Family

A Clock Needs a Voice and a Heartbeat

A Clock Needs a Voice and a Heartbeat

I am not a clock-watcher by nature, but I do like a house that “tick-tocks” and “bongs,” that has a heartbeat. I feel at home where household activities and conversations are punctuated with deep clangs, melodic chimes, and “cuckoos.” I rarely wear a watch, but when I do, I prefer one with a face and hands and a heart that ticks.As a child, staying overnight with friends and relatives, I realized that every home throbbed with some version of these audible announcements of the passage of time. These metronomes of our lives provided a certain rhythm to each home. Grandfather clocks often presided over household events with a slow steady beat; for homes short of space and money, mantel clocks or bedside clocks tick-tocked reassuringly through the days and nights.I especially loved to visit my aunt and uncle who had a cuckoo clock sitting on a small table next to…

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Christmas has my Name on it!

“But he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep. To him the porter openeth; and the sheep hear his voice: and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.” –John 10:2-3   For years I had hung five Christmas stockings along the fireplace mantel. On the large red stocking, that was for my parents, I had carefully knitted “WAYNE” on one side of the cuff, and “AGNES” on the other. Next to it were hanging two small red felt stockings; one said “KAREN” (me) and the other, “JOHN”, my husband. The two large red felt stockings with white cuffs were for our sons. One was marked “BRENT” and the other, “ERIK”. Then came the Christmas that Brent would bring home his new fiancé. She was from Japan and this would be her first Christmas. We were thrilled, but how could we make…

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Grandma’s Peanut Butter Divinity Pinwheels

Spinning hay into gold is an impressive feat, even in the realm of fairytales, but Grandma Smith could spin sugar syrup into fine silver threads, and that was only the beginning. Fluffy white rounds of divinity with a swirl of peanut butter in the center—now that was worth its weight in gold. Every Christmas, Grandma invited a few family members into her small kitchen to help prepare this divine treat. Sometimes this privilege included Aunt Thelma, my mother and me. Even now, as I put on my apron and begin to assemble the ingredients for Grandma’s recipe, it’s as though I have slipped back in time, into my Grandma’s kitchen—a little girl again. ——————— Standing next to Grandma, my head just above stovetop level, I am mesmerized as she lifts the wooden spoon from the clear boiling syrup. “Watch for the silver thread to spin, now,” she explains. “That tells…

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Seeing Christmas Clearly: Erik’s Gift

“Oh, there they are; thank Goodness,” I exclaimed. My sons, seven year old Brent and three year old Erik, had just spent several minutes searching the living room for my reading glasses–again. I had already misplaced them once that morning. “I do not have time for this kind of frustration,” I grumbled. With only three days until Christmas, I felt rushed and distracted and I had been careless. So, there we were, again, crawling around on the floor looking for my glasses. We looked under and behind the sofa, including lifting up each cushion. We checked behind the drapes and on the piano. I was heading for the armchair when Erik spotted them. They were poking out from under the pile of wrapping paper, tags, ribbons and bows that were scattered on the floor. “Hooray for Erik! Thank you, thank you,” I told him as I hugged him. “I need…

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Come See the Baby!

“Shhh...Come see the baby!” Finger to her lips, my mother softly called me to the wicker bassinet where my new baby brother slept. On tiptoe, chin resting on the edge of the bassinet, my curiosity rising, I looked at his tiny ears. “Can he really hear me?” I wondered. Stretching over the side, I touched his little head and petted the softness of his hair. “Does he know who I am?”—a four-year-old’s question. “Put your finger in his hand and watch what happens,” my mother prompted me. Putting my finger in his soft little hand, I was amazed when his tiny fist opened up and closed again, around my own finger! He was MY baby brother; I was His big sister. When Christmas came that year, I remember feeling very proud because I had my own Christmas baby. Throughout our childhood, whether we were decorating the Christmas tree, shaking mysterious…

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Christmas Pasts and Presents

Once again, as with every Christmas, I believe that there is a great yearning that wells up from deep inside our souls to respond to the “great joy” of the angels’ announcement to the shepherds, to follow the beckoning Star to find the Holy place where Christmas miracles never cease, where every Christmas promise is fulfilled. However, even though we long for the comfort and joy of this sacred realm, we often look for it in stories about talking snowmen, magical reindeer, and Santa’s elves—all of the trappings but none of the essence and truth of the birth of Jesus. For years I have loved and collected Christmas books during Advent, but I have become increasingly concerned about the content and number of books that claim, “This is a story/book about the true meaning of Christmas”, but lead you farther from the truth with every page. So, this year, I…

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Hope Chests

They were called “hope chests”—those large cedar storage chests where we hopeful young girls stored what we would need for our future households. In years past, preparing for our future included embroidering dishtowels and tablecloth sets, crocheting pillowcase edging and doilies, and knitting afghans. Filling our hope chests was an expected and honorable pastime. We often started as early as 6 or 7 years old, coached in simple embroidery and crocheting techniques by patient mothers, grandmothers, and aunts. The time spent sharing the wisdom, experience, and knowledge of the older generations, provided the most valuable lessons of all. Needlework skills were incidental to the love, encouragement, and confidence that were woven into the fabric of our lives during those sessions. We prepared for our future days of the week by embroidering dishtowels with designs depicting a predictable work schedule, like a day planner on cotton. For example, Monday was wash…

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