"On Gifting With 'Rules'"

Rule #1 reads as follows: “This is yours, but it is not yours to keep.”

When the plan, that of gifting money to my five grandgirls with conditions and terms, was initially planted in my mind as a seed, the goal was to encourage them to think beyond themselves, for the Christmas holiday to be more than their personal wish list. The gift, given with the charge of that first rule, provided the opportunity for that to happen.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day, and today is called Black Friday, commonly viewed as the official beginning of the Christmas shopping season. No time is wasted as consumers are lured out in the wee hours of the morning for great bargains and amazing deals. Thanksgiving dinner has barely had time to digest before shoppers are beckoned to begin purchasing their Christmas gifts, with some stores opening at five a.m.

Gifts and Christmas go hand in hand. In fact, it’s quite impossible to think of the holiday without compiling a list with ideas of gifts to be purchased and given to family and friends. For those of the Christian faith, the argument is that the birth of Christ was a gift from God to the world. Therefore, we should gift one another as we were gifted.

For others, gift-giving carries with it the notion of generosity and good will toward one’s fellow man. The idea is that, at this time of the year, peace and love will reign if we put forth the effort to be kind to one another, characterized by the giving of gifts, time, and money to others, including charitable enterprises.

The truth of it is that, as a culture, we are locked into a tradition, and part of that tradition includes presents under a tree to be opened either the night before or the morning of December 25. Christmas without gifts is almost beyond comprehension.

Perhaps you have your own harrowing experiences as to how quickly the peace and harmony dissipates once the wrapping paper begins to be ripped off and presents are opened, especially if children are involved. Overstimulation, the hype, and anticipation often result in meltdowns as the holiday season culminates in the great “unveiling of the gifts.” And the same thing can be said for adults as well, as the spirit of Christmas peaks and then enters a crash-and-burn state.

The entire Christmas present/gift exchange scene has been a mental wrestling match for me for many years. I’m never a “Bah! Humbug!” person, but the word “obscene” is my own description upon viewing the sheer quantity of wrapped gifts loaded around my family’s Christmas tree. So much expense, time, and energy—and it so quickly comes to a head. And life goes on.

My grandgirls lack for nothing materially. How could I make Christmas about more than just “me, me, me, and what I want”? The idea had begun forming several years ago, but I felt some were too young at that point in time to comprehend the concept I wished to present through personal experience.

Four years ago, I proceeded with a scheme, one which has played out every year since and was repeated yesterday. That first year each of my five grandgirls received a check in the mail, made out to them, along with a letter. In the letter specific instructions were spelled out, beginning with: “This is yours, but it is not yours to keep.”

I went on to ask them if they could remember the gifts I had given them the previous Christmas or the one before that. Then I told them the gift check was one I hoped they would remember for the rest of their lives.

A list of rules followed. They were instructed that they were to either give the money away or purchase a gift with it and give that away. They, not their parents, were the ones to make the decision as to who would be the recipient. The money had to all be spent by Christmas, and it could be given to one person or to several, but it had to be used on others rather than themselves.

Christmas Day arrived, and, before opening gifts, each grandgirl related what they had done with their money. One had chosen to use it to purchase a sweater for an elderly person. No one in the family knew where the idea of giving to the elderly came from, but it was what she wanted to do, and she did. Another donated to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, having been made aware that all children do not have the same kind of healthy body she has. Sisters put their money together and, along with the help of their parents, gave a little boy a full-fledged Christmas complete with scooter, new shoes, coat, books, underwear, and socks. Yet another donated hers to a local facility for abused women and their children, a positive life experience for a young teen. How many teens, I thought, are even aware that abuse takes place in many relationships?

Each year since then, my grandgirls continue to think beyond themselves as they’ve given to local needy families by providing gift cards to a toy store and a grocery store; sharing with a church, Wounded Warriors, and, last year, a homeless person. The one stipulation the little one had was it couldn’t be a homeless person standing outside Walmart. We have no idea where that came from either, but those were her terms.

Anonymity is important as they are to give without expectation of recognition or acknowledgement. They are to just give.

