Yesterday we put up our two trees. In the family room we have a Family Tree with the special ornaments that I made or received as a child, plus our wedding ornaments, plus Alannah's ornaments she's made or received. The tree is primarily red this year, with only red lights and red garland and a red and green paper garland that Michael and Alannah made last year. Beneath the tree is a red/green/blue tree skirt with the manger scene on it that my mom made for me several years ago. Alannah also sets up the stable that my Grandpa made for me in 1982 and puts it under the tree. On the top is a star.
Tonight is our women's Christmas potluck at church. We are not exchanging gifts, but instead are bringing supplies for a homeless shelter. This is the devotional that I'm going to share tonight.
I grew up in a small town in central Michigan and my family attended a large Lutheran church. My mother grew up at this church, as did her father, as did his father. It was my Grandpa’s grandparents that emigrated from Bavaria, Germany in the 1850s to a little town called Frankenhilf (later renamed Richville) and joined the new St. Michael’s Lutheran Church. Settlers from Germany moved to escape religious persecution and crushing poverty and formed a town and church and school together. Until the minister retired when I was in high school in the mid-1980s, he preached three services on Sunday, two in English and one in German.
Like my mother, I attended St. Michael’s Lutheran School from first through eighth grade. Each year the school’s Christmas pageant was on Christmas Eve, and we sang songs and did recitations from Luke 2. From third through eighth grade I was in the school choir that met every day and performed a Christmas concert with the adult choir, bell choir and teen choir. Singing was a joy of my life, and even though I couldn’t read music to know the difference between a B or a G, I was enthusiastic and loud and on pitch, a choir director’s dream. Even now, at 40 years old I can easily sing the harmony of Oh, Holy Night and be transported back to the goose-bump moments when all of our voices sang, “Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!”
At the end of the summer of 1987 I was and working and beginning my sophomore year of college. I was asked by the new non-German speaking pastor if I would be interested in leading a clown ministry group. Even though I was crazy busy with full time work and a full time class schedule, and I had no idea what a clown ministry group was, I, of course, said, “Yes!” I had no concept of boundaries at the age of 19.
Four kids who were starting their sophomore year of high school had started the clown ministry group a few months earlier and were looking for a leader and more kids to join them. Six kids that were beginning high school that fall joined after reading an announcement in the church bulletin. All 10 kids, plus myself, had attended St Michael’s for 8 years, plus sung in the choir for 6 so we were used to performing. We made matching costumes: a white tee-shirt that we painted JOY BRINGERS on, plus shorts that had one leg in blue polka dots and one leg in blue stripes. Even though we chose primary colors of red and blue and yellow, my curly wig was, of course, colored pink.
We met on Sunday evenings to practice skits, sing and paint our faces. We picked names that were silly or sacred. I chose the name Gracie because it rhymed with my name and would remind people of God’s grace. We scheduled times to perform at nursing homes and the school fair, but our most memorable event was a couple of weeks before Christmas in 1987 when we sang Christmas carols at the hospital. Even though we only had our tee shirt and shorts costumes, we braved the cold and took song sheets with sacred Christmas hymns, eager to share the Christmas story with people who were sick or hurt. We were directed to the third floor at St. Mary’s Hospital and decided to start with the first room on our right on and go counter clockwise through the hall until we finished where we started.
As the leader, I coached the kids to take turns saying, “Hello! We are the Joy Bringers, a clown ministry group from St. Michael’s Lutheran Church. We would like to sing you a Christmas song. Do you have a request?”
Mentioning that we were from a church lent itself to people asking for sacred songs, and no one requested Rudoph or Frosty. Joy to the World, Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel. These were songs we had song nearly our entire life at both the Christmas pageant and choir concert, and we were confident and enthusiastic. We looked to our song sheets to help us with verses two and three, but always knew verse one by heart.
As we finished singing in one room and receiving huge smiles from the patients, we’d shuffle to the next while we chatted about what fun this was and how much people were enjoying the songs. The kids were so excited and it showed on their faces. They’d say, “I wonder what song will be requested next? We know all the songs!”
Soon one of the kids said, “Stacey, look at her!” At the end of the hallway stood a woman in a hospital gown with her arms crossed. She was completely bald and had a scowl on her face. I wondered, “Didn’t she like clowns? Perhaps she was not a Christian and didn’t like our sacred songs?” Whatever the reason, her posture and expression changed the kids’ excited energy to quiet anxiety as we moved from room to room. They looked at me with questioning eyes. I comforted them and encouraged them to sing to the other patients with the same joy they had before they noticed her.
As we got closer to the end of the hall, her hard gaze didn’t waver. “Smile!” I whispered to the kids. It’s hard to be afraid when you are smiling. As we entered the hallway to go to her room, we noticed she was no longer in the hall. The kids whispered, “Where is she? What’s going on? Why is she so angry?” I had no answers for their questions.
We entered her room, and I was in awe. There was gold damask wallpaper on the walls. A comfy sofa with throw pillows was positioned by the window. On her wood bed was a luxurious gold comforter. I had never seen such a room in a hospital before! I turned my eyes from the décor to the patient. She was sitting in bed, arms still crossed, scowl still on her face. It was startling to see such anger amidst such unexpected abundant beauty.
Up to that point, the kids had taken turns with our introductions and asking for a song request. However, they had whispered to me in the hall that they wanted me to talk to her. I took a deep breath and stated, “Hello! We are the Joy Bringers, a clown ministry group from St. Michael’s Lutheran Church. We would like to sing you a Christmas song. Do you have a request?”
