Handprints of Love: Adding to the family

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

—John 3:16

My family started a new Thanksgiving tradition last year. After dinner each of us used a Sharpie to write what we were thankful for on the tablecloth. My daughter-in-law Tara traced her hand to create a turkey, then others followed suit. This past Thanksgiving we used the same tablecloth but decided to paint our handprints instead. Adults applied paint to children’s hands, then pressed them firmly to the cloth. Afterwards, they quickly rushed them to the bathroom to wash off. Tara and Rebekah painted their spouses hands too.

I left the tablecloth to dry on a rarely used table. That same weekend I happened upon some 30 year-old Mother’s Day artwork that included the handprints of my son Tim. What are the odds of that?

I placed the artwork next to Tim’s handprint on the tablecloth and marveled at the picture of growth. My mind traveled back 33 years to the night of his birth and how I marveled at the miracle in my arms. I counted all his fingers and toes, memorized the slope of his nose, and was in awe over his curious blue eyes and few strands of blonde hair. I wondered if the colors would change or if he’d always be my blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy. What would he look like as a boy, a teen, a man? Who would he become?

The Mysterious Bodyguard: Under his umbrella

He will cover you with his feathers,

    and under his wings you will find refuge;

    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

—Psalm 91:4

Another package from Amazon arrived. I ripped into the box and pulled out an umbrella. I didn’t order an umbrella. Where did this come from? Maybe somebody ordered it for me.

I searched the box for a gift message, but there was none. I looked for a packing slip. Nothing. Hmm…perhaps the giver wants to remain anonymous. Maybe it’s from my church secret sister. I’ll find out soon enough.

When I learned at the reveal that my secret sister had been my good friend Felicia, I asked her about the umbrella.

“Nope. It wasn’t from me,” she said.

I checked with family members. They hadn’t ordered it either. Perhaps it was delivered to me in error. Maybe I should return it. I called Amazon. I explained about the mysterious umbrella. I read off some numbers on the label. The Amazon worker checked their records.

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?”

A Perfect Match: Does God care about minute details?

Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

—Galatians 6:2

I placed my package for the gift exchange on the table and then handed a bag to my good friend, Donnicia. I smiled, as I whispered, “And this is your birthday gift.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said and then went on to recount her frustration with herself. Busy with getting everything organized and set up for the women’s ministries’ Christmas party, she had forgotten to put on a necklace. “I feel naked without it,” she said, raising a hand to her chest.