So, today is Bob’s birthday. It’s a special day to honor him, let him know how much he is loved and cherished, to shower him with gifts, make his favorite foods and pamper him in every way possible. Amazingly, as I prayed for him this morning, it dawned on me that I was the one who got the best gift of all today. 59 years ago, the love of my life was born, and there aren’t words enough to say how blessed and grateful I am. Happy Birthday, Bob! To a most amazing man, I love you honey.
Today is a special day! 59 years ago, Henry and Gloria Kogok and their two sons, Henry Jr. and Bill, added a new member to their family, another son, Bobby. His mom always said he was the best surprise they ever got. As his older brothers were married and he was the only child left at home by the time he was 10, he enjoyed the fun part of being raised as an “only child”. He loved doing the normal “kid” stuff—riding bikes with his best friend Pete, drawing rocket ships, ice skating on the C & O canal, participating in cub scouts, and he especially loved summers at the family vacation house in Colonial Beach, Virginia. Of course Bobby soon left behind his bicycle for a loud, hot, Dodge Dart, which he drove a little too fast while living a little on the wild side during his high school years. But during those years, his easy smile, friendly demeanor, and quick-to-help personality remained intact. These traits helped to secure his job at a Washington Metro area television station, right out of high school, where his creative side helped produce ads and programming. He loved the quirky people he worked with there, he loved meeting the occasional television celebrity (like Shultz from Hogan’s Hero’s) and he loved fishing with one of his friends from the station, catching Rock fish big enough to put his name in Fishing and Game Magazine of Maryland, three years in a row. He also loved music, and sang in the church choir, and for that I will always be grateful, because that’s how I met this terrific guy. There I was, the new girl in the alto section, and the cute bass with the long curly hair and big brown eyes immediately caught my eye. The rest is history, as we tied the knot two years later. I probably know Bob better than anyone else on earth. He’s a remarkable man. Without him there’s so much of my life that just wouldn’t be the same. He’s a godly man. He’s faithfully given God the glory for all of our blessings and allowed Him to guide his life for almost 40 years. He’s a sacrificial giver, giving up the career he loved in television to turn his attention to the family roofing and sheet metal business when his father’s health began to fail. He’s an amazing Dad—if I had picked a husband based on the ability to father, he would have been the one, hands down. He’s got a healing touch, which is evidenced by his successful massage therapy practice which has given so many hurting people relief from pain the last eighteen years. He’s a generous man, opening his home and his wallet to those who have needed shelter and relief over the years. He’s funny and fun, compassionate and kind, smart and practical, and so much more. Perhaps most endearing, he loves our family, and puts us high on his priority (second only to the Lord) list. To his delight, that family has grown with the addition of grandchildren in the last ten years. He is loved by all who know him.
So, today is Bob’s birthday. It’s a special day to honor him, let him know how much he is loved and cherished, to shower him with gifts, make his favorite foods and pamper him in every way possible. Amazingly, as I prayed for him this morning, it dawned on me that I was the one who got the best gift of all today. 59 years ago, the love of my life was born, and there aren’t words enough to say how blessed and grateful I am. Happy Birthday, Bob! To a most amazing man, I love you honey.
