Jesus, Prince of My Peace

“At once the angel was joined by a huge angelic choir singing God’s praises:

Glory to God in the heavenly heights, Peace to all men and women on earth who please him.”

(Luke 2:13-14, The Message)

It was fall 2005. Our son Todd was preparing to move from Germany to Israel. God had led him to visit Israel several times and burdened his heart to share his Messiah with the Israeli people. He would be working with a ministry led by a Messianic Jew named Jacob.

And so it came to pass one night during the Christmas season that I was reading a book written by Jacob. In his book, Jacob described his journey to meet God and how he came to know God’s Son, Jesus, as Messiah. I finished the chapter and turned out my light. Near the end of the book, Jacob had been describing the physical dangers and attacks he had experienced in boldly sharing God’s Good News with his fellow Israelis. It suddenly dawned on me that Todd could suffer these same dangers in Israel, and even face death. My heart ached. I began to weep.

My tears surprised my drowsy husband because he didn’t know what I had just read. Tentatively Gerald asked, “Was it something I said or did?”

It took a minute before I could voice what was breaking my heart. Wisely, he just held me and let me cry and settle down. We both knew words were inadequate; false reassurances would be empty. Gerald prayed for God’s comfort, strength and protection for Todd.

That Christmas, through these circumstances, I came to know our Prince of Peace more intimately. Total surrender of myself and my son led me to trust God for Todd’s safety and well-being. God spoke to my heart that it is an illusion when we think we control our own safety or that of a loved one. God showed me that I have to consciously lay down—acknowledge as not mine—the burden I tried to carry. When I do, God graciously gives His peace and consolation.

Kay Bontrager lives in the Nashville, TN area, where she serves alongside husband Gerald as he pastors a local church.  She enjoys helping people remove barriers and move toward peace with others, within themselves, and with God.  She and her husband have two grown married children and one spoiled dog.

 

Our Merry Little Christmas

I awoke with anticipation. After years of illness, I finally had the
energy to host the Christmas gathering for our kids and grandkids.

Our home sparkled with festive touches, and the dining room table
looked beautiful with our best china and silver. Soon the smell of
fresh yeast rolls and simmering beef stroganoff would greet the
family.

In my mind, I could already hear the grandkids squeal with joy as
they ripped open their packages. And for the adults, I had planned a
fun treasure hunt to find gifts of money. I couldn’t wait to snap a
photo of our family wearing the colorful fleece scarves I had made.
Perhaps we would don them and carol for the neighbors. This would be
a Christmas to remember!

The phone rang. “Merry Christmas!” I said. It was our daughter, but
her “Merry Christmas” sounded flat. “Alex has a fever.”

I sighed. With my compromised immune system and our son’s
two-month-old baby, I knew we couldn’t all get together. So we
rescheduled our family Christmas for New Year’s Eve.

Our son and his family still came for Christmas dinner, but with only
half the family present, I felt let down. We read the Christmas
story, but two little voices weren’t there to join in. The day hadn’t
gone as planned. However, I looked forward to celebrating together on
New Year’s Eve.

As my husband and I crawled into bed, he said, “This year we had a
merry little Christmas–with the emphasis on little.” He yawned. “But
sometimes, little is more.”

As the days of December dwindled, I looked for the more in our little
Christmas. But I couldn’t find it. The little became even less when
our son-in-law got sick and couldn’t join us for our belated
celebration. I half-heartedly cooked another Christmas dinner. But I
couldn’t recapture the memorable Christmas I had hoped for.

Months later, however, God worked in my heart, and the little began
to grow. God reminded me from John 1:16 (NIV) that from him “we have
all received one blessing after another.” Finally, I was ready to
recount some of my “little is more” Christmas blessings.

As I listed them, I realized our entire Christmas season had been
filled with touches of God’s love. God also reminded me of our
pastor’s message on Christmas Eve. The pastor emphasized that Jesus’
birth was only one snapshot in a larger photo album telling the story
of Jesus’ life. Yes, we see Jesus born as a sweet little baby. But
the Bible is the entire album and reveals other pictures of his life,
including his tears, temptation, crucifixion, and resurrection.

Reflecting on our merry little Christmas, I realized that memories of
Christmas shouldn’t hinge on one single day. Christmas is only
one small snapshot in our family’s photo album of life. As I pictured
the years of our lives, I found God’s fingerprints of love and
blessing throughout them. No, we weren’t always smiling in the
pictures. But even when things didn’t go as we planned, they were part
of God’s plan.

