Today was the day. I’ve put off several projects for months now. No more. Today is the day to tackle them. Then, I got a text from one of my artist friends, Ginger. She’s been asked to give an inspirational talk at the Stanford House, a senior citizens’ center in Gainesville. She had a topic in mind—God moments in your life—but wanted my feedback and advice on how to present the subject. “Do you want to paint too while you’re here?” No, I didn’t want to paint, but there’s nothing I’d rather do than talk about our relationship with God. So I dropped everything and went to her house and we talked about God and how he communicates with us. We talked about personal God moment experiences and about the loving and forgiving nature of God. We talked about believing that God wants to communicate with us and about expecting and listening for those God moments. We talked about simplifying our lives so we have time for God. He’s our best friend. Close friendships take time. It was wonderful! Those projects can wait a little longer. Some things can’t wait.

For those of you following my matchbox inspirationals (is that a word?), this week I am to smile at people I cross on the street. I’m assuming that’s not while I’m in a car, but otherwise I haven’t crossed many people on the street. Of course, it’s only Monday. On my way from my car to the restaurant after church, I smiled at a couple of women but they were too busy laughing and talking to even notice. In the Thai restaurant, one of my favorite after-church places, one of the waitresses came over and gave me a hug. Wait, hugging was last week or was that the week before? I do make a habit when I’m walking around the neighborhood to smile at people walking their dogs. I usually comment on how cute their dog(s) are as well, unless they’re really ugly (the dogs, not the people). I’m making fun of this, but I’m beginning to think the purpose of the matchbox is not just to inspire me to relate to others more, but also to inspire others to feel better about themselves. I can do that. Want to join me?

 

It happened again! Someone scammed me by sending a fake friend request. I can’t remember what I had for lunch (a bit of an exaggeration, but not much), I got a message from someone I thought I knew and answered it. I got a few words of how are you doing and so forth, which I answered. But that was followed by comments about Publisher’s Clearing House sending me an award. The light went on–a scam. Then almost immediately another friend said she had just gotten a new friend request from me. I hurried to send out a warning message on Facebook not to accept any friend requests from me. Then I changed my FB password and blocked my new “friend.” How aggravating and frustrating! Facebook has a lot of problems and though I wouldn’t put anything on it I wouldn’t want the world to know, it’s the way I keep up with my grandchildren and my friends here and internationally. It’s become a prayer list for me as well because so many share their painful experiences, from illnesses to adverse job situations on Facebook. Some are abandoning FB, but I can’t bring myself to lose that connection with so many I know and love. I don’t know the answer to FB’s problems, but just a warning, be careful about any messages from a so-called friend that involves money.

Among my Christmas gifts was a matchbox. On it are the words, “Spark Happiness, 50 ways to celebrate the everyday.” Inside are fake matches with words intended to “offer strategies for cultivating joy.” The first match read, “Turn a project or task into a celebration: invite friends over to help.” What? My youngest daughter had given me the box because she thought it would be full of joyful inspirational messages for me. I laughed and told her this is just going to add more stress to my life. But, I’ve decided to pull one match out a week and see what it inspires me to do. Last week was to hug more people! Thankfully, I didn’t run into many people I thought would appreciate me hugging them. This week is to make a list of your friends’ best qualities and share it with them. I like that one. My friend Paula just asked me last night if I thought she been the kind of friend to me she should have been last year. (I’m wondering if she got a matchbox too!) Anyway, now I have a list to answer her question. Maybe this matchbox of ideas won’t be so bad after all. (Stay tuned.)

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’ve just had dinner with some friends this evening. We didn’t stay late so I’m home in time to watch whatever is going on to ring in the New Year. As I look at social media it’s interesting to note the reactions to this yearly calendar change. Some are enthusiastic and positive 2019 will be a better year. Others cringe at what they see as just more of the same grief as 2018. Then there are the hopeful, aware that it’s an imperfect world but still hopeful for some better news next year. Even though I’m a realist when it comes to human nature, I count myself among the hopeful. As I say this, I realize I’m among the fortunate who can afford to be hopeful. I’m not a member of the armed services stationed in some far off country whose life is in constant danger. I’m not a citizen of a third-world country suffering malnutrition or from some horrific disease or concerned about an immediate threat to me or my loved ones. I’m not living in a cardboard box under an overpass somewhere. Knowing this, can I still be hopeful for what the New Year brings? I think so. That’s because my hope is in a person; his name is Jesus. I’m going to enter this New Year ever thankful for his blessings now and ever hopeful for what he is planning not just for me, but also for all people everywhere. Here’s to a happy and hopeful New Year!