Gift-giving should be done without conditions, rules, or stipulations, but I feel this is a valid exception. I have no way of knowing what my grandgirls are learning and experiencing as they think beyond themselves, but I believe it is invaluable. And so yesterday I pulled out my checkbook and handed out checks to them. They now know it is money for them, but not theirs to keep. Before we begin our gift exchange on Christmas Day, I’ll learn how they chose to spend it as they take turns telling what they did with it. It’s a new family tradition.

“Freely ye have received, freely give.” Matthew 10:8 kjv

"On Living With a Threat"

threat:  n.  A person or thing likely to cause damage or danger


It was November. I turned my back and our Indian Summer disappeared. Its warm, sunny days were replaced by wet ones with a cold, bone-penetrating chill.

Utility work was taking place down the street from my house. As I headed for my gardening job, traffic was stopped, controlled by workers with stop/slow signs. What a horrible job, I thought, considering the hours they spend standing in the wet, the cold, and the heat. I was heartened by the knowledge I have the freedom, as a self-employed person, to call it a day if the elements become too harsh. As I cranked up the heater in my truck, my work task for the day didn’t seem so horrible.

Oh, how I would hate being a _____. For the life of me. For all the money in the world. I could not think of the job title given those workers with the signs. The threat I live with found its way into my mind, seeking a place to germinate and take root.   

“Something is happening, Ladonna. I can feel it. I know it. I reach for a word, and it’s gone. It’s simply not there. Something horrible is happening in my brain.” My friend was in her early 50’s when she repeatedly expressed this to me. I offered reassurances and yet, at the same time, I felt a foreboding within that all was not well. Early Alzheimer’s was taking her over, a battle and a struggle that went on for a long while. It ended in her death three years ago when she had only begun life as a senior citizen

My mother lived with Alzheimer’s for ten years before passing, so I know full well the horrors of that state. There are those who ask, "Aren't you afraid?" when I share my mother's condition. They perceive that the handwriting is on the wall as I await the passing down of a grisly family heirloom.

I spent the day raking fallen leaves, another product of November. I found myself raking, raking, raking--almost frantically—all the while trying to fill in that blank with the name of the occupation of those with the stop signs. At the same time, my thoughts were on my friend--and my mother--understanding exactly what she meant when she expressed the vaporization of a word.   

Traffic controllers, security guards, crosswalk guards...No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't grab the elusive word from thin air and was becoming quite distraught over my inability to identify something so familiar.  

We all forget things. I maintain that, at the age of 70, my mind can only hold a certain amount of information. Therefore, if it isn't genuinely important, it slips to the bottom of the memory file. While this didn’t fall in that category, not being able to remember was quite disconcerting. In addition, there was that Alzheimer's threat.

Approaching my Father, I heard myself say, "I'm scared. I'm really scared."

Going out on a proverbial limb, I am going to state that I feel living with a threat is not a rare situation. We each have our own background and experiences. Many of those carry with them a genetic propensity or a family history with serious ramifications. Perhaps it is cancer or diabetes. There may be heart conditions, mental illness, or addictive behavior amongst relatives. Obesity may be staring full bore or, yes, Alzheimer's. The threats may be insidious or direct; occasional or frequent. They always target one's vulnerability and the emotional facet of self. 

Living with a threat often means living life dodging a bullet while a guillotine hangs over one’s head, never knowing how, when, or where it is going to be released. I suspect you understand.

How does one live with a threat? I cannot apply my approach to another, only relate it.

In such circumstances I have learned I have the choice to either live under fear or live free from it. I refuse to allow the fear I am going to be a victim of Alzheimer’s to dominate and control me.

My mother's life is not mine. I choose, rather, to live life with my focus on God. Simplistic, unrealistic, naive? Perhaps. But I can do nothing to control my future or my destiny. Only He can.

Flaggers!! That is what they are called. They are the ones who control traffic in road construction areas. I refused to search it out on the Internet or ask someone. It did come to mind--after I stopped wrestling with it, trying to figure it out. 

Some would say, “Thank God for minor miracles.” It is a miracle; it isn't minor.

Thank you, God. 

                                “All I have asked you to do is to live your life.” 

