The Best Gift I ever Received

The Christmas Season is always a mixed bag of emotions for me. We say Jesus is the reason for the season, but truth be told, He is the reason for all seasons. He doesn’t just pop up on Christmas Day in a wrapped gift under the tree. But on the other hand, He could pop up at a cookie exchange. He’s been known to show up at the oddest places if we look for Him.

This time of year means depression for some and additional debt for others. It can be the busiest time in our homes, baking, entertaining and sharing love with family and friends. For others it’s being alone.

My daughter insisted I go to one of the Christmas parties she’d been invited to.  I dug in my heels and said, “I don’t want to go. Why do I have to make cookies? Can I go without cookies?” I finally gave in and went with four dozens cookies. I’m glad I did.

The delightful hostess asked us to remember the best present we ever received at Christmas. She thought we would say “Jesus.” I missed her point, and others did, too.

I thought of the most important gift that I ever received. It was Christmas of 1954. I was thirteen. My folks struggled financially and that Christmas my two brothers and I woke up to an empty tree without gifts.

And yet, when asked about the best present I ever received I went back to 1954. In the limbs of our tree was a small box. Inside was a used gold Elgin watch with a scratch across its face. I don’t remember if my brothers received a gift. I only remember the gift I received and how disappointed I was.

I hurt my folks because of my ungratefulness. They forgave me. My mother explained how my dad pawned his shotgun and traded it for the watch. She said it was the best he could give me. It was a sacrifice for my dad. He loved to go duck and pheasant hunting with that shotgun. I never thanked him. I was too self-indulgent at the time.

In August of the following year, my Dad died suddenly of a heart attack. My mother, a widow at thirty-six with three young children, who never worked outside the home before, went to work to support us.

Our family was turned upside down. My mother sacrificed to keep us together, fed and clothed. I didn’t see until years later at a cookie exchange how much my parents had done for us. They really did give us the best they had to give.

The season and trouble at hand always seem to overshadow the gift God gave to us in His Son, Jesus. I picture the angels in heaven peering down over the side of the little baby’s crib in wonderment. How could God redeem this hurting world from its pain in an innocent baby?

The baby grew up, climbed Calvary, and hung on the limbs of a tree. He sacrificed His life for us. Scars across his face, beaten and unrecognizable, Christ was the greatest gift His Father ever gave.

The night before his death, Jesus reminded us, “Fear not, rejoice and be of good courage…. These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world." John 16:33 NAS

Today, the watch my dad gave to me years ago is somewhere mixed among my other jewelry, forgotten. I hadn’t thought about it for years until a beautiful hostess asked us to name the most precious gift we ever received.

It wasn’t the scratched face of a used watch I received that year, it was the sacrifice of someone who loved me. It was God’s faithfulness to show me the sacrifice of my parents.

This time of the year, the most precious gift we ever receive could be mixed in among all the other things in our busy lives. It could be discarded without even a thank you, left in the shadow of the bright lights, noise, parties and all the gift giving.

Final Brushstroke: I carried away from the cookie exchange more than a platter of cookies. I carried away the spirit of Christmas seen through the heart of the hostess. Thank you Jesus for the gift of salvation. May we never forget to thank you.

Rivers of Memories that are Gentle on His Mind

After watching the football game in Pueblo, the family filed into our hotel room with cups of hot chocolate. We threw ourselves on the bed and our daughter picked up the television remote. She clicked on a few stations, “Let’s see if there’s another football game to watch.”

You’d think one football game in a day is enough? Not saying anything, we’re just blessed to be included in these crazy weekly outings with the family. There will be a day when my Sweet Al and I will be too much trouble to take. For us, there will be a day when it’ll take too much effort to go and we’ll opt to stay at home.

As our daughter clicked through the channels, a documentary on Glenn Campbell caught my eye. “Hey, wait, let’s see what they’re saying. Go back to that channel.”

My Sweet Al and I have history with Glenn Campbell. We danced to his western music at the Hitchin’ Post in Albuquerque in 1959. That’s a memory my Sweet Al still talks about. He saw me on the dance floor laughing and having fun. He tells people he fell in love with my blond ducktail, three-inch heels and black sweater.

By the end of the week, Al decided I was the one. Not sure if it was the ducktail, high heels or Glenn Campbell’s music, but one year later I was Mrs. Al Slade. In Al’s mind I’m still that girl on the dance floor. Rose-colored glasses.

