A Stevens family Christmas tradition continued yesterday as we gathered to make Christmas cookies. You know the kind, roll out the dough, use a cookie cutter and bake. Flour flew, sprinkles spilled and MeMe beamed. The two children, three grandchildren and the first great-grandchild all came together to create edible masterpieces.
Caleb thought he was in charge, Brad was the oven watcher and Kayden cut out his first cookie, looking rather bored with the whole affair! I explained that this was his family and he was stuck with them. He giggled.
I don’t eat cooked cookies, so I ate cookie dough. Yum. Only thing better than raw sugar cookie dough is red velvet cake batter! However, at Christmas cookie time, you have to fight for your piece of the dough, as EVERYONE but Caleb likes it. MeMe usually doubles the recipe to have enough to cook.
Kayden and I iced two yellow stars before he got his hand in it and got it on both of us. Caleb iced a couple then he disappeared. Josh, the perfectionist, sat at the table carefully crafting Santas complete with belt, beard and shoes. Heather’s Santas were all red with a dash of white and dash of black. She said Josh’s Santas weren’t red enough, he stuck his tongue out at her. But Heather’s reindeers rocked. They were awesomely brown with shiny red noses.
Finally, all the cookies were iced and the kitchen clean. Pa, Brad, Heather and Josh were sleeping in a sugar induced coma and Kayden and I were communicating with sounds and giggles. The Christmas season has begun with another Stevens tradition complete. Every year, except one. There was one terrible, horrible, my-family-doesn’t-love-me-anymore year where MeMe couldn’t get anybody, not even Pa, to help her make cookies. She did them herself. Made them, cooked them, iced them, and ate them. Wouldn’t let us have any. Guilt, the Christmas present that keeps on giving.
Enjoy your traditions and Merry Christmas.
Stevie
Copyright 2009 Fort Worth, TX Stevie Stevens. For information contact faithleap@sbcglobal.net
Monday, December 21, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
CHRISTmas
A tiny baby, didn’t make a big splash when he was born. Poor parents, no bed for his mother to lay in, his birth attended by a lowly carpenter, a donkey, some sheep, maybe a camel or two, thousands of angels and the God of the universe. Angels who begged to come down and herald the birth all over the world. Angels who asked to be placed on protective detail so the baby would come to no harm. An army of angels ready to take flight to keep the enemy at bay. Angels held in check with two words, “not yet.”
One angel released to spread the news, to a newspaper? To a king? To a large city? No, to shepherds. Despised, dirty, stinky sheep herders. Not the most learned of men, but they got the message and leaving their flock untended, off they went to find the baby. And they worshipped him.
This baby, born from all the love God had for his human creations. Full to the overflowing with love, Jesus came to live among us. He came to be us, to live life as human, with all the frailties that entails. Skinned knees, broken bones, hurt feelings, hunger pangs all to be experienced in the next 30 plus years.
His day came, and his ministry started. He opened his arms to the weak, the sick, the young and the old, then one day he opened his arms on the cross and his love was felt as never before. His death was witnessed by his mother, two thieves, several Roman soldiers and thousands of angels. Angels begging to be in the rescue party, to bring the favored son back safely. Angels standing with swords drawn aimed at the heads of Roman soldiers. Angels at the ready to bind up his wounds and heal him. Angels kept in heaven with a heartbreaking “not now.”
This baby, laid in a borrowed tomb, rose to walk among us again. His resurrection witnessed by three women, numerous disciples, thousands of angels, and the God of the universe. Angels sitting around the throne praising his name, lifting him gloriously up to his Father. The love of the Father through the Son poured out on all mankind.
As we approach the time that the world has chosen to celebrate his birth, I rejoice that his name is spoken more often. It tickles me that Jesus is front and center and people think of him. I am thankful he was born, but I am eternally grateful that he died, because through his death, I live.
Jesus is the reason IN the season.
Merry Christmas!
Stevie
Copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens, Fort Worth, TX All rights reserved.
For information contact faithleap@sbcglobal.net
One angel released to spread the news, to a newspaper? To a king? To a large city? No, to shepherds. Despised, dirty, stinky sheep herders. Not the most learned of men, but they got the message and leaving their flock untended, off they went to find the baby. And they worshipped him.
