The Best of Christmas

I just wanted to wish everyone a very wonderful Christmas with many blessings for the new year. In so doing, I am including three poems I wrote as a much younger person. I've never  been a poet, but my thoughts about our Savior and this very special time of year are tender. May God's choicest blessings be with each of you.

When I was a child, Christmas meant anticipation,

taking our pennies and dimes 

to Kresses or Woolworths

to buy simple, well thought-out presents.

We were poor, and the six of us children shared 

one basement bedroom and a couple of cots in the hall.

We didn’t know just how poor we really were until we 

went to church or school and saw what others wore.

We’d read the story of our Savior’s birth

from the book of Luke on Christmas Eve,

then opened one specific present,

homemade flannel pajamas from our parents.

We’d hurry off to bed, knowing we’d never sleep 

until we were sure Santa had made it there.

We’d creep up the stairs several times during the night

tiptoeing on the edges so they wouldn’t crackle and creak.

But we never saw if the jolly old elf had arrived.

An old Army blanket, suspended in the

living room doorway was too formidable an object 

to either push aside or crawl under.

At five in the morning, Daddy hurried out to the barn,

Mom called Grandma and Uncle Douglas, saying it was time.

We warmed ourselves by the old coal stove trying 

to keep our excitement down so we wouldn’t explode.

When the time came to take down the magical barrier,

we kids would rush to find our pile of presents.

There was never much there, for money was not:

a doll, a book, plastic animals for the boys.

A new pair of shoes and a homemade dress or shirt, 

an orange, peanuts and hard candy for our stockings.

They were simple holidays, but happy ones.

Dad played with us and Mom fixed the traditional meal.

After Daddy died, leaving seven little children alone,

the real joy of the Christmas season was gone.

We still got gifts and kept the blanket in front of the door,

and Grandma and Uncle Douglas came to spend the day.

But Daddy wasn’t there to make the holiday special, 

to play with us or to hold us tight in his protective arms.

The hole in our family was so immense we went through

motions but were never really happy and smiling again.

That was also the time when the real meaning of Christmas 

made more sense for death is part of life just as birth is.

Christ walked the earth, by example showing the way,

atoning for sins, dying so we can be a complete family again.

I have seen many Christmas’ since I was a child but 

none have been more meaningful than those of early days,

except for the Christmas’ I shared with my own children

when they were young and starry-eyed and still believed.

I played the magical elf, and my son and daughter 

climbed the stairs to see if Santa had been there.

There were more gifts purchased from stores those days,

but homemade ones still played a part along with a tradition meal.

They were happy times, but life moves on, children grow, 

have children of their own, and our part in the celebration changes.

But the meaning for the day is always crystal clear, and Christ’s gift

is the only one that cannot be purchased except by complete devotion.

                                             *******************

In this world of modern marvels,

one seldom takes time to think

of the creator of both heaven and earth,

Jesus Christ, the Savior of all mankind.

But who is this man?

A babe,

born in a stable in the village of Bethlehem. 

A boy,

reared as a carpenter in Nazareth. 

A citizen,

of a conquered and subdued nation. 

A man,

whose mortal footsteps never went beyond a 150 mile radius. 

A scholar,

who never received a school degree. 

A preacher,

who never spoke from a great pulpit.

A citizen,

who never owned a home.

A traveler,

who moved about on foot, without money. 

He is Jesus Christ,

author of our salvation.

His life, brought light and understanding

of things eternal and divine. 

His teachings, influenced the behavior 

of unaccounted millions.

His matchless example became the greatest power 

for goodness and peace in all the world.

                                                  ***********************

Grandpa’s Christmas Letter

I am not yearning for a white Christmas

as well you may have guessed.

The white stuff that so delights you

can stay in the mountains in drifts.

Christmas, as other holiday, is just another day.

My parents who were not into gift exchange,

but giving more to the needy than anyone else in the valley,

being liberal with us when they sensed the need.

I understand their viewpoint now that I am older.

Too much money is wasted on throwaway gift giving.

So, granddaughter dear, do not send me things

I do not need or have any particular desire for.

The things people need more of 

in this country of ours are

worthy compliments,

appreciation, and just plain love.

