Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 8

CAROLS SUNG, GIFTS PRODUCED.   This is another tradition borrowed from my parents.  Simply bringing your gifts down on Christmas Eve  and plopping them under the tree didn't provide enough pomp and circumstance, so after supper, with the room lit only by the Christmas tree lights we would gather around the piano.  My mother would play Christmas hymns and carols out of a book called "The Fireside Book of Folk Songs" and while we were singing, family members would slip away one by one to get their presents and put them under the tree. I still remember the delight of hearing people stuffing their gifts under the tree and then getting the gentle prodding that meant it was my turn to do likewise. It doesn't get much better than that, folks!  


After I got married and we started having children, I discovered that my husband didn't have a lot of Christmas traditions to bring to the table, so we've been pretty much feasting on all of mine and this is one of my favorites. Now I'm the one playing the Christmas carols and hymns out of the same book and although I'm not the musician my mother was, everyone sings so loudly that the pleasant din nicely covers up my many mistakes.

When the gifts are all brought down, we allow a little subtle peeking, but no handling of gifts!  The lights stay off and the mystery remains.  We don't open any gifts until Christmas morning.  One year when our first-born was still pretty young, but old enough to get excited about gifts, we decided that it wouldn't really do any harm to let him open just one gift on Christmas Eve - just enough to keep him satisfied until the rest were opened the next day.  What we discovered instead was that this one gift awakened a ferocious appetite for more and was somewhat akin to opening Pandora's box.  Oops.  Well, we were young and inexperienced.  That was the only time we tried that little experiment.  

 

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 7

THE EMPTY TREE.   As far as I know, this tradition is somewhat unique to our family.  When I was growing up, we never put any presents under the tree until Christmas Eve. This lent even more mystery and anticipation to our Christmas celebration.  Gifts were purchased, wrapped and then hidden within our rooms until the moment arrived for revealing that which had been concealed.  I never knew until we had 6 children of our own that there was a very practical reason for this tradition - it removed a lot of stress not having to worry about all those curious hands getting into the packages all season long.

So when we get our tree, we wrap lights around it and we put ornaments all over it, but we put nothing underneath it except the Christmas tree skirt.  We are waiting, hoping, anticipating and dreaming, just as the Jews of long ago did when the promises of a Messiah were yet unfulfilled.  We are confident and expectant, full of faith that what has been hidden will be revealed.  

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 6

FUNKY CHOIR BOYS.  This is a relatively recent tradition, actually.  We inherited 4 choir boys from my husband's parents when they moved.  Naturally, I found them charming and started putting them up in our windowsills when I did the rest of the Christmas decorating.   I had them facing inward, but mysteriously, I kept finding them turned around.  The story came out: others found them creepy and when I wasn't in the room, someone would turn them to face outward so we didn't have to look at their faces.   I mean, really!  Look at these cherubic faces and ask yourself how anyone could find them creepy.  A tradition was born.

I continue to put these out on our windowsills every year when I do our Christmas decorating.  For the rest of the season, silent and anonymous stalkers turn them around when I'm out of the room. And when they're not around, I turn them back again.  The key thing is not to get caught in the act.  No one really talks about it either - it's an unspoken vigilance.

Long may they sing.

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 5

PAPER CHAINS.  I'm not sure what you call these:  Advent rings?  Count-down paper chains?   Whatever they are, we have been making these paper chains as a way of counting down to Christmas for many, many years.   Ideally, the rings have been made in a timely manner so that each person can start tearing one off every day starting on December 1.  We always used red and green paper, but a few years ago, someone had the brilliant idea of using white paper for Sundays and special paper for Christmas Day.  Back in the day, we had six chains going, but somehow the enthusiasm for this quaint tradition seems to ebb as the children get older and the number of chains keeps diminishing.  

True story:  one year when I was a 9 or 10 years old, I was so deflated on the day after Christmas (all that waiting and then Christmas goes by so fast!) that I decided to make a paper chain of 365 rings to start counting down to Christmas again.  I still remember that absurdly long chain hanging in great loops in my closet, so symbolic of my longing for Christmas.  As the year went by, I kept forgetting to tear rings off and then I'd have to go and figure out how many I was behind and do a bunch at once.  I think the shine wore off that experience very quickly and I did not repeat it.

