Several days ago, someone at work asked a co-worker, ” Are you going home for Christmas?”  It caused me to ask myself a million questions.  Is that possible?  What is home, really?  Can we go back?  It was then I began to realize, when we know He who was born in Bethlehem, we are always close to home.

I hope you enjoy this year’s Christmas poem.

Home for Christmas

Going home for Christmas?

A simple thing to share.

But maybe not so simple,

If home’s no longer there.

What makes it home at Christmas?

The query plain and clear.

Just a house beside the road?

Or things that we hold dear?

Going home for Christmas?

Is it glitter, lights…a tree?

Or maybe precious scenes of life

Locked tight in memory.

What makes it truly Christmas?

Mere scenes from memory?

No, it’s the Holy gift of God

Secure inside of me.

Not too long ago my dad was sharing how his mother, during the days of The Great Depression, would make unbelievable, unique creations from nothing more than leftovers.  Although several family members tried to duplicate them down through the years, they weren’t even marginally successful.  Why, I wondered.  Then, just a few days before Valentine’s, it hit me.  Love is an ingredient!  You can’t borrow it, substitute for it, or use someone else’s.  It is the responsibility of each one of us to claim it, cherish it and then, in the crowning act that comes from the heart of God Himself, we have to share it.

Yes.  Love is an ingredient.  I’m sure of it.

Now, I’ve got to alter all these recipes I’ve got around the house.  I think it will be worth the effort.

In May our city experienced a devastating flood of unprecedented proportions.  It touched everyone in the city either directly or indirectly.  Our family was one of many touched directly by this disaster.  While continuing to deal with the aftermath of the flood, our granddaughter was diagnosed with a potentially serious medical condition.

But, you know what?  All of these problems have caused me to begin to appreciate and be thankful for the “little things”.

The poetic piece I normally write at Christmas, this year, tells that story.

Trust me.  Learn to cherish those little things.  They are the really important things in life.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Precious Little Things

A quiet stop at the old home place

To those precious memories cling.

Though the years are closing fast,

I’m thankful for little things.

My grandchild sitting on my lap,

Now, she begins to sing.

Though I’ve missed them oftentimes,

I’m thankful for little things.

A simple view of our tinseled tree,

A bell, a touch, a dainty ring,

A special dove is nestled there.

Oh, I’m thankful for little things.

In my mind a star is shining bright,

Peace and joy to bring.

All by a precious, Holy child.

Praise God for little things.

I usually write a poetic piece for Christmas. I certainly never imagined writing this one, but, hey, things change, don’t they? Thank God they do!

As we draw near to Christmas, look for those Christmas Angels. I’m convinced they are all around us.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Shortly before World War II, my granddad moved his family to a farm with a large frontage on the Cumberland River near Nashville, Tennessee. Most of that river frontage was a series of steep limestone bluffs. Of course, you can’t cultivate rock, but in between the river and the bluff itself was a small strip of fertile land. The only way it could be accessed was for the mule, plow and farm hand to navigate a treacherous path to the river below.

I’ve heard my dad tell the story so many times, I feel like I was an eye witness. It happened this way.

My granddad had hired a young man named Fred. On this particular day, it was Fred’s job to plow that specific parcel of land.

When it came time for the noontime meal, Fred had failed to return to the farmhouse, usually not a good sign when a growing boy is involved. That’s when my granddad, dad and his two brothers went to check on Fred. They found no tragic accident. They found no mechanical failures. They simply found Fred sitting by the plow, mule in harness and attached, crying. My granddad spoke first, “Fred, what in the world is wrong with you?” Fred said, “Mr.Sircy, I’ve been trying all morning to get this mule down the path to the river. But every time we start down the path, he raises up, turns around and comes back out.” My granddad, who could be a tad over confident at times, said, “You go on back to the house and eat. When you get back, he’ll be down there at the bottom ready to work.”

Well, that’s when the show began. My dad said he snapped the lines, gave the age old command, “come up” and at least four times had the same experience that had befallen Fred.

This is where you have to understand the reality of life on a farm; a farm where the only thing between you and starvation and that of your family is to scratch a living out of the earth. If you look at what happens next without that in mind, you’ll tend to misunderstand what occurs.

He calmly walked to the front of the plow and unhooked the trace chains from the singletree. Gathering the trace chains in his hand, he jumped on the back of the mule and began to use the chains as an improvisational whip. That’s when a real rodeo show developed across the top of the bluff. It continued for more than a count of “nine.” Finally, the mule stopped, stuck his feet out in front of him and my dad maintains to this day, the mule bawled like a calf.

Then, just as calmly as he began, he climbed down, patted the mule on the shoulder and re-hooked the chains. Just as he promised, the mule went down the path to the river below.

How many times are we like that mule? We know the path we are supposed to take. Sometimes, even with the Master exhorting us to stay on course, we veer off the path before us. Many times we have to be whipped about by the trace chains of life before we get back on track.

