We parked my car in the garage yesterday. You don't realize, but this is some feat. We have room to move freely now. Before yesterday you'd have to step around Hayden's old punching bag and weight set to the left. Old boxes with labels like "glassware" and "girl clothes 2T- 6" cluttered four walls. On the other side of the garage you'd have to be careful (especially barefoot) not to step on spilled blue and pink gravel from Rylie's hermit crab aquarium from two or three summers ago. 

In spirit with the New Year, Jason decided to "clean out" the garage while I packed away Christmas decorations in the house. Jason's notorious for "cleaning out" rather than "cleaning up". He's good at getting rid of stuff. 

I'm more of a paradox. I don't like clutter, but I'm a sentimental sap. Take for instance the "girl clothes 2T to 6" box. Jason realizes we don't need it anymore, but I've held onto to it.

Its contents are full of memories like the orchid dress Rylie wore Easter morning when she was two. I have a picture where her fist is reaching backward with an attempt to meet Hayden's cheek as he squeezed her from behind to get her to smile. 

Then there's the zebra costume, tucked away, that Hallie wore for Halloween (and just for fun). She asked me to spray her with a water bottle one time while wearing it so she could be a wet "newborn" zebra. She was a special kid. 

Old things have a way of stirring sleeping memories. 

When we're not careful "thoughts of old" entice us to stay behind and we find ourselves tucked away like the tiny crinkled Gap Christmas dress I found in the box, folded-up... confined. 

There's nothing wrong with visiting our old friend, the past. Therein lies our youthfulness, the youthfulness of those we love; our happiest days yet. 

But we've been granted something more than days passed. 

Ecclesiastes 7:10 

Say not, “Why were the former days better than these?” For it is not from wisdom that you ask this.

The New Year reminds us that the past isn't our only friend, rather a companion to bring along as we greet the new friend. We've a friend waiting who's eager to paint fresh stories in hues brighter than yesterday. We've a friend who invites us to unthought-of possibilities and grand adventures. 

  

I read a poem just the other day. I could have easily posted it by itself, for it spoke newness in me that I needed to face tomorrows. But I decided to bring along yesterday because two friends are better than one. 

Linger on the old photo, read the old note, play the old song and feel the old thing for a moment or two, if you must. But know it cannot rival the new thing alive in you come morning. I wish you a thousand new dawns that leave you grateful for how the sun has set. 
-Anonymous

Praying this year we treasure the gift of yesterdays while opening the gift of tomorrow. 

Thankful for those of you who listen to my ramblings both in person and on your smartphone screen. I'm thankful too for those who read though we've never met, or haven't seen each other in a while. This is my 501st post. I'm grateful for keystrokes that have aided in creating a picture of my reality (and sometimes maybe yours). God in his goodness is always faithful in showing me something greater. Looking forward to 2016. 

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I got the news last night while I was minutes away from drifting off for the night. I was tagged in a comment by my sister in law from Arizona on Facebook. I clicked on the notification to see a picture of a bulldozer, of some sort, digging up a tree. 

  
Upon closer observation I was saddened to learn that this wasn't just any tree. It was the beloved banana tree that stood in front of Bebe's yard. In its aged-ness, its roots had reached a place not intended, causing plumbing problems thus necessitating its removal. 

Excuse my melodrama, "It's only a tree I'm sure you're saying".  In one sense you'd be right. But I'll tell you about this old tree and let you decide for yourself. 

This tree, "the banana tree" as it's fondly referred to, graced our Bebe's yard long before Bebe and Papa moved into their house on Chestnut. Its branches have held many stories, I'm sure, before the Knudson clan came along. I wish now that I knew some of those stories. No matter. Those of us who crossed under its threshold for the past twenty years have plenty of memories of our own. I'll share its most treasured secret. 

The "banana tree" wasn't actually a banana tree at all. Maybe it was a fruitless mulberry. It's kind isn't important. 

What is important is that its branches hung low, inviting little great-grands to come aboard but were also strong enough to hold the great-grandchildren who'd done a little growing. It provided the perfect shade on summer days and an appropriate amount of leaves to make a most superb jump pile in the fall. 

