The heat stole my focus

blogIMG_0049It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Papa and I recently took a well-deserved vacation, something we haven’t been able to do for a few years. We decided where we wanted to venture, plotted our route on the map, and planned a tentative itinerary for each day.

Prior to leaving, I examined and re-confirmed weather forecasts for the areas we were going to visit. Why? Not because I was fearful it would rain. Instead, I wanted to ascertain that the weather would be mild. Because you see, I’m a fair-weather kind of gal.

I absolutely despise hot, humid temperatures. They make me wilt. They make me melt. They make me exceedingly cranky. That’s why generally, summer is not my favorite season.

So I was truly hopeful that the weather forecast I kept checking was accurate and wouldn’t change. Yep, I was that focused on it.

And of course, you know what happened, don’t you? The weather changed drastically. Temperatures that were supposed to settle down in a cozy, comfy mode of pleasant mid-70 degree Fahrenheit weather instead flared and fired up to the mid-90’s.

When the thermometer hit 95 degrees, my face flushed beet-red and my body temperature gauge felt totally out of control. I literally began to drip perspiration, dreaded all the outdoor walking we had planned to do, and thought I’d just turn into spontaneous combustion right there on the city streets of Boston.

That’s when I lost it. My brain fried, my misery escalated with each soaring degree of temperature, and I totally lost my focus.

And that just happens to have been the photo challenge last week – out of focus.

That perfectly described me – out of focus. I couldn’t concentrate on the historical sights we planned to see.  I couldn’t enjoy the city we had looked forward to visit so much. I couldn’t even dredge up the energy to take photos.  (Now you know how far out of focus I was!)

All I could think about was how scorching hot it felt. How the sweat stung my eyes, dripped off my nose, and ran down my back like a waterfall. How I couldn’t wait to find some cool, air-conditioned spot to just sit and vegetate and try desperately to get my focus back. Even Papa, history buff that he is, realized his enthusiasm was draining as well.

So we succumbed to being senior citizens who can’t take the heat. Folks of a certain age whose focus, energy, and gumption lagged as the roasted heat of the day took its toll.

We took a trolley tour of the city of Boston. We still saw all the sights from our shaded trolley seats but I didn’t get many pictures to prove it. And I just didn’t care.

After the tour ended, we decided to take a harbor cruise in hopes of cooling off a little more. It helped somewhat, but I found myself still…well…out of focus.

We opted to head out of the city and stop along some other points of interest on our way to Rhode Island and Connecticut.  The heat still followed us for a while, but I regained motivation when we drove the entire length of Cape Cod, where I snapped the above photo.  

Hot temperatures were like that beach fence separating me from the cooling waves of the Atlantic. The heat, causing me to become out of focus, distracted me from enjoying a couple vacation days.

But once I regained my focus on appreciating our vacation, the rest of the trip was the balm it was meant to be. Ocean breezes always calm me down like a slathering of cool aloe vera gel on sun-scorched skin.

And oh, yeah, guess who forgot her sunscreen?

“Getting distracted by trifles is the easiest thing in the world… Focus on your main duty.” ~ Epictetus

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

 

Heritage wall

blogIMG_9851 (3)My heritage runs deep here – this place outside of a small town in this particular state.

This place where both my parents were born and their parents and their parents…and so on…and so on.

This place where I can travel down the road about four miles or so and visit not only my parents’ grave site, but also those of some of my ancestors. 

We can trace my ancestry back to the 1600’s and 1700’s when my predecessors arrived in the “New World” and eventually settled here. I’m not an avid genealogist like some folks are, but I do enjoy knowing where and from whom I came. 

My father was the keeper of that sort of information and long before he passed away, he fashioned a notebook for each of his three daughters containing family history. Included were copies of old photos and a family tree for both sides of his and my mother’s families with birth and death dates.

What’s missing though are the family stories of those who came before me. Those I only know by name and vital statistics. Those who were my great-grandparents and ancestors even further back.  I know when they were born and when they left this earth, but I don’t know much else about them.

What kind of folks were they? What did they do for a living? How important was faith to them? What color were their hair, eyes, etc.? Did they have dreams for their children that were bigger than ones they had for themselves? Did they have any musical or artistic talent? What was their favorite food? Did they vote? And what interesting stories could be told about their lives?

This week’s photo challenge theme is heritage.

