Home

I'm home right now. Home for Christmas, home in Lubbock, home with my parents, and my siblings, and my church, and old friends. Home with my mom's cooking, and my daddy's stories. Home with familiar streets, and memorable landmarks, and favorite restaurants, and radio DJ's that I grew up with.

This place is still home. But it's also interesting to notice how my definition of home has changed. While it's true that I'm home because I'm with my family in my hometown, there's also a part of me that feels like I've left home behind. Maybe that's because my parents live in a house that I've never lived in. Maybe it's because my life is in Fort Worth now. Maybe it's because my heart is tied to someone who's not here with me right now. It's probably a combination of these things.

It's funny how the older I get, the more split my ties to "home" become. Home will always be with my parents and my siblings, but as life changes, geography changes, and people change, things seem to be shifting a bit. Because after this Christmas, home will also be with the man that I love...wherever that may be. There's a tension there that I'm sure will work itself out as these things seem to do in life, but right now I'm finding it very interesting. It's an odd mix of emotions to be so excited about seeing my family and being in Lubbock, and to still know that something...someone...is missing. I don't like it very much. But I suppose that's just part of this season in my life that I have to put up with. Right now I'm enjoying today, looking forward to "One Day," counting down the minutes until I get to see "someone" again, and going to eat my mom's wonderful food!

Numero Tres

Story #3...this is the unedited version, so I think that there are a couple of typos and awkward sentences...ignore those, please. Basically, this is the story of Jesus's birth from the perspective of the innkeeper.

The Story of the Innkeeper

The old innkeeper was tired. It had been a long, busy day – a long busy month, really. When he'd heard a few months back that there was going to be a census taken, he had been excited. He knew that this meant that there would be people traveling from out of town to Bethlehem to be registered, and most of these people would need a place to stay. The more people who stayed with him, the more money he would make. With that kind of increased business, he could take care of his family for the next several years! He had excitedly begun to prepare the house for his guests, and had looked forward to the start of the busy season.

And a busy season it had been! But to be honest, most of the excitement had faded away. For the last month he hadn't had an empty room in his inn. There had been people packed in each small room, and almost more mouths to feed that he had time to cook for. People were cramped, tired, and frustrated that they were traveling all this way to be taxed by Cesar. It was true that the money had been good, but his old body was in enough pain now, that money was the last thing on his mind. His wife and children were exhausted too, and he had begun to count down the days to when all of this craziness would be over. On top of taking care of a packed house full of people, it had become a part of his regular routine to let people knocking on his door know that there was no more room in the inn. Every day he turned away dozens. At first it was apologetically,

"I'm sorry. We are completely out of room. You might try down the road a little bit."

Soon, though, he began to get frustrated with the number of people knocking on his door, and his compassion had dwindled. He would simply fling open the door, say "no room!" and fling the door shut again. He didn’t have time to worry about being nice when he had so many mouths to feed and people to clean up after.

Today had been just like every other day in the past month. He had gotten up before the sun, worked hard all day. He had cooked. He had cleaned. He had open and shut his front door fifteen times turning people away. Now it was nighttime, and while most of the people in his house were sound asleep, he and his wife were still finishing up the day's chores. She walked up beside him, still holding the broom in her hand, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"What were we thinking?" she asked with a tired smile. "We should have just been farmers or shepherds or something."

"Well, animals are probably easier to take care of than people, that's for sure," he replied tucking his arm around her waist. "Why don't we go to bed? The floor's just going to get dirty again tomorrow and I think that we could both use some sleep."

His wife agreed, and they turned to head toward their bedroom. Just as he was about to blow out the last candle, he heard yet another knock on his front door. He groaned and said,

"I'm not answering it. They'll get the hint that there's no room if nobody answers."

"But dear," his wife protested, "don't you think that you should at least tell them about the place a couple of miles down the road that has been putting people up?"

His wife had this way of getting her husband to do anything she wanted just by looking at him a certain way, so he knew that it was pointless to argue with her. He quickly crossed the room to the front door, intent on dismissing whoever was on the other side right away, so that he could go to bed.

When he opened the door, he found a tall man standing on the other side. The man quickly spoke before the innkeeper had a chance to tell him to go,

"Please, sir. Do you have anywhere that we might be able to sleep for the night? My wife is not feeling well, and she really needs to rest."

The innkeeper looked past the tall man to see a young woman standing a few feet behind her husband with their few possessions. She was small in stature, but she was also very pregnant, and she appeared to be in pain.

