Breakfast isn’t the meal you normal think of first when it comes to considering Thanksgiving Day festivities. But for 42 years, this was my family’s tradition … to gather together for breakfast.

You might wonder how such an event came to be. Perhaps because my grandfather was an only child, he loved having his family and friends (who he considered to be family) close by, especially on holidays. Thanksgiving was no exception.

As his kids grew into adulthood and began to marry, my grandfather complained to my grandmother that he could not figure out when to have the family Thanksgiving meal so that all five of his children could be there at one time. This one needed to be at their in-laws for a noon meal. That one had a 2 pm meal to attend. Another one needed to be somewhere for an Thanksgiving supper-time meal. My grandmother teased him, “Well, no one has a claim on breakfast yet!”

And so, that’s how Thanksgiving Breakfast came to be.

I’m not exactly sure how those first Thanksgiving Breakfasts went, but by the time I was old enough to remember the entire event took place back behind my grandparent’s house in a wooden recreation building that my grandfather called “The Outhouse.” It was crudely outfitted with cast off living room furniture, an old wooded church pew, and a pool table covered with a piece of plywood. At one end was a large fireplace and at the other end was a wood-burning stove. You could comfortably fit 15 or so people inside, but on Thanksgiving morning we crammed 50 or more into that small space.

On Thanksgiving morning, members of my family got up early to start prepping for the celebration. Someone had to build the fires in the fire pits and start the biscuits cooking. Inside “The Outhouse,” the fireplace roared. Right next to it, sat my grandfather in his chair — “holding court” as he greeted all the guests. No one entered without first stopping by to speak to my grandfather.

Across the room from my grandfather, my Uncle Ken cooked eggs in a cast iron skillet on the top of a wood burning stove, while one pan of biscuits baked to perfection in it’s old oven.  (The remaining 120+ biscuits cooked down in “The Big House” where my grandparents lived.)

The rest of the family members made treks, up and down the brick steps, back and forth from The Big House to The Outhouse, carrying delicacies like Monkey Bread and large pots of piping hot grits and trays filled with slices of ham or turkey or even sausage.

It was early in the morning that the first guests started arriving. By 7:30 am, the driveway was crowded with cars and the chatter of voices carried all over the hillside. For the next two hours, everyone would huddle together in small groups, mugs of steaming coffee or hot chocolate in one hand and a plate piled high with biscuits, eggs and warm cinnamon rolls in the other. Laughter could be seen and not just heard as every breath hung in the air like tiny puffs of smoke. Hugs were as plentiful as the food.  Every year, Thanksgiving morning was a morning I wished would never end.

Eventually though, the crowds would depart, each friend or family member headed home to prepare for other Thanksgiving meals later in the day. Those of us left would clean up The Outhouse, throw away the trash and put away the food. My brother and cousins would pile plates high with the extra food, then head out to make deliveries to a few elderly shut-ins and other folks my grandfather thought might appreciate being remembered with a plate of food.

Since 1973, this is the way every Thanksgiving I can remember went.  Seeing as I was born in 1972, this is truly the only sort of Thanksgiving I have enjoyed. And a part of me believed it would go on forever.

But my grandfather died this past spring … and after a lot of discussion, it was decided that Thanksgiving Breakfast had reached its natural end.

This morning, I woke up at my mother’s, our Thanksgiving meal over as we had celebrated on Wednesday night. We set about taking care of other chores, mainly beginning to decorate The Big House for Christmas.

Mid-morning, my mother sent me to The Outhouse to look for her missing step-ladder, which we needed to hang up the stockings.  Without thinking, I headed to the back door, opened it up and stepped onto the brick steps leading up to The Outhouse. The morning breeze caressed my face, and without warning I heard the echoes of 42 years worth of thankful hearts gathered on that hillside, which now seemed strangely silent to my ears.

As I neared The Outhouse, I passed by a cold fire pit, but I could nearly smell the smoke wafting in the air. As I opened the door and let myself inside, I heard the sizzling of the hot cast iron skillet. I felt the heat of fireplace. I squeezed past the shoulders of guests to get closer to my grandfather’s chair.

Only no one was there. The fireplace was not roaring with a fire. Nothing was cooking.

Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. The back of my throat burned hot.  The weight of the end of something loved and good felt heavier than I expected.

Then, I remembered the step-ladder and why I needed it.

Down in The Big House, I needed to hang seventy stockings.

SEVENTY. (It’s not a typo.)

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They hang along two walls in the over-sized dining room of The Big House, a band of colorful felt. No two are alike. Each one handmade. The stockings are as unique as the individuals they represent.

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I can’t help but look at that long line of stockings and think to myself, “The only child got the big family of his dreams.”

A marriage that lasted 60 years.Five children. Thirteen grandchildren. Thirty-five great-grandchildren.  It’s not just DNA either, for in that seventy are adopted children, step-children, and foster children.

This is the legacy my grandfather left … not money or possessions or even beloved traditions. But people. He loved big and he always had room for one more at his table, whether it was for coffee or Sunday dinner or Thanksgiving Breakfast.

Today I’m thinking about my family and our traditions … and I’m grateful for my grandfather and his legacy for it reflects something in God’s nature too.

God loves big. In fact, His love is the biggest there is. And He always has room for one more.

Some day in heaven there will be a great banquet. A feast to end all feasts. Thanksgiving Breakfast will pale in comparison!

And I wonder about the table. How wide and how long it will be! Even so, at God’s great table, there is always room for more.

Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb. ~Revelation 19:9

Let’s you and me agree to always have room for another guest at the table.

The Dancing Queen

Julia, age 3
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Many years ago, a certain little 3-year-old girl loved to twirl around our living room and say, “Look at MEEE! Dancin’ Queen!

Trust me when I say this was nothing short of a miracle.

Not the twirling … the twirling wasn’t the miracle. It was the talking that was the miracle.

It’s the truth! In fact, these words were among the first full sentences she ever spoke. Until then, her vocabulary existed of about six one-word phrases:

  • NO!
  • MINE!
  • Doe (for Joel)
  • Nay (for Nathan)
  • DaDEE
  • MAAAAAAA!

Truly, these were all the words she knew until she discovered the music of ABBA and particularly the song “Dancing Queen.”

Fortunately, good music encouraged her to increase her vocabulary. One good phrase led to another and another and another until eventually she talked so much that in 1st grade she got to sit at her very own table in the back corner of the classroom because she wouldn’t stop talking to the other children — but that’s a story for another day.

Back to Dancing Queen … You know how Dancing Queen goes, right?

“You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet

Only seventeen

Dancing queen”

lyric of Dancing Queen

My little dancing queen is currently seventeen.

Let me tell you, from my perspective, seventeen has been a pretty good year for Julia. She’s come into her own, blossoming into a beautiful young lady with a unique personality .

