"The Christmas Letter"

 

I came into my office this morning to clean up my desk and there tucked in among all the papers was our Christmas letter addressed to one of our friends that got lost in the clutter.  Of course then I had to make the decision - 

mail it or toss it.   

I decided to mail it.   

So in the middle of January -  

Merry Christmas - 

again. . .

                                                                                                                          Christmas 2016  

A white Christmas - and for a moment the world falls silent as snowflakes quietly fall to the ground.  On their way down some tuck themselves away on tree branches while others cover the ground in a perfect sheet of flawless white. 

Inside we’re wrapped in the warmth of this Christmas season. Grape wreaths wrapped in white lights sparkle in the windows, the scent of the freshly cut tree fills the air, greens grace every flat surface, and the bells on the front door keep jingling with the arrival of family.   

Followed by -  

Much snuggling and cuddling in front of a warm crackling fire under fuzzy throws, much story telling and making new memories, singing Ho Ho Ho The Mistletoe and Fa La La La La-ing, and where’s the hot chocolate and do we have whipped cream?, and wrapping paper scattered everywhere. 

Many sweet and beautiful memories are made sprinkled with “The Family Stone” moments. 

Sigh. . .

And then as we gather on Christmas Eve. we remember another time so many years ago on another Christmas eve when a man and a woman traveled by donkey on a journey to deliver the most precious gift of all -  traveling in the most primitive of ways over hills and through valleys - not knowing when they arrived in a town unfamiliar to them in the middle of the night - the only place to lay their head that night would be in a stable nestled among donkeys and sheep - filled with the anticipation of the gift they were bringing to the world in the form of a tiny baby boy who would spend his first night in a lowly manger -

And who would one day be called our - Savior.  

His name is Jesus. . . 

As I turn out the lights and lay my head on my pillow with the smell of hot chocolate still hanging in the air I know - .

 

“Even when you don’t know the magic is happening. . . it is happening”.  The magic of family, of grace that covers all our imperfections and the miracles that God tucks into our everyday lives.  Sometimes without us even noticing.

With all our adult children asleep here and there - and our Niya Lilly snuggled in with grandpa and grandma -   

I am grateful. . . 

Grateful for family because that’s where it all begins and ends. . .  

Grateful for my hubby, our four children, our beautiful granddaughter and most importantly - 

All our friends who form an invisible circle around us with their love, who become family.  

Grateful for the memories of this past year -   

For the special moments - 

For the ordinary moments.  

And grateful of course, that I love the smell of fresh falling rain. . . 

Blessings,  

Phil & Sandy

 

 

HO HO THE MISTLETOE

 

There's something so magical about Christmas.

I'm not sure what it is about this Christmas, but it feels more special this year.

Is it the way snowflakes silently fall to the ground and on their way down some tuck
themselves away on tree branches while others cover the ground in a perfect sheet of
flawless white.

And the world suddenly falls silent.

Is it the smell of the freshly cut tree that was cut at the local Christmas tree farm where
carols play in the fields and caramel corn waits at a stand in the field, families strolling
here and there looking for

the perfect tree -

and then gathering around the crackling bon fire sipping hot apple cider.

My hubby and I strolled the streets of this quaint little town near out home earlier this week,
the air filled with the sights and sounds of Christmas,

carolers singing on the street corner -

and my hubby singing "Ho Ho The Mistletoe" in my ear.

As couples strolled by, listening to the laughter in their conversations as they juggled packages filled with treasures.

I come downstairs in the morning, turn on the Christmas tree lights and light the lighted grape wreaths in the windows, put a log on the fire and a pan of apple cider with cinnamon sticks on the stove to simmer all day.

This morning my youngest daughter called just to chat.  I asked what her favorite memories of Christmas were growing up in our family.  Without even blinking she said -

all the cookie baking.

I always remember the cookies.

It made me smile because it took me back to my childhood and my mom baking Christmas cookies right after Thanksgiving, tucking them away in the upstairs pantry just a few steps from our bedroom doors, and warning my 4 brothers and I to stay our of the cookie jars til Christmas.  Which was an open invitation for us to raid them every night before we crawled into bed.

And we did.

And I'm pretty sure every year when she told us to stay out of the cookies -

she knew -

they'd be half eaten by Christmas.

