Christmas Potpourri

I hope you’ve had a beautiful Christmas. For me, it has come in bits and pieces this year: quiet moments of reflection in the midst of our busyness.

It came - as it always does for me- in the music. The carols played in my classroom throughout the days of December, and I don’t think my students will ever forget learning “A Song of Peace” for we all felt God’s Presence among us during that lesson!

There were the times of Advent worship at church, always so thought-provoking and meaningful. Each Sunday was a gift. And the special traditions of our church body, especially the annual Christmas supper, were times of warmth and joy.

Christmas Eve candlelight services have been a long-standing tradition for our family whenever possible. This year, we attended two services on Christmas Eve.

One was a homegoing service. When we got the news that Becky Dzieken had lost her battle with cancer just a few days before Christmas, my first thought was, “What a tragic loss for her family. And why now?” But as I reflected on the radiance of Becky’s life, I was reminded of John 1: “In Him was Life, and that Life was the Light of men.” I’ve never known anyone who reflected that Light any more clearly or transparently than Becky did. Besides her gift for communicating joy and faith, Becky was blessed with an incredible voice, and her memorial service closed with her own rendition of “Cornerstone.” It felt like Christmas.

Later that evening, we attended a simple, unhurried service in town. In the quietness and darkness of that candlelit sanctuary, the message and meaning of Christmas settled into our spirits. For us four busy Hunts, Christmas had come.

On Christmas Day, as we talked to family scattered across the country, someone must have asked Brooke if she had had a good Christmas. All I heard was her reply: “Yes, and it’s not over!” All the packages had been unwrapped. Christmas dinner was done. But Brooke was still having Christmas.

So was I. I still am. And I hope that you are too.

Aunt Lu

My Aunt Lu was my “fun” aunt. She and my mother’s brother, Uncle Roland, were unable to have children of their own, so they enjoyed everyone else’s.

Once a month or more, they would make the trip from across the state for a weekend visit with Grandma Mary who, after her stroke, lived first with us and later in a nursing home. It was always a treat to awaken on Saturday morning and find that Uncle Roland and Aunt Lu had arrived while I was asleep.

Sometimes they’d bring an extra surprise. Once it was a kitten for me. Other times it might be a sack of fresh oysters that Uncle Roland would shuck in the backyard for my mom to fry up as a delicacy for Grandma. Sometimes it was a grocery sack full of pecans from the old home place. Aunt Lu would spend the afternoon filling and refilling a baking pan with nuts, then cracking and picking them out.

At 4’10” Aunt Lu was little girl sized. To drive a car, she relied on a big red leather pillow placed behind her back to help her reach the pedal. It seemed she could barely see over the top of the steering wheel. When we nieces and nephews got to the age of ten or eleven, we’d reach the milestone of finding ourselves taller than she was. (I’ve served as that same sort of measuring stick for the next generation.)

Back home her life may have been more sophisticated with bridge partners, Eastern Star, and Mardi Gras balls. But at our house, she seemed to enjoy just watching Uncle Roland give my brothers haircuts on Saturday afternoons. After Saturday night suppers of smoked sausage and cornbread with Steen’s cane syrup, sometimes she would pop popcorn in the heavy old pot we used especially for that purpose. She loved to tease us all, and she played a merciless game of “Sorry.”

Sunday mornings would begin with Aunt Lu in her over-sized men’s pajamas eating her soft-boiled egg and toast. Then I would be privy to her transformation into a lady of glamour. I’d watch, fascinated, as she would apply rouge, lipstick, and Estee Lauder, then go in search of the cheek of one of my brothers to blot her lips. Soon afterward she and Uncle Roland would be off, with the rest of us standing outside to wave goodbye.

She and my daddy were the talkers in the family. In her distinctive “Noo Ahlins” accent, she could “tawk” and laugh for hours, sometimes while crocheting or doing other needlecraft projects. She was a perfectionist with a needle, and I treasure the things she made especially for me: an afghan, a muffler, a cross-stitch picture when Brooke was born.

After we lost both Daddy and Uncle Roland in 1975, things were quieter when Aunt Lu visited. It seemed that the fun part of her died when she lost Uncle Roland. Only when the great-nephews and nieces would come around would Aunt Lu make an attempt to be jolly once again.


For many years she could not mention Uncle Roland without tears. I remember her whispering to me one evening, “Jackie, it’s so hard.” She had always been religious, but in the years following Uncle Roland’s death, she turned to her Bible more and more.

I graduated from college and moved away, but Aunt Lu visited me a couple of times in Oklahoma and even came to Idaho when Steve and I married. Over the years, her old friends moved away or passed on, her only sister died, my mother – her traveling buddy- developed Alzheimer’s, and Aunt Lu became semi-bedridden and housebound. Loneliness, pain, and age began to take their toll on her mind.

