The Old Advent Wreath

It is time for Advent.

And, this year it is time for a new Advent Wreath for our family.

          Gathering around the Advent wreath each evening in those four weeks before Christmas is a long-standing tradition in our home. One of my favorite Advent devotion memories—and there are many—is the year my foster toddler, Michael, blew out the candles every time our twelve-year-old Melinda lit them.

But, time marches on, life brings change, and we need something new.

Advent is an exciting time of year. Especially for those of us who are followers of Jesus the Christ. Advent is a most precious, powerful, poignant, understated, and underrated time of year; a season overflowing with expectation, exhilaration, and anticipation.

Advent is a time to ponder.

A time to begin anew.

A time to worship.

A time to return to the animal stable, that dirty, smelly, cave where the King of kings became man and lived among us.

          We’ve used the same Advent wreath for about eighteen years. 

2008

 
It was love-first-sight for me at some now forgotten garage sale when my life was in one of its disarrays. The dirty-white, rusty metal frame held a ray of hope for me. And maybe some magic.

          Sure enough, I transformed it into a thing of rustic, home-made beauty and with miscellaneous minor changes through the years, it has enjoyed the honor of being the first “decoration” set out each Christmas.    Sometimes I could find new pink and purple candles and sometimes we used “stumps” of last-year’s left-overs. Even during the years the wreath did not get new candles, or new evergreens, or even dusted, it glowed each night and encouraged us to make time each evening to remember the Reason and to hope and to rediscover our joy.

The basic metal wreath we've used for so many years is still okay, but this year it will stay on the closet shelf and be replaced with a completely different Advent Wreath.

The new wreath will be created new from old things.

My fancy-smancy on-line dictionary defines new as: previously unfamiliar.

Ah Ha !!!

Have you had one of those “ah ha” moments recently? This year’s Advent wreath was my AH HA !!!

Yes, many things will be different and new for us this Christmas. Yet, we are the same old souls.

As we light the candles in our repurposed Advent wreath we will give thanks that Jesus Christ IS the same yesterday, today, tomorrow.

He was the same for Moses, Abraham, and David as He is for me. He is the same for Sally, Carolyn, Pam, and for my daughter as He was for Job, John the Baptist, Paul, and the Wesley boys.

Advent is about expecting Jesus and welcoming Him and living in relationship with Him.

Advent is that happy, expectant, glorious time….. that leads to the Cross.

But, the good news is that Jesus the Christ goes before us, has our backs, and holds our hands all the way.

Check in to see how my new / old Advent wreath develops.

John 1:1-2, 14 MSG: The Word was first, the Word present to God, God present to the Word. The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one. The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood. We saw the glory with our own eyes, the one-of-a-kind glory, like Father, like Son, Generous inside and out, true from start to finish. 

2010

                   Blessings,

                 Liz

A Mother's Salute to Veterans

David was only a boy when he went forth to defend his people from Goliath with a few rocks and a slingshot. From that time on, mothers have sobbed into their pillows at night, “He is just a boy, a child; he is too young to go to war.”

Even though mothers are made of something unique that restricts them from screaming out loud, their cry has echoed down through time into our own Civil War, when neighbor stood against neighbor, brother killed brother; and on to later years when our boy children fell at such unknown, far away places as Anzio, Berlin, Versailles, Guadalcanal and Bataan. The “big one” wasn’t enough, so America’s sons left home for Korea and then they bravely marched right into Vietnam.

From the time my own little boy was twelve-years-old, his dream was to become a United States Marine. That was not my dream. I knew life. I had helped friends bury their Korea and Viet Nam war hero husbands, fathers and sons. I had watched mothers raise children alone because daddies had gone to war to stand guard at our nation’s front door. I could even remember young boys on bicycles in the 1940s, wearing Western Union uniforms delivering death messages. No! War was the last thing I wanted for my son. But…I could not live his life for him.

He graduated high school and “joined up” in the summer of 1989. When the bus took the young recruits to boot camp, I ran two red lights and barely dodged a motorcycle before I realized I was in shock and pulled over to sob.

Gradually, I breathed a little easier because our country was in a state of relative peace. 

That fickle peace dissolved quickly and in August of 1990 America began sending troops to the Persian Gulf. Ordinary citizens became part of a new kind of war. From our living room recliners, we watched people going to war and this time it wasn’t just our sons. Mothers went to war, leaving their babies and children behind. Grandfathers and even Grandmothers went to war, leaving jobs, homes, and grandbabies behind.

My very own boy-child went with them and nobody had asked my permission.

The War marched across the television sets in our living rooms and offices, day after day after day. In living color and graphic detail. It would not stop.

We parents who stayed behind went about our lives in numb fear. We went to sleep watching the war and we woke up to the sounds of war in our bedrooms. We purchased VCRs to get news of the war around the clock. We wrapped cedar trees with yellow ribbons and posted pictures of our children’s units at our businesses. We watched in terrified silence as thousands and thousands of body bags were shipped to the desert—to be ready. We saw horrible documentaries of chemical warfare.

