REPOST: The Great Rabbit Rescue

It sounded like a gun shot. And then another, and another. I thought war had broken out in Tulsa. Looking out our bedroom window we can see stripped and broken trees covering our yard. My beautiful trees are no more. All of our trees, save one, fell victim to the ice storm of 2007.

Amid the sounds of branches falling during the night, it also grew obvious to my husband and to me that our youngest son was not going to let us sleep until we rescued his rabbit. Oreo, lived in a hutch underneath what was our tall and beautiful Bradford pear in the back yard.

Grabbing the foot of our bed, our son became bound and determined to rouse us into greater empathy than parents usually possess at 3 am. Empathy not forthcoming, he chose to shake our bed violently and scream until we had no choice but to either put him down, or rescue the rabbit.

After some debate, we rescued the rabbit.

Wearing snow boots and bathrobes, the three of us ventured out into the icy night. I carried a candle for light, while Jeff and I carefully traversed the buried yard. Stepping over branches and around others we made our way to what used to be Oreo’s dwelling. Our tree, Oreo’s shelter, was stripped back like a banana peel. Carefully moving the bent and hanging branches, we found that not one fallen branch had touched her hutch. All of the branches had created a protective cave around her home. Oreo was unharmed. It was an amazing sight.

The consummate story collector, I wanted to go back for my camera but thought better of it. Instead, Jeff reached in to free a very grateful bunny and we made our way back to the house. The joy in our son’s eyes as he held his beloved pet made the whole adventure worth it.

It’s cold in Tulsa right now. Temperatures are below zero at night, and we’ve once again rescued our rabbit and brought her indoors for safety.

Another snow storm hit Tulsa this year and all Christmas services had been cancelled throughout the city. It just didn’t feel like Christmas without church and I missed it. Grace Lutheran was holding their Christmas Eve service on Epiphany. Grace is not our home church, but I wanted to go. I wanted to celebrate Christmas even if it was a few days late.

During the service they did what they call the “Procession of the Gospel.” I don’t recall ever seeing that before. It is very high church, and not necessarily something more “modern” churches like mine do anymore. Acolytes carried the cross and candles, while the pastor came down the center aisle with the bible. This processional stopped right next to our pew. It was there that the gospel was read.

Like a child, I relentlessly tugged on my husband’s sleeve asking what they were doing and why. High Liturgy is not something I’m familiar with. It was moving, and beautiful. The tears in his eyes caught me by surprise. “Immanuel. God with us.” is all he said.

By coming down into the crowd, so to speak, to read the Gospel, we are reminded that God himself traveled dangerous terrain to rescue us. We are reminded that He is not some distant and untouchable figure way out there. He doesn’t need a child to shake his bed to come get us. He just did. It was dangerous and it was scandalous. And it was necessary.

He is with us.

In the center of it all.

Yesterday.

Today.

And tomorrow.

Again and again,

calling us,

 protecting us,

saving us.

He is Immanuel.

I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas

It’s Christmas and I realized today that my blog is as dark as my house at night — we were too busy this fall to put up lights and now our neighbors are shunning us.  We are the black hole of  Broken Arrow and they think we’re atheists.  We’re not, it’s just that it’s too cold out to be climbing up on ladders and I’m afraid of heights as it is. Having said that, I feel the need to lighten the tone here about a few thousand watts. SO… Let’s talk Christmas songs. Our family has a tradition of either singing in or going to The Messiah at First Lutheran every year. I sang this year and I’m proud to tell y’all I did not fall off the stage once. Our chairs were precariously close to the edge. One bad note and I’m certain the bass singers would have shoved me off. Thankfully they didn’t.

We also like to listen to Nat King Cole and the Trans Siberian Orchestra. Not to make y’all think I’m a classical purist, our family’s favorite song is — Grandma Got Run Over By A reindeer, that and Jeff Foxworthy’s Redneck Days of Christmas.

I thought I’d heard them all until I opened the paper today. I need to warn you — or place blame – either one but my favorite Tulsa Scene writer is Jason Ashley Wright hands down. I especially like his monthly lingenlangenloungin… a little something something as he calls it.. I can’t spell it. It’s some Cajun word. ANYWHOO..he was talking about Christmas Songs today and he mentioned I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas. It’s apparently classic and shockingly, I’ve never heard of it.

I’m an ADHD, neurotic redhead — I don’t like not knowing about things. I feel left out. I looked it up on YouTube, and I don’t feel left out anymore. It’s really cute!

