We sat at the table, she had coffee, I had sweet tea. We were near giddy just to be with each other. Years ago when life was different, when our kids were little and we went to the same places every day, when circumstances forced us into each other’s lives, and it was not uncommon to see each other multiple times a day such a giddiness would have been absent, such an anticipated and leisurely meal likely would have been too. Back then, we would daily talk and there were times that it had been literal hours that we had seen the each other last. But as it happens with life, things change and children grow. People move. Jobs are different. “Seasons” – that tends to be how I hear it referred to, and for a season we were inseparable. This season of life though is much different.
The online dictionary defines a season in this way – season : a time characterized by a particular circumstance or feature : a suitable or natural time or occasion: an indefinite period of time : while. The King’s Word says to everything there is a season. (Ecclesiastes 3:1).
I reckon calling different times of life a “season” seems to make perfect sense. Seasons change and life changed, so we went from seeing each other every single day to seeing each other on special occasions and when we happen to be at the same place at the same time. When that happens I have been known to squeal with excitement. As we sat there soaking in our time and happenings in our families’ lives, drinking our caffeinated beverage of choice, amidst an endless supply of buffalo check and country store decor surrounding us, “Season’s Greetings” made its way into my mind (defined by the same above source as: an expression of goodwill at Christmas or the New Year) I wondered where the expression had found its origins.
Our conversation meandered, we have always had difficulty staying on task. We filled in gaps of time with parallel world events, our conversations woven around the One Whom we both love and whom this Season, the Christmas Season, is about.
As we talked I pictured in my imagination a woven tapestry, our words making a picture and the thread holding it all together is Christ, the one that binds us to the support frame of the loom, Jesus. Pull that central thread out, and the tapestry would all unravel, the loom and colorful threads that make up our lives would come crashing to the ground and be nothing more than a mound of tangled up mess. I do tend to have an overactive imagination and a wandering mind. However, the reality is, we would both tell you, that Jesus alone holds us together. As we filled in those gaps, we laughed until we cried, we cried until we laughed, she and I caught up as best we could. She has always been a lover of jewelry and she was adorned that day as per her usual. On her right arm I noted the pearl colored baubles and jewel encrusted bracelet, the simple silver bangle that my 40-year-old eyes could not decipher what the small writing said. I examined and must have had a quizzical look because she said, “Oh, this one, this was a gift from a family. It says ‘Make a difference.”
I nodded. I knew what she meant, and she went on to point to other things, to show me pictures of and tell me about the gifts she had received. In light of the Season, I thought it fitting.
Her career revolves around loss. It wasn’t her first career. She was, she is an accountant, CPA I think is what it’s called. She’s a numbers person. I am not. That career was like a springboard that catapulted her into her now second, late-in-life, go back to college career. A calling is a better description.
It boggles the mind of many, myself included, whenever she begins to talk about it I just say,
“I couldn’t do it.”
Her answer always the same, “Yes you could.”
“No Ma’am. I could not” My reply also always the same.
We have had this conversation on multiple occasions.
As the tapestry grew and our conversation continued, we talked about the gifts, how each one tells a story and ministers to her. How she looks at them and doesn’t see an object but sees people who gave them. The Givers have sealed a place for themselves in her heart. She doesn’t say it but I can read it in her eyes. She rubbed her index finger over the imprinted words “Make a Difference.” Her eyes were shiny with tears and on the verge of running down her cheeks, she looked at me and said as if speaking to the Giver rather than me. More rhetorical than not.
“You lost what you love and went through a very hard time and I get the gift. I struggle with that.”
For a moment there was a pause in our conversation. She used the scratchy paper napkin that had been rolled around her silverware, to dab her eyes.
“That’s Jesus.”
The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. I even questioned if I had said them out-loud. I saw her nodding and dabbing her eyes and realized I had actually said them out-loud. A second time, stronger and confident of my declaration.
“That is Jesus.”
He was born the humblest of births, lived a life of simplicity, loved on and cared for the ones unworthy, the ones the world did not even recognize as people and yet He willingly gave His life as a ransom. He gave it up so that we can receive the gift of salvation. The gift of Hope. The gift of Peace. The gift of God with Us.