"I'm sorry," he said with more sincerity that he had used all day, "I would like to help you but I just don't have any room. You might try the house a few miles down the road, but to be honest, they're probably full too."

The tall man turned away slowly, looking defeated. Just as the innkeeper was closing the door, he heard the man's young wife cry out it pain. His wife had had six children, and he knew the sound of a woman's labor pains. He was filled with compassion for the girl, and he quickly pulled the door open again.

"Wait!" he yelled to the couple.

They turned hopefully toward him as he walked in their direction.

"I don't have much to offer you. I don't have a room. I don't have a bed. I don't have midwife or even a blanket. But you can sleep in my barn. There is fresh hay, and it's warmer than sleeping outside."

The relief on the man's face was almost as apparent as the pain on the face of his wife. The innkeeper led them to the barn, and helped the young girl settle onto the ground. She was perspiring and grimacing in pain, and he knew that it wouldn't be too long before she was holding a baby in her arms. He turned to go back to the house to get his tired wife. She had been through this herself, and maybe she could offer the girl some help. He knew that she was exhausted, but also that she would want to do whatever she could to help this young mother.

A few hours later, his wife walked back into the house with tears streaming down her face. She was smiling, and said,

"You have to come and see the baby!"

As he followed her outside, he could swear that he heard singing, and there seemed to be some kind of bright light in the distance. He decided that he was just imagining things because he was so tired, and hurried to catch up with his wife. They walked into the barn and he saw the young lady holding a tiny child in her arms. She had wrapped him in old stable rags, and was holding him close. She looked up at the innkeeper with tears glistening in her eyes, and said softly,

"Thank you, sir. Your kindness means more than you will ever know." As she leaned over to him and placed the tiny baby in his arms, she whispered, "His name is Jesus."

The innkeeper was surprised at first, but as he looked down at the face of the baby boy, an overwhelming peace filled his heart. He looked up to meet the eyes of his wife, and could tell that she was experiencing the same peace. And then he knew. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. This child was more than just the son of a traveling couple. He was more than just a baby born in a barn. He was more than an interruption or an annoyance at the end of a long day. This child was different. He was special. This tiny baby boy who had been born in the most inconvenient place and the most inconvenient time was going to change the world.

Story #2

Here's the second story that I wrote for Turning Point...I'll post the third one later, and also promise to post a real blog when I'm done with finals.

Jenny's Gift

By Cassie Wood

Mr. Jackson was the worst kind of neighbor. He was old. He was mean. And he smoked like a freight train. When the neighborhood children dared to come within fifty feet of his front yard, he would storm onto his front lawn waving a broom stick and yelling threatening words. The children learned to stay as far away as possible. Mr. Jackson rarely came out of his house, and when he did, people scattered.

In late summer, a new family moved to the neighborhood in the house directly next door to Mr. Jackson. Jenny was eight years old. She was sweet. She was fearless. And she loved to play outside.

One afternoon, Jenny was playing basketball in her driveway with her neighbor Sam, when her ball escaped into Mr. Jackson’s yard. Sam stood rooted to cement of the driveway, frozen with fear. Jenny, on the other hand, immediately darted after the ball.

“Jenny! No!” Sam yelled in a terrified voice. “Don’t go over there!”

But Jenny didn’t listen. The second she reached her ball, the screen door of the house flew open with a bang, and Mr. Jackson rushed out waving his broom, screeching at the top of his smoke-filled lungs.

“You brat kids! How many times have I told you to stay away from my house?!” He came barreling toward Jenny with a look of complete rage on his face. "Who do you think you are?!"

Jenny froze for just a moment with the ball in her hands, with a look of surprise on her face. After a moment however, her surprised expression turned firm, and she marched over to meet Mr. Jackson, who was still hobbling threateningly toward her. As she started towards him, he stopped, slightly taken aback by the fact that she wasn't running in the opposite direction like the other neighborhood kids usually did.

Jenny stopped as she reached Mr. Jackson, looked directly into his eyes, pointed her finger at him and asked sternly, "Why are you so angry? You need to laugh more, Sir. My Grandma always says that laughter does the heart good and I think your heart needs some good."

With that direct statement, Jenny turned and ran back to Sam – who was still frozen in exactly the same position that she'd left him in - to resume her game. Mr. Jackson stood watching them with an odd expression on his face for a moment before he turned and walked back into his house without another word.

That night, Jenny told her mom about what had happened with their new neighbor. After hearing the whole story, her mom asked,

"Jenny, what do you think that you can do to help Mr. Jackson have a happier heart?"

Jenny promised to think about it, and the two of them prayed for Mr. Jackson before her mom tucked Jenny into bed.