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Imagine being chased by a lion. Just picture: 450 pounds of solid muscle, dagger sharp claws, a mouth full of teeth that can tear apart prey like a baby gumming its oatmeal, its breath so close the heat can be felt. Madly running ahead of the beast, driven by adrenaline, heart pounding, palms sweating, lungs barely filled by shallow breaths, chest aching, consumed by fear-- the hunted! Positive death is imminent; the only means of escape is over a cliff into a river raging below. Moments later, exhausted, struggling to breath and shaking uncontrollably the survivor is washed ashore, alive . . . but still terrified. The lion is still out there! I’ve never been chased by a lion. I have, however, been pursued most of my life by a different beast, one that causes my heart to pound, palms to sweat, lungs to strain for air in my aching chest. This relentless hound has consumed me with fear and filled me with the certainty that death is imminent. It has pushed me over a cliff and left me shaking uncontrollably, terrified as my adrenaline-filled body slowly calms, knowing that this pursuer will return. It has followed me into classrooms as a child, movie theaters (where I have sat close to an exit in order to make a quick escape) as a teenager, into my marriage as a young adult, and even dared to approach and attack as I sat praying in church on Sunday mornings. It’s a beast called Panic Disorder and I am not its only prey. Panic Disorder, could in my opinion, also be called Adrenaline Malfunction Disorder. I have learned a lot about this terrifying hunter. I know from experience that lack of sleep, too many caffeinated drinks, and stress can give this beast advantage over me; but, I’ve also learned that even a rested, non-caffeinated, stress-free me is vulnerable, sometimes attacks are unprovoked, so to speak. Thankfully, experience, education and, when needed, medication have helped to tame this beast in my life. As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned how not to provoke my long-time enemy. I try to stay rested and calm, I know how to use breathing techniques to regulate my oxygen when my adrenaline malfunctions, and I have learned to keep my thoughts in line when I feel the terror rising. Experts say one in seven people suffer from panic disorder. It can appear suddenly and with no warning and it is terrifying to say the least. The good news is the beast CAN be tamed. I am grateful for medications that have helped when needed over the years and for experts who have spent countless hours researching and exploring the roots and solutions for this disorder. I am grateful for friends and family who have prayed for me, held me when I was shaking uncontrollably, been the voice of reason when the terror was so great it threatened to consume me, and sat with me nights when I woke in the throes of panic, overcome even in sleep. I inherited many wonderful things from my father. Like him I am a naturally curious person, like him I ask a lot of questions, like him I am genuinely interested in people, what they do, how they do it, and like him I have panic disorder, it often runs in families. I too have passed the “panic gene” onto the next generation, one of my daughters is now learning how to outrun and overcome this terrible pursuer. I’m praying for her and for all of the others who suffer from panic disorder. I have many friends who suffer from various mental illnesses and disorders. They are true heroes. They are some of the most intelligent, brave, strong, and amazing people I know. They run businesses, are historical scholars, are lawyers, teachers, pastors, and doctors, they are people, just people, living life one day at a time. Most of all, they are learning to slay the beasts in their lives, and that gives me hope when I feel the adrenalin rising and panic breathing down my neck. I’m grateful that it’s been many years since this disorder has had the upper hand in my life and I’m here if anyone needs some encouragement in their own battle with panic disorder . . . there is safety in numbers. Just for the record, I hate dieting! On the flip side, I LOVE to eat. I love great French food, good old comfort food, chocolate, all kinds of ethnic foods, cakes, French fries, seafood, pies, eggs, bacon and home fries, candy, and . . . well enough said. Sadly, I more often than not give into my desire to sink my teeth into the closest, yummy cuisine and the next thing I know the needle on my bathroom scale has gone up a tick, or two, or three. Most recently I haven’t needed the scale to inform me of my weight gain, my jeans, skirts, dresses and slacks let me know in no uncertain terms that it was time to rein it in. So today, day two of my latest effort to conquer the bulge, I am in full battle mode. I come from a family that loves to eat. We do it really well. My mother was a great cook, my grandmothers were both great cooks, my sisters, daughters and husband are all great cooks. Our family loves to gather around a heavy laden table, share good food, good stories and good times. Not only do we enjoy the moments around the table, but the anticipation leading up to each feast is enough to get the taste buds tingling. In our family temporarily setting