The television program on Glenn Campbell was to boost the Campaign for Alzheimer Awareness. Our family watched the documentary together, which is a little close to home for our girls. My Sweet Al forgets things and it seems to take more time for us to get in and out of the car or just do things. They are watching us slowly change, but they keep diligently including us in everything they do.

Glenn’s wife, Kim opened up about coping with the latest stages of his battle with Alzheimer's disease. They showed him in the studio singing. It probably took a team of people hours to get him ready for that studio shot. Music and lyrics are some of the things he still remembers. In tears she said, “It’s hard. We must keep them living.”

Those words went off in me like a firecracker. I said to our daughter, “I don’t ever want to forget those words, she didn’t say keep them alive, but she said keep them living.”

That’s what the family was doing in a hotel room in Pueblo after a football game. Our kids invited us along. Are we that much fun to have around? They say we are. I hope so. Thanks to them they make sure “we keep living.” They are insisting we don’t get too comfortable and we are apart of their lives. Our daughter says, “We want you to experience new memories with us in them.”

My Sweet Al still would like to see me in three-inch heels and wearing a ducktail. He thinks I could pull it off. In my mind, I’m pulling it off if I just show up in Sketchers. For our children, I’m not sure what’s on their minds and what they’re thinking. And, I don’t think I want to know.

In 1967, Glenn hit the big times with these words. “It's knowin' that your door is always open, And your path is free to walk…That keeps you in the back roads, By the rivers of my memory, That keeps you ever gentle on my mind.”

The next morning at the hotel, we pulled out of the parking lot without Sweet Al. We didn't get far until our daughter said, “Wait. We forgot Daddy. We really need to keep a closer eye on them.” Another round of laughs.

I said, “On them? Are you saying you have to keep your eye on me, too? I’m in the car. I can still hear, remember I got new hearing aids.”

Final Brushstroke! We need to keep living and keep the ones we love living, too. Sometimes my Sweet Al forgets to get back in the car, but I know for certain what he’s thinking. His thoughts are always pure and sweet and the rivers of memory are still gentle on his mind.

Clingy Dogs

I live in a family that lives by the creed, “Love me, love my dog.” I don’t buy it. Why do I have to love their dogs? They are always going off somewhere and leaving their dogs for me to take care of. Are they proving to themselves or me that I love their dogs? Not a chance.”

I was stacking wood with Sweet Al and our daughter. We were fighting off the dogs under foot the whole time.  I said to them, “What have you done to your dogs that make them so clingy? They have to be with you all the time.”

They don’t know why, but I know.  They feed them treats and talk baby talk to them. If I was treated that way, I’d be clingy, too.

I said to them, “Can’t we just put the dogs in the garage. We can’t get any work done. You don’t correct them, you just say, “Don’t do that, go away, be good and I’ll give you a snack. That’s not cutting it.”

“And why is it all the dogs on the Lower Blanco hang out on our property? Because, some one must be feeding them treats.” I looked at Al just grin and play dumb. “At any given time, there are at least five dogs on our property. We only own two. The owners don’t notice their dogs are gone and their dogs stay around for a few days. After three days, I can’t take it, their ribs are showing and so I feed them, too.”

Our son-in-law says, “If our dog comes over, don ‘t feed her, she’ll keep coming back.” His dog walks two miles when she can get out of her pen. There’s a dog party going on all the time. I should be handing out funny hats and noisemakers.

I was awake when I had this nightmare. We left for our weekly trip to Pueblo. The Southern Colorado Cluster Dog Show had also come to town with their top dog show. Owners and dogs were from all over the country to compete in breed and sporting shows, obedience and rally competitions.  And guess what? They were all staying at the hotel where we were staying.

As we were waiting for the elevator doors to open, you guessed it. Three dogs were sitting on the elevator looking at me. Our one daughter laughed and said, “This is someone’s dream.” She looked left at her sister, and then she looked right at me. “Or someone’s nightmare.”

“You better believe it. They’ll be sleeping on the beds tonight.” I rolled my eyes and looked at Sweet Al and our daughter.  They were talking to the dogs and petting them.

The dogs were all fluffed up, cleaned-up and leading their proud owners around by a leash. I could see the invisible sign on the owners, “Love me, love my dog.” The dogs were everywhere, in the lobby, prancing down the hallways and in the rooms.  They were yipping and yapping, barking and growling all night.

I said to our kids, “This is too much for me. The dogs have followed me to Pueblo.