By the time we moved back to Louisiana, Aunt Lu was in a nursing home. I didn’t break away to visit her more than once a year – sometimes less. The last time was about a year ago. Aunt Lu was blind and didn’t remember me. She seemed noticeably more childish than the last time I had seen her, so I tried to steer the conversation to things I thought she still might remember like her early days in old New Orleans. I asked if she remembered Roland. She looked a little puzzled then said, “Yeah, he was a fun guy,” and she grinned. I was glad that if she still remembered him at all, there was no pain in the memory anymore.

I received a call last weekend that Aunt Lu had passed away at the age of 93. It has been an emotional week as I’ve tried to help from a distance to see that arrangements were made for her burial. There is to be no funeral service.

When I told Aunt Lu goodbye last fall, she had a question for me. “Have I been a good girl?” she asked. Of course you know what I said.

New Blog

Friendship Church held its annual Homecoming service yesterday morning, something I look forward to every year. I love learning more about the history of the church and the lives of some of the old-time saints. After morning worship there's always a huge meal followed by a quiet evening at home.

That's how I came to be watching Sixty Minutes last night when Andy Rooney came on with his weekly essay. He was talking about the job of writing and poking a little fun at himself. He said being a writer takes a certain level of ego. According to him, the basic assumption that one has something to say that someone else may want to read is egotistical.

Well, I guess I agree, but how about just opening one's mouth? Doesn't the talker assume that he has something to say that someone else wants to hear? And how about the listener? He has no choice in the matter. At least we bloggers give our readers some options!

For me blogging is a little like a heart-to-heart conversation, howbeit one-sided. Ideally, it goes a little beyond the trivia of life and into what matters more to us. Just by going through the writing process we take a little time to express ourselves more thoughtfully.

So I was so excited to get an email from our beautiful daughter-in-law Samantha saying that she and Blake have begun a blog. (I've been doing some broad hinting and gentle arm-twisting for awhile!) Sam's first post brought tears to my eyes, and I wanted to share it with you. I know you'll agree she has a lot to say. Welcome, Sam and Blake, to the world of blogging. And thanks so much for sharing your heart! http://www.blakeandsamallweare.blogspot.com/

Communion

Steve asked me today if I would assist in serving communion with him tomorrow, something our district superintendent and his wife routinely do together. The request gave me pause. I've come to think of the sacrament of communion without the fear and trepidation I was taught to have as a kid (see I Corinthians 11 in the King James Version), but it is still a very solemn and sacred occasion. So I've had it on my mind throughout the day.

Is it possible for anyone to eat the bread and drink the cup with worthiness? My heart whispers lines from favorite hymns: "Nothing in my hands I bring. Simply to Thy cross I cling," and "Just as I am without one plea but that Thy blood was shed for me." Those words became more real to me three years ago than they had ever been before. I've learned to live them, and they become more and more true with time.

Last week our congregation gave us the thoughtful and generous gift of tickets to a Gaither concert. For the first time ever, I heard the incredible harmonies of the Gaither Vocal Band in person. During intermission I bought a couple of CDs, making sure to get the one with "I Then Shall Live." It takes Jean Sibelus's melody from "Be Still My Soul" and adds more prayerful words by Gloria Gaither.

I then shall live as one who's been forgiven.
I'll walk with joy to know my debts are paid.
I know my name is clear before my Father -
I am His child and I am not afraid.
So greatly pardoned, I'll forgive my brother
The law of love I gladly will obey.

Your kingdom come around, and through, and in me,
Your power and glory, let them shine through me.
Your Hallowed name, oh may I bear with honor
And may Your living Kingdom come in me.
The Bread of Life, O may I share with honor
And may You feed a hungry world through me.

As another old hymn says, "I am not worthy...but Jesus left Heaven to die in my place. What mercy, what love, and what grace!"

Dreams for our Children

Brad with Tyler, the beautiful grandson I can't wait to meet!

It's been a busy month. The to-do list has been varied and often fun, but never finished. Somehow I've managed to get from one deadline to the next with some remnant of sanity (I think)!

Maybe that's why I enjoyed the parent-teacher conferences our school scheduled last week. It seemed like a luxury to actually have time to sit across from parents for one-on-one conversation about their children. We talked about grades and expectations, but almost always there was more. Parents talked about dreams.

There was the single mom who can't afford the music and art lessons her creative daughter longs to have. The mother of a vivacious daredevil who expects to see her on Xtreme sports TV someday. The parent of the child with sickle cell anemia. Some are amusing, like the rather large lady who takes great pride in the fact that her rotund son has sold the most cookie dough. Others are heartbreaking, like the tentative single mom who works nights and fears that her beautiful daughter is growing up too fast and falling prey to the wrong influences.

