No more sweets, please

One of the great things about the Christmas season, for those of us with a sweet tooth, is the variety of sugary treats available everywhere. All cooks have a specialty, and at Christmas they put time and care into that specialty, so you are assured a quality product.


My grandma’s specialty was fudge, and she cooked a large assortment. Chocolate with and without nuts, peanut butter fudge with marshmallows, sugared walnuts and divinity, all in large quantities. Divinity was a fluffy, white, chalky confection that kind of melted away when you put it in your mouth. There really wasn’t much to it. Why it’s called divinity, I’m not sure.

There comes a time, though, if you overindulge, that you begin to sicken of sugar. You might still eat another chewy caramel when it comes to you on a plate, and you might go ahead and have “just a sliver” more of pie, or a cookie, or a candy cane, even when your mouth says “no” and your stomach says “no way.”

After a while, your tongue gets sore and your mouth hurts. Blisters can even form on the roof of your mouth.

Eventually, you even end up longing for something with a little more nutrition when the almond bark comes your way. You think of a roast beef sandwich or pickles on the relish plate. You might seek out a glass of milk or a slice of turkey because you’ve just had too many empty calories and you want a little salt and substance.

Christmas as a whole can be just like that. All the shallow little accessories become the main dish. We enjoy them. We revel in them. We’re glad they’re here. But eventually there comes a time when we are full and empty at the same time. We’re full of emptiness, and we crave something with a little meat to it. It’s a relief when we hear a deep, meaningful carol on the car radio, or when we close ourselves in a closet with the scriptures and just drink it in.

And our spiritual lives can become like that candy plate, too. We sample from this teaching, and that book, and this CD, and that DVD on how to walk with Christ, or how to help others walk with Him. Eventually, we can get to the point where one more fluffy, sweet, chalky, white bite is going to kill us. We desperately need to get out and just walk with Him and consume His flesh instead of all the sticky, pleasant substitutes. It’s easy to let the name “divinity” divert us toward unhealthy spiritual diets.

Shutting the Door on Cold, or Christmas?

   Snow, or no snow, this time of year brings to kids those three words that mean so much.
   Not "I love you," "How r u?" or "Ho, ho, ho!" (Okay. "Ho, ho, ho" is not three words, it's one word three times; and "How r u" only qualifies for texters.)
   The words kids hear most often in winter are: "Shut that door!"
   In our house we have two doors that must be closed upon entry. The front door leads directly to polar air flow. An entryway between the front door and the door to the living room mixes that icy air with house air.
   The entryway serves as a buffer between Siberia and comfortable, living room heat. The kids rarely forget to close the front door. Somehow, frigid, arctic air jostles their brain cells enough to signal the door-closing response.
   But after removing coat, hat and boots, and basking in the warmth of living room heat as they enter the living room, the kids fall victim to drowsy, warm influences on those same brain cells. The entryway door remains open, sending the gas meter ticking away at phenomenal speed.
   "Shut that door!" When I was a kid, my friend's mom always shouted, "Born in a barn?" implying that barnyard animals are the only ones without sense to shut the door when it's cold. I never liked that expression, and I won't use it.
   Besides, "Shut That Door!" has a nice, staccato sound to it, like nails pounded into memory. Usually, "Shut That Door!" is enough to stimulate the door-closing response, though not always.
   Sometimes, shutting the door is nearly impossible. For adults, it's even more difficult than for kids.When you shut a door after a child first moves out on his own, that's hard. When you shut the door on a long relationship that has slowly unraveled, that's painful.
   When you've sold everything you once cherished on the auction block, to move into assisted living, and shut your door for the very last time, that's agonizing.
   Christmas is a door
 Sometimes it's wrong to shut the door. A neighbor needs help. Sorry. Slam. Recently, one large retailer decided to shut the door on the Salvation Army, forbidding bell-ringers.
   Its corporate position statement cited the need for customers to enjoy "distraction-free shopping." Distraction-free shopping. There's the Christmas spirit! A memo right from the desk of Scrooge and Marley. The charitable heart of Christmas ripped out and labeled a "distraction" from buying and selling.
   Shutting the door on Christmas is probably no easier than shutting the door on a strong north wind. Still, some try. Some work to dilute Christmas with every Rudolf, sugar, tinsel, eggnog, Susy Snowflake mixture they can find.
   Others stand at the doorstep, complaining about the welcome mat. Others rail against Christmas, citing their own bitter memories of past injustices, or predicting future ones. They refuse to go in unless they go in on their own terms at their own time, and try to block others from entering.
   Disgruntled litigants apply legal pressure to shut tight any Christmas door left open to the public. But it's hard to shut a door on a door. And Christmas is a door.
   "I am the door," says the Christ child. "If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture."
   No more bolted doors. No more "Do not enter" signs. You can be shut out of meetings, banned from white restaurants, coralled onto smaller and smaller reservations, locked out of board rooms, prevented from bell-ringing. But you can never be shut out of Christmas.
   You can go in AND out. And find pasture. Rich, green, luxuriant pasture.And it won't matter if you leave the Christmas door open, because the Christ child himself was born in a barn.
   Christmas is the door that faces biting, arctic air. But it's also the door that leads to warmth and comfort and welcome.Maybe every time a child comes home, I should accompany "Shut That Door!" with "Come On In!" because it somehow seems like a more Christmassy thing to do.

For more Christmas shorts click here

Waiting for God's Thank-You note?

     Pulling my daughter from sleep and into the day has always been like dragging a barge loaded with lead. She clings to sleep with her life. I’ve tried to break up the process into small chunks.
     First, I rub her back and greet her with a cheery, but not too sweet, greeting for the day.
     Then, I tell her that I will go make her breakfast. This interferes with her sleep brain waves and gets her at least thinking about waking up.
     Next, I place her breakfast on the table and call her to come eat it.
     And this is where we get stuck. Some days, I literally have to drag her out of bed. Other days, I have to call her four or five times before she manages to lift herself from the covers.
     Every single day she tells me it’s too cold to get up, even on the warmest days.
     Today, after calling her the first time, I forgot about her. I was dealing with my son – who was leaving for a long debate trip.
     When I finally remembered my daughter, I saw her at the table, giving me a look. The look said, I got myself out of bed after only one reminder. She kept trying to catch my eye, and I could see she wanted acknowledgement for her tremendous feat of doing what she was supposed to do anyway.
     I did go and hug her, but I thought about how I do this same thing with God.
     Look at me, God! I did what you asked. Where are my congratulations? Where is my reward? Hey, look! I’m doing what you told me to. See? See?
     We are unprofitable servants, doing what is our duty to do. Not much glory in that, is there? Why do we think God owes us? We would never come out and say it, would we? And yet, when we do His will, we sometimes get that attitude. As if we’ve done some mighty act of valor! And mostly, He tells us to do things because they make life better for us when we do them.

Look! I brushed my teeth without even being asked!
Good. Now your teeth probably won’t fall out.

Don’t I get a reward for this?

God, forgive us when we seek recognition for those things we should do humbly, in obedience to You.