La Posada

Today is my day. My chapter of A Ruby Christmas is out on the publisher's page. (See the bottom of this post for the link.) Ruby is traveling around the world, so of course, I sent her to my favorite country - Guatemala! In honor of her trip, I've asked my father, John Shackelford, if I could post a story he wrote about a posada we all saw while we lived there. Enjoy it.

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We had spent the day shopping in the capital city, and didn't start that long drive home until late in the afternoon. As we descended from the high peaks of the cordillera about 9:00 P.M. we came into Totonicapán, a Mayan Village with cobblestone streets. It was nice to get away from the dusty dirt road for a little while, even though the stones were quite rough, but it meant we were getting closer to home. The kids were asleep in the back seat, but suddenly they were awakened by a large procession marching along the main street filled with people. The people were all dressed in their Mayan costumes and marching along very slowly carrying a statue of Mary and Joseph on their shoulders. Even with the windows closed against the cold mountain night air, we could hear their native drums made from hollow tree trunks and sheep skins. One man played his homemade bamboo flute. They chanted weird tunes developed over the centuries by their Mayan culture. A strange hollow sound, which is characteristic of the posada, was the clicking sound from the striking of a turtle shell.

Of course they didn't move over for a lonely car, for this was a very important occasion, so we just followed along. The posada consists of villagers carrying a statue of Joseph and Mary on their shoulders and chanting that they are looking for a place for the baby Jesus to be born. This religious custom is taken from the story of Jesus being born in a manger.

 And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that while they were there the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Luke 2:4-7 (KJV, italics added)

This is the setting for the posadas. The men carried a platform with the life size statues of the sacred couple, and called out at every home, "Does anyone have room for Joseph and Mary, a place where they can spend the night, where the baby Jesus can be born?" They stopped at several houses and asked, "Is there room for the baby Jesus here?" No one seemed to have a place for Him. After about 15 minutes, they arrived at a pre-selected home and the owners ran out and invited Joseph and Mary to come in. They had room in their home! Room for the parents of Jesus and a place for Jesus to be born. They invited those carrying the statues, as well as the whole crowd, into their home. We probably would have been welcome too, but didn't ask because we wanted to get home.

But that is when the whole event lost its sacred significance. The statues were placed in a dark corner with one lighted candle, no longer important and completely ignored. The table was set with tamales wrapped in banana leaves, which is a great delicacy and eaten with bread and coffee and replaces the regular menu of tortillas and black beans. Lots of festivities followed with heavy drinking and partying. The poor holy couple and their son Jesus were inconvenient and pushed off into a dark corner. It didn't take long for our children to comment that it didn't seem to them that there was any room for Jesus at that Posada.

Now the road had cleared and we were on our way. As we drove home, the chorus that we used to sing in Christian Endeavor came to our minds, and we sang it together as we drove off into the lonely night, "Into my heart, into my heart, come into my heart, Lord Jesus. Come in today, come in to stay, come into my heart, Lord Jesus."

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You can read about Ruby's trip to Guatemala here.

Babies at Christmas

When Zoey was two, her favorite of my Christmas ornaments was a large snow globe with the nativity scene inside it. It stood on a musical stand where camels rested after their long trip. The music box played “We Three Kings” and the camels rotated slowly underneath the globe. I placed it in the middle of the table where Zoey’s little hands couldn’t reach it, so she sat in a chair that brought her eyes up level with the camels and watched and listened. As soon as the music ran down she would laugh and say “again.” And again. And again. I thought there would never be anyone as precious as two year old Zoey.

Of course, three year old Zoey was just as precious – and she still is.

There’s something really special about having a baby around at Christmas. We often think that Christmas is for the children – the lights and music and presents and cookies . . . Or that all those things bring out the child in each of us. But Christmas is about a child too young to appreciate those things.

If you’re blessed, you’ve had an infant in your arms on Christmas. For me, it was a two month old niece. I felt her tiny body snuggle up to me, smelled her baby smell and saw her little mouth pucker. For a brief moment, I could picture my Creator like this. Really.

Okay. I couldn’t.

But God uses real life situations as metaphors to make His message clear. Holding a baby at Christmas was one for me. It was overwhelming to hold a tiny, helpless baby and consider that the Sovereign God gave up His glories in Heaven and was born like this baby into a helpless world.