I reminded her again that she was for many, the face of Jesus. That she was a glimpse of who He is and that He had placed her where she was for just a time as this. Our conversation meandered on and by the time the lunch crowd had come in, we determined our breakfast meeting had to adjourn.
The tapestry of our lives filled in a bit more, holding firmly to that thread of Christ. We hugged and promised it wouldn’t be so long until we saw each other again. My cheeks sore from laughter, my eyes stinging from tears, I was filled up and happy as we parted, better than I was when we had met.
I giggled as I recalled our conversation, challenged as I pondered on parts of it.
This Season, this Christmas Season, this Season of life, this Season, I will choose to acknowledge and worship the Giver. The One who gave His very life in exchange for mine and I’m likely to find myself in the very same frame of mind as my friend, humbled and moved to tears, that another would suffer loss and joyfully give me a gift.
Season’s Greetings Indeed!
Merry Christmas!
to me. Sometimes I find myself searching for them more than I do the One who gives them. In those times I have to back up and regain my perspective. I have on occasion had a sign intervention. Like the time, when I was 9 month pregnant with a baby that was the fulfillment of a promise to this once barren woman and a sign led me right into such a distracted state that I got to ride in an ambulance for the first time in my life.
In a matter of seconds I had managed to wreck my car. In a matter of moments more I found myself on the side of a road with a paramedic placing a giant IV in my bruised arm. And within an hour I was taken to the Emergency Room to check on the baby I was carrying.
senseless. I was literally begging the Father to intervene, bargaining with everything I had in me. Every Moment I that was not consumed by other things I was trying to figure a way out of the most certain detriment that was sure to befall my loved one.
In the late winter to early spring of 2015, I was having a bad day. The kind of bad day that lasts for weeks. I was walking to my assigned task for the day when I happened upon another kind of sign. Painted on the side of a wagon. I speculated on how it had come to be right in my path, right when I needed it. I had concluded, perhaps it was abandoned as a transportation device when its occupant declared “I can walk by myself” or its cumbersome nature proved too challenging to continue the journey onward. Maybe it’s squeaky wheel was too much an annoyance to overrule its functionality. Regardless of the circumstances that rendered it in my path on my way to do what I do, it’s message from My King was a welcome and encouraging reminder. He is indeed with me always…even until the end of the Age. Conclusion: I am not alone, He is with me always.
There is a Pastor I adore that has often said “God speaks to us in the Language we can hear.” I agree. God knows that if the messages I have received from the sign interventions had come in other ways, I likely would not have received them, but because I needed a sign in that moment, He gave me one. He is good like that. The reality is though, I do not have to ride around looking at the marquee for a sign, a word of encouragement or direction to take. In fact He has given me a huge 66 books contained in one big, best-selling book. The Bible, His word is full of direction, a road map of sorts. His word is a treasure trove full of reminders of what I need in the moment I need them. I just need to be looking for them.
Pauline could make the best spaghetti sauce. There was nothing like it. It has simply been known in our family as “The Sauce.” It contained potatoes and a beef roast. Meatballs that were the size of my 6 year old fist, laden with cheese and green onions, celery and bread crumbs – they were a marvelous delicacy. A perfect balance of savory and sweet, the perfect consistency, the sauce covered every spaghetti noodle with perfection.
ground, I found myself bombarded with requests to “Push me! Make me go high like a rocket ship!” One particular client kept turning back in his swing, when he would turn his body to look at me and command me to push higher, his swing would go all wibbly -wobbly and slow him down. We would have to regroup and start over. He quickly became frustrated when he would look around and realize that his cohorts were all rocket ship high and much faster than he was. I kept trying to get him to understand that looking back was what was ultimately slowing him down.
As I set the pump to go, placed the nozzle in the gas receptacle in my van and began to pump, I leaned my weary back against the van and watched the numbers steadily move upwards. It had been a long day and even just a few minutes of peace propped against my van were welcome. Immediately the solidarity of my prop began to waver. Indicative of the wiggly occupants, my van gave way to the force inside.