This year, for the first time, we all forgot about the paper chains until mid-December.  I fear an era has passed and will not be renewed until there are little ones in the family again.

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 4

ADVENT CANDLES.  About the time our oldest child was around 6 years old, we were introduced to the celebration of Advent Sundays using a special circular candle holder with places for four candles, one for each of the four Sundays in Advent.  We decided that the space in the middle should be for a larger candle that we could light on Christmas Eve.  Neither of us had observed this particular tradition in our growing up years, so we had to sort of fudge our way through it for the first few years.  I bought the Advent items at the local Christian book store and it seems to me it probably came with four purple candles.  We improvised on the middle candle and used the unity candle from our wedding.  Why not?  And so it began.

We started out using an Advent devotional put out by Focus on the Family with readings by R.C. Sproul, Charles Swindoll and others, Scripture readings, and Christmas carols to sing.  Years later, we came across an interesting and unique Advent family liturgy which was rich in symbolism, and heavy on the singing of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel."   It started on December 16th and was completed on December 25th.  Each day we would dip our fingers in vinegar and sand and touch our tongues with the combination.  The vinegar and sand were to symbolize the desert bitterness, the years of Israel's wanderings and longing for a Messiah.  The constant refrain was "God was good to us, yet we rebelled.  How can we find forgiveness?"  At each place there were empty wine glasses, waiting to be filled on Christmas Day.  There were tiny chocolates to be eaten after each day's liturgy was done, a foretaste of more serious chocolate feasting on Christmas Day.  All in all, it was very memorable, but we found we didn't want to do it every year.

Our current practice is to light the candle(s), do the appropriate Advent readings from a lectionary, sing a couple Christmas hymns/carols and then drink eggnog.  I can't really give any significance to the eggnog - we just threw it in the mix because we all like it.   This year, I transgressed the sacred tradition and bought a different holiday drink one week instead of eggnog - it was some sort of Irish Cream stuff, which was so horrible that most of us couldn't drink it.  I have repented.  It shall not happen again.

We will continue to light the candles and wait for Christ.  He has come.  He is coming again!

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 3

YE OLDE ADVENT CALENDAR.  Back in the mid-1950's, a friend of my parents gave them an Advent calendar. Although we may have used it occasionally when we were small, I don't remember it being a staple of my growing up years.  Lo and behold, I grew up, got married, we started our family, and the calendar was offered to us.  Is it possible that no one else wanted it?  Whatever the reason, this little handmade, unique treasure is now ours and we have used it every year since we received it.  The calendar is made of green felt, with a large white felt Christmas tree sewn onto the middle.  There are 13 pockets on the top and bottom of the calendar, each pocket having an ornament to pin onto the tree, and each pocket containing a poem or saying that goes with the ornament.  It's truly charming!  I'll admit that the poems and sayings are often schmaltzy and sentimental, but they were hand-typed onto the papers, typos and all, and we have grown to appreciate them.  By now the papers are starting to tear at the fold marks and I wonder if they'll last another generation.

When our children were young, I had to develop a schedule for putting the ornaments on to avoid arguments.  EVERYONE wanted to put the star on the tree top!   If it wasn't your year to put the star on top, you could hope for getting the ornament on Christmas Day, which is a tiny little manger scene.  The piece of paper in that pocket says simply:  "For Christmas story, read Luke 2."   Over the years, some of the ornaments have deteriorated and/or broken and have had to be replaced.  I think we are on our third snowflake now.  One year the candle poem disappeared and I had to find a new one (suitably schmaltzy and sentimental) to replace it.  The Santa ornament contains a fairly longish story about the history of Saint Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra, on whom the myth of Santa Claus is based.  And make no mistake, though some of the poems and sayings give a nod to good old Santa, the thread of truth remains woven through the rest:  we are looking toward and celebrating the birth of Christ.

I still put the calendar up every year, although the schedule is no longer needed and I often end up placing the ornaments on the tree myself.  Sometimes the poems and stories in the pockets don't get read.  But we keep the tradition and day by day, the tree gets filled, anticipation builds and the Advent of Christ is observed.  May it ever be so.