The Most Glorious Time of the Year

When I was growing up two-thirds of a century ago in a small farming community in South Eastern Idaho, Christmas really was a magical time of year. We always woke up to three or four feet of fresh snow and since our neighbor’s houses were too far away to be seen, it was like we were in a kingdom all our own. My father made sure we had a fresh Christmas tree. It wasn’t necessarily the most symmetrical and there were spaces between the branches, but we thought it was wonderful. When we returned from the Neighborhood Christmas party on Christmas Eve where Santa gave each of us a brown paper bag with peanuts, hard candy and an orange in it, he would sit us down on the floor and read the story of Christ’s birth from Luke: 2 in his deep, melodious voice.

We never got much in the way of gifts because my father was a World War II veteran who came from an impoverished family. His father had died when he was a year old and his mother had to take in washing and ironing and clean other people’s homes to support her children. I only remember two gifts I ever got, what we called in those days – a lady doll and a baby doll with a soft body and a hard head. 

But I do remember thinking what an enchanting story Christ’s birth in a manger was because I grew up around animals, and they were never pleasant nor serene. The chickens would peck my hands when I went to gather the eggs. The cows would toss their heads around when they were milked, and we had to be careful not to get the stepped on. The horses were big and frightening. The sheep were un-cooperative and not terribly bright, and the pigs were right down offensive and disgusting. 

The barn was a converted Army barrack that leaked when the snow started to melt. Shepherds were rough-looking men with bad hygiene who lived in one-room trailers and only came around civilization when it was time to sheer or sell the sheep. As for the Wisemen, I had no idea what they did, but apparently they could afford some very nice gifts. 

My misconceptions about a lot of things did not change rapidly. I learned songs at church like Give Said the Little Stream, Popcorn Popping on an Apricot Tree and Jesus Wants me for a Sunbeam. And our lessons were more about being good little boys and girls than about learning who Jesus really was and why it was important to become more like him.

I’m not sure when thinking about the way Christ’s birth has blessed my life even became part of my thought process. My childhood and youth seemed to be nothing more than one tragedy after another, and it was all I could do to survive, but I have come up with a few pivotal examples from my life that have helped me see both the beauty and the necessity for challenges that force us to our knees and give us a chance to learn the principles Christ taught throughout his earthly ministry in a way that became personally meaningful.

The first happened when I was five and taught me about the need for obedience, watchful care and the value of life. It was a cold spring morning and my father was busy in the field preparing the tandem disc for plowing up the fields. My mother allowed my three year-old brother and me to go outside. Since I was the older sibling, I was told to watch him. I’m not sure what happened, but the frost hadn’t even left the grass when my father came running towards the house with my little brother’s body dangling in his arms and calling for my mother to get the keys to the jeep because this beautiful little boy was dead. My father had accidently run over him. 

My mother turned to me and said in a tone that crippled me for years. “If you had been watching him the way I told you to, this never would have happened.” He spent six weeks in a coma, and while he survived, the extent of his injuries meant our family life was never really happy again. My guilt over something that wasn’t my fault is still there, but it taught me not to take unnecessary chances and to listen to what people I needed to trust said. 

When I was in the 3rd grade, I learned about compassion for others and acceptance of what cannot be changed. I spent 6 months in bed with Rheumatic fever that damaged my heart and made it impossible for me to even take part in physical activities while growing up. I was ostracized and made fun of simply because I was unable to do so many things, but those experiences helped me to see inside people’s hearts. I found myself always fighting for the underdog and wanting to be kind to people who were not readily accepted by others.

There were many other experiences that challenged my formative years, but the most gripping tested my childhood faith and belief in miracles to nearly the breaking point. I found my father dead in the bathroom of our small home from suffering a massive heart attack when I was thirteen. I loved him dearly and got up before dawn each morning to drive the tractor while he threw hay to the animals in the fields. Sometimes it was so cold my toes and feet would be numb the entire time I was outside, but with 7 children and no one else old enough or willing to help, I was always his right-hand man. 

I remember being told by my mother to take all of my siblings down the road to the neighbor’s house and stay there until someone came to get us. No one was at home, but people never locked their doors so we waited for hours and prayed continually that we would be the recipients of a miracle, but it didn’t happen. In fact, life became even more difficult because my mother went through a complete breakdown that forced me away from my home before I graduated high school. My grandmother, the only person other than my father that I ever felt close to, took me to BYU so I could utilize an academic scholarship, but she died before the end of my freshman year.

Now you might wonder why I’m relating such sad stories at Christmas. For me these challenges, along with losing every baby I tried to carry as an adult, have given me the basis for what I consider the greatest blessings of my life because they forced me to reach inward and upward for survival. I know God lives. I know he sent his son as a baby in a manger to bless the lives of everyone who even attempts to believe in and trust him. 

