Today is Christmas Eve, and I’d like to share with you exactly how my Christmas holiday is going. This is one of those stories in which one can choose to laugh or cry. I choose to laugh. It’s Christmas. I refuse to get all worked up about the truly unimportant things. Ya know, like running water. 

Let me explain. For Christmas this year, we decided to travel to our tiny house and have our immediate family over for a traditional Christmas dinner. My husband and I finished out the tiny house ourselves (a long and tedious process), and we always drain the water lines when we depart for home. 

Well, we arrived on Thursday just after the Arctic blast hit. It was already 28 degrees. My husband turned the water on briefly so that I could fill some pots full of water, and then he planned to turn it off again before nightfall. Unbeknownst to us, our wrapped pipes froze within the hour as the temperature plummeted. Too late, the hot water line froze solid. 

Today is Christmas Eve (Saturday). The temperature finally got above freezing and all you-know-what broke loose on our water lines. Lucky for us, Home Depot was open till 5:00 today, and lucky for me my hubby knows how to fix stuff. He fixed the main water line, but the ones under the house are still frozen and cannot be fixed until tomorrow—Christmas day, the day I’m having family come to Christmas dinner that I’ve been preparing for three days.

I’ve watched enough Little House on the Prairie to know how to work around the lack of plumbing, and I’ve somehow been able to cook and clean without it. It’s been a memorable, interesting week, and I’m thankful that we have electricity since we still haven’t installed our wood-burning stove. The Lord has a sense of humor and the ability to make us appreciate all the little things in life. My house is toasty warm, my husband and I are healthy and whole, and my son is coming to see us tomorrow to celebrate our lord’s birthday. What more can I possibly ask for…except for maybe a long hot shower.

So, for all you Scrooges out there, take a look around and notice the good things. Appreciate your family while you have them. Celebrate the birth of Jesus, the One who took your punishment for you. Watch an old Christmas movie and laugh and cry and just enjoy the holiday, and appreciate the little things (like in-door plumbing). Merry Christmas! 

The holidays are upon us! I just spent a wonderful Thanksgiving with my family (not all of them, but many of them), and I’m thankful for them, especially now, as my family members seem to be dwindling away.

That’s what happens as we get older. We lose our grandparents, then our parents. Our children grow up and their time is divided. Our siblings are married and have to divide their time as well. Our cousins have children, then those children grow up and get married and it all recycles again. It’s never the same as it once was. It never will be. 

Such is life, right? Enjoy spending time with those who share your blood, who share your memories. They are the ones who will be there for you when it matters. Don’t neglect those relationships. As I once heard someone say, “Home is where you go when you have no place to go, and where they have to take you in.”  Try to appreciate that, as imperfect as we all are.  

Happy Thanksgiving.

The moment I was baptized, I was washed by the blood of the Lamb. I was clean for the first time in my life. I was guilt-free and sinless, spotless like Jesus. I look back now and realize God had moved Mona to say those things to me about baptism. I was thirteen. I was of the age of conscious choice. God knew it was time I started on my journey from newborn to mature Christian.

God has shown me the way throughout my life, and I finally learned the reason Christ had to die on that cross so painfully. I finally asked, and I was finally given a straight answer. So simple, yet I hadn’t known. Somebody had to pay for our sins, MY sins. Either it would be me, or someone else. Jesus was the only One with enough power, enough perfection, and enough love to take the punishment for our sins. He had to do it. He chose to do that for us. In the Old Testament, the sacrifices made to purify the people of their sins had to be perfect, blemish-free, the best of the lambs. If you can’t give up your best to God, give up something you want/need/love, then what is the sacrifice? Jesus was the only human to have never sinned. He was spotless, without blemish. It had to be Him.

I knew Jesus had suffered on the cross, but I hadn’t realized the full extent of that suffering until I went to see the movie “The Passion of the Christ” with Jim Caviezel. With people all around me in the theater, I wept. I had never known. My Lord, my Jesus went through all that—for me! What had I ever done for Him? This movie changed me. It matured me in my faith. It upped my game.

I’m still a sinner, though I honestly try not to be. The more I grow in Christ, the less I desire to sin. He loves me. Just like my mom, I don’t want to let Him down, but instead of hearing her words, “I just hope you’re ready,” I hear His, “I will make you ready,” and through every struggle I face, He is making me ready.