Our family gathers at my son’s and daughter-in-law’s for Christmas. Steve and Connie always have their home beautifully decorated. (Decorations that include a 1950s-era aluminum Christmas tree. Funny!) Anyway, my daughter Eileen remarked she hadn’t seen me wearing a new pair of boots I had had for a while. I said they were so hard to get on and off, I hesitated to wear them. So, I decided to wear those boots, just for her. But I told my daughters I would need help getting them off before I drove home.  (Unknown to me, one of my gifts from Eileen was a pretty bolo tie that looked great with my cowboy jeans and boots.) After enjoying a lovely meal and watching the kids open their gifts, I got ready to leave. The girls and Steve came out to see me off, and, yes, to remove the boots. Steve asked, “Don’t you have a boot jack?” No. He ran back in the house and brought a boot jack. “Do you have hooks to pull your boots on with?” No. He ran back in the house and brought boot hooks to me. I didn’t want to take his, but I didn’t put up a fuss. After all it is the Season for giving and sharing. (I just hope he was able to get his boots off that evening!) Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year to all!

I can’t help it; I’ve got to tell this. On Christmas Eve I drive down to join the family for candlelight services. As I sat there between daughters Tina and Shara, I could hear 3-year-old Wyatt talking to his Pop-Pop (son-in-law Alan) throughout the services. Wyatt is much more chatty than his big sister Ella, who sat quietly with her parents, Britton and Lauren, behind us. (Unlike her brother, she also knows how to whisper. We sat in the far back.) He remarked on the sermon. “He said angel!” He commented on the song service. “Oh, holy night.” And wondered when we were going to sing his favorite, “Hark, the Herald Angels.” Then the communion bread and juice were passed around. He wanted one of the little cups. Alan reminded him that those drinks were only for adults. Wyatt looked up at Alan, and asked, “Are they beer?” Did I mention it was a Baptist church. After church we had dinner at Alan’s and Shara’s home. As we gathered around the table, Wyatt was ready to eat. He reached for a piece of the brisket but his mother said, “You know we pray first.” Before she could get the last word out of her mouth, Wyatt had his head down, “Dear God,” and with a brief but thoughtful prayer, he thanked God for the food, “Amen!” Now we could eat.

We’ve finished with four community choir Christmas performances, with one more Christmas presentation at my church to come this weekend. What with practices, performances, Christmas get-togethers and shopping, it’s been busy around here. I also insist on having a live Christmas tree so there’s driving the old pickup truck into Home Depot to pick one out and haul it home (I’m partial to Noble firs). With a live tree you have to get it into water quickly or the trunk will seal over and it won’t take in water, so I put the tree into a bucket of water as soon as I got home. I refer to the tree as “live” but it’s been cut from its source of nourishment so it’s really not. It looks alive though–for a while. It’s not a perfect analogy but it reminds me of what we are without Christ in our lives, cut off branches from the vine. We might look alive but we really aren’t. We’re spiritually dead without Jesus nourishing us through the Holy Spirit working within us. Thank you, Lord, for coming to this earth, taking on our humanity and living and dying for us so we can live now in you and can go on to live with you forever!

Our community choir performed our Christmas cantata last Sunday morning. My friend, Paula, though she doesn’t live in this community, began attending our performances last year. Just to give me some moral support, I guess. After the concert, as I prepared to drive down south to my church, it occurred to me to ask Paula if she would like to go with me. To my surprise, she agreed! It’s about an hour’s drive, but with Paula to talk to as we drove along, the time went fast. After church, we had a practice for our Christmas presentation coming up this next weekend. I had warned Paula this would take place, but she sat there drinking coffee and enjoying our flubs and silliness as we worked to get our acts together. Afterward we went for a late lunch at Best Thai and then I had to pick up a few extra gifts at Costco before driving home. We really enjoyed the day together, and Paula says she would like to do it again. She calls herself a lapsed Catholic; that’s why I was surprised she wanted to go with me. I don’t know if anything will come of this, but I do know I even surprised myself by inviting her. Go with the Spirit. You never know where he will lead.

When I arrived at the Home Hospice Office this morning to handle the desk while the staff has their monthly meeting, before she left Paula gave me a white cardboard dove with my late husband’s name on it. Every Christmas Home Hospice, which is a nonprofit hospice, has a fundraiser called “Light Up a Life.” The donations go to a fund for those who cannot afford the many services Home Hospice provides. My daughter Tina had made a nice donation to honor Ed, her stepdad, who died a few days after Christmas three years ago. Ed was also a hospice volunteer for many years. I’m a big fan of hospices, especially the nonprofit ones, whose kind staff and many volunteers make life so much easier on both the patients and on their caregivers. As far as I’m concerned, hospice workers are called to a Mother Teresa type of ministry. The cardboard doves citing the donations and donors are usually placed on a Christmas tree in the office, but I’m taking this one home to put on my own tree.