And I wish I knew more about mine. If only I had had the forethought to ask my parents more questions about our family heritage before they passed away, although what they knew was probably a little sparse since their grandparents were deceased when they were young.

Just like mine. All of my grandparents were gone by the time I passed my 10th birthday.

What was my grandma’s favorite color? I don’t know.  All I do know is a relatively small cache of memories I have of my mother’s parents since my grandfather died the same year as grandma. But I remember Grandma when I pull out her handmade quilt that still emits an aroma that reminds me of her and sometimes causes me to shed a few tears. 

My paternal grandmother died when I was an infant, so all I have are photos of her, no memories. My paternal grandfather passed when Dad was just a baby, so he had no memories of him either, just a couple of photos.

What exactly did grandpa do with his carpentry skills? I don’t know. But I do know his wooden tool box now gathers dust in my basement and I’ve contemplated what I should do with it.

Heritage is important to preserve, especially for our children and grandchildren. Perhaps one day, our grandchildren will reminisce and wonder more about their Nana and Papa.

Perhaps not.

But I still want to leave a heritage for them anyway. Not just one of the items we owned or one with special significance, but our life stories as well or the tale that accompanies a particular item that has been passed down from one generation to the next.   

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My children’s grandparents as newlyweds

Several years ago, Papa and I moved our family of five back here to the homeland when my mother was dying of cancer. Prior to our move and as a farewell gift, a sweet friend presented a book, entitled “A Grandparent’s Book,” to me. 

Questions written as if a grandchild were asking them fill the book with spaces for handwritten answers. I’m grateful now that I took the time to ask both my mother and father to complete it before they passed away, although I realized later that Dad didn’t finish it all.

Reading through it provides a little insight into my parents’ lives from young children through adulthood, but it still lacks the sweetness and poignancy of those family stories.

I too completed the blanks in a spiral bound book for my children called “A Parent’s Book,” but again, it lacks the in-depth picture you gain from listening to someone’s history in person, told in their own voice, from their own memories. 

I once read somewhere that when we die we become stories in the minds of other people, but what happens when those stories aren’t passed down?

Our heritages are lost when they aren’t recorded or at least written down. In some cases I suppose even the written accounts are lost when descendants find them unimportant and toss them in the trash bin.

So I think it’s vital to share the value of family history with our children and grandchildren.

Because someday, when they are mature in years and their forbears are long gone, they may wonder, “Did Nana ever write a blog and what on earth did she ever write about?”

 “How will our children know who they are if they do not know where they came from?” ~ Unknown

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Warning, warning!

blogIMG_5956It lurks out there…everywhere.

It may be in the form of a blood-thirsty shark just cruising along the shoreline looking for its next victim. That is, if you believe the plot in the old movie, Jaws.

It may be in the dark.

Or in the woods.

Or maybe right next door.

It may be in the form of a horrific natural event like a tornado, a hurricane, a tsunami.

Or in climate change.

Or maybe just a snowstorm in your neighborhood, so run out quickly beforehand and grab up the milk, bread, and toilet paper.

It may be in the form of nuclear weapons aimed at your country.

Or in the politics of the land.

Or maybe in your own home.

It’s danger. And the world’s a dangerous place. Or so, some would have us believe. Every day it seems we’re bombarded with the message that it’s dangerous just to exist on this planet. I see and hear it on the television, on the radio, read it in print media and on the internet.

It’s dangerous, I tell you! Be afraid. Be fearful. Wring your hands and cry, “What is this world coming to?”

It’s this week’s photo challenge Danger! – and it reminds me of a science fiction TV show I used to watch as a kid called Lost in Space

In it, the Robinson family were space travelers whose spaceship was sabotaged causing them to land in a different universe where danger always lurked. And there was a trusty robot to alert them to peril at every turn by droning, “Warning, warning” and “Danger, danger!”   

Seems like the robots are still out there.  Warning, warning! Danger, danger!

To be certain, there are real and present dangers. That’s a part of life. But we can’t live this life constantly in fear. You know what President Franklin D. Roosevelt said in the midst of the Great Depression: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”  

Fear is crippling and makes us indecisive. Realizing true danger should cause us to take action, not just freeze in fear. I know how that happens. Many years ago when Papa and I were newlyweds and living in rattlesnake country, we were walking on a wooded path when a snake slithered out in front of us. I totally froze to my spot in fear and literally could not move, could not run to safety, could not even think fast enough to react.