A few days later, Mr. Jackson opened his front door to walk out to his mail box, and he found an envelope lying on his doormat, that said "To: Mr. Jackson" written in purple crayon. He opened the envelope and found a cartoon comic strip clipped out of the newspaper. With it was a note that said, "This made my Daddy laugh. I hope it makes you laugh too. From: Jenny." He read the comic strip, and cracked a brief smile before regaining his composure and turning to go inside.

Several days after that, a plate of cookies showed up on his porch. A week or so later, a silly children's book was left. Then a tape of Saturday morning cartoons. The gifts kept appearing, and with each gift was a note from Jenny, explaining to Mr. Jackson why each of the items made her laugh, or smile, or have a good day. Jenny never knocked on his door; she simply left her gifts and notes, and never went to bed without saying a prayer for her neighbor.

Whether he would admit it or not, the grumpy old man began to look forward to Jenny's gifts, and more times than not, he would find himself smiling at the bit of entertainment that she had cooked up for the week. He never laughed…but his smiles came more easily, and his heart began to soften bit-by-bit.

Finally, close to Christmas, Jenny was ready to make her move. She mustered up all of the courage that she had, and climbed the steps to Mr. Jackson's front porch and knocked on the door. He came to the door, and opened it without a word, waiting for Jenny to speak. She handed him a plate of Christmas cookies and said really quickly,

"Merry Christmas. I have a joke for you. What do monkeys sing at Christmas?"

Mr. Jackson looked at Jenny for a moment before finally responding, "I don't know Jenny. What do monkeys sing at Christmas?"

Jenny took a deep breath, and then sang at the top of her lungs, "JUNGLE BELLS, JUNGLE BELLS, JUNGLE ALL THE WAY!!"

After she finished her punch line, Jenny stood expectantly waiting for Mr. Jackson's response. It took a moment, but slowly a smile began to spread across his wrinkled old face. Then, ever so softly, he began to chuckle. Soon his chuckle turned into a laugh that got louder and louder. He doubled over, and tears began to run down his cheeks and his laughing turned to sobs. The little old man sat down on the steps of his porch and cried. Jenny sat down beside him and patted his back.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Mr. Jackson. I'm sorry! I was trying to make you laugh so that your heart would be happy."

Mr. Jackson looked up with tears still running down his face and said, "Jenny, you have made my heart happy. And you are the first person who has cared about my heart since my wife died five years ago. Today is the first time that I have laughed since that day, and it was so overwhelming that it made me cry. Thank you for caring about me, Jenny."

At his words, Jenny climbed up into his lap, placed one hand on either side of his face, looked him in the eyes, and said, "I love you, Mr. Jackson, because somebody needs to…just like Jesus loves me."

Story #1

Over the past couple of weeks I have written three stories for Turning Point's Christmas curriculum. I've been told to post them on the blog, so here you go. This is the first one. I'll post the other two in the next couple of days.

Heart of A Princess

As the sun began to rise above the horizon, the little girl stirred in her bed. She slowly opened her eyes, and was overwhelmed with the sudden feeling that something was different.

"What is it?" she wondered as she stretched under her warm covers.

Suddenly she sat straight up in her bed, as the events from the previous day rushed through her mind. The Coronation. There had been hundreds of people, clapping and cheering and rejoicing – rejoicing because her father had been crowned King! He had looked so strong, and so important as they'd placed the crown on his head. He was the perfect King, and she had been so proud of her Daddy.

"My father is the King," she mused aloud, "and that makes me…a princess."

Saying it out loud didn't make it feel any more real, so the little girl climbed out of bed, stood in front of her full length mirror, and said sternly to herself,

"You are the daughter of the King. You are a princess. And you will be the best princess that this kingdom has ever seen."

Satisfied with her pep talk to herself, the little girl quickly dressed and started out of her bedroom door to accomplish her only goal of the day – to find her father, and celebrate with him. She wanted nothing more that sit at his side and let him know how blessed and excited she felt to be his child.

As she started down the hall way, the little girl was suddenly intercepted by a short, plump woman who was draped in several different bolts of colored fabric and had a tape measure thrown around her neck.

"Well come along now, Princess, we haven't got all day. We have to get you measured and fitted," said the Fabric Woman.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean, measured and fitted?" questioned the little girl, "I have plenty of clothes, and I'm on my way to find my father. I don't need anything new right now."

The look on the Fabric Woman's face was one of shock and alarm as she answered the little girl. "My dear! It is my job to make clothes for the most beautiful people in the world, and right now it is my job to make you look like the princess that you are. After all, if you don't look like a princess, how will people ever know that you're the princess?"