My heart instantly recognizes these parents and their dreams. The language of dreams is one we parents speak fluently. We're somewhat beyond youthful dreams ourselves --in my case probably closer to the "bucket" list! It is the season when our personal goals take a back seat while we try to provide the children and youth in our lives with the encouragement, resources, and foundations to help their dreams come true.

Sometimes we can get carried away, as in "cheerleader mom" or "stage dad." It's sad when otherwise level-headed, kind-hearted people get so caught up in living out their dreams through their children that they leave a trail of hurt in their wake - the collateral damage of unbridled ego - sometimes without even realizing it.

In the past couple of weeks it has been my delight to read - in bits and snatches - a sweet and wise little book called The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. When faced with terminal cancer, the author found time to dictate his story and dedicate it "with thanks to his parents who allowed him to dream, and with hopes for the dreams his children will have." It was his attempt to pass on to his children who he was and what was important to him. Although, sadly, the subject of faith is almost totally unaddressed, the book has a lot of food for thought - like the following:

"Having seen so many students go through my classrooms, I've come to know that a lot of parents don't realize the power of their words. Depending on a child's age and sense of self, an offhand comment from Mom or Dad can feel like a shove from a bulldozer.... I would just urge my kids to find their way with enthusiasm and passion."

Brayden would interrupt me right here to ask, "So, Mom, why are you making me take band when I'd rather play football?" Thankfully, it doesn't have to be an either/or choice, and I keep thinking that someday he'll be glad I "encouraged" him to add this skill to his life. Just call me a stage mom!

Basically though, I think Randy Pauch had it right - at least as far as he went. It's good to know our children are in the care and keeping of a Heavenly Father, the Giver and Fulfiller of our highest dreams.

Cure for the Common Life

I was privileged to attend an unusual birthday celebration last week. The birthday girl is a single mom, and her life was hard even before she became a paraplegic about eighteen months ago. She is on our church's outreach list, but only a few people in our group knew her. We discussed what we might do to get better acquainted, and hit on a plan to visit her for a cook-out. Christy gave us her enthusiastic permission, and last Friday evening we loaded up a grill, ice chest, tables, chairs, food, and birthday gifts and carpooled to her home.

It wasn't a typical way for the young adults in our class to spend a Friday evening, but they participated whole-heartedly. Maybe it's because we've been working our way through Max Lucado's book Cure for the Common Life, but what I took away from that evening was how beautifully each individual's gifts and talents sparkled in their ministry to Christy. Each person made a unique and indispensable contribution to the evening. Christy said it was the best birthday she'd ever had.

That is how the body of Christ is supposed to work. It was a moving thing to witness.

New Kid on the Block

This week marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I moved from a job as special education teacher at Zwolle Elementary to 4th grade teacher at Many Junior High. I must be getting old, because it seems like a BIG change. When I get everything together, I think it will make life simpler, but right now things are a little hectic. In the midst of it all, there's a lot to be thankful for.

My new co-workers have been so warm and helpful. Many of them are Christians, and that makes all the difference. Our family is saving time and money on the daily commute, and I get to be with the kids both before and after school. Brooke walks over from the high school, and we can catch up on her day while Brayden is at football practice. (Brooke also is willing to grade papers and help out -- all it costs me is snack money! :o)

Right now I have 22 students: a few with special needs, some with challenging home situations, and several who are very bright. All of them will stretch me in different ways, and I pray I will make a positive impact on their lives.

The night before school began, I was in pain from a root canal gone bad and definitely not psyched for the first day of school! It meant a lot to have several people remind me that they were praying for me. As I opened my Bible late that night, it fell open to Psalm 37. I read those familiar words in the old King James version, and they spoke to me with freshness and promise. The next day I realized I was experiencing God's strength in my weakness.

I'm also new on the "Facebook" block. (Blake would be ashamed of me, I'm sure, and Brooke thinks I'm hopelessly age-inappropriate.) To my children/critics, I will explain in my defense that it appears to be a great way to touch base with friends scattered all over the country. It's been good to hear from several old friends in the past few days. I just have to be sure that I don't get carried away in my pursuit of connecting, especially since I live in the sticks where dial-up is ever so slow.

There's something rejuvenating about being "new" at my age. God's mercies are new every morning!

Happy Birthday, Brayden!

In LSU country, Brayden is BSU's biggest fan,

and lover of all things blue and orange!

Happy 12th birthday, Brayden. And pardon me for feeling a little sentimental today. In many cultures there are special ceremonies for boys your age, and I can understand why. Somehow in the past year, you've become a young man instead of a child.

You're taller and your shoulders are broader, but you've grown in so many other ways as well. You are more responsible, more thoughtful, more caring. You are fun to be with. (Oh, and of course, you're a better ball player and are well on your way to becoming a great trumpet player!) There is never a dull moment when you are around! Best of all, you are spending time in God's Word, and it is changing you from the inside out. I see in you today the promise of the man I pray you will become.