Last year about this time, she was fretting over being the only child left at home. I don’t know what she might tell you about it, but on the backside I can tell you that I loved every single minute of her being the “only child.” She kept Jon and I laughing with her antics. All I can tell you is that this girl is a hoot and a half. If you ever get a chance to hang with her for a while, do it! You will have the time of your life.

“The time of you life” … another line from Dancing Queen.

“You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen”

lyrics from Dancing Queen

That’s what this past year has been for me … digging my dancing queen. 🙂

Seventeen ... still my sweet dancing queen

It’s July 1st. Later this month Julia turns 18 years old. In six weeks, she heads off to college.

I’m gonna miss that girl.

Tangled

My mom used to describe my hair as a rat’s nest.

She wasn’t wrong. My hair tangled easily into knots.

To add insult to injury, I could also be described as a tender-headed little girl. It didn’t take much pulling against the tangles in my hair to bring about cries and tears of anguish.

Throughout my childhood, I wished for my hair to be long and curly. My mother kept it cut short. No doubt, this was to keep both the tangles and the tears under control!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This morning I woke up sad.

As I moped over my coffee, Jon asked me what was wrong. I didn’t know.

Later, we worked in the yard. I didn’t want to talk or interact. My spirit felt as dry as the ground where the weeds were growing.

After mulching and lunch, we sat in the patio rockers, watching birds. Jon said, “You miss your Daddy, don’t you?” The hard knot in my throat threatened to crack open.

We are approaching the seventh anniversary of my father’s passing. It should not be this hard. Father’s Day shouldn’t bring me to my knees. I don’t remember feeling this sad last year on Father’s Day.

But this year … I’m just sad. I miss my dad

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I remember my head hurt. My wet hair was full of tangles. My mother had been working on brushing out the knots. I think my tears had her frustrated. She probably wanted to send me straight to bed, tangles and all. But she knew if she did, the mess would only be worse in the morning.

I don’t know why, but somehow my mother stepped to the side and my father took over combing out my wet, knotted hair. He worked slowly and gently, from the bottom up. The tangles seemed to fall away under the magic of my father’s gentle combing.

I think that was the moment I became a Daddy’s girl.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When my dad died, my brother suggested we put the following verse on his grave marker:

The righteous man will be remembered forever.

Psalm 112:6

Of all the things I could tell you about my dad, my favorite is that he was a righteous man who loved Jesus.

He was funny, kind, positive, loyal and gentle. He was devoted to his family. And he is remembered for the wonderful person he was.

Picture Perfect: Thoughts on Forgiveness, Family and the Future

A picture is worth a thousand words.

English language adage

Picture This.

This is my “family photo” from Julia’s graduation.

It is not the family photo I envisioned taking with my family. The one planned out in my head looked quite different.

Originally, I wanted all five of our young adult children in the picture, each one holding a chalkboard sign with the year they finished high school, from Maddie and Joel who finished in 2018 to Julia who is part of the Class of 2021.

Jon and I would hold signs too. His with the words, “Finally our nest is empty!” My sign would read, “Officially Retired Homeschool Mom.

In my mind’s eye, I could clearly see all of us, standing close together with big smiles. The image in my head was sentimental yet cute, trendy yet witty. It would definitely be a social media worthy photo.

Unfortunately, that photo was also not meant to be.

None of our kids were eager to take a photo in the first place. There were various comments and complaints from the oldest right down to the graduate herself. At best, they were an ambivalent, uncommitted group who didn’t seem to appreciate their mother’s sense of humor..

One day as I washed up the lunch dishes, I asked myself, “It it worth it to try to beg and plead just to get this photo?” As much as I loved the idea of that cute photo in my head, I also didn’t really want to have to convince my mostly grown children to do this one thing just for me. The truth was I wanted them to want to do it too. I wanted them to share in my excitement. Unfortunately, I could tell that really wasn’t the case.

I told Jon, “I really don’t want to have to beg our kids to take a special photo for me, because then every time I look at it I will remember how no one really wanted to be there. Furthermore, the last thing I want is a picture of a bunch of fake smiles because I don’t want us to just look like a happy family. I want us to actually be a happy family. I’m not sure this a photo where I had to force people into participating will truly reflect that.”

Jon understood my perspective, and so it was decided that we would just take a picture of whoever could be with us — and we would definitely not use any cute or trendy chalkboard signs.

A Well-Captured Photo

Obviously, the above photograph looks nothing like the family picture I originally envisioned. Yet, I am not unpleased with the way this photo turned out either.

Why? Because this picture is worth a thousand words.

A long time ago, in what feels like another lifetime, I was married to a different man.

My heart shattered into a million little pieces when our marriage ended. The young lady proudly wearing the cap and gown had just celebrated her 4th birthday. She cannot even remember a time when her mom and dad lived in the same house.

Over the years, with a lot of counseling, the intense grief subsided and my heart began to heal. And yet, forgiveness didn’t come easily to my wounded heart. I wanted to forgive, but the struggle to actually do it was hard and real.

When the graduate was still a little girl of just 7 years old, I remarried. While my new husband certainly brought a lot of joy into my life, being married again didn’t help me forgive my former spouse. I wanted to forgive. I prayed about a lot about forgiving. But my wounded heart still struggled to let it all go.

You’ve probably heard it said, “Forgive and forget.” Logically it seems like forgetting would be the more difficult part of that process, but for me forgetting actually came much easier than forgiving! For periods of time, I would actually forget about the pain of unforgiveness in my heart, which oddly enough fooled me into believing I had also forgiven my ex-husband. Unfortunately, just as soon as I saw him in person again those old wounds felt fresh all over again.

Forgiveness might lead to forgetting, but forgetting doesn’t mean that you’ve actually done any forgiving.

I complained to my counselor about my inability to forgive my former husband. “Detach yourself,” she said. I wasn’t exactly sure how to detach from someone you have to be around as you co-parent your children, but I decided it couldn’t hurt to try.

And so I pulled back. My kids were teens anyway. It was easy enough to just step back and let them handle their own interactions with their father. The more I detached, the more I wanted to detach. The distance grew and I suddenly discovered I felt less stress and worry than I had in years. This detachment idea was working!

But unfortunately, every time I saw my ex-husband in person, my heart felt all bruised again. Forgiveness seemed awful slow in coming.

As the months passed by, my counselor remained full of advice:

  • Give it some time. You have been holding onto the pain for a long time. It’s not going away by tonight either.
  • Practice focusing on your positive attitudes and emotions. What you spend your time thinking about will influence the way you feel.
  • As much as possible, let your children manage their relationship with their father. Your main goal is detaching.

Due to his military career, my children only see their dad a few times a year. Furthermore, for the past couple of years, he had opted to fly the kids to visit him in Kansas instead of traveling down to see them in Louisiana. As my daughter’s graduation approached, I wondered how seeing him in person would make me feel. After his last visit, I could tell that in spite of all my work on detaching and letting go, I had still not truly forgiven him. Even though I hadn’t seen him in over two years, I sort of assumed it would be the same this time around, too.

