I love Christmas carols. If you come into our home, you will notice displays of carolers on most of the flat surfaces. I imagine them like the heavenly host from Luke 2, singing joyfully and triumphantly for the long awaited birth of our Savior. “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.“
One of my favorite carols is about a King from Czechoslovakia in the 1400’s:
“Good King Wenceslas”
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel
"Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."
"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear him thither."
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather
"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."
In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing
I love these lyrics, because the King doesn’t order the page to bring in the poor man by himself, “forth they went together.” And when the page struggles with the dark and cold as he follows, the King comforts and encourages him, telling him to “tread in his footsteps and it will be less cold. As the page steps in his master’s steps, “Heat was in the very sod, which the Saint had printed”.
The image of this carol is meaningful to me, all year long.
This week, we finished the 1st 12 days of December, secretly dropping off goodies to our neighbors across the street for 12 days. I knew the situation in their “household”. (An elderly 93 year old grandmother, her daughter, her granddaughter, and 2 mentally handicapped teenage great grand children of the granddaughter.) Our 3 year old granddaughter, Kate, was in on the fun as we lined up each of the wrapped goodies in anticipation of the next day’s sneaky “drop off”. We would carefully cross the street, heading the opposite direction, in case they suspected us. Then, we would cross through yards and hedges to slip sideways to their front door. Kate got pretty good. She knew the path after a few days and could get in and out pretty smoothly. Every day, we would laugh quietly all the way home, because who doesn’t like goodies? On the 12th day, we delivered 12 drum shaped sugar cookies, actually rang their door bell, and stood for their answer. Phyllis, the granddaughter, who I knew best, came to the door. We explained that we were their “true friends” (like it had said on every tag of goodies). And we just wanted to wish them a Merry Christmas. About that time, she stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door behind her so as not to let in the cool air. As she did, we noticed a big, metal hospital bed set up in their living room, right next to the front door. We couldn’t see details clearly, but we all knew that the frail grandmother lay cared for on that bed. Phyllis explained that the bed only fit in that front room. We tried to make conversation, both now knowing that behind her front door was not the typical front room setting. She was very pleased about the goodies and hadn’t suspected anyone, really. Then, as if we were her visiting teachers, the words came out, “So, if there is ever anything you need, please give me a call.” She thanked us kindly and smiled as she turned to step back inside.
Kate had seen what I saw, and the walk home was a little more somber than the other days. I answered a few of her concerned questions on the way home. . . Two things I did know: 1) They were the first in our neighborhood to display Christmas lights. I knew they celebrated Christmas. 2) Every day after the “drop off” the goodies had been retrieved within a few minutes. They must have looked forward to them. It still feels good to know, even though life behind each of our doors is different, that a better friendship has been formed.
I have thought about them every day.
This talk could have easily ended at the assigned 3 minute mark, however a small miracle happened that you might like to know. . .
Our doorbell rang,just as I was putting these thoughts together. I hurried to open the front door. To my great delight, Phyllis is standing there with an arm full of goodies - A chocolate cheesecake and a big Christmas stocking with coloring books inside, especially for Kate. I was in awe. I could only hug her.
Like Good King Wenceslas, are my footsteps big and warm enough to comfort and give compassion to someone else? Or, like the page, am I thankful for the examples of others footsteps that make my path less cold? Humbly, I began to feel the warmth of her footprints.
The last verse of “O Holy Night”, sings:
Truly He taught us to love one another, His law is love and His gospel is peace.
I pray that "heat will be in the very sod" of our footprints as we live by His teachings to love and serve one another.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Lesson for Children
A Lesson for Children.
Pray to God.
Love God.
Fear God.
Serve God.
Take not God's
Name in vain.
Do not Swear.
Do not Steal.
Cheat not in your play.
Play not with bad boys.
Call no ill names.
Use no ill words.
Tell no lies.
Hate Lies.
Speak the Truth.
Spend your Time well.
Love your School.
Mind your Book.
Strive to learn.
Be not a Dunce
The New England Primer of 1777
Pray to God.
