Let me think now, it was about 15 years ago and we lived in the city just blocks from my job. I was doing what I loved, giving the elderly in the nursing home a reason to get up and get going in the morning. God gave me that gift, and it took me a few years, like 28 or so, to find out that it was mine. And He wanted me to use it to the best I could for Him.
Anyway, it was nearing Christmas and lots of people had been on our calendar to come and share the story and bring the plates of goodies. You never are short of visitors in a nursing home over the Christmas season because they are all willing to give, AND there are so many familiar songs to sing.
Up and down the halls it appeared you were on different streets as you turned a corner. One would be Candy Cane Lane, another Jingle Bell Blvd, and I don't remember the rest, it is unimportant to tell the story anyway. My wheels were always turning back then and I seemed to not be short on creativity. Not sure where that all went with age I guess, I gave it all away.
Connected to our home, which was one of the largest in the state, was an assisted living apartment complex. Some of the couples had a spouse in both places. The adjustment was so much easier with them only a few steps away from the one they had lived with for maybe 60 or more years. That is how it was with my stars of the nativity about to take place. It seems a bit sad that I cannot even remember their names, but I do remember that she was in a wheelchair and he was in a bathrob with a towel turban wrapped around his head. She held a baby that was the last one born to a staff member close to Christmas. I am sure that mom can tell you today that her baby was Jesus! How I wish I could too. Not that MY baby was Him but that I knew the child. "I can tell you that I do know the Man that child became".
Well I directed my one and only play. The actors were all over 85 or maybe 90. They walked in while the music played to the audience of staff of the Good Samaritan Village. Our angels were more angelic than any I have seen and the shepherds were using those staffs to hold their shaky legs up. Not tired from running to Bethlehem, but tired from all the years of hard work and caring for each other and probably some of us as well.
A comment from one of my coworkers, a couple days later, in a letter to the editor in the city said it all. "My Christmas was not going to be very happy this year with the loss of my parent. But seeing this Nativity acted out by these precious people, put it right back where it belonged" That is the spirit of Christmas. It is one of my favorite memories of Christmas past.

He hasn't moved Just Me!

He was calling out " Are we going to church this morning or not?" I hurried back to the house not realizing I had been out there enjoying the serenity of the oaks and the cedars as they dropped their leaves. I was in a bit of a Sandy/God trance, or maybe a moment would describe it better.
Camera in hand I had gone out to capture the scene that would soon be someone elses home. We came here to this pasture on a hill, surrounded by these magnificant oaks and the cedars that some call a noxious weed! How can that be when they are so beautiful to me? Anyway it was 7 years ago that our friend and fellow Sunday worshiper, at our little church, came and asked if we wanted to still move to the country? In a blink we loaded up for a drive around our familiar territory scouting out possible sites. With one look at this spot we knew it was home. My childhood was spent across the road. I walked those pastures gathering berries and wild grapes. It was where we knew exactly where to spot the first signs of spring when the wild May flowers sprouted up from the cold earth on the hills. There used to be a windmill down there that took the brunt of many family jokes. Not sure who it was that Gramma called down in a fearful voice, but two of those kids are now men and have children of their own. Memories of days of youth fill my mind as I snap and click the pictures. First the view from the deck of the cottonwood, almost bear now and yet a few leaves remain to rustle in the breeze. Next the oaks that so commonly form a Y that reminds me of my Yahweh guiding us in the journey we are on next in life. It is everywhere, His presence I mean. I smell it in the wet leaves under my feet. I hear it in the chickadee calling to me and the blue jay scolding another across the yard. He is here in the beauty of fall as I proudly admire the last blooms of sedum in their prettiest colors of the year, now a pretty pink. Will life be the same when I leave here and go to the city again? With tears in eyes, I think not. But it will be good. God will be there and He will call me to His side, like He did to Moses. "When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look God called him from the bush. Exodus 3:4." He called me this morning through my husbands voice and I came to worship Him, ever the same, never leaving me, and He will bless this move. Because He hasn't moved, just me.

Who do I remember that influenced me when I was a child? It had to be Roosevelt and Bessie. Aren't those names enough to tell you that they are interesting already? Roosevelt was an old farmer friend of my folks and Bessie was his wife. She was a frail, thin woman, and I really never knew what caused her tiny weak body to bearly be able to swallow when he gave her bites of food. She would so slowly work that tiny piece of food around in her mouth, and then with great effort finally let it go down her tiny throat.
Every Saturday night we would stop by for a visit, after our trip to town to get our groceries with the egg money mom had collected that week. We would quietly enter the house and there she sat in an old wooden wheelchair with blocks under crooked feet holding them up so they didn't dangle. She would watch T.V. and smile, trying to speak in her weak voice, that almost scared me,. .
I don't remember ever going any farther than that one room. There was no need for them to use the parlor, she only sat in her chair all day, waiting for Roosevelt to come in from chores or doing his farming.
As we drank kool-aid and told them about our week at school and home I think I was learning that God was preparing me for a life of service to the elderly and the disabled in my adult life. My choice of professions was not one of high salaries and fame, but it was instilled in me that love and devotion that I saw in Roosevelts heart for his dear Bessie. It was a gift he gave to me
and he never even knew.