Christmastime Blues... with Tina Pinson

It's Christmas Time

Do you feel it?

The excitement?

The wonder?

The Blues?



The month is almost over and the year is drawing to an end as well.  Hard to believe. Seems like only yesterday it was January 1, 2012.

Every year, I feel this way, and every year I say the same thing.

Where does the time go?

I don't recall these feelings being so strong when I was child. Then every thing was wonderful, exciting. I had stars in my eyes and candy cane dreams. I waited to hear the jingle of reindeer hooves on my roof and could barely sleep just thinking about getting to that tree the next morning.

But I fear, though I fight against, I might just be turning into Scrooge.

I decorate my tree and my house, I do my Christmas shopping and work on my Christmas cards (which I'm procrastinating more over each year) and sometimes I can find myself getting melancholy during a time when I'm supposed to be happy.

Merry.

I watch Christmas movies until I see tinsel in my dreams, hoping to catch a bit of the manufactured joy.

But I find myself missing friends and family. If let my thoughts go I can find myself all tied up in the woe is me of the Season.

This year the melancholy bug has already reared it's head as I think about the son who moved and now lives further away and the mother who is fighting cancer. Of course just thinking about the world in general can get anyone down. Seriously, why is there such fighting at the malls? Why are people getting stabbed over parking spaces and TV's. That is not what Christmas is all about.

I find myself tearing up and getting frustrated.

It's then I have to stop and take stock of the reason why I do all these things. Why I feel this way? What does Christmas really mean?

Do you ever find yourself there? Does the hustle and bustle of the season leave you drained.

As a gift I wanted to share the Christmas excerpt from my book Then There Was Grace. I hope your are reminded of the reason for the season, and are gifted with a renewed joy.

Read through, then please share what Christmas means to you or a Christmas memory.

Merry Christmas...

Adam made popcorn and got himself another piece of pie then he sat down with Faith and Hope to watch an evening of Christmas classics.

Rudolph, Frosty, Santa Claus, Mickey Mouse, and a host of other characters, filled the television screen with color and laughter. But he found his daughters' wide-eyed awe, as they watched each story, even more animating.

Oh, to look at the world through the eyes of a child, to see the wonder and feel the excitement of the little things. Oh, to unabashedly show your feelings or not feel too ignorant to ask any question that came to mind.

Did Rudolph's blinking nose burn? Did it hurt his ears when it made that funny noise? How come the other reindeers' mamas didn't teach them to be nice? How come Frosty the Snowman didn't wear his coat when he had a hat and scarf? How come Santa wears a red suit? What does Mrs. Santa do when he's gone? Why do elves have pointy ears? Are they real? Can we go see one? How come Mr. Scrooge is so mean, didn't his mommy love him?

Question after question after question -- silly inane questions to him, but important enough for his children to ask. Still a parent could go numb. Adam tried to answer them as best he could.

His daughters giggled as Frosty ran down the street with the children, and cried with the misfit toys. Like someone kept switching the channels of their emotions, his daughters' faces were drawn into frowns one moment and lit with brilliant smiles the next. Their facial expressions moved from confusion to awe, to sorrow, to joy, and onto bewilderment before they made the circle again.

Though he'd already loosened his belt, Adam had a craving for another piece of pie or two. With his girls engrossed in cartoons, he made a dessert dash to the kitchen. He returned balancing a saucer -- filled with one slice each of pumpkin, blueberry, and cherry pie nearly covered under a mound of whipped cream and a scoop of ice cream -- in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other.

He set down his bounty and started to get comfy again, when he realized how quiet and solemn his children had become. The look on their faces mesmerized him. They were so filled... with what... peace, calm? He didn't know, but for a moment he almost believed he could

see their hearts. When he turned to the screen to see what captivated their attention, he found another cartoon.

Adam sat down and began to watch, and oddly enough, found himself captivated, too.

The ice cream on his saucer melted and mingled with the whipped cream, his coffee turned cold, as did the cherry and blueberry pie he'd warmed. The dessert plate had been so desirable before, but now he was drawn to the television, and not one bite was taken from any of the pies.

It was just a simple cartoon that colored the screen. A story of a king who came to earth as a baby, and brought God's gift of love.

Adam knew the story. He'd seen it in years past. Strangely, where it never held him before, this year the plight of a child in a manger demanded his attention.