It’s so cute that I’m going to share it with you guys. I know,  you feel special now don’t you.

Enjoy.

Repost: The Neurotic Messiah

 My husband and I are getting ready to close on our new fishing cabin / personal retreat in Adair Oklahoma. For the next week or so, I’ll be busy packing, sorting, and cleaning things up. I am also getting ready for Thanksgiving and Christmas. In short, I won’t have much time to write. In the meantime, I thought you guys would enjoy some older posts.  I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

The Neurotic Messiah, copyright December 2000.

Oh no! What have I done? I cannot read a single note. Not one. This score is much more complicated Than I ever anticipated.

I haven’t sung in a choir for twenty year. And so began my chorus of fears.

The starts, the stops, the highs, the lows The beats, the counts, the arpeggios. The conductors who speak in some foreign tongue Is it Latin, or Italian? I know not which one.

The M’s and P’s, and F’s and M’s. Oh, these aren’t your typical church service hymns. Am I an “S” or not an “S” I do not know and now they say my costume I need to sew.

Light the fire but don’t take it out?! Would someone please tell me what that was about?

Now I’m told to sing like Ethel Merman and that we aren’t singing, but giving a sermon.

Oh how I’m beginning to rue the day when Sue Paulison said “Come on let’s play. You don’t need to audition, just show up and sing. Being a part of “The Messiah” is a wonderful thing.”

I’m now thinking my impulse to do this was rash. This may be a check I’ve written that my body can’t cash.

This is not good, not good at all, but then again, does pride not come before the fall?

I drove straight home and on my bed I sat telling my husband, I’m not going back! And that is that!

Then standing in the hallway whom did I see but my 9-year-old son list-ening to me. “I thought you once said don’t ever quit. So please tell me now, why are you doing it?”

I searched through my brain to frantically look for some wise answer to get me off the hook. Failing that I tried for the truth Hoping somehow he’d understand, even in his youth.

“That may be true.” I answer, “But don’t you see? There’s too much to learn and it’s too hard for me. Besides, I really can’t sing, not like the rest.” And he said “That’s okay Mom; just do your best. God won’t mind, just wait and see. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

And so I sat with a guilty heart wondering when my son got so smart. And wondering why he now would choose to remember my words and those words use.

Then henceforth came my next blessing I caught a cold while I was dressing. I coughed and sneezed and wheezed and gasped. My voice, once loud, now barely rasped.

I cannot sing and cough no sir, they have to let me drop now, I’m sure. No guilt, no blame, It’s not my fault. This cruel dance can finally come to a halt.

But Leon’s good. He doesn’t miss a trick. You’d better get well and get well quick. I’ll let you sing you’ll do just fine, people catch colds all the time. And so went my last excuse. Fighting God on this one seemed no use.

My costume’s all sewn by my friend Cyndi, with care, At least now I will have something to wear.

I thought a “piano” is what you played and not what you sang and this cold still makes me sound like a cat in the rain. I’m not an “S” and this much I know that’s to keep us from hissing during the show.

The Marys and Josephs have been picked out with care now if only they could decide when they’ll be there.

The last practice has come we should know what to do. Stand up straight, bend your knees, and that includes you. The Altos still outnumber the rest by a score, next year could you please try soprano some more.

The orchestra is with us, it’s coming together. Somehow I doubt we could get any better.

Tell us Pastor Carter how does it sound now that we’ve done this last go around?

“It needs to be crisp, we’ve lost that somehow. Remember, you are praising God, so let’s pull it together now. Sopranos are too strong, bring it down just a bit. Bass’s your not emphasizing the lines that you hit. Tenors and Altos your entrances are late, but other than that I think it sounds great.”

Our differences we have quietly tucked away, as all Tulsa Lutheran churches sing in har-mony this day. Clear and true our music does ring as we all praise and worship our new-born King.

All fears and joking are now put aside. This is a worship service and our joy we can’t hide.

The true story of Christmas can only be told through the lives of the ones who dare to Behold.

“Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be to all
people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is
Christ the Lord.”

————————-

We will be celebrating our 90th year this December 4, 2010. Won’t you please join us at First Lutheran Church on 13th and Utica for this wonderful presentation of the Christmas Story.

This is our 90th year. Please join us!

Wordless Wednesdays: Handel’s Messiah

 

I didn’t grow up in the church. I never went to Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, or Egg Hunts. I never even got to be in a Christmas Pageant. Ever. I cannot begin to explain what it felt like as a kid, to see the neighborhood churches bustling with activity and knowing I couldn’t be a part of it. Those things were for members only. I wasn’t a member.

