The shadow of Christmas

The shadow of Christmas hangs heavy in my home. The soft glow radiates beauty from the branches of the tree. Like a million stars in the heavens, the intensity of majestic glory shines from the tree. I see the tiny treasures hanging from the bows; each carrying a story of their past. It is a collection of my life, on this tree. Tiny footprints, turned ornament to capture a time gone by too fast. A snowman in a hot air balloon from my childhood tree, holds on to the legacy of a family broken early on. Intricately fashioned pieces from around the world, carefully brought to my home by my husband’s parents of places I may never go. The memorial ornament, carved in glass, of my mother’s birth and death. This year, 4 new ornaments became mine: A moose glass, a funny memory of my childhood of watching National Lampoons Christmas Vacation; a sparkling nativity scene, from Kemah, the place I was for my father’s memorial; a cowboy boot, that will become the memorial ornament for my father; and a carved nativity, simple and fascinating, adorning my tree with the true meaning of Christmas.

It glows in the darkness of my home. I feel its warmth in the very core of my soul. I breathe in the legacy of the tree. Many stories rise up about the tree on Christmas. Christians have scorned the presence of the tree as pagan. I cannot buy into such a fallacy, as the tree is but a creation of the living God and the ornaments a pop-up book of memories for my family. Christmas traditions and celebrations are but an adoration of the coming of the Savior; Emmanuel. In fact, advent is exactly that: the arrival of something important or awaited. Of course there are many pagan holidays and traditions that surround the Christmas season, but that is to be expected, since Satan himself has tried to destroy the very life of our Savior. The tradition is what is created in the heart of man, as a reflection of what is inside. If pride and selfishness is what motivates a tradition, then it can become pagan. However, if love and family and joy and remembrance of our Savior is at the heart of what motivates a tradition, it is hard pressed to call it pagan. So many traditions and celebrations were practiced by the Jews to remember something that the Lord did for them, so they would not forget. The Christmas tree, standing in my living room, is such a memorial. A reminder of times filled with love and family. A time when, even though brokenness ruled my childhood home, the tree brought us together with love and laughter, if only for a moment.

I am reminded of the time when we had no money to buy a tree. I had a 2 foot artificial tree in my collection of decorations and knew this would be all we would have. With three small children, my husband and I carefully crafted the story of our Savior around the humble little tree. Sharing the story of a king who was born in a barn, not a palace; and how we need to be thankful for what we have, no matter how little of a package it comes in. I had planned to have several home parties at my house to earn enough credits to get free things to give as gifts to my family. During one of those parties, a woman I had recently met, inquired of our tiny tree. I shared the story of Christmas and how we were thankful for even the humblest of trees. The next day, my doorbell rang. I opened the door to an intrusion of pine. In came the green beauty, propped up in the corner of my home, lingering a scent of Christmas wonder that was rooted in the heart of love. We decorated that tree with more delight than I we had ever experienced before. Lights adorned the branches, lighting up the bows of majestic splendor. Ornaments carefully placed, the topper given its place of honor on the highest point of the tree. It is only a tree, but it holds in its presence the exquisite grandeur of grace and love.

It is 3 days after Christmas, yet my heart is not ready to let it go. I am not ready to leave the celebration behind me. I want to rest in the legacy of this time of year. I want to relish in the sights and sounds the season has to offer. The house looks so full and stately with all the decorations around. The pine and lights and flowers and candles and nativities frame the walls of my house. Cards sent to me from family and friends are greeting cards of life that share a story of health and prosperity. I do not want to pack up my treasures hanging from the tree and take down the lights that gently glow in the night. I do not want to end the season that brings such joy to my depths. I look at the tree and wonder at its origin. The legends that surround its birth at Christmas are fascinating and intriguing:

 Legends of the Christmas Tree:

Many legends exist about the origin of the Christmas tree. One is the story of Saint Boniface, an English monk who organized the Christian Church in France and Germany. One day, as he traveled about, he came upon a group of pagans gathered around a great oak tree about to sacrifice a child to the god Thor. To stop the sacrifice and save the child's life Boniface felled the tree with one mighty blow of his fist. In its place grew a small fir tree. The saint told the pagan worshipers that the tiny fir was the Tree of Life and stood the eternal life of Christ.

Another legend holds that Martin Luther, a founder of the Protestant faith, was walking through the forest one Christmas Eve. As he walked he was awed by the beauty of millions of stars glimmering through the branches of the evergreen trees. So taken was he by this beautiful sight that he cut a small tree and took it home to his family. To recreate that same starlight beauty he saw in the wood, he placed candles on all its branches.