Many years ago, before I even dreamed of you, I discovered a prayer written by General Douglas McArthur. I claimed it for your older brothers, and I claim it especially today for you. Here is an adapted version:

"Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid. One who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

"Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know that to know You is the foundation stone of knowledge.

"When you lead him to face the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge, may he learn to stand up in the storm. Here may he learn compassion for those who fail.

"Build me a son whose heart will be clear and whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to cry; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

"And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously.

"Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength through the power of Jesus working in and through him. Amen."

I am proud to be your mom, and I love you more than you can know. Have a wonderful birthday. Just stop growing up so fast!

True Confessions: I ODed on HGTV!

When James said, "Confess your faults one to another," I'm not sure he had this in mind. But this post is especially for those of you who have long been amused by my style of getting things done.

In the last year or so, I've become a fan of HGTV. My favorite programs are Design on a Dime and Designed to Sell. This summer I've also followed Design Star. (One of the judges reminds me of Steve's sister Robin, and when the finalist Jennifer smiles, she makes me think of my friend Marla.)

Earlier this summer I developed a monster rash from poison ivy, and my doctor put me on steroids for two-and-a-half weeks. She told me I would have trouble sleeping and would probably feel a compulsion to clean out closets at 2 am.

Well, no closets got cleaned out, but I did catch up on some reading. One night I explored all the bells and whistles on my cell phone. And I spent the better part of many nights dozing in the recliner watching the news and HGTV. We went way beyond Steve's favorite question: "How many of those shows can you watch?" to my own: "Just how many times can I watch the same re-run?"

Being fully saturated, I finally had to act on all I had learned. My project has been two old rickety chairs from the church. Brother Jerry Larpenter installed cross pieces to make them a little more sturdy. My vision was to paint them a glossy brownish-red. Last night I opened the paint can and went to work. The color wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but I was sure that when the paint dried, they would be beautiful.

This morning I was all set for coat #2, but the shade looked even worse in daylight than it had last night. I took a closer look at the paint can and realized that the color was named for something to do with wine. I remembered seeing a lot of old paint in the shed, so I went digging around for something to mix with my paint to get the color I wanted. I didn't find exactly what I was looking for, but I was not going to the store. Without going into detail, I'll just say that the mixing process involved some old spray paint.

When that didn't work, I went back to the shed, dug back a little farther, and found just what I needed, or so I thought. I mixed it all together and set to work applying the paint. The longer I worked, the worse it looked. It was time to break down and go to Wal-Mart.

When you combine cost of paint, plus multiple trips to the store, plus hours of labor, these are truly THRIFTY pieces of furniture. They may not be safe to sit in, but THE CHAIRS will be in our new Sunday school classroom on Sunday!

And now for my personal decorating tips. Tip #1: If you are looking for a distinctive shade of purple, may I recommend Krylon's Gloss Cabernet. (Spraying in red-brown primer will only deepen this lovely paint color for a more customized appearance.) Tip #2: If mauve is more your taste, mix in Krylon's Gloss Canary in a ratio of 1:4.

Happy decorating!

Y-E-S to VBS!

I've had a great week at "Outrigger Island" with a group of 3rd and 4th grade students who kept me hopping! Summer wouldn't be summer without VBS, and I enjoy it as much as an adult as I did as a kid.

I never cease to be amazed at the open hearts of children to accept the message of the Gospel. This week we focused on the basics: God is real; Jesus, God's Son, is the only way to Heaven; there is absolute truth and it can be found in the Bible; our actions show what we believe -- timeless truths for kids and adults. We had some fun -but forgettable -music, but one song will stay with me: "The Word" was absolutely beautiful. (Did I say forgettable? "Y-E-S to VBS" keeps rapping away in my head!)

As much as I loved interacting with the kids, another special blessing was seeing so many young adults from my 20-30-something Sunday school class involved - from leading worship, to teaching, to serving refreshments. The week would not have been the same without them!

Brooke and Brayden at Lake Arthur, LA Camp Ground. My mother attended church camps here in the 1930s.

Footprints of Faith

Today I joined a host of old friends in paying tribute to a life well-lived at the homegoing service of Dan Hoffpauir. Dan and Edith were two of the heroes of my youth. Dan was instrumental in leading my oldest brother to the Lord, and Edith played a vital role in my own faith journey, especially during my teen years. Like a lot of kids, I had a sharp eye for anything phony, but these two never disappointed me. Their faith was an integral part - the ultimate definition - of who they were and how they lived. They were the "real deal," and the care and encouragement they poured into people was always authentic.

Their generation is slipping away from us so quickly. It is humbling to realize that my children and their friends must now search for role models of faith among my peer group. I could never hope to fill the shoes of the saints of my youth. But today, as I've reflected on the life and faith of Dan Hoffpauir, I've been asking God to help me follow the footprints.