She was torn. On one hand, she desperately wanted to be a good princess, and follow all of the important rules. On the other hand, more than anything, she wanted to find her father, sit at his side, and enjoy being with him for today. She finally decided that it wouldn't hurt anything to be measured for a new dress or two. After all, she did want to look like the daughter of the king.

After finally escaping from the clutches of the Fabric Woman, the little girl once again headed out to find her father. She rushed down the hallway of the palace, ready to take a shortcut through the dining hall in order to reach the throne room where her father was receiving well wishers this morning. People from all over the kingdom were lined up to give glory to her Father, and she desperately wanted to join them; to sit at his side. Just as she turned the corner the little girl ran directly into the tallest, thinnest man she had ever seen, and was stopped in her tracks.

"Eh-hem! Well, yes, pardon me, Princess. How convenient that I found you so early in my search…or rather, how convenient that you found me! My services have been retained in order to instruct you in the fine arts of etiquette, propriety, and public behavior. I was just coming to retrieve you for our first lesson. Come along now…I can see that we haven't any time to waste!"

Mustering up every ounce of politeness that she had inside, the little girl responded, "I'm so sorry, sir, but is it possible to have our first lesson tomorrow? Today I would like to sit with my father."

"Reschedule lesson one!? Nonsense!" replied Mr. Manners, "It is my job to teach you to behave like a princess. After all, if you don't behave like a princess, then how will people know that you are a princess?"

The little girl reluctantly followed Mr. Manners to lesson number one, telling herself that learning to be a good princess would make her father proud, and that there would be time after lunch to spend with the King. She practiced her curtsy, spoke quiet, polite words, and learned to waltz; all the while wishing that she was somewhere else entirely.

After finally being dismissed from lesson number one, she once again set out in search of the throne room. And she was once again interrupted. This time her interruption was a woman in a business suit and high heals, holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. Without a word, the Business Lady grabbed the arm of the little girl and whisked her down the hallway to a parlor with a couch.

"Who are you?" the little girl asked, somewhat shocked at the abrupt way that this lady had directed her to the couch.

"I am the keeper of your schedule, Princess, and we have many things to go over. You have a busy week ahead. You'll be feeding the homeless tomorrow, playing with the orphans on Friday, and working with several committees over the weekend to develop a plan for the beautification of the kingdom. After all, if you don't serve like a princess, then how will people know that you are a princess?" the Business Lady kept talking, but the little girl's head was spinning too much to listen.

While her schedule keeper continued to talk, the little girl stood up and began to walk away. Without missing a beat, the Business Lady followed behind her, making checkmarks and notes on her clipboard. As she walked down the hallway with the Business Lady trailing behind, the two were soon joined by the Fabric Woman, and Mr. Manners.

"Princess, we must make you a gown from this fabric…"

"Stand up straight, Princess, and hold your head high as you walk…."

"…make an appearance at the garden party, and head to the children's wing of the hospital to play with cancer patients…."

Rather than respond to any of her instructors, the little girl walked directly to the throne room of the palace, determined to see her father, the King. Her three teachers trailed behind, each making comments and suggestions, and giving her directions. Ignoring them, she walked through the giant, heavy doors that lead to her father's throne. Most of the well-wishers were gone, and the little girl's heart broke as she saw that the King's throne was vacant.

With tears running down her face, she turned to the Fabric Woman, Mr. Manners, and the Business Lady and said, "I know that you all mean well. And I promise you that there is almost nothing that I want more than to be the best princess that this kingdom has ever had. I want to look like a princess, and behave like a princess, and serve like a princess. But before I can do all of those things, I need to see my father, the King. I need to sit with him, and spend time with him. I will look like a princess because I will stand at his side. I will behave like a princess because it will honor him. And I will serve like a princess because it will bring glory to the King, and to the kingdom."

With these words, the little girl sat down on the steps leading up to her father's throne, put her head in her hands, and cried. Barely a minute had passed before she felt herself being lifted into the firm, strong arms that could only belong to her father. He picked her up, carried her to his throne, and sat with her on his lap. He wiped away her tears and in a deep, reassuring voice said,

"All day long, I have sat in this throne and listened to people who have come to give honor to my name. But, Princess, the words that you have just spoken give honor to my heart. The greatest glory that I can receive as King is what you have given me today."

As she sat with her father – her King – the little girl knew that her first thought of the morning had been correct. Something was different. And she was pretty sure that it was her heart.