Now as I anticipate another Christmas, I know it probably won’t turn
out exactly as expected. But that’s all right. I’ve learned that if I
let Him, God can take even a merry little Christmas and make it more.

The Real Meaning

My grandparents did not have fancy Christmas decorations. In fact, their Christmas tree was so small it sat on top of their TV. After Christmas each year, Grandma wrapped the tree in Saran Wrap ( lights, decorations, and all) and put it on a shelf behind her bedroom door. Tiny twinkling lights and decorations covered the tree and on top sat a gold tinsel and light star that was almost as big as the tree. The little things, like their tree, mean so much now.

Christmas (or any other time) at my grandparent’s home was nice. They were not wealthy by any standard, but their home was filled with generosity. Because of their hospitality, I did not realize until years later that they never owned their own home.  Grandpa had been a pastor raising his family in church parsonages until his retirement. Following his retirement, they rented a home and in later years moved into a duplex. The rented home and duplex were always “Grandma’s house” to me.

My cousins and I looked forward to the time following Christmas Eve dinner when we opened presents at Grandma and Grandpa’s. We would send envoys into the kitchen to ask our mothers, “Is it time yet?” After waiting impatiently for what seemed an eternity, the time would finally arrive.  On this particular Christmas, adults and children gathered in the small living room and gifts were passed out to everyone. As my cousins and I sat ready to start ripping into presents, Grandpa had someone turn off the TV. Pulling out his worn Bible, he  read the Christmas story from the book of Luke.

I fidgeted, complained to myself, and rolled my eyes at my cousins. I knew the story by heart, I wanted to open my presents. I listened begrudgingly.

Afterwards, Grandpa closed his Bible and shared the plan of salvation with his children and grandchildren. The most important part of Christmas for Grandpa was the opportunity each year to share one more time the story of Jesus and the freedom His birth brought to us. Grandpa told us how much he loved us and wanted us to accept Jesus as our personal Savior. He asked if anyone would like to accept Christ as their personal Savior, to not put off the decision. Then he prayed, thanking the Lord for His many blessings, most of all for his family. He asked the Lord to be with each of us, to draw us to Him and to save those in our family who were not Christians.

When Grandpa said amen, we grandchildren lunged into our gifts. Christmas had officially begun! Amongst the flying wrapping paper and squeals of delight, I will not forget Grandpa sitting in his chair quietly wiping away tears.

Caleb, my oldest son was just six years old when Grandma joined Grandpa singing and dancing around the throne of God. Caleb wanted Grandma’s tiny Christmas tree. Each year since, Caleb has put my grandparent’s tree in his room at Christmas. It reminds me of them, their home, and their love. I do not recall the gifts they gave me for Christmas. I do remember a tiny tree and a simple story.

I thank the Lord for the legacy of grandparents who lived and shared the true meaning of Christmas. In the hustle and bustle of Christmas, take time to focus on those traditions and memory-making opportunities that have lasting eternal value in the hearts of your children and grandchildren.

Christmas Sugar Cookies

Good old-fashioned Christmas cookies are simple to make and can be the perfect gift. I used to make these for the children in our church on Christmas Eve. The icing recipe is included below too.

Christmas Sugar Cookies
3 eggs
2 softened sticks of margarine
1 cup of sugar
2 tsps. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1 ½ tsps. vanilla
3 ½ cups of flour

Chill dough one hour.

Take a small amount of dough and roll out to desired thickness on a floured surface.  Cut with floured cookie cutters.  Bake at 350 degrees 7 minutes or until golden brown.

Icing can be made from 1 lb. powdered sugar, 1 stick of melted butter and 3 to 4 tablespoons of evaporated milk.  You can use food coloring to make colored icing.

A Christmas Surprise

Our historic Virginia church on Main Street was packed with parents and visitors ready to watch the annual Christmas Pageant. After weeks of rehearsals, my preschool and elementary cast of shepherds, wisemen, angels, and stable animals were ready to perform. I hoped.

The pageant began with a nervous fourth grader narrating, “And a decree went forth from Sy uh REE uh…” She struggled with the pronunciation. We all felt her hesitation, including a preschooler dressed as a nativity rooster who belted out, “DY-uh-ree uh?” Giggles resounded from the rest of the preschool barnyard of sheep, donkeys, roosters, and cows. The audience nervously joined in the laughter. That was only the beginning.