  

  

The fun in this tree though, would begin before our car doors would shut announcing our arrival. Our minds were focused on the banana tree as our car would turn on to Chestnut Street, where Bebe lives. Our eyes were ready to gain the first glimpse of what this magical tree always held...bananas; the perfect number, three,  which matched the number of children in our car. For my two nephews, the magic number was two bananas, just as it was for the children of Jason's cousins, two and two. 

  
 The story goes that a banana fairy would come just before our arrival leaving bananas in the tree for the children. Before Bebe could get her hello hugs, each banana was claimed and usually eaten. 

The tree wasn't magic, I don't suppose. It was rather, magic's stage. It was a place where childhood kissed us older nonbelievers on the cheek and revived our imagination and reminded us of simple delight. 

I'll miss that old tree. It's a shame that roots grow where they're not supposed to. But it's a blessing that roots have a way of sometimes growing in a place where they can't be destroyed. The roots of that old tree have taken their hold in our hearts; a place where magic carries on.  

Thanks for the magic Bebe!

  
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I've been a little more amped up than usual this season when it comes to decorating. Describing my feelings concerning giving my house "the holiday feels", I can almost say I've been...excited, so excited that I decorated the dining room we never use. 

  I purchased the pictured black-and-white squared placemats for three dollars a pop from that magnetic section of Target so many of us love; the dollar section (a misnomer if you ask me-the stuff I like is always three bucks). 

I like black and white; together they're a sort of "it is what it is" declaration. And the squares?  There's something comforting about squares. The lines go where they're supposed to. Black and white squares are not so much like complicated life with its delicate shades of gray mixed with brightly hued zigzags. 

Right down the center of one of these placemats is real life imagery, hidden. Its lines are all caddy-wonked; a rather defected decoration. 

That didn't stop me from putting it out on the table. 

It's not obvious, but the stitching is anything but neat. It's covered up by a dinner plate which is really quite a farce too, being that I haven't cooked a decent meal since last Thursday. 

My table isn't made pretty because life is always pretty at the Burden house. It isn't pretty as if to say the holiday proclaims order. Truth be known, our Christmas season is better described as chaos. 

I want my table to look pretty because of what the table means to me. This table represents meals where conversation has been had and is hoped to be had for years to come. The conversation isn't always agreeable or at a pleasing decibel. But I'm happy for those times we circle up and share with each other. 

Admittedly, none of our decorations are typical of ordinary days. 

Christmas is time for the extraordinary. 

The festive wreath and candles symbolize the celebration of a Savior whose humble and holy existence on earth far eclipses any attempt of ours at goodness or beauty. No matter how ornamental and bright-shining we may be as his children, we know our light is one that has been given to us. Any beauty and brightness we bear has been granted, not created by our own craftiness or brilliance. 

Christmas isn't an "it is what it is" kind of season. Christmas is a season that foretells a time when the lines will be drawn in the right places even if they're zig-zagged now. 

It's a season of hope where that which isn't neat, and that which is broken is placed in the background, in some less significant place.

It's a time when we attempt to set our sights on God's gifts and His promises versus our circumstances. 

The same can be said concerning Christmas pictures. The window in our living room facing the street is dipped in layers of twine  with clothespins; some decorated like plaid reindeer. Christmas cards and pictures of beautiful families, dressed in their best, are hung here with adoration. 

I'm not foolish enough to think that those pictures speak truth. They're not composed of everyday reality. I know those smiling faces more than likely weren't captured with one shot.  I remember a number of times where tears were shed during our annual photo shoots. Last year I forced one family member (between poses) to remove his white socks that had been slipped in the Christmas picture wardrobe I had so carefully laid out. 

Our staging isn't so much a lie as it is the effort-full offering of ourselves (like our Sunday best) in honor of the coming birth of our King. 

 

 
Frenzied decorating and holiday running around is often the antithesis of what Christmas all about. But it often points out the contrast between the results of our grandest efforts and what was accomplished in a lowly stable.   

So if you're up to decorating, decorate to His hearts' delight. Capture that  photo that says you're grateful for your loved ones. Circumstances for some may lead to less decorating and celebrating -and more heart pondering. May we keep those in mind. 

