Mangled Manger

Today there was an article in our paper about a nativity scene in another town. The life-sized figures not only depicted the traditional, divine event, but several "additional people” were added to put a group’s spin on the setting. The article was about the desecration of the additional people, which had been knocked over and destroyed.

This has been the year of “additional people” in the scene which has always represented the holiest time of year for a lot of people. In many novelty stores, on the web, and on greeting cards, during Christmas, the most diverse of nativities can be found.  Some range from cutsie; the doggie manger scene with real dogs all dressed in Bethlehem costumes including a Yorkie in the hay, to downright obnoxious; huge, hideous aliens from outer space occupying the sacred tableau. Can you picture those other-worldly empty eyes staring up from the crèche?

I love Christmas and all it means to us and feel quite certain that in our home we’ve achieved a balance between Santa and all he means to the children, and the true meaning of the celebration of the birth of Christ with all its representations. I’m not against fun and jolliness and love a play on words of a favorite carol; “Wee fish ewe a mare egrets moose…” complete with pictures. But I wonder why our sweet depictions of Jesus’ birth have to be tainted with political or comedic messages. And just for the record, I also hate it when Santa is shown as evil or a bumbling buffoon.

Doubtful that I’d ever lower myself to attacking and ruining almost anything someone else has created,  I do understand the feeling when the object itself degrades my core beliefs.





Hands



 Two years ago as I hurried around to get ready for company, I slammed the ring finger of my right hand into the wall in the laundry room. I didn’t break it, but several doctor appointments and months of therapy later, I could just barely bend it. Now, three years later, it works quite well, but I’ve never been able to get any of my cherished rings over the knuckle, which has been a source of disappointment for me.

This week I’ve come into contact with three women whose hands have been injured or disfigured. Older skin seems to pop when accidentally smacked on the simplest of surfaces; a counter corner, drawer edge, or doorjamb.  This can leave a nasty gash which can even need stitches. This was the first woman’s injury, and while to some it might seem minor, to her it was very painful and serious.

The second woman I’ve known for awhile, and realized on our first meeting that her fingers were bent and twisted with arthritis.  Even her thumbs bend backward at an awkward and unnatural angle. However, she has a beautiful smile which doesn’t betray the pain she must have on a daily basis.

The third woman was at a party we attended last week. While she was away from the table, her husband alluded to “the painful events of the past year,” and when I commented on that, he explained that an accident had occurred just last summer.  While she was volunteering at a camp by loading logs, one at a time, into some sort of machine to be cut up for firewood, she put the last log of the last day of the season into this machine, and it cut off all four of her fingers on her dominant hand. He then added that she had been a quilter. I almost cried but kept my composure because no one likes to know the conversation was about them while they were gone.

Finally, this morning on the news I saw a young woman whose hand had been crushed and then amputated after a car wreck. The most amazing thing is that doctors have replaced her hand with a donor hand, which she is now using successfully.

Perhaps what I’m learning from these thoughts is to be thankful for my hands. Even though they aren’t pretty anymore and I can’t get a ring over my right hand ring-finger knuckle, they are still indispensable in my daily life.

Psalm 134:2 Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the LORD.

Palm Trees and Poinsettias

I was born in Colorado, the land of pine and columbines. Winter memories there include icicles, snow-laden evergreens, and bone-chilling cold. One December day I even got my tongue stuck to our metal butane tank which sat in the middle of our backyard. There was nothing slightly romantic about needing to shovel the sidewalks and driveway before normal life could continue after a snowstorm.

When we got up yesterday, the temperature was 39 degrees as we drove to Banning to meet some dear friends for breakfast and were treated to a glorious view of the San Jacinto Mountains lightly dusted with snow.  The cold wind tried to separate my hair from my head as we headed into the restaurant.

 In contrast, as we began our leisurely drive home, the outside temperature inched slowly upward as we approached the coast and the Pacific came into view.  I reveled anew in the view of palm trees lining walks or growing solitarily on the beach, and in flowerbeds overflowing with poinsettias for Christmas. This is what has become more familiar to me, and I especially enjoy seeing the trunks and fronds of the palms glowing brightly with colorful lights or twinkling white ones.

 Our county has been called, “The Flower Capital,” at least of the States, and maybe the world. A poinsettia I was given last year has proven that assessment, because it’s the first time, ever, that I’ve planted a Christmas poinsettia and got to watch it grow! It is lush, green with turning-red-tips and seems to say;

 “Merry Christmas!”

I do love my heavenly-smelling evergreen Christmas tree inside our home…that will never change!