they came bearing gifts...

They came, dressed to the hilt in party dresses and high heels, coats and ties, make-up and jewelry, Santa hats and faux tuxedos, full to overflowing with themselves and the season. It was the second annual formal sit down dinner for the youth group at our house last night. Michael, Pam and Dianne planned this for the first time last year. It was such fun for us all that we decided to make it a tradition. Michael is the chief cook and begins planning the menu early. Last year it was Lemon Chicken a la Michael. This year it was pork tenderloin with loaded mashed potatoes and home canned green beans. Pam provided chocolate fondue for dessert. One of the adults at church, Carol Duin, volunteered to come, wash dishes and serve as way to meet the youth A trip to Sam’s to buy food, a week spent cleaning and decorating, setting up the tables to seat twenty, putting out my great-grandmother’s and great aunt’s and Mommy Ann’s silver on the red tablecloth with white china and red and green glasses, lighting every candle in the house... getting ready for a party with cherished young adults in the making.
I stood and watched them as they ate... good table manners, conversation, behavior that would have made every parent proud. Many of these children I taught in Sunday School for several years. I remember them then and see them now... it takes my breath away. In the blink of an eye, they have been transformed and are now beginning to fly... and drive... on their own. Two of the group came back from the land of college as first semester freshmen. They had stories to tell of cafeteria food and eight o’clock classes. Our single senior, as is the custom, was allowed to pick her seat of choice for the dinner, She chose the gilded chair at the head of the big table. Laughter, mock fights over white elephant gifts (I think they were pretending to fight over the gum ball machine), chatter and giggles, sharing of home made cookies, comparison of high heel styles... nothing of substance and yet everything of importance was present at the party last night.
Adults who love these almost grown up children served them dinner, a visible sign of our respect for them and the world they inhabit. They are our future and we honor the adults they are becoming. We gave them our best last night. A pretty, safe, comfortable, warm, hospitable environment where they could relax and practice community. Snow swirled outside with winter winds blowing. Inside, a warm fire burned and Christmas music played. All were welcome and all were made welcome in different ways. The group picture taken in front of the fireplace shows bright faces full of promise and joy. For a little while, they do not have to be anyone but themselves and it gives us all such joy to be included in the fun.
They have no idea what gifts they give those of us who love them. Some came bearing hostess gifts... pecan pie in a jar, a cartoon book about farm life... but all of them brought the gift of their presence in our lives. I cannot imagine a life without the energy and enthusiasm, fractiousness and friendship, laughter and tears shared with these special children.
They give me the gift of remembrance. I remember who I was at that age... remember hot dog cook outs at the Zipperer farm and Sunday night youth group... remember and give thanks for adults who loved me into adulthood in the church. I remember other grown-ups in other churches who loved my children on mission trips, at parties, at Sunday night gatherings and at camp. I am grateful for the important gifts of friendship given to my children at church.
They bring me the gift of the present, a right here and now enjoyment that leaves behind the worries of tomorrow. Their ability to live in an immediate state of being, still children under the glitter and glitz, reminds me to enjoy the moment because that is all I am promised. For the moment last night, we were present to the present of the present... living in the pleasures of the moment with gratitude.
They give me the gift of the future. When I watch them I see adults of great promise emerging from the cocoons of childhood. Dancers, peacemakers, writers, engineers, musicians, actors, doctors, teachers... a world of talent and giftedness is contained in this small community of soon to be grown ups. The world needs their compassion and love and humor and laughter. So do I. I thank them for all the hostess presents they brought last night. They were gold, frankincense and myrrh for my soul, wise women and men in the making bearing gifts for all the adults who love them.
P.S. Lee, who took the gum ball machine, after several exchanges, endured much verbal abuse (I hate you, I can’t believe you did that, etc.) gave the machine to Peyton as he left. He had gotten it and saved it specially for her since she loved it so.
P.P.S. Special thanks to Carol Duin who donned a waiters apron to come serve and wash dishes
P.P.P.S. Extra special thanks to parents who share their children with us at church.
Peggy Hester