My prayer is that God, in his goodness, will once again point each of us to the truth that was first found in a manger...And that this truth will fill us with love and light...and peace 

And maybe most importantly HOPE ...of a forever that has been stitched together perfectly. 

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I've heard a lot of arguments lately. Not just regular arguments, but so-called holy arguments where people on both sides claim to be speaking in goodness and truth. I've involved myself in these arguments, if only in my head. 

We have the argument about whether or not we should receive Syrian refugees. One side claims that Jesus himself was a refugee. Don't we believe we would have fed and housed him, a stranger not in his homeland, had we the opportunity? 

Others believe that refugees would be difficult to properly vet providing an opportunity for terrorists to slip in our country under the guise of a refugee.  So some say help them in a safe place, some place other than here. Then there are the people who would welcome refugees who have been properly vetted and will be monitored. 

I don't find myself fitting neatly into the A, B or C category. 

That's not really what I want to talk about. I don't want to talk about Starbucks either or the importance of having the freedom to say Merry Christmas although I find each of these topics worthy of healthy discussion. 

Last night I read a news post about the Facebook group Little White Crosses. A couple of ladies, with I'm sure a lot of help, have constructed hundreds of two foot by three foot crosses to go in yards. They've been made in response to the FFRF's attempt to have the monument cross at Riverside Park in Port Neches removed. These yard crosses are available at no cost to the public (who want them). 

As you can guess, there were dissenters. -many of them. Underneath the Facebook post were negative comments suggesting that these crosses were built, and are being placed in yards, with the purpose of intimidating unbelievers in our community. 

We have a cross in front of our house. Our placement of the cross in our yard signifies our faith in Christ and our gratitude for his love poured out for us. I can imagine that most placings of these crosses are similar in  purpose.

 Honestly, I feel we can thank those who stand to have this cross removed for this stirring. My personal stand for the cross is not in retribution. The possible removal of the cross is a reminder to hold dear that which is sacred.  

But it was a different common critique on this post that I found most troubling. Many who took offense to these yard crosses were perplexed as to why anyone would spend their time constructing crosses when there are homeless people with needs and other charitable ways to serve. These commenters suggested that real Christians would help winterize houses and feed the hungry.  If it wouldn't get me agitated I'd go back and count how many times I read comments of that nature, some from believers. 

My initial reaction was to make a mental list of things my family has personally done for the needy. I added to it, the long list of charities and mission-minded activities our church and churches in our community are involved in. The number is many. 

I wanted to out-good those commenters, or at least prove to them that we do serve. 

I recently heard one lady put it best.  "People have gotten to the point of trying to out-Christian each other."  

That's when I was reminded that no person wins in a holy war. Our serving and loving is not about us, remember? And God's not glorified in it either. 

There's too much bickering amongst us. Add in unprofitable discussions with unbelievers and we're super distracted. Acts chapter fourteen talks about unbelievers embittering brothers and sister in Christ. We need to be careful of such traps. 

Believers are using statements like 

I'm pretty sure Jesus would...

You must not be a Christian if...

Christians don't...

You call yourself a Christian?...

Our focus becomes the good we're doing and the evil we abstain from

Our focus becomes the thing we perceive as good that our neighbor isn't doing. Our focus becomes the evil thing we pick out that our neighbor practices. 

The only one who is truly good becomes out of focus. 

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away. Isaiah 64:6

I wore one of my favorite bracelets this morning. It's a stamped leather cuff. I won it on Facebook by commenting my wrist size and sharing a post written by the lady that makes these. 

  
I didn't earn it. 

I didn't do much to deserve it. 

It says forgiven. 

It speaks to cross makers and cross takers. It calls out to the mockers of the cross. 

It speaks of those who feed the homeless and those who fill shoeboxes for the needy overseas. 

It speaks of those who would welcome refugees and those who, in caution, fear the danger in such a quest. 

It speaks for all those who receive God's gift of salvation through Christ's death and resurrection. 

Its the only thing worthy of boasting. 

