“The Big Hunka Love Bear is the gift no girl can resist.” I reached over and turned up the volume. I was interested in something no girl could resist.

“Standing 4 ½ feet tall, he’s soft and cuddly.”

Oh horrors! was my first thought. Followed by, Oh dear, if this ad campaign works, there are going to be some VERY disappointed women when Valentine’s Day rolls around.

“You’d spend the same amount on flowers and candy,” the ad continued.

Flowers? Yes!

But girls like flowers and candy, I stared at the radio as if it could read my mind.

“But they’re gone in a few days. The Big Hunka Love Bear lasts forever.”

Precisely, it lasts forever, and now poor girls everywhere are going to be stuck with this monstrosity. I did a quick inventory of my house and tried to think where I’d put a ginormous bear. My imaginary tour led me to the only logical conclusion. I’d have to find a creative way to destroy him (the bear of course – not the boyfriend). Could I catch it on fire? They make stuffed animals so fire retardant these days; no doubt this would be a formidable task.

Normal size bears? Yes, acceptable gift.

“Only $99 dollars,”

Only $99 dollars? Are you kidding? You could buy her a piece of jewelry for that.

“And it comes with the Vermont lifetime guarantee.”

Ok, don’t listen to this man, I was screaming in my head. Men don’t know what women want. Women know what women want. Ask me; ask your sister; ask the toll booth lady. Just don’t listen to this moron. It was as if the man on the radio had messed up every Valentine’s Day in his own personal history and was now determined to bring his brothers down with him. The worst of it all was that he sounded so convincing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that every girl in the world was hoping she too could receive the 4 ½ foot bear.

This bear is only 2 1/2 feet tall, and it's too big.

You’d think I’d be aware of all the bad influencers out there since I’m an “Influencer,” but the study also made this uncomfortable evaluation: “She tends to trust people indiscriminately if positively reinforced by those people.”

Uh oh! That part sounded dangerously close to “bad judgment.” I started thinking about the truth of the statement. Do I really let people who flatter me sway my decisions? Influence is a powerful tool, and the Bible warns about who we should allow as a guiding presence in our lives.

Proverbs 13:20 “He who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will be destroyed.”

Candy? Win, win - she'll probably share with you.

Use great care in choosing with whom you want to closely associate because those people will have an effect on your life choices.

I really love flowers.

What nutrients was I missing that made my baby teeth come in full of cavities? I don’t know; but by the time I was four, I was already a regular at the University of Minnesota’s dental school.   

When I was a little older and we moved to the farm in Eastern Washington, Mom didn’t want to waste time carting us back and forth into town; so she booked a group appointment.  Four kids with appointments – one right after the other – made for a long and boring afternoon for us and apparently an unpleasant one for the staff.

Perhaps our dentist was still in the experimental stages with nitrous oxide because Ethan and I had similar experiences.  The dentist told us about this wonderful stuff called laughing gas that would make us feel relaxed and happy.  “If anything hurts or doesn’t feel right, you just raise your hand,” he told us.

I was sitting in the waiting room when the dentist came down the hallway and told his receptionist, “The kid back there just puked, and I need a clean garbage can.”

“The room spun out of control,” Ethan told me later.  “It was awful; I couldn’t make it stop.”

Minutes after I was hooked up to the gas, the dentist’s head loomed over my face as big as a hot air balloon.  I couldn’t raise my hand because, like some cartoon character gone awry, my arm had grown to the size of a telephone pole.  The forest scene on the wall behind the dentist’s enormous head had come to life and was now swirling and spinning.  I closed my eyes, but that made me feel like I was turning round and round in the chair.

When the doctor started yelling at his assistant, his voice distant and warped, to pull the rubber dam out of my mouth, I realized I was vomiting. “This one’s barfing too!” he yelled as he grabbed the garbage can and pulled me into a sitting position.