Joyful, Joyful, I Adore Thee

It is the Joy Sunday of Advent. I am making a joyful list. Grandchildren singing "pum pa pum pum" and "fa la la la" over the phone, children coming home for Christmas as healthy, happy adults married to those they love, clear crisp cold air, rain in the night, Junie B. Jones who is the leader of the cow herd, Michael’s good health, my mom’s presence with us this Christmas, the sight of the sunrise over the mountain top, pine trees dancing to the accompaniment of the tune played by winter wind, good friends who surround us at every turn, a farm where we can work and play and savor the natural world that surrounds us, deer grazing by the high barn standing still and watching us watch them... I am overflowing with joy.
Joy for me is not happiness. Happiness is fun but temporary. I can be happy with a new dress or a clean house or a good book. Joy for me is happiness and gratitude combined, a permanent way of living life. Joy ripples through my soul like a song that never ends. I have much that gives me joy and much joy to share.
I remember how I felt when I walked the aisle to join our church when I was twelve. I was filled with joy, overflowing with joy, bouncing down the aisle to begin my life of faith. I am so grateful that pilgrimage began in joy, a joy that has sustained me when the way has grown dark and narrow at times. That joy kept me coming back to church, the place where God’s people gather. Even when we weren’t behaving like Christians in church, the memory of the first joy held me fast and would not let me leave the church. There is joy to be found at church.
I remember the joy I felt when each of our children were born. The overwhelming soul full busting out all over joy of seeing and holding new life that was created by Michel and me. It still brings tears to my eyes when I revisit those days in my memory. There were many days of joy as a mother along with many days of trials and tribulation, but the joy was always the dominant melody line. Now when I hear our daughters’ laughter with their children, see the delight they experience with them, my joy is expanded and increased. Mary felt the same wonder and joy I did but her joy must have been tempered by the mystery of the incarnation. Not everyone gets angels singing for a birth announcement, and shepherds and wise men dropping by for adoration and gift giving. The Bible says Mary kept all that happened in her heart and pondered them.
Pondering joy... pondering mystery... pondering God’s presence among us... cause for joy and celebration. I am ringing the bells of joy in my soul today, anticipating the birth of Love among us, a baby boy named Jesus. Jesus, like all boys, will grow and play and get into trouble and make his parents wonder if he will ever amount to anything. He grows in to his calling and becomes the Face of God living as we live, a brotherly bridge to the One who births us all.
Joyful, joyful, we adore thee, God of glory, Lord of Love... Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day...Joyful music leads us Sunward in the triumph song of life. Today I choose to live joyfully, adoring the One who made me, who fills my soul with light and laughter, who has lead me all my life and leads me still with joyful heart music as I mosey on home to the Source of all Joy. Thanks be to God. Peggy Hester

too young and too old...

I am too old to be middle aged and too young to be old, an awkward developmental stage, teenager in reverse. It is an interesting, sometimes painful and funny way to live. Teenagers are bursting at the seams with all they think they know. So am I. Teenagers can’t wait to get out on their own so they can do it better, whatever "it" may be. I’ve been there, did some things better and some things worse, learned being on your own is harder than it looks. Teens can be preoccupied with their bodies and appearance. So can I. My bad ankle is giving way, my cute freckles have transformed into age spots and my body is settling towards the earth to which it will return. And like teens whose wisdom is often discounted because of their youth, I find my wisdom and experience discounted because of my age. I am not yet old enough to be revered for living a long time nor old enough to have my lapses in keeping up with the times fondly overlooked. It is not always a pleasant or warm fuzzy feeling to be my age. It is however, profoundly meaningful.
A friend and I were talking about the changes in our person as we age. Neither of us are as nice as we used to be. We spent years letting others’ opinions and thoughts and behavior glide over us as we laid low being nice. We raised children, taught Sunday School, served as deacons, decorated the church, cooked food for the sick, led Brownie Scout troops, ran car pools, attended numerous sports events and plays and recitals, did volunteer work, held part time jobs, cleaned houses, showed up for our family and our community, gracious and nice and pleasant and smiling. We were the unseen underbelly of family life, church life, community life, work life, that made the wheels of growth and progress run smoothly. There were no pay checks or retirement plans or health benefits for the job we did. Even though we were not able to have all the perks of a two career family, we were able to live comfortably on one income so we were freed to be the grace notes, the hard working grace notes for our families and communities. We are proud of that part of our lives. It was a busy, productive, meaningful time but it is over. Now we find ourselves full of wisdom, humor, perspective, patience and knowledge that is often devalued and under estimated.
And we don’t give a damn about being nice any more. Manners, paradoxically, are now more important because they provide a way for us to say and be who we really are, not camouflage ourselves. We are clearer about who we are, know where we have been and where we are going, see a little more of the big picture, able to shed the unnecessary trappings of what others perceive to be "important" for our own translation of life. And it is in our churches that we find ourselves most adrift.
My friend is in a church where she wishes the pastor would own his convictions about peace and justice more openly from the pulpit. I am in a church where I often feel the lack of spiritual depth because we spend so much time on peace and justice. We struggle to find solid rock on which to stand in our respective communities. We both yearn for a flexible, open community that can affirm all of who we are without feeling like we have failed the course in religious language and theology. What makes this funny is we have church communities that have been home for us in many ways from opposite ends of the spectrum but we are both seeking the same ground on which to stand, a hard to find balance between grace and works. We decided it has to do with our age.
Having lived long enough to see the failures of the Great Society and welfare and Social Security and government and the civil rights movement and the Peace Corps to provide peace and justice for all people, in spite of the best intentions of those who were workers in these programs, we find ourselves relying on God more and people less. We still work in programs and ministries designed to create change, provide service for those who are least among us, and do our best to be salt and light in a world that is short on both. But we no longer expect to be able to arrive at some perfect place where lions and lambs lie down together. That is God’s domain. We just try to keep them from eating each other alive in our here and now.
So here we are... undiscovered wise women on the road to Bethlehem to find the baby boy who has come to show us a new face of God, traveling under a star that leads us on our individual journeys, each of us coming home to God on the blue highways of life. It is enough. We are grateful for the journey and anticipate every turn in the road, knowing where we have been and where we are going. It is enough. We come from different hometowns, have made different stops along the way, travel in many different languages but we are all seeking the baby under the star, the one called the Son of God. It is enough. The road to Bethlehem is full of those who seek to find God, the company of joyful uncertainty, and it is more than enough. Thanks be to God. Peggy Hester

