I love this vintage image, and I love the month of January! I hear so many say that today is no different from any other day, but I find few things in life as full of hope as a clean, blank January calendar page. It’s so exciting to embark on a new year and wonder what blessings God has in store!

“Forget the former things;
   do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
   Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

-Isaiah 43:18-19

May 2012 be the best year of our lives!

I know this probably sounds strange, but one of the most profound moments of my entire Christmas season happened while I was in the kitchen, making candy.

I make a mean peppermint bark. It’s basically crushed peppermint candies mixed into melted white chocolate, then broken into chunks after being spread out and cooled. I also add dark chocolate drizzle or chopped Andes mint candies to mine, because who doesn’t like a little extra chocolate with their chocolate?

In years past, I delegated the candy-crushing to my husband. Those little round Starlight mints are very difficult to break, and Donnie, with his greater upper-body strength, could always accomplish the task in no time.

But last week, Donnie wasn’t home and our guests were due to arrive any minute. I had no choice but to handle the pulverizing myself.

I placed the candies in a zip-top bag, and smacked it a few times with my heavy rolling pin. It barely flaked the edges off a couple of the mints. So I tried rolling the pin over the bag, pressing hard, and still—nothing. I realized that if this candy was going to be made, I had to mimic my husband’s actions and really put some muscle behind it.

So I did. I slammed that rolling pin as hard as I could onto one of the candies and watched it shatter into a hundred tiny bits. Then I moved to another, and another, and suddenly, it felt very satisfying, like doing something deliciously wrong.

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This column, my annual “Night Before Christmas-ish” poem, ran in the December 21st edition of The Covington News.

 

‘Tis just before Christmas, and here in my house

I hurry and scurry, like a fat little mouse.

The stockings are hung by the chimney, but bare—

Oh where did I put what I bought to go there?

 

The gifts are in hiding, all still unwrapped

Though I’ve worked my tail off and wish I could nap.

I’m a cleaner, a chef, a crafter and baker

Like all busy moms, I’m the Christmas-dream-maker.

 

But I’ve fallen behind, fear it won’t all get done

For I’m just one woman—not three, two, but one.

And I sadly display my most dreadful old trait:

I oft wait to do things ‘til I’m running quite late.

 

And this makes me crabby, my spirit not bubbly,

I’m scolding my kids and nagging my hubby.

For I need their help, but they’ve no time to spare,

They’re driving me crazy, I’m pulling my hair.

 

The tree’s still half-naked, there’s no wreath on the door

There are toys and clutter strewn all on the floor,

The bathroom is grimy, the dust bunnies run free

The laundry’s in piles straight up to my knee.

 

The Christmas dinner menu has not yet been planned,

And devoid of a manicure are my tired, old hands.

I haven’t yet thought of what I’m going to wear

Or what I might decide to do with my hair.

 

I still need to clean, to dust and to sweep,

To scour and scrub and oh yeah—to sleep.

But slumber’s for sissies and there’s no time for that.

I’ll have to rest vicariously through Max, my cat.

 

And I can’t help but question, as I do every year

Why I procrastinate, which kills all my cheer?

It’s not like the holidays show up by surprise—

I know that they’re coming, this I realize!

 

But yet I still behave like I had no real clue

Of the stress of December and all I must do.

I know it’s coming, I know what it requires

I shouldn’t act like I have unlimited hours.

 

But you know, when it comes to the end of the day

When Santa’s already zoomed in on his sleigh,

I forget all the craziness of the days before

And marvel and wonder at all that’s in store.

 

The best part of Christmas is seeing my boys

Smiling and laughing and playing with toys.

Reliving the magic from a child’s point of view

Is the most fun thing any adult can ever do.

 

And that joy is what’s remembered, for sure

I won’t recall all of the strife we’ve endured

No one will think about that dinner I cooked,

Or worry over how clean our little house looked.

 

Christmas isn’t about making perfection renewed

It’s not about the presents, the tree or the food.

But it’s about faith, and family and love

And a sweet little Baby sent down from above.

