It’s early Christmas morning, and the house is quiet.  Everyone is still asleep.  I’ve taken the dogs for their early morning walk – my Bella and “grand-dog” Lulu.  I’m alone with a cup of coffee, my prayers and devotionals. In a little while my girls and my brother will get up, and we’ll have our Christmas morning together. The girls will be wearing their matching pajamas, which I surprised them with, giving us all a good laugh. Matching pajamas were a tradition every Christmas as they grew up, and it’s been awhile. I am so blessed to have this precious time with them together this year. 

I needed some spiritual refreshment and was looking forward to going to Mass. But Christmas Eve Mass was a disappointment as holiday Masses usually are.  A ridiculous number of people crowded the church, and we were forced into a small side room where you could neither see nor hear anything that was going on. Although it was annoying for us and all the regulars, I know God was probably glad to see everyone. Besides, maybe the extraordinary abundance was just family visiting family. 

Three children of different ages took turns distracting us in the tiny room.  A rambunctious four-year-old girl in the pew directly in front of us alternated between tormenting her older brother, stomping her feet, talking loudly and feigning anger.  Her tired mother with sad eyes had no control over her. She seemed drained and seemed to have given up trying. An older couple was with them, I’m thinking her parents.  Where is her husband? Is she divorced?  Is he working the night shift or serving overseas?  I’ll never know.  Intermittently, a two-year-old girl in front of them squirmed and cried and rambled on loudly as her grandmother and parents doted on her without reprimanding her at all.  She, in turn, was distracted by a newborn infant in the pew in front of her. “Yook, daddy, Yook,” she tells her father.  “See the baby? I want a baby! Maybe Santa will bring me a baby tonight.” I couldn’t contain my laughter.  I know God is probably getting a kick out of all of this.

My daughter Megan lays her head on my shoulder, and I lay my head on hers. We stay that way for a long time.  Uncontrollable tears flow.  Soon she’ll return to Florida where she lives. I miss her so much already that my heart is aching. I look over at my other daughter Katie who smiles at me. When did they become such mature young women?  Wasn’t it only yesterday that they were those little girls in church?

Time passes much too quickly. I miss the days when they were little –  when each Christmas morning was a magical time filled with so much excitement and wonder. Things have changed – life has altered. Time and distance have become a circumstance of life. But my family is with me today, and I am grateful. I am blessed with this precious present of all of us being together to celebrate the birth of a loving Savior who keeps us close in heart and soul.

Katie and Megan

To you and yours, Merry Christmas!

Thought for the Day:  Carpe Diem

Every morning I take my exuberant yellow lab Bella for a walk along the grassy causeway down to the bay.  It is usually very early, sometimes even before the sun has risen. Most of the world is still fast asleep, and the silence enfolds me. The tall sea grasses rustle in the gentle breeze.  A lonely seagull flying above lets out a mournful wail. A foghorn groans in the distance.  A young deer scampers in and out of the brush while a cat perches on a mooring, intently stalking an invisible prey. I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the cleansing coolness of the ocean air.  I can taste the salt on my tongue.

As I make my way to the bay, I thank God for a good night’s rest, if I’ve had one.  Otherwise, I thank Him for my cozy, warm bed and that the night is over. I thank Him for the people in my life and the love He’s blessed me with.  I tell Him my troubles and rattle off a litany of my doubts and fears.  A little while later my soul is satisfied and calmness overshadows the worries on my mind.

If I’m lucky enough and it’s early enough, I get to see the sun peak over the darkness of the water with a bright orange hue that paints the clouds a purpled pink.  I watch intently as it majestically rises from the water to take its place high in the sky. The rays stretch down like tentacles through the clouds, and I close my eyes, feeling the warmth upon my face. 

Searching the horizon to the right, I spy a glimpse of the Barnegat Bay lighthouse.  There it is – its beam of light guiding ships in and out of the inlet. On some foggy days, I can’t see it at all.  But then a shaft of light rotates over the water, and it’s comforting to know it is there doing what it is created to do.

A buzz from a motorboat of an early morning fisherman breaks the silence.  I watch as he maneuvers his boat over the foaming ripples to where he will cast his line for the morning catch.  I take another deep breath and gaze over the bay beholding its astounding beauty as the sunrays shimmer across the deep blue of the water.  The seagulls circle above, more boats go by, the lighthouse stands stoically in the distance and the cool sea breeze ruffles my hair. God is all around me.

As I reluctantly turn to head for home, I drink in the majesty of it all one more time. Walking in the other direction, if I’m lucky enough, I can see the outline of the night moon fading into the morning brightness of the sky.  It’s smiling down at me.  I turn down the road along a lagoon to the house and see a robin up on the telephone line and grin.  I don’t really understand why she would be in this area in December.

Most mornings I want to stay in bed as all of us do. Today I awoke with a headache and didn’t want to extract myself from my warm cocoon to brave the early morning chill.  But Bella beckoned me for our walk, and it’s my duty to take her out to do her doody.  As usual, I’m glad I did because now that I have returned, I am refreshed and renewed and ready to take on what the day beholds.

Thought for the Day:  Keep hopeful.

My spirits were low the other afternoon as I walked my dog Bella. Glancing up into a tree almost barren of leaves, I noticed a flock of robins flittering about.  Robins aren’t usually a bird you see this time of year. You’re more likely to spot a turkey or a turtledove, so I was pleasantly surprised. Instantly my mood lightened, filling my heart with expectation because to me they are symbolic of hope and good things to come in new seasons in life.

This sighting reminded me of something I had written one early spring day not too long ago:

As I pulled into my driveway that gloomy March evening after a particularly bad day at work, it came to mind that I hadn’t seen my first robin of spring.  Sighting that first robin each year was a ritual when I was growing up. As a kid, the hunt for the elusive, red-breasted bird began every January, even though it would be months until a sighting.  My mother was usually the first to see one and point it out.  “Look in the yard,” she would say as she peered excitedly out the window, “it’s the first robin of spring. No more winter – spring has sprung!”

Then I remembered the day I went into the hospital to give birth to my daughter Megan on February 27. I was feeling nervous and anxious until I glanced down and saw my first little robin of spring, picking at the ground outside of the hospital door.  It seemed way too early to see one, but it filled me with hope and calmed my fear of giving birth.  It gave me the strength I needed to deliver my beautiful baby.

So on that cold, dank evening of unusual glumness, all I could think about was retreating to an early bedtime.  It was just as well with the “woe is me” attitude I was harboring.  Tomorrow’s another day, I thought.  “Thank you, Lord, for helping me through a rough one,” was the only prayer I could whisper before I feel asleep.

The next morning I lifted the blinds in my bedroom and glanced out onto the front lawn in disbelief. I saw not one but a whole flock of robins!  Never had I seen so many together at one time.  Spring had sprung, and hope was in the air once more.

When those bad days come along as they always do, keep your bird-watching binoculars focused because that red, red robin will come bob, bob, bobbing along before you know it.