The Little Red Wagon

  He had every reason to dislike Christmas. Times were different; a different time and place, a different era. The culture was different. Holidays and celebrations were something others did. Something other people took part in. Life was tough. Hard. The luxury of a day off was not something these mountain people could afford to take. Who was this man called Santa? He had heard about him in fleeting ways; in the brief short times he could attend school. Christmas pageants and baked goods. Dreams and tales of Christmas candies, banquets, and feasts, with unending presents. These were just some of the tall tales and stories he had heard. Why hadn't Santa ever brought him something? Where was this Santa when he was working so hard? There would not be a tree or decorations, and no candies or gifts would be strewn throughout the house. He tried so very hard to be good, but this Santa never came to his house. He made it to other houses. He made it to houses where the kids weren't quit...

I’m not sure where the story begins. Maybe it started when my mom was born, or when my parents met. By that same token, the ending isn’t an ending, it’s a beginning.  Most everyone thinks their parents are the best. Mine truly were. I didn’t know how special or unique they were until my dad died. I just thought that all families were like ours, at least to a degree. I knew there were differences, but yet in my innocence or maybe my ignorance, I thought all parents were great. I just thought all daddies were like mine. It wasn’t until I was almost 50 when a childhood friend said to me, “Not all dads were like yours”, that I put any thought into the differences with my parents.  It was an eye-opening conversation. (I wasn’t naive, I knew kids were abused and such. I knew there were differences in families and parents, but I never thought about my dad or mom being special to other people) My dad has been gone for over 12 years now and people still talk about him like they just ta...

On the night that Jesus was born, there were no earthly celebrations, no text messages, phone calls, Tweets, or FaceTime, and Joseph didn’t post “He’s here” on Instagram. While the heavenly hosts sang and proclaimed His birth, the people of the earth did not acknowledge or even understand what His birth meant to mankind. The Savior of the world had been born. Born in a humble stable, God became flesh. “In this, the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him”. 1 John 4:9  It’s tempting to try to find our joy within the celebrations and traditions of Christmas rather than in God himself. We need to come to a place where we love Christmas...just because it's Christmas...The birth of our Savior....nothing else...no expectations for the perfect day or present... The perfect present was already given and we can never top that. This is the real meaning of Christmas.  It's not about the holiday...