Are you waiting to be ready? To be spotless? Well, the wait is over. You will never be ready on your own accord, but come to Jesus, and He will cover you with His righteousness and make you spotless.

Fear is the beginning of wisdom. (Proverbs 9:10)

My friend Mona had given me a new, more pressing reason to think about baptism. A short time after our conversation of Heaven, hell, and being a Christian, I told my mom I wanted to be baptized. I told her at church on Sunday morning—no time for discussion. I completely caught her off guard. Honestly, I’d thought she’d have a bigger reaction. I soon understood why she was holding out on me. 

My mom was the one on the other side of that baptismal water, holding out the towel for me, open arms, waiting to enfold me. I came out of that glorious water completely pure and sinless. For the first time in my life, I knew I had no sin. What an amazing, unbelievable feeling that was! In my young, immature heart, I vowed to remain sinless, too.

As I walked up the steps toward my mother’s loving arms, I asked her, “Are you happy?” 

Her response, “I just hope you were ready.” 

Well, that deflated my pure, sinless ego right quick and in a hurry. Talk about someone peeing in your Cheerios! I didn’t know why she would say it. I thought she’d been waiting and waiting for the day I’d be baptized. I thought it would make her happy, but I was wrong in my thinking that day. The inciting force of my sudden baptism was the wrong motivation for my actions, or so I thought for most of my life.

In church, people always want to know your story. You know, the reason you committed your life to Christ—the moment you chose Him. Truth be told, I never had that one moment. I never had the before and after of choosing Christ. Why? Because I had always known Jesus. My whole life I knew I belonged to Him. I was taught all the Sunday school Bible stories. I knew Jesus died on the cross so we could be saved. I knew I needed to be baptized someday. Maybe I had put it off because I knew I wouldn’t get through my teenage years without sinning, and I would want to wash those sins away as well. There was so much I needed to learn. I was a child of God, but immature in my faith. Of course. I was only thirteen. 

I had gone to church my whole life, but I didn’t get it. I can’t ever remember any preacher explaining WHY Jesus had had to die in order to save me. I didn’t understand that baptism wasn’t just a one-time bath that washed away my previous sins. I got it, but I really didn’t get it. 

It would be a long time before I would truly understand. I’m still learning, but looking back on my baptism, though I realize I may not have done it for all the right reasons, I remember the feeling I had coming up out of that water. My logic and reasoning might have been a little off, but my heart was right on track. 

To be continued…

I remember when my family was thinking about placing membership at a church we had been attending for quite some time. We sat through a class that explained what the church was all about, specifically what they believed, etc. We had to fill out some paperwork, and in that paperwork was a space to write one’s testimony of faith. What’s that? Well, we were supposed to explain the moment we had decided to follow Christ, and they wanted it turned in before we left the class. 

Are you kidding me? I not only had no idea of the moment I started following Christ, but as a former English teacher, I was not prepared to turn in a first draft essay! Therefore, we decided to take the paperwork home with us. I never did fill out the testimonial. I was stumped. Then we moved, so it really didn’t matter that we had never pledged membership to that church that we so loved. By the way, we still visit that church sometimes when we are in the area. 

Years later, thinking on this testimonial thing, I finally know what to write, and I’d like to share it. It all started in the seventh grade. I was thirteen-years-old, sitting on my bed with my friend Mona. We were probably chatting about school, or records, or most likely boys when the conversation took a turn.

“Are you a Christian?” she asked me.

“Yeah, of course.”

“How do you know?”

“What do you mean? We go to church every Sunday. I believe in God.”

“But have you been baptized?”

“No. Not yet.” 

I hadn’t, although I knew that I would someday. That was never in question, but I was thirteen-years-old, and it had not even been on my radar. I was too busy thinking about thirteen-year-old girl stuff, I guess. 

In Mona’s tell-it-like-it-is, seventh-grade logic, she said, “Well, you can’t be a Christian if you’re not baptized. And if you aren’t a Christian when you die, you go to hell.”

Ouch! That got my attention! I mean, no one wants to go to hell. Of course, I had already known all this, I just never applied it to my life because I was just coming into the age when I was old enough to choose, and I had chosen. I had always chosen to follow Jesus. I’d just neglected to obey Christ and make it official, which we are called to do. I probably didn’t appreciate my friend’s harsh words at the time. Being convicted to hell isn’t something anyone wants a part of. However, she spurred me into action. 

