Somewhere in the midst of the business of preparation, the shopping, the cooking, the traveling, the weariness that occupies most of our time this month, Christmas still comes.

The miracle God bestowed upon mankind doesn’t come all wrapped up or bought from a shopping mall, but in the simplicity of a baby’s birth.

Lest we forget, find room for the gift, find acceptance for the hope, find peace of mind in opening God’s Christmas!

Resilience, is the capacity to withstand or to recover quickly from difficulties. Isn’t it wonderful to find that word you never use in ordinary conversation that is exactly the one to describe this time in your life???

Yesterday at a Bible Circle meeting, we were all given that word to ponder. Many of us came away knowing we at last had a way of now voicing the emotions and angst that hit us square in the face with our present political climate.

We have resilience!! We have toughness, we have lasting power! This comes from various sources. For us with Faith in God, we know our source. For some it is calling on our upbringing strengths, or some inner power of perseverance. I suggest you call on them all!

Resilience! Good word! Dust it off. Put it in your pocket. Pull it out when you listen to the news today!!

My sister Nancy passed away last evening…I don’t say died, because that’s not what she did. She took on the everlasting life, and wrapped it around her body and sailed into the eternal life.

Most of you who know me, know that our relationship was an important one. More than sisters, best friends, confidants, companions on a journey that we both treasured. Big sister, little sister grew into respect, and love. With little sister finding a gentle, warm, big sister after whom I could pattern my own life choices.

So sad this morning, but rejoicing with Nancy that she has shed the mortal, restrictive body that kept her from doing what she wanted to do, and took on the cloak of eternal life that has been promised to each of us by God.

I voted yesterday! Early voting in Virginia allowed that, and it always amazes me about the feeling that comes over me with the privilege and responsibility I feel.

Ever since the day in 1956 when I reached the age of 18 and my Dad went with me to register to vote, that is my experience. I remember Dad’s own passion and know that I caught his spirit of making this an important part of my duty as a citizen in a free society.

I also recall that in 1956 that privilege had a few requirement for even registering to vote. Such as a written test and questions geared to block some groups from voting. Lest we forget those days, limiting that citizenship privilege, fight for your and others voting rights.

Yesterday was easy, pleasant, and thoroughly legitimate. I walked out content with my actions, knowing my vote counts, just as yours will count, so vote. I did give a thumbs up to that pleasant woman passing out literature that I supported!!!!!!!!

On the news this morning, one commentator said as a nation we are “broken ,”. You think so!! More than broken, I don’t think we are picking up the pieces,

I refuse to even let “ thoughts and prayers” roll off my tongue, although offering both in abundance as one after another senseless killing happens.

Finger pointing, blame denial, ignoring causes, doesn’t work. A nation, which was known as a haven, has become a threat to all who happen to disagree with each other.

Every person in this country this morning should be in mourning for a young family truly “heart broken.”I pray that every person in our government feels that brokenness and puts the pieces of freedom and safety in our country back together again.

Invariably, when my girls start reminiscing , talk turns to the farm and much of it is joy filled, and sweet to hear. But, almost to the girl, comes that lament, “I hated Pulling Weeds!”

I have come to believe that”weed pulling” might just be the metaphor for all those tasks in our lives that we are called on to do that we dislike, but do anyway. Surely the girls had other tasks on the farm they buckled down and did! They surely didn’t like occasion early morning milking cows with their Dad, or halter breaking young heifers, or chasing a rogue cow escaping onto busy Rt, 33!, But it was “Pulling Weeds” that bothered them.7

This older Mom is so thankful for weed pulling in my children’s lives, Teaching life’s truths without me having to open my mouth with some lecture. Pull those weeds, let the healthy things grow in your life. Pull those weeds and next week you might have to do it again. Pull those weeds, and make your world better for a while.

Lesson learned, my dear girls.

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No phone, no drivers permit, and no patience with a predicament of my own making. After an absolutely wonderful trip to New York with family, I left my purse with phone and permit and all a woman carries with her in a bathroom stop coming home.

Immediately blaming it on an aging mind, my daughters were all quick to recite their own similar goofs. The hotel where I left it found it, and their housekeeping manager immediately told us she would Fed ex it to me. With more than one misstep and falsehoods with Fed Ex, I still do not have my purse.

Took security actions, but darn, it’s hard not to pick up my phone to chat, or jump in my car to go where I please, and I chastise myself for being so spoiled by the modern life.

There’s no other word to describe my persona for the last few days with news of the Texas floods that wasted over my mind as surely as it washed over Texas. Shaken by thoughts of small children joyfully experiencing one of the stable summertime ritual of camp. Shaken by story after story of both heroes and victims thrust into something unexpected. Shaken by thoughts of the many weeks when I was that camper and also that counselor.

But, most of all, shaken by my immediate questions aimed at God. Why God? As if I needed someone to blame for something so tragic. Why?

In my saner, rational reveries, I realize that my faith in the giver and sustainer of life allows that question. Is my faith in God shaken? No. I am shaken by thoughts of my inability to handle what families are having to deal with today.

Today my prayer shall be for God”s eternal love to give comfort and strength to people probably shouting out to the heavens “Why!”

The day’s designation alone speaks volumes of what we cherish and celebrate in our lives, and I am no different. My Dad, a giant of a man, a humble, gentle, lifter of people, a strong moral man, and where my mind goes whenever I need a lesson of the importance in all of the above!!

Coming from the working class, he taught me to be proud of the simple things. His confidence in his self-worth, taught me dignity, and his acceptance of all people, taught me love.

I sit here writing with a smile on my face for one image, one memory that, to me, sums up all the attributes of which I mentioned.

My senior year at Madison College, I lived in the Tri Sigma sorority house. Somedays, after a class, I would walk into the house to find my Dad in his bib overalls and farm shoes sitting in our living room expounding some story with our wonderful housekeeper, Willie, with laughter spilling out the door! Him, with some food or necessity Mom had sent, and Willie comfortably enjoying this old farmer and his stories.

Earth shaking occasion?? Of course not. But in retrospect, exactly what we need in these days. Comfort and complete commonality with people different in every aspect of life, except loving hearts. Thank you Dad for one more reminder!

I just heard that word from an author of a book on one of our US presidents- Good word, not lightly bestowed, but a good argument for such a declaration.

I immediately thought of who earned that beautiful personal description for me in my childhood. My parents personified the word. If you look that word up in the dictionary you will get everything from a concern or pity for, or the urge to help the less fortunate with your actions. My marriage to Bill, doubled my exposure to what the real meaning of Compassion is, as he lived out in real action what that care meant.

Most of us are touched and feel concern for them, but fail in that action part. If you have read some of my stories in my writings, you know I learned better than that!!! Those meals Mom made me take to a neighbor, or the clean clothes to another, or not seriously acting to deter a poor boy stealing chickens, or the food provided to families whose father was imprisoned for moonshining, taught me better

I forget, or I let my church or charity donations substitute for that compassion. I revel in our church’s food pantry, or Blessings in a Bag, or helping with Open Doors, and convince myself it’s enough. And for Heaven’s Sake, they are wonderful and I will never stop, but when someone throws out that word Compassion, I sigh!!!