                                  For God has not given us the spirit of fear; 

                              but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

                                                                                     II Timothy 1:7 

  

    

 

"On Sparring With a Squirrel"

He makes his appearance known every morning, blithely scampering across the top of the fence as though he were a high-wire walker, this little rodent I have been at war with for the past several weeks.  Well, “war” is probably too strong of a word.  More like a tug-of-war as he and I spar with one another.  While I generally don’t class squirrels as rodents, I do believe they are in the same family. 

Let me preface this by saying I am not an animal person.  A people person, yes, but not animals.  I don’t have anything against them, they just haven’t been my “cup of tea.”

The war started when I began a sweeping clean-up of my back yard. 

One of the projects included dealing with a bird feeder which had not been in use for quite sometime.  Unbeknownst to me, wasps had taken up residence inside, building a nest.  Of course I did not realize this until I aggressively turned it upside down, and they made themselves evident.  Anxious to get my feeder back in working order so I could welcome birds into my back yard, I waited until dark, stuffed the openings and sprayed wasp spray into the main body. 

Nursing a bee sting on my hand, what seemed like a pretty straight-forward task had already become complicated.

Feeder all prepped and filled with feed, I decided to move it to a location more readily visible from my kitchen window, taking into account the local squirrel’s habit of helping himself to the feed as well.  I sat back awaiting the influx of birds.  At the end of my workday I was thrilled to discover evidence that the feeder was working as bird seed was scattered upon the ground.

And so it continued for several days UNTIL I happened to be looking out the window when the resident squirrel made his appearance.  These little guys are quite the acrobats and could certainly qualify for an Olympics’ standing broad jump.  Leaping a span of several feet from the fence to the feeder, he had helped himself, without so much as leaving a thank you note.  It was he who had scattered the seed, not any visiting birds.

And so the tug-of-war began.  Intent upon feeding birds, not squirrels, I moved the feeder to another location, not taking into account his ability to scale vertical posts and access the feeder with no effort.  He had arrived upon a gold mine—food, readily available, and he took advantage of it immediately.

Once again the feeder was relocated to a space farther away from the fence, and this is when said varmint/rodent/squirrel earned my respect.

I watched as he made his usual morning arrival, fully expecting to have a meal fit for a king, breakfast on a platter.  Stopping, he sat on his haunches, and I could almost hear him thinking, the wheels grinding inside his head.  For the longest time, he perched atop the fence, calculating whether or not he was going to be able to reach the feeder by jumping.  His human counterparts would have jumped first and fallen “splat” upon the ground before realizing what had worked prior wasn’t going to work this time around.

This was not just instinct, but intelligence.  I saw it in his eyes.  He turned away, off to consider another plan, another approach.

There are some who are of the belief that all of the world as we know it evolved, that it began as a force, developing and changing to what we see and know today.  I am not one of those.  It is my belief that the world and everything in it, all that we see and know and all that we don't see and don't know, was created by God.   As a gardener, I see what happens around me.  As they say, “Compost happens.”  There is always a breakdown of matter, and it returns back to where it came from; it doesn't become something different.

That little squirrel was created with intelligence to live and to survive in his world, as are we all.  Intelligence is but one aspect of being a created being, personality and individuality yet others.  One only need look around at the state of our world and mankind to realize there is no evolving taking place.

If such care and thought was given to the creation of a small being, how much more so to us as the human race, created in the image of God?  In mankind’s effort and desire to control all things, including his destiny, he has forgotten where he has come from and the source of it all.  When the most important piece is not factored in, humanity is setting itself up, a recipe for disaster. 

I do wonder what it is going to take before the world wakes up to the truth. 

The little squirrel comes back every morning, checking to see if things have changed.  I think I’ll probably be buying some food for him.

 

        

"On Being a Zealot and the G** Word"

zealot:  n., one who is zealous, full of zeal for his own specific beliefs or objectives, usually in the negative sense of being too passionate, a fanatic

There are several words in our language which most aren’t comfortable either saying or hearing.  And so a shortcut version of the word is repeated, stating the first letter followed by “word.”  When written, asterisks fill in the blanks, and we hear the derogatory language in our minds upon reading. 

Words of profanity, those blatantly racist and demeaning in nature, they are truly offensive and are commonly held as being so.

There is another, however, which is deemed an insult by many, the G** word.