Love God.
Fear God.
Serve God.
Take not God's
Name in vain.
Do not Swear.
Do not Steal.
Cheat not in your play.
Play not with bad boys.
Call no ill names.
Use no ill words.
Tell no lies.
Hate Lies.
Speak the Truth.
Spend your Time well.
Love your School.
Mind your Book.
Strive to learn.
Be not a Dunce
The New England Primer of 1777
Saturday, November 26, 2011
"He's Going to Fall Off of There!"
Today is Gregg's birthday. He's 25. He'll always be our youngest child, but he has grown up.
I remember at our house on Juniper Street when Gregg was less than a year old, our neighbor Judith would come over. She would walk through the grass from her yard to ours, and continue on past the front window and door. When she got to the kitchen window, she would peek in. Gregg would be sitting at the bar on a bar stool, eating or playing (no strapping in, just a great balance) while I puttered around the kitchen. It never failed, when she saw Gregg, she would let out a vocal gasp / scream. And then when I opened the back door, she would tell me again, "He's going to fall off of there!"
For some reason I never worried. I knew he was stable and I reassured her each time. He never did fall off. Those were sweet days. I'm proud to be Gregg's mother and I have always been glad for his stability and my knowledge that he wouldn't fall off. He is a joy and a wonderful example of faith and strength.
Happy Happy Birthday Gregg!
I Love you, dearly!
Mom
I remember at our house on Juniper Street when Gregg was less than a year old, our neighbor Judith would come over. She would walk through the grass from her yard to ours, and continue on past the front window and door. When she got to the kitchen window, she would peek in. Gregg would be sitting at the bar on a bar stool, eating or playing (no strapping in, just a great balance) while I puttered around the kitchen. It never failed, when she saw Gregg, she would let out a vocal gasp / scream. And then when I opened the back door, she would tell me again, "He's going to fall off of there!"
For some reason I never worried. I knew he was stable and I reassured her each time. He never did fall off. Those were sweet days. I'm proud to be Gregg's mother and I have always been glad for his stability and my knowledge that he wouldn't fall off. He is a joy and a wonderful example of faith and strength.
Happy Happy Birthday Gregg!
I Love you, dearly!
Mom
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
at home quote
Methinks it is a token of healthy and gentle characteristics, when women of high thoughts and accomplishments love to sew; especially as they are never more at home with their own hearts than while so occupied.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, 1859
(This hit the spot with me. . .I like it!)
~Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun, 1859
(This hit the spot with me. . .I like it!)
Friday, September 9, 2011
Piano Lessons
I was thinking the other day about how my parents introduced me to the piano.
They had some friends from New Zealand who were needing to temporarily store their piano . My parents offered to keep it at our house on Cheery Lynn. I was 8. Perfect timing. Now they just needed a piano teacher for me.
Enter - Mrs Arlene Rice. She came once a week and sat next to me on a chair by the bench. I'll never forget looking at her, but not at her eyes. When I looked at her, my nose met her shoulder. That wasn't so bad, but she had the biggest vaccination scar I'd ever seen - as big as a half dollar. That's what I saw when I turned to her. It scared me. After a while, I would just nod and keep looking at the music. She was a good teacher, though. And she liked me. She just had some quirky characteristics that I won't ever forget.
After a year or so, I was progressing and had an interest, so Mom and Dad purchased a piano.
Mrs. Rice lived in Glendale and she would have "study class" at her home every couple of months. We had to car pool and that put me in the back seat of a car with some older kids I barely knew. We were to come prepared to play for each other, clapping politely after each piece. She always had refreshments for us, too. That was nice, until the night I accidentally spilled my red punch all over her front room carpet. Yep. . .
At a Halloween recital one year, she encouraged us to dress up and play spooky music. I don't remember what I played or what I wore. My brother and parents don't either. But we all remember what Mrs. Rice wore. She dressed up like a "fairy" (I think). Maybe there was a dry cleaner close by because she used yards and yards of plastic wrap to wind, drape, pouf, and gather herself in from head to toe. We laughed about that for years.