What if????

We put up the Christmas tree last night. Mama and I were remembering Christmas Past, mine and hers, as children. She and her daddy would go to the woods on their farm in Virginia, Cloverly, find a cedar tree and cut it down. Some of the ornaments came from her mother’s home in Richmond and were blown glass from Germany brought over when her father emigrated to America. In our home pine trees were the tree of choice primarily because there were so many of them and they grew so fast. Buying a Christmas tree was not one of our family values. We would carefully unwrap the ornaments stored in tissue paper and place them in the perfect spot after wrapping the tree in large colored lights. The final touch was the placement of the tinsel. Mother still has some of our old tinsel stored in the linen closet. A magical time, a time that lives now in our memories and warms our heart as it brings tears to our eyes grieving the loss of so many who stood by us during those dear days long ago.
I was a child who believed in magical people and events. Fairies and fairy rings could be found even in sandy south Georgia. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny brought fantasy and life and color to my interior life, expanded my vision, taught me some lessons about giving and sharing. I am always grateful my parents did not restrict my entry into the Land of What If because of religious principles or fear of watching my disillusionment upon discovering the jolly old elf was my mama and daddy. What fun to play the game of make believe, explore all the possibilities... what if Santa Claus started early down south so he could have time for everyone (used to explain early Christmas for a trip to grandparents)... what if the Easter Bunny could bring fancy socks that matched your new Easter Dress as well as candy in your Easter basket... what if fairies and leprechauns emigrated from Ireland and made their way to south Georgia taking up residence in the old barn across from your house...what if all the animals do talk at midnight on Christmas Eve... what if for one blessed day the whole world could be free of hunger, suffering, death, and war with the peace that passes all understanding settling down like an old, worn quilt over the tired, aching bones of this world.
Faith during Advent for me is the "What If" of life. What if God is speaking Hope to me in the poem I just read? What if I could share my Junie B. Joy with others and my joy could be multiplied? What if I called everyone I Love instead of sending a Christmas letter? What if I could find hope and peace and joy and love just for this small slice of time in this one year of my life? Perhaps I could learn some new way of being that would carry over into the year to come.
Jerene Broadway, our preacher Sunday morning, sent us to the prophet Zechariah for an Advent image that captures the "What Ifness" of this season. The prophet has been having visions right and left, full of mysterious stories, predicting the future. One of the well known images for Jesus is found in Chapter 9, an oracle, "Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass." My favorite image, highlighted by Jerene in her sermon, is found in verse 12. "Return to the stronghold, O prisoners of hope." This year I choose to live hoping, held fast in the vision of what might yet come to pass in the land of the living, the land of what if? I will not pack away my Advent Hope like a cherished ornament, to be kept safe until next year. I will live in hope held fast in the clutches of possibility, trying to catch a glimpse of the fairies living in the barn next door. May it be so.