Twelve Days of Christmas--Part Four by Missy Tippens

Dear Daniel,

I have a confession. I'm feeling blue today--disappointed. I've been thinking so much about our first twelve days together that today, when I heard a bird calling, I thought maybe, just maybe, you'd come home to surprise me and were making bird calls outside the window.

I know, silly of me. And actually, I have to admit it ended up being a good day. Since the Mayor declared the village Christmas theme in your honor, everyone in town has been so sweet. Today, the Lipscomb family surprised me by bringing lunch. And yes, they had remembered the story of our fourth date and were outside making the bird calls. We ate together and talked about you all afternoon. Were your ears burning?

Do you remember how you embarrassed me on that date by blowing that silly bird whistle each time the audience applauded at the concert? Then as soon as people would start looking around to see where the noise was coming from, you'd hide the whistle? I know people thought I had done it because my face had to have been beet red. You were so funny and made me laugh again.

Oh, I miss your humor so much. I miss the silly things you always do. And yes, I even miss those embarrassing moments, because I know you were stepping outside your comfort zone, trying to win me over.

You had won me over for sure by that night. And even though I was already falling in love with you, I couldn't resist teasing you, telling you that birds--such as partridges and French hens and turtle doves and calling birds-- were not the way to a woman's heart. That jewelry would be much more effective. And you looked into my eyes, so serious, took hold of my hand, and told me you couldn't possibly consider such an intimate gift until the fifth date. I don't think I've ever told you how your touch made my heart stutter. Daniel, dear, you'll always take my breath away. Even when we're old and gray and Seth is grown with his own children, you'll be the one who makes my heart beat faster.

Oh, Daniel, I'm so proud of you, but please stay safe. I can't wait until we can be together again. I know it's going to be difficult to deliver Seth while you're so far away. But I pray for the moment I can see you with our baby in your arms.

All my love,
Joy

The “new black”?

You hear a lot about “the black moment” in romance. That point where all seems lost and you can’t imagine how you’ll get from here to the happy ending. The place where the guy realizes his true heroic nature, where the heroine discovers she’s stronger than she ever knew. The moment we all reach for the chocolate and tissues...

Black moments happen in real life...their reality is what makes the best stories true and powerful. And when my teenage son was diagnosed with cancer last month, I got my own personal black moment. Like in every one of our stories you’ve ever read, life sort of exploded. And imploded. Lots of things expanded beyond my capacity to cope, while other things boiled down to the truest of essentials. It was a great lesson in life, friendship, family. People came out of the woodwork to support my son and our entire family. I’m glad to have my children--who are just really putting “feet on their faith,”--see the Body of Christ doing what it’s supposed to do. And not just deacons wielding casseroles (although we’ve had that, too)--we’ve had grace and mercy and compassion extended to us in spectacular amounts. Folks showing up in hospital elevators just when we needed companionship. Phone calls coming at perfect moments. Complete strangers all over the country praying for my son. We saw legions of heroes in action on our behalf.

Still, in all this, I could not shut off the storyteller inside me. During those long days in the hospital, I discovered what I most needed was not my knitting (I actually reached a point where I couldn’t knit--who knew I could get to that place??) or chocolate or coffee, but visitors. Companions to tell the story of what was happening to our family. Because story is how I make sense of life, how I put it in a context that has any hope of making sense for me. Story connects, remembers, explains, and explores when facts are too hard to handle.

My son is expected to make a full recovery. Hodgkins Lymphoma is highly treatable and highly curable, even if chemo is a long uphill journey for someone so young (or anyone, for that matter). But oh, the story he will have as a survivor! The story we will have as a family! I could fill twelve books already.

So here’s where I climb onto my soapbox. If you’re reading this, do two things:

1) Donate blood. My son’s used dozens of units already, will use dozens more before he's done, and we’re deeply grateful for every soul who shared their blood with our precious child--or any precious body in danger and in need.

2) Donate to Ronald McDonald House Charities. Whether or not you think fast food is a good thing, I’m here to tell you the Ronald McDonald House was the most blessed thing in our lives for many of those long nights. There’s a little box underneath nearly every McDonald’s drive-thru window, so don’t just throw your change in there next time you grab a Big Mac, toss in a a couple of bucks in honor of my little hero. Or support any children’s hospital near you--miracles happen inside those walls.

Love of Books

Merrillee here. My mother started me on my love affair with books. She subscribed me to the "Weekly Reader" book club, and she used to read some of the books to my brothers and me at bedtime. Old Bones the Wonder Horse was my favorite.

Books opened a whole new world to me. I grew up in small towns in South Dakota and Montana, but I read books set in all parts of the country. Even though I don't remember the name of the book set in New York City, it introduced me to a place where there was very little grass and a lot of sidewalks. Who knew that people lived in high rise apartments and didn't have front yards. Another book, No Children, No Pets was set in Florida. The book talked about a family who moved to an area where people didn't want children or pets, and they had both. There was also a hurricane in the story. It was a totally different world than the one I knew. Now I understand first hand, since I live in Florida.

Finally, as a part of this blog, I'd like to think I have passed on my love of books. I have one daughter who is a librarian and the other is passing on her love of books to her daughter. Here are a couple of photos of my granddaughter and her books.