aside sensible eating guidelines and eating what I want only at special occasions just doesn’t work. Besides the major holiday meals, there are always birthday celebrations, (twelve in just our immediate family, over twenty when we celebrate with extended local family), church dinners, cookouts, parties, ice cream celebrations after band concerts and award ceremonies, heck, just being alive another day is cause for celebration! In other words I’m the queen of excuses, but I’ve drawn the line and tomorrow is day three of healthy eating. I’m not very pleasant to be around the first few weeks I begin a healthy eating plan. I’m a pious dieter. I say things to my husband like, “You aren’t really going to eat that WHOLE bowl of ice cream are you?!” Or as he’s enjoying a late night snack I might snap, “Didn’t we just have dinner like an hour ago?” He usually just keeps his distance, smiles at me over his bowl and continues munching, which is okay since most of the time his waistband isn’t telling him to back away from the refrigerator. I know as the days pass I’ll get over my sugar dependence and I’ll even enjoy my oatmeal and shredded bran wheat in the mornings. I know that seeing that needle on the scale heading the right direction will give me the thrill I’m missing at the table. I know that being able to bend over to put my socks on and still being able to breath while I’m doing it will feel fantastic. I know that hearing my doctor tell me my cholesterol, sugar and blood pressure counts all look terrific will give me a boost. I know that every mile I walk on the treadmill will get easier and easier again. I know that being around and being healthy so I can watch my beautiful grandchildren grow up is all worth it. Here’s to a successful battle of the bulge in 2012, I’m fighting for a lighter, healthier me. Oh and just one more thing for the record, I’ve found I stick to my healthy eating plan better when I allow myself one small daily treat. So on a final note, I am usually, even when dieting, able to hold it together, but fair warning, don’t EVER stand between me and my evening, dark chocolate truffle, it’s hard to say what might happen. love the times that I have one on one with my granddaughters. The minutes and hours are completely different than when the whole family or even just one other person is around. The dialog is different, the activity level is different, and there is a beautiful intimacy about it. It’s something I’m trying to be more deliberate about, special times alone with each of them. Most recently I had a special day with just Katie. A couple of months ago I had a special day with Taylor. They are my oldest two granddaughters and once school starts our time together is more limited. I’m thankful my two younger granddaughters are still available for more frequent visits. When it was Taylor’s day to be “an only child” she chose to go to the Museum of Natural History downtown. Bob and Jean went too. It was a wonderful day for all of us. Even though I shared her that day, she was the “queen bee” and it was amazing to watch her drink in the attention. At the end of the day, her aunt, Jean said to me, “Taylor talks so much more than she used to. She seems so grown up.” I laughed, “She doesn’t talk more; it’s just that when she’s the only child she can get more words in edgewise!” It was a memorable day and I can still see Taylor viewing the exhibits slowly, no rush, because it was “her” day, no little sisters pushing her to move to the next activity. Katie didn’t really have an agenda for her special day. I got to choose the activities. First stop was the toy store. Again, there was no rushing, somehow, when there is only one child they seem less hurried. I think Katie explored every corner of that shop, carefully weighing and thinking through what special item she was going to take away as a memento of our day. We left with a stuffed horse and a penguin that was almost half as big as Katie. She carefully buckled her new black and white friend into the car seat next to her; she wouldn’t have been able to do that if another little one had been along. Off to lunch next, she chose the restaurant and wanted to sit next to each other, not across from each other. I loved all the lunch time snuggles and the great conversation. We talked about school, we talked about how brown hens lay brown eggs, white hens lay white eggs and yet how when you crack them open they look just the same inside, and how people were like that two, the same inside. That’s a conversation that would be hard to have with all the kids talking and moving and jostling for attention. It was a special moment, it was a deep moment, it was a memorable moment, she is a very thoughtful little girl and it made our lunch that day especially memorable. Then we were off to a wonderful play, a great opportunity for sharing one of my loves, live theater, and one of Katie’s loves too. We both enjoyed laughing and clapping our way through the show. Tired but happy the chatter continued on the ride home, about half way there Katie said, “Grammie, the time goes so fast when we are talking; it makes the ride so much shorter.” I smiled back at her in the rearview mirror; the day had gone so quickly. And so I’m looking forward to my next get