A Memory of Christmas Past

We all have Christmases that we remember as special or unusual. The first memorable Christmas in my memory bank was about age nine. I’m not sure why the family finances were leaner that year. It could have been because we had moved to a farm that we would eventually own—214 acres plentifully covered with cedar trees.

Maybe we should have sold Christmas trees that first year, but I just remember Mom telling us not to expect too much for Christmas. I have no clue what my little brother asked for, but I really wanted a pair of bobby sox with some sort of pebbly cuff as I recall.

Christmas morning came and I got my special pair of bobby sox. We had plenty of Christmas goodies as Mom was a good cook and baker. And I think that was the year my Great-aunt Anna gave me the dollhouse. These days I think the Antiques Road Show folks would call that dollhouse folk art.  It was (is) a 2-story house complete with curtains, furniture, and a family of four, thanks to my grandparents. My aunt had asked a neighboring farmer to construct the house for her and she painted it and made the curtains, painted the interior walls as well as the floors.

 

 My brother and I got many hours of pleasure from the little house as did a myriad of children who visited my parents’ home long after I had grown up and moved away. The dollhouse moved west to my home when Mom sold the house and farm after Dad died.

For a time it perched above our fireplace but I decided it needed to be more accessible to little hands with imaginations. It was moved to our piano bench one Thanksgiving and amused two little 1^st graders for several hours. It’s residing in our guest bedroom right now so that it can be easily transported. Any time a little one comes to visit, the dollhouse comes out and a child’s imagination takes over. The furniture has suffered over the years as have the doll family, but isn’t that actually a picture of life?

Thanks, Aunt Anna. Your gift one Christmas Day has kept giving for many, many years.

Tradition—Not

 Christmas carols, Christmas cards, Christmas gifts, Christmas cards, Christmas trees, Christmas cards…

Many years ago I discovered my stress level increased incrementally a day or so after Thanksgiving and didn’t subside until our Christmas cards were all signed, addressed, stamped AND included a personal note.

I know, I brought it all on myself. But having attended 3 colleges, taught school in two widely separated states, married and moved half a continent away from my family, I wanted to stay in contact with the many friends who had marched across my life in a meaningful manner.

That particular Christmas I realized my Christmas Spirit had fled and something really nasty had replaced it. That was when I gratefully latched on to a friend’s chance (??) remark. Why not send my annual letters in Easter cards? I decided that would be my last frantic Yuletide as far as Christmas cards were concerned. The next Easter I sent cards to all those on my list with a short note about my future plans concerning Christmas cards.

The next Christmas the freedom was amazing. I must admit I felt just a bit guilty as the Christmas cards came to us. But when I realized the “Christmas Grinch” had disappeared from our household, the guilty feelings vanished.

The following Easter was a unique experience because there was ample time to review the past year for the benefit of far-away friends. Succeeding Easters have evolved into special times of reminiscence as I re-read their Christmas letters and notes from the past year. It seems doubly appropriate to renew old ties as the Earth witnesses the rebirth of Nature’s life cycle and Christendom celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the new life He offers.

Through the years I have seen annual letters arrive as Valentines, New Year’s letters, 4^th of July letters and Thanksgiving letters, but I don’t remember any Easter annual letters (although we have received Easter cards in return—remember that guilt reflex I mentioned earlier).

Maybe the idea has never caught on because Easter cards don’t go on sale!

Macrocosm and Microcosm

I first became acquainted with these two words in college--but not in a classroom. One day as I entered the Baptist Student Center on campus, an extremely large oil painting was hanging in the front room. It was covered in globby paint for the most part (so now you know I am an artistic illiterate), but stuck down toward one corner was a single rhinestone. The painting was titled Macrocosm and Microcosm. I doubt that the painting won any awards but it was an excellent visual explanation of the two words.

This past Sunday morning our pastor was speaking on the subject of doubt, with the principal scripture basis of Psalm 77 in which Asaph, King David’s main Worship Leader, was expressing his doubts and discouragement to God.

Isaiah 40:25-26 talks about God creating the stars in the heavens, even calling them by name. We know that our sun, an extremely important star in our universe, is 150 million kilometers from earth. If it were just a few thousand km further away, the earth would be ice-covered. If the sun was a few thousand km closer to earth, everything living would fry. It is not an accident nor is it a coincidence that the sun is exactly where it is. Our Creator God set it there, for our good.

Pastor went on to speak of Betelgeuse, the red star that is 600 light years away from earth, yet we can see it as a pin point of light. If it were put in the middle of our solar system, it would extend out to Jupiter’s orbit. It was placed there by our Creator God.

Then there is this galaxy which is 170,000 light years away from earth, which is about twice the size of our Milky Way and contains one trillion stars, 100 billion of which may be the size of our sun. And all of this unfathomable universe was placed there by our Creator God.  

These astronomical facts illustrated a spiritual macrocosm and microcosm to me as I listened to the sermon. Emotions of wonder and humility hit me as I realized the ramifications of what I was hearing.

The Creator of our sun, of the red start Betelgeuse, and the Spiral Galaxy is also the Creator that we can talk to and call Abba or Daddy. He is the Father Jesus spoke of in Matthew 10:30 who knows the number of hairs on our heads (or what used to be there) and He even knows when a sparrow falls.  

