Good giving and grateful receiving

I asked my Dad about his Christmas memories and was rewarded with these sweet stories.  One Christmas season his older brother had started sequestering himself in the basement and wouldn't allow my dad to join him.  Dad was really sad and thought his brother didn't like him anymore.  He went crying to his mom and she responded, "Just let him alone.  You go on and play."  Well, time went on for an unhappy and confused little boy.  Meanwhile, his big brother was preparing a secret special Christmas surprise.  Christmas morning brought delight when Dad opened his special present.  His brother had hand-made and painted a little toy wagon just for him.  He's never forgotten that day.

Robert  (My Dad), Janus (My Grandpa), Janene, Magdalene, Donna, Milo  (the gift giver)

A few years later  during WWII,  the government was rationing rubber.  Dad remembers their tires were always flat.  Sugar was also rationed.  His brother had joined the navy and was stationed in the Pacific on the US Hancock.  There were really no candy bars to be found for civilians, but each of the servicemen received a box of Hershey's chocolate bars for Christmas.  Milo wrapped his up and mailed them home to his family so the rare Christmas treat could be theirs.

Janus (Grandpa), Robert (Dad), Ila (Grandma), Milo, Janene

These heart warming memories started me thinking about what makes a good gift.  I guess it's just that these gifts are gifts of love.  The fact that there was sacrifice involved  makes the loving gesture even more powerful.  We all say that the greatest gifts come from the heart, but when my family members ask me what I want for Christmas, typically I give them a nice long list of things to buy.  Sometimes I even give them the store name and aisle in which these products can be found.  I have also been known to leave a copy of a link to an online site that directs them to a "thing" I want.  And yet, my favorite gifts are not a result of this procedure.

When I was growing up our Christmas Eve tradition was to have a talent show after acting out the Nativity.  Now granted, there were no brothers in the house until I was 15 yrs. old, so performing for fun was the most normal thing in the world. We spent Christmas Eve Day happily planning the acts which were varied and brilliant.  OK, that last part was a lie, but they were brilliant to us and our unbiased parents. When I became a wife and mother, I generously shared this tradition with my husband and children...boys, all of them, until my 6th child 12 yrs. later.  Well, believe it or not it was a "no go."  It's not that they weren't capable, I mean showboating is in their blood, they just didn't feel like planning and performing on Christmas Eve.  I begged and always began Christmas Eve day with, "Get ready for the program."  There was occasional participation with less than exemplary enthusiasm, until my expectations finally matched my reality.  However I never stopped feeling the loss.  Now my boys and even my girls are grown.  They have all developed  demonstrable  talents.  Last year they asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I could only think of one thing... a Christmas Eve talent show.  And guess what, that's exactly what they gave me, bless their beautiful hearts.

Gift giving always comes with a little angst for me.  What if they already have one, what if they hate this kind of stuff, what if it's too much, what if it's too little...there again, if I'm giving from the heart I can allay these fears.  Today in step class a very festive fellow stepper walked up to me, handed me a little candy cane and said, "Merry Christmas."  Did I already have one?  Actually, yes, at home.  Do I like candy canes?  Not particularly, but when this woman whom I've seen but never spoken to extended this cheerful gesture it really brought me a little happiness.  She wanted nothing in return, she was just trying to spread a little Christmas cheer and that she did.  So if my gifts aren't just right, but given with love, they're just right.

A couple of weeks ago I listened to a Christmas Devotional in which the speaker, Dieter F. Uchtdorf addressed the topic of being a good and grateful receiver.  He used an example that reminded me of one Christmas where we let 4 yr. old Gabe open one present on Christmas Eve.  I worried that he would be disappointed because the package he chose was clothes.  He opened his t-shirt and ran around gleefully shouting, "A shirt, a shirt!"  We giggled at his display of gratitude and enthusiasm, but he got it right.  President Uchtdorf said, "Every gift that is offered to us--especially a gift that comes from the heart-- is an opportunity to build or strengthen a bond of love.  When we are good and grateful receivers, we open a door to deepen our relationship with the giver of the gift. But when we fail to appreciate or even reject a gift, we not only hurt those who extend themselves to us, but in some way we harm ourselves as well."

One exciting Christmas I came home from college with a gift for my Dad.  I had taken a stained glass class, and as is usually the case with my dreams of talent and fame, the craft proved to be very difficult.   Dad had designed the pattern, and I was to turn it into a stained glass window.  I had a lot to learn about working in stained glass.  I showed my plan to the professor and he told me it was impossible to cut the rooster comb the way I had outlined.  I didn't believe him (code for I like to learn the slow, hard way) and then I did. It took me all semester to finish and it had some rough spots, but during the process I always thought about my Dad.  The result was that my heart was full of love for him.  And he received it perfectly.  He didn't point out the flaws, but he did mount it in the barn.  It continued to be a bond of love for me for a long time to come.