I can’t grasp the enormity of it, but I am humbled by it. And just a little bit afraid.

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Today Ruby goes to South Africa, where I had the privilege of holding a different niece, although it was closer to Easter than it was to Christmas. You can read her adventure in chapter eight here.

Meet the author, Debbie Roome.

Stupid Sheep

Luke 2:8-12

Every nativity scene has sheep in it, but, within the story, the sheep aren’t very important. On the other hand, the Shepherd is the main character, although no one knows Him as the Shepherd yet. But, if you’ll allow me to mix metaphors a bit, if Jesus is the Shepherd, we’re the sheep. And we do have a role in the story. We’re the recipients of the love and grace that sent the Shepherd.

The reason the Shepherd came was because the sheep were lost and needed a savior. When the Shepherd came, He searched for His lost sheep and called them by name. 

He found us. He saved us.

So when you look at your nativity scene this year, after you thank God for the Baby, remember that you’re in the story too. You’re that little lamb off on the side. You’re the recipient of the good news that brings great joy. 

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This week, Ruby's search takes her outside of the United States. Enjoy.

Learn more about the author, Jennifer Fromke.

If you enjoy here writing (and of course you will), I recommend A Familiar Shore.

The Angels Didn't Sing

I know what you’re thinking. “Of course the angels sang. Everyone sings about it.”

“Hark the herald angels sing”

And

“Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plain”

I’m sorry to disillusion you, but the carols got it wrong. Look at what the scripture actually says:

Luke 2:13-14 “Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying, Glory to God in highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”

Yup. They said it, not sang it. This quote is from the New Living Translation, but all the others I checked also use saying, even the King James.

Okay, so the angels didn’t sing to the shepherds, but Isaiah and John saw them singing in heaven, didn’t they?

Nope. Both men saw angels praising God with the words, “holy, holy, holy.” But Isaiah heard them calling out to each other (Isaiah6:3) and John heard them say it (Revelation 4:8).

Maybe I’m right (and maybe I’m wrong – there must be a reason everyone thinks angels sing), but so what? Did I just ruin your Christmas with my pickiness about words?

Here’s what I think. There are lots and lots of occasions in the Bible where people sing, from Moses and Miriam to David to Paul and Silas. There are even people – not angels - singing in heaven (Revelation 5:8-10). So I think singing is one of God’s special gifts to people. I think it’s a very particular way He has given for us to praise Him. In fact, I think it’s one of the ways we’re made in His image.

I found one place in the Bible where God sings.

For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.

He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Zephaniah 3:17(NLT)

This passage is talking about Israel’s rebellion against God and God’s redemption of His people. God celebrates His salvation by singing over His beloved. He’s singing over us. We are the ones He came to save. We are the ones He came to live among. We respond by singing with joy.

The angels aren’t singing, because they’re not the ones He came to save. We should be the ones singing.

“Joy to the world, the Lord is come. Let earth receive her King.” 

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Guess what Ruby Joy (isn't that appropriate?) finds in chapter five of the book.

You can meet the author, Jerusha Agen, here.

Miracle of the Nativity

My friend and publisher, Tracy Ruckman, is letting me share an inspiring story she wrote about a time when someone showed her unexpected love. I want to find opportunities to love like this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

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December that year appeared bleak. As a newly single parent of two small boys, I worked two jobs to pay our bills. At times, it seemed I earned just enough salary to pay the babysitter, with nothing left over for the basics.

Then it got worse.

The first week of December, the owners of the store where I worked fulltime decided to focus their energies on their parent store in another town, and planned to close ours within a few days. The same week I received my notice, I had a disagreement with the editor of the paper where I worked my second job. He wanted me to report a false story. When I refused, he forced me to resign. 

In one week's time, I lost two jobs—both just before Christmas.

I spent most of my time seeking other jobs, and tried to keep life as normal as possible for the children. The dreary weather matched my mood, and I struggled to stay upbeat for my kids. The world—my world—depended on me, and I seemed to be failing miserably.

On December 12, I came home from one of my final days at work to find a black trash bag hanging on my front door. I shifted the baby to one arm, and with the other, cautiously lifted the bag from the handle. "Stay back," I yelled at my older son. I had no idea what was inside.