Yet another legend tells of a poor woodsman who long ago met a lost and hungry child on Christmas Eve. Though very poor himself, the woodsman gave the child food and shelter for the night. The woodsman woke the next morning to find a beautiful glittering tree outside his door. The hungry child was really the Christ Child in disguise. He created the tree to reward the good man for his charity.

 Each legend, capturing humility, love, beauty. A promise of what is to come.

 My tree stands majestically tall, touching the ceiling. It captures the memories of a time when we had nothing, when we had plenty. It tells the story of a family, building memories that shape the human spirit, and define a heart. With each passing year, my tree will be a symbol of hope and joy; a reminder of love and legacy. Something my children will pass on to their children. The light of day begins to break and the glow of my tree burns bright. It quietly sings a song and I hear it in my ear:

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree!
Thy leaves are so unchanging
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging

Not only green when summer's here,
But also when it's cold and drear.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Thy leaves are so unchanging!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

For every year the Christmas tree,
Brings to us all both joy and glee.
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
Such pleasure do you bring me!

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll never be unchanging!
A symbol of goodwill and love
You'll ever be unchanging

Each shining light
Each silver bell
No one alive spreads cheer so well

Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll ever be unchanging

 

 

 

THE DANCER

The music moves me.

Moves me to push my body in ways I do not normally move. I become one with the notes that dance across the page. Explosive emotion erupts like a volcano and I dance…

I move. I flow with flawless perfection. Only me and Lord see. No one else. In His eyes, there is nothing more beautiful. There is nothing more pure. I express my heart in a way that only He has seen. Not even my husband has seen me dance this way.

The music twists and turns with passion and my soul follows. My arms cut through the air with fluid rhythm and I am floating.

Tears stream from my eyes and I know my Savior is dancing with me. He writes the music on my heart. And I, I dance.

The music moves me.

It transfigures my DNA. It expends me. Sweat drips from my brow and muscles ache with delight. I move. I stir with aggravated intention. Pushing this broken body to the edge. Open, there is no limit to my expression.

The music drives the fervor inside of me. My legs twirl like a ballerina, but I reflect nothing of the sort. Yet I feel like I am on Broadway, dancing to perfection.

I am moved.

 Moved to go the distance; to stay the course. It breaks my sorrow, it tackles my pain. The movement gives way to freedom; and I cannot deny its call. Like water cleansing he soul, it washes over me and saturates my being.

Dancing…

I move to the music and it moves me.

 

The silent man

Three weeks have passed since my father left this earth. My heart still aches at the thought that I won't see him again. 

As it were, my dad did not talk to me for 6 years, stubborn with pride, about a young woman who had a voice and was no longer his little girl. He was drunk and told me how proud he was of me for opening up my restaurant; but that quickly turned to blame. He always blamed me for my brothers decision to not move to Texas when he was 12 and evidently did not forgive me. He ranted and raved about how I had ruined my brothers life because I wanted him to stay in California. 

I was 33 years old; a wife and a mother of 3. This was my 3rd business and I was a home owner! I looked my dad in the eyes, and for the first time in my life, told this man I deeply loved, "Dad, why don't you take a look in the mirror and take responsibility as a parent! I was 14  years old and didn't want my brother to move to Texas. What kind of sister would I be if I wanted him to go? It had nothing to do with you! It had to do with the fact that Eric asked me how I would feel if he moved and I said I would be sad. That's it! Why don't you take responsibility for the fact that you left us in California for a woman and a job and it messed us up!" 

My father, with those deep blue eyes, and fierce intensity, rolled his eyes and said the last words I would ever hear him say, "F@*# off Teresa!" He stood up and walked to the front door of my restaurant. I just sat there at the table in shock! 

He left and I never heard from him again. He stopped sending Christmas and birthday cards to my kids and never returned my phone calls. His wife sent me an email that essentially said, "I am over it" which expressed her discontent of my standing up to my dad. 

After 2 years of silence, The Lord told me to write him a letter, as if he were on his death bed. I did. It was 2009. I still sent him Christmas gifts and cards, but no response. In 2011, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I called him to tell him and talk to him about it. He never called me back. Then his mother, my grandmother died in April of that year. I called him to tell him I was sorry and wished I was there; nothing. When my mom died in September of that year, I called again to tell him, but he never returned my call.  (I discovered at my dads funeral that he was contemplating coming, but was afraid he would say the wrong thing to me and my sister and make it worse, so didn't come)  I wish he would have called and asked me if I wanted him to come. I would have said yes! But instead, we sat through a joke of a ceremony, listening to an arrogant pastor and having to deal with our inconsiderate step family. I called him in December to tell him that my oldest was playing in the California State game, but still no response. 