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 2

THE REAL THING.  It's gotta be a real tree and that's final.  Tradition dictates that we go out the Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving and cut one down ourselves, but I will admit (shhh...don't tell our kids) that years ago our standards weren't nearly so finicky and we were just as happy to get one off a tree lot that had already received the short, sharp shock at the hands of someone else.  This year Thanksgiving came so early that we found we just weren't in the mood (most of us anyway), so we waited a week.  See?  We're not completely inflexible!  Since we moved to our current location, we go to a place called "Twiehof's" and it gives me immense pleasure to be able to say that we get our Christmas Twee at Twiehof's.

 Lately we've been getting Scotch pines, but over the years we've sampled all kinds of evergreens, once even shelling out the big bucks for a Fraser Fir, the Cadillac of fir trees.  The Scotch pine is pleasingly soft, although its long needles sometimes make it harder to hang ornaments.  The aroma of a freshly cut evergreen fills the room such that you find yourself taking deeper breaths just to fully imbibe it.

 I've read that the tradition of a Christmas tree comes down to us from Germany, some sort of pagan winter solstice thing.  We are reclaiming it for Christ.  When we sit in a darkened room lit only by the lights of our tree, it is a reminder that Christ brought His light into the darkness.  We are reclaiming it for Christ, who gave His life to bring us that light, just as the tree gives its life.  We are reclaiming it for Christ, who gives us life everlasting, who makes us "evergreen."

Twelve Traditions of Christmas - Part 1

Blog? What blog?  So much for my goal of blogging at least twice a month (which sounded sort of minimal as it was).   I could make all sorts of excuses, but nobody wants to hear those.  I'm experiencing a "move on" moment in the form of an idea I had about writing about some of our Christmas traditions.   Don't expect to hear the kinds of things that will make you want to take notes - it's all very simple, really.  Some of our traditions have come from my growing up years, others are things that have evolved while our own children have been growing up.  That's all the introduction I've got, so here goes Number 1 (not in any order of importance, mind you, but somewhat in chronological order).

CHRISTMAS MUSIC BANS AND BLESSINGS.  No Christmas Music until After Thanksgiving!   I mean it!   I happen to love Christmas music of almost all kinds (exceptions will be noted below). However, I like the anticipation of waiting to hear it and then the closure of putting those things away until the next year after the season is over.  We have a maverick in our household who occasionally likes to get everyone riled up by playing Christmas music at unapproved times, but for the most part, we have a united front on this one.

Full disclosure:  I'm not as fond of some of the secular Christmas songs.  "Jingle bells," "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," "Frosty the Snowman," "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"...they all leave me kind of cold.  "I'll Be Home For Christmas" always reminds me of the first year we didn't go home for Christmas after we moved to Indiana, so I've got a big soft spot in my heart for that one.  My real favorites are the ones I grew up with, the ones that tell the story of Jesus: "O Little Town of Bethlehem," "O Come All Ye Faithful," "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," Joy to the World" and so forth.  Think about it, it's the one time of year when everywhere you go (literally!) you are surrounded by the gospel, saturated with it.

Having said all that, I don't think I'd be terribly unhappy if "The Little Drummer Boy" got dropped off everyone's playlist.  Pa rum pa pum pum!

Ephemeral

Anemone

When my brother-in-law took me on a photography expedition to shoot certain spring wildflowers, he referred to them as "ephemerals," plants that live only for a short time and then are gone.

Dutchman's Breeches

I know a woman who is 100 years old, but when she dies, her life will have seemed ephemeral in light of eternity. The ancient psalmist David said "Surely every man at his best state is but vapor." A breath, a mist, a thing that vanishes.

Bloodroot

When I am in emotional or physical pain, the minutes seem at war with each other, each one unwilling to give way to the next. And yet that is truly ephemeral. It will not last. There may be a season of pain, but "After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who brought you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you."  All trials are ultimately a vanishing mist. They cannot obscure God's grace.  Indeed, they are sometimes proof of it.

Wild Violet

Oh, but the best thing is that each spring, the ephemerals return. Though they were buried and gone, in due time they lift up their heads and blow a silent trumpet proclaiming the hope of resurrection, for those who have ears to hear. The ephemeral will become eternal.

For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
1 Corinthians 15: 52

Friends are Friends Forever

When I was in elementary school, we were taught a little ditty:

Make new friends

And keep the old

One is silver and the other, gold.

Ain't it the truth?  When we left Indiana after having lived there for 10 years, it broke my heart to say goodbye to all my good friends.  Their parting gift to me was a quilt made up of little squares that each friend had made.  On the back of the quilt they had written some sweet and encouraging words.  