I took from her for 7 or 8 years. Most of my foundation came from her. I have to give her a lot of credit. When I was in need of a new piece, she would reach into her big bag and pull out an assortment of sheet music and spread them across the piano. Then, she'd play each one and ask me to choose. Those were my favorite days. A new piece!
When I was 16, my brother Jon was ready to take piano. Mom had heard of a teacher not far from us that we could drive to for lessons . Her name was Mrs. Hansen. She was different, also. We weren't taking there long before we learned that her older son had gone to prison. She was a nice lady, and talented, too. (I just had a hard time concentrating, worrying who might walk through her door!) She had a beautiful appreciation for chords. Jazz chords and improvising. I still play pieces she gave me because I was so intrigued with this new chord concept. Jon flourished there, too. The first time I drove myself anywhere after I got my license, was to my piano lesson at Mrs. Hansen's. I'll never forget driving our big white '57 Cadillac east along Osborn Road, hanging a left to go north onto 56th St. and then turning right to go east again onto Indian School.
In my later years of high school, I transferred again to another teacher. Her name was Mrs. Kramer. I could drive to her house, too. She lived on 36th St. just north of Indian School. Mom must have learned of her abilities to teach classics, since that is what I studied with her. I would get to her house and take a seat in her front room next to the lava lamp. I could hear the instruction of the lesson before me while I watched that strange gooey stuff float around into odd shapes. She worked me hard, also. It took me weeks and months to polish off pieces. She would get impatient if I took too long to finish a piece. (She just didn't understand the busy life of a teenager!) One day, as I mastered a piece, I jumped when she excitedly called to her husband down the hall, "Didn't that sound better, honey?" As if he was the secret judge of approval. Where did he come from anyway?
I think piano teachers are a strange breed. They all have quirks. That's what scares me. I'm the teacher now, with quirks only my students can write and tell about me, forever more. Nothing changes. You don't think I notice when I pretend a student is listening to me, when really he hasn't quit looking at my nose for long enough? Oh, I notice. It's a good thing I've been there!
Another strange thing is that the Halloween Recital is my favorite one of the year. You should have seen me the year I bought rubber warts and stuck them to perfect places on my face. . .
They had some friends from New Zealand who were needing to temporarily store their piano . My parents offered to keep it at our house on Cheery Lynn. I was 8. Perfect timing. Now they just needed a piano teacher for me.
Enter - Mrs Arlene Rice. She came once a week and sat next to me on a chair by the bench. I'll never forget looking at her, but not at her eyes. When I looked at her, my nose met her shoulder. That wasn't so bad, but she had the biggest vaccination scar I'd ever seen - as big as a half dollar. That's what I saw when I turned to her. It scared me. After a while, I would just nod and keep looking at the music. She was a good teacher, though. And she liked me. She just had some quirky characteristics that I won't ever forget.
After a year or so, I was progressing and had an interest, so Mom and Dad purchased a piano.
Mrs. Rice lived in Glendale and she would have "study class" at her home every couple of months. We had to car pool and that put me in the back seat of a car with some older kids I barely knew. We were to come prepared to play for each other, clapping politely after each piece. She always had refreshments for us, too. That was nice, until the night I accidentally spilled my red punch all over her front room carpet. Yep. . .
At a Halloween recital one year, she encouraged us to dress up and play spooky music. I don't remember what I played or what I wore. My brother and parents don't either. But we all remember what Mrs. Rice wore. She dressed up like a "fairy" (I think). Maybe there was a dry cleaner close by because she used yards and yards of plastic wrap to wind, drape, pouf, and gather herself in from head to toe. We laughed about that for years.
I took from her for 7 or 8 years. Most of my foundation came from her. I have to give her a lot of credit. When I was in need of a new piece, she would reach into her big bag and pull out an assortment of sheet music and spread them across the piano. Then, she'd play each one and ask me to choose. Those were my favorite days. A new piece!