Afterwards he walked to the open door and yelled for the entire clinic to hear that the Smith kids shouldn’t be drugged.  Ethan and I couldn’t have agreed more; but in today’s world, I’m pretty sure that would be a HIPAA (Health Portability and Accountability Act) violation.  Back in those days nobody cared about the tender feelings of children.

To this day, I get nauseous just catching a whiff of the wretched stuff; but I know people who love it which is something I don’t understand.  I don’t like to lose control of my body, and I especially don’t like to hand over control of my mind to someone else. 

I’m told that most people don’t lose control of their minds and whatever is in their stomachs on the stuff; so I’m not condemning people for using it.  However, for me it stands as a reminder of II Corinthians 10:5 which tells us to bring “into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ.”  

Why is taking control of our thought life so important?  I’m not sure who first came up with the phrase, “You are what you think,” but the truth of this statement is astonishing.  Think negative thoughts and soon you are a negative person.  Dwell on your failures and soon you have no successes.  Determine your life is a waste because you didn’t get to fulfill all of your dreams, and soon you’ll be completely ineffective. 

As Christians we should want to live a spirit filled life.  Many times I’ve had to reevaluate my thoughts based on Philippians 4:8 “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

We’re not being told that we can’t daydream or enjoy good stories; but if what I’m thinking about doesn’t fit into one of these categories, I should be thinking about something else.

“That sounds refreshing!”  Yuri was looking at me with raised eyebrows in that curious way one does when about to ask a question.  “Shall we?” she asked.

I nodded my head as we stepped up to the makeshift serving table.  We’d dashed into Safeway on a hot summer’s day, and a float sounded reviving indeed.

“Oh my,” Yuri said as the lady poured 12 ounces of soda into a cup.  Again I nodded my head in agreement; this was the largest sample I’d ever seen.

In went the scoop of ice cream, and the woman extended the drink to me. 

“Thank you,” I said, and that’s when everything became awkward.

Why is she staring at me so? I wondered.  Does she expect Yuri and me to share?  That’s an odd way to give out samples.  She should just make her portions smaller and give everybody their own float.

“That’ll be two dollars,” the woman said, and she wasn’t at all smiley now.

At that precise moment, both Yuri and I noticed the 8 ½ x 11 sign written in blue marker and taped to the front edge of the table.

Support the PTA

Root Beer Floats – $2

Trying to act like I’d known all along, I dove into my purse and produced two, one-dollar bills, thankful I actually had $2 in my purse.

As soon as the money was handed over, the woman became cheerful again.

“How about you,” she addressed Yuri, “would you like a float?”

“Oh, I think we’ll share,” she said.

As we wandered through the store, Yuri and I reenacted the event punctuating it with frequent outbursts of laughter.

“Would you like a root beer float?” Yuri asked me.

“Oh my, what generous sample sizes,” I responded.

Somehow we felt tricked into buying that treat with the obscure little sign posted below eye level and the seemingly happy lady distracting us from reading it. 

When we’d seen the root beer and ice cream, we never thought there’d be a price to pay.

Many false religions are the same way.  Tantalizing with promises of happiness and wealth, the truth is disguised until an unsuspecting person steps forward.  Once they’ve  started down the path, the price of getting out seems too high.

II Corinthians 11:13-14 warns of this type of behavior.  “For such are false prophets, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ, and no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.” 

The sign was there telling us the floats were $2, but we hadn’t looked hard enough.  The indications are there for false prophets as well, but one must heed the signs. 

How do you remain vigilant?

1. Pray and ask God for discernment. (Oops, haven’t done this in a while.)
2. Study your Bible. (This goes beyond devotional reading.)
3. Surround yourself with godly people who also pray and study. (Involvement in a solid church helps with this assignment.)
4. Question what your pastor and other leaders tell you? (You don’t have to question out loud unless your study leads you to believe a real mistake has been made.  Remember to be gracious.)

(Numbers 1 – 4 sound pretty obvious, but a lot of people don’t follow them.)