togethers with my big girls. Lest you think the little ones are neglected I’ve had several lovely lunches with Nora and days enjoying time with our sweet little Aubree in the interim. Their time for scheduling special get togethers will be here way too fast. I’m thankful I live close enough for these special outings. I can’t recommend these special one on one times enough. Now it’s time to get my calendar out and get some dates on it, time to make some memories. I recently read a quote that made me stop and think about my life, where I was headed, what was moving me day by day. It wasn’t attributed to anyone, the author was “unknown”, but I think “unknown” said it well with these words, “When work, commitment, and pleasure all become one and you reach that deep well where passion lives, nothing is impossible.” Passion, that’s the word that really struck me. What is the thing that I am the most passionate about, who are people I know who are driven by their passions, and what does it mean to be passionate about something? With the New Year beginning, reading that quote highlighted my need to define my passion and let it drive and direct my every step. I love to be around people who are passionate about what they do, their faith, their ministry, their calling, their profession, their art or life’s mission. Typically, these people radiate a contagious excitement. Sometimes it just takes a small spark, one word in a lengthy conversation to ignite their passion and out it spills, words, emotions, and excitement taking the dialogue to a whole new level. I find it even more exciting when two or more people discover, quite unexpectedly, a shared passion—it’s electric! This morning I was blessed to share a cup of coffee and some conversation with a friend who does missionary work in different large inner cities on the East coast. John has a quiet, calm demeanor, and a kind of laid-back easy way about him; however, there was a transformation that took place today when he shared his ministry. This quiet guy became animated, excited, and energized when discussing his passion for bridge building between people of faith and those who have no faith, between those who have and those who live without, between black and white, rich and poor, inner city dwellers and suburbanites. I also have a friend from high school who has worked with special needs children most of her adult life. We have reconnected through Facebook. Joan’s Facebook wall is filled with the things that drive her: first and foremost her love and commitment for expanding horizons and creating new opportunities for these special needs children and their families, and secondly her passion for animal welfare. She uses her Facebook page as a platform for her passions. John and Joan both inspire me to embrace my passions and look for opportunities to share them. In my past I’ve been passionate about, all things frogs, teapots (which now line the walls of my dining room) and kaleidoscopes, however, most people who know me realize very quickly that my faith is what I’m most passionate about. It’s what drives me and makes me who I am. I’m glad that is a passion that spills out into all the other areas of my life. So if you want to see me get excited, then mention the Lord Jesus—it will ignite a spark in me! He is what drives my life and my desire to live, love, forgive, and serve like Him. I know that there will be times in the coming year when I will be tired and my energy will wane. During those dry times I will need to let my passion for Christ drive me to rekindle my fire through time in the Word, fellowship with others who share my faith, and the strength of the Lord. For me, that’s what it means to be passionate about something: having the drive to continue moving forward when the next step seems impossible. All this to say, thank you to all the passionate people in my life, you inspire me! And so another year is coming to a close. This year seemed to go so quickly. Time has certainly sped up as I’ve gotten older. The unpacking and packing away of the Christmas decorations comes and goes in record time. My little granddaughters are becoming my grown up granddaughters. My daughters are now mothers; and when I look in the mirror I’m not sure who that woman looking back at me is, the woman with all those wrinkles and laugh lines. There’s no stopping it, time marches on, and every moment matters. This Saturday night I will wait up for the New Year. I’ll spend the evening with family, as I have always done, eating and drinking and playing games. Close to midnight we’ll pop the corks on several bottles of champagne and ready the glasses for toasting. Gathered around the television we’ll watch the ball descend on Time Square and shout out the countdown along with Dick Clark and the crazy sea of humanity packed into the heart of New York City. Finally, we’ll raise our glasses, kiss our loved ones, and head for home—2011 just a memory, 2012 still a promise. What will the New Year hold? If history is any clue, then I will say goodbye to some wonderful people, welcome new life into the world, watch happy couples walk to the altar, smile while babies are baptized, walk on sandy beaches and delight in the ocean’s song, wipe away some tears, laugh till I cry, and maybe