Through a wonderful set of circumstances – meeting my husband and moving to Oklahoma – I did join my very first church in 1993, and I have never looked back.

Ten years ago, a friend of mine told me about the All Lutheran Messiah and invited me to participate. That was big deal, because all Lutherans do not see eye to eye, and technically we’re not even allowed to worship together, lest we give the impression we agree on doctrine. — I kind of think that is stupid, but that’s just me. I tend to be more ecumenical than my brothers and sisters in the LCMS realm. Christ is the only thing that matters to me. If we share that, what difference does the rest make?

Hence, I’ll never be an LCMS staff member. — Don’t get me wrong, I love my LCMS Church, I love my pastor, I love my husband, I even love my Synod. I just love God a little bit more. There are too many rules surrounding paid staff. They aren’t allowed to publicly worship, commune, or pray with non LCMS people lest they give the impression that they agree on doctrine. As a newcomer, I can’t help but interpret that to mean they are more afraid of what people think then they are God and I don’t understand that.

Let me re-phrase that. I spent most of my life being more afraid of what people thought than God, and today, I’m trying to repent of that and avoid those traps. So if I spot an issue like this, it’s only because I have an issue like this.

LCMS isn’t alone, we have many denominations under the Christian Church umbrella. I just don’t understand the separations. The body of Christ is the body of Christ. Jesus is ONE bridegroom, and he has ONE bride. I believe the titles on our doors do more to break the body than it does make it.

Up until last year’s ELCA Synodical convention, most local  LCMS congregations participated in this joint presentation. Because of changes that ELCA made, many of our LCMS churches chose to drop out. I won’t go into that here. LCMS staff members were even forced out of participating for fear of losing their jobs.  We as a group had to make some changes in order to keep this alive.

Structurally, the Messiah presentation is its own NPO and is not supported by any synod. There are no pastor’s leading any aspect of the service, there is just “the multitude,” meaning the singers. We don’t even publically pray together. But those changes are not enough for some people.

Some churches have chosen to do their own in-house services to replace this, and I refuse to support those.

Why?

Because I’m the kid who walked past churches like that and felt left out. You had to know somebody on the inside in order to go.

Christmas is a time we are called to look past ourselves, and give to others. In house presentations for members only, flies in the face of what Christ came to do. The Jews wanted an “in-house” Messiah and he shocked them by coming not only for them, but for the Gentiles as well. Jesus became that “somebody” to know.

Being a part of sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ for the community is more important to me than some political debate. I still sing in The Messiah and this is our 90th year, making us the second longest running presentation in the United States.

In our liturgical calendar year ends this Sunday where we look to the second coming of Christ. The following Sunday, marks the beginning of Advent (The Christmas Season) where we as a body, look forward (in spirit) to the first coming of Christ. We celebrate his birth.

Right now, while we practice the choral runs and solos, time intersects my spirit. Christ’s birth, death, resurrection, and return consume me today and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart: Confessions of a Spiritual Bulimic. All rights reserved 11/17/10. My views and opinions are not necessarily reflective of my home congregation or Synod. These are just my thoughts.

The Great Rabbit Rescue

It sounded like a gun shot. And then another, and another. I thought war had broken out in Tulsa. Looking out our bedroom window we can see stripped and broken trees covering our yard. My beautiful trees are no more. All of our trees, save one, fell victim to the ice storm of 2007.

Amid the sounds of branches falling during the night, it also grew obvious to my husband and to me that our youngest son was not going to let us sleep until we rescued his rabbit. Oreo, lived in a hutch underneath what was our tall and beautiful bradford pear in the back yard.

Grabbing the foot of our bed, our son became bound and determined to rouse us into greater empathy than parents usually possess at 3 am. Empathy not forthcoming, he chose to shake our bed violently and scream until we had no choice but to either put him down, or rescue the rabbit.

We rescued the rabbit.

Wearing snow boots and bathrobes, the three of us ventured out into the icy night. I carried a candle for light, while Jeff and I carefully traversed the buried yard. Stepping over branches and around others we made our way to what used to be Oreo’s dwelling. Our tree, Oreo’s shelter, was stripped back like a banana peel. Carefully moving the bent and hanging branches, we found that not one fallen branch had touched her hutch. All of the branches had created a protective cave around her home. Oreo was unharmed. It was an amazing sight.