       5.  Here’s a final but important point.  Don’t get caught up in rhetoric.  (Many people emphatically insist they believe  the Bible but have not bothered to study its content.  They  rant and rave about abounding evils and come up with rules nowhere to be found in the Bible.  Although they seem grounded, they are actually riding on the tide of someone else’s energy and opinions.  People who exhibit this behavior are often easily misled.)

Paying for a two dollar float isn’t a big deal.  Following false doctrine is because your effectiveness for God will be destroyed.  Beware, Satan would like nothing better than to compromise your witness for God.

Cozy Fireplace

I was peering out at the ice covered cul-de-sac and thinking, I’m going to wait a couple hours before I brave that mess, when the phone rang. 

A coworker broke the welcome news.  “The office is closed today.” 

“Ok, I’ll call the next person on the phone tree,” I responded.

“Oh dear, did I wake you up?” she asked.

“No, don’t worry; I have a cold.  It’s worse than it sounds.”

Inside my head I was doing a happy dance.  My head WAS stuffed up, and the idea of spending another day sporting slippers in my cozy home office sounded just fine to me.

I’d logged onto my computer and made a few phone calls when the lights first flickered.

Yikes, I’d better get this house warmed up in case I lose power.

Barbecue anyone?

I grabbed the remote for the gas fireplace and switched it on and then turned the thermostat for my furnace up a few degrees.  Won’t hurt to have them both going for a few minutes to get this place toasty just in case, I told myself.   If I get it nice and warm, the fireplace will keep it comfortable for the rest of the day.   Five minutes later the lights flashed brightly and then popped off  –  along with all of my heat sources. 

WAIT A MINUTE!  That’s not supposed to happen.  I pushed the remote for the fireplace through it cycles; and although it read ON and OFF respectively, nothing changed.  Rats, I guess it needs electricity to run.

I thought about calling my brother, but I hate bothering him with every little thing.  Surely the power will come back on soon.  But it didn’t, and the colder I got, the more the happy dance in my head died and was replaced with pressure.  After eight hours and when the thermostat read 58 degrees, I broke down and picked up the phone.

“Hey Leigh, my fireplace won’t light.  Is that normal?  I was kinda thinking it would work without electricity.”

“Oh yeah, it should,” he replied.  “But you might need to override the remote.  Take off the panel on the front and you’ll find a little black box.  Switch it to off and then click the on button on the left.  If you can’t get it going, I’ll swing over and work on it for you.”

God's beautiful world!

Five minutes later, I had heat.  As Mercedes, the cat, and I huddled by the blazing warmth, I kicked myself for waiting, for doubting that my brother would want to help me.

Later, when I was warm and started thinking about the lesson that must surely exist in this story, Philippians 4:6 came to mind.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God;”

Our God is not a grudging God who sighs when we make our requests.  He has asked us to petition him with our needs and is waiting for us to call on Him.

A young April (age 15) and Laura (age 24)

I didn’t mean to watch myself cry.   It just happened while I was brushing my teeth, and I couldn’t look away.  So I watched while tears built in my eyes and spilled out, and my lips parted to let air through because my nose was already swelling shut.  I closed my eyes and leaned against the sink. 

How am I ever going to fall asleep tonight?  I asked myself. 

I’d known this day would come for a long time, but I never wanted it to arrive.  Almost, I could believe it never would, but it did as it surely must. Now, I felt old and tired as I said goodbye to one of the strongest links to my childhood. 

Every Christmas day for almost as long as I can remember, I’ve snuck out to the horses’ stall and given April some special treats.   Even when I grew up and moved away from home, I’d wait on Christmas day until the house full of family was busy.  I’d slip out the back door of my parents’ home, and  I’d find April standing in her stall.  “Hello, my beautiful Christmas horse,” I’d whisper.  With my head resting against her neck and breathing deeply of hay and fur, I traveled back 33 years to when I was 8. 

I remembered Grandpa pounding on our back door and yelling “Christmas is here, Christmas is here.”  Scrambling to put on shoes and coats, we tumbled out into the frostbitten air and watched a beautiful bay filly back out of a trailer.  Her name was April, and she walked straight into my heart. 