I have begun thinking of myself in terms of a zealot, a description I have, until recently, avoided like the plague, probably because of the negative connotations of being viewed as being fanatical. 

When I began writing, I was careful to not use the G** word, so that readers would not be offended or alienated.  And so I used terms such as “Creator, Heavenly Father, the One who made us,” alluding to and referencing Him, but not actually spelling out the G** word. 

Why is there such a reticence amongst those of faith to speak openly?  In the privacy of the church sanctuary, hymns are sung, praise is given, but outside those doors a great reserve takes place as His name is not even spoken.  “The Lord, Jesus, Christ,” but the G** word—not so much.

The public at large is comfortable speaking of Christianity, Christ, and “What would Jesus do?” while lumping a large group of people together.  It is easier dealing with an ideology than dealing with the person of G**.  There are others whose intent is to wipe the name of G** from all things public, whether it is money or the American pledge, as though they can eliminate Him by doing so.  How ludicrous is that?

G** has been given many names by those who want to keep Him at a distance, a general concept, nothing up-close-and-personal.  He is called “Mother Nature, karma, luck--good or bad, the guy in the sky”—the list goes on.  Just don’t say the G** word. 

Isn’t it ironic that such an effort is made to ignore and deny the very One who made all things, including each one of us, as though in doing so He will disappear, go away?  In fact, He is the One who holds all things together. 

And so, zealot that I am, I declare and announce that G** IS.  He will not be ignored; His existence will not be denied; He will be reckoned with. Oh, yes, and He shall be called God.

                 

    

"Today's Sunday Sermon"

Sitting around the table with friends recently, the question was posed to me:  “If you did not believe in God, in life after death, in heaven or hell, would you live your life any differently than you do now?”

Food for thought, the question sent me into the recesses of my mind.  Initially, I found it difficult to answer, as I know what I know, live as I live, with the presence of God an absolute in my daily life.  It is impossible to separate Him out, to remove Him in considering that hypothetical situation.  The truth is that I could not live without that belief, that knowledge, without Him.  How does one remove the DNA from one’s being?  He permeates me and my life that thoroughly and that completely.

Good, not evil.  There are many who live their lives in a decent, honorable manner with no intent to bring harm to others.  Good people, with  no consideration for a faith and belief in God.  That they differ from me in that respect is not cause for judgment. I am simply unable to think or live that way.  It is as unfamiliar and impossible to reckon as if I were to speculate life in the jungles of South America.  

"There are two sides to every story."  Hearing and knowing both sides of a position or incident is common in my life, so it was a given that I would present a counter to that question.  I asked:  “If you knew—and I mean KNEW—that you had been created for the purpose of having a friendship and relationship with the One who created you, and the life you live is a result of that relationship; that ALL things are spiritual; that at the end of this physical life you come face to face with Him; that death is only an end to one dimension and the beginning of the next one; that you are created an eternal being and physical life is the short-term, not the long-term---would you live your life any differently?”  

This I know to be so:  Life is SO much larger than what we see and know with our physical eyes.    

Food for thought.

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end."

 

   

"On Time and the Giving of It"

time:  n.  the inevitable progression into the future with the passing of present events into the past.

Time is one of those universal commodities given to every man, woman, and child living on the face of this earth.  Each of us is given 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, 60 seconds in a minute.  No more; no less.  We are treated equally.

Time has a different "feel" at different stages of life.  A child has all the time in the world, whereas his/her parents can’t find enough time to get everything done and meet the demands of the family’s rigorous schedule.  Those of us who are 70-somethings find ourselves dealing with the reality of it passing quickly.  Many of the elderly live a paradox where they have nothing but time on their hands as they live their days in solitude and loneliness, and yet they have very little of it left on this earth.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, we as humans categorize and prioritize our time.  There is work and family time; time for leisure, events and activities; vacation time, and--God forbid if it is interrupted—sleep.  But often the most important of all is never factored in, and that is people time. 

When I give my time to another, I am giving of myself, sharing me. No one else is able to do that but me.  Gifts can be purchased and delivered, but the gift of time has no price tag.  While there is a time and place for volunteer work, that is not what I am speaking of here.