We drove 13 hours straight back to the land of our birth, a place stuffed with lakes and snow, mosquitoes and humidity (and yes, I love it all).  I put that quilt up in our new house and let it comfort me when I felt lonely for friends.  It's rather disconcerting to realize that you could go anywhere in town and not one soul would recognize you, call out your name, give you a hug, stop to laugh and chat with you...  But I've always told my children "today's strangers are tomorrow's friends," and lo it came to pass.  So when we ended up moving again after 6 years, it seemed unbearable that I had to leave another set of dear, true friends. No sooner do I get sewn up with friends in a new quilt, than the seams get ripped and my square tumbles off.  Sometimes I'm still a part of the quilt and someone else tears the seams of their square. Goodbye! It seems impossible to stop this painful parting in life.  People move, people stay when you leave, children grow up and relocate, friendships drift apart, and in the ultimate parting, people die.

But not all partings are forever, for in the glorious resurrection, friends in Christ will have a grand family reunion.  Somebody will be handing out matching "Jesus is Lord" t-shirts, the feast will be laid out on the banqueting table, all petty squabbles will have melted away, the quilt will be complete, and this lovely meet-and-greet will go on for eternity.  Friends, I want you all to be there.  I pray that you will be there.  If you're not part of the resurrection life, what's holding you back?

 I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.

Ephesians 1:18-19 

Color Culture

Fairly soon after we moved here, I planted lots of tulips and daffodils out on the berm.  Although the berm often looks more like a weed garden than anything else, the tulips show up every spring, plugging away with steadfastness of spirit and a splash of color, undeterred by their ugly neighbors.   (I feel a blog post about weeds coming up.)   Incredibly, this is the first year that I cut some and brought them in to add color culture to our kitchen.  After putting them into the vase, I could hardly take my eyes off of them, which naturally  led to lots of photos, trying to capture in permanence what I see only temporarily.   I don't know about you, but beauty just makes me ache sometimes.  It's a good sort of aching, but an aching nevertheless.   This isn't a world that just came along by accident and stumbled into beauty.   I used to think that -- bought the whole evolution package and never thought to question it.  I mean, they taught it in the schools, it must be true, right?  I took a human physiology class in college and the doubts started creeping in...how it is possible that the evolutionary process made all of these complex systems that work together so harmoniously?  Think about it.

Meanwhile, back at the tulip vase I decided to try an experiment with black cloth which I had learned about in the first photography books that I bought, a trilogy by Scott Kelby (The Digital Photography Books 1, 2 and 3).  First of all, if you enjoy photography and haven't read Kelby's books, I recommend them, especially if you like to laugh.  I'm sorry I don't have a hyperlink to Scott's website here, but I'd have to ask my daughter (again) how to do it and it's too humiliating.  Anyway, Kelby recommended black velour cloth as a background, but I ended up having to get black felt.  Don't tell me if it's obvious that it's only cheap felt in the background - I'm pretty sure I won't believe you.  I actually used two tricks of Scott's on this one: the black cloth and the spray bottle to create a dewy look.  I tell you that in the interest of full disclosure and with the hopes that you are not saddened by having to discard your illusions that I cut these in the early morning dew.




I call this one Contemplation of Setting Sun Shining and Sparkling on the Translucent Petals of Apricot-Colored Tulips and their Leaves.  Just kidding.

O LORD, how manifold are your works! 

in wisdom have you made them all: 

the earth is full of your riches.

Psalm 104:24

Wishful Dreaming

Dreams were a frequent mode of divine messages in the Bible, which has always fascinated me, particularly because most of my dreams have a sort of "Dr. Seuss meets Salvador Dali" quality to them.  Here's a sample:  a friend was in trouble; suddenly he became a raw hamburger patty and I carried him around in my apron pocket to keep him safe.  Somehow I doubt that there's any sort of grand spiritual message in there.   When I was very young, I used to try to program my dreams.  In an avant garde pseudo-science kind of way, I thought perhaps that if I thought REALLY HARD about circuses (for example) before going to sleep, this would naturally produce dreams about circuses.  It never worked.