From cozy living rooms, families watched helplessly as our child soldiers climbed into their own chemical suits.

When I could stand no more of the up-to-the-minute live reports, I ran into my yard to vent my anger and fear by jerking weeds and jabbing at the dirt. Vietnam nightmares returned to older veterans—apparently in living color and graphic detail.

Americans mailed tons and tons of letters, pictures of home, electronic toys, bath soap, cookies, real Texas-style Picante Sauce and tortilla chips. We flew flags, wore buttons, caps, and tee shirts proclaiming our support. Our homeland battle cries were: Desert Shield! Desert Sword! Desert Storm! Some of us wrote as many letters to our congressional representatives as we did to our soldiers.

In January of that winter of 1991, my boy-child celebrated his 21^st birthday, dressed in full chemical suit, sitting on his tank in the middle of a desert in Saudi Arabia. He was able to make a rare telephone call to me that day and said, “Mom, I love you; now don’t you worry.”  We left unsaid our fear that we would never hug each other again. Five days later the bombing started. Direct bomb hits were transmitted into our living rooms. Reporters filmed blow-by-blow explosions from their vantage points inside a modern hotel in downtown Baghdad. The calendar slipped into February and our hearts froze as the ground war crawled across our television screens.

On the Saturday of The Invasion to end all invasions, I slipped into a pew at a downtown Episcopal church in Austin, Texas. A million miles from war but as close as the hard, wooden kneeling rail. I prayed. I cried. For my son. For mothers in Iraq and Kuwait.

Suddenly—it was over.

All but a handful of the body bags came home empty and we gave thanks. We watched in pride—still from our comfortable recliners—as the troops began to march home. Unlike the Viet Nam years, this time we cheered.

Our nation had survived a new kind of war in less than a year and my boy-child returned home safely. Only now he was a man. He was quieter, stronger, and more committed than ever to the preservation of democracy. He understood freedom—first hand. His compassion ran deep

 His next job in the Marine Corps was to teach younger boy Marines how to become men of honor.

Then, there was the first World Trade Center.

And Oklahoma City.

Atlanta Olympics.

Then, America got numb.

Until September 11, 2001.

My son, like thousands of others, deployed to Iraq. Twice. Only those times, he left behind a wife and a baby daughter. His sojourn in Iraq in ’06, was bloody and he sent word of  tragedies among his men. My husband and I visited, in his place, men from his unit at the burn unit at BAMC. As a mother of a service man, that was the second hardest thing I had to do.

 

I was one of the blessed mothers who could welcome home a warrior son.

The hardest thing I've ever done was to kneel in front of a young Marine widow at a cemetery in Austin and say, “George’s Sgt. sent me to tell you that your husband was a brave man and a great guy and to promise you they will never forget.”

I am grateful there are men and women brave enough to serve. I am grateful there are mothers, dads, wives, husbands, and children who serve also.

To all our veterans, I pray we will never forget you.

God Bless America.

With love and prayers for those who still serve,

Liz

I haven't posted in a long while and feel the need to reach out.


November hit with a bang. Just blew in before I was done with July.
     Have no idea how time moves so quickly - - - except that I am living life more fully these days.
I struggled through a long illness from last November until long about August I realized, "WOW, I finally got over all that pneumonia and staph infection."
     I seriously try to pack as much living as possible into a few days. Yes, you are right: it is exhausting. But oh so worth it.When it work.


Yesterday, we got an adorable picture of one of the great grands. She was desperately ill earlier this summer but has bounced back with vim, vigor, and vitality. That was a huge thanksgiving for us so life becomes even more precious.

Pumpkins in the field scream that my basil plant is going to be GONE / done / finished very soon. In Texas, the first freeze can hit with no warning in November and life changes whether we are ready or not. I am never ready to give up my fresh basil.



So, I am trying to beat nature at its own game. Not an easy task.

This is what my basil looked like in August. In spite of the heat and fresh basil went into most everything I cooked.

     

The August afternoon that I snapped this photo, I made Basil Oil. First time for me. Turned out pretty tasty.

      I heated some first class olive oil, threw in my chopped basil, and let it heat up awhile. Then strained it  into a clean jar. Yeah, just one. I thought my harvest would yield three jars but I've enjoyed the one. It stays in the fridge until I heat frozen chicken strips or make my fabulous fratatta.

      Sure enough, as soon as I turned the calendar to November, the weather forecast sounded ominous so Tuesday just before supper, I grabbed my garden scissors and went to work.

 There was enough healthy basil left for a good harvest to freeze.

 Gave it a good washing in the sink then let it drain awhile. I wish my pictures came with smell effects. Heavenly !!!

Grabbed a clean autumn kitchen town proclaiming the giving of thanks and gently dried the stalks. Striped the stems and finely chopped the leaves, sending even more aroma into the kitchen air.