My ex-husband was due to arrive in town the day before graduation. As it happened, I was out running errands when he showed at my house well before lunch. Jon sent me a text to let me know, stating, “I told him to make himself at home.”

When I walked in the door, the first thing I noticed was he was doing exactly that. My former husband was sitting on the sofa, talking and laughing with his children and completely enjoying himself in my home. For the entire weekend my ex-husband spent most of his time hanging out with our family. It surprised me that I didn’t feel put out by his presence.

On Sunday morning, my kids left for a week of vacation with their dad. As I waved them off, I realized I had just spent the majority of the weekend in the presence of my ex-husband, and yet emotionally I felt okay. No annoyance. No anger or bitterness. My emotions were totally in check and I felt in control of myself, instead of being strung out or tied up in knots like I normally felt after interacting with him..

For half a moment, I wondered if maybe I had actually forgiven him … but I still felt too uncertain to believe it could finally be true. And since we were also in the midst of moving house, I truly didn’t think much more about it over the next several days.

A week passed before the graduation photos came back. The very first picture in the digital file sent by the photographer was my family photo. I clicked to open it up, feeling excited to see the photos of our special day, and yet as the picture loaded on my computer screen, all I could do was stare in amazement.

How could I have not noticed at the time the photo was being taken that my ex-husband was standing right there? As we all crowded around my daughter, I didn’t even see that he was standing in the group too?

I pondered this for a second, and then looked to see if we had taken another group photo with just my family. Nope. Just the one big group picture.

The strange thing I noticed was not only did my ex-husband not seem out of place in the photo, but there was no rush of negative emotion within me about having him included in my family photo either.. While both of these things certainly surprised me, what I noticed next surprised me even more.

Before graduation, all I wanted a family picture where the people in it weren’t faking smiles. I wanted a truly happy photograph — one where I wouldn’t look back and remember how I had to work hard cajoling people to participate. In fact, I wanted it so much, that I willingly gave up all my plans to try to force it happen.

And the end result was this unexpected photo, where everyone looks happy to be together. There are no fake smiles here! In fact, I’m willing to bet that if you didn’t know the backstory, you might just think all the people in this photo were part of one big, happy family who had gathered to celebrate a person they all loved.

The more I stared at that amazing picture, the more it dawned on me that my focus was finally right — and that’s when I knew forgiveness had come at last.

Love prospers when a fault is forgiven, but dwelling on it separates close friends.

Proverbs 17:9

A Picture with Words

An idea for a new picture came to me two days before graduation, sort of a spin off from my original idea.

At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it but when I mentioned it to Jon, he said I should go for it.

With a little bit of hesitancy, I asked my graduate what she thought. When she said she would be delighted to take the photo with me, I think I nearly fainted. I was hoping for just an ambivalent agreement. Instead, she gave me her full enthusiasm.

I already had the chalkboards and the chalk marker. I just needed to find the time to pull it all together. Even though I had a million small task to complete on my graduation to-do list, I happily added the words “make chalkboard signs” to it.

Late on the night before graduation, I sat down and wrote out my three simple chalkboard messages.

The first for my daughter: “I’m done! Class of 2021”

The second for Jon: “College costs more than homeschool.”

And the last one for me: “Officially Retired Homeschool Mom”

Immediately after our family group photo, I asked the photographer please take a second picture. This time it was just the three of us … me and Jon and Julia … posing together for a picture.

And this time, the photo captured a thousand words wrapped up in my heart. It was the perfect combination of sentimental and witty; creative and silly. It’s probably even social media worthy.

Even though it is not my original idea, it’s still close enough so that it made my heart smile, intentionally and creatively demonstrating my personal decision to embrace the end of one season in anticipation of the next.

Finally, I didn’t have to beg or console anyone else to go along with my idea.

Win-Win-Win!

Life in Proper Focus

My counselor once told me I needed to practice embracing reality, regardless of whether I liked my reality or not.

Like it or not, as of May 8th, I am no longer a homeschool mother. The end of this part of my life has been coming for a long, long time. Therefore, I might as well embrace it with as much grace as I can muster.

The truth is part of my issue with unforgiveness was the fact that I felt forced into being a single mother, as if everything I ever loved about my life was stolen from me. I couldn’t see how things would ever feel right again.

I could have accepted the reality of what was happening, choosing instead to embrace the new gifts God placed in my life. But I didn’t, and that inability to accept reality cost me 14 years of pain in my own heart.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

Ephesians 4:32

Once again, I’m being forced to leave behind one season of life and head into the next.

Whether I like it or not, many things I have loved and treasured about my current life are coming to a swift end. I can choose to kick and scream or moan and cry, but I cannot stop what is happening. My past experience tells me that if I choose to focus on this negatively, I will only prolong the pain of moving forward.

This time, I’m determined to embrace the next season as an adventure, even though it means I leave must behind what I once loved so dearly in order to step into a reality that I do not yet know.

As I gave Julia her high school diploma, I encouraged her with the following scripture:

For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

Ephesians 2:10

You see, my daughter freely admits to feeling somewhat anxious about heading out to college in the fall.

“Mom,” she said to me recently, “I love my current life — my part-time job, hanging with my friends, taking long walks in our neighborhood, cuddling with my dog in bed every night. Every time I think about going away to college, I get sad because I’m going to miss so much about life right now!

Who can blame her for not wanting to trade a life she loves for something new and unknown?

She’s not alone in her anxiety.

I am anxious about upcoming changes too. Suddenly I’m not going to be a homeschool mom, which means my whole world is turning upside down. Part of me is jealous of my daughter. At least she knows that she is going to college. I still have no idea what my next season includes!

But I can choose to willingly embrace this time in my life because God already prepared it for me. He knows my life’s path and I can walk in it with Him, knowing that He is going to be there with me through every twist and turn.

So the truth is, I picked this Bible verse for me too!

Here’s to a new seasons — to accepting the reality of my life, to forgiving myself and others, to moving forward into the unknown, and to embracing all that is to come.

Most of all, here’s to knowing God walks with us so we are never alone.

Refuse to worry about tomorrow, but deal with each challenge that comes your way, one day at at time.

Matthew 6:34 (The Passion Translation)

X-Ray Vision

The eyes of the Lord are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good.

~ Proverbs 15:3

image credit: https://www.retroagogo.com/x-ray-vision-patch/

Mom! Megan hurt her arm!”

Nathan’s voice had a concerned edge to it, making my heart race a little faster than normal. Sure enough, as soon as I saw Megan, pale-face and cradling her arm,  I could tell she was in pain.

“I’m fine, GiGi.  It’s nothing,” Megan said, though I could see tears still welled up in the corners of her eyes. She wiggled her fingers. “See,” she said with a wry grin,  “it’s definitely not broken.”

“It may not be broken, but I’d still like to check out your arm. Show me where it hurts.”

