillac models! Those early versions leaked over the top and out the sides, often only to puddle on the lap of the baby holder, not good! These things meant to simplify the life of the modern mother proved to be pretty cumbersome and inadequate, so my Mom provided me with a diaper service that delivered fresh diapers and picked up the not so fresh, right at my door. I found cloth diapers multifunctional, making good cloths for burping and dusting in addition to their original intended purpose. Thinking on the subject of baby delivery and care began ever so slowly trending back toward the natural God intended methods and means.

A friend gave me a book that was a collection of birth stories written about the experiences of women and their babies who were part of a commune where she lived for a time. Remember it was the 70's, the decade following the 60's, flower power, make love not war, and all that stuff. I loved that book and shared it with pregnant friends, unfortunately somewhere along the way it was never returned to me. As one might imagine the lifestyles of the people were pretty unconventional, I was too, and the stories recounted on its pages encouraged me, I was definitely making the right choice for my baby and me. Babies born there were delivered by mid-wives right in the familiarity and comfort of their homes, or buses, or whatever their dwellings, with family and friends present, going about business as usual as much as possible up until delivery. No meds., no unnatural interference with what the human body was perfectly suited to do on its own, resulting in mothers and babies experiencing optimum health and quicker recovery. Each story was the account of a birth from start to finish sharing the various techniques tried and proven to assist in the event, and for appreciation of life, seeing the beauty in letting happen naturally what did for all the mothers of history, and in other cultures before modern medicine interfered. There were a couple stories that did not end well, either stillbirth, or birth defect, which likely would not have ended differently were they in a hospital.
While I was caught up in the idea of all natural I wanted fully educated doctors available to me and my baby, along with the facilities and equipment that could be needed in case of emergency. I only wanted to avoid some of what seemed unnecessary, unhelpful and unhealthiest for us both. I was convinced that the way God intended it to be was surely better than what modern medicine had decided to turn it into.
It proved to be a good choice, I was able to enjoy the miracle of it all and recount each detail to anyone who cared to hear. It was an experience that was empowering; I witnessed my own strength, determination, and ability to make a wise decision regardless of the mainstream. We fumbled through the first few weeks together, learning what worked and what didn't. It was sometimes clumsy and unattractive, but I didn't care because I was forging new territory for me, and I liked the acquisition of new knowledge and new experience.
Weeks turned to months that offered all the usual firsts of a baby’s life. When he started talking I was convinced his vocabulary was exceptionally advanced. He told grandma the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd made him was "delicious" before he was even 2 years old. He would keep an ice cube in his mouth until it melted. More than once I found him in the closet rubbing the hem of my long satiny nightgowns, sucking his thumb, an activity that must have brought back fond memories! He got "lost" in the field of high grasses and weeds next to our house when he and big brother were outside playing one fall day, "saved" by his red coat in the sight of my taller eyes. His new shoes helped him run so fast that he tripped and busted his lip through with a front tooth. Uncle Dave helped him learn to ride his 1st 2 wheeler. He liked his matchbox cars, underoos, and cowboy boots! He paid attention to detail and details easily attracted his attention. He got lost at the mall when I turned into a store and he failed to follow, he just stood outside the door way walking in circles, crying not knowing where I was. He would have walked off the edge of Swan Lake had I not stopped him, for fixing his gaze in the opposite direction of his step, he was a day dreamer. In school, what was happening outside the window was better than what was happening inside, though he liked school and did really well. He was meticulous in his assignments, sometimes to a fault as it prevented completion. He is still like that! He always had a best buddy even though the best buddy changed as he grew or we relocated. He liked science and thought he'd become a paleontologist, he pursued a graphic arts major, and became a balloon artist, his attention to detail still dominant in his character. He was a band geek and a vintage Volkswagen connoisseur, he doesn't touch the saxophone anymore but he still loves the VW's. He was always a bit of a bike aficionado and that lingers still, as a side business and as he contemplates and plans a bike trip around the country.
He likes to hang out with me from time to time. We go to Disney World or thrift stores, or get a meal together. He's my friend. I like him, usually! I've always loved him, but it's a wonderful thing to like him. I'm so very thankful for him. He is not a perfect person, which coincidentally neither am I, but he has a generous heart concerned for the well being of others. There is a genuine compassion for the burdened plight of so many people, he sees their need and responds with help, to fix a tire even it’s a man who can probably fix it himself, to chase down the thief of a stolen purse or bike, to seek help on another’s behalf, he's never met a stranger.
My wish for him and all my children is that they will find their place in this world and in so doing find fulfillment of purpose for being.
32 years of Jam's has been integral to my fulfillment of purpose, he helped me find my place in this world, and because his place has been with mine, it's a good place, a very very good place!