I put the baby down and carefully peeked inside. I laughed at my silliness. Inside was a tiny, gaily-wrapped package. We pushed through the door, and I settled the boys on the sofa. "Okay, just sit there and we'll see what this is." I pulled out a package about the size of my hand. A note taped to the box read: Open Now.

I tore off the ribbon and paper and opened the box. 

When I revealed the gift hidden in layers of tissue paper, Zach laughed, Jonathan said, "Mooooo," and I stared. 

A cow? A ceramic cow? What did that mean?

There was no note explaining the ceramic cow.

Later that evening, I called some of my friends and asked if they had given us the cow. No one confessed, but they thought the whole story was rather amusing.

We put the cow on the table and went to bed.

The next morning, there was another trash bag hanging on our door. This time, the note said "Day 2–Open Now." It was a donkey.

An excited Zach rushed to the door the third morning, ready to add to the barnyard collection. Nothing was there, but later that evening, his monitoring of the door paid off because we unwrapped a sheep.

The next morning, a shepherd boy arrived and that's when I figured out what was going on. "Twelve days of Christmas," I said aloud. 

That was exactly right. Each day, for the twelve days before Christmas, we received one piece of a beautiful nativity set and it even included a stable. The anticipation of each day's arrival seemed to perk us up a bit, and it caused my own focus on the season, and on our lives, to change.

On Christmas Eve, baby Jesus arrived, and our crèche was complete.

Our special gift that year was a turning point for all of us, and we knew God was with us. We enjoyed that nativity for many years.

I found work—one job that paid better than the two previous positions. 

But that's not the end of the story.

Seven years later, the boys and I moved to another state to get a fresh start. We faced other trials, too. My father and my grandmother had both been diagnosed with cancer, and their deaths were imminent. "Only months, possibly weeks away," the doctors told us. We moved into my grandmother's house. She gave us her house and moved into my father's house where my sister, who lived next door, could care for them both. Once again, we began to rebuild our lives.

When Thanksgiving arrived that year, I thought of the hardships we had gone through. If we hadn't had my grandmother's house to move into, we would have become homeless. I seemed to creep through the activities of each day. Our circumstances brought to mind that other Christmas years before. We no longer had our Nativity set. We couldn't afford to hire a trailer to move everything, so that was one of the items we left. At Christmas I realized how deeply I missed it. 

My godly grandmother died on December 2. I felt her loss to the depth of my being. But I knew she was in heaven, and God carried us through the pain and the tears, and comforted our hearts. 

A week after her funeral, I climbed into the attic, looking for possible Christmas decorations. I didn't really feel like putting out anything, but the boys were still young, and it was important for us to honor Jesus' birthday, regardless of our circumstances. 

The attic was small, hardly big enough to stand in. It looked as if no one had been up there for years. But there were several boxes, so I explored each one.

When I opened the last dusty one, tucked in a far corner and saw what appeared to be Christmas things, I closed it and hauled it back down the steps. I set the box on the sofa in front of me and re-opened it. 

As I unpacked the first piece, tears filled my eyes. I pulled out the objects one by one. By the time the box was empty, I sobbed uncontrollably.

In my hands were all the pieces of a nativity set—identical to the one I'd left behind. I pulled out the familiar cow, the donkey, the sheep and shepherd boy, and the precious baby Jesus. Even the stable was the same.

God was with us. That may sound strange, but the comfort of that crèche made me aware of the love of God for me and my family.

Two days after Christmas, my dad died. That was even harder than the death of my grandmother. Friends and family have asked us how we got through that difficult time. I have only one answer; God was with us.

Now, twelve years since that Christmas, and nineteen since we first received the nativity, I still don't know the identity of the giver. But God used that gift to give us something more—He made His presence known to us, both with the first Nativity set, and then again with my grandmother's. 

That simple crèche made Christmas a reality—twice. Both times I was able to turn my focus away from my life and remember the message of Christmas. Jesus had come into the world and had nothing, not even a bed on which to sleep. By comparison, I had so much. 

My treasured Nativity scene is an annual Christmas reminder of the meaning of the season. God is with us. 

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I hope you're enjoying Ruby's search for the perfect nativity scene. See what she finds in the fourth chapter here.

There's also a contest on the publisher's site, with a prize of books! Look for the details when you go to read the chapter.