"Jesus," the narrator replied. "He was a gift of love to all mankind. But no one seemed to know that a child of noble birth was born that night. No one seemed to care. No one could even find his parents a room. Finally, someone took pity on the poor couple, and let them stay in their stable."

The story went on until Mary and Joseph knelt around a manger. Mary held a tiny baby, dressed in rags against her chest as shepherds, animals, and angels looked on. The look on Mary's face was so filled with love, it reminded Adam of how beautiful Grace's face had been when she first held Faith and Hope.

A mother's love.

Then Joseph leaned forward and put his arms around Mary and smiled at his son.

A father's love, he told himself.
Some kind of father you are, he scolded himself silently.
He'd never even held his daughters that way. The day they were

born, he made an appearance with flowers and smiles. He passed out the expected cigars, and kissed his wife. He picked up his daughters one by one, and felt silently awkward and inadequate with each.

Adam knew the look of serenity that filled Joseph's face now was not what etched the lines in his face then. He'd been too busy to stop and share with Grace and his daughters. Looking at his daughters now, nearly four years older, he felt sorrow. He'd missed out on something wonderful.

And sadly, his heart reminded him, he wouldn't be able to hold his son, either. His son would never be born.

My son was born, he heard someone say. So real was the sound, he turned to see if someone had come up behind him. The foyer was empty .

Adam turned back to the living room and glanced around to see if

someone had come in unawares. He, Faith, and Hope were the only ones in the room.

He shook his head and took a deep breath. Too much food, he reasoned. The voice came again.

My son was born to die for you and all mankind.
Why did he have to die? His mind wondered.
He died for the sins of the world. He died so we could be together. What would you want with me? I'm a failure as a man, as a husband, as

a father... you want me to say more?

Yes, you've done many things, but you're my beloved. I'll forgive you. But first, you must deny yourself and follow me.

How?

That's why I sent my son. If you accept my son, you accept me.

I'm not worth your time.

You are worth the very blood of my child. If you were the only soul that needed to be redeemed, He still would have been born to die.

Figuring the voice in his heart just didn't understand how beyond redemption he was, Adam focused on the T.V. and tried to put the thoughts running through his head out of mind.

A hauntingly beautiful song began to play as the credits at the end of the film rolled, causing him to wonder about his condition once more.

Mary wrapped her baby in rags worn and old, and drew him closely to her breast to protect him from the cold. She remembered all the prophets said and all that'd been foretold, and she prayed that when the time came, she could protect him from the world...

And the shadows fell, they fell over Bethlehem, and covered a manger where Christ Jesus became a man. And no one really knew... the love God showed that holy night, till heaven proclaimed Him king.

In the Shadows over Bethlehem...

I sent Him for you. Accept the gift I want to give. Accept peace and life.

I'm not worthy.
"You are, my son."
"No, you don't know me," Adam said aloud as he rose from the couch in an agitated manner. He opened his mouth to say more, when he realized his daughters were watching him.

"Ahh, Daddy was just thinking." He heaved a sigh, ran a hand through his hair, and scratched the back of his head. Then he looked at his watch and with another sigh smiled at his daughters. "Looks as though it's bedtime for two little girls."

"What little girls, Daddy?" Hope replied, looking around the room for the other girls. The mischievous grin on her face said she knew exactly whom he spoke of.


"Who are their names?" Faith grinned back sheepishly, offering him a challenge.

"Mmm, let's see. I think their names are Abigail and Ruth Ann."

Hope started to laugh and actually snorted. "I don't know them."

Holding his mirth, Adam tried two more names. "Euphemia and Dorcas."

"Those are silly names," Faith informed him.

"But these are silly girls who have to go to bed," he replied. He stopped, looked around, and then put a finger to his bottom lip. "Oh, wait, I know their names."

Faith and Hope both inched upwards on their knees and held their breath in anticipation.

"Their names are... Faith," he said slowly as he pointed to her. "And Hope," he added directing his point to the next girl. "Am I right?" He grinned. "Well..." he started to say, when he realized his daughters were staring directly at him. "What? Did I get it wrong?"

Faith's grin turned crooked with awe and trembled softly. "You said me, Daddy." She blinked tears. "You know my name."

"You love me, huh, Daddy?" Hope said now, blinking her own tears of wonderment.

