Two Girls ...

January 1978.  It was 25 years ago ... maybe even to the day.

Two girls met.  On a college campus ... where both attended.  In a sorority house ... where both were initiated.  Two girls ... in a place ... where neither belonged. It was totally random.

The one girl wanted to be friends with the other girl because ... she was beautiful ... intelligent ... full of laughter ... bright ... motivated ... fun.  The other girl was everything the one girl wanted to be ... she was hoping that some of all that would rub off on her ... if they became friends.

The other girl wanted to be friends with the one girl ... for all of the same reasons.

And friends they became.  Then sisters. Once the whole sisterhood thing lost it's luster ... they simply claimed ... family.  

Both were searching ... for themselves ... for a place that felt like home.

One ran away ... beckoned by the green grass over yonder ... always managing to bloom where she was planted ... even if it was just for a short while ... before she wandered again ... never seeming to get ... where she wanted to be going.

The other simply ran ... in place.  Faster and faster ... with an equal amount of determination ... yet never seeming to get ... where she wanted to be going.

Both lost their way.  And at times ... each of them ... were plain & simply lost.

One was chasing a dream ... the other was racing against the wind ... and then ... one was racing against the wind ... the other was chasing a dream ...

Round and round ... the hamster wheels would go.

Through the years ... neither time nor distance nor life ... destroyed the connection between the two girls.  The friendship was always there ... waiting ... an oasis of encouragement & love ... providing refreshment whenever the opportunity for a reunion presented itself.

Once ... when they were still young ... they took a vacation together.  A scenic roadtrip ...
down A1A ... then sailing windjammer style from island to island ... before life overwhelmed then.
It was epic.

Jobs ... relationships  ... children ... bad choices .. good choices ... deaths ... families ... all came into the mix. Natural fertilizer ... was an abundant byproduct of both of their lives ... enough to sustain the most ample of gardens ... at any given time.
 
Nothing ever came easy for these girls. Even though it often seemed that it did ... to those on the outside looking in.

Along the way, the one ... she decided to share her life with someone ... it turned out to be not so good. The other one ... she found a him ...to share life with, too. 
Against all odds ... together they created something good.

There's a lot more to their story.  Parts of it aren't pretty. 

January 2013.  In a smallish church ... in an out-of-the-way crossroads of a town ... the man stopped the one girl on the way in.

He, too, has some stories ... not surprising, really.  Each life unfolds in different ways ... yet the stories are pretty much the same.

"I had a chance to reconnect with an old friend this week," the man said.  "It seems he is a mutual friend ... a friend of yours,too."

The one girl paused ... trying to imagine ... who in the world that could be. Most of their mutual friends were found in the circles of recent years ... from this place she lives in now ... and would not involve a reconnection for the man.  You see, the man's hamster wheel had been stationery for a lifetime of years ... lots of activity ... all in the same spot.

Turns out ... the mutual friend ... is the he ... the one that's married to the other she.  Seems the man ... and the he ... had a friendship of sorts some 20 years ago ... probably about the same time the two girls ... were getting lost ... trying to find themselves.

The man and the he ... their friendship simply faded away ... for no real reason. Their circumstances changed ... and the casual, friendly encounters ... were no longer a part of their routines.

Each thought of the other from time to time ... reflecting on the loss of the warm connection ... wondering, occasionally, why he had been dropped ... by the other.

The he ... went through some stuff.  He thought maybe that was the cause of the disconnect.  The man went through some stuff, too.  Turns out ... none of the stuff ... had a dadgum thing to do with anything.

Time passed.  Life had it's ups.  Life had it's downs.
And the he ... and the man ... thought of each less and less.

Until sometime last week ... when the he ... saw the man's name ... on the friend list ... of the one girl ... who is like family ... to the other girl ... who is his wife.

A reconnection was made ... by the man and the he ... and the stirrings of a warm friendship were rediscovered there ... buried under all of the years of disconnect.

I have been wondering ... for quite a while ... why I am still here ... in this place that doesn't feel like home. The gypsy in me has been longing to seek  a new adventure ... somewhere else ... anywhere but here. The reasons that made sense in the first place ... to be here ... have long since been replaced by hurts & disappointments.

The whispers have been persistent ... consistent ... and the one girl ... she has no choice but to listen:  Be still.  Wait.  Don't get ahead of yourself. Take time to heal.  There's still a reason for you ... to be ... here.

Twenty-five years ago ... maybe to the day ... two girls met ... and the bread of life has created a trail from all of their crumbs ... scattered haphazardly across the years ... leading two men to reconnect ... in the here & now. God's perfect timing.

Maybe, just maybe ... that's the reason ... why I am still here.
Synchronicity.


www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com (c)January 2013

A little Jesus ...

It was a random thought ... following the annual family discussion at Thanksgiving about Christmas plans.

Are we going to do rattle gifts?  When? Where?  For whom do I get to buy a rattle gift? And what about Christmas Eve? Christmas Day?  Who will be here?  What will we eat?