President Uchdorf also said, "I hope that this Christmas and every day of the year we will consider, in particular, the many gifts we have been given by our loving Heavenly Father. Have we received these gifts with humble gratitude, with joy? Or do we reject them out of pride or a false sense of independence?"  "For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift?  Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift."D & C 88:33.

I'm thankful for the gift of the Savior and all that this means to mankind.  I hope to be a better giver and receiver so that my heart will be filled with greater and greater love.

Happy Birthday Erica

This sweet girl has been a Stoker for about 6 years. She married Daniel on Nathan's Birthday (Sept.4)  2004. They got married in Burlington, Iowa and had a beautiful reception on her uncle's farm.  It was a lovely place filled with lovely people.  Her family is very kind and when her aunt approached me and said, "I'm the family genealogist.  Can I get some information from you about Daniel?"  I felt so happy inside.

 I'm really thankful for in-laws.  They add a nice dimension to our group and make up the deficits.  Erica is very capable and has raised the bar for us in many areas.  I love pictures, and she takes wonderful pictures and then she makes them better.  One Christmas vacation she and Jacob spent many hours combining many shots plus making Aaron appear ( he was on a mission in Korea) in an almost-impossible-to-obtain family photograph.  We get some of our best pictures when she's in town.  I'm glad they're not in Japan any more.

I'm a pretty relaxed housekeeper, and that saved me from insanity when I had lots of babies in the home. But I'm ready to advance to a higher level so I keep my eyes open for ways to improve.  The last time I was at Erica's house she did the most amazing thing.  She opened up the refrigerator, closed it and then took a cloth and wiped off the finger prints.  Enlightened, I asked her, "Do you do that every time?"  She responded, "Do what?"  She didn't even think about it, but now I know why some people's fridge is not mottled with smudges and gunga'd with goo. Actually, not only does her fridge shine, her whole house looks great.

See that shiny chrome? (and the cute baby of course)

She is a dedicated mother and is raising some really sweet boys. Now that they live close to us I get to spend more time with them. Caleb and I enjoy reading Bible stories together, and he asks some very insightful questions that show he had been taught a lot about Jesus. He's also well trained in sharing.  It was so heart-warming when he excitedly said, "Grandma come look in here.  This is where we keep the toys that we're sending to the needy children for Christmas."  Nice job Erica.

Erica is very festive and goes all out to make holidays special.  She planned a great birthday for Caleb this summer and it was fun to be with them.

But of all the celebration skills she possesses, her most inspiring skill has to be her Christmas present stacking.  I didn't even know about present stacking.  We always just put them around randomly to make it look like there are more than there are, and because that's all we know how to do.  The year Erica joined us at yule tide opened my eyes to a brand new glorious Christmas tree world.  I was running around crazy as is par for Christmas Eve.  She asked if she could stack the presents.  I didn't even know what she was talking about but said, "Sure."  Well, what a difference a stack makes. It's a beautiful sight to see, and if you want a Christmas Eve tree to look magical, learn from the best.

Erica's family's very Christmasy Christmas tree and perfect Christmas stack.

Erica, thanks for all you bring to our family.  I love you.  Happy Birthday.

Do you believe in Santa?

You know those kids who never ever go to sleep on Christmas Eve because of the excitement and anticipation of filled stockings and presents on Christmas morning?  I was one of them.  The night was long and painful, and I so envied the children nestled all snug in their bed.  I wanted visions of sugar plums dancing in my head.  You might be interested to know, counting sheep does not work and is actually very hard to do.  Lying super still, ordering myself to sleep, pretending like it's not Christmas, watching the clock, threatening myself, bribing myself, and thinking of something really boring were all futile attempts to solve the problem.

My parents walked an expert line between promoting Santa traditions and telling the truth.  When either of them were asked if there really was a Santa, they replied, "I'm Santa."  In the first place, I knew that it was impossible for them to deliver gifts around the world, and besides they were home with us, and to top it off, my Dad had a job and went to work at the Dental office every day.  So their answer was no help at all.  The magnificent genius came in the great lengths they took to create a Christmas world that Santa definitely came to on the night before Dec. 25.

Their strategy may have been born out of my mother's early discovery of the sad truth.  (You know what it is.  Let's not speak of it more than we have to.)  When she was a very little girl she was looking in her mother's closet in December.  She discovered a package and managed to poke her tiny finger into the corner.  She felt the unmistakable texture of doll hair.  On Christmas morning she opened her present from Santa and realized that the doll in the package was the very same doll she had touched in the closet.  What a disappointing discovery.  It was confirmed every year when the gift tag said, "To Janet From Santa" in her mother's easily recognizable handwriting. My mother did not divulge her knowledge to her mother who sat her down on the bed when she was 10 yrs. old with some sad news.  Her mother was probably surprised when my mom received the news with hardly a care and a little relief.