My heart grieved my father and I longed to have relationship with him, if even for the sake of my own kids. The new year, 2013, rolled in and still no word from my father. Just silence. It had now been 6 years since I talked to him. Sometimes I would be so angry at his prideful heart and other times I would cry at the loss of my father. 

I called him in May of 2013 to let him know Elijah would be graduating on June 6, 2014 and how much it would mean to me if he came. He never responded. 

At this point, I realized my kids were grown up, and they had no memories with their grandfather. They barely knew him and endearingly referred to him as "Papa Texas", this man somewhere out there who was their own. 

I grieved all the broken promises and all the plans he made but never followed through on. 

September 2013, my husband and I fasted for breakthrough. I realized that I hadn't prayed for my dad in a while. The pain of rejection and abandonment kept me from engaging anything that had to do with him. I started praying for him. For restored relationship, for his salvation and healing. I opened my heart to him again, with the hope that something might break and we could redeem the time lost. 

He died the last week of my fast. I stopped fasting and grieved. I am still grieving. Words cannot express the longing I had for this man to love me, to hold me, to cherish me! 

I guess in some ways I have been grieving the loss of my father since 2009. His silence was like death to me. 

I wrote a poem in my sorrow... About my father, this silent man, that I loved.

I had hoped to be held by your arms

Kissed by your lips

Captivated by your voice

One more time

But your pride kept you from me

I had hoped to see your face

In the crowd of fans

Cheering my boys 

As they played 

But your pride kept you from them

I had hoped you would be the man

Who loved my daughter

Spoiled her with gifts

And encouraged her in dreams

But your pride kept you from her

I had hoped you would be there for me

When death came to mom

When sorrow gripped my heart

I needed your chest to cry on

But pride kept you from me

I had hoped you would celebrate life

Embrace your weaknesses

Seek out healing

Grow in love and humility

But pride kept you from that

I had hoped that you would live long

Have your family around you

As we sang Christmas songs

And leave this earth 

With a trail of legacy behind you

But pride kept you from that

And as I grieve, the loss of my father

The loss of relationship 

And love and family

I am angry and sad

But I have learned from you

And will not repeat

I will embrace your lesson

And remember the sweet 

I will hold onto the last kiss

Delight in the songs we sang

Cherish the words you spoke 

Value the gifts you gave

I will tell stories to my kids

Of a man they barely knew

Of his challenge to rise above

The pain that made you blue

I will put pictures on my walls

I will etch memories in my heart

And I will be the legacy 

You desired from the start

And I will NOT let pride 

keep me from you. 

Goodbye daddy... I hope to see you again!

Painting a Picture...

Last week I wrote a blog called, "Sunday Morning Dread" where I express my struggle with the American church. 

Someone commented on that blog and below you will see the comment and my response. 

"Your brush is very broad, Teresa. The American church is a big place. Are you sure that you don't men the local part of it that you are involved with?"-comment

My Response:

If I meant the local church I am involved in, I would have said that. But I clearly stated "THE AMERICAN CHURCH" The "broad brush" is for a purpose. I have gone to churches all over The West Coast, and Texas. I have friends, who go to churches all over this country and it is not hard to watch a church service anywhere in his nation with the advancement of technology and some online streaming. 

If you study the history of the American church, by in large, you will discover that almost every church in America has Catholic roots, and the Catholic Church is rooted in the Jewish Priesthood.  Then the Catholic Church  split and then split and then split again and again again since Jesus. Even Vineyard has Carholic roots. 

Let me bring you back to First century Christians. There were two Types of believers... Those as recorded in the Binle and those who were Pharisees, who believed Jesus, but tried to re-establish the priesthood in the New Covenant. The result was Catholism. The two groups flourished together and separate of one another. 

By the time The Roman Empire had peaked, Constantine had become a believer of Jesus Christ and had written a decree that Christianity be the National religion. He turned the pagan temples into places of worship and like the Pharisees, established a level of government hierarchy in the church to maintain control. This was very similar to the Priests of the pagan temples.

After Rome fell, the Dark Ages were upon this world and faith in Jesus was scarce. The Catholic Church maintained a level of Political influence and survived. Most expressions of Christianiy died at that point, because people were mandated to sacraficing to the pagan gods of that time. So true remnant believers went underground. 

By the time of the Rennaisance, believers began to surface and the Catholic Church would not allow any Bible to be copied unless in Latin, so the masses believed what was told to them and the priesthood beast grew and grew until it looked demonic! 