I doubt Mona has any memory of this. We were just kids and just beginning to understand the Bible, but this was a moment that changed my life, and she was a huge part of it. It only takes a seed, and you never know how big that seed will grow unless you plant it. Thank you, Mona.

To be continued…

For those of you who enjoy reading Christian fiction, I’d like to announce that my novel Remember Me is now available in hardcover/large print through Amazon (as well as ebook). You can find it by clicking on my book link on my home page. Thanks for all of your support.

God bless and stay in the Word.

Walker Lane

My mom had a circle of friends she called the Steel Magnolias. I envied them. Her generation led such a different life than mine. I have friends too, but I do not surround myself with a gaggle like she did. It’s a generational flaw. My generation of women has led the task of “having it all”. We had careers and husbands to take care of and children to raise. We didn’t have time for afternoon coffee or shopping sprees. We didn’t have time to chat on the phone. We missed out.

We are the transition generation. We were expected to live the lives of our mothers while having the careers of our fathers. We cooked, we cleaned, we counseled, we dragged our families to church, we were accountants and chauffeurs, all while leading demanding full-time careers. We had no time to nurture our friendships. We were spent.

Now, our children are grown. They have moved on. Life is a little bit simpler, a little slower. Do we now become our own group of Steel Magnolias? No. We are busy once again trying to find our place in the world, for our old place has moved on.

I taught school for fifteen years. I resigned seven years ago because my mother needed me. She had brain cancer, and though I helped her after school and on weekends, it became increasingly clear that she’d needed more, so I left my career of teaching teenagers, and moved onto a position of caregiver.

My mom’s gaggle of girlfriends quickly became mine. For the first time since I was in school, I was surrounded by giggly females who enjoyed each other’s company. We had bible studies, cake and coffee, went on outings. I was there to help my mom, but these ladies became my ladies, and I loved it. I became their daughter too. What love—what a support system. I miss them.

The year my mom was diagnosed with her brain tumor, she was put through surgery and radiation and still only given months to live. Well, she outsmarted those doctors! She lived nearly five more years. During those years, life was difficult, but we found joy in the little things. My mom was a tough woman, and she was tough on me, but she had a way of finding enjoyment in her last years, whether it was watching an old movie, or just eating a bowl of ice cream, she laughed and joked, and her gaggle of friends never left her.

But before my mom passed, the women of her generation started to falter. One died in a car accident. One died of cancer quickly after being diagnosed. One’s husband died, then another. One moved to live closer to her children. My mom was losing her friends as she was losing her life. It all seemed so fast to me. They were all healthy and vibrant and helping me care for her. Then they were gone, one by one. Along with them, my support system, my gaggle of friends, my extra moms. My husband and I moved some time after my mom died, then stupid old covid hit like a ton of bricks keeping us all apart, separating us even further. I miss the ladies, the lunches, the cake and the coffee—the support system. I wonder if they know how much they meant to me, or what a gift they were.

One of these ladies called me the other night. She had bad news. A friend of my parents, a man I knew since childhood, the man who married my husband and me, the man who dedicated my baby to God, whom I sat beside at high school football games. The man who counseled me as a teenager, a glowing bride, a frustrated wife, and a grieving daughter. The man who sat next to my mother’s death bed and assured her of her salvation, who spoke at her funeral, who hugged me and told me he loved me every time I saw him, a man who was part of my dwindling support system—has gone to be with the Lord. Suddenly, by surprise, with no warning.

My heart is broken once again. It breaks for his wife, who is one of those special ladies everybody loves, for his children, for his grandchildren. It also selfishly breaks for me. I’m sad that he is gone. Not because he was part of my everyday life. He wasn’t, other than on Facebook, but because I have once again lost part of my support system. I’m happy for him. He gets to live in Heaven. But us? We are left here without him, such a positive force in our lives. I am not the only one who depended on him. I wonder if he knew how much I did.

My mom’s generation is passing quickly. They are not living to be a hundred. We are losing them decades earlier. It’s scary because my generation now has to step up. We no longer have a support system. We have to make a new one, and we have to be one. I guess that’s the moral of this story. I wish it were more positive, like, God is in control and all that, and I know that He is, but this time, my heart just hurts, and it’s tired of hurting. I’m tired of losing people I love. So, make sure your loved ones know how much they mean to you, and become part of someone’s support system.

One more thing, I was reminded this morning that “Jesus is a friend who walks in when it feels like your world has walked out.” Amen to that! Prayers to you all.