When I was little the “Be still” would often come when I was in church, it would be commanded as I received a hearty pinch on my shoulder from the church pew behind me. I recently learned that horses respond to pressure and release. In a sense I was the horse, Mama the horse trainer. That pressure on my shoulder was my signal to be still. To be quiet. To cease doing whatever it was I was doing. Evidently, horses are better learners than I because I still struggle with this one.
from Piggly Wiggly.”)
Recently, I asked the King for a little order, some straight horizontal and vertical lines in a world full of diagonal ones. I asked Him If He wouldn’t mind to do that for me. In my memory I was taken back to a time when He used His people and had done exactly that. It was one of many Martin moves when some Dear Ones organized my entire kitchen. I came home to cabinets lined and labeled, filled and readied. It still makes me smile when I think of it.
have deduced early on… weird was in my future. So as my tired old minivan wandered down the roads of Gardendale I shouldn’t have been surprised when the low flying bird collided with the front of my van, death instantaneous, the impact propelling the dead bird carcass onto my windshield wipers where it became lodged.
later we reached our destination, the local Chick-fil-A. Charlotte had been saving her gift card she earned early in the summer rocking babies and feeding toddlers during a babysitting gig. The time had come for her to relinquish it in exchange for a much desired spicy chicken sandwich.
I offered all I could to Mag’s, the only balm that can truly ease a broken heart, prayer. We prayed for the mama and we prayed for her kids. We prayed for the weary and the broken. We asked for forgiveness if we’d acted in such a way that doesn’t honor our King. After our prayer we carried on with our meal. The crying counterpart continued to mourn.
I felt I was armed with little in the way of resources, so I made the decision to learn and understand, to read and to inquire, arm myself with information and pray. I would, I have, I do pray. A lot. In the beginning I asked my King to take it away. Upon reflection of my past behavior, that tends to be my go to with King, just take it away and then I do not have to deal with it. Clearly, I avoid conflict. Clearly He does not seek my counsel on what I think is best for me. When He does not honor said request, I then become angry, indignant, and attempt to give the King the silent treatment. This proves to be a futile effort, rudimentary in its effectiveness. Eventually faith and trust give way. I accept the is, and I make concerted efforts such as the ones laid out above.
Shelton, randomly just told me he loved Jesus and that was that. He isn’t such a big talker about it. He rarely gets emotional. Being the overly emotional and dramatic individual that I am, this is a concept I have difficulty with. As I listened to the radio that day the host divulged a fact about himself. He reported that he too was on the autism spectrum. He then debunked the entire theory that the individual in question could not have a relationship with Jesus. I ain’t even gonna lie here, I got out of my minivan elated, an extra pep in my step. Hope again prevailed and I carried on about my day a little lighter.
time the Christmas season rolls around it inevitably proves to be more lean than its predecessor autumn.
Many years ago, before I knew what it was like to rely on God to provide, I heard this story. I listened and can still recall the details of, at the time, a very foreign concept to me. The speaker was conveying how her young daughter, had requested green grapes for her snack. The Mama knowing full well grocery and payday were a bit away, made no promises that green grapes would be in the near future. That afternoon when the Mama arrived home, someone had left a box of random grocery items for the family and there among the items was a bunch of green grapes. There are times of lean when I recollect the “Green Grape” story, and I am reminded that Jesus knows exactly what we need and delights in giving us good gifts.
starting her car, I looked at her dumbfounded. Unlike my own tired old minivan with duct tape holding the seats together, her vehicle did not require a key. In fact, there was no ignition in which to place said key to start the car. I stared at her, mulling over how exactly I was supposed to turn the key in the nonexistent ignition “Just get in, push the pedal, and push the button.”
I would venture to say that an Alabama summer isn’t as hot as Hell, although there are certainly times it feels like it might be really close. There are sometimes subtle reminders that I can take comfort in and one of those is knowing that in Christ, my salvation is secure and I can be thankful for a guaranteed eternity and a gracious King who gave Himself for me so that I can boldly take hold of His promises and know without a doubt that I am not going to Hell.
Priceless 