I recalled the years that followed:  whooping and hollering as April and I galloped to the old chicken coop to release pretend prisoners, kneeling in the saddle as I crossed the river, racing against my brother’s old motorcycle, telling her my teenage secrets, missing her while I was at college, riding as her legs stretched out beneath me and we floated over the ground, and worrying for her while her babies were born.  The memories were endless. 

I opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror.  You’ve known this was coming, Laura.  You’ve known that you would eventually have to say goodbye to your horse.   But knowing it was coming didn’t make my heart ache less.  I felt overwhelming sadness, and the tears made a fresh rush on my face. 

God, I feel all alone.  There’s no one to hold my hand, to comfort me.  Do you care that I’m all alone?

Being single during sorrow is agonizing, and a deeper more horrifying question was pushing its way through my current sorrow.  Who will hold my hand on the awful day when I lose my parents? 

I was serious, and I wasn’t really asking myself.  I was asking God. 

You have to make Me your all and all, was what pierced through my thoughts. 

I sighed, That sounds very spiritual and nice, but honestly, how does one go about doing that?  We’re human beings; we’re wired to need other people.

My honesty with God was a little frightening.  I was telling Him that I didn’t see how He could comfort me when I wanted a human touch; so He made me think of POWs – far from home, alone and scared.  The testimony of Christians who have experienced this horror is one of a dependency on God.  Their lives become completely in tune with God because they have NOWHERE else to turn.  

We are older now - April 33 and Laura 41

Stop trying to think of who you can call, and start asking Me to help you deal with the pain.  I was surprised by how quickly the answer came. 

So I did. I prayed and asked God for the peace He has promised, and He reminded me that I often find solace in writing.  He is the one that has given me that emotional outlet.  No one else can express what is in my heart – only me.  So I wrote; and as the memories spilled out, I felt quietness replacing the storm in my mind.  I opened my Bible and found a verse in Isaiah 51.  God had made a reassuring promise to the exiles for their journey.  “I, even I, am He who comforts you…”  In II Corinthians we are told that God is the “God of all comfort.”

I did cry – not just a little more but a lot more; and while I cried, peace found its way to my heart.  God showed me that He was enough and that He hasn’t left me alone.  He also reminded me that although He wants me to depend on Him, He does place people in our lives to support us.  Friends and family showed compassion while I wept my way through the nostalgia, and slowly the recollections of good times started replacing the awful emptiness.

Forever I will remember and love my beautiful horse.  I will take joy in the memories of lazy rides on hot afternoons, of skimming the earth as I clung to her back in wild races, and of her head on my shoulder.  Goodbye dear April.  I loved you so much.

 April 3, 1978 – January 9, 2012   

Taken on April's 33rd birthday

Door reattached and car parked just far enough away.

The grinding, scraping sound of metal against metal is what started the self-loathing. I knew instantly I’d messed up bad and words like stupid idiot were thrown at me by myself with reckless abandon.

What an exhausting day I’d had. Work, rush home, clean the house, make dinner, pay bills, exercise, wrap Christmas presents, and finally throw one load of laundry into the washer. I stepped into the chilly garage and crammed two pairs of jeans and a bunch of towels into the washer. When I tried to close the door (the washer is a side-loader), I realized I’d parked the car too close and would need to back it out and pull back in a few inches to the left.

I hesitated; I was already in my jammies. Oh well, what difference does it make? It’s not like I’m going anywhere; I won’t even leave the driveway. Still, something about driving the car, even a few feet in your nightclothes feels weird, and I was anxious to complete the task. I jumped in the car and hit the garage door opener. Careful not to smack the sides of the garage doorjamb, I began to back out. That’s when I heard the sickening sound, and the insults began to fly.

Jumping out of the car, I ran to the passenger side. Somehow, the washer’s door had caught on the side of the car, and I was staring at the door of my washing machine sagging on its hinges. You stupid, stupid idiot! Could you do anything more moronic? Such words, I would never use them on another person but freely used them against myself.