Two nights ago, my sister appeared in a dream.  After she died in 1987, dream appearances were common, but they come much less frequently now.  Less than a year after she died, I saw her (as it were) walking across the green grass on the corner of our church property.  She was radiant with health and possessed an other-worldly loveliness.  I ran to her and hugged her - so happy!  She remained in my arms for only a moment and then backed away.  "Can't you stay?"  I pleaded.  She shook her head, smiled, and left.   Two nights ago, I saw her again.  She looked just like I remember her, permanently frozen at 33 years of age (and yet always older than me, though I am now 53).   Again, I hugged her.  I kissed her cheek and said, "I love you."  And then she was gone.  I do miss her...

God is done with special revelation - it's all in His Book -  so I'm not going to wake up some day and say, "The Lord told me to put a raw hamburger patty in my apron pocket!"   However, God is sovereign over all things and this must include our dreams, as random as they sometime seem.  It makes sense to me that He can use our dreams to illumine things for us, using heavenly wisdom to weave something meaningful into the strange flotsam and jetsam of our subconscious.   So I don't immediately discard my dreams as mental rubbish, but neither do I count them as a promise of some sort of future reality.  Like everything else they must be examined in the light of Scripture.   God holds all the deep and secret things in His hand.

"He reveals deep and secret things; 

He knows what is in the darkness, and light dwells with Him.

Daniel 2:22

Conversion

I came to it late in life - so many years wasted!  And I was amazed that something so wonderful could have been completely distasteful to me before.  I am, of course, speaking of my conversion to asparagus, which happened in my 50th year.  It actually began some years earlier when my oldest son (then 11 or 12) asked for asparagus to be part of his birthday meal.   I tried in vain to talk him out of it.  "Pete, it's HORRIBLE stuff!  It always made me gag when I was growing up.  Seriously, you'll hate it and you definitely don't want to have it with your birthday meal."   I really thought I was doing him a favor, and would have done a similar kindness if he'd asked for (shudder) lima beans.  However, the laddie insisted and I, having always granted the birthday meal requests, gave in with a sort of "you'll be sorry" kind of sigh.  I bought fresh asparagus, steamed it, buttered and salted it and, just to show my exalted state of maturity, tried it too.  Hmm...not bad.  In fact, it wasn't nearly as disgusting as I remembered.  I assumed it was a fluke and let it go for 8 or so  more years, at which point the lingering memory prompted me to agree to grow it in our back yard.  After tasting the first harvest, the conversion was complete.  Now I await the first appearance of asparagus spears each spring with joyful anticipation and haven't been disappointed yet.  I'm always ready to extol its goodness (try it!  what have you got to lose?).

And so it is with Jesus.  I came to Him late, as well - in my 25th year.   Throughout most of my growing years I found Jesus distasteful.  I didn't even want to say His name.  The concept of sin was unpalatable.  Don't make me eat that stuff!  Then one day, like a fresh breeze blowing, the thought occurred to me "What if it's all true?  What if there is a God who made the world, who made me?  What if Jesus really was who He said He was?"  If you knew the state of my heart, you'd know without a doubt that a breeze of that nature did not originate from within - it was Holy Spirit driven, all the way.  Still, I tarried and fussed over all sorts of objections - things that seem silly in retrospect.   And what's all this about sin?  Really?  Not me - I certainly was a very nice, kind and altogether good sort of person.  I'm not saying I lived in a continual state of happiness and peace, but I just didn't think the charges fit.  I blush to think about that first prayer in which I challenged God: "Okay, if I've sinned, you'll have to show it to me - I just don't see it."

I'm not sure I've ever since had a prayer that was so swiftly and penetratingly answered.

Over the next 24 hours I saw it all, the soul full of deceit, selfishness and pride, packed in a general mud sauce.  Yuck.  That fresh breeze blew up into a massive humbling whirlwind.   But after all my tarrying, there was grace, mercy and forgiveness, and when I said yes to Jesus, an unquenchable joy.  He has never disappointed me and I will forever extol His goodness.

O taste and see that the Lord is good

Psalm 34:8

Welcome (But Don't Look at the Dirt)

I don't know about you, but this photo says to me, "Welcome!"  His arms are outstretched and his face (such as it is) is bent toward you with anticipation.  I made the mistake of looking at this photo in a much larger format and guess what I saw instead of the welcome?  The dirt on the window.  Yup, I just ruined it for you, too.