But far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. Galatians 6:14

We're all needy. Our need for forgiveness puts us in the same camp. Let's not fight a holy war here together. These little white crosses, this war on terror, this season we're approaching ought to remind us where our focus needs to be. God's love is vast. His instruction is wise. We need more of his spirit.

That's when our invitation for others to join our camp will matter. 

In the meantime, give, love, forgive as God leads you. 

  

It's been a lazy Saturday. I've read too much on social media. To escape my more tender frustrations, I thought I'd attack a few inanimate objects just to blow off a little steam. 

Thought I'd jump on a "ban" wagon.

Here are a few words and products I think should be retired in 2015:

The word offensive- I used it tonight and then I decided to ban it. I was offended at someone's so easily being offended. The word has been watered down so much that it's lost its meaning. The Indian as a school mascot is offensive. Manspreading is offensive. People are now offended by the cross. The Christmas Tree, and to be fair, a coffee cup without one, is offensive. Can we all stop being so offended? 

Pop up ads- Can we please just get rid of them?  I doubt there's two in five million people who click on the secret to smoother skin or an offer for a Popular Mechanics subscription when they're trying to read an article about a veteran homecoming surprise. Stop pop-up ads. 

ROTFL- For those of you who don't know, this means "rolling on the floor laughing". The first few times I saw this acronym I had to think the five words through slowly. It diminished the funniness. Here's the other thing.  I've never seen ANYBODY do this. And if they did, I would probably think their taking such extreme measures would be to annoy somebody. It sounds like something a brother would do to make of fun of his sibling. Maybe we should make a new acronym ROTFPAL "Rolling on the floor pointing and laughing"...

Capri suns and other pouch drinks- Approximately half of them are missing the straw. One fourth of them don't stand up. The other fourth squirt juice in the air when you stick the straw in. And fruit punch is the only flavor that tastes any good. 

Cranberry sauce in a can- I'm against food that keeps the same shape as its container. Jello is unacceptable too (unless it has whipped cream). Canned pumpkin is questionable, but at least it typically gets mixed up with other ingredients where it looks like you're eating something other than an edible can. 

On fleek- the phrase "on fleek" needs to go. It means that something is perfect/on point and is often used when referring to drawn on eyebrows. An eyebrow's only purpose is to shield the eye from sweat or to let children or your husband know they're walking on thin ice. Real eyebrows are bushy, or thin and sparse.  "On fleek" is overused and eyebrows on fleek are not reality. 

  
Pantyhose -no explanation needed

Making beds- I ban making beds. It's for your own good. I recently read a study where untidy beds are healthier. Apparently dust mites need moisture to survive. Made beds keep moisture in the sheets. With unmade beds, dryer conditions make it harder for dust mites to survive. There you have it. No more making beds.

Name tags- "Hey. I'm Kristi"...When I meet someone, that's my go-to line. You make me wear a name tag and I'm at a loss. What else is a great first line talking to someone you don't know? "Hi...You have great hair..." That's just abrupt. 

Scarves in Southeast Texas- Some of my best friends here wear scarfs...and they're really cute. But other than being fashionable, scarves are really as pointless as on fleek eyebrows. Scarves have lasted long enough. Because of those friends I now have a basket full of scarves that I don't wear. I have neck claustrophobia. And it's only cold twelve days a year here. They need to go. 

What word or product would you ban?  Really... do share. The world could use a little more light-heartedness. 

Let my eyes see Your kingdom shine all around

Let my life be a song, revealing who You are

For You are salt and light 

-Salt and Light lyrics by Lauren Daigle

I sat in my car yesterday afternoon doodling in the fog on the window. I drew the outline of a heart; a symbol both easy to draw and always applicable. I was waiting for Jason to bring his car. It was nearing three o'clock (time to get Rylie, our youngest, from school). He was coming, offering his car. I couldn't see well enough to back up three feet in mine, much less drive to school. 

My car defroster, and the air system for that matter, is out of commission.  I'd tried wiping the driver's side windshield and mirror with a shirt,  but the drastic weather change we suffered yesterday provided a thick layer of blur that kept covering the window as fast as I could wipe it away. 