accomplish a small part of my well-intended resolutions. However, history has also taught me that mostly it’s a good thing that I don’t know what the future holds. It’s that not knowing that makes every moment so special, so important, and so valuable. I remember the New Year’s cartoons from when I was a little girl, the old man holding the hour glass and turning it as he hands it over to the New baby Year. Time, that’s what New Year’s means to me. A New Year of moments, memory making, challenges, opportunities, loving and living, seconds, minutes, hours, and days to live God’s plan for my life. I’m praying the coming year will be a great one for our family and all of our friends. I’m looking forward to getting to know that woman in the mirror a little bit better and hoping she adds more laugh lines than wrinkles in 2012. One of my favorite things to do this time of year is to sit evenings, with nothing but the Christmas tree lights on, and listen to the beautiful music of the season. Right now, the tree is presiding over a host of presents. The packages are green, red, and gold and shimmer in the Christmas tree lights. I buy and wrap lots of presents each year for our family. Mostly they are for the grandchildren. I love the look on their faces when they see the bounty under the tree—it’s that “bit of Christmas magic” look that fades a bit as we get older. I’ve been told by their mothers that this overabundance must not continue, so I’m thinking the area beneath the tree might not look so full next year. But for now, I’m enjoying the beautiful tree and presents under it. The amazing thing is the one gift I enjoyed wrapping the most this Christmas isn’t under MY tree. I don’t even know who will be receiving it, except that she is a ten year old who asked only for one pair of jeans from Santa. This year our church decorated a lovely Christmas tree with gold lights, big red bows, and paper ornaments. Each paper ornament had the name, age, and gift request of a child in our area whose family is struggling financially. These ornaments have been plucked from the tree and members of Church of the Atonement have been busy buying and wrapping gifts to fulfill these children’s hopes for special presents. Many of the requests are typical childhood wishes: “girl, age 6, wishes for a Christmas Barbie”, “boy, age 9, wishes for a skateboard”, and so on. But some of these wishes, like the one I chose to buy for, speak to a more basic need: “girl, age 10, wishes for jeans, size 14, not slim”. Somehow, that strikes a very deep chord in me; knowing that the child whose ornament I picked asked for clothing rather than a toy, sobered me. Despite all the Christmas decorations, special music, and holiday hustle and bustle, it was purchasing and wrapping this one particular gift that ignited the Christmas Spirit in my heart this year. Because she asked for so little I loaded the gift with a few extras—a second pair of jeans, some sweaters and shirts and a few fun items—and really tried to make the wrapping and bow look especially special. I prayed, while I wrapped, for this ten year old girl that I would never meet and for her family. As usual, I realized that it was me who was blessed, not the one receiving the gift, as it lifted me up to do this small act of service. I was reminded of that first Christmas when God sent the most perfect gift, His Son, to meet OUR basic need, the need to fill the God-shaped hole in our hearts, the need for salvation. I was also reminded how lavish that gift was. He loaded the package with some extra’s, wonderful things like grace, peace that passes understanding, mercy, and love—lots of love.
If you haven’t yet found the spark to light your Holiday season this year, may I recommend finding someone who could use a little extra help and meeting part of their needs. You will be amazed how it will warm your heart and light up your spirit. I’m looking forward to all the fun with my family, especially my little granddaughters who will enjoy opening a pile of gifts from under our tree. The laughing and oohing and ahhing will be one of the best parts of our celebration. However, I know that Christmas morning I’ll be thinking about a little ten year girl (who wears a size 14 jean, not slim), and praying that she’ll feel God’s love poured out in a box from a stranger. And isn’t that what Christmas is about, God’s great love? Joy to the World, the Lord has come! There is a painful ritual our family endures year after year. The ritual opens with a long and arduous hunt that begins just as the summer days are waning and chilly evenings require a sweater, and ends sometime in late autumn with a bright flash of light. Everyone in the family participates, there is no way to avoid it, everyone dreads it, everyone breaths of sigh of relief when it has been completed, and everyone knows that no matter how challenging it is, it WILL be repeated in a year’s time. Some call this ritual “The Taking of the Family Christmas Photo”; we call it “The Ultimate Torture”. As mentioned, the ritual begins with a long, arduous hunt through catalogs, online sites, and shopping malls for just the right matching outfits for the youngest members of the family. For many years this meant matching dresses for our three