There is something else I didn’t tell you. I know it doesn’t seem like it but my granddaddy loved that mule. I’ve heard him speak of him many times in reverential tones. He knew if he was ever going to be any good for himself or the family he had to get back on course.

Could this have been done another way? Maybe. Or maybe one of the toughest lessons we’ll ever learn is that God loves us enough to be a tough guy when we belong to Him.

By the way, I’ve been taking a little blog vacation.  I was spending entirely too much time on the internet and away from the family.  Thanks for understanding.

This is a picture of the Rose of Sharon shrub next to my driveway.  The flowers are beautiful.  They require little or no care, and attract Hummingbirds in large numbers.

I’m going to make a confession.  I cut one down just like it.  I did it before I realized what I had.  When we bought the house almost twenty years ago, I was determined to put my “clear the decks” personality on the property.  But, in doing so I eliminated a thing of joy and great beauty.

How many times do we do that in our lives?  We rush through life like a Jackrabbit.  We ignore things God has given us to cherish and nurture.  We ignore others to whom we have been given the responsibility to share our lives.  But we pass it all by because we just don’t slow down long enough to understand.

The book of Ecclesiastes holds a sobering reminder of our foolishness.  Chapter 3:11 says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.  He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

You see, Solomon had tried it all and it didn’t satisfy.  The reality is this:  if you go through life grabbing for all you can and ignoring God’s gifts, you won’t necessarily come up empty handed but you’ll come up empty hearted.

The most important thing is to make sure we don’t rush by He who is the true Rose of Sharon, the Lily of the Valley, the Bright and Morning Star, the Alpha, the Omega, the Beginning and the End.

While I was turning these things over in my mind, an unusual analogy came to me.

When I was a route man for the Coca Cola Company from 1972-1979, I had a friend at work named Butch.  He and I would attend almost every Vanderbilt home basketball game.  If we couldn’t get our hands on free tickets, we’d simply sneak into the game with the company employees on duty for the game.  Sales uniforms did have advantages.

In the mid-seventies Vanderbilt had a great series of teams led by three young men referred to as the F-Troop.  At the same time, Ernie Grunfeld and Bernard King were turning the conference into a circus at The University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  Butch and I, through luck and shenanigans, had accomplished the impossible.  We had acquired a pair of premium floor level tickets for the Vandy-UT game at Memorial Gym in Nashville.  The lead story in the sports page of The Tennessean stated simply, “The Ernie and Bernie Show rolls into town tonight.  The atmosphere was electric.

The morning of the game I was in the morning sales meeting, when Butch eased into the back of the room, late as usual.  He slipped in beside me, elbowed me in the ribs and whispered, “The stage is set.”

It is the strangest thing, when I was studying the introduction to The New Testament, it struck me.  I hadn’t thought of that incident for years, but that is exactly what God did for Zechariah, Joseph and Mary.  He nudged them with the breath of an angel and said, for all eternity, “The stage is set.”

It grew back, alright.  But this time it was full of weeds.  What happened?  The truth of the matter is lawn grasses require care.  Weeds simply come from the four winds.  They grow with no trouble at all.  They require no maintenance.

Our spiritual lives are that way, aren’t they?  We go through times of drought when we are wrung out by the circumstances of life.  If we are listening for the voice of God, if we are focused on His Word, if we are spending time with Him, these can be times of great victory in our lives.  But, if we trust these times to just work out, the Adversary will sow weeds into our lives and they will flourish.  When they do, only the Weed & Feed of God’s grace will remove them.

I should have known better.  You see, I’ve been through those times of drought in my life.  I knew how important it was and is to be on guard, to include the proper disciplines.

Now, there has to be a bag of Weed & Feed around here somewhere.  If not, there’s always Lowes.

You see, unbeknown to Calvin, James was a master at unlocking the locked car.  It is a funny story, but is indicative of a profound truth.  Come, journey back with me two thousand years.

The disciples of Jesus had walked with Him for three years.  During that time, He had tried, many times, to teach the formula for spiritual success: surrender.

The night Jesus was arrested they all either ran or denied Him.  Often we look at them, as if to say, what a bunch of failures.  The truth is Jesus had them exactly where He wanted them.  It is the same place He has to bring each one of us.  He can’t really teach us and use us until we give up.  We have to give up our initiatives and pre-conceived ideas.  They had them and so do we. 

Calvin had to give up and let a “master” car thief teach him something.  We have to give up and simply follow the Master.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Southern tradition of naming the spring “cold snaps”, here is my grandmother’s list.  In her mind, it was not open to debate.

The first cold snap or winter was Redbud Winter.  It was followed, usually closely, by Dogwood Winter.  The following is the only area that was subject to interpretation:  Blackberry Winter and Locust Winter were often alternated in order, depending upon which one she saw blooming first.

That brings us to Cotton Britches Winter.    It was always the last chilly weather before warm weather stayed for a few months.  Her explanation of the name was priceless.  I can close my eyes and see her with a twinkle in her eye as she says, “When this little cold spell is over, you can put on your cotton britches because winter is over.”

I can’t wait for Cotton Britches Time.  How about you?