The consummate story collector, I wanted to go back for my camera but thought better of it. Instead, Jeff reached in to free a very grateful bunny and we made our way back to the house. The joy in our son’s eyes as he held his beloved pet made the whole adventure worth it.

It’s cold in Tulsa right now. Temperatures are below zero at night, and we’ve once again rescued our rabbit and brought her indoors for safety.

Another snow storm hit Tulsa this year and all Christmas services had been cancelled through out the city. It just didn’t feel like Christmas without church and I missed it. Grace Lutheran was holding their Christmas Eve service on Epiphany. Grace is not our home church, but I wanted to go. I wanted to celebrate Christmas even if it was a few days late.

During the service they did what they call the “Procession of the Gospel.” I don’t recall ever seeing that before. It is very high church, and not necessarily something more “modern” churches like mine do anymore. Acolytes carried the cross and candles, while the pastor came down the center aisle with the bible. This processional stopped right next to our pew. It was there that the gospel was read.

Like a child, I relentlessly tugged on my husband’s sleeve asking what they were doing and why. High Liturgy is not something I’m familiar with. It was moving, and beautiful. The tears in his eyes caught me by surprise. “Immanuel. God with us.” is all he said.

By coming down into the crowd, so to speak, to read the Gospel, we are reminded that God himself traveled dangerous terrain to rescue us. We are reminded that He is not some distant and untouchable figure way out there. He doesn’t need a child to shake his bed to come get us. He just did. It was dangerous and it was scandalous. And it was necessary.

He is with us.

In the center of it all.

Yesterday.

Today.

And tomorrow.

Again and again,

calling us,

 protecting us,

saving us.

He is Immanuel.

Cooking with men

“I really like hanging out with the O’Hara’s. They laugh all the time.” — my youngest son’s girlfriend.

Being snowed in for Christmas break was fun. I had all three of my guys home with me and we all pitched in to make Christmas, well, Christmas this year.  They helped bake cookies, cook meals and hang Christmas lights. They even hung an upside dummy off our porch to make it look like someone fell off the roof while hanging lights.  Sadly the ice storm did him in before I could photograph their feat.

I would have taken a picture before the storm but I was too busy screaming and catching my breath every time I walked outside because I kept forgetting it was there. Life with boys is always an adventure.

On one of our snowed in days I decided to make gingerbread men. I baked the men and they all decorated them. Honestly, I’m surprised that there are no serious mutations, or zombies in this batch. The worst one is the wet diaper dude. And that one was created by my husband. I won’t be taking thes to a church social or anything. It was a just for us kind of deal.

Of course my oldest son, who is home from college, decided to dedicate one of our gingerbread men to Comic Tim Hawkins.

Seems the “fire ants” (red sugar crystals) have eaten this poor guy’s leg down to the bone already. You have to see the Fire Ant song on his newest DVD to totally get this. I think it’s hilarious.

That’s what happens when you are the only female in a house full of men. You laugh at really crazy things, like potty jokes, “that’s what she said” stuff, and you laugh at mutilated gingerbread men. It just happens.

Knowing that other people see us as a family that loves to laugh is a nice thing. We are real people, we don’t laugh all of the time. But we laugh a lot and I like that.

How often do you laugh at home? Every day? Every week? Rarely?  Why not make a promise to yourself and to your family to find something silly to laugh about just for today and see what kind of difference it makes.

Mary Did You Know?


Our Christmas sermon was on a song written by Mark Lowry and Buddy Greene called “Mary did you know?” Mark apparently wrote it as a poem for his church one Christmas and Buddy put it to music several years later. It’s one of Pastor’s favorite songs.

Pastor pondered the questions in that song and asked a few more taking his references from Luke 1:26-37

The Birth of Jesus Foretold

In the sixth month, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called[c] the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. For nothing is impossible with God.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.” Then the angel left her.

Two things jumped out for pastor and he wanted to relay them to us. Did Mary really know what it meant to be “highly favored?” and did she really believe that “Nothing is impossible with God?”

When we think of what it means to be “Highly Favored” we think of wealth, health and prosperity, don’t we. Do we think of her reality though? Pastor pointed out some things I’d never thought of.

1. She was a young child herself suddenly with child – and not her fiance’s how would she explain that?
2. Her fiance was planning to quietly divorce her.
3. The leaders of her church and community had authority to stone her to death if they chose.
4. An angel took care of Joseph – this much we know.
5. She traveled for days to Bethlehem and gave birth in a stable
6. They had to flee for their lives soon after

There’s also the rest – she watched her son die. And other things.

