First the Singing, Then the Sudsing: Pressing on toward Christlikeness

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

—1 John 1:9

One of my favorite Christmas gifts from my students was a musical hand soap dispenser. When I pressed on the dispenser, Christmas music played, and then the soap came out. It made me think of Jesus. The night He was born, an angel appeared to the shepherds to make the announcement. Then suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:10-14).

I related the dispenser’s Christmas music to the angels singing. But what about the soap?

The Christmas Brooch: Parting with prized possessions

“It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

—Acts 20:35

I read the tag attached to the gift box, “Beverly! You were my secret sister? I had no idea!”

I proceeded to tear the wrapping paper from the box, then lifted the lid. What I saw made me gasp. The striking blue brooch I had once seen Beverly wear in church. As she had turned to greet me during the morning service, my eyes went straight to it. “Wow, what a beautiful pin!” I exclaimed, “The blue is absolutely stunning! I love it!”

I imagined it was a vintage piece from Beverly’s antiques store. Now, here it was in a gift box for me! I was overwhelmed. How could she part with what must have been one of her prized possessions?

Maybe there are several answers to that question.

Tell Me a Story: How sharing can make a difference

Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation.

—Joel 1:3

One of my least favorite chores is dusting, so I usually put it off until I absolutely must do it. I was at that point a few days before Thanksgiving. I knew I had to get my house in order before my daughter, Rebekah, and her family arrived. I removed objects from the top of my dresser, including the mother-daughter figurine that Rebekah had given me for Christmas a couple years back. As I wiped the statuette, I read the engraving on the back: tell me a story.

It seemed a message aimed directly at me. Lately I had been thinking about my writing and how I had been putting it off, like the dusting, not because I dislike it (I enjoy it!), but because other things had gotten in the way. I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. This was a confirmation.

An idea struck. What if I challenged myself to write one story for each day of the Advent season? Could I do it? Could I allow the words to flow from my brain to my fingertips without stopping to “workshop” word choice and placement? I wanted to try. I wanted to honor the Savior with my words without getting hung up on perfectionism.

When Rebekah arrived, I told her my idea.

“Do you think you have enough stories?” she asked.

The Message of Hope, Wrapped Up in a Shawl

But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

—1 Corinthians 2:9 KJV

“Wake up! It’s Christmas!” my sister, Mary, called to me from my bedroom door.

“It’s Christmas!” my siblings echoed, waiting in the hallway for all to gather.

I quickly arose and joined them. We took off down the stairs, feet flying, hearts pounding. Mary flipped the living room light switch, illuminating the long-awaited scene, gifts piled high on every chair and couch. Eyes wide open, we scanned the room, each of us quickly locating our own pile.

Mom and Dad joined us, and we took turns opening our gifts from them. When it was my turn, I tore off the gift wrap, removed the top from the box, and pulled out a hand-crocheted shawl. My mouth flew open.

“What! You made this, Mom?” I exclaimed, “How did you do that without me knowing?”

Without waiting for a response, I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders, imagining myself wearing the shawl to church and all the teen group dances.