Moments before Jason pulled into the driveway my finger pressed against the squeaky window, writing out the letters which spelled out "unsung hero". It was a cheesy thing to do. Maybe it's worse that I'm sharing about it. But I was thinking how grateful I was for his willingness to drop what he was doing to come help with the visibility problem I was encountering. I'd be able to jump in his car with seat warmers (I was wet and cold from the downpour) and I'd be able to grab Rylie before she started to worry I'd forgotten all about her. 

  

He made my day a little easier. He has a thousand times. He's my favorite day brightener, but he's not my only one. 

The first ray of sunshine yesterday came because it was garbage day. 

As I made my way down my sidewalk yesterday morning,  I noticed my neighbor and her little boy standing in their driveway waiting for the garbage guys. The truck's mighty arm grabbed hold of their trash bin and dumped the contents into its bottomless well, while the four year old looked on with delight. 

I remember "trash man" being on our son's future occupation short list at one point. I also remember visiting my nephew for a week. His house had a street-facing window that was more captivating than cartoons...on garbage day. And the best part of garbage pick-up yesterday morning? The driver happily honked twice at the neighbor boy in a gesture to say "I see you, seeing me...."

I see you too sanitation men. And I'm thankful for you.

Two blocks away from my house I was thankful for the crossing guard in his bright yellow and orange stripe vest. He was holding off traffic so the little girl who was almost late for school could dart across the street on her bike safely. The guard is there, rain or shine, with a warm smile (unless you're driving too fast or aren't paying attention to his signal to stop). His job is important to him because my kid and the kids that go to Helena Park are important to him.  I remember as I write, how weeks ago, a lady crossing guard was hit by a car, getting a kid out of harm's way. 

I see you crossing guard. 

Then there's my little friend who I pick up to read with every day at school, right before lunch.  I work half-days helping elementary ESL kiddos. This friend cried the first day we met as I picked him up to go read with me. Thankfully every day since then he's been a much more willing partner. In fact, these days he jumps out of his chair and does a sort of a double fist-pump when I walk into his classroom. His little legs move in purposeful strides with his reading book tucked under his arm. He tells me in his thick accent "Let's just read!" It's a daily dose of encouragement  for me. 

Thank you reading buddy. You brighten my day. 

And thank you Chik Fil A.

 I keep waiting for you to mess up; especially yesterday when I pulled up in your drive through lane. There stood one of your employees outside in a ferocious wind waiting for me to make up my mind about what to order. I had to ask him to repeat several of his questions like the one about what kind of sauces I wanted. Your employee was patient even though I deserved a good eye-roll and huffy breath. 

  It's not that I want you to mess up; you're my favorite chicken joint.  On the contrary, I've worried that you WOULD eventually mess up having such a squeaky-clean record as a national franchise who's known for its generosity. Squeaky records are usually short-lived. Your record is still impeccable. 

I see you. 

And I will "eat mor chikin". 

Yesterday afternoon my husband came along on his white horse (old black SUV) and saved me from sticking my head out a rainy window to be able to see to drive. He rescued me from walking to school in my son's ratty hoodie without an umbrella. He provided an umbrella and even drove me to get our older daughter. He was a mighty fine chauffeur. 

I see you over there on the couch, husband, having put in ten hours of work again.  I'm grateful for you. Thank you for the hundreds of little things you do that light up my life; for being someone who doesn't complain and for the six pack of 90 calorie Dr Peppers you brought home for me the other day, not because I needed them but just because. 

Thank you church friends, Laura and Michelle, for designating and organizing our church to be a receiving center for Operation Christmas Child. Thank you church for for providing supplies, and then packing somewhere around 558 boxes for children around the world; that boys and girls might get their first stuffed bear, some pencils and a new pair of socks. But most importantly that they might receive Christ; that their families and friends might learn of saving grace and eternity. 

I saw you 568 boxes with more coming in. 

And I'm praying every single one makes an impact. 

So who are  your unsung heroes? Who are you grateful for in this season known as Thanksgiving? Who has God used to sprinkle glimpses of light into your life today? What have you witnessed today or recently that has added clarity to foggy vision? 

Tell those people you see them. Tell God you see Him too, in storms...and when things aren't clear, like in foggy windows... especially then. 