When I realized the car was unscathed, a fragment of gratitude gave me a slight reprieve from insults; but my washer, oh dear, my washer was rendered useless.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I repeated. And right in the middle of my self-loathing, a Scripture verse stopped me.

“So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them.” Genesis 1:27

Was this God’s way of telling me, Stop putting down My creation; don’t you know I made you?

Oddly, relief flooded over me. Self-incrimination was unnecessary. God still loved me! He didn’t and never will look at me and shout words like foolish dim-wit.

Tired as I was, I got a screwdriver and removed the door. A few days later, dad straightened the hinges for me, and I was able to reattach the door. The machine gives a funny little click when I open the door all the way now, and I have to press firmly to get it to shut completely, but my washer is once again functional. Best of all, I’m reminded that God loves me in spite of my humanness.

One year ago, I set a goal for myself.  I would post a new story every week for one solid year.  Only once – on 9/11 – did I resort to recycling old material, and even that one was revised and rewritten.  Through surgeries, travel out of state, preparing for speaking engagements, and a host of other potential show stoppers, I pressed on; and as of this moment, when my fingers stopped their hesitation and pressed send, I’ve done it.  This is very likely the first New Year’s Resolution I’ve ever kept, and it was not easy. 

Would it be SO bad if I missed one week?  I asked myself several times when I was struggling to come up with a new idea.

Sure I could have, but I wanted to reach this goal.  I wanted to look back on a year and know that I’d kept a promise to myself.

So much in life is hard!  Keeping promises, doing what’s right, being kind, and thinking of others instead of yourself – all of these things are hard; but perhaps hardest of all is pressing on for God.  As I’ve begun to accept speaking engagements, I have to slice out huge chunks of times to prepare.  Exercising never sounded like so much fun as when I trudge to my office and power up Strong’s online concordance.  Doubt overwhelms me.  Is this really what God wants me to do?  Who wants to listen to me talk anyway?

An hour and a half later I’m engrossed in study; I look up at the clock and wonder where the time went.  That’s when I remember the misgivings I had about publishing Questions from a Single Heart.  Who wants to read about singleness?  I personally hate books on singleness; so why on earth would I write one? 

I strongly felt God urging me to write about my own journey through singleness.  Putting my life out for others to read was not easy.  People now know my weakest areas and a host of my faults, but each time I hesitated, I felt God pushing me to move forward.  Now a year later, I can look back and see why.  People tell me my story made a difference in their lives.  My story helped them to make important, life changing decisions.

The tasks God has given you to do may be very different than mine, but they are no less important.  At this time of the year when everyone is resolving to lose weight, finally get their photo albums organized, or read through BBCs top 100 book list, try setting a different kind of a goal for yourself.  Set one that will help you reach the ultimate prize.

“I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 3:14

Thank you for accompanying me on my 2011 resolution journey. 

I’m still trying to decide what to resolve for 2012, but I’m sure I’ll share it with you eventually.  In the meantime, Happy New Year!

Honestly, you could probably send mom and dad into the wilderness with a Leatherman’s and some seeds, and they’d live like the Swiss Family Robinson family.

Growing up with these ultra-efficient parents, I was exposed to the reality of where food comes from at an early age. Mom’s second most popular saying was “An hour of work in the garden every day never hurt anybody.” (Her number one saying is a story for another day.) I tried to argue that my knees did hurt when I knelt in the dirt to pull weeds, but mom would go off subject and asked me if I liked eating. With her changing the subject like that, I knew I wasn’t going to win any arguments; so I’d put in my hour.

Finding out that bread, milk, eggs, vegetables, etc. came from the sweat of our brow wasn’t so bad; but there was no getting around the awfulness of butchering. Nobody enjoyed slaughtering, but it had to be done, and this leads into my “Worst Christmas Ever” story.

We’d raised a calf for meat, and some close acquaintances said they’d sure like to buy a quarter of that beef from us. Making things oh so convenient, they were going to be up our way during the holidays, and they’d pick up the meat from us a couple days after Christmas.