"I suppose I do," Adam whispered in a breezy manner as he knelt before them. Then it hit him there was no supposition about it. He tugged them into his arms. "No, I know I do. I love you both very much. Faith and Hope," he kissed their heads in turn as he said their names. "Daddy loves you more than you'll ever know."

Just as I love you, his heart replied.

He quickly hauled up his daughters and ran up the stairs so he wouldn't have to listen.

But running from something or ignoring something didn't make it go away.

And the voice of his heart was relentless.

Historically Speaking...

Tina here... I thought I'd have you put your thinking caps on while we take a look at History. Before you get scared, I promise there will not be a test. At least I don't think so. 

History speaks.

In millions of ways with a million voices.

From early on, stories of history have been passed down from generation to generation. We write it, draw it, take pictures of it, sing about it and more. History may not always speak in an audible voice, but it is loud enough to hear.

Listen. Can you hear it?

It plays a part in the story of my life. Each detail of my story is woven together and then added to your story and to other stories to form the tapestry of time. Of course not everyone sees the stitches that make my story. My birthday, when I got my first tooth or graduation date. The day I was married or had children does not make world news, although the gifts might be fun if they did. But that doesn't mean my story  isn't important.

Sometimes when history speaks it is only important to me, or my family, or perhaps my city or state.

There are times when History speaks that almost the whole world is listening. You have only to see the date or hear a name or a place and you get a vision of the event.

As an example.

If I said June 17, 1961 would that mean anything to you? Perhaps not, but now that you know it I expect a birthday card.

But what if I said December 7, 1941 or A day that will live in infamy?

For many you could see bombs dropping on Pearl Harbor and the start of America's march into WWII.

  

How about The Cold War? The Arms Race? What time in history would that point to?

If I said George Washington or 1776 or Paul Revere you might think of the US Revolutionary War. Just as Abraham Lincoln, Robert E Lee, US Grant and Gettysburg might conjure up a vision of US Civil War for some.

 

What about "The shot heard around the world?"

That might be hard to pin down. Depending on where you live or your age, there were several shots from several places around the world. For most it's the first line in Ralph Emerson Waldo's Concord Hymn that refers to the start of the US Revolutionary War for others it sounded around WWI and still for some at other points in history.

Was the British Invasion of the 1960's a war?

What about August 16, 1977 or June 11, 1979?  If you're an Elvis or Duke Fan you know exactly.

 

What about August 31, 1997 or Sept. 14, 1982?

December 26, 2004 or March 11, 2011?

What happened on Nov. 9^, 1965 that caused a spike in births 9 months later? It happened in 1992 as well?

What if I said poodle skirts, bouffant dos, or loafers? Flappers and tommy guns? Pyramids and Pharaohs and papyrus?

How about Candlewicking? Now before your eyes glaze over, candlewicking is a form of needlework where the seamstress uses candlewick to form the design out of knots and twists and special stitches. It dates back to the 1900 if not earlier.

Of course I can't cover every point of history we'd be here forever.

As a writer, history plays a major role in several of my novels. I can choose to follow history precisely, or rewrite for speculative fiction or make it up altogether like Orwell did on his radio show October 30, 1938 when he talked about the invasion from outer space and War of the Worlds.

Granted, some of the things history says can be distorted so you have to listen carefully.

In my latest novel, Then There Was Grace, I take a look at a time in recent history. September 11, 2001. Most only have to hear Sept. 11^th to know what I'm talking about and from there you can tell me exactly where you were when the terrorists attacked. I was still in bed and my husband called to say 'watch the news.' I was stuck to the news for hours, afraid to move for fear I'd miss something. It reminded me of a day in 1979 when the hostages were taken and my soon to be husband's ship was called back out to the Indian Ocean and my wedding day was set back.

Back to my story; I had so many questions about Sept. 11^th and what brought to that point and how and why did we react the way we did. I wrote Then There Was Grace as a way to deal with my own fears and sorrow from the day.

Then There Was Grace is a story about a man, Adam, who is ready to divorce his wife, Grace, when she is killed in a terror attack, leaving him to raise their twin 3 year-old daughters, Faith and Hope, and deal with his guilt and regret. During his journey to through grief he learns a lot about Grace and just how wonderful she really was. He also learns about God's grace and forgiveness.

I am offering a copy of Then There Was Grace to one commenter today, so please leave a comment. Tell me something about how History has spoken to you. Or tell me, 'Where you were on Sept 11^th?'