Christmas on the farm was always magical.  Yes, the chores still needed to be done.  Yes, the winter air was getting colder every day. Yes, the school break meant more time cleaning the pipeline, or calf pens, or just moving snow.  But there was also something else.

It was making snow angels and the spontanteous snow ball fights with my older brothers.  It was the feel of the cold air in your nostrils as you walked out in the morning.   The cold dry air would make your nostrils freeze together, but there was also something powerful – cold, clean, crisp air as the power to make you feel free.  It makes you believe that anything is possible.

We boys fought a little less – not much but just a little.  Dad was a little less testy in the morning – maybe it was our little less fighting that caused that.

The radio that was on in the barn 24 hours a day 7 days a week turned the air a little more festive as well.  Carols wafted through the barn as we went about our work feeding, milking and cleaning.

While the nights came early as the shortest days of the year approached, the sky treated us to some of the most specatular light shows on earth.  The cold air cleaned all the moisture out of the air.  When the milking was done, the equipment cleaned, the last walk through of the barn taken care of, the lights were shut off, you couldn’t help but to walk out the milkroom door and walk to the side of the barn.  Out of the glare of the yard light, you could look up to the heavens and see the wonders of the stars laid out before you.  With the closest neighbor to the west almost two miles away and the next town (about 700 people) about 15 miles away – you could see every star in the milky way.

It was pure magic.

The old legend at Christmas time was that at the stroke of midnight on Christmas eve, the cattle in the barns would all fall to their knees in homage to the new born King.  On these magical nights, it seemed very possible.  More then once on the ride home from the midnight service we had the discussion – was it true, was it not.  More then once, I contemplated going out to the barn to see if it was fact or fiction.

Part of me, the practical or the skeptical side of me, said it was nonesense.  Part of me, the romantic, the part of me that believed said we must’n interupt them in their prayer.  I never did check to see if they kneeled on Christmas Eve, but in my mind and in my heart, I can see both sides of the aisle wake from their slumber,  lift their heads from their hay, or shake the water from their faces, as they gently drop to their knees.

From this country boy, wishing you and your family a very Merry Christmas!

Which child doesn’t make a list for Santa Claus?  Everyone has a list of things that they would like.  A doll, a toy truck, the newest game or music system.  For adults: a better job, more money, more time.

And almost inevitably, everyone is dissappointed.

The doll isn’t the one that we want.  The truck isn’t the right color.  The gaming system isn’t the exact right one or didn’t come with the games that were wanted.  The music system doesn’t run the right files.  The money fails to satisfy.  The extra time still doesn’t help us get caught up.

We can understand how those people on that first Christmas felt!

They were expecting a powerful king to be born.  The King of the Jews.  The man that would free them from Roman oppression.  The man that would lead the people of God onto victory.

They got a baby in a manger born to strangers in the city of Bethlehem.  They were heralded by shepards – the lowest of society.  This was certianly not on the list.

The wonderful thing about a gift is the surprise – and the fact that the gift is given freely.

As it turns out, the little child was the most powerful King ever born.  The little child would free the world of an oppressing power more mighty then the Romans – the power of sin.  He would lead His people not to just victory, but the glories of heaven.

During this Christmas season, may we accept the gifts that we have been given, not for just what they appear, but for the potential that they have.    

These are the darkest days of the year.  The sun in the north country seems like it barely breaks the horizon before it is already heading down again.  While the temperature may get lower in January, the real cold – the dark, the dispare, the hardening of our hearts and minds, seem to take place in the weary days of December.

As I grow older, some of my child like wonder seems to disappear with each passing year.  The promise that each life holds seems shaken this time of year.  As the daylight shrinks, so to does our hope.  The unrealized hopes and dreams seem to haunt my mind more now.  The disillusionment with society and life bubbles to the surface.  Many of the people that I knew and loved and that I associate with love, comfort, and warmth have passed on.  With each passing year, we get a little more jaded.  A little more world weary.I feel alone.  Lost.  Tired. 

But in listening to the music of the Advent season, I am reminded – there is hope, and I am not alone.  The hope is in the Lord, and the seeds of Life are planted, waiting to burst forth…if only we will let them grow…

Each winter as the year grows older,
We each grow older, too.
The chill sets in a little colder;
The verities we knew
Seem shaken and untrue.

When race and class cry out for treason,
When sirens call for war,
They overshout the voice of reason,
And scream till we ignore
All we held dear before.

Yet I believe beyond believing,
That life can spring from death;
That growth can flower from our grievings;
That we can catch our breath
And turn transfixed by faith.

