Christmas Past (Part 1 of the Christmas Conversations Series)

Today is Black Friday. The official kickoff to the Christmas season. 

Today there are crowds, steals, and deals. I’m not braving the crowds today. Usually I decorate for Christmas today but I’m thinking I’ll wait until next week. In the meantime, I'll be starting a blog series on this season; reflections, hopes, faith, and family. This is Part 1. 

I stated yesterday in my Thanksgiving 2015 post that growing up overseas, my holidays were unconventional. In Japan, Christmas was not celebrated. In the Philippines it was, but it was overshadowed by Santo Nino. Unconventional by no means is bad or anything less than wonderful. My favorite Christmas memories are from those days. Japan may not have celebrated Christmas, but we sure did! My mom would make delectable dinners and treats, the house would be decorated beautifully with nativities and ornaments from their many travels and other countries that we’d lived in. A beautiful nativity from Portugal, ornaments from their first stint in the Philippines, but with all the international flair… there was plenty of our country too. Can you imagine having to buy Christmas gifts for 4 years ahead of time? Knowing my kids I can’t even begin to consider that! Crazy! Yet under the tree there was always exactly what I wanted. The best memory I have I think is my “Michelle” doll… she looked like a real baby. I carried and dressed and loved her for YEARS, until after one move, her soft body got mildew in transit. The year of the Cabbage Patch Kid craziness (only 80s kids will get this) my mom somehow miraculously got me one. A preemie, that I named Christa Nicole. (named after the daughters of a family friend that helped procure it). Then there was the Barbie Dream House. That one was a CRAZY one… because it was huge and although some ladies in Placerville (a Women’s Ministry group) generously gave it to my sister and I, my mom had to get it shipped and it made it to our destination! From those younger days to my older years, she always made it special. There were traditions too. The reading of the Christmas story. There was Christmas music playing, and in the midst of the craziness that the Christmas season brings to a ministry family, I remember those as my favorite times of year. It wasn’t until I became a mom that I better understood the sacrifice of those years.  The usual energy and effort was magnified exponentially by the distance factor, the time, and cultivating traditions that weren’t native to the land we were in. 

Now, while I appreciate and am grateful for the reason for the season, it isn’t my favorite holiday at all. The constant hustle and bustle, the clutter of Christmas, the packed parking lots, those aren’t my favorite things. But while it’s not my favorite season, i appreciate the true meaning behind it. Christmas originally was all about sacrifice. Christmas is the prelude to the cross. And while most may not consider the sacrificial aspect of Christmas, it was illustrated to me from birth in a beautiful way. And for that, I will always be grateful. 

Because of many circumstances, my side of the family isn’t close in the way I thought it may be. But that’s one of the wonderful things about memories. They are the gems that can be held onto, “pondered” if you will, and treasured forever. Whether the spirit of Christmas remains in your family, through a tradition, favorite dish, or in the laughter of family gathered, however it remains, the memories that occupy the space in our hearts, the Truth of the season, can never be dulled or voided. May the memory of Christmas past warm your heart this evening. And may the Truth of Christmas comfort the hurt. 

Thanksgiving 2015

It wasn't what we were used to. It wasn't even what we wanted. But it happened anyway. One of the more frustrating aspects of loss is that while it would seem as though the world has stopped, the rest of the world doesn't cease its turning. Life goes on, whether we like it or not. Loss of loved ones doesn't cause the sun to stay down, even when it feels like it should. Losing an identity or place doesn't prevent sunrise either. New days keep on coming, and life demands an eventual return to living.
Thanksgiving has always been an oddity for me. As a child growing up overseas, sometimes it was unconventional. But ever since I've been married to Zach, it has been a constant marker in my life. Every year, without fail, at the Pyzer house on Yankee Valley Road, potatoes get mashed, turkey gets roasted, and pies are baked. And then, this year. After the Valley Fire swept through our town, it did more than cause loss of items. Time honored traditions have been forever altered too. For some reason, Thanksgiving found us at our rental home this year. The majority of Pyzers showed up and we spent our day eating, watching football, talking, and reminiscing. Was it easy? No. Was it precious? Yes.  Those walls of the Pyzer house where my husband and brothers in law grew up held so much more than people and things. They held memories and security. My inlaws are moving into their new home tomorrow. We'll make memories there too, but there will always be a place in my heart for that kitchen on Yankee Valley. Too hot, filled with good smells of delicious food, and raucous conversation (because there are like a hundred of us Pyzers), but in the new, as in the old, there will be the love of a family, faith, and the hope that future generations will know and love Jesus, each other, and the legacy that has been so skillfully crafted.
It won't be what we are used to. It won't even be what we wanted. But it will happen anyway, and we will face each new memory with gratitude and love.

What better way to fully comprehend gratitude than to cook, clean, and sit on, sleep in, and otherwise LIVE with the generosity of others on a daily basis. I am thankful for EACH and every family/friend/church that is represented whether it's towels, bedding, couches, mixing bowls, crockpots, or fun accents. Thanksgiving has become more meaningful than ever as our family gathers and says... THANK YOU. We are so grateful for God's blessing and provision, for those He has placed in our lives, and for the promises of His Word.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Home

The aroma of italian marinara and garlic bread wafting up the stairwell.

A beautiful antique buffet with a chalkboard that has "gratitude" etched on it, a sign above that says "Never Give Up" and then a smaller version of my birds on a wire that says "HOME" right under it.

A handmade quilt gifted from the Lake County Quilters Guild thrown over the borrowed couch.

The sounds of laughter and teenagers echoing throughout the house, punctuated by the occasional yip of our dogs.

These are my blessings counted.

A house becoming a home.

Provision, warmth, laughter... when I wondered once upon a time if I'd ever truly laugh again, or feel at home.

It's still not there. There are still the little parts of it that are not mine. Not our home. But it will come.

After all, it isn't the contents. It isn't the walls. It is the inhabitants that paint a house with "home". It's the memories etched from sliding down a stair, or the groove in the floor from that one time we hauled furniture across a floor. It's the leaky faucet that only we know how to tighten... just so... half twist to the left..

It's the floorboard that creaks and gives away a midnight snack raid upstairs.

Those memories will come.

This house will be home. And any others that God places us in.

14 years ago we became family. We celebrated last night the memory of that day.... and remembered the word spoken over us.... that we would be able to withstand.... the capacity to handle would ever be expanded. From that wedding night wreck that we miraculously survived... to the recent trial by fire.... one thing is certain.... home is wherever God puts us together.

Blessings counted. Gratitude, appreciation, and a thankful heart. These are what sustain me, and remind me of the God Who sees, knows, and loves well.