I didn’t know it could get worse until the angels began fighting in the balcony. Prior to the performance, my assistant director suggested that because the kindergarten and first grade angels were unsure of their song, I should move my daughter Christine to the Angel of the Lord’s mike and have her sing directly into it to bolster the multitude of heavenly host. I told Christine to stand next to Mason (the Angel of the Lord) and take over after he had announced, “Fear not, I bring you glad tidings of great joy…..” But I forgot to tell Mason.

As head angel, first-grader Mason was not going to allow kindergartener Christine any time on his mike. Mason rubbed the feathers off her furry white wings, bumped her away, and projected his haloed head over his mike. Wings flapped and the angel chorus nearly took flight. “Gloria! Gloria!” the other angels sang as two microphoned angels fought hard over their own glory.

I continued conducting the song from below, my flailing arms imitating the angelic ones above. What else could I do? Christine was doing exactly what she was supposed to do, and my Angel of the Lord had been taught that choir members should never sing directly into the mike unless performing a solo. Especially not the Angel of the Lord’s mike. The audience howled with laughter as they watched the battle in the heavenly places. For many, it was the highlight of that year’s Christmas pageant.

Why was it the highlight? Probably because the unscripted innocence of children is what delights our hearts. With children, the unexpected is what we can expect. Their spontaneity takes the spotlight as they share their gifts of anticipation and excitement.

As a child, I always wondered why grownups said, “Let’s not exchange gifts among the adults this year.” How could they give up their presents? Now that I’m grown up, I understand.

When my first daughter Christine was born four days before Christmas, she was a gift that is still giving. In Parenting 101, no one explains the bewildering joy we feel at receiving a color crayon portrait, a spontaneous hug or seeing the way a child plays with the gift box more than the gift inside. No cashmere scarf, DVD, or toaster oven can compare with these serendiptious gifts of the season.

On that first Christmas, I wonder if Mary felt the same way. Surrounded by shepherds, barnyard animals and wisemen, Mary had much to ponder. An expected baby took the spotlight in a rude stable.

Christ’s audience, didn’t get what it expected. The King of Kings found in a manger? God was certainly creative in how he chose to meet us. I’m sure He’s equally creative on a daily basis if we keep our eyes open for the unpredictable. Keep your eyes on Him, and you will not be disappointed.

Arriving in such an unexpected way, without beautiful packaging, God sent a baby to touch our hearts and to become the gift that keeps on giving.

 

 

 

Ann Marie Stewart
Copyright Ann Stewart 2004
Used by permission
No reprint without author’s permission
excerpt from “Preparing My Heart for Advent” published by AMG

French Quarter Cheese

My sweet friend, Terry Hensley, has the most amazing cheese ball recipe. It is right up there in cheese ball hall of fame with the chocolate chip cheese ball. Forgive my phone photography skills–I forgot to take my camera to our Sunday School class ornament exchange party.

If you want a simple, make ahead, to-die-for appetizer for Christmas  get-togethers, give this one a try.

Terry received the recipe from Laura Gibbs.

French Quarter Cheese
10 Servings

8          ounces cream cheese
1          clove garlic, minced
1          tablespoon onion, grated
4          tablespoons butter
¼          cup dark brown sugar
1          teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
½         teaspoon prepared mustard
1          cup pecans, finely chopped

Combine cream cheese, garlic and onion. Shape on serving plate and refrigerate.

Melt butter, then combine sugar, Worcestershire sauce, mustard and pecans in a small saucepan with butter. Blend Well.

Cover chilled cream cheese with nut mixture. Wrap and refrigerate.

Serve with favorite crackers. (I like Wheat Thins.)

Works well to make the day ahead and refrigerate overnight.

Christmas in New Orleans

I am a pastor’s child and now a pastor’s wife.  I laughingly say we have never had money. There have been times that were leaner than others.  The year I turned 8 years old was definitely a lean time.  Dad had moved our family to New Orleans, Louisiana, to go to seminary and neither he nor my mom had a job.  Dad would preach in different churches from time to time, but there was no regular income coming in, and we lived by faith that God would provide.

Christmas came that year and my parents poured out their requests to the Lord.  We knew that there would be few gifts, but when I woke up Christmas morning there were two gifts for me under the tree.  One was a Raggedy Ann doll with bright red hair, striped red and white legs, a flowered dress and black button eyes.  The other gift was a black and white plush teddy bear.  I loved both of my gifts and slept with them nightly on my bed.  They became my sounding board when I was sad or hurt.  They were my playmates when I was feeling alone.  God taught me through these gifts that He had heard my parents’ prayers and He had provided for us.  Phil. 4:19 says, “And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of His glory in Christ Jesus.”  A doll and bear may not seem like great needs, but for a young child they were.