When I was 16, my brother Jon was ready to take piano. Mom had heard of a teacher not far from us that we could drive to for lessons . Her name was Mrs. Hansen. She was different, also. We weren't taking there long before we learned that her older son had gone to prison. She was a nice lady, and talented, too. (I just had a hard time concentrating, worrying who might walk through her door!) She had a beautiful appreciation for chords. Jazz chords and improvising. I still play pieces she gave me because I was so intrigued with this new chord concept. Jon flourished there, too. The first time I drove myself anywhere after I got my license, was to my piano lesson at Mrs. Hansen's. I'll never forget driving our big white '57 Cadillac east along Osborn Road, hanging a left to go north onto 56th St. and then turning right to go east again onto Indian School.
In my later years of high school, I transferred again to another teacher. Her name was Mrs. Kramer. I could drive to her house, too. She lived on 36th St. just north of Indian School. Mom must have learned of her abilities to teach classics, since that is what I studied with her. I would get to her house and take a seat in her front room next to the lava lamp. I could hear the instruction of the lesson before me while I watched that strange gooey stuff float around into odd shapes. She worked me hard, also. It took me weeks and months to polish off pieces. She would get impatient if I took too long to finish a piece. (She just didn't understand the busy life of a teenager!) One day, as I mastered a piece, I jumped when she excitedly called to her husband down the hall, "Didn't that sound better, honey?" As if he was the secret judge of approval. Where did he come from anyway?
I think piano teachers are a strange breed. They all have quirks. That's what scares me. I'm the teacher now, with quirks only my students can write and tell about me, forever more. Nothing changes. You don't think I notice when I pretend a student is listening to me, when really he hasn't quit looking at my nose for long enough? Oh, I notice. It's a good thing I've been there!
Another strange thing is that the Halloween Recital is my favorite one of the year. You should have seen me the year I bought rubber warts and stuck them to perfect places on my face. . .
Thursday, September 8, 2011
September 8, 1954
Today is Jeff Buehner's birthday. Jim and Jon went to the temple this morning at 6:30 AM. Mom was scheduled to work at the temple from 10 until 1:30. After that, Dad was going to meet her and they would do a session. My day was free in the later morning, so I went through at 11:30. It was nice. We usually try to go through the temple on Jeff's birthday. Sometimes we've been able to go together. Other times, like today, we all went when we could. The nice part was, we all had Jeff in mind. I can't think of anything I would rather have done today.
I saw Mom at the temple, sitting behind her little desk. I waved as she looked up and smiled. She looks right at home there. I'm grateful.
Tonight, I called to chat and she informed me that when she and Dad left the temple earlier (in separate cars), she had a flat tire on the way home. She was behind Dad and sadly, he didn't even notice she had turned off. But a miracle happened. She parked and was just getting ready to get out, when Dale Patterson pulled up. Out of the blue1 She was in his neighborhood and there he was and there she was. She had everything he needed to change the tire, so Dale got to work. It was only 106 degrees and he is still recovering from heart surgery, but he didn't skip a beat. He kept telling Mom to get in the shade.
Yes. I'd say that was a miracle. A birthday miracle from Jeff straight to his mother. Never say heaven is too far away.
Happy birthday, Jeffrey Walter Buehner.
I LOVE you.
Your grateful sister,
Jody
I saw Mom at the temple, sitting behind her little desk. I waved as she looked up and smiled. She looks right at home there. I'm grateful.
Tonight, I called to chat and she informed me that when she and Dad left the temple earlier (in separate cars), she had a flat tire on the way home. She was behind Dad and sadly, he didn't even notice she had turned off. But a miracle happened. She parked and was just getting ready to get out, when Dale Patterson pulled up. Out of the blue1 She was in his neighborhood and there he was and there she was. She had everything he needed to change the tire, so Dale got to work. It was only 106 degrees and he is still recovering from heart surgery, but he didn't skip a beat. He kept telling Mom to get in the shade.
Yes. I'd say that was a miracle. A birthday miracle from Jeff straight to his mother. Never say heaven is too far away.
Happy birthday, Jeffrey Walter Buehner.
I LOVE you.
Your grateful sister,
Jody
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