How difficult to wrap our minds around a Creator like that. And then to top it all off, He sent Jesus to planet earth because He loved us so much that He wanted us to be with Him forever (John 3:16). I’m so grateful I’m a microcosm in His macrocosm.

A Boy and His Horse

I actually figured out a way to link this story to Thanksgiving even though the event happened two weeks ago. We got to know Brent's family, even before we knew Brent. There's a good explanation for that statement because I drove Brent's mother to the hospital to deliver him on an icy January night in Wyoming. (His father was on a job out of state at the time.)

Our older son, Jeff, was a baby sitter for the family and as you can see by the picture , Brent learned early that he really liked to ride a horse. 


The years passed and Brent's family moved to Las Vegas, NV and we moved to Elko. Our families stayed in contact and when our younger son, Brian, became a photographer, he took some pictures of Brent and his horse.  Yes, by that time Brent had a real live horse and he made a pretty cute cowboy.

The time came when Brent discovered he liked a certain young lady even better than his horse. Of course, it helped that she liked horses too. These two horse lovers who also happened to love each other got married a couple weeks ago and we were invited to the wedding (so was Brian, the photographer:)

The ceremony was lovely even though these two horse lovers didn't get married ON their horses.

And that brings me full circle to one item of thanks for this Thanksgiving. It is so wonderful when friendships can continue despite the separation of years, of miles, and by life circumstances. Such a friendship is truly something for which to give thanks.

Tucson Travelers

We are back home after traveling to warmer places. The Family Reunion was a delight particularly because “the family” got acquainted with the newest member of the group, Ryder. His Grandma Jo had met him previously, but it was a first for the rest of us. He managed to charm everyone he looked at and he stayed awake long enough for us to really enjoy him. 

Many thanks to Todd and Laura for taking the time and trouble to travel 1500 miles with all the baby paraphernalia. They could have just said, “Oh, we can’t do that,” but we all so appreciate the effort it took to bring Ryder to Tucson.

Our reason for making Tucson our reunion headquarters is Aunt Dorothy—the only remaining aunt to the Diehl clan. We consider her a precious commodity and since her health keeps her from traveling to see us these days, we go see her (and her family).       

Those of you who have read my blog from last year’s reunion may remember the house located at the end of The Road to Hell. This year’s house came the closest to exactly what our group needs as we have experienced in the four years we have travelled to Tucson.

For starters it is only a mile from Aunt Dorothy’s place. It has enough sleeping space and adequate bathrooms (barely). The kitchen area fits the needs for the cooks and bakers in the family and there is plenty of room to sit and visit, play cards, and eat   

 

There’s even a swimming pool—this time of year complete with plenty of COOL water. The water temperature did get to 72 a couple of afternoons. If you haven’t tried that temperature, it’s pretty darn chilly, but once you take the heart-stopping plunge of total immersion, it’s not too bad.     

Nearly forgot another new “member” of the family—Wendy’s little dog, Bailey. The dogs  being part of the family, couldn’t be left at home. Dorothy and J’s dog, Duke came along for every visit and was quite gentlemanly to the smaller crowd (all the other dogs are lap dog size.

Now for a note of “senior humor”. I intended to bring a pair of black heels to wear on Sunday morning to church. I went to put them on—omigosh—two right shoes, one low-heeled. I knew I was somewhat blind, but what a jolt! (Or maybe that should read joke?)

Then there was Dean. He was driving from one location to another in Tucson and wondering about logistics for something. He called the other family car, ringing his sister Jo.  The only problem was, she was sitting right behind him—in OUR car. That’s a phone call that will be remembered for a long time!

We are fortunate in the fact that we all enjoy getting together—of course, politics stayed off-limits. So another time of pleasant memories was made. The warm weather added to our enjoyment as all but one of us returned to much chillier climates. Tucson in 2013!!!

School Days

A few of you have attended rural schools during your elementary school education. I count myself in that group and look back with gratitude on some stellar teaching at that time.

The rural school I attended for grades 1-4 was called Clear Creek School and our teacher was Mrs. West. I remember her as a lovely, well-padded lady who reminded me a little of my grandmother. She kept a classroom of eight grades corralled and learning, teaching us everything from the 3-Rs to music and how to get along with others.

I remember playing Andy-Over (probably not spelled correctly) over the garage located near the schoolhouse—Mrs. West traveled to our school from a town nine miles away and parked her car there during her work day. How exciting it was to wait in suspense as your team threw the ball over the ridgepole of the structure and tensed to run away from the ball thrown at you by the ball-catcher on the other team who crept around the corner. If you’ve never played the game, it’s like Dodge Ball with lots of added suspense.

When snow fell as it does quite often in NE Missouri, we would play Fox and Geese, build snow forts and have snowball fights and, no doubt, come back into the schoolroom with snowsuits soaking wet. Older students helped younger ones and for those of us who came from small families, the atmosphere taught us how a large family functions.

 

Unfortunately, I have no pictures of the schoolhouse as it was, but pictured above is the way it looks now—a private residence with an awesome front yard (please excuse the side mirror).

The next picture you see is what we called Trowbridge Hill, the hill I climbed every day on my way home from school (of course I did get to walk/run down the hill every weekday morning). I must say the hill looks much smaller now than it did to a first grader.

I hope you all have fond memories of your elementary school days, rural or not. I wouldn’t trade these memories for anything.