And you know what I needed? Help from another human being. I needed my husband to grab my arm and pull me to safety with him.

Whether great danger lurks ahead of me, I have no way of knowing. Whether all of the danger cited now days is real, I also have no way of knowing for certain. But I do know this: often times danger comes from ourselves, from our evil hearts and minds.

And I hope and pray that when and if threat comes our way, we spring into action to help one another through whatever we must face or endure.  

I hope our hearts are open and our actions unselfish because really, we are one big family. The family of humanity. And if we can’t help our fellow humans in perilous times or circumstances, we really are doomed to danger.

“The great danger for family life, in the midst of any society whose idols are pleasure, comfort and independence, lies in the fact that people close their hearts and become selfish.” ~ Pope John Paul II

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Forest or trees?

blogIMG_8321Sometimes you really can’t see the forest for the trees.

One of the many truly amazing sights our family encountered while living in the Pacific Northwest was the dense, thick forests there. 

Moving from the mostly plains of the Midwest to that area of the country, I remember well how awestruck I was the first time I saw the size of the massive trees there.

After stepping off the plane on my first trip to the Pacific Northwest for a house-hunting mission, I vividly recall marveling at the colossal Douglas fir trees we saw as Papa and I ventured around the area in search of our new home.  

Once we moved there and settled in, we took our children on many excursions to explore our new domicile and again I marveled at the density of the forests.

As a native northeasterner, forests were nothing new to me. In my childhood, my family spent a lot of time in our modest “camp” near one of the national forest areas of our home state. So I’d seen thick forests. But not like the giants of the Pacific Northwest or the immense Redwoods of Northern California, which we also visited.

I wish now that I had taken the time to photograph those dense forests we visited, but after looking through all of my pictures taken with old-school film (long before digital cameras), I don’t have a shot that I feel does enough justice for this week’s photo challenge – dense.   

So the more recent photo above (a stand of bamboo at a zoo last summer) will have to do, although it is nothing like the thickness of the Pacific Northwest forests. This picture does show density, but not like the almost impenetrable forests ensconced in my memory. Those trees simply take your breath away.

But it’s true you can’t really see the forest for the trees. The trees capture your attention in such a way that you might miss a less commanding sight right there in the forest.

Sometimes things are so dense that you just can’t see your way through, just like those thick, concentrated forests. And often I feel like I’m just as dense.

Like when I just can’t see a solution to a problem even when it’s staring me in the face. Is it really because I’m dumber than a box of rocks? Or is just a case of stubbornness? Not wanting to face the problem or the solution? Maybe even pride?

I’m not sure but I know one thing for certain. When I can’t see the forest for the trees, I need to stop looking at the trees, no matter how glorious they may seem. The answer may just be on the forest floor right in front of me.

“Pride works frequently under a dense mask, and will often assume the garb of humility.”  ~ Adam Clarke (1760 or 1762-1832), British theologian and Biblical scholar

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

King of the hill

blogIMG_8315When you were a kid, did you ever play the game, King of the Hill?

If you’re not familiar with this rough and tumble playground game, let me enlighten you. The object is to be the one person who is able to say atop a “hill,” whether it be an actual mound of dirt or just a large pile of objects. In order to stay atop, you need to be strong and be capable of warding off those who try to push or shove you off the hill.

That game was always just a bit too physical for me. I didn’t particularly like getting pushed or shoved around (still don’t), and I was a scrawny little kid who just couldn’t fend for myself enough to keep a kingdom long. I was much happier playing hopscotch or jumping rope on the school playground than being in a shoving free for all.

King of the Hill.  In addition to being a childhood game, it’s also a metaphor for being the winner of any kind of competition or activity where you actually displace the previous winner.

Although I can be just as competitive as the next guy, I’m not exactly a king of the hill kind of person.  To me, it just seems like being a bully, or at least a pushy enough person to get your way, even when it comes to a physical altercation. Not my idea of winning. 

But you can be a king of the hill in other ways. You can experience those mountain top feelings by achieving your goals.  Or finally finishing something you always wanted to do. Reaching a new plateau in your personal life, your travels, or even in your faith can be one of those king of the hill moments.