So even as the sun is turning,
To journey to the north,
The living flame, in secret burning,
Can kindle on the earth,
And bring God’s love to birth.

O Child of exstasy and sorrows,
O Prince of peace and pain,
Brighten today’s world by tomorrow’s,
Renew our lives again;
Lord Jesus, come and reign!”

Everyone was going to be wearing boots and a cowboy hat.  Every vehicle would be a pick up truck and have a gun rack.  Americans for sure, but very different then my background, my beliefs, my way of life.

The stereotypes that came to mind when I knew I was going to Texas.  Sure, Texas still resides in the Great Plains area – though on the very opposite side of the plains that I know and love.  A different history, a different culture, and different people.

Flew into San Antonio and made my way north to New Braunfels, TX.  The first thing that struck me was the weather – foggy and 60F sure beat snowy and 10F.

Went to the conference center where we were having our meetings.  Spanish influence architecture with a mixture of Texas.  They put me in a “Sunday House.” A small cabin in the mesquite trees a short walk from the rest of the conference center. 

When walking in, the first thing that crossed my mind was “wow, this would make a great lake cabin up in Minnesota.”  Rustic furniture.  A porch.  Deer grazing in the morning.  Even the décor – the famous lone star was not that far from what I knew. Minnesota also prides itself on its star – sure the L’Etoile du Nord is the star of the north and not the lone star, but Texas is not alone in its fierce independence.

The people were what surprised me.  Down home.  Friendly.  When asked where they were from, most gave me much different answers then I was expecting.  Czech.  German.  Norwegians.  Sure their were Mexicans – but one of two of them were here much longer then my own family.

While I spent most of the time in meetings, I did get a chance to go to the Alamo – the shrine of democracy in Texas.  Where a handful of Texas fought a much larger Mexican force.  But when reading the names on the list of defenders, it is clear; they were less Texans – and more Americans.  People from Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, Louisiana.

One thing that we must not forget – a fair number of the names are what we would classify as “Hispanic” today.  The defenders were not all of European ancestry.  And where do you think that the remains of these brave defenders were laid to rest?  In the Catholic Church – build and maintained by Spanish (Canary Island) and Mexican immigrants.  Love of Freedom is not – and was not – solely owned by the Americans.

In the end – the scenery was a little different, the weather was a little different, the food a little more spicy, but the people and their story while unique – has the echo of so many peoples and regions around the country and the world. 

L’Etoile du Nord and the Lone Star both shine pretty brightly – and in the end, have many more similarities then differences.

I think everyone’s heart softens a little when they see a Christmas tree. Whether a child whose heart skips a beat to think of the wonderful surprises that await them under their own tree – or the seasoned Christmas veteran who thinks back to their own home and hearth – either today and yesterday.

Decorating my tree is always a time to stop and pause.

The plastic bulbs, grandma used to explain when we used to put up here little tree in her apartment in town, were bought during the war – no need asking, it was THE war – WW II. You couldn’t get metal with the war on, so plastic worked just as well.

The glass ones with the pretty indentations, they were bought back during the depression. That money was precious and so are those ornaments.

No one remembers when the Frosty the Snowman bulbs came to rest on our tree, but we do know that of the original six, only five managed to survive us five kids. Coincidence? Probably.

The centerpiece of the tree growing up, and the one that now adorns the top of my tree, is the angel. Bought back during that first Christmas my folks were married in 1963. A marvel at the time no doubt. An angel with a mirrored bowl behind her and a light bulb in between with a spinner on top of the bulb that turns from the heat from the bulb, creating a celestial glow behind the ever watching plastic cherub.

The one ornament that always makes me pause seems insignificant – but with most things, like the marvelous angel, it is the workings behind it that makes it shine. In 1983, Mom bought two angel ornaments. My younger sister Margaret got an angel holding a lantern. Very serious. Very festive. Very religious. I received an ornament of an angel on the sled, with an impish grin on its face. I thought there was a mix up at the time. I was the serious one. I was the one, even at the age of eight, asking the serious questions about life and death. But maybe she assigned them just right – maybe she knew that my sister would need to be reminded to follow the light – follow that lantern, watch her step, sometimes get off track, but always try to stay on the coarse.  And sometimes, I need to make sure that I focus on the fun side of life. The simple joys in life - family, friends, maybe even just a little time sledding, is just as important in this life. Life is serious. It is sometimes easier when we aren’t.

At least that his how it looks to this country boy.

It is the realization that the greatest gift given was the Son on that Christmas Day.  Advent is the time to prepare our hearts to receive him still.