When I became a young woman, God called my husband to preach.  We too moved to New Orleans and I lived right across the street from where I had lived as a child.  Times were difficult for us during those days as we too struggled being young parents, trying to make ends meet financially and pastor a small church on the weekends.  When I would get discouraged, I would recall that Christmas so long ago when God had supplied.  I often quoted Phil. 4:19 confident that God would indeed supply once again.

I am now 48 and the only things I have from my childhood are two toys, the doll and bear from that long ago Christmas.  I think God wanted to preserve them for me so that I would have tangible evidence of His provision and a visual reminder that He can and will provide if we will only trust.

Are there things in your life that God has kept there to remind you of His provision for you?   Thank Him once again for His faithfulness.  Take time to share with your family or a friend how God brought you through your own difficult time and how He continues to give you peace.  In this season when money can be tight, many need to know about a God who doesn’t give us all we want, but does provide everything we need.

Christmas Punch

I found this yummy recipe online and adapted it to fit our taste and color preference.  It is pretty, simple, and refreshing, and everyone requests the recipe.  Variations on the theme allow you to change the color and flavor, too!

Ingredients for Red Holiday Punch:

2 (46 fluid ounce) bottles cranberry-raspberry juice

1 (32 fluid ounce) bottle strawberry daiquiri mix

1 to 2 liters ginger ale (according to taste)

1 to 2 liters raspberry soda (according to taste)

Directions:

In a large container, combine cran-raspberry juice with the strawberry daiquiri mix.  Freeze overnight.  The next day, put the iced mixture into a punch bowl (see *tips below regarding thawing time) and pour ginger ale and raspberry soda on top (2/3 ginger ale to 1/3 raspberry soda ratio).

*Tip: This will make enough frozen solution to fill 2 to 3 large punch bowls.  If you freeze this in a bundt cake pan it will make a nice ice ring, but may take up to 2 ½ hours to thaw.  Freeze in quart size Ziploc bags if you need a faster thaw time, as the smaller size will thaw in 30 to 45 minutes into a slushy punch.  I do a combination of both, and start thawing the large ice ring early, adding quart size bags of ice as the party progresses to keep the punch slushy.

*Substitutions: substitute Cherry 7 up or Raspberry Ginger Ale for a slightly different flavor, or substitute Diet Sprite instead of Ginger ale for a punch that is not quite as sweet.

VARIATION: Yummy Pink Party Punch

Substitute 1 (32 fluid ounce) bottle pina colada mix for the strawberry daiquiri mix to make a lighter-colored, pink punch suitable for a baby shower or girl’s birthday party.

VARIATION: Tropical Orange Punch

2 (46 fluid ounce) bottles pineapple-orange juice

1 (32 fluid ounce) bottle pina colada mix

2 to 4 liters ginger ale, according to taste

Leaping for Joy

Many years ago when my husband and I were in his last year with the Air Force and were living in North Carolina, his parents drove from Nashville to spend Christmas with us. They always enjoyed coming to the church we belonged to in Fayetteville, but they were in for a special treat. That year the church was hosting a complete performance of Handel’s Messiah. Rather than being scheduled a week or two before Christmas, the production was deliberately scheduled for Christmas Eve. Three local choirs rehearsed together for weeks. Each singer and orchestra member sacrificially committed to give up their family’s personal traditions in order to perform The Messiah on Christmas Eve as a gift to the community. And what a gift it was!

I had never heard The Messiah before, except for the Hallelujah Chorus, and I had just assumed it came at the end rather than about two-thirds through the work. That was not my only surprise. From the haunting opening strains of “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people” from Isaiah to the final tribute of “Worthy is the Lamb” from Revelation, I was transported by the story of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, sung totally in the words of the Bible. Those nearly three hours created a sense of joy in me that I had never known through music before.

There was another reason the music touched me so deeply at that time. It was the same reason my in-laws had driven twelve hours to be with us, rather than us going to Nashville for Christmas. I was, in biblical terms, “great with child.” Like Elizabeth who said “the baby in my womb leaped for joy” when she heard the voice of Mary, her Savior’s mother (Luke 2:44), the baby I carried responded vigorously that night. Science tells us that babies can hear in the womb, so I like to imagine that he who grew up to become a preacher first leaped for joy when he heard Handel’s Messiah reverberating around him that very special Christmas Eve.