This baby, born from all the love God had for his human creations. Full to the overflowing with love, Jesus came to live among us. He came to be us, to live life as human, with all the frailties that entails. Skinned knees, broken bones, hurt feelings, hunger pangs all to be experienced in the next 30 plus years.
His day came, and his ministry started. He opened his arms to the weak, the sick, the young and the old, then one day he opened his arms on the cross and his love was felt as never before. His death was witnessed by his mother, two thieves, several Roman soldiers and thousands of angels. Angels begging to be in the rescue party, to bring the favored son back safely. Angels standing with swords drawn aimed at the heads of Roman soldiers. Angels at the ready to bind up his wounds and heal him. Angels kept in heaven with a heartbreaking “not now.”
This baby, laid in a borrowed tomb, rose to walk among us again. His resurrection witnessed by three women, numerous disciples, thousands of angels, and the God of the universe. Angels sitting around the throne praising his name, lifting him gloriously up to his Father. The love of the Father through the Son poured out on all mankind.
As we approach the time that the world has chosen to celebrate his birth, I rejoice that his name is spoken more often. It tickles me that Jesus is front and center and people think of him. I am thankful he was born, but I am eternally grateful that he died, because through his death, I live.
Jesus is the reason IN the season.
Merry Christmas!
Stevie
Copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens, Fort Worth, TX All rights reserved.
For information contact faithleap@sbcglobal.net
Friday, December 11, 2009
Santa
“Christmas, children, is not a date – it’s a state of mind.” Mary Ellen Chase
I agree wholeheartedly. Growing up as a child, my family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve, eve presents from Santa. I always joked that we ended up opening presents, because we would start with just one each, and then, being a bigger kid than us, my dad would push it until we had opened everything.
I still believe in the magic of Santa. That feeling that grows in my heart that makes me think anything is possible at this time of the year. The same magic that creates good will and yes, happiness and joy. Smiles are a little brighter, steps are a little quicker, all because of a jolly man in a red suit.
For just a few seconds, I want to put aside all the stress from trying to find the perfect present, and having the in-laws visit for a week, and making sure the ham is just so, and nurse that warm little glow.
I want to let loose and find the inner child and enjoy the season, not for what I get, but for what I can give: A smile, a hug, a kind word, a helping hand, or just a touch. Take a deep breath and feel the magic of Santa.
Merry Christmas.
Stevie
Copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens Fort Worth, TX
I agree wholeheartedly. Growing up as a child, my family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve, eve presents from Santa. I always joked that we ended up opening presents, because we would start with just one each, and then, being a bigger kid than us, my dad would push it until we had opened everything.
I still believe in the magic of Santa. That feeling that grows in my heart that makes me think anything is possible at this time of the year. The same magic that creates good will and yes, happiness and joy. Smiles are a little brighter, steps are a little quicker, all because of a jolly man in a red suit.
For just a few seconds, I want to put aside all the stress from trying to find the perfect present, and having the in-laws visit for a week, and making sure the ham is just so, and nurse that warm little glow.
I want to let loose and find the inner child and enjoy the season, not for what I get, but for what I can give: A smile, a hug, a kind word, a helping hand, or just a touch. Take a deep breath and feel the magic of Santa.
Merry Christmas.
Stevie
Copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens Fort Worth, TX
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
My Real Christmas Tree
I love this time of the year. I especially love the scent of fresh Christmas trees and garlands, not the dusty, musty smell from the one out of the box. My brother’s family used to always go cut their own tree, so a couple of years after I was single again, I decided that sounded good. The fresh smell would invigorate my house and it would be a “real” Christmas.
The day was chosen and we trooped out to the tree farm. Perusing the trees, hacksaw in hand, I finally found the one. I was good for about three sawcuts, then my brother had to take over, so really the day turned into Brad cuts down two Christmas trees, loads two trees, and unloads two trees.
We arrived at my house and unloaded my tree to cart it in and place it in the new stand I had bought. I grabbed the top and my brother grabbed the bottom and we started off. I dropped it.
“It’s sticky.”
“It’s sap. Pick up and let’s get it in the house.”
“My hands are sticky. I have to wash them.”
He looked at me. “Pick up the tree and let’s get it in the house then you can wash your hands. They’ll just get sticky again, because I’m not moving YOUR tree by myself.”
