Christmas Memories of the hiding place

When I think of Christmas I always remember that horrible little closet in the "scary" room at our farm house in Seward, Illinois. Mom and Daddy scared us into never entering that room because the floors were unsafe and I always imagined myself falling through the boards and landing on the kitchen table. It made for a very good hiding place for all of our Christmas gifts. They locked the door somehow...yet there was a very large crack that little eyes could peer through and imagine what wonders were in store there. What is that driving urge that compels us to want to know what our gifts are...then feeling guilty for knowing? You never let on that you actually may have seen your metal doll house with the colorful plastic furniture through that little crack in the door. The best part of Christmas are those fun memories and the guilt that we carry after 52 holidays of peeking in those forbidden places and remembering the thrill of waking up on Christmas morning and finding out that all those great gifts were really yours and not the property of your little sister.

Godly Influence

As a mother, it is hard to determine purity of thought. Do I desire for my children to have adventure, travel the world, and influence others for Christ? My mother's heart aches while the Holy Spirit thrills inside my mortal being. I could never expand the universe solo. The people touched by the children of my heart and body are many and I take great joy in God's use of a simple Indiana freckle face. Why would I ever want my children to gather around my skirts and be unused, unhappy, and bored when God has great and wonderful things for them to accomplish? I remember watching a nest of robins as the mother carefully fed and cared for her 3 little hatchlings. They grew quickly and went from bobbing bald babies to punk rockers with funny feathers sticking up all over their heads. As they became more and more curious about the world outside their little lilac bush, they began to teeter on the edge of the nest. I cringed when I saw them rocking on the brink of disaster, but mama robin didn't seem to be too disturbed. Then one day, they were gone. I thought that they had all flown away when I noticed one little fellow hopping around on the ground having a tough time figuring out how to get his awkward little body in motion with his flailing wings. My motherly instinct was to scoop him up and place him back in the nest, but I read that robins allow their young ones to hop around while they still care for them, bring them food, and attempt to scare away predators. Eventually, they learn to fly, with just a little more time and attention. Of course, mama robin starts on the next brood fairly quickly, knowing that if she kept them all at home in the nest, things would become very ugly.