Megan pulled her arm instinctively closer. “Oh, really … it’s fine.”

I could see the purple tint of a bruise already beginning to show on the side of her right forearm. “Sweetie, what happened? I can see where you’ve bruised yourself. It must really hurt.”

Megan looked first at Nathan. His eyes grew wide and he shrugged his shoulders at her. Megan shook her head and signed. Finally she said, “GiGi, I just bumped up against the corner where the wall sticks out. It really doesn’t hurt me much at all.

Something about her answer and the look on Nathan’s face made me feel suspicious as to what really happened, but I could tell Megan wasn’t going to open up yet. I gave her a couple of ibuprofen tablets and suggested she find a quiet activity to rest her arm for the remainder of the morning.

An hour or so later, I saw Megan in the kitchen getting water. A huge knot stuck out, and the bruise was dark in color. I noticed my right-handed stepdaughter using her left hand to get a drink. But after a second round of questioning, she continued to insist her arm was quite alright.

At lunch, Megan winced through the meal, picking up utensils gingerly as if even the slightest movement cause her pain. However, she never uttered a complaint.

By early afternoon, it was obvious to everyone that despite Megan’s bravado, the pain was intense. The arm might not be broken, but I wondered if it was fractured. I also was curious as to why Megan was so closed-mouthed about how the injury occurred.

I called her pediatrician, who said we should bring her in to check for fractures. On the car ride to the office, I said, “Megan, I need to know exactly what happened to hurt your arm. The doctor will need to know how it happened. Casually bumping up against the corner of a wall shouldn’t cause this kind of pain. So, be honest with me and tell the truth about what happened.”

With eyes cast down, Megan sighed deeply. “I know you will be mad at me because I hurt my arm when I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”

“Megan, it’s okay. Just tell me and then maybe I can help,” I said as I patted her hand.

“Well … Nathan and I went into dad’s office. I know we aren’t suppose to go play in there, but we did. First I had a turn sitting in dad’s chair while Nathan spun me around. Then I let Nathan have a turn sitting in the chair. But while I was spinning him, I somehow flung my arms too fast and my right arm crashed into the wall, right on the corner where it sticks out near dad’s desk. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew we would get into trouble.” Megan finished with a sigh.

“Aw, Meg … I’m sorry you got hurt. I wish you had told me sooner. You and Nathan did disobey a direct rule. But hiding the truth never makes a situation better. You’ve been in physical pain from your arm all day, but your heart has been heavy too. And it didn’t have to be that way.”

Meg smiled shyly. “I know. It was silly not to tell you. I already feel better because the truth is out, and I don’t have to hide it anymore. GiGi, will you forgive me for playing in dad’s office … and for hiding the truth about my arm?”

I grinned back. “You bet I will! And I’d say your hurt arm is a natural consequence for your disobedience, so we are all good. Now, let’s go get this arm checked out.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As I suspected, our doctor did want Megan to have her arm x-rayed, and in short order he sent us off to a local imaging center to get an X-ray taken. As we left the pediatrician’s office,  I called to the house to let the rest of my kids know it might be another hour or so before we got back home.

Immediately, four voices in the background began to clamor for me to come by and pick them up so they might come with us. “Why on earth would you want to come? We are just going to be sitting in a waiting room.” I asked.

“I’m really concerned about Megan,” said Julia, a little too enthusiastically.

Yeah! We want to be there in case she needs any extra support,” echoed Maddie.

“It’s just an X-ray, guys … not surgery.” Their enthusiasm for coming along to get an X-ray was nearly as strange as Megan’s initial reticence to share how exactly her arm got injured.

“Well, personally, I just want to come so I can get a free coke and a couple of cookies,” said Joel.

“And candy! Don’t forget the candy!” said Nathan, his voice gleeful and giddy.

“Aha!” I said. “There’s the truth! I forgot how that imaging center has cookies and soft drinks and lots of bowls of candy strategically placed in the waiting room. You people aren’t concerned about Megan at all!”

“But Mom! It’s not fair that Megan will be the only one who gets to enjoy the free food … especially when she was the one being disobedient in the first place,” pouted Julia.

“Fair or not, that’s just the way it is. I’m not coming to get you, but I will return home soon.” With that, I hung up my cell phone.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fortunately, Megan’s arm was not broken or fractured. She just had a deep, severe bruise which took several days to heal.

Afterward, I began to think about Megan’s situation. She tried to hide the truth because she was afraid of being punished because she was disobedient. And then, somehow, despite her failure to obey and in spite of her lie, she was still blessed with a free soft drink and cookies as she waited to get her arm x-rayed.

Isn’t God like that with us?

We sin against Him all the time, and then lie to Him about our actions. And yet, He blesses us in so many ways. His love is deeper than all of our wrong doings. His love is greater than our inability to be truthful with ourselves. His love disciplines and yet blesses at the same time.

X is for X-Ray, 

and for the reminder that God sees right into our sinful hearts, but loves and blesses His children in spite of it.

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.

~1 Peter 4:8

The Tale of Three Nativities

Of all the Christmas decorations out there, Nativity scenes are my absolute favorite.

I currently own six different nativity sets, and yet every year when Christmas decorations start to appear in the stores, I have the urge to run out and buy another one or two. Jon doesn’t understand my desire to fill my house with all the beautiful Nativity scenes. I have too many as it is because I don’t have enough space to display all of the ones I own. Yet a part of me wonders if a girl can own too many Christmas Nativity sets.

As I decorated my house for Christmas and displayed my beautiful Nativities, I thought about how my love for Nativity sets started when I was a young girl, as well as some of the beautiful Christmas lessons I’ve learned from setting up Nativity scenes.

These are three of my favorite Nativity stories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I was a little girl, I knew the Christmas season had arrived when my mother pulled out the Nativity set.

She always got it out in early December. Sometimes we wouldn’t decorate a tree until it was almost Christmas, but the Nativity set was put out early in the season to remind us of the real story of Christmas.

My brother and sister and I played for hours with the Nativity. Ours was made from a very study plastic. It was not cheaply made nor did it look cheap, but because it was so sturdy it was also very kid friendly. Nothing could be easily broken on it — at least not until we were all grown and Brooke’s dog got hold of some of the shepherds and maybe a wise man or two.

This one is not exactly like the Nativity set my mother owned, but it’s similar. We had more shepherds, several sheep, a couple of camels, and two angels included in our set. Also, the barn did not have a ladder to the roof and the sides were solid.

Each of us had our own way of playing with the Nativity.

I liked to arrange all the characters so that it covered the entire coffee table. Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus were settled into the wooden barn. The cow and the donkey were either in the creche or nearby. Not too far off to one side were the shepherds and their sheep, while a great distance off to the other side were the wise men with their camels.

