Cinderella Who?

Smoke billowing out of the woodstove means only one thing: I’ll be on the roof with a brush in one hand a flat screwdriver in the other.

Today, I timed myself. How long does it take this little lady to do a man-job?

45 minutes.

Thirty minutes to set up the ladder, climb up on the roof, oops, I forgot the screwdriver, retrieve the screwdriver, back up the ladder, attach brush to pole sections, remove chimney cap, brush stove pipe, brush chimney cap and replace, ask Dale for the broom, sweep roof, gather tools and head down the ladder. (Deep Breath) Fold up ladder, put away the Bossman’s coveted Snap-on Screwdriver, breakdown brush and pole, and into the house to eradicate creosote from the firebox.

Thirty minutes. Not bad, though I don’t know the current record for such a task. Maybe I should aim at beating my time.

The 45 minute mark comes in with that tiresome piece of insulation lid inside the stove that comes out fairly easily but is a beast to return: this is what slows my time, every time. Argh!

Ah, I do this sneeze inducing task but twice a year, so in spring, I may implement new methods. Any ideas? Cinderella you say? Nah, we don’t have time to moon romantically over ashes!

The Surprise Gift

Last night was Epiphany, or Three Kings Day, or The Feast of the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. Take your pick. It is always January 6.

The Mommies made sushi with the kids, family gathered for the feast, and to end the day, Boss man and I each opened a gift.

Now a few days ago, I explained to the daughters the Epiphany gifts were for Daddy and myself. One girl puzzled that both gifts were the result of my shopping not daddy’s and how could I open a gift I had bought and wrapped myself. I explained that in the Christmas gift buying process, extra needs always get tossed into the mix and I simply wrap them for the pleasure and reminder that even a need fulfilled is a gift. It really does not matter to me if I know what is under wrap and in a box. To open it is still a delight and a need met. I challenged them to reflect on their own gifts and that they receive mostly what could classify under “needs”, and how rapturously they receive with a delighted heart.

But both gifts are from mama, not from mama to daddy and daddy to mama, child questions. Watch and see how it works, I encourage the small, bewildered person.

Big Daddy and I opened our gifts last night with the anticipated cheerful results. We read a book, The Other Wise Man by Henry Van Dyke and beautifully illustrated by Robert Barrett.

It is the story of Artaban, a wise man who traveled to meet three of the friends that had been studying the promise in the ancient writings that a star would rise signifying the birth of a Great King. He had just ten days to meet his friends at the Temple of Babylon for their journey in search of this King. Taking up his treasure gift, he began his travels. However, on his flight to Babylon, Artaban stopped to help a sick man lying along the road. This gracious delay caused him to miss his friends in Babylon. Attempting to catch the traveling party in Bethlehem, he came across a woman hiding her infant from Herod’s slaughter of infants. Artaban helped save this woman’s child from the sword with a portion of his treasure. He heard that the Baby King’s Family had fled to Egypt and there too, Artaban searched. He searched across many lands for thirty- three years, all the while feeding the hungry, clothing the needy, when finally, in Jerusalem, hears that two notorious robbers were being crucified along with a man named “King of the Jews”. Meanwhile, he heard the cries of a desperate girl, being drug to a life of slavery as payment for her father’s debts. With the last of his treasure gift for the King, Artaban buys the girl’s freedom. The sky blackens and the ground shakes. A crumbling building strikes Artaban to the ground. In his desperation of not having delivered his gift, a voice comforts him, “you fed me when I was hungry, you clothed me when I was naked, and you healed me when I was sick. Whenever you helped these, you helped me.”

Big Daddy pulled up from YouTube, Keith Green’s “Sheep and Goats”.

Eww. Please: No Keith Green.

Here is where I explain, I’m not any sort of fan of Green, or his music/vocal style, but Mike thinks it fits the present topic of discussion, and the foundation built by a dad is Holy and Divine so- let ‘er rip, Big Daddy! Show us what ya got!

When the video finished, we smooched the girls and sent them to bed. The weary mama I was, I lay down and shut my eyes. Unbeknownst to me, Mike was now on a Keith Green Internet Quest.

He found the Easter Song. I hadn’t heard it for years but many of the words found their way to my lips.