Highly favored – at least for Mary doesn’t sound good when compared to our own limited perceptions. She was favored – she gave birth to the Messiah – to Christ. She was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit and conceived the Christ Child. With Favor came great responsibility. And yet nothing is impossible with God. She did learn that. But favor does not mean cushie life. Does it?

I thought that was an interesting message for Christmas. I had someone make that statement about me once – calling me “favored of God.” – I’m not so sure I like that now.

I have some new readers – so let me explain that a little bit. I don’t typically make it a habit to talk about myself as much as I have been lately. God is doing a work that I do not know how to explain fully. Part of my personal testimony includes being born in a home for unwed mothers, growing up in all kinds of disfunction and such, being kicked out of church as a child because of my parent’s divorce, being raised by my mom who made less than 10K a year, and other things.

Knowing that I get to facilitate Bible studies now? Blows my mind. Seriously. It surprizes others too who knew me when. (Trust me) I am the woman who busted the binding on my Bible during my very first Precepts (Kay Arthur) class taught by my pastor’s wife 13 years ago and here I am – certified to teach it if I want, facilitating Beth Moore Studies as well as others, teaching Sunday School for women, and serving as a missionary in my own denomination (Ablaze).

I’m not doing any of those things because I’m so great and so smart – trust me. I am a scardy cat coward who cannot believe God actually wants to use me most days. I used to do them to seek his favor – but I’ve learned that Christ already did that for me. I do those things today, out of obediance to God. This path I’m on? Was not my choosing at first.

I’m learning to follow his voice even when it doesn’t make sense. I take the classes today that he tells me to. God has had a lot to teach me in the last few years. Including what I will and will not do as a teacher. (see older posts on Matthew 23).
I’ve argued with him a lot. I know what His word says about teachers, and leaders and it scares me. That’s a lot of responsiblity – I don’t want to let him down. And true to form when I tell him that – I’m reminded that “nothing is impossible with God” and that HE won’t let me down.

So for 2008 – it’s a year of getting over myself yet again – and focusing on him.

I don’t have the right – to write this blog – to teach – to lead – to speak – I am a fellow traveler who gets to share and journey with others.

What a kick that is.

God worked miracles in my life this year as far as courage goes. I took some huge risks following God. Major steps of courage. I chaired a community egg hunt at our mission start – which was a total flop by the way, I planned for 750 and 2,000 showed up, over ran us and beat eachother up over candy filled eggs. I turbo hosted a comedy concert for Chonda Pierce with several other helpers and it sold out. I’ve hostessed some other Christian events as a runner and met some speakers I get to learn from now. I went to a Speak Up class in Mich taught by Carol Kent (by myself mind you with no security blanket come with me friends.), I joined a comedy association and actually speak with some of the comics so that I can learn, I went for and got my Precept teachers certification. I reached out to people in the faith who are farther along than I am and asked them questions – I asked for and found mentors, I’ve gathered materials, I’ve laid myself down as a student whenever possible.

Why am I sharing these things with you? Because 15 years ago I shook in church. 15 years ago, I couldn’t put two words together in front of a crowd. A lot has changed in 15 years.

God and I have come a long way from the days where I was more interested in cloning myself into those I admired, rather than being me. The old me wound up setting my dress on fire as a result. You’d think I would have learned from that, but.. it took a few more years and a few big failures, before that message really sunk in. I don’t want to be the next Kay Arthur or Ken Davis, Beth Moore, or Chonda Pierce nor do I even want to be my with me mentors like Lisa Lessing, Joy Moss, Zeal Beal and Velma Campbell – real life women who have been kind enough to teach me and share with me along the way and be my friend – I just want to learn from them. All of them.

I went three years without a teacher – or mentor of any kind. God brought me to himself, loved on me, and revealed to me his word. I was stripped of all would be idols and learned to desire him alone. Then and only then did he bring new people into my life.

I’ve been writing about some of them because these are the people I get to learn from right now. – with intention and with blessing and with humilty and thankfulness.

I want to honor God with my life like they do theirs, what ever that means. I want to be open to His call on my life – and not my limited vision as I have in the past.

I haven’t taken the time to fast and pray yet for the new year, but I will. I have no clue where he wants me – or what he wants me to do – except the next right thing directly in front of me. Somehow, I know that he will get me where he wants me to be.

I am the Lord’s servant. May it be with me, as he says.