Unfortunately, I always had a big dilemma over where to place the angels. There were two of them: one kneeling and one that was standing. I typically put one angel on a little flat section of barn roof, but should it be the kneeling angel or the standing one? Once I made that critical decision, then there was the problem of where to put the other angel. Should it be inside the barn worshipping Jesus or be near the shepherds bringing them news of great joy? This problem drove my Type-A brain crazy every single Christmas of my childhood.

I don’t really recall exactly how my brother Reid played with the Nativity. He probably arranged it so that the shepherds were fighting with the wise men or some other such silly boy nonsense. Or maybe he included extra characters in the scene: Star Wars and G. I. Joe figures guarding the baby or wise men arriving on the scene riding in tiny Matchbox cars. Probably he just spent time heckling me and Brooke over how we set up the Nativity scene and informing us that we did it all wrong.

But Brooke … well, I never will forget how she played with our Nativity set.

She worked hard, crowding all the characters right up into the barn. The pieces were literally crammed inside: shepherds stuffed next to wise men, animals doing handstands in the back corners. It was as if her goal was to get everyone as close to the infant Jesus as possible.

As a child, I never truly appreciated my sister’s way of acting out the Christmas story. I would come along behind her and put a little space between the shepherds and the wise men. However, now that I’m an adult and a parent, I have to admit I’m impressed by my sister’s innate understanding of the real meaning of Christmas.

Lesson 1: Get as close to the babe in the manger as possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Three years ago, my son Nathan bought me a Nativity set to add to my collection.

It was a pretty glass set, so small and sweet. He found it in a box of Christmas items at the antique store where he worked part-time, and purchased it for my birthday. His boss gave him a pretty good deal on it, and after I opened it I understood why.

Do you see the problem?

This nativity is actually the parts and pieces from several incomplete versions of the same nativity set that have been combined into one very inaccurate nativty. The absurd allotment of characters includes two Marys, three Josephs, and six Wise Men. The shepherds and angels are completely missing altogether.

I have to admit that I laughed the first time I saw it. It is just so crazy!

Every year when I pull it out from the box, I still laugh. And the giggles continue as I put the extra Mary and two of the Josephs on shepherd duty. Usually by the time I collect the Wise Men into a small horde, I am wiping away tears from the absurdity of this mismatched nativity.

And yet, every year I am reminded of a simple but oh-so-important truth as I set up my antique glass nativity, and that is that there is only one baby Jesus. I don’t have that particular piece in duplicates, nor is he missing altogether. And I think that’s really important to note.

Lesson 2: There is only one Savior. His name is Jesus.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I’ve always wanted a fancy Nativity set to display in my yard during the Christmas season.

Hobby Lobby has a beautiful outdoor nativity that costs several hundred dollars. Jon and I priced it a couple of years ago, and it’s nowhere near our price range for outdoor Christmas decor.

I have seen those simple Nativity scenes cut from plywood and painted white. These can usually be purchased for a reasonable price. I’ve also found patterns online to make them yourself. We’ve never bought or made one. Probably the biggest deterrent has been that we don’t have a truck to transport this large decorative piece or the plywood to make it to our house.

One year, Jon bought a blow-up Nativity for our yard. We had foster toddlers at the time, and they loved our Nativity. Sadly, it only lasted about three Christmases before it wouldn’t blow up anymore.

This Christmas, I told Jon that I thought of something we might be able to do for our yard and he was glad to help me make this vision come to life.

Together, we pulled out bits and pieces of wood from our shed and constructed a manger plus a cross. It took us just a couple of hours. I love the rustic appearance. Later, we went to Hobby Lobby, where I bought some straw and an old-looking piece of fabric for the swaddling cloth. All together we spent $6 on Christmas decorations for our yard.

I know it’s not a traditional Nativity, but it’s still really special to me. I’ll always cherish Jon’s enthusiasm for bringing my vision to fruition, as well as the time we spent together working on the project. And I think it will be hard for me to forget us searching through the fabrics to find the perfect one for our swaddling cloth.

But what I love the very most is that the manger is empty. Jesus didn’t stay an infant. He grew up and led a perfectly sinless life. He lived just to die and take the punishment for my sins.

Lesson 3: The manger in Bethlehem means nothing without the Cross of Calvary.

Here’s the best news of all: Jesus isn’t on the cross either.

That’s because He rose from the dead. He lives eternally, and through His death and resurrection offers me eternal life too.

How?

It’s simple. The first step is to admit that I am a sinner, incapable of living life without breaking God’s laws. The punishment for not obeying God is death or eternal separation from Him.

Next I believe that Jesus came to live that perfect life without sin, and willingly took my punishment (death on the cross). However, He rose back to life and overcame death. The tomb is empty.

Finally, I repent or turn from living life my own way and surrender to living life God’s way. I confess Jesus to be the Lord and Savior of my life. And when I do that, God says that though I die an earthly death, I will live with Him forever in Heaven.

The best Christmas present out there is the presence of Jesus in your heart and life.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.

Ephesians 2:8

If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.

Romans 10:9

The 2020 Election Shivers

photo credit: en.wikipedia.org

This is Allan Shivers.

If you’ve never heard of Mr. Shivers, don’t worry. It’s probably just proof you aren’t from Texas.

Now, you might be thinking, “Paige, I’m pretty sure you aren’t from Texas either. How did you come to know Allan Shivers?”

You are correct. I am not from Texas. I’m a Louisiana girl through and through.

My mother, however, is from Texas. She is the one who told me about Allan Shivers, just yesterday during our phone conversation. Until then, I’d never heard of him either.

As a born and bred Texan, my sweet mama knows all things Texas:

  • important facts about the great and marvelous people of that grand state, like Sam Houston, Stephen F. Austin, Allan Shivers and so forth
  • the tiniest of details about exciting Texas historical events, such as the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto
  • all the words to the Texas, Our Texas, which is the official state song of Texas (aka the Texas National Anthem).

Fun fact: One summer, my mother and my aunts, along with my grandmother, made me and all of my cousins learn the lyrics to the Texas state song. True story. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to sing those words as I stood at attention and saluted the Texas flag every morning at school. Therefore I didn’t retain the lyrics and can no longer prove I am half-Texan.

Enough digressing. Let’s get back to my mom and Allan Shivers.

Yesterday I called my mom.

Typically, I talk to my mom on the phone several times a week. She’s not nearly as chatty as my dad used to be, but I enjoy hearing her voice. Usually we talk about her dog Zayda’s antics or my kids’ college adventures, or what our pastors preached about on Sunday. (This actually takes quite a while because my mother tunes into about 3 or 4 preachers every Sunday morning.) And because we both love to read, every so often we discuss books.

Yesterday my mother told me about a book she is currently reading: Stories from Texas: Some of Them are True by W. F. Strong. My mom said, “It’s fascinating really … at least in some parts.”