In the Miller house Santa presents were always wrapped in white tissue paper. Each " to" and " from" was written by someone who wrote with their left hand,  definitely the jolly old elf.  The rule was we couldn't wake up until 6:00 am  Do you know how long it takes to get from 9:00 pm  to 6:00 am?   Excruciating.  When we got up we could look in our stocking and then wake Mom and Dad.  Next  we tore open the gifts from Santa.  We didn't even have to take turns, and my parents were always as surprised as we were.  That's another way I knew they weren't Santa.

Let the opening begin.  Megan, Carrie, Mary, Heidi, Melinda

The older and wiser we got, the trickier they got. I left cookies and milk, of course Santa ate them.  And then came the clincher year.  Mom took a picture of Santa putting presents under the tree...proof.  Undeniable.  When we moved to California and lived in the country there were more and more Santa sightings.  One Christmas Eve, Mom came into our room and said she thought she heard Santa.  Uncontrollable giddiness  unleashed and we rushed to the window.  At the corner of the yard we actually saw, with our own eyes, none other than St. Nick.  There was no sleep to be had that night, but upon reflection I wondered where Dad was during all the excitement.  Guess what happened the next year?  Dad came into our room and told us to look outside.  It was a very effective tradition and one year, I even donned the "suit" and took a walk around the yard.  That left Mom and Dad both in the room with my younger siblings.  What?

I love that they went to such great lengths to be perfect examples of both honesty and fun.  Another concept my parents were sensitive to was the Christmas report at school.  My Dad grew up poor and remembers wondering when he was very young if he didn't get much for Christmas because he was a little naughty.  Then he remembers just feeling a little sad when the other kids boasted of their Christmas haul.  He didn't want his children to be the ones to make the others feel bad so our Santa gifts were nice, but modest.  But there was one present Santa always had to bring because the best Christmases are sure to have... dart guns. Although  none of his daughters ever put that on their Christmas list, it became a sentimental tradition.  My 7 boys, and the girls too, can thank their Grandpa for inspiring Santa to supply them with what has now become a pretty sizable stockpile of  Nerf dart guns.

I believe.

Decking the Halls joyfully...as opposed to obsessively.

I have a love-hate relationship with Christmas.  Obviously, I love the Savior so I love his birthday.  Obviously I love my friends and family so I love spending time with them.  Obviously I love music, decorating, shopping, and cookies, so what's my problem?  I have been trying to figure it out and here's what I came up with.  I don't like how I feel when I'm obsessing.  I don't like it when I get an emotional expectation and laser focus on it and start freaking if my reality doesn't match my dream.  I've always had a little trouble with expectations, but things started really whipping up when I became a mother, specifically a mother at Christmas time.  Mothers are the Christmas magic makers.  We're in charge of the feeling, the traditions, the memories, and the happy Christmas morning.  Couple that with the responsibility of teaching children the joy of giving by providing meaningful service opportunities, and it can lead to a pretty intense holiday season.  Clearly I need to lighten up and relax but, but, but.  I'm working on it.

Susie, Melinda and I opening presents.  I suppose my reality isn't matching my expectations,

I have some wonderful memories of magical Christmas moments, but I also have some not so wonderful memories of frenzied, overwhelmed Christmas moments.  Since I am now 53 I am starting my life's decrescendo, and I feel it is my duty to find balance and the perfect amount of enoughness in my Christmas celebration.

In our family we start the season with decking the halls.  When I was growing up my Nana sent each grandchild a Christmas ornament every year.  I also received one from my parents.  I got married in December so Nana threw me a Christmas ornament shower.  I started married life with a nice little Christmas ornament trousseau.  I wanted to carry the ornament per year tradition on in my family so each of my 9 children has received an ornament every year.  Do you know how many ornaments that is?  Well, the number is staggering and each little 5 cubic inch decoration is packed with memories and emotion.  Some more than others of course, but there's no telling which one will become the most treasured or what feeling will be triggered at its annual re acquaintance.

And lets talk about the traditions of the tree itself.  I grew up on the west coast where the Christmas trees are fragrant.  Every year my parents purchased a real tree, cut a few inches off the trunk and placed it in a stand filled with sugar water.  It was my job to water the tree.  Sometimes I missed a little, but that's okay.  It just absorbed into the tree skirt...or the carpet.  No matter to me and my child self.  The closer we got to Christmas, the more downward turning the bows became.  Little prickly pine needles sprinkled themselves across the Christmasy living room with their frequency increasing as Christmas Day approached.  And I can't forget to mention the excitement of turning the corner towards home with the pervasive thought, "I wonder if the tree has caught fire and is burning our house down.?"