If I had no knowledge of Christ and his mission to bless and redeem, I would be just like all the other billions of persons who have lived through the centuries wandering aimlessly in a dark and frightening world, accepting mediocrity, living for the moment, taking what was wanted, and dying without knowing what my purpose was for even being here.

My blessings are the gifts that come from learning hard lessons and accepting what Christ has done for each one of us individually because he set the perfect example. Now that I’ve finally come to understand things more clearly than I did as a child who only recognized the magical beauty of the season, I know the types of blessings I’ve received. It’s being obedient and humble enough to ask for guidance and direction. It’s the ability to get an education so I could stand on my own without letting fear debilitate me.  It’s the capacity to love my siblings, children, grandchildren and friends without having to accept everything they’ve done. It’s being guided and protected on a daily basis and finally getting it that all of our prayers will not be answered the way we might like in this life. 

Because of Christ, I have a reason to live joyfully. I have hope that things are progressing as they should and have clarity of mind and peace that fills my heart and soul. My belief in something greater than I can comprehend fills every part of my life, if I will just allow it to. In Hebrews 5:8 we are told that we learn obedience by the things we suffer. 

My life has been blessed greatly over the years, even when I couldn’t see it. And I know it will continue to be that way until my mission is complete. I rejoice each day that I’m still able to get out of bed and go about my day with purpose. I might not get as much done as I once did, but I still make lists and check off goals that have been completed. 

I treasure my time spent doing things for others, and writing books that share Christian beliefs and gospel principles with people around the globe. I’ve been unfriended and ridiculed because I write about what I believe, but I want others to know what I do about Christ, his teachings and enduring to the end. It’s a beautiful time of year, and I don’t appreciate it nearly as much as I should. 

Post Thanksgiving

So I haven't written in awhile. There are no excuses except that I've been busy doing other things. Like finishing book 3 in my new series, Safe Haven - Agent Reagan Sinclair, FBI. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the changes I needed and wanted to make since the story was becoming more complex and the motives had to match the actions and what prompted them. Trying to keep all characters straight was also making my head spin, but at my age I need the mental stimulation since I'm no longer around teenagers every day. I suppose I also have to admit that my expectations override my capabilities sometimes.  But to my great relief I sent it to Amazon today so I can start thinking about the holidays. 

Actually, I did spend some time contemplating Thanksgiving as I worked. I even set an entire day aside to do nothing but thank God for all my blessings instead of complaining because I have never gotten what I've wanted my entire life. But I know I'm not alone in that, and it really was refreshing to look at life a little different than I was used to doing. In fact, it's put me into a better frame of mind now that Christmas is almost here. I even plan on getting my tree put up some time this week and most of my presents are already purchased. Maybe the huge snow storm helped with that. I wasn't ready for slick roads and inconsiderate and often incompetent drivers but managed to make it where I needed to go.

I have no profound thoughts on anything today, but I do feel a great deal of gratitude as I get ready to go to the doctors for my weekly allergy shot. I love the blessings I've been given from relatively good health to family to having things I can do I enjoy. When I really think about it, I'm not so sure I would be any happier if all my dreams did come true. I would probably just have a stroke from being unable to comprehend how everything had finally come together. Sometimes our challenges and disappointments are our greatest blessings because they make us reach further inside as we search for ways to serve others better. Maybe I'll even bake some cinnamon rolls or stir up some caramel popcorn to take to a few of my neighbors. I do like to do things in my kitchen and really shouldn't even everything I see. I hope everyone had a blessed Thanksgiving, regardless of whether they were alone like me eating leftovers from the meal I had prepared for my children before they went other places, or enjoying the day with numerous family and friends.

Strength of the Human Spirit

I've spent a good deal of time the past week thinking about life and how the briefest moment in time can set us on a path we would never have imagined. When I was five and my little brother was three, my mother blamed me for a farming accident that could easily have claimed his life, practically destroyed our family and left him with severe physical and mental disabilities he would have to endure for as long as he lived.  That horrifying declaration, "If you had been watching him like I told you to do this never would have happened," took away what was left of my childhood and plunged me into a world filled with self-doubt, guilt and an inability to trust or ever feel truly loved again.