This Christmas several of our writers will share with you some of their own Christmas memories and how they impacted their understanding of and appreciation for the amazing grace that was given to us the first Christmas. We hope these stories will spark memories of your own and you will spend some time (even as rushed as the season is) thinking of what Christmas means to you–and why.

May God bless you and your family during this wonderful season!

Vicki Huffman’s Christian non-fiction book, The Best of Times, in which she uses many examples from the familiar to make a spiritual point, is now available on Kindle at amazon.com for only $2.99. The first chapter of her Christian novel, A Secret Hope, may be read free in the gift shop here.

 

Cat-itudes of Gratitude

As we were trying to rearrange the garage years ago, I told my husband the cat-carrier should go to Goodwill since we no longer had a cat. My husband vetoed the idea saying one day we might have another cat. For a man who used to say he hated cats, my husband has owned (or been owned by) an incredible number of cats.

It all started with Smoky, a scrawny dark kitten I rescued from the clutches of a vicious tomcat. After I coaxed her inside, she accepted meat scraps and a bowl of milk, sat down, gave herself a bath and started to dominate the household. Like many cats, Smoky was independent. That is what cat-lovers call it; there are other words for it. She was incredibly finicky and went through numerous cat foods before choosing one to suit her palate. She could be picked up and loved only when she was in the mood. The children had the scratches to prove it. She hated the car, going to the vet, and shots. I had the scratches to prove it.

Smoky also didn’t like the kitty box. She told me so by kicking out the contents frequently—or leaving it entirely alone and finding alternatives. Then it was my job to find what she was using as a substitute. Whoever said cats never defile their beds didn’t know Smoky.

One day my eight-year-old son brought home another starving cat. After the traditional parent-child discussion about not feeding the world and money not growing on trees, I agreed to let him keep the nice kitty outside where it could eat the brands of cat food Smoky had rejected. So Chessie (short for Chesapeake because she looked like the gray tabby in railway ads) joined the family.

Chessie always greeted me joyfully, weaving herself around my ankles whenever I went out the door. She ate anything proffered, looking up gratefully and purring loudly even while chewing. She appreciated her warm bedding box and kept it clean. During her trips to the vet, Chessie curled up in my lap and purred coming and going. She even accepted the shots as something not understood but probably needed.

When we moved to a distant state, we could not take the cats with us. Chessie was adopted by the new owners of our house because they could see she was a good cat. But Smoky, whose manners made her unadoptable, became a mouser on a farm.

You’re probably asking: what does a story of two cats have to do with Thanksgiving? There are human counterparts to these two cats. Unfortunately, there seem to be more Smokys than Chessies. The ratio may be as high as 9-to-1.

Once as Jesus entered a village, ten lepers cried out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” He told them to show themselves to the priest to be pronounced clean. As they obeyed and went, they were healed. Only one, seeing his flesh totally free of leprosy, returned loudly praising God and fell down at Jesus’ feet to thank Him. Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?” (Luke 17:17 NIV)

Today the same question could be asked. Where are the nine? Or the 90 or the 900…? If an attitude of gratitude is an index of spiritual health, it appears that many prefer to remain sick. They display the attitude of the caustic cat of the comics, Garfield, who looking out a window commented on all the people going to work to produce food, electricity, and kitty litter:  “All just for me. I’d thank them individually, but they know who they are.”

Do you verbalize your gratitude to people and to God? Or, like Garfield, do you take it for granted that they know? It takes time and effort to show gratitude. The leper had to walk a lot farther than those who did not turn around and return. But he gained more than they would ever know.

Elizabeth Elliott wrote, “It is always possible to be thankful for what is given rather than to complain about what is not given. One or the other becomes a habit of life.” What is your habit of life? Do you have an attitude of gratitude or an independent cat-itude? Are you a Chessie or a Smoky?

This Thanksgiving you may be thinking about turkeys, but I’ll be thinking about cats. I’ll be asking the Lord to help me be more like Chessie–to show my gratitude by my actions. To appreciate what He gives and not turn up my nose, wanting something else. And to accept even the painful things that are not understood but probably needed.

I guess what I’m asking is that He’ll teach me to purr.

Vicki Huffman’s Christian non-fiction book, The Best of Times, in which she uses many examples from the familiar to make a spiritual point, is now available on Kindle at amazon.com for only $2.99. The first chapter of her Christian novel, A Secret Hope, may be read free in the gift shop here.

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