Squeaky Doors

There once was a man who had a squeaky door. He went to the hardware store, bought some WD 40, and placed it in his toolbox when he returned from the store. Much to his dismay, the door continued to squeak.

As absurd as such a story is, it points to a truth I would do well to remember on the first of the year. This is a time of year when I look forward and think about the year to come. I make goals and/or resolutions to address the squeaky doors of my life. Whether it’s to lose weight, deepen my spiritual life, improve a relationship, or learn something new, too often I am like the man in the story. I go buy a gym membership and a new exercise bag instead of going outside for a run. I go buy a new Bible rather than read one of the seven I own. I buy a book on parenting instead of inviting my child to go on a walk.

All of us have toolboxes full of everything we need to have an amazing new year. We don’t need to go buy anything. We simply need to reach within and use the tools we already have, read the books we already own, and embrace the people who are sitting right beside us. Suddenly doors stop squeaking!

Christmas 2017: A Misleading Box.

The box with his name on it under the tree taunted him throughout December. He could see the name of the store through the thin paper. Cosby’s, a famous hockey store in New York City. Each night laying in bed, he wondered what it might be. Skates? Helmet? It didn’t matter. Either way, he would have something to impress the kids at school, something to be like his brother who got things from there all the time.

He tried to get his siblings to hurry through their stockings on Christmas morning so he could get downstairs for the main event. His mother’s torturous requirement that they eat before opening presents almost caused him to go into convulsions.

Finally, his mother “dropped the puck,” as they liked to say, “Ok, you may open it.”

He didn’t wait for the others. He ran to the tree and went straight to the box he’d been waiting to open for a month. The paper didn’t stand a chance against his enthusiasm, and pieces were still floating in the air as he lifted the top of the box. In it was a painting his mother had done in one of her painting classes.

He tried to hide his disappointment. To this day, he can’t recall anything else he received that Christmas. The painting was eventually hung in his room, where he stared at it from his bed. In time, he grew to like the painting, and stopped thinking about what could have been in the box. When he went to college, he took the painting with him, and, when he moved into his first apartment, the painting was the first thing he hung on the wall.

The painting was like having his mother with him. It got him through the time he was laid off, as well as when his daughter was in the hospital. Now, with his gone, the painting increased in significance.The individual brushstrokes looked like her fingerprints which, in a way, they were. The painting was never something he expected, but ended up being all he ever wanted.

"And you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

Letting Christmas In.

People get into Christmas in a variety of ways. Maybe by decorating a home, sending Christmas cards, or observing age-old traditions, but an interesting twist is to ask not how you get into Christmas, but how Christmas gets into you?

The question came to me after running into a friend who I’d not seen in years. I rushed over to greet him after church, and noticed he was unfolding a white cane with a red tip. Despite my enthusiastic greeting, he asked “who’s that?” An eye disease had taken his sight, and I’ve thought about him ever since. Sitting in our den listening to beloved Christmas music by a fire with scented candle nearby, I couldn’t help but think about the gift of sight, and the gift of all our senses, and how they allow Christmas to enter our souls.

Through my eyes, I see a tree with tiny white lights and ornaments made by our children over the years. Driving through town, I see stores decorated, and wreaths hanging from lampposts. I see snow falling, as if on cue, and notice the delight on my daughter’s face as we watch a favorite Christmas movie. If I only had my eyes, it would be enough to know Christmas.

Through my ears, I hear music unique to this time of year (never before Thanksgiving, thank you very much). Traditional and popular, the melodies and words cause my eyes to water like no other. I hear the bells ringing outside selected stores, and hear cries of "Merry Christmas" above the traffic, and notice people greeting one another with new-found enthusiasm and sincerity.

Through my nose, smells can pull me toward the magic of Christmas. Candles strategically placed throughout the house, and food cooking in the other room all lure me into the season each year. (Even brownies smell seasonal at this time of year.) The smell of a real fire makes me what to cook chestnuts, even though I have no idea how one does such a thing.

Through my mouth, Christmas has an easy route within, both literally and figuratively. Treats line the counter and break-room table. Meals become eucharistic. Even the local grocery store plays along by offering peppermint ice cream for a limited time. (Try it with hot fudge, or magic shell chocolate sauce).

My hands, and the rest of my body, get in on the act as well. I reach out and touch the Christmas tree needles, bend over, make a snowball, and throw it before holding my hands up to my mouth for much-needed warm breadth. I reach out an touch a friend’s mole hair sweater that’s simply irresistible, and pull a handmade scarf knitted by a friend who recently died tightly around my neck. I tend to hold hands and hug more at Christmas.

Like a master teacher I know who teaches through all her students’ senses, Christmas surrounds us and longs to come inside . . . if we have eyes to see, ears to hear, noses to smell, mouths to taste, and hands to touch.