Apparently, one of the stories in this book mentioned former Texas Governor Allan Shivers, which reminded my mother that once upon a time she actually met Gov. Shivers in person at a church service back when she was a relatively young girl. She recalled that he had some connections to her hometown of Woodville, TX, the main one being that the library there was the Allan Shivers Public Library but also something about his grandparents being buried in the big cemetery in Woodville as well.

Ever the curious person, my mom decided to poke around on the internet to see if she could discover more about this former prominent Texas politician. This is what she learned:

Allan Shivers served as the 37th Governor of Texas, a position he ascended to upon the death of Gov. Beauford Jester on July 11, 1949. (At that time, Shivers was serving as Texas Lt. Governor, and therefore was next in line as Governor.) Shivers went on to be elected Texas Governor three times in his own right in 1950, 1952 and 1954. He chose not to run as a candidate in 1956 gubernatorial race , and ended his last term on January 15, 1957.

Even though a four-term governorship is fairly impressive, it’s still pretty boring stuff if you aren’t into Texas history. I figured there must be more to this story, or otherwise it would not be worthy of my mother discussing it with me over the phone. As I said, she isn’t the most chatty person around.

I was right. That wasn’t all there was to this story.

You see, Allan Shivers was quite the popular governor. In fact, he was so well loved, that on the 1952 Texas gubernatorial ballot, both the Democrats and the Republicans named him as their nominee.

Yes, you read that correctly.

In the 1952 Texas governor’s race, voters went to the poll and found that they could vote for Democrat Allan Shivers or Republican Allan Shivers. They also had an option to vote No Preference.

My mother doesn’t usually tell tall tales. That award goes to my father. But I fact checked her anyway.

Here’s what I learned: Allan Shivers won the election.

You probably expected that. However, what you might not have expected is that the votes were actually counted. The Democrats even claimed victory, not that it really effected the outcome of the election.

While the Democratic Allan Shivers handily defeated the Republican Allan Shivers, when you totaled up all the votes cast for Governor Shivers in that election, he received a whopping 98.05 % of the votes. Just under 2% of the voters selected the No Preference option.

It doesn’t matter how you look at that 1952 Texas Governor’s race, I think it is safe to say that this is probably one of the few times in all of American history that Democrats and the Republicans agreed upon who would be the best man for the job.

It’s certainly not the case for the 2020 Presidential Election.

Can we possibly be any farther away from the 1952 Texas Gubernatorial Election?

I think not.

The Republicans have their candidate. The Democrats have theirs. Not to mention Third Party candidates and extra characters vying for their place in the election.

Everyone has an opinion. No one seems to agree. And I think if most of us were to be totally honest, we are just disappointed that these are the best candidates America has to offer us.

If you are like me, some aspects of this election leaves you with the shivers. (Pun intended!)

How then should we live out these next 3 weeks?

  1. Pray

Prayer is where Christians should always start.

Begin by praying about who to cast your vote for (Not just for President but for all the offices you are voting for, and not just for this election but for every election.) Even if you think you have already chosen your candidate, go ahead and pray about it. Look intently to see if their platform and campaign promises line up with the Bible.

Pray for each candidate.

Pray for honest, peaceful voting and for clear results.

Pray for our attitudes toward others who may not vote like us.

Let’s all cover this election (and every election going forward) in prayer, and truly seek God’s will for our communities, our state and our nation.

2. Respect

It’s great to be excited about your candidate and there’s nothing wrong with spreading their campaign messages. Actually, let me clarify that statement. It’s fine to promote your candidate unless your methods don’t respect others.

Does your social media post shame or belittle someone who feels differently than you? Are you pointing fingers, making angry comments, or using guilt tactics on people who make it clear they plan to vote for another person? Are you making assumptions that other people haven’t thought about their vote just because they support a different candidate?

The Golden Rule is very simple: Treat others how you want to be treated. I think it’s safe to say that all of us want to be treated with respect.

Respect that others have a right to choose for themselves who to vote for. That respect begins with the assumption that the people in my life probably do not need my help in deciding how to vote.

Remember. You are only responsible for one vote. Your own.

3. Agree

I’m not just talking about agreeing to disagree. I’m talking about actually agreeing.

We may not all agree on who will make the best president. After all, it’s not Texas 1952 anymore.

Even so, I would venture to say that 95% of us regular Americans can agree on many things, such as the following:

  • We are for peace in the land and living in safe communities.
  • We are for seeing our nation thrive and our economy do well.
  • We are for our children and grandchildren growing up in a nation where opportunities abound.
  • We are for America, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

So, instead of bickering over candidates and letting the media’s talking heads further divide this nation, let’s refocus on how we do agree with each other.

4. Vote

The biggest travesty of most elections is the lack of voter participation.

You have a voice. It matters. Get yourself to the polls and cast your vote.

Better yet, be the kind of voter who stays informed. Our elected officials work for us. Speak up. Write letters. Send emails. Sign petitions. Go to your town hall meetings or show up at the state capitol.

If you want to see our country doing better, then it’s time to resolve to be involved.

5. Trust

Finally, let’s remember the Bible says this about our elected leaders:

“For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.”

Romans 13:1

No matter who walks away from this election with the right to be President of the United States for the next four years, that person will only have that authority because it was granted to him by God. That’s why we can trust this election to our Heavenly Father. He already knows how it all turns out. He’s got everything under control.

We may not have an easy ballot like those Texans had way back in 1952, but we don’t have to shiver about this election and its results anymore either.

Why?

Because God’s got this. And we can trust this election and its results to Him.

With prayers for peace among us all,

Ripples

The old adage goes, “There’s no place like home.”

That’s probably true, though I might make one small change:

There’s no place like home … except Grandma’s house.

When I was a child, there was nothing more exciting than driving up to my grandparents’ home at 407 Kelly Street in Woodville, Texas. My brother and sister and I could hardly wait for my mom to park the car before we jumped out and raced through the kitchen door, each of us trying to be first!

My grandmother would look up, and say in a delighted voice, “Look here … it’s those Terry children! I was just telling Daddy Red that you should be getting here any minute now, and here you are! I am so glad to see you!”

Baby Paige with Red and Thelma
Photo: My first visit to my grandmother’s home in Woodville, TX.

I spent many summer days at my grandmother’s home. She loved to host a “cousins’ week” for all her grandkids. No parents allowed. Just our grandparents and our great-grandmother and all seven of us grandchildren.

Boy, did we have some fun adventures!

We set up tents and camped out in the backyard … at least until humidity melted us and the mosquitos got us and the night noises spooked us. Then one-by-one we snuck back inside to the comfort of the a/c and real beds and where the chances of meeting up with the boogie man were significantly less.

We swam in the backyard pool until we were too tired to enjoy our popsicles. We walked around the block and down the street to the old cemetery. We picked berries, played loud games of dominos (Chicken Foot was our favorite, but we liked Mexican Train too), and watched old Jimmy Stewart movies in the heat of the afternoon.