You see Him in bright faces of people he's placed particularly who carry out purpose seem it simple or grand. 

God's light is broad and bright.

 And then sometimes His illumination comes in flickering fragments in human faces. 

Awake you that sleep, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light. Ephesians 5:14

May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. 

Galatians 6:14

Jason and I try to find great new spots to eat lunch when we have available Fridays. This Foodie Friday took us somewhere unexpected; to the foot of the cross.
   

News travels fast, so I suppose you've heard about FFRF's (Freedom From Religion Foundation) letter to the city of Port Neches, our back door, requesting the removal of a ten foot cross from its city park. It's a small display that, from what I read, has been there for over forty years purchased by a woman, Mrs. Conrad Miller.  

So for lunch today we grabbed a Boss Burger and a Fish Sandwich and headed over to the park for a windy picnic. We scarfed down our lunch and then snapped a few shots of the cross including a selfie or two. We said a prayer and then left. Our Friday lunch experience, without fail, leaves my stomach feeling heavy. Today it's my heart that's carrying around some extra weight. 

I wouldn't call it worry. I'm not foolish enough to think my faith is rooted in anything formed of concrete or else anything made in the shape of a cross.

 My mind is full of wonder. 

How many local people are actually offended by a cross that stands in the back corner of the park about five yards away from a crumbling concrete wall scribbled with graffiti? Does its presence discourage those who don't believe in its symbolism? Is its message discriminate? 

The cross is a symbol of Christ's work to overcome sin and death. It's an offering to all (For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son). It's an offering to which each person has the right to refuse. 

Its message doesn't force itself upon anyone. 

 I read somewhere how it's a message of hate. Nothing could be further from the truth. Christians can be guilty of hate.  The cross is hate's cure. I suspect some of us shy away from the message of salvation because our message is carried around in jars of clay. We're fragile and fallible.  We fear our hypocrisy will be pointed out, and it will. There is no hypocrisy in the cross. 

Then there are those who point out the suffering of Christians in Syria, reminding us that the removal of a cross cannot be considered persecution when there are fellow Christians losing their lives. Of course we are still a free nation; able to freely worship...more the reason to hold our freedom dear. But we ought to pay close attention. We're quite like frogs in a pot. Many of us are confident of our current situation. We're comfy with the gradual loss of small freedoms. For those without our eyes on the heat dial, we have no idea that we're getting closer to boiling. 

It's not absurd to think that America's future may be one where our faith is not allowed to be demonstrated or shared freely. 

No one can take your faith from you. I also agree that faith is a matter of the heart and doesn't have to be plastered on billboards and worn as jewelry around the necks of believers. Our faith is secure.  Do we care about those whose eternity isn't secure?  If we do, we ought to be concerned with whether or not public semblances of the gospel remain legal. 

Check out FFRF's warpath. They exist merely to wipe out any semblance of Christianity. Its co-president, Dan Barker, describes himself a free thinker. I feel someone ought to be able to view a cross in their path without their abilty to think being stolen or harmed. 

Or maybe the cross does change one's thinking. 

It is a gentle yet powerful message of redemption. It's a reminder to those of us whose sin is no more. It speaks kindly and in love to those who don't believe. 

Its message matters. 

I pray the cross at Port Neches park stays. 

  

Through Christ’s death on the cross, those who turn to Him are delivered from both the penalty and the power of sin. 2 Peter 4:24-25

Todays guest post is written by

Christy Cauthen Pope

What really is gratitude?

 Do we truly know what it is to be grateful or is it something we just toss around when the calendar gets to November and December of each year? Do we truly count our blessings?  I was born in America and thus have the typical American mindset of "first world problems" where you desire to keep up with whatever your neighbors are doing. 

  
 Yes, I am grateful for the food that I eat, my family, my friends, my church, ability to pray to God freely, etc. but it is not something that I think about every day until I went to Israel this past summer and met Foteh and Hannah. These dear Christians are on fire for God and really know how to express gratitude.  

  
My husband and I attend one of the mega churches here in America, Second Baptist Houston which has over 63,000 members. Our friends in Israel are proud to attend a church that has 50 members. 

