It’s that time again. Time to swap out new calendars for old. Time to sing Auld Lang Syne, and watch the glittering ball drop. It’s a time of resolutions, seldom kept, and praying for better days ahead. It’s the time to step from the old year into the new. Yes, hard as it is to believe, the old year is mere hours from limping into the archives to join his predecessors, making way for the baby New Year to take over.
 
I have to tell you, I’m not sorry to see the old year limp away: it wasn’t very kind. Yet, as I stand at this point in time, with one foot at the ready to step over the threshold into the New Year, I am able to recognize God’s hand at work. For my family and myself: as well as many of you, this has been a year of loss and grief, pain and anguish, and as recently as Christmas day…incredible fear. There were times I wondered if God honestly had a handle of things. It has also been a year of great blessings and miracles.

They say hindsight is 20-20, and I have to agree. Often, it is only in looking back with this renewed sight that we are able to see God’s handiwork, His blessings, His miracles.  My go to scripture is, Philip. 4:13. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” A former pastor explained that in ancient Hebrew this would have read, “I can endure all things…” We are able to endure the hardships of life, not through our human strength, but rather through and with the strength of Christ. He promised that He would be with us always, He would never leave us nor forsake us. I honestly can’t imagine enduring life without Him, without His love and strength. Can you?
 
Yes, it’s that time of year again: time to step into a new, and uncertain year. Not one of us knows what our future holds. Oh we may have plans made, and think that we have our future mapped out, but then life happens. Surprise! Thankfully, while we may not know what this New Year may bring for us, we can know with certainty that our future rests in God’s all-powerful hands. Does He have a handle on things? Yes!

​The journey was hard, and long. The timing, he thought, could not have been worse. Though many others journeyed the same road, all heading toward one destination; his tiny group, a group of three, were far different than the others. The other travelers could not know, nor would they have believed if told, that they were indeed journeying in the presence of a King. But he knew. And still he wondered. Why he had been chosen for such a great task?
 
His steps were slow, the path rugged, and though his master’s hand was gentle, he sensed an urgency in the man’s voice. Time was running out, this he knew. He would run if he could, but the burden upon his back was heavy, and fragile. One cautious step followed another. Each step he knew caused her pain, yet she never uttered a protest. Her voice and touch encouraged him, as one mile turned into another, one day into the next.

His eyes sought those of his master from time to time, seeking confidence in their gaze. Silent conversations traveled between the two: concern, fear, encouragement, and trust. Though both were fearful that time would in fact run out, they also held onto the glimmer of faith, that all would be as planned. The two walked, side-by-side; mile upon mile, step after step, traveling toward their final destination, and God’s incredible plan. But all was not working according to plan: at least not the plan of the small group.
 
 The hour was late when the three travelers finally walked the narrow roads of the tiny town. Relief coursed through each of them. She would finally be able to rest. But relief was fleeting. Her time had in deed come, pain gripped her body, and for the first time she cried out.
 
 His concern escalated to dread, as his master ran from one door to the next, knocking and pleading; a room, a bed, a mat in the corner was all they asked. But time after time the answer was no. The tiny town was full. There were no more rooms.  He knew the time was near. Her time had come; still his master pleaded. Finally, one man took pity. “No,” he said, “I have no room to offer, all I have is a small stable.”

The night was not a “silent night” within the small stable. He watched helpless, as she cried in the agony of birth, and as his master, with shaking hands and gentle voice, brought new life into the stable—and into the world. A new light suddenly shone in the midnight sky. A star greater than any had ever witnessed, hovered high above the stable. Its beam cast a glorious glow upon the three weary travelers—and the newborn babe.
 
 A new sound was heard above the rustling of the animals. The small donkey stood slowly to his feet, and one step at a time, ever so slowly, walked to his master’s side. The cry of newborn life wafted through the stable. All the animals rose to their feet, and step by step, ever so slowly, walked to the manger to gaze upon the baby within. Each and every animal, including the donkey so young, bent their knees and bowed their heads; for they knew they were in the presence of The King.

The little donkey fixed his eyes upon the tiny infant, and listened to his sweet voice. Awe and wonder filled his gentle heart, as he looked into the face of the infant King: an awe, which would continue to flow within his grateful heart all the days of his life. The little donkey smiled, as only donkeys can do, as a new sound filled the stable; a sound so faint as to be barely heard – the sound of angels singing on high.
 
