The Ka-choo-sie........HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

God bless you all as we start 2014!

What a blessing for our family to be all together, a treat we hadn't had for two years!  And we don't know if next Christmas Steve and Debbie will be here or back in the Middle East.  But we thank God for the chance to enjoy each other, and for the cousins to re-connect.  (Miriam and Liliana are Dan and KC's children's {Noe, Micah and Eli } only cousins.) We treasure time spent with our 5 beautiful grandchildren, and our kids.

Steve and Debbie and their girls left for Indiana yesterday, and we leave tomorrow for Ecuador, on the first day of  the new year. We'll sort of "hit the ground running", as Germán is going to officiate at a wedding 2 days after we arrive! Once we get settled in, I'll continue our "saga", and let you glimpse more of our Journey.

During these two weeks of laughter, love and learning, I have thought about those who don't have anyone to laugh, love, and learn with...or are too far away to do so. If you know people who are starting out the new year without the gift of the JOY of having celebrated with their family and friends, will you be their friend and family in 2014?  Be a blessing!!
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P.S. Actually, I was the only one of us 11 who did NOT go in the "ka-choo-sie" as our 3-year-old grandson Eli calls the hot tub.  Personally, the extremely hot water of the jacuzzi makes me feel like I'm going to faint. I don't know if the around-freezing temperature of the air would have made a difference, but a boiled body and a frost-bitten face didn't appeal to me!

P.P.S.  I was going to add a picture of our family, but a minor emergency came up, and it wasn't sent to my computer on time.  But I'll send it either as soon as I get it, or in the next post...I hope...I'm still learning how! Look for it!

Why do we say "every day is Christmas"?

There's a saying in Christian circles:  "Every day is Christmas!"  Yes, all 356 days,every year.  These poems remind us why.  (They were among my late father's favorites.)




                                                 Three Gifts

                               I was given three gifts to open:   

                                      a manger
                                      a cross
                                      a tomb.
                        Each one had fleetingly held in its grasp
                                the Fruit of the Virgin's womb.

     I opened with first one and found it was filled:
          little Baby's first cry,
          a young mother's soft sigh,
          eager shuffling of shepherds around her;
               stable smells, bleat and bray,
               mixed with stray bits of hay,
               echoed murmurs of deep weary wonder...
                                But the manger held Him no longer.

                                       I opened the second one, finding it filled:

                                       bitter bite of the thorn 

                                                                       sound of flesh being torn,                          

     and the echo of nails being driven.

                            faith of soldier and thief,
                             a veil ripped, pitch-black grief,
                             and the plea that this sin be forgiven...
                                    But the cross held Him no longer.

               
    I opened the third gift and it, too, was filled:
         linen shroud laid aside,
         faint aroma of spice,
         stone unsealed; Death's Defeater rejoices!
                                         glory's fierce blinding light,
                                         radiant beings in white,  
                                         and the echo of clear angel voices...                                    

                                   But the tomb holds Him no longer!

Each gift has its place
in the mystery of Grace,
like footprints the Timeless One leaves us to trace,
sacred sequence unfolding Christ's passion for Man...
Peace secured, He now sits at his Father's right hand.
                                  
                                                                                                                                                                                                                          -Becky Rhon
                           ************************************

                          






Gift Exchange
                                                                                                     

                    Not big enough    
                    to wrest the ugly pins from Your wrists,
                    I wrapped my hands
                    around Your wounded feet
                    and clung to them,
                    with the despairing thought,
                    "There's nothing I can do
                     to validate Your pain."

                                            "Yes, my Child, there is.
                                             We'll have a gift exchange."

                               My heart heard Yours
                               but didn't understand.
                               I asked You to explain.

                                            You give to Me
                                            your sorrow, your sickness, your self, your sin;
                                            in return,
                                            I'll break the chains they hold you in."

                                My heart heard Yours
                                and struggled to understand,
                                to say,
                                "At what price, Lord?
                                How must You pay?

                                              "Open your hands."

                                         I pried my fingers
                                         from Your bleeding feet, and stared

                                         at the warm red-velvet agony
                                         that stained my hands, unspared.