Have you ever welcomed an unexpected guest in your home with an immediate apology for the mess?    It's an absurd impulse at best, for it communicates a whole host of things that you may not have intended.  For one thing, it's hard to think of a better way to shine a neon light on the state of your house.  "Look here!  My mess!  No, don't look at it!"   It also communicates to your guest that perhaps an unexpected visit is an unwanted visit.   Rather than feeling truly welcomed, your guest now must spend time reassuring you.  Guess where the focus is now?  You and your dirt.  You and your mess.  You and your obsessive desire to make sure that no one ever sees the mess in your life, or at least that they see the current mess as an aberration of sorts.  You.  Okay, I'm being somewhat hard on "you," since it's really me that I'm talking about.  

So what that the laundry baskets are on the living room floor, surrounded by folded clothes?  So what that there are books and magazines strewn about?  So what that you didn't clean the dishes and wash the counter right away after lunch?  Is there dust on the furniture?  Are shoes cluttering the entryway?  Big deal!  I'm not against cleanliness; in fact, I love a clean house.  But even more, I love a welcoming, hospitable house.  Those who visit are not coming by with a white glove to inspect the house (and if they are, they probably won't be back).   Hospitality, true hospitality, seeks to encourage, edify, nourish and welcome those who visit.   Don't shift the focus to the dirt on the window.  

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, 

for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.

Hebrews 13:2 

Thirsty

Behold, my rosemary plant.

I brought it in last fall, knowing a Minnesota winter would kill it, but alas, it did not fare much better under my regime of general neglect punctuated with panic-stricken waterings now and again.  My indoor plants are definitely "out of sight, out of mind."  The divide between green thumb and black thumb is at the water faucet in our house.   How hard is it, really, to water a plant faithfully when it needs it?   I have never forgotten to feed and water myself or my family, but these green living things don't make enough of a fuss.  If only I could hear their little green voices crying out thinly, "we're thirstyyyyyyyyy."  But no, they just quietly suffer, droop, dry out and (sometimes) die.  Oh the guilt!

One of the first Bible verses I memorized was from Psalm 63:1:

Oh God,

Thou art my God

I shall seek You earnestly

My soul thirsts for you,

My flesh yearns for you

In a dry and weary land

Where there is no water.

This is the country in which my plants live much of the time:  A Dry and Weary Land Where There Is No Water.  I have lived in this same land, on and off.  I have known the soul thirstiness of the psalmist, and unlike my little green friends, I do not tend to suffer in silence.  How grateful I am that my God is not a fickle or forgetful gardener (like me) but knows just when and how much life-giving water to give me.  Are you thirsty?

 Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life. Revelation 22:17

Whirl

This photo was taken after the Focusing Eureka Moment, but before the ISO Eureka Moment (see previous post).   I had discovered that my camera has two focus modes, one being focus priority and the other being capture priority.  I think for the entire 3 years I've had the camera, it's been on focus priority, the result being that if the camera was experiencing focus confusion, it would resolutely refuse to snap the photo.  I really think the camera was just as frustrated as I was: I would tell it to capture, and it would try in vain to tell me that it just couldn't do it (turns out that's what the blinking green hexagon meant).   We'd be at a stalemate and just call the whole thing off.  Ignorance was definitely not bliss!

I took about 10 whirling dress photos and this one is my favorite.  It says everything I wanted to say, i.e. the skirt portion has just the right amount of lift, the hair is delightfully akimbo and it looks as though some funky Spanish dance music might just be playing in the background - can't you almost hear the castanets?   In the debit column, the ISO level is a mite too high (remember, this was before the ISOEM) and in retrospect it looks as though I ought to have bounced the flash off the ceiling instead of the white shower curtain behind me (check out the shadow!).   Baby steps, baby steps.  I'll take any progress I can get.

This is the first dress my daughter made for herself and without bias I can say it's a stunner.  I remember the first sewing project I did in 7th grade.  It was a simple skirt: 2 seams, an elastic waistband and a hem.  I hated it intensely, both the sewing and the final product.  At the time I made lots of mental notes, most of which consisted of various ways of expressing that I would nevermore do any garment sewing.  Here I stand!  When Ruth turned 7, it became apparent that I either had to start sewing or resign myself to buying dresses for her that looked vaguely like she'd be in training for a lifetime of overexposure.  Never say never, people.  God picked me up, gave me a whirl and set me down in a new place and suddenly JoAnn Fabrics was my new best friend. He's always teaching me a new song - hallelujah!  And now I happily pass the torch on to my lovely and talented daughter - may she ever be willing to let the Lord whirl her around and teach her a new song.