In steps Martin Luther, who broke off from the Catholic  church but still maintained similarities. Then other denominations broke of from Lutheranism, and then broke off from those .. Etc.. All having roots in Catholism. 

One of he first noted "Remnant" church to surface, was The Pilgrims  The Pilgrims longed for a true Biblical expression of worship that did not tie them to any type of governmental control of religion. 

The government control at that time was King James, ie. The King James Bible. The Pilgrims were persecuted so fled to America to be able to have the freedom to worship God in the "true" Biblical form. 

They worshipped in America without any interference until the Puritans arrived. The Puritans were a group, who like many groups before them, wanted a reformation of the religion they were a part of. Unlike the Pilgrims who wanted NOTHING to do with any kind of "religion", the Puritans wanted to change things about their religion that benefitted them. 

The Puritans eventual exerted ultimate power and authority of religion and drove out and/or persecuted those who did not comply with their religious viewpoints. So, once again, the "priesthood" way in the Christian church came to America. 

From the Puritans, so many denominations broke off. Eventually the Catholics and Lutherans made their way to America and even more denominations broke off. Even today, our Non-denominational churches are, in fact, a denomination. 

Most churches follow the "Priesthood" pattern in the church, which was supposed to die when Jesus did. He was the final High Priest coming in the perfect Mechezledeck Priesthood. The final sacrifice for the atonement of our sins! No more temple, no more priests, no more sacrifices! 

Yet, almost every church in America follows this man made structure in the organized church today! There should not be 1 person over the church! It is supposed to be collaborative, as demonstrated in Corinthians! Jesus is the Head of the church, Ephesians says, not a man! 

Please give me Biblical truth that states we are supposed to sit and listen to one man talk about the Bible. And please use the scripture in context. Don't give me scripture about Paul preaching in the temple, because that was not church! That was evangelism to the Jews and Gentiles, who did not know Jesus! 

Please give me Biblical reference that says communion is done without a meal. Please give me scripture that says we are supposed to tithe post resurrection. Please give me scripture that says we are supposed to have an order of service that is the same each Sunday. And please give me scripture that says we are supposed to go to Bible college and get a degree to be worthy/qualified/ equipped to minister the gospel. 

The problem is... People in this country are so programmed to believe that the way we do church is correct, that they don't even question it. People are so programmed to believe that the pastor is at the head that they don't even know that Jesus is the head of the church and the cornerstone/foundation of the church. People are so programmed to believe that worship is music and songs that they miss out on the intimate encounters with the living God in the everyday, mundane tasks of our life. People are programmed to believe that God is an emotional experience that they can't even grasp what a a relationship with God looks like. People are so dependent on the programming, that they don't know how to depend on the Holy Spirit. People are so used to the church looking like the world... Corporate America... That they are walking away by the masses. People are so used to powerless doctrine that get slaughtered when the enemy comes. 

I could go on and on about how the American church has gone so far astray that people who make a commitment to be a Remnant Believer of Jesus Christ are looked at by the "priesthood churches" as dangerous. 

It is to be expected though, the Bible does warn about it...

" for the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine, but according to their own desires, because  they  have itching ears, will heap up for themselves teachers; and they will turn those ears away from the truth and be turned aside to fables. 2 Timothy 4:3-4

Ephesians 4:11-16  and Acts 2:42-43 pretty much sums it up! 

My prayer for the American church  is that we may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding; that we may walk worthy of The Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in very good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy; giving thanks to the Father who has qualified us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has delivered us from he power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love, in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins.

Colossians 1:9-14

Sunday Morning dread...

I wish Sunday mornings in church buildings across America consisted of a family style breakfast, where everyone sits around tables and eats and drinks and talks about their week. Where many different people from many walks of life got up and shared what The Lord revealed to them that week in Spirit or in the Word. 

Where the spiritually mature watched over to be sure truth was spoken, but didn't find their identity in a title or position. 

Where people prayed for one another while they are eating and drinking and the results of those prayers were healing; emotionally, spiritually and physically. 

Where worshiping in song happened after Acts 2:42-43 took place, and it was not limited to the program or time, but went as long or short as the spirit led. Where people who don't worship in song could stay and pray or fellowship or minister to or be ministered to by the people they are breaking bread with! (Which is actually communion, not the wafer grape juice nock off version)

I wish churches in America looked like what the Bible says they should look like and not how man says it should look like. I wish Bible colleges stopped giving people papers that says they are pastors, when in fact only God determines who is equip to lead. I wish churches put less stake on paper and more on discernment of character. 