                                As liquid Freedom
                                flowed into me from You,
                                my heart heard Yours
                                and understood...I knew!
                                              Your blood!
                                              Your wounds for my wounds,
                                              Your Life for my life...
                                                         Your blood...
                                                          no greater gift!
                                                          no greater Love!
                                                                                                        -Becky Rhon  

A Christmas story-poem about a little angel...

...and what he learned that transformed him.

                                                  Littlest

                   "Hey, wait for me!" the littlest angel cried,
                   his sandal laces caught in Heaven's door.
                   A tear slipped out.  "They're leaving me behind.
                   They pro'bly think, 'What do we need him for?'"

                The other angels soon were out of sight.
                He kicked his sandals, left them where they were.
                He wee bare feet sped down the stairs of clouds;
                he clutched his harp, his eye-sight all a-blur,

                            so on the final step to Earth, he tripped!
                            His harp went clanging off into the night.
                            He got his breath and smoothed his tattered wings,
                            then searched the sky to see the angels' light.

                            "So far away!  I'll get there awfully late.
                            I want to tell the shepherds 'bout my King.
                            I want to peek into the stable, too,
                            and see the Baby...more than anything!"

                            The others all were gone when Littlest came.
                            He tiptoed to the stall...and then he froze.
                            Before him stood an ugly, smirking imp
                            who pointed at his soiled and ragged clothes.

                           "You're going in to Him looking like that?
                            Your halo's coming loose; your feet are bare.
                            You haven't even got your silly harp;
                            and you can't go with dirty hands in there.

                           "Just turn around and trot yourself back home;
                            you're much too insignificant to stay."
                           Then, suddenly, the sneer became a screech!
                           With tail between its legs, it fled away.

                           And Littlest wondered what had scared it so,
                           though he himself was shaking like a leaf.
                           He looked up slowly...saw it was a Who,
                           with loving smile that filled him with relief!

                          Then God held out His hand and said, "Come here,
                           beloved, barefoot, harp-less angel waif.
                           Let's tiptoe in together while He sleeps!
                           I need you, too, in all the plans I've made,

          "for now my Son will be a human child,
           and human children live in danger, too.
           He'll need a guardian angel at His side.

           I think the perfect one for that...is you!"

The Littlest beamed, and very soon forgot
his rags, his tears, and all that he was not,
for God had giv'n this truth to which he'd cling:  
he really was important to the King!


And you, my friend, who think yourself too small,
or unfit, perhaps, for God to use at all,
can live this truth that made the Littlest sing:
You really are important to the King!
                                                                                                    -Becky Rhon 

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Happy Getting-Ready-for-Christmas!!!

Came Our Joy!

Celebrating Christmas is exciting!  Although we are thankful every day of the year for Christ's incredible gift of Love, Christmas takes on a joyous air for those of us who remember what it's really about. But there are some people, even in "Christian" communities, for whom this time of year lacks that special sparkle.  They may be all alone, with no family or friends with whom to celebrate; it may be the anniversary of the death of a loved one; they may not have the means to provide the traditional gifts for their families; they may be dying with no one at their side...

Thank God for His very UNtraditional gift!!  Have you ever received a package of comfort, healing, refuge, friendship, salvation and eternal JOY? God offers it to us, gift-wrapped in infinite love. So let's share it!!! If you know someone who needs a special touch, remind him/her that this incredible gift has his/her name written on it. 


                                    Came Our Joy

                        Came to us our Seeker and our Savior,
                        gift-wrapped as a little Baby Boy.
                        Came to us our Healer and our Haven,
                        holy incarnation of our joy.

                        Come to us, our courage and our wisdom,
                        with virtue sprung from that once-Baby Boy.
                        Come and be our hope, our inspiration,
                        the continuation of our joy.

                        Coming for our hearts' Love Celebration,
                        your wooing started with that Baby Boy.
                        Coming soon as our triumphant Bridegroom,
                        You'll be the consummation of our joy!
                                                                                               -Becky Rhon

                 ***********************************************************************

                                Fire in the Manger

               The Fire of God's Hope and Life was burning
               "before the foundation of the world",
               never going out,
               just...waiting...waiting...yearning...

              Then, Divine Little Spark,
              You hurtled to Earth
              and set the hay in the manger ablaze!
              You inserted Your timeless Fire of Hope
              into our continuous NOW of days.