And she never said a word.

She also remembers when she was 6 years old and asking Santa for a purple watch.  On Christmas morning she ran down to her stocking and there it was -

the purple watch.

She stills remembers the excitement she felt thinking that Santa knew where her house was -

and. . .

that he brought her exactly what she wanted.

A memory that still makes her happy to think about today.

I love the traditions our family has created.  And I love hearing other family's traditions.

My same daughter called 2 nights ago to say -

she asked her 6 year old daughter if she'd like to make gingerbread cookies and decorate them.  And she said, "No", I do that with my GaGa Sandy.

So she asked her  if she would like to make Christmas sugar cookies and decorate them, and her daughter replied, "No" I do that with my GaGa Sandy.

Traditions + Memories -

Is it because they all blend together to make us who we are today and to make this magical season even more magical for each of us for all our own reasons.






































Or -

Maybe -

is it the story from another time so many years ago on Christmas eve when a man and a woman traveled by donkey on a journey to deliver the most precious gift of all -  traveling in the most primitive of ways over hills and through valleys not knowing when they arrived in a town unfamiliar
to them in the middle of the night the only place to lay their head that night would be in a stable nestled among donkeys and sheep filled with the anticipation of the gift they were bringing to the world in the form of a tiny baby boy who would spend his first night in a lowly manager -

And who would one day be called our - Savior -

His name is Jesus. . .

Happy Birthday Jesus.

 

 

 

A HEART FULL OF GRATEFULNESS

A H

I am grateful. . . 

Grateful to live where I drive around a lake nestled in the country to get to the grocery store. . . 

Grateful for neighbors who feel like family. . . 

Grateful for the phone call from my son a couple of weeks ago when he was out to dinner with a friend - 

just to say,  

“thank you mom for all the canning you did while I was growing up”.   

He went on to say they were talking about growing up in a family and what was special to each of them.  He recalled all the canning that took place in our kitchen every summer. “Especially the pickles” he said.  I can remember all the fruit from our fruit trees being made into sauce - but I can’t for the life of me - 

remember the pickles. . .  

 

This is the same son that many years ago said, “thank you mom for sacrificing your career and staying home to raise us kids".  He didn’t know it was far from a sacrifice, but a special honor and privilege to be home every day, not missing any moment of their growing into the beautiful adults they each are today. 

Every day as a mom we’re busy doing all the things that feel routine to us,  

for sure - nothing extraordinary to us,  

but then some of those moments attach themselves to our children,  

they notice - 

Grateful on 9/11 when my hubby called at 7am to tell me to go turn the TV on.  There was a terrorist attack on New York City. Heading out for my morning walk, passing by a neighborhood church that already had hung a sign out front inviting our community to stop in to pray for those across the United States whose world had just been changed forever.   

 

A place to feel peace for that moment.   

As I sat down in the back pew I felt connected to all those people 3000 miles away, even though I didn’t personally know any of them.   

That’s what tragedy does.   

It brings out the best in each of us. And draws us close to strangers. 

And then coming home, getting out a bowl + flour + yeast and kneading bread dough.  Picking up the dough and holding it close to my nose to inhale the smell of yeast.  The smell of the yeast was calming and gave me a strong sense of normalcy. My oldest daughter calling  

to say - 

you’re kneading bread, aren’t you mom? 

She knew. . . 

Grateful for a loving heavenly father who loves me and  

cherishes me. . .

Who holds me in the palm of his hand everyday.   

Just because I’m His child. 

 

Grateful for this very special friend in my life.   

They’re one in a million - 

They’re like no other. 

If you have one, you know what I mean and how blessed I feel. 

Where there’s accepting and forgiving, laughing at each other, hours and hours

of endless, meaningless conversation about white dishes and even whiter pillows

and linens and - 

where there’s loving and caring and sharing. . . 

To the two of us - 

it’s all meaningful. 

Grateful for family because that’s where it all begins and ends. . . 

Grateful for my hubby, our four children, our granddaughter and most importantly all our

friends who form an invisible circle around us with their love, who become family. 

Grateful for the memories of this past year -  

 

For the special moments -

For the ordinary moments. 

And grateful of course, that I love the smell of fresh falling rain. . .