We never spoke of that moment until right before her death over fifty years later where she said she didn't recall ever saying it, but I was left with scars that have never really healed. I don't actually believe in fate, but I do believe that insecurity and self-doubt, along with the knocks of life that come to each of us so we can gain experience and get to know ourselves better, have a tendency to put us in places we would rather not be. I've lived through three bouts with Rheumatic Fever, the loss of half of my hair that has never grown back, being molested by my violin teacher, loosing my dad when I was thirteen, and being forced to leave home after my mother - who was suffering a nervous breakdown - tried to run me through with a butcher knife because I wouldn't do something she asked. I lived with other people until I was taken to college by my grandmother and uncle. Those were lonely days because I wasn't allowed any contact with my siblings. My grandmother died a few months later.  All of those heart-wrenching experiences, along with other less traumatic events, happened during my first nineteen years.

I remember watching "Gone with the Wind" as a teen and feeling very much like Scarlet O-Hara when she said she would think about it tomorrow after facing a life-altering event. That simple phrase  has kept me going through an entire life filled with more loss and sorrow than I ever dreamed possible because tomorrow never comes, and the daily pressures associated with living must be faced as they come. I feel blessed that my spirit would not let me give up, even when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and never see the light of day again. I also suppose that's why I write the kind of books I do. Anyone can write about a single trial turning into a happily-ever-after kind of life. But what about all those people who never get their happy ending?

I want the bloodied, bruised and broken who refuse to give up or give in because life is hard to know that they're not not alone. Those are the people I write for because I'm still waiting for the same things I desired as a child - not to feel afraid and to be loved for the woman I am. I recognize that the chance of that happening before this life is over is minimal at best, but I also believe in a loving God who wants the best for each of his children and will compensate for every loss and hurt felt in this life in the one to come - as long as a person never loses hope and remains faithful.

So I want to invite each of readers to check out all the books I've written under the pen name of JS Ririe. I know they will bring help and comfort to even the most troubled soul. You can read about Brylee and Reagan and all the people them come to know and love in two powerful series for free as a member of Kindle Unlimited. And if you don't belong to that, I'd like to send you the first book in the Indecision Flame series of 7 books and/or the first book in the Reagan Sinclair, FBI series in digital format for free just by sending me a quick email at janhill720@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you. All books are available at https://amzn.to/2BXNSdv. Resilience came out in September and the next book in the series will be out right before or after Thanksgiving.

So its been a few days since I wrote anything. I had a wonderful visit with my sister in Branson, Missouri, watching some of our good friends perform. It was wonderful seeing Tony Roi back on stage after suffering fall 2 years ago that left him in a coma for three months. Just as the family had decided to pull the plug, he woke up and wanted a steak. It's taken him months to learn how to walk and talk and do normal things again but he's back on the stage, with his own kind and loving spirt, performing tunes that Elvis made famous and so much more. We also saw John Tweed who performed in Disneyland years ago, a great tribute to Frankie Valli and the group Six who came out from Las Vegas several years ago and use their voices as their only instruments. They are truly amazing.

But we spent most of our time in Motown shows. It's the music we grew up on and love, and was performed by some of our favorite people: Eddie, Andre, William, Doc, Will, Rico, Kirk, TJ and others. They sing songs by the Temptations, Platters, Drifters, Spinners, Al Green, Marvin Gaye and so many others it's hard to keep track of them. I shouted and sang along so much that I lost my voice half way through our time there and still haven't recovered. We were there when some of them received a trophy for Best Morning show. We got up on stage and danced at several performances and got hugs and kisses that will keep me going for a few months since they're in very short supply at home. I've been divorced for over 25 years and have yet to find anyone who speaks to my heart. Guess I'm hoping God will provide someone for me to love forever when I get to the next life because it's certainly been lonely here.

It got to me thinking about family and how not everyone we love is connected by blood. One of my favorite things is doing genealogy using family search. I can spent literally hours looking at names of family members who paved the way for the life I live. Some of them have wonderful names like Deliverance, Thankful, Obedience and Echo. I love finding out what countries they come from and often wonder where I get some of my characteristics that are very unlike anyone else in my family. Perhaps some day I will have my DNA tested to see which countries from all over Europe, the British Isles, America and even South Africa I have legitimate ties to. But sometimes it's just nice to wonder. I am truly grateful for the sacrifices they made and can't help but wonder what experiences they had that turned them into the people they became. Guess it will be fun to see them again once this life is over because I truly believe we will go on forever. That comforts me when it comes to thinking about leaving my children and grandchildren when the time comes. I hope I have built happy memories and will leave behind a legacy they can remember with pride. I guess that's what we all want to do, but we will go about creating it in very different ways.