Eventually getting around to ... maybe we should just draw names this year ... and the specter of holiday meltdown filled the room.

This year, I had already made up my mind to simply go with the flow ... where Christmas was concerned.  Whatever anyone wanted to do ... that was going to make Christmas feel special for them ... was what I was going to do.  So even though I love giving gifts ... I said, "Sure.  Name drawing works for me."

After much discussion it was discovered that once the dots were all connected between the people who would reasonably be involved in ... the name-drawing ... and gift giving ... it wasn't actually possible to implement such a plan.

Parents were, of course, always going to have gifts for their children.  And since all of the children are adults ... except for one & she's almost grown ... there was no way the children weren't going to have gifts for the parents.  And sisters & brothers & sisters exchanges were going to fall outside of the name-drawing rule.  In the end ... there wasn't anyone in our immediate circle of family that anyone could sincerely agree not to remember with a gift.

The message was loud and clear ... Christmas is all about the gifts.

I came away from the discussion ... feeling empty. Hoping this was going to be the year that I finally rediscovered the Christmas feeling ... it was devastating to discover that somehow the sanitizing of the meaning of Christmas had finally crept into my family.

And as I drove away, the radio station that was dedicated to playing Christmas music ... only ... from mid-November to December 25 ... was wearing me out with repetitive renditions of popular secular holiday music.  You know ... all of our favorite artists ... past & present ... singing about snowmen, reindeer, chestnuts, loneliness, love, snow ... and being home for Christmas ...

*Sigh*  "Home" is all I've wanted for Christmas ... my entire life ...

Singing along ... about the dismay of merry gentlemen ... and Santa Claus ... I caught myself thinking: How about a carol or two?!?!  You know ... the songs that are really about Christmas ... all of those same popular artists have recorded them ... Hark The Herald Angels Sing ... What Child Is This? ... The First Noel ... Mary, Did You Know? ... O Holy Night ...  seriously ... buy the Christmas cds ... the songs are all there side-by-side with Sleigh Ride ..."

How about a little Jesus?!?!

I said it outloud ... in the car.  Jessi & Donald stopped singing ... looked at me ... and then Jessi said, "Whatever, Mom.  Christmas is all about Jesus."

And that's when it hit me ... all of us needed ... a little Jesus!

In that moment the idea was born.  In the end, it was the only thing that got me through the season.

Since the crux of the earlier conversation had been ... the number of gifts to be bought ... and how much to spend  ... I decided that this year everyone on my list ... was going to get ... the same thing ... and I was only going to spend $10 total on each one.

The day after Thanksgiving ... the search began ... for little Jesus'.

At first I wasn't sure how to go about it.  So I simply went to ebay and typed in "baby Jesus" ... and shazaam!  The offerings were staggering!

Mixed in with all types of pictures, pins, figurines and other religious items ... were tons of little lost baby Jesus'.  You know, the ones that somehow got separated from their manger scene family over the years ... much like Jesus, the young lad, who wandered off from his parents after Passover only to be found back in the temple where their journey had started. (Luke 2:39-52)

"Why were you searching for me?" Jesus asked his parents "Didn't you know I'd be in my Father's house?"

Over the years, I have collected several manger scenes.  And I have always kept a small creche around ... in a bathroom ... on a window sill ... on a shelf ... even when it wasn't Christmas.

A sub-conscious reminder, I guess, that ... I needed a little Jesus ... every single day ... not just at Christmas.  It made me smile to think that maybe this was something that had been stirring in my heart for quite a bit of time .. and that possibly ... it was bigger than me.

Between Thanksgiving and the week before Christmas Day, I began each day with a search for baby Jesus ... and I ended each day the very same way.

There were so many choices.  Plaster, ceramic, metal, wooden ... itty bitty - tiny - small - medium - large- lawn-sized ... serious, sweet, childlike, angelic, simple ... Italian, German, Spanish, American  ... a plethora of baby Jesus' ... simply waiting to be found.

It was mind-boggling.  Each one selected was unique ... some special ones were passed over when the bidding caused the total expense to exceed $10. Some were most likely worth far more than I paid for them ... 

It was MY adventure ... I dreamed it up, after all ... and then deliberately set out to make a bold statement to the people most important to me ... this year ... through the simple gift.

As always, it totally caught me offguard when it turned out to be more a part of MY journey ... then it was about the actual gifts themselves.

Soon after the first purchases were made, the boxes began arriving.  At first it was one every couple of days ... then it became a box every day ... then 2 or 3 waiting for us every afternoon.

And I DO mean ... waiting for us.  Jessi very quickly became fascinated with the little Jesus'.  Together we opened each one ... and ooohed ... and aaahed ... over the design, the craftsmenship, the holiness of each individual piece.

Each one begging the question ... "Why were you looking for me?  Don't you know you will always find me where my Father lives?"