I mumbled something and picked up the tree again.
“And don’t even tell me it’s heavy. We have 20 steps to the house, you can make it. Now move it.”
I mumbled some more and we got the tree in the house. Brad dropped it in the stand.
“It’s crooked.” He adjusted something at the base.
“How’s that?”
“Now it’s crooked the other way.” He adjusted something else.
“Now?”
“It’s not as crooked.” He backed out. “You’re not going to fix it.”
He looked at me again. “Okay. It’s good.” He smiled and left.
I decorated the tree, enjoying the smell, washed the sticky off my hands. Got sticky again mixing the syrup water for the stand, pulled the needles off that were stuck to the syrup and washed my hands again. Lit a fire and enjoyed my real Christmas tree.
I came home from work the next day and found my tree on the floor. Called my brother and he came over and stood it up again. I didn’t tell him it was still crooked. Came home from work a couple of days later and found it on the floor again. Stood it up by myself, washed the sap off my hands and enjoyed my real tree.
A few days later I came home, and yes, it was on the floor again. I stood it up one more time, took a piece of string and tied it to the curtain rod. I swept up the falling needles, checked the water level, and washed the sap off my hands.
Finally Christmas came and went and I called my brother to come help me remove the tree. He pulled it out of the stand, but it wouldn’t move.
“What’s wrong with this tree? Why won’t it move.”
“It’s tied to the curtain rod. It kept falling down, so I fixed it.”
He looked at me. “You tied it . . . “
“To the curtain rod. It didn’t fall down anymore.”
He shook his head, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the string.
I bought a tree in a box when they went on sale in January. My brother couldn’t take another year of me having a real tree.
Stevie
copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens, Fort Worth, TX. All rights reserved.
The day was chosen and we trooped out to the tree farm. Perusing the trees, hacksaw in hand, I finally found the one. I was good for about three sawcuts, then my brother had to take over, so really the day turned into Brad cuts down two Christmas trees, loads two trees, and unloads two trees.
We arrived at my house and unloaded my tree to cart it in and place it in the new stand I had bought. I grabbed the top and my brother grabbed the bottom and we started off. I dropped it.
“It’s sticky.”
“It’s sap. Pick up and let’s get it in the house.”
“My hands are sticky. I have to wash them.”
He looked at me. “Pick up the tree and let’s get it in the house then you can wash your hands. They’ll just get sticky again, because I’m not moving YOUR tree by myself.”
I mumbled something and picked up the tree again.
“And don’t even tell me it’s heavy. We have 20 steps to the house, you can make it. Now move it.”
I mumbled some more and we got the tree in the house. Brad dropped it in the stand.
“It’s crooked.” He adjusted something at the base.
“How’s that?”
“Now it’s crooked the other way.” He adjusted something else.
“Now?”
“It’s not as crooked.” He backed out. “You’re not going to fix it.”
He looked at me again. “Okay. It’s good.” He smiled and left.
I decorated the tree, enjoying the smell, washed the sticky off my hands. Got sticky again mixing the syrup water for the stand, pulled the needles off that were stuck to the syrup and washed my hands again. Lit a fire and enjoyed my real Christmas tree.
I came home from work the next day and found my tree on the floor. Called my brother and he came over and stood it up again. I didn’t tell him it was still crooked. Came home from work a couple of days later and found it on the floor again. Stood it up by myself, washed the sap off my hands and enjoyed my real tree.
A few days later I came home, and yes, it was on the floor again. I stood it up one more time, took a piece of string and tied it to the curtain rod. I swept up the falling needles, checked the water level, and washed the sap off my hands.
Finally Christmas came and went and I called my brother to come help me remove the tree. He pulled it out of the stand, but it wouldn’t move.
“What’s wrong with this tree? Why won’t it move.”
“It’s tied to the curtain rod. It kept falling down, so I fixed it.”
He looked at me. “You tied it . . . “
“To the curtain rod. It didn’t fall down anymore.”
He shook his head, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the string.
I bought a tree in a box when they went on sale in January. My brother couldn’t take another year of me having a real tree.
Stevie
copyright 2009 Stevie Stevens, Fort Worth, TX. All rights reserved.
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