Or it just might be that feeling of being in love like the old Carpenters’ song from the 1970’s:

I’m on the top of the world lookin’ down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I’ve found ever since you’ve been around
Your love’s put me at the top of the world.

This week’s photo challenge theme is ‘atop.’ And as usual, my mind starts to wander over a myriad of thoughts about that word.

I haven’t been atop that many high places. I’ve taken plenty of trips by airplane, so in essence I’ve been atop in terms of altitude. And I’ve been to the top of a few high spots like Mt. Mitchell, the highest peak of the Appalachian Mountains and east of the Mississippi River, in North Carolina at 6,683 feet.

I’ve even visited one of the highest towns in the United States. Silverton, Colorado in the San Juan Mountain range of the Rocky Mountains, has an elevation of 9,308 feet, although it’s not the tallest spot in the Rockies.

I’ve climbed the steps to the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty but didn’t make it to the top of her crown. Several times I’ve enjoyed the magnificent view of our fair city Pittsburgh both during the day and at night from atop Mount Washington, which isn’t really a mountain but a steep hill.

Still the view is amazing atop. And isn’t that the thing about being atop a mountain or a hill or a wonderful feeling? It’s amazing.

My oldest daughter and son-in-law made a week-long trek up Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa a couple years ago. The journey up the mountain through several climate zones wasn’t easy and the altitude at 19,341 feet was a bit disorienting but the few minutes they were able to bask in the surrounding view at daybreak from atop the summit of that mountain was unforgettable.

Since then, they’ve made a bucket list to visit the highest point in every state of the United States. So far, I think they’ve completed 13 of those. For them, it’s a goal worthy of achieving. That feeling of reaching and accomplishing that which you set out to do.

It’s a King of the Hill kind of moment.

And that makes me consider what makes me feel like I’m king of the hill? Often times, it’s an experience I encounter as I worship my God or read His Word. Other times, I feel like the king of the hill when I’m happily surrounded by my family and loved ones. Or when I encounter something new and exciting, visit someplace I’ve never been before.

Simple things, really. But those are the things that make me feel atop of the world. How about you?

“Any road followed precisely to its end leads precisely nowhere. Climb the mountain just a little bit to test that it’s a mountain. From the top of the mountain, you cannot see the mountain.” ~ Frank Herbert

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Kicking shadows to the curb

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Just me and my shadow strolling down the avenue.

When I read last week’s photo challenge theme, that song lyric instantly popped into my head.  You guessed it, the theme is shadow.

At the mere mention of certain words, my music synapses fire up overtime and lines from songs immediately sing through my mind.  Honestly, does anyone else do that? I once had a co-worker who experienced the same thing and we used to try to stump one another with words that we couldn’t think of songs to.  It made for interesting car rides anyhow.

Although Judy Garland sang the song, “Me and My Shadow,” in the late ‘50’s, it’s the Frank Sinatra/Sammy Davis Jr duet that I mostly remember from the 1960’s. If you’re not sure of the song I’m talking about, you can hear/watch their version here:

“Me and my shadow,  all alone and feeling blue.”  Aren’t those lyrics the truth sometimes? Often when you are all alone in the middle of a difficult circumstance, you tend to feel bluer than blue (cue the Bobby Vinton song: Blue on blue, heartache on heartache) because you have no one to talk to, no one to confide in, no one to ask advice from, no one to commiserate with. And you just feel sorry for yourself enough to have a pity party and cry. (Cue the song: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to).

When you’re in that shade of blue, it seems the shadows just envelop you. Everywhere you look, you’re surrounded by them.  I’ve felt that way enough times, not really in the throes of depression but just in the shadows of feeling a tad blue. Like a little dark cloud keeps following me around and parking itself over my head, casting its shadow over me.

But you know what sends the shadows where they belong? Behind you? The sun. Oh boy, more song lyrics just fired up in my brain: here comes the sun…sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy…I could go on and on…on the sunny side of my street.

Seriously though, being an optimist means you’re always looking at the bright side and that’s what I strive for. Even when one unfortunate happenstance after another befalls me, I keep looking for the sunshine.

And it’s there. Maybe not physically because we are in the gray, bleak last days of winter. And maybe not circumstantially either because mishaps continue to come our way.  (Ask me about the three-hour ordeal hubby and daughter went through in the dead of night on a snowy, unplowed country road when daughter’s car got stuck while driving home from her late night hospital shift and Papa went to rescue her.)