When we get to the room, the two of you need to wash your hands.”

They looked at me with this questioning look, like “Why?”

On the flipside our daughter works at a place of business where the customers bring in their pets. She is thrilled. She knows the name of every dog that passes by her register. They wait at the register while their owner shops. She gives them a treat. She might forget the owner’s name, but never the dog’s name. She loves Wilson, Uno Pippi, Wally and others I’ve forgotten. And it’s the best day ever for her when they come in.

I said to her, “I’m writing an article on dogs. Tell me about the dogs who come into your work?”

She lit up like a Christmas tree and told me how many dogs came in that day. She has offered to take care of them if anything happens to their owners. I told her, “Absolutely not. They will end up at our house like all the other dogs on the Blanco.”

Whiskey, Sweet Al’s dog is clingy and constantly by his side. I made a place in the house she can sleep. I swore up and down I wouldn’t let her in our bedroom.

She scratches at the door until she’s lying on the floor next to him on his side of the bed. Next she’ll be sleeping in our bed with her head on my pillow and I’ll be sleeping on the floor.

Final Brushstroke! My Sweet Al is too old to learn new tricks and his dog can’t live without him. Our son says, “Give it up, Mother. He’s only been with you fifty-five years. He’s had a dog his whole life, he’s not going to change now.”

Friends and Family Knew They Were Loved

I listened intently to the tribute the family gave to their mother and grandmother. With tears in their eyes, each child and grandchild stood and said, “I knew I was loved.”

I said to the group at her Celebration Service, “This is rare to see grandchildren cry over their grandmother. In this day there is a breach between grandparents and grandchildren. For some of us, Facebook is our only communication with our grandchildren.

But for Elaine Hyde, there were weekly phone conversations with her family right up to her last breath. She was always available to each one of them.

Two weeks before she passed, the grandchildren were still calling her and telling her about their grades and studies. Her mind was sharp and she was interested in each one of them. They all knew that their grandmother prayed for them by name.

What an amazing woman. When I received the phone call telling me that my good friend, Elaine Hyde, had passed on, my first thought was, Oh no, she was the hub of the family, what will the family do?

I asked the caller, “Does everyone know about Elaine passing?”

“No. The newspaper went to press a day early, it was Thanksgiving week. The news was 35 minutes late from making the deadline. The paper was already being printed when they called.”

“The Celebration Service is on Saturday. Everyone is out of town. A big storm is supposed to hit Colorado. Few people know.”

How will the family get here? In my mind, no one was ready.

“They can’t get flights at this late date. Most of them are driving.” The caregiver asked, “Who do you know that knows Elaine?”

My mind plugged into 1977. Elaine and I taught the teenagers at the First Baptist Church. We started the 5^th Quarter. “Does the Aldridge girls know? What about the Davidson boys, the Watkins, the Days, the Lattins, and the Laues? I needed to let my children know. I named everyone I could think of, then I started calling.

At the service I said to one of her children, “It’s kind of like Mother Teresa, she passed in the shadow of Princess Di. I always thought it was the way she wanted it be. It was never about fanfare, it was about her mission in life. Elaine’s mission was to build a strong family unit and spread the gospel. She didn’t care about fanfare, either.

The family said, “Mother was ready.”

I said to them, “I’ve never known your mother not to be ready to meet Jesus. His name was always on her lips and her prayers for her family were constant. From Snowball Road, she touched an enormous world. She was a missionary to her family first, then everyone else.

Each one said, “We always came to the ranch to feel safe. Pagosa was a place we could bring our kids and even our dogs. We were always welcome.”

The legacy she left for her family will continue to go forth. The Hyde Family was a strong family in our community. The Hydes’ grew up with Pagosa and Pagosa grew up with them. They left a strong and deep path for many hearts to follow. Judge Hyde was a man of integrity and justice, Elaine, a woman who cared about everyone.

I looked at the photos on the screen. She smiled with her heart. Her family talked about all the love they felt and how she was always there.

My first thought when I heard about Elaine was what will the family do? Who will be the hub? She kept the family together. Her children and grandchildren are products of Bert and Elaine Hyde. Their children are going to do just fine.

She loved much. Friends and family all knew that Elaine loved them.

Final Brushstroke! Elaine, You didn’t meet the deadline, but you met the big deadline, you were ready. You left behind a path for all of us. We’ve learned so much from your life and how you lived and loved.  Thank you for your faithfulness. It’s an honor to call you friend.