I awoke this morning with the words of the song not just in my mouth but resonating from my soul. Mike had gifted me last night. Not in the roundabout way of being the moneymaking provider that made, through me, store purchases, but as the strong, earthly guard of my salvation. I fell asleep with such peace, the joy of my Deliverance only to awaken with the same.

Free to all, Mike’s gift to me, I pass on to you this day because the Story of The Magi: Gold for a King, Frankincense for the High Priest, Myrrh for the Sacrifice, have Everything to do with the Resurrection.

I may have to reconsider my feelings about Keith Green.

The Orient By Way of Central America

Picture This:

Two girls brainstorming the common thread between the Twelfth Night gift under the tree and the rice candy attached to the calendar.

AnnePants and AbiDale agree the theme is- things from the orient.

The Mama nods and with a prompting grin “…and tomorrow is …”,

“Three Kings Day!” the daughters chime together.

“We Three Kings of Orient are...” quotes Pants.

Dale, struck with quandary, “Oh, I thought they were from Mexico.”

 

Beautiful Twilight

It lasts only a short time every day. That time when the lights of the tree and the shrubbery around the porch illuminate our slowly darkening world. The moon rises with warmth in the eastern expanse of lavender blue.

Perhaps the most peaceful hour of the day. Enjoy it for the few moments it lasts.

Good-Bye Day! See you again on the Morrow.

A Child is Born

Every year, Thanksgiving weekend, from the big box marked “Advent”, I eagerly pull out “A Child is Born” written by J. Barrie Sheppard. Morning and evening prayers and meditations gush from chosen Scriptures, from the first day of Advent to Christmas Day.

 The book was a gift from the dearest of friends, Catholic by baptism.

In the non-liturgical, Zionist, protestant culture of my family roots, I was unaware of most church traditions once observed by Catholics and Protestants equally.

* * * * *

Within a few years of Mike and I having become a family (the two become one, remember) I knew I was missing something at Christmas. We hadn’t any offspring and having heard so often that Christmas was “for the children”, we wondered where that left us.

I marveled about the Twelve days of Christmas and liturgical Advent. I never pounded very hard at uncovering what was a mystery to me, but every year some new information or history surfaced and furthered my understanding.

I found in a second hand shop, an old copy of the Common Book of Prayer, c. 1945 but ratified in 1790. This little book laid out the church year beginning with Advent. It is rich with thoughtfully written prayers, and ceremonies, I could only imagine in another time, another place; history at my fingers. Our founding fathers and their wives read these prayers to their children and grandchildren! The beautifully musty pages set my path and I was on my way!

An article in the local rag explained what each of the Twelve Days icons represented. Interesting. There is purpose in the Days betwixt Christmas Day and what? Another feast day? Epiphany.

I found different Seasons: Advent – the weeks of Darkness and Preparation; Christmastide- the twelve days observing the Light and Glorious Day of God Incarnate ; Epiphany- the manifestation of God to the gentiles through the Magi (January 6 until Candlemas on February 2).

* * * * *

And now… Back to the Book that opened this article and my Catholic friend.

She and I met within the time of my rock rolling. My fascination with the liturgical church had arrested me with the charm of its traditions and my new friend had encouragement for my endeavors. She gave me this book of advent meditations. Her inscription inside reminded me not to allow function of tradition to overcome the principle basis in our Celebration. Our salvation is not hinged on whether or not I can manage to organize my family well enough to ponder a daily reading (or weekly, eek) or if my children know what the twelve days represent. The focus is not the feast day but the Deliverance brought by the Child Born.

* * * * *

Neither of us “practice” the doctrine, per se, of the order in which we were reared, but not out disrespect of how our parents wisely brought us to Christ. She cherishes her Roman Catholic background as I my own of the Pentecostal. God brought us together that the years would eventually reveal, a search for living in Christ; not Catholic, not Protestant. But our perspective childhoods create a latticework of friendship where the catholic and protestant traditions weave together and influence how we edify one another through the scriptural truths we learned as children. You should all be so blessed to have a "Lanny" to sharpen your wits and better your ken.

Such has entwined through this lovely season we call Advent.