It’s a  continuous story called, “that’s life.” Cue the Frank Sinatra song lyrics again: That’s life, that’s what people say; you’re riding high in April, shot down in May.

But like that song says: I’ve been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing. Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.

How? Because spiritually, I seek the light. And that light shines brightest and best in my Savior, Jesus. The Son. Because when I am all alone and feeling blue and life knocks my feet out from under me, I do have someone to talk to. Jesus. He always listens.  Always hears. Always promises to be by my side. Always gives me hope.

My faith, my prayers, my reading of God’s Word – those are the rays of light that kick my shadows to the curb.

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you.” ~  Walt Whitman

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

Solitude’s good for the soul

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“I’m not anti-social. I’m pro-solitude.” ~ unknown 

I’m killing two birds with one stone today.

You know, accomplishing two things at the same time because it’s convenient to do both.

It just so happens that the weekly photo challenge theme and also Day 6’s theme in Developing Your Eye photography workshop (that I’m determined to finish) was “solitude.”

Two birds exactly the same and I’m going to hurl my stone and put them both to rest.

But for a minute, I’m going to digress, and I’m hopeful it will bring me back around to this theme. The mental picture I get of hurling a stone at two birds causes me to remember a funny story. And maybe I can somehow relate it to solitude. 

Many years ago when I was just a teen, my mother was continually disgusted by a solitary skunk who frequented our yard. We lived in the country where pesky animals like rabbits and deer liked to use my mom’s garden as a one-stop salad bar.

But the skunk really didn’t fall into that category.  Mom just didn’t like the stinky thing in our yard and I believe she also worried that our tom cat would tangle with it and come back to the house smelling to high heaven one day.

So one summer evening, the skunk appeared in our yard yet again.  Since it was after dinner, Dad was home from work and the three of us were sitting on the side porch looking out at the majority of our expansive nearly four acre yard.

Mom spied the skunk and said to Dad, “Go get your shotgun and shoot that skunk. I don’t want him in the yard.”

Dad replied, “He’s not hurting anything. Actually, skunks eat the grubs in the grass, so he’s a good thing.”

Dad didn’t budge, so Mom decided to take matters in her own hands.  She grabbed a brick that was lying around in the garage, and with that in hand, walked towards the skunk while Dad and I watched.  

“She’s going to get sprayed,” Dad commented shaking his head.  I nodded agreement, yet watched fascinated as my mom exhibited enough courage to head towards a skunk with only a brick for a weapon.

She got within a few feet of that skunk, wound up her brick-toting arm and hurled that brick at the critter with all her might, hitting him smack dab on the head.  He fell right over, instantly dead, while Dad and I stood amazed and speechless.

From then on, my Dad teasingly called my mom “dead-eye.”

My mother was one of a kind. She was an only child, born to older parents, so I imagine she had her fair share of being alone in life. And that brings my thoughts back around to that theme of solitude – the state of being alone.

When her elderly parents both reached the point where they no longer could live unassisted, Mom didn’t have any siblings to rely on for help. So we moved into the larger house where my grandparents lived in order for Mom to take care of them. By herself.

When they both passed away the same year, even though she had my dad, my sisters and their husbands, and me as family, I know she felt that sense of solitude again. 

My mother enjoyed anything she could create with her hands and many of her hobbies involved moments of solitude like quilting, sewing, crocheting, even cooking and baking, which she liked to do by herself. She usually rejected any offers of help in the kitchen because I think she did enjoy her moments of being alone.

Often we think of solitude as a lonely way of life, but I don’t believe it is. Sometimes we need a period of being apart from others. Being alone. In solitude. To think. To pray. To mull things over. To heal.

A bit of solitude can do wonders for your soul. I’m pretty sure my mother knew that too.

“Solitude is not a way of running away from life … from our feelings. On the contrary. This is the time we sort them out, air them, get over them, and go on without the burden of yesterday.” ~Joan Chittister (The Gift of Years: Growing Old Gracefully

©2017 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

We wait

blogimg_6827-2This week’s WordPress photo challenge, “anticipation,” is appropriate for the week leading up to Christmas.

Anticipation.  Something we look forward to. Something we wait for.

Anticipation. We wait. 