The donkey lay upon a soft bed of straw, as the swaddled King slept peacefully in the manger. The soft stirrings of stabled animals comforted his weary bones. His eyes were heavy, as he pondered all that had brought him to this place, and time. It would later be told, that the shepherds were among the first to see the newborn King, but the young donkey knew the truth. For the eyes of those who could never speak the story, the gentle animals within the stable, were the first to see the King and hear his voice. With a contented sigh, the donkey fell fast asleep. 

Merry Christmas to all.
​Please take a minute to enjoy the music Video below.

I love old houses, which is good, because we live in a house that is well over a hundred years old. Our house was built in the days of horse and buggies, outhouses, formal parlors, and wood-stoves for heat. Ours is an old farmhouse, complete with carriage barns, which, yes, did in fact hold carriages as well as the horses to draw them. A white stone smokehouse once adorned our yard, and a red pump house, complete with watering trough, still resides there. There is even an old cement chopping block in the far back room, (Sunday chicken dinners did not come from the grocery store.)

Yes, I love old houses and the stories as well as mysteries held within their walls. Our house, like many other Nineteenth century homes, has gone through considerable changes over the years. In-door plumbing brought the outhouses in. No more midnight trips across the snow covered yard to relieve one’s-self. And cast iron radiators replaced wood stoves, allowing one to heat the entire house at once.

The first floor of our home has been remodeled and redecorated several times over the years. Dry wall replaced old lath and plaster, floors were leveled, wall to wall carpeting and laminate flooring installed, the kitchen and bathroom modernized, and so on. The second floor however is a much different story.

Once you climb the steep stairway, which my sister and I fell down many times in growing up—I forgot to mention I grew up in this old house—you enter history. There is no dry wall, lath and plaster still abide here, the doors have latches rather than doorknobs, and there are nooks and crannies and oddities that only live in a house of history. Unfortunately along with the charm, there is also considerable labor involved in doing simple jobs, such as painting a grandchild’s bedroom.

“We need to paint the girls bedrooms before they get back from Virginia,” I had said to my husband. “They need a little patching but that won’t take long.” I was wrong—So very wrong. One crack led to another, and that led to a bump and gouge and all sorts of annoying things. Plastering led to sanding, which led to dust—so much dust—and on to the tedious, and unfortunately not very neat task of trimming, (a job I detest) and finally rolling the paint onto the patched walls. (This job I loved) The finished product, if I may say so, looks wonderful.

This project opened my eyes and my curiosity to several oddities in my home. Things that caused me to pause, scratch my head, and wonder. I began to wonder the history of the two long, narrow rooms located on either side of our son’s bedroom, (the granddaughters bedrooms) and why on earth they needed the large, sturdy locks on the inside of the doors. I pondered the relevance of unique finds, which were located in the large, open room that had once been my bedroom. Why had they taken down a wall that had once been there, as marks in the wide board flooring attested to? What had the little room that was no longer there since the wall came down been used for? Why is one part of the floor lower than the other? What was the large gravity flow water tank in the corner of my old room used for? Who were the people who not only built our old house way back before modern technology, but also lived here?

If my house could talk, what stories would it tell? What mysteries would unfold?

I’ll be honest, the entire time that I was preparing our granddaughter’s room to paint I longed for good old, or should I say modern, drywall. How much easier my life would have been with smooth modern walls. And yet, it was only through the tedious, messy, and exhausting process of scraping and plastering that I was able to view history. From the layers of old wallpaper, to the interesting wooden stripping, and on to the heavy-duty locks, and missing walls, history was materializing before my dust filled eyes: questions and all.

Well, Taylor loved her grown-up teal bedroom, and now I get to do it all over again for Cammie’s room, which will be BRIGHT pink. I hope I can hold on to my newfound appreciation for the marvels of old houses, as well as lath and plaster. Hmmm, probably not: At least not until the room is finished.

And just think there’s so much more to do. Yay?