 Gratitude changed for me after hearing them speak of how important it is that you find what binds you together in the body of Christ and concentrate on that rather than on the differences. These 50 members use whatever resources they have to spread the gospel and to help their fellow believers who are undergoing intense persecution over there in the Middle East.

 Gratitude took on a new meaning for me as our guide Foteh told us about a father of six children who sells backpacks on the side of the road in Bethlehem to put food on the table for his family because he cannot get a regular job in Bethlehem as he is a devout Christian. Gratitude is realizing that for this season, we are free to worship and profess our faith in Christ here in America and we can feed our families and not face the persecution that our brothers and sisters face in the Middle East.

 On this trip I also learned that in Bethlehem, Christians are now less than 1% of the population and back in 1990, they made up 80% of the population. Christians here in Jesus's birthplace are proud that they follow Christ and they put Christian symbols up outside their homes even though it can be dangerous to do so. 

Gratitude is thinking of the Bedouin children that we encountered who did not have much in American standards who were thrilled to play in the dirt with rocks and sticks. It proved that gratitude is a heart issue. These children were grateful to just have something to play with. 

  
 What am I thinking that I need when all God has for me is in front of me?  

Am I too busy trying to keep up with my neighbors, other mom's, what I see on tv, etc.?  Am I truly being grateful for the blessings God has given me each day? Truly it is important to count your blessings each and every day. 

 Gratitude for me is thinking how seven years ago I was thinking I would never marry or have children, but how God provided me a spouse five years ago and children three years ago. God's timing is perfect in all he does. Be grateful for everything you have. Try to see life through the eyes of a child or through the eyes of a Christian in a persecuted area of the world. It will change your outlook.

  
 
My church supports a church in Damascus, Syria as the pastor of the Syrian church has a daughter who attends Second baptist. The Syrian pastor sent a video out to our church a few weeks ago telling of the intense persecution there but of how grateful the Christians were of the revivals that were breaking out due to the persecution.

 We need to be truly grateful for what we have and stop being selfish by always lamenting about what we do not have. As a Christian, we have eternal life, something that no one can ever take from us. For this I am most grateful as I know where I will go when my time on this earth is over.
Teaching gratefulness to my 3 year old and 9 month old? I am striving to do this even now by getting our 3 year old to get a gift for a needy child. I am all for ideas as I want to have grateful children.

  
About Christy: I met Christy this past summer on a trip to Israel. It feels like I've known her mugh longer. She's delightful; easy to talk to and easy to listen to. She has a smile the size of Texas and a heart to match its size. She has three sweet guys in her life; her husband Clay and and her two cuties Will and Alex. (And of course Jesus...She really loves Jesus and she'll tell you so). 

Enjoy if a few more of her Israel pics. 

  
  
  
   
 

Starbucks has never been overtly Christian. Sure they supported the feeling of Christmas spirit when they put ornaments or snowflakes on their cups. I don't know this from personal experience. I don't even like coffee, but I read that their past cups have been decorated with holiday cheer. 

And now they've decided to go plain red this season. Java at Starbucks this holiday will come in a regular red cup. 

  

This has frustrated some Christians who feel there is a war on Christmas. Others think "war" is too strong a word when it comes to a cup design. Is it simply a red cup that has Christians stirred? 

I read yesterday about a mall who decided its  "Come See Santa" display would be adorned with a glacier instead of a Christmas tree. People complained until a small Christmas tree was placed beside the chunk of ice. Seems like a first world problem. We know that Santa and Christmas trees aren't at the heart of Jesus.

These things only attribute to "Christmas feels". But we also know that there has been a movement in past Christmases to remove manger scenes on government property even when privately purchased. Without a doubt, Christmas is becoming less about Jesus in the general public. 

  But few of us have ever got it right when it comes to making the season all about Jesus. 

There's the shopping. And Santa. And the fretting about shopping and decorating and cooking. There are the parties, filling the shoeboxes and other charitable activities, the travel plans, or the else the disappointment when we're counting down to a Christmas we won't be sharing with those we love. The best we seem to do is ask Jesus to join us in the crazy, naming Him the guest of honor. 