When you’re a child and your family follows the custom of jolly old St. Nick visiting your house via the chimney on Christmas Eve to fill your stockings and load up the floor beneath the tree with gifts, this photo definitely personifies ‘anticipation,’ especially when that plate is loaded with homemade cookies and that mug is filled with milk.

Anticipation. We wait.

It’s what we believers in Christ do as we celebrate the Advent Season leading up to Christmas Day. We wait. We anticipate that holy day to celebrate the most miraculous gift of all to all. A Savior born into this world named Jesus Christ.

Anticipation. We wait.

And even though our Savior came to earth as a wee babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a lowly manger long ago, we still wait.

With anticipation. We wait. Why? Because someday He’s coming back to this earth in all His glory. That will be a day worth waiting for. 

“Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater. Anticipation is born of hope. Indeed it is hope’s finest expression.” ~ Steven L. Peck

©2016 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com

That’s easy for you to say

FBIMG_0313Way to go Word Press photo challenge! Just as the Christmas season starts ramping up big time, you announce that this week’s challenge is relax.

Relax, you say. Just mosey around looking for a photo to capture that encapsulates the word relax. Uh-huh. In December. The busiest month of the year. Three weeks before Christmas. The crazy rush season.

Relax.  You only have a to-do list a mile long. Shopping to finish. Gift wrapping to ensue. Christmas cards to get in the mail. But first stand in the long line at the post office to purchase stamps.  And oh, yes, finish writing that annual Christmas letter to insert in the cards.

But relax, you say. When there’s holly to haul out and Christmas storage bins littering the house. When the greenery and twinkle lights must deck the halls inside and outside must also be spruced up with strings of tangled and probably non-working lights as well as holiday finery.

Relax.  While the Christmas tree stands naked in the living room and scads of ornaments await to adorn it. And each ornament invokes memories from this place or that.  From this child or that one. From this family vacation or that trip.  And you want to take the time to savor it all but….

Relax, you say. There’s only the Christmas dinner menu to decide upon. And major grocery shopping list to make. And then to brave the crowds at the supermarket.  And oh, yes, cookie baking days to plan.

Relax. Chase after a nearly two year-old. Keep her entertained with Christmas stories and playtime. Chase her away from the Christmas tree which she tries to re-decorate. Follow her around the house plugging in all the lights she wants to see just because when they’re off, she cries with dismay, “Oh, no!!”

Relax, you say. When the spaces fill up on your calendar faster than you can utter the words of Tiny Tim, “And God bless us, everyone!”  When you’re anything but relaxed, and that’s why there’s now a doctor appointment in the works.  And somehow, someway, you have to attempt to squeeze in a hair appointment because really, the mop on top of your head that resembles hair is way, way out of control.

Relax. When you’re on pins and needles awaiting that phone call from your son and daughter-in-love saying they’re heading to labor and delivery  because your second grandbaby is making her arrival. And you must determine when you can gather the family together to make the long distance trip to meet the little miss and cradle this beloved one in your arms for the first time.

Relax, you say. Find time to capture a photograph of relaxation? Really? Maybe if it was in the middle of summer or spring or even fall, you could do so.  But now?

Not happening. So my way of coping right now with this photo challenge is to delve back into my photo archives for the one photo I can think of that encourages everyone to just relax – especially this time of year. Unfortunately, I’ve published the photo above here in my blog before, but maybe, just maybe, Mama’s Empty Nest readers won’t remember it.

Relax.  I want to. I need to. I should de-stress and not frazzle my last nerve. I want to be calm and collected as we enter the Christmas season.

Relax, you say. Okay, I’ve admitted it.  I want to relax. Because my focus this season should be on the reason my family celebrates Christmas. Because of a Savior. Because of God’s greatest gift to us.

Because the world won’t collapse if I don’t accomplish every single thing on my Christmas to-do list. But I would collapse into utter despair without hope if it weren’t for my faith in Jesus.

So I will relax and trust in Him.

I will relax and spend time with Him in prayer and reading of His Word.

I will relax and enjoy my family and friends, not the trappings of a ‘perfect’ Christmas.

And I will toss my to-do list. (Okay, at least I’m going to try!)

“The time to relax is when you don’t have time for it.” ~ Sydney J. Harris

©2016 mamasemptynest.wordpress.com