Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Dearest God,

I began writing my next book today. A collection of Christmas stories that have come from our family. Seventy five years of Christmas experience. A story of my father as a little boy on the farm. My mother trying her hand at sewing red robes for my siblings and me. The surprise mystery dove that appeared on my Christmas tree just days after I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The Christmas without a dinner. The lost and found Jesus. The older I get the more I am compelled to write stories that will last forever.

I love the story of Christmas. The story you tell of a son in a manger touches me deeply every year. I wait all year to hear it again. And when the scripture is read, I hear it deep in my soul. The story lives inside me.

My stories of Christmas are generally very happy ones. They don't focus on the gifts received, but rather the connections that are made and nurtured. My mother's sacrificial gift when she bought three bride dolls and paid on them for a year when Santa brought them to my sisters and me. I imagine mom skimping and saving, going without just so we girls could have a very special gift. I remember being a Santa elf for my grandmother, purchasing all her gifts for her large family, using green stamps and yellow ones, a dollar here and a dollar there, making 13 tie quilts out of some left over gingham fabric for her grandchildren. How I loved connecting with my grandmother this way.

There are so many stories that I have lived and ones I have heard my dad tell. I want to compile the stories with pictures and publish them for my family. Long after I am gone those stories will be told and they will live within my grandchildren.

The writing of these stories is an act of love, the love that came at Christmas. My, how I witness the power of that love as I connect to people I love. It's that agape that drives me to write about Christmas.

Wondrous Star of Christmas,
my heart is alive with joy
as I reflect
upon the gift
of your agape love.
Every year
I marvel yet again
at your unselfish gift.
I want to hear the story.
I wait to hear it
one more time.
The stories I write
will all tell your story
of eternal love.
Oh, how I love you.

As always, Andrea