Do you have a BFF?  That person who has seen you at the best of times and the worst: with make-up and without, good hair days, and category three hurricane days. That person who you share absolutely everything with, even your deepest darkest secrets that would cause you to cringe if they were ever made public: That person who you know you can call, or pound on their door in the middle of the night during emergencies. You know they will always be there for you, and you for them.

Some of you may have known your BFF your entire life, while others may have known theirs for only a few short years.  Either way, you can’t imagine your life without them in it. If you’re like me, you may have imagined you and your BFF growing old together, sharing jokes only the two of you understand. There is a bond between best friends that neither time, nor distance can break—the bonds however are not indestructible.

I have known, and lost several “best friends” over my lifetime. Each time the fracture of the friendship was devastating. I mean…this bond was supposed to last a lifetime…wasn’t it? Here’s the thing though—we’re human and we’re flawed. Even the life long friendships have likely endured times of struggle: possibly betrayal, lies and hurtful words. Being a best friend takes work; keeping a best friend takes commitment and a wagon-load of forgiveness. Sadly, there are times when all the forgiveness in the world, all the commitment, and hard work simply isn’t enough. The friendship needs to end. That's a hard choice to make.

Over the years I have come to say that I don’t do “best friends” anymore. Instead, I have several very dear friends. These past couple years however, I have come to realize that I do have a BFF. I have the most amazing, loving, committed, giving, forgiving, supportive, best friend imaginable; and this friend is FOREVER. Have you guessed yet? Yes, it’s God.  Or rather, God my Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ my Savior,and brother, and the amazing Holy Spirit, my ever-present counselor: three best friends rolled into on incredible package. How cool is that! Second on my BFF list is my devoted husband who stands by me through it all.

I was listening to a Christian song this morning, by Phillips, Craig and Dean, called: “Friend of God.” The words caught my attention, and ultimately led to this article. “Who am I that You are mindful of me? That You hear me when I call. Is it true that You are thinking of me? How you Love me, It's Amazing. I am a friend of God, I am a friend of God, I am a friend of God, He calls me friend”

Isn’t it completely mind blowing that the God of the Universe, Creator of all; not only loves us, but calls us friend. Who are we that He is mindful of us, that He hears us when we call? We’re his children. But more than that: We are, for all of eternity, His Best Friends; and He is ours. The line of this song that cinches the deal is: “He calls me friend.” Not only am I able to say that God is my friend, that: “I am a friend of God.” But—and this is the mind-blowing part--“He calls me friend.” If someone were to go up to God and say: “So, tell me about _______________.” (Insert your name)
God would answer, “I call them friend.” That is Amazing!

To all of you who have been blessed to have a best friend who has had your back nearly your entire life: that is incredible, something to be treasured. For those who have seen best friends come and go, don’t lose hope because we have the ultimate BFF and He will call us friend for all of eternity. Good days and bad—He will never leave us.
God Bless
Sandy
Please take a minute and enjoy this music Video: "Friend of God" by Phillips, Craig, and Dean

Christmas is upon us. Amongst the hustle and bustle of family preparations, let us take a moment to truly remember the Reason for the Season: The birth of our Lord and Savior. Jesus, God’s only begotten son, came into this world to save each of us from our sins, so that we may live with Him for eternity. He came into this world as a tiny babe, born in a cold stable, surrounded by animals, with a manger for His bed. What a humble entrance for the King of Kings, our Savior and Protector.

Jesus answered the call. Fore, unseen by human eyes, a great battle was, and still is raging. It has raged since the beginning of creation: A battle for our very souls. Jesus came and freely offered His life to save us from the ravages of sin and death. Jesus answered the call.

Our men and women who serve in our military have also answered the call. The call to action; the call to leave family and friends to protect each and every one of us; to save us from the perils of hate; to protect our freedom and, yes, our very lives. Some have sacrificed life and limbs in this endeavor. Yes, our men and women of the military have answered the call to action.

As we snuggle safely in our beds tonight, let us remember two things. Jesus Christ who came from eternity into a cold, oft times heartless world, to save you and I so that we may live for eternity with Him. And, our courageous men and women, who have left the safety and security of family and home to fight for our freedom: The men and women who have answered the call to action on our behalf.

God bless you all, and have a blessed Christmas.
You are missed and loved.

Please enjoy this added video: "Silent Night-A Tribute to the Military