              Though Satan fought to stamp them out,
               the flames grew ever more intense, insistent, searing, LOUD,
               till they EXPLODED
                      in filthy conflagration
                      at the deadly confrontation of the Cross.
                            My sin lay as ashes, charred;
                            the Fire-quencher fatally scarred;
               and Your resurrection flames - of Hope and Life!-
                      blasted through the cave
                      that tried to be Your grave...
               Your Fire couldn't die!
                      When the smoke cleared,
                       the air was clean...and so was I.

               NOW, in my heart that seeks Your heat,
               eternal scorching coals You place,
               then bid Your Holy Wind - now gentle, now rushing -
               keep fanning them with power and patient grace.

               Divine Spark,
                   the fire You kindled for me in the manger
                   still burns inside
                   with Your Hope, with Your Life, with Your Love in its flame,
                        yet waiting...waiting...yearning
                        to return to the Fire from whence it came!
                                                                                                  -Becky Rhon
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Hold His love and peace and joy close to your heart as you continue preparing for the holiday...remember that, at its core, it is a HOLY DAY!

Two Thousand Years

                                 To Jesus' mother

                      Mary, was it hard to let Him go?
                      You had to do it over and over again.
                      How many times did you ache to draw Him back to your breast?
                      You knew what the angel had told you,
                      but He was still your little boy...                                                   -Becky Rhon
                              ************************** 

I can't imagine being Mary!  What an honor to be the mother of Jesus...but what an overwhelming responsibility.  And to know as He grew up that she would have to lose Him...until she realized that losing Him as her son was the only way of truly finding Him as her Savior.

                                       Two Thousand Years 



 Two thousand years haven't robbed of meaning the words that the angels spoke.
And two thousand years haven't dimmed the light of the Star that through darkness broke;
                    a beacon to nations both near and far,
                    that cuts through the shadow into the heart,
                    and leads me, my Savior, to where You are.

                               Your Star still shines o'er the only place
                               where a sinner like me can find her King;
                               and the angels still sing of "amazing grace"
                               that kindled the hope that You came to bring.

Two thousand years cannot take from our hearts all the wonder that Simeon felt
when he held in his arms the Messiah and saw the salvation of Israel;
                    the great revelation to Gentile and Jew;
                    the sweet inspiration of those who knew
                    the glad expectation of those who wait for You.

                               Your Star still shines o'er the only place
                               where a sinner like me can find her King.
                               And the angels still tell of "amazing grace"
                               that kindled the hope that You came to bring.

Two thousand years can't erase from our spirit the bittersweet love Mary knew.
Did she almost wish she could turn back time when she saw what You had to go
                                                                                                    through?
                    While her bruised mother's heart felt those angry blows,
                    she might yearn for her baby in swaddling clothes;
                    yet she saw that the Carpenter's cradle must lead to a Cross.

                              I can't kneel at the manger forever;
                             Your Star now shines o'er the Cross,
                             for it's there that I must meet You, Lord,
                                              face-to-face.

                                   Your Star still shines o'er the only place 
                                    where a sinner like me can find her King,
                                    where the angels still sing of "amazing grace"
                                    that gives us the life that You came to earth to bring.                 
                                                                                                                   (song lyrics,
                                                                                                                     Becky Rhon)
                                              ***************************
                                                              
I'm sure that Mary had a life-long memory of singing to her little Baby, rocking Him to sleep.  Now, because He gives us the privilege of being God's children, our Father also holds us... and sings.

                                                    Lullaby

                                  Sing to me the ballad of the Baby.
                                  Sing to me the carol of the Cross,
                                  music laced with echoes of Eternity,
                                  written for me at so great a cost.

                                  Sing to me what angels told the shepherds,
                                  why Your Star is seen and sought by kings.
                                  As Messiah reaches out to woo me,
                                  let me hear the way that Your heart sings.

                                  Let me taste the love that binds me to You.
                                  Let me feel Your hope run true and deep.
                                  Sing to me the ballad of the Baby;
                                  hush my fears and sing Your child to sleep.                  -Becky Rhon
                                               *****************
         
Next week I will share some more Nativity poetry and thoughts. God bless you all!