Life After the Glass Slipper

As a new year dawns, we wonder what it will hold in store. New beginnings always get our hearts racing a little bit, especially if we know that some milestone in our
lives is about to occur. Weddings, graduations, new houses all hold a shining
promise as we anticipate how wonderful our lives could become.

But even Cinderella must have had some modifications to make during her “happily ever
after”. After all, she was a common servant girl who suddenly became the focus
of attention, with attendants of her own to fulfill her every desire. Now,
instead of “Cinderella, scrub this, Cinderella, sweep that,” she would hear,
“No, Your Majesty, let me do that. Please Your Majesty, sit down and relax.”
It’s a problem we would all like to experience just once, but an adjustment
just the same.

When I was a small child, I dreamed of having a full-time Daddy living in our house. My parents were divorced, and I enjoyed the summer vacations with my dad and his
new wife, but I longed for what I considered to be a “complete” family. When,
in my teens, my mom met and began dating my future step-dad, it was literally a
dream come true. When they married, it started the biggest change I’d ever
lived through. My sister and I suddenly had a new house in a new state, and a
new school along with our new family. The high school was smaller than our old
one, and all of the kids tried hard to make us feel at home. But, what an
adventure! It was much more than I had bargained for in my little-girl fantasies.

Of course, my dreams continued, and I pictured in my mind what my own happy family would look like. Led by a strong, Christian man, with two or even three beautiful
children, I would fit right in, caring for all of them with love and occasional
home-baked cookies.

When a certain tall, smooth talking Arkansas boy entered my life, I knew this dream, too was on its way to being fulfilled. His upbringing provided the perfect example of
the stability I was longing for, and besides, he was really cute! So, after a
simply beautiful wedding with a wonderful assortment of family and friends in
attendance, we settled into our first home: a rented single-wide trailer
decorated in hip seventies fashion with wood paneling and harvest gold and
avocado green appliances. We soon learned that in order to afford the things we
wanted, we would need to hold down two full-time jobs. So after a couple of
false starts apiece, we both settled in to what would become careers, and began
the daily commutes. The three beautiful children arrived on schedule, each with
their own set of happy adjustments to make in our fairy tale.

Along the way, we realized that our careers would have advanced further if we had a little more education, but this idea was quickly pushed to the back burner in the
daily rush of coats and mittens and sack lunches for five. Opportunities
abounded, and we became involved in the activities of our own children, and
along the way had the chance to impact others in our community as well. The old
dreams morphed and developed into more excitement than we ever envisioned.

These days, the kids are all successfully independent, and our empty nest is still buzzing, especially when the grand-kids visit. We couldn’t have written a happier ending if we’d tried.

This year, another long-awaited event looms. Over the years, I was promised that even
though my job did not include a huge salary, if I stayed around long enough, I
could retire at a fairly early age, and enjoy the rewards of working through a
lot of headaches. This little dream has had plenty of time to develop, and it
mostly stars me at this computer, creating, editing and submitting for
publication the stories that have buzzed through my head for well over fifty
years. Surprise! The glass slipper comes with some complications. Because of recent
economic downturns, my husband and I are both looking for new jobs to either accommodate the lifestyle we’ve worked so hard to build, or trim it down a little.

We are both hopeful, and becoming used to the feeling of butterflies in our stomachs
once again. Hmmm- if all else fails, maybe we can find another two bedroom
trailer, this time with a workshop for him, and a wireless internet connection
for me. Hold our hands, Lord. This year will undoubtedly turn out far differently
than we ever could have dreamed!

Christmas Collections

If we had our druthers, there would be two Christmas trees at our house each year. My husband’s would be elegantly appointed with beautiful, trendy decorations, probably all in the same color family. His might completely change from year to year. Mine, on the other hand, would display the same treasures I carefully store away at each year’s end. As I write this, they are still boxed up, but when you read it, they’ll be in a place of honor in the corner of our living room.

After thirty-five years of collecting, I have more ornaments than I can practically place on the tall but skinny imitation pine with plastic holly berries and fake twists of grapevine worked in. So, as I decorate, I’ll just pull some of the precious pieces out and pause for a moment as I place them back into their home for protection.

There are ornaments fashioned by my children when they were small. Created from ideas in craft books owned by a clever teacher, they may have started as a clothespin, or a jar lid. Paint, ribbon, glue and glitter transformed them into something wonderful, a tiny piece of a child’s heart. As they say in the credit card commercial: Priceless.

Then, there are the dated ornaments purchased over the years, one for each year of our married life. The designs reflect the times and the budget constraints of those years. Some celebrate a big event in our family- “Baby’s First Christmas”. Others were purchased at after Christmas sales. Each brings along a flood of been-there-done-that memories.

My mother has long upheld a tradition of making ornaments for our family’s trees. Hers show imagination and creativity, and always bring to mind the reasons for the season, love and family. I followed her lead for several years, so you’ll find some examples of my feeble attempts at craftiness. Teddy bears with ribbons and bells, scraps of leather with cut-outs from old Christmas cards, rings made from a special, inedible dough.

Not all of the ornaments are home-made or inexpensive. Otherwise, they’d all be relegated to the back of the tree by my “curb-appeal” conscious hubby. We do own some really nice ones, including part of a Norman Rockwell collection purchased by my step-mother sometime during the last century. There are also tributes to our favorite sports teams, and a few with Disney connections.

I must confess that my Christmas collecting isn’t confined to the tree. You’ll find memorable items displayed on almost every flat surface in the house. One, in an honored position on top of the dining room hutch, even belongs to my husband. Yes, he looks forward each year to seeing the Santa Claus doll (well, that’s what it is) his parents purchased for him on a Christmas shopping trip to Benton when he was small. It really is all about the happy memories this time of year.

One of my favorite Christmas stories brings home the fact that God is a collector, too. The difference is that, he desires to collect our souls for protection from the evils of this world, and to provide a permanent home with Him.

The story goes something like this: There was a man who was raised as a Christian, but had become cynical after years of existing in our rather self-absorbed world. While his wife and kids went to a Christmas Eve program at church, he stayed home, and watched out the window as a strong winter storm brewed. The wind howled, the cold blizzard raged, and he saw a large flock of birds battling the wind, looking for some form of refuge. He’d often enjoyed feeding and watching birds, and his heart was touched by their struggle. He glanced at the large barn that stood behind their house, and he was inspired. Bundling up, he hurried out to the building, threw open the door, and turned on the lights, hoping to lure the floundering creatures to safety. The flock continued to fly hither and yon, and none made their way into the warmth and protection of the barn. The man finally gave up and returned inside, leaving the door and lights as an open invitation.

When his family returned home, he told them of his efforts, and a strange realization touched him as he spoke these words: “If only I could have turned myself into a bird- then I could have guided them in ….”

This Christmas, as you collect happy memories, remember the perfect plan of your heavenly Father. He still wants to draw you closer. Let the baby in the manger be your guide.