“I’m busy now.  I don’t have time.”  How often is that said to family members?  Consider the message in those words and how it feels to be told that, to hear it.  That same message, though unspoken, is delivered as we plow through our daily lives, making certain no interaction takes place with people we don’t know.  After all, we have things to do, people to see, places to go. Strangers are people we’ll never see again, so it doesn’t really matter.  Or does it?

We have known each other for decades and have had a friendship for the past several years.  Neither of us has a sister, and sister/friend describes our relationship well. 

I had gone to visit her, and we stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things.  While waiting in the line to check out she quietly commented, “Just a minute.  This lady needs some help.”  She had seen what I hadn’t.  An elderly lady, no larger than a minute, was struggling with bagging her groceries.  She had an over-sized container of detergent, and it was far too heavy and bulky for her to handle.  My friend stepped in and placed the items in sacks, telling her that she would help get them into her car.  “This is the last time I’m going to do this,” the older woman commented, telling of being in the process of moving into a facility where meals would be provided. 

We checked out and headed out to her car, loading the items in the back.  She talked the whole time, telling of moving from Rhode Island and the move currently taking place.  Grateful and thrilled, she was the recipient of the gift of time.

This is how my friend lives.  She gives of herself, giving time where and when it is needed. Second nature to her, it is done quietly, in a way that never draws attention.  

Her elderly father had been ill for several years and was in the final stages of life.  Without being asked, she went to her childhood home and stayed until he passed, helping out, assisting as needs arose.  That is just the kind of person she is. 

My friend and I spoke recently of being available when called upon.  Her comment is one which has stuck with me—“You just have to make time. Loving the broken is loving Him.”

The gift of time is a gift indeed.  It is often not noticed, therefore not acknowledged, as there are no bells and whistles or balloons connected to it.  Instead, it is simply being present, lending an ear, companionship, and action if needed.

Each one of us is given time.  We’ve all heard the charge to use our time wisely or make the most of it, but that charge is usually connected to an activity or a goal.  That would be my charge as well, but consider giving time as a gift, giving and sharing oneself.  The world would be a better place.

The King will reply, "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

  

"On Being Open to God......or Not"

“You know,” she announced assertively, “it’s all about being open.”  Standing in her kitchen, preparing dinner, she went on. “If you want to live your life with God, you just have to be open to Him.” 

This is the mother of the little pit bull, and she has always been one who “tells it like it is.”  And, like her daughter, she has a heart the size of the universe.  When you look at my grandgirl you see her Momma.

While cleaning a house yesterday, my thoughts were on her statement.  And this is where I landed.

Given the tenor of the times all over the world, it is my suspicion there are many who are sick and tired of having God forced down their throats, who feel His very name is offensive, and want nothing to do with Him and vice versa.

It is my hope that some clarity and light might be brought to those on both sides of the aisle—to those who are doing the forcing and to those who are on the receiving end.

There is a tendency for those to whom their religion is important to want to share, to evangelize, to try to “save the world.”  And thus there is a flood of words blanketing the land, much of it rude, obnoxious, and overbearing—in the name of God and much of it one man's version of God.  This is the antithesis of God; this is not God.  He asks that people live their lives in a manner which draws others, not dissimilar to a moth being drawn to a flame, and to be ready to answer if questioned.  Force-feeding is not His style.

For those who do not want Him and want nothing to do with Him, I can categorically and emphatically state that God will never force Himself upon you.  He does desire a relationship with you, a friendship, but this is where your free will enters in.  He approaches you in that quiet place within, but if you say “No, thank you,” He will never push in.  He has far too much class and is too much of a gentleman to go where He isn’t wanted or invited.

The caveat, however, is that we do live with the choice made.  When the mountains begin to fall, when, at the end of this mortal life, things aren’t as you expected, planned, or hoped they would be—you will be left with that “free will” choice.  There is no re-do. 

Stand.  He asks that each of us stand, simply stand in the decision we have made.  Stand and live in it--and eventually, die in it. 

For those who want nothing to do with God, take comfort in the fact that He gives that freedom and that right.  He'll have nothing to do with you then.  For those who do want Him, all you have to do is be open, and He will share Himself with you as you live your life.

And for those who insist upon forcing your version of God upon others--stop.  He is very capable on His own.

God is love, and He loves me enough to let me choose.