'Twas the Week Before Christmas?

by Dina L. Sleiman

’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house…no wait. Try that again. It was actually one week before Christmas, and I had dressed up in my fancy burgundy maternity dress with the gold buttons for our church’s annual Christmas dinner. When I arrived, what to my wondering eyes would appear, but the discovery that a friend, Cindy Lowry, had brought her one month old baby here.

Stephanie was perfect.

Studying the her tiny little features, I sighed. “I want my baby in time for Christmas.” But my baby wasn’t due until January 11^th. Although I still felt spry and healthy, a right jolly old elf, I just couldn’t bear it in spite of myself. It would be my first Christmas without family. I couldn’t make the trip to Pittsburgh so close to my due date, and my parents would wait to travel down and see the baby in a few weeks.

Baby Christi, 1994

The thought of Christmas without family was almost more than I could handle. During my entire childhood, Christmas had been spent surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Stockings hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. Christmas cookies and carrots for the reindeer. The traditional “steps” picture in our pajamas as my dad tormented us, taking fifteen minutes to find the batteries for the camera and make his coffee before letting us loose on the family room where the tree sat and presents awaited.

But what about this Christmas? How could a Christmas brunch at the home of my small group leader possibly suffice? Who would squeal and giggle with delight as we opened the gifts, eyes twinkling, dimples merry over even the smallest toys?

“I want my baby in time for Christmas,” I said to the tiny Stephanie Lowry in her newborn size satin Christmas dress, swaddled in a blanket. And I meant every word.

Dani, Dina, and Christi

That night I nestled all snug in my bed while visions of baby girls danced in my head. My daughter was all I wanted for Christmas that year. Being the obliging and sociable sort of child that she is, she cooperated. In the wee hours of the morning, I discovered my water had broken. By five AM, my contractions were steady and a few minutes apart. With my bags packed and ready to go, I woke my husband and told the shocked young man that it was time to leave, and away to the hospital we flew.

Christiana Rose Sleiman was born on December 19^th 1994, three weeks early, a healthy 6 lbs 9 oz, and just in time for Christmas.

Christmas Eve we took her to church. It was all so sudden that it took a few minutes for us to convince everyone that she was ours. Christmas morning, my husband and I played with Christi like a toy. We took dozens of pictures. We opened presents for her while she while she drooled and cooed. Her little mouth drawn up like a bow. And we went to that Christmas brunch where our good friends the Lowry’s were in attendance. Christi and Stephanie spent their first Christmas together, although I think they were more interested in nursing than with each other at that point.

Christi in a stocking :)

My parents and sister showed up the next day with a bound, and the festivities continued all around.

Christi and Stephanie remained the best of friends until the Lowry’s moved away six years later. In fact, Cindy and I planned to have our second children at the same time, and Jonny and Jessica, quite a trouble-making little duo, became inseparable as well.

1994 was my best Christmas ever. Christi is still my favorite present I’ve ever received. And I credit Stephanie Lowry for being so darn cute. So I suppose all that’s left to say is…Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!

What was your best Christmas present ever?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dina Sleiman writes lyrical stories that dance with light. Most of the time you will find this Virginia Beach resident reading, biking, dancing, or hanging out with her husband and three children, preferably at the oceanfront. Since finishing her Professional Writing MA in 1994, she has enjoyed many opportunities to teach literature, writing, and the arts. She was the Overall Winner in the 2009 Touched by Love contest for unpublished authors. Her first novel, Dance of the Dandelion with Whitefire Publishing has just released. She has recently become an acquisitions editor for WhiteFire as well. Join her as she discovers the unforced rhythms of grace. For more info visit her at http://dinasleiman.com/

 

What my True Love Said to Me...

 by Niki Turner

Since we designated "the 12 days of Christmas" for our Inky December posts I've been hung up on the first line of the song.

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me..." 

What? I ask myself. What did my True Love say?

1. He will never leave me nor forsake me. (Heb 13:5)

2. He loves me with an everlasting love. (Jer 31:3)

3. In Him I am accepted, approved, and adopted. (Eph 1)

4. His love never fails, never comes to an end, never ceases being. (1 Cor 13:8) 

Forget the partridges and the five golden rings and the however many maids 'a milking, our True Love (Jesus) has sworn His love to us with a covenant that shall remain from everlasting to everlasting.

If that's not the essence of romance, what is?

He LOVES you.

Believe it.

Mother of four and grandmother of one, Niki Turner is an only child, wife of a former pastor, and writer of fiction, blog posts, Facebook status updates, a tweet here and there, and lots of long grocery lists. She also writes, copyedits, and proofreads for the local newspaper, http://www.theheraldtimes.com./ Her first completed manuscript was a finalist in the 2009 Touched by Love contest. If you like this post, please "follow" me at my personal blog, In Truer Ink.