We all fall short when it comes to giving Jesus due worship at Christmas, not to mention the rest of the year. 

It seems to somehow make us feel better to point out how others aren't doing such a good job making Jesus the reason for the season, like the people at Starbucks, or the people pointing out, the people pointing out Starbucks. 

So I guess what I'm doing here is making myself a pot in a line of pots calling the kettle black. 

Some people are clearly offended by Christmas. Starbucks tries to (in their own words) "create a more open way to share the holiday". You can surely say this isn't a war on Christmas (I don't believe it is), but this "being more open" business means backing off from Christmas (even if it's only backing away from secular Christmas.) It feels to some like one more step away from any hint of the important holiday.  They might feel we're on a slippery slope. So Christians share the offense on social media. 

Christians, in response are now offended by the initially offended Christians. They call them out, with sarcasm and ferocity, I might add, claiming that being offended by a red cup means you must not care about orphans and world hunger or the salvation of baristas. Christians who dare say they're bothered by Starbucks unholiday-like cup are branded imposter Christians or Christians who really need help (Don't we all?). 

And here I am today slightly frustrated with Christians who feel the need to point out Christians who feel the need to point out...
Do I agree that God most certainly cares more about orphans than the 2015 design on a Starbuck's cup? Absolutely. I doubt He's downcast that a bunch of commercial outfits have decided to say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas in the interest of the mighty dollar. I'm pretty sure He expects it. 

I'm thinking that He's interested in His childrens' response. All of us. I'm guilty as any in thinking that He needs us to be on the ready to jump to His defense; for us to (like Peter) figuratively cut off the ear of Christmas offenders or those who dare to challenge them by boycotting their wares or by writing snarky Facebook posts about their company. Keep in mind that Peter, who cut off the ear of the Roman guard, denied Jesus shortly after. 

We (myself included) pay too much attention to how everyone else is doing in their walk and in their talking (and boy do we talk). It sometimes seems our response is less about our genuine concern for people individually and more about 

"Did you see that Jesus? Did you see what I did for you fellow Christian. Did you see how I stood up for you 'world who doesn't know Him'?" 

I'm on your side. 

 Neither the saving of souls nor gentle correction and encouragement of the saints seems to be as important as picking a side on a line that social media is so excellent in drawing up. We throw each other under the bus in order to "save" another. 

I don't care about Starbuck's holiday cup. We're called to care about people who drink from it and those who've chosen not to. Our love ought to be for people who are offended by Christmas and those who are tricking Starbuck's baristas into writing "Merry Christmas" on the cups. 

We say we love them. That means our response ought to always be made in kindness, not by saying "Starbucks hates Jesus" or  "You judgy Christians make Christianity look foolish". 

It seems we feel like our feet ought to be formally placed in one of two courts. We want to shield those who are lost and support the politically correct. So we honor their rights and respect their feelings, standing up for them with hopes they will see the light. We're careful Christians who don't want the message of Christ to be lost in closed fists as we proclaim Christ is Lord. 

Then there are those who feel the dire need to fight to preserve Jesus' name, a name most worthy of praise. We see His name being erased in effort to not offend. As a nation who once called itself Christian, we as a whole are becoming, as Starbucks says "more open" to other faiths and to the idea of no faith at all. But we're quite closed-minded as a nation when it comes to sharing the Christian faith. Just ask the coach who was fired for praying on school property after games. Just ask military chaplains whose mouths have been shut when it comes to sharing the gospel. It grieves us, and rightly so. 

The only cure for a court divided is Jesus. His love spans the divide. We all need more of it. We all need to give more of it...to the "red cup" defenders and the lovers of Jesus who are cross with His disappearing from Christmas displays and from kid choirs who once sang "Joy to the World" in their school Christmas plays. 

We're fighting about red cups. Seems there is a war. 

Wise men still seek Him. 

Let's fix our eyes on Jesus. 

Let's proclaim his name in kindness to all men; baristas, coffee drinkers and complainers. Let's be devoted to promoting peace on earth and good will toward men. All men. Amen.

P.S. Please don't get offended.