Breakfast never arrived without watching cartoons in bed with my grandmother and large mugs of sweet coffee milk served by my grandfather. Lunch was never served without a big plate of sliced tomatoes, and (thanks to my brother Reid) there was always rice with brown gravy for dinner. Bedtime arrived with big bowls of Blue Bell ice cream. (If we picked enough berries, rather than eating them all straight off the bushes until our bellies ached, our great-grandmother would bring over a big berry cobbler for us to eat with that ice cream.)

Galveston trip 1982
Photo: Riding the ferry to Galveston Island, circa 1981

Those summers with our grandparents weren’t complete without a short trip.  Sometimes they took us to Galveston Island, where the best part of the whole day was crossing over to the island on the ferry and feeding the seagulls bread that we tossed into the air. Other times we went fishing at nearby Dam B (later renamed Martin Dies, Jr. State Park) near Jasper, TX.  On other occasions they would take us to visit my grandfather’s family in Lufkin.

My grandmother was a talented seamstress. She always had multiple sewing projects going on at the same time, as evidenced by the pile of bright fabrics by the sewing machine and the perpetually set-up ironing board next to it.

My cousins and I often wore matching holiday dresses. I was the oldest so I wore my dress only one season. My poor baby sister had to wear her dress, then my cousin Steffi’s dress, and later on my dress. If you look at old family photos, it seems that my sister Brooke only ever owned about two dresses her entire childhood.

Thelma Paige Steffi
Photo: My cousin Steffi and I wear our matching dresses, circa 1975.

My grandmother loved to host “hot water tea parties” with her granddaughters. She would cover a large cardboard box with an old sheet. Next, my grandmother had us set the table. We would pick a small bouquet of flowers from around the yard and set it in a vase on the center. Then we took the tiny tea set from her china cabinet and set out the cups and saucers, the sugar bowl with tiny sugar cubes, the milk in the pitcher. Meanwhile, my grandmother added some hot water (or rarely a weak tea) to the teapot. She put a plate of pink sugar wafer cookies on a pretty plate and set that on the table too.

Now we were all ready to enjoy our tea party.  My grandmother acted as hostess. You had to wait for the hostess to serve the food before you could eat, and no one could slurp their tea. Sometimes we brought our baby dolls, and practiced introducing our “children” to our friends.

Later on, when I was about 10 years old, my grandmother gave me about five old teacups. I kept them on a shelf in my room. Several years later, I decided I liked them so much that I started collecting teacups. Each time I look at my beautiful teacups, I am reminded of my grandmother and her hot water tea parties.

My grandmother also introduced me to England’s royal family.

Okay, she didn’t actually introduced me, but she is the one who turned me into an Anglophile, or lover of all things English.

During my teen years, my grandmother and I often discussed the antics of Princess Diana and Fergie, Duchess of York. Years later, when I watched the movie The King’s Speech, I recall how my grandmother had actually shared this story with me, recalling reading about many of these event in the newspapers. One if my dream vacations is a trip to England. I ever get to travel there, I know I’ll wish I could return home to share all about my English adventures with my grandmother.

There is so much more that I could write about my grandmother … for example, she was an avid traveler who visited 49 of the 50 states in this great nation, but loved Texas best of all. She enjoyed cooking and crafting and reading biographies. And while all of those things are special to me (and the rest of us who loved her), there is truly only one important thing about her life and that is my grandmother’s love for Jesus.

Thelma Kay Easter 1948
Photo: With my mother, her oldest daughter, on Easter Sunday 1948, perhaps a year after her salvation . 

Early in their marriage, my grandparents weren’t big church attenders. However, shortly after the birth of their first child (my mom, Kay), another couple began to invite them to come to church. My grandparents decided to go.

One church service lead to another and another. Listening to all the preaching had gotten my grandmother to contemplating life and whether or not there was a place for God in her’s.

One a stormy night in 1947, as she rocked my infant mother in her arms, all those thoughts about God and trusting Him just overwhelmed her. In the middle of that thunderstorm, my grandmother decided that she was going to follow God.

The next morning, she told my grandfather that she intended to join the church and be baptized the following Sunday. According to her, he didn’t say a word and the subject never came up again during the next few days. She assumed that he wasn’t going to try to dissuade her from joining the church, but he wasn’t going to join her either.

On Sunday morning, as the music for the invitation began, my grandmother moved to step out into the aisle. My grandfather stepped out of the pew, too … but she thought it was simply to allow her to get out. Then, to her surprise, my grandfather took her hand in his. Together they walked forward to join the church. They were both baptized and spent the rest of their lives dedicated to their faith in Jesus Christ and in Christian service.

From leading GA’s (Girls in Action missions) when her daughters were young to traveling the nation building churches with the Volunteer Christian Builders during retirement to knitting prayer blankets when she was homebound, my grandmother loved sharing her faith in her Savior and using it to bless others.

Her one decision, made as a young mother,  has rippled through my family through the generations, paving the way for the salvation of her husband, her daughters, her seven grandchildren and her 29 great-grandchildren.

Her’s is a legacy worth leaving. Her’s is a life well-lived.

Thelma Kay Wedding Corsage
Photo: My grandmother pins a corsage on my mother’s dress the night my parents got married.

All grandmothers are made of gold … but mine sparkles! ~Unknown

And sparkle, she did!

My grandmother was a beautiful, vibrant woman with a bright mind, big heart, and a bold personality.

Yesterday, she left this earthly home for her heavenly one.

I sort of imagine her walking through the pearly gates, stepping onto the streets of gold, and hearing her Savior say, “Look here … It’s Thelma McGee! I was just telling the Father that you should be arriving any minute now, and here you are! I am so glad to see you!”

I will miss her.

young Thelma
Photo: Thelma Stinson McGee, November 12, 1926 – July 8, 2019

The Trouble with Judas

I wish Judas hadn’t killed himself.

Judas Iscariot
 Image from: http://ubdavid.org/bible/characters3/characters3-11.html

You know the Judas I am talking about. Judas Iscariot. The disciple who betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.

The Bible tells us he killed himself. Every time I read through the accounts of Jesus’ betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection,  I always find myself wishing that Judas hadn’t made the choice to end his own life.

But he did … and it bothers me.

~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~   ~~~

Recently I read through Matthew 26 during my morning devotional.  This portion of Scripture gives quite a bit of insight into Judas.

For many years, I thought of Judas as some bumbling sort of soul, the kind of person who could easily be duped. In regards to his betrayal of Jesus, I assumed perhaps he was manipulated by the Jewish leaders for purposes much greater than anything he could aspire to do on his own.

Maybe he was a loser looking for friends in high places.

Perhaps he was a people-pleaser who couldn’t figure out a way to say no.

I wondered if he might be a young guy just looking for validation. 

Whatever his personality type, I always figured Judas sort of just “fell” into an unintended role as part of the Pharisee’s plan to get rid of Jesus.

According to Matthew 26, nothing could be further from the truth.

