Advent 2015

December 1

Sometimes I have brilliant ideas.   Most times I have half-baked ideas.  This Christmas I had what I thought was a brilliant idea that, after a few days, made me think it was definitely one of my more half-baked brainstorms.   I decided that I would do a visual Advent Calendar on Facebook.   A photo a day combined with a Bible verse.   I decided to use only Bible verses—no catchy poems, no quotes to bring a tear to your eye—simply Bible verses about the birth of Jesus.  How hard could that be?  I’d taught Sunday School and handled the devotions over the years.   Goodness, I’d even written a Christmas program one year about Mary’s view of the birth.  Piece of cake. 

The first few days were fine.  But I quickly ran through those verses we all know.  Then I got into “hmm, that’s not too interesting” or “that’s not going to go with any photo.”   Next was the dilemma that I couldn’t seem to match the photos in my stash to match the verses I found and so I was taking more photos that still didn’t match anything.   This was becoming a major focus for each day for me.

December 2

What happened?  I read the story of the birth of Christ.  Over and over, one book of the Bible and then another.  Trying to find a photo to match what the verses said to me made me read further and deeper the story that I had heard and lightly read every year of my life.   I found my mind wandering during the days leading up to Christmas as I thought of the characters in this reality story—what did they think?  What did they feel?  Was it cold? Was it warm?  How clean was the stable?   Did Mary cry because there was no familiar woman with her?   Did her back hurt after riding the donkey all day?  Did Joseph, in his frustration to find a place for Mary, get angry or huffy with the innkeepers?   What did the wise men talk about?  What did the shepherds say to each other?  Not deep thoughts—but suddenly they all became very real to me and were subconsciously in my mind every day.

Whether anyone else enjoyed the Advent Calendar, I’m not sure—but it kept me grounded this year.   I was reminded every day of the month of December about the true story of Christmas.   

December 3

I saw a tv interview this week and a lady was explaining WHY she was a Christian.   She said she was CAPTIVATED by the story.   The story that God came down to us as a baby.   Truly—read the story.  May the spirit of God with us CAPTIVATE you. 

Blessings and Merry Christmas!!   --Jolynn

December 4

December 5

December 6 

December 7

December 8

December 9

December 10

December 11

December 12

December 13

December 14

December 15

December 16

December 17

December 18

December 19

December 20

December 21

December 22

December 23

December 24

Merry Christmas!   December 25

Grandmas and Little Girls

When I was a little girl growing up, I had a favorite place at both of my grandmother’s homes—their bedrooms.  Perhaps because these were places that I wasn’t quite as free to roam and play it made them more fascinating to me.  But each had a special draw.

My Grandma Eva (Dad’s mom), had a large “early American” dresser in her bedroom.  “Hard Rock Maple.”   On top of the dresser was her collection of miniature perfume bottles.  They totally intrigued me.   Although they were empty, their fragrance lingered.   I could stand and smell and arrange those bottles for hours on end.  BUT—the BEST item on her dresser was her jewelry box.   It was a replica of her dresser.  I loved that jewelry box!  I would stand on a stool (a padded “early American” footstool, of course), and touch and hold up and put on every piece of jewelry.   Grandma would, as she was making the bed and straightening the room for the day, tell me about each piece as I would hold them up for her.   Oh, how I wish I could remember those stories.   I now have that jewelry box.   Looking at it now, you might not see how magical it is—but it still fascinates me.   And yes, I have left pieces of Grandma’s jewelry, Grandpa’s doo dads and other memorabilia in that box.

My Grandma Ruby’s (Mom’s mom) bedroom at The Farm held a totally different type of fascination.   When I think about her bedroom, I think of the windows open and the sheer curtains blowing with a hot Kansas breeze.   It was a crowded bedroom with Grandma and Grandpa’s brass bed and Grandma’s “dressing table.”   I would stand on the foot of the brass bed—it has posts and I could “climb” back and forth as Grandma made the bed (“There now, Jolynn, get down—I need to tuck the sheets in”).   Grandma Ruby’s dressing table was a little girl’s wonderland.   It had a bench where you could sit and comb your hair and (if Grandma was downstairs) you could open the drawer and put on her ROUGE! (It came in a little round box with a small powder puff kind of applicator.   How did I think she wouldn’t know I’d been pilfering in her things when I appeared at the dinner table with two very, very red cheeks?    

A few weeks ago, my own granddaughter, Danielle, came to spend the night.   My husband was in our guest bedroom, which is now the home to Grandma Ruby’s dresser and her antique trunk.  Dan called me to see Danielle.   She had found an old “cosmetic” bag/suitcase that I had placed with bits of lace, embroidery and tatted items.   She was engrossed with the latches on the case and the items inside.   She placed a crocheted piece on her head and admired herself in the dresser mirror and peered at her reflection in the case’s old and weathered mirror.     (She has already let us know that the “guest room” is actually HER room—in case we might have other plans for it in the future!).

As Mother’s Day approaches, I am reflecting on how lucky I am to have had not only my Mom in my life, but the gift of two grandmothers who loved me unconditionally and allowed me to have a place in their lives and homes to live out daydreams.   May Danielle have that same sense of wonder and security as she grows up playing at my house, her Grandma Ann’s and Grammy’s houses.

Oh, yes—I have Grandma Ruby’s brass bed now and I still sometimes “walk” across the footboard at the end of the bed just before I tuck in the sheets.

Happy Mother’s Day.   Go make a memory.

Play on, Mom!

In the 4^th grade I decided to learn the viola and joined the school orchestra.  That endeavor lasted a year.   While others excelled, I broke strings and learned to make noises that resembled cats dying in an alley rather than beautiful melodies. 

In the 5^th grade I decided to switch from orchestra to band.   The cornet was my instrument of choice.  My mother had played the cornet at Bowlegs High (seriously—Bowlegs, Oklahoma).   Evidently she was pretty good, even using the horn my grandparents bought for her at a Seminole, Oklahoma second hand store.  She kept it polished and would occasionally pull it out of its case and play a few notes for us.   Rather than purchase a new horn for me, the cornet was brought out from the closet and became mine for the year.  There was a problem.   Even though Mom could muster up a few notes, it was still old (heavens…it was second hand when Mom got it—now it was “third hand” for me!).   I could barely get a note out of it.   How I even passed band that year, I do not know.   I can’t remember ever being able to play a single song on it.   I gladly returned the horn to my Mother’s possession at the end of the year.  

Eventually the cornet became a decoration in our home.   It sat upon a shelf—a source of entertainment and laughs brought down on family reunions and gatherings.   To try to blow a note could mean almost passing out from the effort.   Only Mom could really play anything that remotely resembled music.   The rest of us could make it sound like a cow needing to be milked at best or someone with bad gastric problems at worst.

Mom’s home was demolished in the May 3, 1999 tornado.   Possessions and memories were swept away with the wind.   Under a wall—a few more dents, not quite as pretty—was the cornet.   Digging more we found muddied photo albums…and the photo of Mom in her Bowlegs High band uniform.  

Play on, Mom!