 Stuffed the chopped basil into plastic ice cube trays, covered in filtered water, and let the freezer do its work.

  Couple of days later, dumped the frozen cubes into a colander....

 

....then quickly into zip lock bags....properly labeled and dated, of course !!!!

What a thrill. For all those winter soups and stews, my freshly frozen basil is handy to sweeten the pots !!!




         Now, IF I utilize my time properly--and HURRY---I have to cut some stems of my thyme and oregano. I'll tie each into a bundle and hang a different herb in seldom used closets. After a few weeks, I'll strip the leaves and store them in a jar I found at Wally World today!!! Imagine. How easy can that be? And fragrant !!! For the moment, I have to start a quick-soup for supper. Great recipe I'll share next time.

I'll leave you---any of my family and friends (cyber or in the flesh)  with one of my favorite thanksgiving scriptures. Today I'm taking it from "The Message." Philippians 1:1. 
" Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. "

Blessings with huge Thanksgivings,

Liz

  

Summer Reads

           The beginning of a new season changes the landscape, temperature, and often it changes my attitude. Remains to be seen.

          While I love and adore autumn—the colors, cleaner air, and harvest moons—many good things happened this summer and I am not completely ready to let go.

•  During the summer of 2013, I experienced a firm healing from the rigors of last winter’s major physical challenges. 
•   God celebrated the last day of summer by sending deep, soaking rains to much of drought-parched Texas. We are not out of danger yet, but the respite is pure Grace.
• The Texas heat intensified the rigors of bidding farewell to some friends who found rest in our Father’s arms.
• The dry, parched heat produced more fervent prayers in my own heart for other friends battling that dreaded and horrific Big C.  

           As I did prayer-battle with my Holy Father on behalf of friends and family, my human frustration and anger increased. It has been a mighty struggle. Thankfully, God can handle my human-ness and somehow, He is providing peace and grace that soothes the rough edges.

          I read the summer away. I found escape and comfort and solace in fiction. I needed to REST, which is HARD. I don’t know how. But, I tried. Reading helped.

          I had me a good ole fashioned reading party this summer. Of course, I MUST share my fiction finds with other readers.

          Keep in mind that my always number one remarkable most WOW!!! He Did It Again fiction author is NICHOLAS SPARKS. Oh my, this ole heart of mine would jump up and dance if I could write one short chapter sorta / kinda / even close to just five paragraphs of Nick’s work. However, I read ONLY one of his screeching novels this summer: The Best of Me. It wasn’t my all-time favorite but glad I made the journey.

         My real excitement came from new-to-me authors. All are Christian fiction writers which turned out to be good. I seldom ever read “inspirational Christian romance.” But, any shade in a hot summer! Here, in order of my best of the best awards, is my summer reading list. I’d love to hear about your favorite reads.

          1.  Sharon K. Souza *****

                    Lying on Sunday:  excellent story; my absolute favorite; brilliant writing; great crafting; believable characters; Christian fiction that is outstanding.

                    Every Good and Perfect Gift; well-written, surprising story line, beautiful characters; 

                   Unraveled: Sharon’s usual good writing—each of her books has a different and distinct character voice so the reader is never bored; this one has more humor

          2.  Patti Hill ****

                    Goodness & Mercy: my second favorite; took awhile to figure out where the story was going (and could have been my problem, not the author’s), then I got hooked and forgot I was reading fiction; excellent Christian fiction.

                    Seeing Things: honesty demands I tie this one with “second favorite;” this story of a 70-something is so accurate, the reader believes that the author, Ms Hill, must be an old woman—which she is NOT; hilarious, delightful, sad, beautiful, bitter, charming; definite Christian fiction but written with class and believability.

          3.  Heidi Kreider ***

                    The Secret of Counting Gifts (Liz’s Legacy): Heidi’s writing kept me glued on this one; the story of friendship and faith with a surprise ending; beautifully written.

          4.  Melinda Evaul *

                    Grow Old With Me: a believable main character, easily understood; good story line; Ms Evaul writes well as far as inspirational Christian romance goes. 

          5.  Rose Ross Zediker *

                    Lily of the Field: a well-written sweet story, but, again, inspirational Christian romance is not my favorite genre…..too often not believable.

          6.  Heather Hunt

                    Aging with Gracie; again…honesty calls; a Christian fiction but I have not finished this one; it did not grab me, or compel me to keep turning the pages; I might try to finish it; if I do, I’ll report again.

So. Is it a deal????? I gave you my honest opinion. What was YOUR most FAVORITE summer read?????

Let us always depend on the Perfect Book,

Thy word is a lamp to my feet, and a light to my path.  Psalm 119:105 NAS

Blessings to you from the most Human of all His Children,

            Liz

  P. S. I found all the above books on Amazon for the Kindle on my iPad. What a deal !!!