She lifted her nose a little higher in the air and thought for a moment. “Yes, I do,” she said, “but I’m sure you don’t know it.” My heart dropped. These kids came to the hospital with such joy and innocence, wanting to share the joy of the Savior’s birth. I immediately thought, “Lord, please don’t let her ask for Good King Wenceslas.” I knew of the song, but had never heard it sung and I wanted her to pick any song but it.
“Try us!” I said, willing her not to say Good King Wenceslas. The kids started encouraging her to share her request. “We might know it,” they said eagerly, hopefully. “Yeah, we might know it.”
“Well,” she made the word two syllables. “I would like to hear Silent Night” – my heart started beating again and I thanked the Lord – and then she dropped her voice and said coldly, “in German!” I smiled and turned to the kids and said playfully, “And a one, and a two.” We sang together: Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht. We were so happy to sing to this sick, angry woman. We knew her obscure song choice because it was not obscure to a group of 11 German Lutheran kids. Even without the words on our song sheets, we knew it by heart. As we sang, the expression on the woman’s face changed from mean and ugly to . . . meaner and uglier. She was not happy that we knew the words. She attempted to steal our joy as we sang this beautiful hymn, but she merely made us feel pity for her.
After our voices faded, she said, “I didn’t think you’d know that!” I nodded my head and forced myself not to reply in anger, “Yes! I could see that on your ugly, mean face!” Instead we wished her a merry Christmas and turned to leave. Blocking the door was a woman with a worried expression on her face. She looked at us instead of the woman in the fancy bed, and I had no idea what she wanted.
“I heard you singing Silent Night in German and I was hoping you’d come to my husband’s room and sing it to him,” she asked.
The kids were thrilled and I was so thankful for her request. We agreed and continued our trek down the hallway to the next room. We sang to person after person in room after room, and now in the hallway waiting for us was this new woman, the wife. She stood at her husband’s door so we would know where he was. She made eye contact with us every time we moved from room to room. In her eyes were not anger or meanness, but care and concern for her sick husband. She looked worried, and as we moved closer and closer to her, we only wanted to comfort her and sing to her husband. My thoughts were that surely he wouldn’t be a grump like the bald lady was. Surely he would smile and affirm the kids. Their excitement had returned and their confusion over the bald lady was pushed aside.
We finally got to his room and I realized that it was the last room in on the third floor. We had come full circle. We were going to sing Stille Nacht again and to someone that really wanted us to sing it. I remember walking first into his room with the kids behind me. His face was towards the window, not the door, and as I walked towards him I could see that he was hooked to many machines. I looked down at him, ready for his big smile and . . . .he was asleep! Oh, no! We had taken too long and now he was asleep! I looked at his wife for guidance. “Sing,” she said. “He’ll hear you.”
Our voices joined together. Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Alles schläft; einsam wacht. As we sang, he mouthed the words along with us. Nur das traute hochheilige Paar. Tears fell from his closed eyes. Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar, Our throats constricted as we began to cry with him. Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh! Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh! Only the beeps from his life-support machines filled the room. His wife had tears in her eyes. We were all silent and crying. This moment, this song, this life – all a gift from God. Wearing face paint, a pink wig and shorts in December, no other moment in my life before or after has been as holy and pure. I remember every detail like it happened last week instead of over 20 years ago.
I think about how God looks at his children who are suffering and sees other children who can help. Like the wife of this man who heard us singing and invited us to her husband’s hospital room to lift his spirits, God sees our talents and gifts and invites us to share them with others. This is not the true meaning of Christmas. No, “Christ the Savior is born” is the true meaning of Christmas. This is what believers do in response to the Savior being born, dying and rising again!
I look at all of you and I see your response to God’s invitation. Tonight you’ve brought gifts for people who are homeless and hungry. You won’t see the faces of the people you are touching. You won’t see them with tears in their eyes as they are given these gifts. You won’t know their names or anything about them. But you do know God knows all of these things and it is by his Holy Spirit that you were moved to share your gifts. Like the wife who stood at her husband’s door to direct us to him, God leads us through his word to direct us to the path of salvation through his only begotten son, Jesus Christ.
And the same way that I was honored 20 years ago to be part of such a holy moment, I thank God for again honoring me for being a part of this holy moment.
Thank you, dear women. Merry Christmas. Stacey
These are my beautiful cousins; they are sisters. I took this photo while the professional photographer took one from another angle. I like the profile of the maid of honor and the angle of the bride's face. The backlighting of the veil is gorgeous. 
I saw a layout by Bren Boone and published it in the Artisan Notebook because I adored the frame she made. I bought her frame set at Shabby Pickle and used it with this photo of Alannah and her friend. 
I took this photo in October, but it definitely doesn't look like a fall picture. Alannah and Chelsea were playing on the hill behind my parents' home and I paused their silliness to get some pictures. This photo is so typical of their friendship: easy and breezy. I bought a bunch of goodies at Shabby Pickle (45% off!) and was inspired to use this photo with some of them.
Here's my friend Maggie and her husband, John on their wedding day, November 29! Yahoo! 
Whew!! A lot happened between my last post and this one. Alannah turned 7, we had Thanksgiving in Connecticut and my dear friend Maggie got married. I'll have pics of everything, but first I have a Christmas pic from last year. Poor Alannah was sick and I was still playing with me new camera, but she put on a happy face and I used Unsharp Mask. I think this may have been the 10th picture I took with it. I used the December Guild kit, Winter Twilight - it's stunning.
I am a child of God, a wife, a mother and blessed beyond measure. You can find me cooking with my daughter, working on a monthly magazine, scrapbooking or creating church communications. I love to sing and take portrait photography. I’m never bored!