daughters; however, now there are four little granddaughters to be outfitted. Until the perfect dresses and accessories can be found, bagged, and delivered to their respective owners, the older family members are in the dark as to the appropriate attire for the big day. Only once the hunt has come to a successful conclusion, does the matter of color coordination begin as grammie, papa, moms, dads, aunts and uncles find clothing to compliment the little princesses, who are after all the center of the universe. It is always good when their royal dresses are plaid, allowing for multiple matching hues. Once the matter of attire has been settled there is, perhaps, an even more difficult challenge: finding a date for the “big shoot”. This is the time when Bob and I begin to wonder how in the world we have gone from the two of us to a family of twelve! Because I am “queen” of the ritual, it is up to me to send out the first email regarding the checking of calendars. Out it goes and so begins the haggling, there are church activities, football games, school programs, work schedules, band lessons, birthday parties, and the list goes on. One day, it finally happens . . . a mutually agreed upon date is found and this is cause for great celebration, maybe the playing of the “Hallelujah Chorus” accompanied by a large glass of wine. At this point it is game on, and the count down to the most intense moments of the year begins! Keep in mind this is the picture that will grace my Christmas card, this is the picture that will hang on refrigerators across America and the world, and these are the faces that will smile at our friends until the ritual is repeated. The final moments are intense, as the house begins to fill with the four families that comprise our clan. Sons-in-law nod at one another, exchange a knowing look, and steel themselves for the inevitable. Daughters busy themselves with makeup, hair, clothes, cameras, and scouting out the perfect setting. Tension mounts, the lights are in place, Bob and I take our seats in the middle of the frame. This is when the true character of our family comes out. THIS is when all CHAOS breaks out. Fitting twelve people into a picture—four of them children—is not a small task. Add to that making sure everyone is smiling, facing the camera, and actually LOOKING at the camera and you have the impossible task! Thankfully Bob and Ellie are fantastic photographers, thankfully everyone is willing to make it work, and thankfully Ellie is a photoshop wizard!!!!!!! Seriously, she can remove an arm and place it on another picture if necessary, and zits, runny noses and crazy eyeballs are no problem either. So, the flash goes off maybe forty times and we pray for just one good picture. That’s it! It’s over for another year. Done! I count, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10, 11, 12! Everyone has survived yet again. The smell of victory is in the air and the promise of nine calm months before we are called to hunt and “shoot” once more. Our yearly ritual, bringing new meaning to those infamous words: “Say Cheese!” Hope you enjoy a couple of the "outtakes" from this year and last year along with our final product at the top of the page. Tradition! I love tradition. It is amazing to me how carrying on a tradition can evoke feelings and emotions, and how quickly tradition can carry me off to an entirely different place in time. Tradition smacks of time travel, with foods, festivities, and time honored practices linking the present to those times and places and faces where a tradition began. People who know my family often comment on how many traditions we have. Many of those traditions include extended family as well, and I know that, in part, these traditions have helped form the very strong bond we all share. My parents started many of the traditions we continue to enjoy as a family today. I almost forget I’m not upstairs in my twin bed in the room I shared with my younger sister in Tennessee, when I wake up Thanksgiving Day and smell my “mom’s” stuffing roasting along with the turkey. My husband prepares the turkey each year, and it’s our tradition to use my mother’s stuffing recipe. Recipes are amazing legacies and my mother left a cookbook full (written in her own hand and recopied for all her daughters and granddaughters). Our roast beef and Yorkshire pudding dinner on Christmas is also a yummy tradition passed down from my mother, a reminder of our English heritage. Traditional foods fill houses with wonderful nostalgic smells, tummies with delicious taste treats, and minds with the images of those who prepared these same meals in years past. That is the beauty of tradition—the connectedness of past to present and future. On Thanksgiving Day, my oldest granddaughter, Taylor, was disappointed that one of our traditional dishes was not being served. She looked twice to make sure the strawberry jello salad was not on the buffet before coming to ask me how it could have been omitted. On the one hand I was sorry I hadn’t gotten around to making it this year; on the other hand, I was delighted that at age nine she was already aware of the place of tradition in our family. There will be strawberry jello on the table at Christmas, Grammie has promised and it’s . . . tradition! Beyond