A good cold snap hit about five days before Christmas, and it was supposed to last all week. Large amounts of meat need to get cold but not frozen before you cut it up into steaks and roasts. According to my parents, things were working out perfectly for us to kill the fatted calf, let it hang, and then “as a family” cut and package it the day after Christmas.

Two things went wrong with the plan.

Number 1: The people who were going to take a quarter of the meat backed out; so we had to cut and wrap the whole beast.

Number 2: Christmas dawned warmer than the weatherman had predicted. We opened our presents, had a nice dinner and then headed out to the garage. Dad cut steaks and roasts for Ethan and Leigh to wrap. Mom ground the odd pieces into a huge mound of hamburger. My job was to scoop meal sized portions of this very cold future dinner onto butcher paper and wrap it tight. Amy kept busy cutting paper and running it around to all of the wrappers. I shivered and complained all afternoon. Sure didn’t feel warm enough to melt a cow to me.

When our parents grew weary of hearing us complain, they had us switch jobs.

My Parents - They can do anything!

I lost count of how many times my numb hands grabbed a hunk of cold beef, threw it onto some white butcher paper, wrapped it up, and finished by taping it tight. Picking up a black marker, I’d yell, “What kind of roast was this again mom?”

“Rump,” she’d holler over her shoulder, and I would duly record rump roast on the outside of the package.

At last we finished and returned to the warmth of the house.

When I say this was my worst Christmas ever, I say it tongue in cheek. Many people have told me, “Do you know how lucky you are, Laura? You have the greatest family.”

I know the only way I’ll have a “Worst Christmas Ever” will be if I’m unable to spend it with family, but not everyone has good Christmases. At this time of year many people suffer because of brokenness in their families, and they would welcome a job they could do in camaraderie with a family.

I have friends who didn’t grow up in an ideal family. My heart twisted recently when a friend told me, “Christmas has never been good for me – not even when I was a kid.”

Some are grieving. My friend’s mother lost her battle with cancer last week. She doesn’t even get one last Christmas with her mom.

I could remind you that Christians are all a part of the family of God, and we should take joy in that knowledge. And while it is true that the most important relationship we’ll ever have is with God, our humanness craves earthly family.

Leviticus 19 is a chapter full of commands God is giving to the Israelites. He covers respect of parents, keeping the Sabbath, righteous living, and how to treat the poor. Then in verse 34, He slips in a command for the treatment of strangers in the land. “But the stranger who dwells among you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

Those who don’t have family often feel like the strangers in the land at Christmas time.

As you celebrate this year, consider reaching out with compassion to someone who needs you to be family for them.

“What color of ribbon would you like to use, Laura?” she asked.

“Red, definitely red.”

“Would you like to use the red and white stripe?” she prodded.

“No,” I shook my head, “I really want the red, please.” Mrs. White glued the ribbon around the edge and then gave me a piece of the evergreen. Gripping my hand firmly, she guided the foliage into the Styrofoam. After securing about three pieces that way, she pushed me aside and quickly finished the greenery, arranged the pinecones, and fit the candle into the center before moving on to the next child. “Here, Darren, why don’t you use the red and white striped ribbon? Don’t you think your mother will like that best?”

I felt a degree of disappointment at my lack of involvement, but the centerpiece was a vision of beauty. And the look on mom’s face when I presented it to her surpassed my earlier imaginations. Somehow, I failed to tell her my effort in creating it had comprised of picking out the red ribbon, and this was a deception I would keep up for many years to come.

As the Christmas season rolled around each year, I proudly pulled the creation out of its storage box and set it in the center of the dining room table.

Noise about disposing it first reached my ears when I was in high school. “I should really get something new for the table,” mom said casually. “We’ve had that ‘thing’ forever.”

“What?” I gasped. “Mom, I made that for you in kindergarten. How can you throw it away?”

When I came home from school that afternoon, mom had completely reworked the arrangement making it look almost brand new. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it did look nice.