On my first married Christmas I emotionally demanded that we purchase and decorate a Christmas tree.  My husband reasoned that we would be leaving our apartment and spending Christmas with our families so no tree purchase was necessary.  That was the cruelest, scroogiest logic I had ever heard so I prevailed on him until the acquisition was complete.  My tree tantrum continued through the years.  When we lived in Nebraska I ramped up the tradition and requested that we cut our tree from a tree farm.  Out into the bitter cold we went..  For those of you who have not experienced a Nebraska winter, think deep freezer with a fan on high.  I thought it was a great tradition, our little kids running from tree to tree, that shaker machine that attempted to solve the excess needle problem, the festive drive back to town with a tree tied to the top of our car.  My husband went along and was dutifully helpful, but never happy about the expense and effort required.  One of the last summers of Paul's PhD program found me at a garage sale with an artificial tree for 5 dollars.  It was a huge compromise in my Christmas tradition value system, but as a gift to my husband I spent the 5 dollars with a plan to skip the "real Christmas tree tantrum" until graduation. The season went splendidly.  No forking out 30-40 dollars from our December budget, no precarious sugar water filled tree stands, no needles, no fire. There was only a twinge of longing for traditions past.  Artificial tree it is.  I hate it when Paul's right.

Year 1

As I traveled through life  I found myself loving the magnificence of  homes transfigured into Christmas awesomeness.  These homes belonged to the most festive of women.  I decided that's what I wanted to be when I grew up so I began my Christmas craft journey.  I faithfully attended  the Saturday Christmas Craft day when the girls get together and eat and talk and knock out about 6 new Christmas decorations.  I  learned to tole paint and bought a saw and made stuff.  I gave decorations and received decorations, bought greenery and ribbon at Michael's for 50% off until my home was filled to the brim with red and green.  But lately I've noticed that it makes me feel a bit claustrophobic, not to mention that when I decorate, I obsess.  My brain gets into task mode and everyone knows, don't talk to mom right now, she's not normal.

So let it be noted that on this, my 53rd Christmas, I am working to approach all the aspects of hall-decking with joyfulness and peace and diminishing obsessiveness.  We didn't decorate on the Saturday after Thanksgiving as dictated by tradition.  We nonchalantly got around to it 6 days later.  Sure, I had my dream of merrily decorating the tree as a family while sipping eggnog all evening.  But when my son informed me that he had plans with his friends and I felt my picture being altered, I reminded myself that flexibility is essential to joy and asked for 30 minutes.  It was a very nice 30 minutes. Okay, I did freak out when someone who shall remain nameless tried to sneak away to read his book, but he saw the fire in my eyes and returned to the decorating party.  (I'm still developing.)

It seems like we just took last year's tree down about a week ago.  And I'm pretty sure I took down the 2010 Christmas tree the week before that.  So with a clear recollection of the inconvenience of this activity I told the kids to only put up their favorite ornaments.  When I said "favorite" my picture was "beautiful", but my reality was "favorite" so I thought, "flexibility."

Gabe's favorite.  He made it for himself.  It'sitting in prime tree realty at eye level in the front

I asked Rebecca, "Why doesn't my tree look like the  pretty tree in the lobby we visited Saturday."
"Because it didn't have first grade handmade ornaments."  Now that she mentioned it, I think
my tree's the prettiest in the world.


Next task...joyfully decorating.  I'm not gonna lie, I did get into my "not very fun to be with" task mode, but I wanted to attain a "keeping Christmas without excess" look, and that takes a lot of thinking.  I ditched much of the greenery as I wasn't quite ready to be taking that down again either, but chose my nativities and the decorations that still warm my heart, mostly because of the giver of these gifts.

This awesome nativity came home with Jacob from his mission in Peru.
It received a little damage on the trip, but Eliza carefully repaired it.
Now it reminds me of 2 people that I love.  

While I was struggling with what to put where, I did have a little worker by my side setting an example of a really nice balance between getting the job done and keeping the real spirit of Christmas.  My daughter volunteered to put up the stockings, (my favorite Christmas decorations).  She calmly calculated the distance between  the rungs on the stairs, ran into trouble, recalculated, found success.  She put each stocking in chronological order, chose a stocking for new additions through marriage or birth and tied them to the stair rail.  But sometimes she would play on the piano, or talk cheerfully to her family members or just make the home a happier place, basically enjoying the Christmas season.

And the next day when Gabe came home from school he said, "Don't you just love coming home to a Christmas tree?"  Actually I do, I just need to be reminded of joy sometimes.