 Image found at Image Gallery: Miercoles Santo

Turns out, it was Judas who went to the chief priests.

Then one of the Twelve – the one called Judas Iscariot – went to the chief priests and asked, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you.”

~Matthew 26:14-15

It wasn’t the priests who were looking for an insider willing to betray Jesus. Rather, Judas was the one who took the first step. He set the betrayal in motion himself.

For the love of Christ, why did Judas do that?

Some people might use that phrase flippantly, but I’m serious.

Judas had just spent three years of his life walking all over Judea with Jesus. He had seen all of those miracles. He was there when the lame man walked, when Lazarus was raised from the dead, and when Jesus walked on the water. He had seen the miraculous healings. From the Sermon on the Mount to the feeding of the 5000, Judas heard and saw it all.

Didn’t he grow to love Jesus during that time? If so, then why would Judas betray Him?

Maybe it was …

For the love of money.

There’s no other reason that makes sense. Especially when you consider everything the Bible has to say about Judas and money.

You don’t have to dig around in the Gospels very far to figure out that money must have been extremely important to Judas. He was, after all, the treasurer for Jesus and the disciples, which meant he was in charge of the money bag.

We also know from Scripture that Judas was prone to helping himself to the money that was in that treasury. (John 12: 6) I can’t imagine that Jesus and his disciples had a lot of money to begin with, but Judas was sneaking out small amounts of it here and there for his own use. I’m sure he thought what he took would never be missed, but it appears that the others were aware of his tendency to take that which wasn’t rightfully his.

It seems that Judas had a problem money.

So money-loving Judas decided to go see the chief priests to barter for Jesus. The chief priests offered Judas 30 pieces of silver in exchange for Jesus’ betrayal. I have always assumed those coins must have been worth quite a large sum. But (as we have already seen), my assumptions aren’t always correct.

I did some research because I was curious just how much money Judas earned as Jesus’ betrayer.  And what I learned is that Judas was most likely paid with Tyrian shekels, which was the type of currency used to pay the Temple taxes. In those days, every Jewish male over the age of 20 paid a Temple tax, which was the equivalent of two days wages or 1/2 shekel.

So if 1/2 shekel was worth two days wages, then 1 shekel would be worth four days wages. Do the math and 30 shekels of silver would be worth 120 days wages. Therefore the coins Judas received in exchange for the betrayal of Christ would be worth approximately one third of a year’s salary.

Not too shabby.

Unless you read the previous passage in Matthew 26 … .

Start reading in Matthew 26:6 and you’ll come across the story of the woman who anointed Jesus with the fragrant oil. It’s another very familiar passage. According to the Gospels, Mary (sister of Lazarus and Martha) came into a dinner party and poured out an entire alabaster jar of oil on Jesus’ head.

This oil was very costly. In fact, in another Gospel’s version of this same event, Judas himself tells us exactly how much this oil was worth:

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why was this fragrant oil not sold for three hundred denarius, and given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”

~John 12:4-5

Later in the passage, we learn that Judas wasn’t known for being a man who cared about the poor and needy. His life of sneaking and stealing that which didn’t belong to him was known by those in Jesus’ inner circle. They recognized in this situation that Judas wasn’t concerned about money being used to help others.

So what was Judas concerned about? Why did he protest?

To Judas, anointing Jesus with an entire alabaster jar of fragrant oil was a nothing more than pointless extravagance. He didn’t see the oil being used in a sacrificial act of worship from a loving heart. When the precious oil was poured over Jesus, Judas could only see a frivolous waste of money. Money that could have lined the bag in which he freely dipped his hand.

It’s interesting to me that these two passages can be found side-by-side in the same chapter of Matthew. One tells of worship and sacrifice. The other is filled with betrayal and greed.

Mary anointed Jesus with oil. As she broke the bottle, out flowed the precious oil which could have been sold for an entire year’s salary. Yet, she knew the worth of the oil couldn’t begin to compare to the worth of Jesus Christ.

But to Judas, Jesus Himself was worth only about one third of a year’s salary.

Perhaps more accurately … a third of a year’s salary and his own soul.

Most Christians are familiar with how Jesus sent Judas away from the Passover table. Later, Judas led the Roman soldiers to the Garden of Gethsemane, where he betrayed Jesus with a kiss.  Jesus was bound by Roman guards and led away like a criminal.

I wonder what Judas was expecting as he stood in the garden and watched Jesus being led away. Did he have any idea that Jesus would be condemned to die?

The gospel of Matthew (chapter 27, verses 3-5) tells us the once Jesus was sentenced to crucify, Judas was “seized with remorse.” He actually went to the chief priests to return the money.

“I’ve have sinned,” he said, “for I have betrayed innocent blood.”

~Matthew 27:4

The priests didn’t care about Judas’ admission of guilt or confession of Jesus’ innocence.

Matthew’s gospel says that Judas threw the money into the temple and went away to hang himself.

This is what boggles my mind … if Judas knew he had done something terribly wrong, why didn’t he confess it to Jesus? Why didn’t he seek forgiveness from the one he wronged? After three years, didn’t he know the heart of Jesus? Didn’t he know he could pray to God and receive mercy?

So what kept him from seeking out forgiveness?

Pride?

Probably. It’s what keeps most of us from going to God and seeking forgiveness. At least, pride is what most often keeps me from admitting my sin.

This is why I wish Judas didn’t hang himself: Feeling remorse for our sins doesn’t do us any good.

It never has. Go all the way back to the book of Genesis and there in the Garden of Eden we read about Adam and Eve and the very first sin. What was the immediate reaction of Adam and Eve? Remorse. They experienced was remorse for their actions, and then they tried to hide their sin from God by sewing clothes from fig leaves.

Those first remorseful actions didn’t work for Adam and Eve. 

Remorse didn’t work for Judas either. 

Remorse still will not work for us.

So the lesson from Judas is to recognize that remorse for our wrongs doesn’t solve the problem. There needs to be more than just regret and remorse over our sins.

We need forgiveness. How do we get that forgiveness? It comes through the confession of our sins to God.

We also need repentance, which is simply the act of turning away from the wrongs we have done as we commit to live our life according to God’s way. (It doesn’t mean we never sin again. Far from it! It just means we look to Jesus as our example as we strive to live our life according to God’s way.)

I believe if Judas had confessed to Jesus and asked for it, he would have been forgiven. There would have been no need to hang himself in shame.  He would have received grace and mercy. He would have the promise of everlasting life.

Because that’s what the cross is all about.

For when we died with Christ we were set free from the power of sin. And since we died with Christ, we know we will also live with him. We are sure of this because Christ was raised from the dead, and he will never die again. Death no longer has any power over him. When he died, he died once to break the power of sin. But now that he lives, he lives for the glory of God. So you also should consider yourselves to be dead to the power of sin and alive to God through Christ Jesus. ~Romans 6:7-11

So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free. ~John 8:36