A few years passed, and Berkeley, my baby brother, brought home his own version of greenery and candles. His looked suspiciously like someone had done most of the work for him, and I pointed that out when I asked, “Are you going to replace mine with his? I don’t think he made this by himself.”

“Oh no, there’s room for both of them,” mom said. Was that a shade of annoyance I heard in her voice? I’ve always suspected there was because that was the year it caught on fire.

I don’t know why I didn’t confess the truth then; instead I guilted mom in to rebuilding the thing one more time. At last the day came when she pulled it out of its box and said, “I just don’t think I can make this look decent anymore. Besides, I’ve replaced all of the original parts at least once if not twice.”

“Ah, just throw it away,” I said. Her eyes widened in disbelief as I sheepishly told her how little I’d actually done to make it in the first place.

We often hear that partial truth or leaving out key parts to a story in order to deceive someone is a bad as telling an outright lie. Unfortunately, Christmas often falls into the partial truth category.

Oh, we’re not like wicked Herod who told the Wisemen to search for Jesus so that he could come and worship Him. Instead as we get caught up in shiny decorations, music, materialism, and food in excess, the reason for the actual celebration gets pushed further and further from our minds. Sure, most of us still find time to read through the Christmas account in Matthew or Luke at least once, but how much time do we spend reflecting on God’s most amazing gift to us, His Son, baby Jesus who would grow into a man and die for a world lost in sin.

I love the gift giving, the music, the decorations, and even the food. I’m not suggesting that you can’t love God and do those things, but take time to remember and enjoy the real reason we celebrate Christmas and Who should be at the center of the holiday. “And she shall bring forth a son: and thou shalt call his name JESUS: for he shall save his people from their sins.” Matthew 1:21

We have hope, not in decorations and new things, but in a Savior who is Christ the Lord.

The new centerpiece

A few days ago, mom told me what she’d like for Christmas this year. “I’d like a new centerpiece for the table,” she said.

I responded. “Are you sure you want one from me?”

As I passed the costume jewelry, I saw a beautiful ring with a pale green Swarovski crystal on sale for only $19.99.   When I got it home, after spending $9.99 of my own money, I decided that it looked suspiciously like an engagement ring, and the pale green had simply been a reflection of the outfit I was wearing.    Thoughts of returning the ring invaded my brain.  In general, I like my hands to look like they need decorating and avoid wearing engagement look-alikes unless I’m actively trying to discourage someone from asking me out.  These circumstances (trying to discourage someone from asking me out) are rare and rather hard to predict.  They usually occur when I’m shopping, and play out something like this. 

I’m casually putting groceries into the trunk of my car when I hear a man yelling, “Excuse me!”  I look up and see a man 30 feet away.  He has my attention; so now he flatters me with an invitation.  “Excuse me.  Are you single?  Because if you are, I’d love to buy you dinner.”

As you can imagine I don’t have time, or any inclination at this point, to flash fake rings.  I simply jump into my car and drive like mad. 

So in a fit of pure decadence (if spending $9.99 can count as such), I decided to keep the ring and pretend for one afternoon that I was engaged to a dashingly handsome man who could afford to buy me an enormous diamond.  I cleaned house with my fake engagement ring which probably doesn’t make sense.  If I was marrying a ridiculously wealthy man, I’d be hiring a maid at this point.  I felt blissfully happy in my made-up world.

When I finished cleaning the house, I decided I rather liked my new ring and that it didn’t look so much like an engagement ring after all, and I decided to wear it to work the next day. That’s when I noticed one of the tiny border stones had fallen out of the setting.  My beautiful ring, just like my daydream, had its brief moment of beauty and was gone. 

I returned to being just Laura once again – the one who goes to work and does not have a husband of any sort, including the dashingly handsome kind.  I was, nevertheless happy, because I believe Proverbs 31:30 to be true.

“Charm is deceitful, and beauty is fleeting: but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” 

Perhaps someday I’ll have a real diamond, but the allure of what could be is nothing next to the rock I already have.  “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge…”  Psalm 18:2