Too special to tuck away ... the little Jesus' soon littered the counter in the kitchen. Precious ... every single one ... yet we both had our favorites.  And the very few friends that I shared my story ... and the blessing ... with as it was unfolding ... each of them had their favorites, too.

At first I was going to try to choose a little Jesus ... especially for each person on my list.  Then after a gentle nudge or two ... I was reminded that all of us are seeking ... in our own ways ... and when Jesus shows up, it's always in response to the needs, the cries, the desires of the individual heart.

 That's why there are so many interpretations of baby Jesus, I guess ... because we're all different ... yet He is faithfully the same.

I put off wrapping them for as long as possible.  Knowing that I was going to miss them ... when I passed them along.  Eventually each one was wrapped ... some in beautiful holiday paper ... others tucked into festive gift bags.
The packages were uniquely different ... just like the Jesus inside ... yet every gift was the same.

I had beautiful cards ... for each recipient ... with the same handwritten message ... "Here's a little ... Jesus.  He's not just for Christmas!"  I tossed the cards and packages into a giant holiday shopping bag ... and as each one was delivered ... the loved one selected whichever one appealed to them.

You see ... I decided it was much like fortune cookies ... each one would be instinctively drawn to the little Jesus that was meant for them.

A couple were shared before Christmas Eve.  The majority, however, were for my family that would be gathering to rattle gifts on the eve ...
and exchange gifts on the day.

Somehow ... Christmas took on a life of it's own this year.  And by Christmas Eve ... it was totally out-of-control.  Let's be real.  Every family has some dysfunction.  Honest, they do.  And the holidays tend to bring all of that ... confusion, chaos, hurt ... to the surface.
My family is no different.

So improvising ... in the face of the meltdown ... I suggested that the Christmas story be read aloud ... to bring our focus back to what was really important.  My sister-in-law began to recite the passage from memory ... as we were turning there in the Bible.

She rushed through it ... as one does who is trying to recite something memorized ... without stopping to think about it too much .. so as not to mess up.  It was very cool.  Then a slower read was shared as a reminder of why we celebrate Christmas in the first place.

I spread my packages on the table ... and each one was invited to choose their own.  I told them these were the only gifts I was giving this year ... and that everyone was getting the same thing. It was an intriguing concept.

One by one they were opened ... along with the cards. It was different.  It was reflective.  It took everyone by surprise.  I honestly don't know whether they all ... got it.  And I am pretty sure that it's not important for me to know ... that's between their hearts and God.

There was the one ... who didn't like their ... little Jesus.  Moving around the room, viewing the ones the others had chosen ... coyly looking for an opportunity to make a swap. It was obvious that somehow ... this one was dissatisfied ... disappointed ... with their gift.

Several packages remained on the table ... intended for friends that I would be seeing at a later time.  I gently said, "If you don't like your little Jesus, you are welcome to exchange it for one of the others on the table.
Each one is different."

The one in the hand ... was a very plain, simple baby in a manager.  Ceramic ... hand-painted ... no halo ... no hand-carving ... no obvious indication that it belonged to a specific line or set.

"Oh, thank you.  You would know that I would get the one that doesn't look like ... Jesus," came the response.  "There are so many gorgeous ones here ... it would be nice to have one that I could love."

On the table were two gift bags ... and two wrapped boxes.  It was agreed that the gift bags could be looked in ... and that if a box was unwrapped, whatever was inside would be kept.

Diving into the first gift bag, a beautiful Fontanini baby Jesus emerged.  Wide-eyed delight was the response.  Still, it was necessary to check-out the other gift bag.  Inside was a
Precious Moments figure ... sweet & pastel ...
always a family favorite.

Weighing one  in each hand, another sweep around the room was made ... making quite a fuss over the decision of which little Jesus to accept.  After much fanfare, it was a superficial little something that sealed the deal.

Later after the holocaust that was Christmas this year ... after the snow ... I shared all but one of the remaining packages with my friends.  The one who randomly selected the rejected little Jesus touched my heart deeply.

He had no way of knowing the story.  He's not familiar with my family.  When he opened his gift ... he beamed. He totally got it.  And he said to me ... "I love this, MaryJane.  He's so plain and simple ... unadorned. He looks exactly the way Jesus would have looked in that stable in Bethlehem. Thank you."

All in all , there were 27 little Jesus' ... what each loved one does with theirs is entirely up to them.  

One of my friends has his little Jesus on a shelf in his office.  Another is riding around in another friend's truck.  The itty bitty baby Jesus is traveling all around the country with two very special people.  One was almost immediately packed away with other Christmas decorations. 

There's one little Jesus still wrapped up in his box.  It has a name on it ... and one of these days, I will see my friend that I have been missing for weeks and weeks ... and deliver it.  And that's ok ...  because whenever that day comes ... it will be right on time ... because ...

Jesus isn't just for Christmas.

www.lifelessons-mj.blogspot.com
(c) January 2013