I wish pastors stopped teaching tithing and instead expected giving as a by product of loving Jesus. Where people gave as much or as little as they felt lead and they did not have to measure their gift by a number or a percentage. 

I wish churches in America were filled with gang bangers, prostitutes, homeless, single moms, Adulterers, porn addicts, drug addicts, alcoholic, abusive and abused people, so that they could receive the saving grace and love of a Savior, who already died innocently on a cross for them to experience freedom from the bondage they are in; so they could be loved by those who already know the love of Jesus. So they would feel like the most beautiful, valued people on earth! 

I wish the American church embraced other denominations besides their own, collaborated with with other churches, ministries and individuals who have the common goal of being people to the saving grace of Jesus Christ; instead of competing with one another. 

I wish I could see Jesus lived out in the churches as he promised us: "Greater things will you do in my name." GREATER THINGS!!! Meaning greater than what He did in the Bible? Do you see "greater things" happening at your church? 

Then....

I wouldn't wake up on Sunday morning dreading going to a building that says it is Christian, but is really just another place to promote self and agendas. 

I wouldn't dread worshipping in song and listening to singers who have no concept of the heart of worship! I wouldn't be irritated by a man or woman who  decides that 3 songs is enough.

I wouldn't have to listen to one man over and over again, giving me their perspective of God. 

Do people really think that the nature of God can be summed up by one person! If so, we serve a small limited God! No one person can clearly communicate God, which is why it is mandatory that multiple people share their perspective of how God loves them, so we, as a community can have a more well rounded view of the Creator of this Universe! 

I was in church last week and listened to the 20 year veteran pastor talk about vanity. I would rather hear the guy who was sitting in front of me tattooed up with gang symbols! I would love to hear his take on vanity! He was weeping during worship, because you could see it was deep for him! It was not an obligation or duty! Jesus Christ was his life!

Sigh...

So off I go to some building, where I will reach deep to grab whatever crumb of the Word I am given today, that generally lacks passion or conviction. I will worship in song, with everything in me and be told later by my kids that people were staring at me. My husband will leave during the sermon and go outside to pray for the pastor... My kids will look at me with their "really" mom faces, because we have taught them the truth about what the Bible says about church and they are wondering why we are there.

And we will do our best to love, serve and worship in a broken place called -the American church!

The Privileged

I am privileged.

I have been given an opportunity that very few people will ever experience in their life. 

This privilege does not raise me above other people, but rather gives me the perception to see eye to eye.

I was privileged to grow up in a community where color and race existed as a masterpiece of community, painted with love and valued as family! We were all neighbors, who became family and allowed our different backgrounds to marinate together in a flavorful abundance of love and community.

This family was rich in diversity. We lived life together in unity and celebrated each other. From Christmas parties to 4th of July BBQ's, we did life in a way that was beautiful. 

I was privileged to eat many different kinds of foods, celebrate in different holidays in different ways and experience love from many people. 

 I was raised for a time by Dorothy Woods, who helped my mom when she had back surgery. We swam in Brian's pool. I still have the wooden cradle my Crailford Court grandpa made me, who lived across the street.  We planted trees, slid in cardboard boxes down hills, raced in our Radio flyers and took walks

Some of us moved away, but we had already become a family, so we had a yearly reunion to stay connected. We went to high school and college graduations; We celebrated Jess and Maria Musquez​​'s Daughter getting married (she was the first of us kids); we had baby showers and birthday parties and get togethers.  We cried together because of divorce; we hurt for Dorothy Woods who had a stroke too early in life and for Kevin, her son, who also had a stroke too early in life. We grieved as a family when our sister Jennifer Clark died way too young!

More recently, when my mom was dying, all of the Crailford Court moms came to say their goodbyes to their sister. 

We were privileged to see color, religion and race as beautiful and rich. We were privileged to just be a family, as we are today.... If more people focused and strived for the privilege I had as a child and as an adult today, this world would be a more beautiful place.

 That privilege was given by God. The privilege to see people for who they are and not where they came from, the color of their skin or the money they have, the religion they follow, the mistakes they made.  That is the privilege called love, true agape love that is undefiled  and pure. 

It was the closest thing to a Utopian society I have ever seen or experienced. Only the Utopian state was not in equality of jobs or money or things, but rather a state of mind. A mindset that gave me the most solid foundation of love for all humankind. I have that Utopian mindset etched into my DNA and I am thankful for the privilege that Crailford Court Community gave me to experience such a marvelous perception of life!

My Crailford Court family was an anomaly in a stitch in time where all the elements were perfect to breed such a marvelous expression of love that we all still share today.