He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God; 

Many will see and fear and will trust in the LORD.

Psalm 40:3

Before and After

I finally had a breakthrough in understanding why my camera was using 1600 ISO every time my back was turned.  It was an unbelievably simple correction to make and while I appreciated the "eureka" moment, it does tend to make me wonder if technology and I can ever really be friends.  Here are the before and after photos.  Of course it would have been nice if they had been of the same subject, but cats are funny that way - if they don't feel like sticking around for another pose, they don't (particularly when the two photos are taken 20 minutes apart while the photographer reads a camera book and mutters constantly while trying to figure things out).   You have to see the larger versions of these photos to appreciate the change in sharpness.  

BEFORE - Luna

AFTER - towels

Sometimes all of life feels like a "before and after" story.  Before and after I met the Lord.  Before and after I got married.  Before and after I had children.  Before and after my convictions on things changed.  The Before side of the story is always dark and smudgy, sometimes only in retrospect.  I remember what Pete told me about trying to learn Advanced Physics: "It's like trying to see through a windshield covered in mud - the windshield wipers just move the stuff around and you never get a clear view through the glass."   I didn't know that I was looking through mud before I met Jesus.  I didn't know how my life would change as a result of meeting that young man in the Public Speaking class.   Mud obscured my understanding of being a mother until I held that first baby in my arms.  I still remember the day my convictions about abortion changed; there was a great deal of mud to be removed and it all got swept away in one incredible moment when I saw photos of aborted babies.  The Holy Spirit gave me a clean windshield that day.  Sometimes clarity of vision hurts.

For now we see through a glass, darkly...true that.

Hoarfrost

It's getting perilously close to the end of the month and since I haven't taken many photos yet in 2012, I dug up a few from 2010 to post here.   I believe in honesty in the media, so I have to disclose this kind of information.

HOARFROST

Delicate snow lace

Fragile and fleeting sculpture

Like icy breath mist

Fashioned in heaven

True ephemeral glory

It's untouchable

On the technical side, all three of these could have benefited from a better background, one that would serve as a contrast to the frost.  I'll keep that in mind for next time.   

Psalm 147: 16-17 (KJV)

He giveth snow like wool: 

he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.

 He casteth forth his ice like morsels: 

who can stand before his cold?

Happy

I haven't taken many photos yet in 2012, in spite of some thought ripples that gave rise to vague ideas that I should take some photos every day.   I'm a victim of my own expectations.   I don't think I'm alone in this (you know who you are). So rather than wallow in the muddy murkiness of unexpressed goals, let me just say right here and now: I will not be taking pictures every day in 2012.  Not even close!  And my photos will often disappoint me by not living up to what my mind's eye had conjured up before I picked up the camera.   There's something perverse about having to lay groundwork like that in order to be happy, but there you have it.

However, I do like goals.  I like News Year's Resolutions, too (shhh...don't spread that around.  New Year's Resolutions have fallen out of favor).   But how about goals that are in some way attainable, goals that challenge, but don't intimidate, goals that inspire, but aren't so lofty that after one day of non-compliance one must crumble in despair?  (I really wrestled with whether or not to end that complicated sentence with a question mark but in the end determined that I had set myself up and must square my shoulders and let it stand.)

With that in mind, I do solemnly set forth the following goals for 2012:
1.  I will learn how to use my electronic flash attachment, even in low light conditions.
2.  I will learn how to photograph silhouettes.
3.  I will make a cheat sheet for my camera (something I've been intending to do for about 2 years now).
4.  I will continue to post in this blog 2 times a month.  Or more, depending on...well, just depending.  Don't count on the extra blog(s).  This means I should probably be using my camera at least twice a month.  I hope that's not too lofty.

Here's a couple photos I took before removing all the vestiges of Christmas from our house.  There's nothing really special about them, but they make me happy.  If I could have some music playing that you and I could listen to while reading this, it would be "Peponi" by the Piano Guys.  Because that makes me happy, too.

Here's the final word on happy:

Happy is he who has the God of Jacob for his help,
         Whose hope is in the LORD his God...  Psalm 146:5

God is my help and my hope; what more could I ask?