The Christmas Pickle: Choosing carefully

She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made.

—Luke 10:39-40a

Does your family celebrate the tradition of the Christmas pickle? Have you heard of it? The Christmas pickle is a glass pickle ornament, which is hidden in the boughs of the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. The first child to find the pickle on Christmas morning gets a special treat or an extra gift or gets to open the first gift, you decide. I guess you could say that finding the ornament is lucky. However, in my family, the term Christmas pickle takes on a different meaning and it’s far from lucky.

On Christmas Eve 2016, my family gathered at my home for the evening meal. I knew that my grandchildren, Addison, then 4, and Eli, 2, both enjoyed dill pickles, so I was sure to pick some up from the grocery store. I placed them in a serving dish and set them on the table. As soon as we said grace, the two children bit into a pickle. Suddenly, Eli shuddered, and Addison gagged and took off for the bathroom.

“Wow, that must have been a sour pickle!” my mother remarked.

“Here, let me have your pickle, Eli,” Ricky offered and took a bite, “That is pungent!”

Then Tim tried it. Emma did too. Both concurred. “What kind of pickles did you buy, Mom?”

Paced for the Weekend: How are you moving?

O God, you cause abundant showers to fall on your chosen people.

When they are tired, you sustain them.

—Psalm 68:9

It’s one of those mornings when I walk around with marshmallow feet. I dare not make a sound that would disturb the love-tones, lulling my spirit. The rhythm of rain, splashing on broad leaves of canna lilies. Hummingbirds, humming in key. And the hushed whisper of God, telling me I am right where I’m supposed to be. The quiet answer to prayer.

It had been a hard week, one that started with sickness and ended with exhaustion, as I pressed through to order my classroom for the start of school. And then I wondered how I should spend the three-day weekend. Travel to be with family to celebrate birthdays and the last official hurrah of summer? I deserved that, didn’t I? I missed my family. But I would have to contend with busy holiday weekend traffic and the expense. Or should I stay home to rest and prepare for the upcoming week and save money in so doing?

One Word for the New Year

And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.

—Luke 2:52

I can’t ignore it. Everywhere I look, there it is. My eyes are drawn to it. I look up, and there it is. I drive down the road, and there it is. I open a book, and there it is.

It all started before Christmas. I cannot say exactly when, but sometime around Thanksgiving—the time when Christmas decorations went up, when I sported a Rudolph nose and posed for my annual Christmas card photo, and when it made its way on the page of my Christmas devotion. It drew us outside the night after Thanksgiving to interest little boys in the formation of stars, and two weeks later it drew me to the deck to witness a seemingly personal meteor shower in the eastern sky.

Light. A five-letter word that has manifested itself in countless ways this holiday season—from the lights on my Christmas tree to the lights strung across the streets of LaPlata, the town of my birth—but most importantly, in the birthday celebration for the One Who offers new birth to all—Christ, the Light of the world, Who brings new light to our dark places.

With the New Year just hours away, many folks have already packed up Christmas and moved onto making resolutions for self-improvement. But as for me, I can’t bear the thought of packing it up, especially the lights. Perhaps I don’t have to.

Allow me to explain. Several years ago I read about an alternative to New Year’s resolutions. Rather than making a resolution, you choose a focus word— just one word to guide you in the coming year. The first year I chose “balance.” Another year I chose “perseverance.” But this year…well, it’s been chosen for me. I can’t ignore it. It’s light.

You may be confused. Balance, you get. Perseverance, you understand. But light?

Mothers and Teachers and Rosebushes

Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

—Psalm 25:4-5 

“Tell me the best part and the worst part of your day,” I introduced the favorite mealtime ritual that invited my children to share.  

One by one they described the highs and lows of their day, which opened the door to meaningful conversation and opportunities to encourage and praise and counsel. 

Years have passed since that time, and I have to admit I miss those days. I miss mothering—and I miss those faces that circled my table. 

Last night I went to dinner with a friend and engaged him in the high-low conversation. I listened as he described his “low” part of the day that occurred at work. In the end the “low” became a “high” and I concurred that he did the right thing. Then the tables were turned (no pun intended…well, maybe), and it was my turn to share.