Blessings to you my friends, both old and new. And thank you for walking this path with me. May the Lord our God bless and keep you this new year.

Ooopsies

Christmas Eve Services at our home congregation are always beautiful. Every year, we have the Children’s Program at 5 pm and the Candelight Service at 11. Our family likes to go to both.

Every year pastor has a child read the Christmas Story (Luke 2:1-20). This year little Amber was chosen. Amber has grown a lot since I directed the children’s program four years ago. Back then she stole everyone’s heart as the runaway angel. This year she is reading a mouthful of a story. Amber did a great job and only tripped up once on the names in verse one. There was a soft “oopsies” and she started again. That took courage. More than I probably have most days. I’m proud of my angel.

My diningroom traditionally becomes shipping and receiving central the week before Christmas. It’s where I work on my goodies, cards, gifts, etc. I was in a bit of a hurry this year, and rather than put stuff away to make room for Christmas dinner, I chose an old standby – throw everything into a laundry basket, place it in the hall closet and deal with it later. And yes, that’s how I tend to deal with my emotions some times as well – stuff and hide and deal with it later. But that’s another story.

Today – four days after Christmas is “later.” I thought this would be a good time to grab my basket and really put stuff away.

It’s like Christmas all over again. I found gift cards to Sonic (meant for stockings), an unwrapped present meant for my oldest (I wondered what happened to that), AND – my mother will kill me – the Christmas cards I could have sworn I mailed.

Ooopsies…

Every year we take a picture of the boys in front of the tree for the cards. Every year, I go for the “perfect” shot of all of us, or at least them. This year, these are the choices they gave me. This is what happens when you have teenagers.





I guess I can still mail them – and make them New Year’s Cards instead. Picking just the right picture – might be a challenge. What do you think?

Our Nativity


I was at the store the other day, and walked through the aisles in wonder. Our local hobby store (Hobby Lobby) is owned by a Christian family. In this store there are Christmas trees, and not holiday trees. And in this store there are rows and rows of decorations. Our old Christmas tree finally bit the dust last year and so we purchased a new one as seen in an earlier blog. Some things though, don’t have the same feel when new. Sometimes old is better. Like my Grandmother’s Nativity set. How I got blessed enough to wind up with it, I’ll never know. But I did. And I’d never replace it for anything in the world. She hand painted every piece herself. It must have taken her forever. Mom says it took a few years before the set was completed. Looking at the detail on these pieces, I am not surprised.

Our Christmas Tree

There are many stories surrounding the origin of the Christmas tree – all ranging from pagan rituals to Martin Luther. While the Romans and Greeks may have decorated with evergreens for the new year, and pagans may have used the trees for sacrifice and worship during the Winter Solstice, it is Martin Luther who is credited with bringing the first tree indoors.

“The Christmas tree comes to us from Martin Luther, who is credited with being inspired by the starry heavens one night and expressing his feelings to his family by bringing a fir tree into his home and attaching lighted candles to its branches. Fir meant fire—and fire is an ancient symbol for spirit. The tree also pointed toward the heavens. Eventually, decorative balls represented the planets, while the star that radiates from the top reminds us of Bethlehem. The entire tree with its decorations teaches us that the universe is witness to the Incarnation. In fact, the Christmas tree is just one more sign of Jesus’ birth. It is a means of retelling a miracle in a colourful and beautiful way, so that we can further understand and appreciate Jesus entering our world.”
From Charlie Cleverly, St. Aldate’s, Oxford

It’s interesting to me to find out that Christmas was once illegal in the colonies. Early Puritans considered it pagan – Christmas and Christmas trees didn’t become popular in the US until the 1800’s. The tradition was brought over by German Immigrants. Early trees were decorated with candles, fruit, flowers, and home made ornaments created to symbolize Christ.

Today’s Christmas trees are as different as the people who own them. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful trees ever in the homes of my friends. They decorate the trees themselves and they flow with symmetry and design.

We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, so my trees were always decorated with hand made ornaments, popcorn and cranberry strings, and a few glass balls. My husband grew up with a tree only decorated by his mother and it was just glass balls and lights.

We’ve combined our tastes and have a tradition of decorating the tree as a family. Does it flow? Is there symmetry? Probably not. But it IS beautiful. And the memories we have created by doing it together, are irreplaceable.

One of my many angels tucked inside the branches

Our angel on top of the tree. We used to have a star, but it broke and we couldn’t find another one that we liked.