Politically Correct Christmas Word!

I don't know about where you live, but around North Alabama, there is a lot of buzz about the "Holiday" season. I'm not talking about the usual festivities or the gifts people are going to buy, but about what to call this time of the year.

You have probably heard about some store chains encouraging their employees to not say, "Merry Christmas" but "Happy Holidays." This is done, I assume, in order to not offend those who do not celebrate Christmas. Those who celebrate Kwanza or Hannukah or some other holiday are not offended if we say "Happy Holiday!" (Although I have never heard any of these people personally fuss about this.)

Tonight I began a new politically correct word for this time of the year that might work. I even tried it out at Walmart. I call it "KWAHANUMAS." We must capitalize all of the letters so as to not offend any part of the word attributed to any of the traditional beliefs or practices.

The only problem with the word is this. What about those I have left out? Maybe you can help me modify it somewhat! What would you add? Have I left anyone out? Help!!

A Baby's Hug

I don't usually blog this way, but the following story touched my heart in a deep way. It's one illustration of how much we have missed the real point and how the real point can be seen through the eyes of a child. Whether the story is true or not is immaterial. The message is still the same. I hope you enjoy this.

"A Baby's Hug"

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, "Hi." He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment. I looked around and saw the source of his merriment.

It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled! His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. "Hi there, baby; Hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Erik.

My husband and I exchanged looks, "What do we do?" Erik continued to laugh and answer, "Hi." Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows "peek-a-boo."

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. "Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik," I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position.

Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man's. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck.

The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, "You take care of this baby." Somehow I managed, "I will, "from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift." I said nothing more than a muttered thanks.

With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me." I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, "Are you willing to share your son for a moment?" when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."

Praise God

Kelly Winder's problem was NOT cancer. She is going to be ok! Praise God!!
Thanks to you all for your prayers.

No More Complaints

What would your world look like if you had no more complaints. I don't mean that things weren't there about which you felt like complaining, but that you chose not to complain about it. Is that clear as mud?

Yesterday and today I have witnessed two things that have made me feel like never complaining again--at least about trivial stuff.

Story #1--Last night my son had a basketball game. Right before his game we noticed that the cheerleaders weren't as "cheery" for some reason. We found out why. One of the cheerleaders had been told just minutes prior to the games that there is a possibility she has Hodgskins (not sure of spelling) disease. 13 years old! There are test to be done to confirm this, but that is what the doctor thinks. Please pray that the preliminary reports are totally false and that she is perfectly healthy.

Story #2--Today at Walmart while shopping a lady rolled by in a powered wheel chair. She had no feet. "Nough" said.

My God help me to be appreciative for the blessings I do have instead of looking for things that I don't have. Thank you Father for my feet and the ability to walk unassisted. Thanks so much for my healthy children. Even though we want Danielle's seizures to go away, Lord you have allowed her to be able to function in everyday life. Thank you for my church family and my blog family where I receive continued encouragement. Thanks for all the ways you bless me and I don't know about it. How many times have you protected me O Lord and I was unaware. Thanks for those times God. Praise Your Holy Name!

Long Hair Freaky People

"And the sign said, 'long haried freaky people need not apply.'" Remember that old song. I think the title of it was "Signs." I think it was a song about how the establishment was kicking around everybody who didn't look and act like them. It was written in a time when the "hippie" movement was in full swing.

Though I don't agree with all that came with the hippie movement, the whole "judging-a-book-by-its-cover" approach to life can be a real drag. Stereo-typing is not just a thing of the past and I guess in some ways it will never go away.

We are all, to some degree, judged in some way--by what we do, where we live, what we wear, and you can probably add to that list. When people introduce me as a "preacher" it automatically skews the attitude of the person to whom I am introduced. Sometimes it is good, but more times than not, it is not good. People begin to act differently--sometimes to the point of being fake. How I hate that!

My dad has this guy who works with him who is in his late 40's at least, has long hair, smokes, has an ear ring, and appears as though he doesn't shave that often. He speaks with a southern draw and wears old clothes. Got the picture?

I don't think so. Though I don't know the man's spiritual status, he is just one of the nicest guys you'll ever want to meet. He is friendly, concerned, and intelligent. My dad says that he is one of the hardest working people he has ever had. He is even teaching him to do some of the more difficult things of cabinet building.

It is my prayer that we can get to the point when the heart of a man is all that matters. I know that when I say that, even I am thinking that it is an impossibility. I immediately think of people that need to change the way they "do life" and that's not all bad either. I just think that we need to give people a break and allow them to find their way. God only knows how many times He has given the patience I need to turn my life to Him.