Breath of Heaven

Take a moment this busy week to ponder the miraculous birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ

Two Babies in the Manger

 

by Susanne Dietze

Doll houses, miniatures, and dioramas have always attracted me—maybe that’s why my fingers were busy rearranging Nativity scenes as soon as I could reach them.

Already adept at rearranging Nativity Scenes. Check out my Grandma's white tree and my groovy shoes!

My mom placed the family Nativity scene on the credenza by the front door, which was just the right height for me to play with the porcelain figures. I loved everything about that scene. The stable was crafted of wood and straw, just like a real-life animal shelter (in my preschool-age mind). The magi were appropriately fancy, the sheep looked adorable, Joseph carried a shiny shepherd’s crook, and Mary was dressed in pink—my favorite color.

Familiar with the accounts of Jesus’ birth in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew, I knew who the figures represented: God’s Son, sent to be our Savior; His mother Mary, His guardian Joseph, and those who came to pay Him tribute. I didn’t care about Nativity scenes’ eight hundred year old legacy, or that they are known by names as diverse as the cultures which fashion them: krippe, crèche, szopka, and betlehemezés.

Neither did I care that our scene —like most Nativities—wasn’t precisely accurate. The Magi didn’t arrive until long after the shepherds had gone home, for instance. Joseph was a carpenter, not a shepherd. Mary probably didn’t wear pink.

All I cared about was playing with the figures, setting them on the credenza and replacing them in the stable “in order of their appearance.” Animals first. Mary and Joseph next. Then Jesus. Then the shepherd, followed by wise men. Other times I didn’t recreate the Christmas story, but fussed with the scene, sometimes laying a Kleenex over Baby Jesus to keep him warm.

When I was four years old or so, a distant relative saw me rearranging the Nativity and took my mother to task. “Does she know what that is? Don’t you realize how disrespectful she’s being?”

Bless my mom’s heart, she defended me. She told the relative that of course I knew what it was. I wasn’t being irreverent, and she saw no harm in my play.

Once I married, I purchased a Nativity scene that reminded me a bit of my mom’s: wood stable, mossy accents, porcelain figures (and Mary wears pink here, too. Must be standard issue these days.). Naturally, when I had my own children, I provided them with nativities fashioned of cloth and wood, and my mom bought the kids a Playmobil Nativity. (Those figures have endured adventures, makeovers, and crazy interpretations. My favorite was when Mary escaped a Viking raid on the back of a camel.)

You’d think with all the toy Nativities in my house, our porcelain Nativity would be left alone. How quickly I’d forgotten the appeal! One afternoon, I noticed some unique visitors had paid Baby Jesus a visit.

 

If you look closely, there’s a Polly Pocket, a Lego Yoda, a stormtrooper, and a creature made out of a cotton ball visiting the King of Kings.

When I mentioned during dinner that I’d noticed the special friends inside the Nativity scene, I was told, “Yes, Mommy. You said Jesus is for everyone.”

Indeed He is.

The presence of toys at the manger showed me that my children view Jesus as approachable and interested in their entire beings, even their toys. While I am not advocating that heirlooms be handed over to young children, or that kids should be allowed to play with glass, I do find the notion of involving one’s self in the birth narrative to be a helpful way to refresh one’s experience of the first Christmas.

We once met a man who’d spent Christmas in an orphanage in a northern European country. He was privileged to share the story of the Nativity with the children. Then he provided crayons and paper for them to draw the account themselves.

To his wonder, one of the children—Mikhail—drew two babies in the manger. Thinking Mikhail misunderstood the story, the man asked about the babies. Shouldn’t there just be one, Jesus?

“But that’s me,” Mikhail told him. “I’m the other baby. I want to give Jesus something, but I have nothing, so I’m keeping Him warm.”

I still fix and fuss with my Nativity scene. I shift figures, add touches, and make sure things are just right. But the best arranging of the Nativity is done in the quiet of my own heart, when I place myself inside the stable.

Where will I be in the scene? At the window, looking in? Or will I lurk just inside the door? Will I take tentative steps toward the manger, or like Mikhail, will I crawl right up to Him, getting myself as close as I can be to the Lord?

***

PS. Thanks, Mom, for letting me play with the scene. I'm glad I didn't break any figures.

Do you have a Nativity Scene? What does it look like? I have a few, and only in one does Mary wear pink. I'll tell you about my most unique Nativities in the comments.

Susanne Dietze has written historical-set love stories since she was in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today, she writes in the hope that her historical romances will encourage and entertain others to the glory of God. Married to a pastor and the mom of two, Susanne loves fancy-schmancy tea parties, travel, and spending time with family and friends. Her work has finaled in the Genesis Contest, the Gotcha! Contest, and the Touched By Love Contest. You can visit her on her personal blog, Tea and a Good Book, http://www.susannedietze.blogspot.com/.