Families and Learning Curves

I just got back from visiting my daughter, her husband and my adorable six year-old grandson. There's always a certain amount of trepidation when visiting family members. Living in such close quarters for even a few days at a time is hard. As a mother, I remember the days of childhood when I was more in control and knew what to say to make things right. Adult children have evolved from the days of learning what you want them to learn and acting like you expect them to. They make choices that define what their lives will become and must learn to live with whatever circumstances that brings. It's a time for parents to step back, listen more and make only comments that are necessary and hopefully wise. It's easy to see adult children as still needing your help and guidance, but they mostly just want your support and friendship.

My relationship with my children has been more difficult than most because they were adopted as babies and found their biological parents as adults. That changes the dynamics of normal parent-child relationships considerably. Patience and undying love no longer make the difference they once did because you are no longer the center of their universe. You must decide to bridle your own wants and desires so they can add two additional families to their lives without feeling like they've hurt feelings or caused too much sorrow. Understanding is complex because feelings do get in the way and hearts feel like they might actually break. It's one of those times when tears shed in private rule most days and a pleasant countenance is expected but hard to maintain.

Watching my daughter face her own challenges helped me to see her more as a person in her own right. I still see parts of the child I raised where stubbornness and the need to be in control rule the day. But I also see a woman who is raising a son who was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at three and caring for a husband whose heart is only working at 20 percent capacity. He is going in for a second surgery next week that might raise the pumping capacity by another 20 percent, but that's as good as it will ever be.  I'm amazed at how she is able to handle such difficult circumstances without falling completely apart and am beginning to see why making phone calls or texting happens so rarely. Talking about what she is facing makes it harder for her.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that no life is perfect, and it isn't meant to be. We are supposed to change and grow each day. I love being able to see into someone else's heart for even a few moments. It helps me see that we're all alike -- just doing the best we can and hoping that others will accept that as being enough.

A new year of learning

It's been a few weeks since I posted anything, but it's not for lack of desire. I've just been incredibly busy with my ten year-old granddaughter. I've had her with me at least three days a week all summer, and with work and church there hasn't been much time for writing anything else--even writing my books or working in the yard and garden. But while it's been a very intense and exhausting summer, I  can't complain about spending time with a child whose imagination is boundless and whose energy far outlasts my own. My little gal prefers animals to most people, but she's my little shadow, and nothing is more satisfying than curling up with her in a chair to watch a movie after a busy day of sewing doll clothes from homemade patterns, baking treats from recipes she finds online for her hamster and rabbits, watching her dance, playing with Barbies and baby dolls, constructing Shopkins' villages or entertaining ourselves in the castle that was constructed in my basement. She's almost outgrown that now, but she's an only child who loves having my undivided attention.

It got me reflecting on my own childhood. I had four sisters and two brothers and we tried to exist in a two bedroom and one bathroom house. We lived on a farm and our toys consisted mostly of sticks, cans and pieces of cardboard. But we did have one great place to escape. In the old fruit orchard were several old cars and trucks, some them laying on their sides. They were rusted and torn up, but we could climb through doors and windows and slid across seats that were loosing their horsehair stuffing and make believe we were traveling to far away and exciting places. We also had a favorite game where we would run along the top boards of the pigpen and try to make it across the sloped roof of the pig's house without falling inside where an angry boar was waiting to rip us apart. 

There were bikes to ride, an empty granary with several rooms we could turn into apartments, and willow tree branches to swing on. It was a fearsome delight each summer to watch our mother chop the heads off a hundred chickens so they could be skinned, washed, packed in milk cartons and stored in the freezer for winter use. There were cats, horses and cows to feed and miles of garden to weed. We seldom had outside friends to play with, and there was never any money for extras, but in many ways I feel lucky because life seemed much simpler then with party telephone lines, no television or computers and two or three outfits to wear to school.

When I tell may granddaughter about my childhood she has no conception of what I'm talking about. Automated life has its advantages, but sometimes I'd like to turn back the years and give the children of today a chance to be free to explore life on their own terms without constant planned activities and cellphones that can't be relinquished. It makes me wonder what my granddaughter will remember when she gets to be my age. I just hope I'm part of her pleasant memories.