Luke 2:1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed
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“Christmas is never over, unless you want it to be…Christmas is a state of mind.”—Lauren Myracle
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I really love this video and hope that you will watch it. The graphics are beautiful, and the message is wonderful. The video starts with a written message saying, “This Christmas find the peace you’ve been waiting for. The star still shines”
The Star Still Shines (New Christmas song by Shawna Edwards)
If we seek the light
When peace is hard to find
He’ll send us silent nights
And touch our ears
So we can hear an angel voice.
And in the darkest times
He will lift our eyes
To see the star still shines
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Tater Tot Casserole
2 pounds ground beef (I use ground turkey)
1 large onion, chopped
1 pound sliced fresh mushrooms
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 cans (10-3/4 ounces each) condensed cream of mushroom soup, undiluted
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 pound frozen cut green beans (Sometimes I use frozen mixed vegetables)
1 bag (32 ounces) frozen Tater Tots
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
In a large skillet cook meat over medium-high heat until no longer pink, 5-6 minutes, breaking into crumbles; drain and transfer to a 5-qt. slow cooker. Add onion and mushrooms to skillet; cook over medium-high heat until vegetables are tender, 8-10 minutes. Add garlic; cook 1 minute longer. Stir in condensed soup, salt and pepper. Place vegetable mixture in slow cooker; add green beans and stir to combine. Top with Tater Tots and cheese. Cook, covered, on low 6 hours. Let stand, uncovered, 15 minutes before serving.
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I’ve enjoyed the opportunity to learn more about Christmas joy. We can increase that joy by first, focusing on Jesus Christ, next focusing on Others around us and finally on You (ourselves). This season can be a difficult one for people who are grieving. The death of a spouse or of a marriage; the passing of a child or grandchild, the loss of a job or a home can leach all of the happiness from this season. We need to remember that Joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness "happens to us", while joy lives within us. Happiness is like the bubbles in a hot tub—delightful but fleeting. When conditions change, (like the timer runs out) the bubbles are gone, but the water is still there. Joy is the water in the hot tub, or the oxygen that fills our world. It is the ever present love of Our Savior. If you are grieving or know someone who is, then you know that the world is upside down. Nothing is the way it used to be and the things which once brought you happiness, don't anymore. If you know someone who is grieving, share stories and memories with them. Give them opportunities to get out and socialize, but don't try and force it. Help them find positive tidbits to smile about. Send texts, notes, or make quick phone calls. Do chores. Let them know someone cares. Don't take it personally if they are not always warm and welcoming. People can experience many different emotions at the same time, and anger is a part of loss and of grieving. I am not a trained Social worker or Grief Counselor, but after being involved with Hospice for many, many years I have come to understand much about grief. My advice is: Love them. Love them. Help them to feel the love of their Savior, Jesus Christ. ~~ Marilee
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In 2008, Lavarr Webb gave permission for me to use this story written by his father, LaVarr B. Webb. Mr. Webb was a prolific writer. This story is their family favorite.
THE TWENTY-EIGHT CENT CHRISTMAS TREE
~LaVarr B. Webb
It was a cold day. A gray day, gray with the threat of snow, and gray with the threat of tears. There were children in our family, three of them, ages one, twelve, and fourteen. There were two children missing on that cold, gray day. They had died one Easter season some four years before. Scarlet Fever had wracked their bodies and blotched their skin.
But now the memory of that sad season was replaced by what could be a happier one. It was Christmas Eve 1935, a Depression year. My father was without a job, trying to get on WPA (Works Progress Administration).
I don't know where he was that night, just that he wasn't home, but I remember my mother trying to create Christmas joy with nothing to work with.
I was fourteen. My older sister was twelve. I don't remember that we were too concerned about receiving Christmas presents, at least I wasn't. My sister probably wanted a doll. She always wanted a doll, a baby doll, a doll like my baby sister had been, with fat, pink cheeks, and chubby hands and arms.
But now, Christmas Eve, my baby sister was thin and listless. I remember my mother telling my father, "My baby isn't getting proper food."
I don't remember much about that Christmas of 1935 other than I wanted a Christmas Tree. I told my mother, "Christmas will not be Christmas if we do not have a Christmas tree."
My sister and I begged for a tree. My mother told us "Time, and time again," "We have no money and I cannot buy a Christmas Tree."
My sister and I would not be deterred. We took colored paper from catalogs, cut it into strips, curled the strips into circles, and using flour and water paste, pasted one link into another until we had long lengths of highly colored paper chains.
We looked for tin foil from discarded chewing gum wrappers and cigarette packs. Some of the foil we cut into thin strips for icicles. Our neighbor had an English Walnut tree. We took halves of walnut shells, wrapped them with foil, and had beautiful ornaments that would rival anything found in a store.
We popped popcorn and made chains. We found discarded cranberries and made cranberry chains, but we had no Christmas Tree for our lovely ornaments. Finally, as day was fading, and the dark was creeping across the valley, I asked my mother, "See how much money you have. Maybe someone will sell me a tree."
She went to her purse and handed me twenty-eight cents. She was crying when she said, "That is all I have."
I jumped on my bike and rode up to Twenty First South Street in Salt Lake City where all the Christmas Tree lots were located. I went from lot to lot, but no one would sell me a tree for twenty-eight cents.
About nine o'clock, up on Twenty First South and State Street, I found a man turning off his lights and shutting down for the day, shutting down for the season. I asked him, "Do you have a tree you will sell for twenty-eight cents?"
His exact words were, "What the heck! I can't sell anymore anyway. Take your pick."
I found one just a little taller than I was, gave him my twenty-eight cents, put the tree across my handlebars, and headed home. As I peddled out of the lot, I heard him cry, "Merry Christmas" -- and it was.