 

I tell myself that, sometimes minute-by-minute

As I look toward that day and the joy within it.

Because the spirit of Christmas will come and stay,

Nothing on Earth can ever keep it away.

 

After basking, at last, in that warm Christmas cheer

Comes a week full of peace that I always hold dear.

Beyond the festivities, a sweet time to rest

While the kids are lost deep in their toy chest.

 

Come Monday morning I’ll exclaim aloud

To lingering relatives and folks who still crowd,

“Go spend your gift cards, take off to the mall,

And dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

 

Then I’ll pick up the paper, the gift bags and bows

I’ll plop down, relax and prop up my toes.

And I might just crawl back to my flannel-sheet bed

To start resting up for the long winter ahead.

 

And now as I bring this work to a close

I thank you, dear readers, for heaven knows

How grateful I am for each one of you

Your support, your love, your feedback, too.

 

Before I go, one last thing I must say

As we rush ever closer to the holiday—

Merry Christmas to all, draw your loved ones near.

May God bless you and give you a Happy New Year.

 

As I prepare to celebrate Christmas, I’m noticing that this December feels different. It mostly looks the same, in that we’ve been attending parties and drinking eggnog and cuddling up with the kids to watch our favorite Christmas movies. Most of our traditions remain intact—except for the one where we go crazy buying presents for people who already have everything they need. My kids will still have presents to open Christmas morning, of course. But the chased-after extravagance of years past is something I no longer wish to pursue.

This year, I’ve become acquainted with poverty like never before. I knew that 80% of the world’s population lives on less than $10 a day. I’ve read that there are 163 million orphans in the world. But over the summer, two reality checks barged into my comfortable little life and shook me to the core. One was Compassion International, a great organization that works to alleviate poverty worldwide. The other is Pastor Ronald, a Ugandan man I’m now blessed to call my friend.

The orphan crisis in Uganda is shocking. Google it, and put a face to it by visiting Pastor Ronald’s Blood of Jesus Ministries website at www.bojmu.org. This primary school teacher and his wife have taken in 25 children, formed a makeshift orphanage and greatly struggle to keep everyone clothed and fed.

Yet when you see pictures of them, their wide smiles and bright eyes radiate a joy that is rarely seen on American faces.

It puts me to shame.

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Every morning in December, I enjoy a laugh as I look out my front window and see our 8-foot-tall inflatable Santa flattened on the ground. It’s just so funny to see the jolly old man face-planted in the dirt, quite realistically reflecting the way I feel at the end of every December day—totally, utterly deflated.

All this merry-making is exhausting, don’t you know?

Decorating my yard with an assortment of giant inflatable Christmas characters isn’t quite my first choice in holiday décor. If I had it my way, the house would be elegantly trimmed in white lights, draped in real evergreen garlands entwined with yards of lustrous ribbon, accented with oversized, antiqued ornaments. My front porch would feature topiaries in urns, with sparkly baubles on their branches; my front door’s wreath would project an equally beautiful grace.

But a couple of years ago, my father-in-law gave us several blow-up lawn characters, and my children love them. They simply adore them. So how can I say “no” to their annual pleas to blow them up? Zach and Eli engage in great debate every year over which ones we’ll display—because even though I can’t say “no,” I can’t bring myself to allow all of them to appear at once.

This year, Santa, Snoopy, and a snowman snow globe won. I guess they are kind of cute, in a kitschy sort of way.

Of course, it’s rather hypocritical of me to call those lawn ornaments kitschy after doing what I did to my outside refrigerator. Yes, like all proper middle-class Southerners, we have an outside fridge parked on our carport. Most call it the beer fridge, and ours has occasionally hosted an adult beverage or two. This extra refrigerator came with the house, and the main reason we kept it is that I wanted the freezer space for stocking up on groceries at case lot sales at the Fort Gillem commissary.

But now the commissary is closed, and I can’t afford to stock up anyway, so except for when we fill it with leftovers at the holidays, our “beer fridge” usually sits empty.

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