food there are already other traditions my older granddaughters enjoy and remember from year to year: decorating gingerbread houses, putting together the wooden reindeer that stand in front of Father Christmas by the grandmother’s clock in the living room, decorating our tree with the family while eating soup and sipping on hot cocoa, Christmas Eve at their great aunt and uncle’s, and the list goes on and on. I love knowing that, most likely, many of these traditions will keep my grandchildren connected to me even once I’m no longer here to enjoy them in future years. Yesterday I finished decorating the house for Christmas. My oldest daughter was home and helped. Together we freed nutcrackers and tiny carolers from the boxes and tissue paper in which they rest from year to year. Most importantly we unpacked almost 30 nativities I have collected over the years, and put each one in “its” place. As the boxes grew emptier the house grew merrier, every item finding its familiar home on mantle, shelf, table, and hearth. Jean knew as well as I where each decoration should be placed, tradition made the decorating easier. Now that the halls have all been decked, I am enjoying having all the familiar signs of the season around me. I am remembering my Christmases from years past. Most importantly, the array of nativity scenes speak of the greatest tradition we share as a family, the tradition that shapes and molds our lives, our Christian tradition. According to Wikipedia, “ Traditions can persist and evolve for thousands of years—the word ‘tradition’ itself derives from the Latin tradere or traderer literally meaning to transmit, to hand over, to give for safekeeping—and new traditions continue to appear today.” I want to pass our faith traditions on to my family. I think traditions provide stability in an unstable world, and isn’t that a wonderful gift to give this Christmas? I want to pass them on, not just for safekeeping, but for keeping those I love safe and secure. Christmas music is playing quietly as I walk through the house enjoying the morning’s hard work. I am transported back to Christmas Eves of fifty years ago, as I peek into the crèche scenes in each room, seeing the tiny stables filled with porcelain sheep and cows, regal wise men and lowly shepherds, and of course Mary gazing in awe at her beautiful and holy newborn son. Standing by these mangers, I can hear my father’s deep voice once more, reading God’s amazing Christmas story from the book of Luke, and for this moment I am connected by this glorious tradition of love to my parents, children and grandchildren. Praying you have a reflective and beautiful Advent season, and hoping you enjoy some favorite traditions from your family along the way. P.S. I hope you enjoy the photos of some of my favorite creches. The one I'm holding was made by a friend for me many years ago,the roly polo one was given to us by friends who are missionaries, it's from Guatemala, two are very special nativities brought to us from friends from Israel and made out of olive wood, my mother gave us the stained glass one a piece each year for many Christmases, my sister made the cloth one and gave it to Bob and me shortly after we were married, the wood burned one my Uncle made and the one that is sort of modern looking shapes is a puzzle when placed back in the stable and was made by a friend. P.S.S. Jean couldn't believe I didn't put a picture of this nativity up, it's our VERY first one we ever had and the first one we put up on the mantle before anything else. Thanksgiving Day at our house, full of family, friends, food and fun. Meeting, greeting, eating. Lots of laughter, lots of hugs, lots of love. Helping hands, cooking, carving, serving, cleaning up hands. Young hands, older hands, big hands, small hands, male and female hands, all working together to make a special day. A day to give thanks to the Lord, the giver of all good gifts. A day to be grateful for the bountiful blessings we enjoy. A day to be thank full ! Nothing better than returning to the table year after year, continuing the traditions played out in the feasting and festivities, and remembering all the Thanksgivings from when we were young. Missing those who made our early Thanksgivings special and wishing they were still at the table. Knitted together. Feeling the warmth that comes from sitting and catching up, watching football together, playing with the little ones (who seem to grow and change from holiday to holiday), and feeling full, not from the table, but from joy! Finally, at days end, finding time to reflect on all the wonderful events of the day. Enjoying the quiet, yet missing the celebration that seemed to come and go so quickly. Undeserving of so much blessing, yet so thankful for all of it. Praying we’ll be generous in sharing the abundance, looking for opportunities to bless those around us. Leaving the day with a heart full of wonderful memories until November comes again and we enjoy the feast once more. |
Bobbie KogokI'm a wife, mother and grammie who loves time with family and friends. I love learning new things, visiting new places, and making each day count, because moments matter and I don't want to waste mine. Archives
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