meeting santa

As a child, all I remember about my annual Santa picture was getting a candy cane after sitting on the bearded man's lap followed by later my mother insisting that I take a picture with the man every year despite the fact I was 14, and it was SO embarrassing. What if someone saw me and thought I really believed he was real? Social suicide. 

My mom had to get creative. Picture with the purple Santa at the Alamo Bowl. Picture with my Uncle Randy dressed as Santa. Picture with Santa in another state. Picture with high school boyfriend dressed up as Santa.

But then I realized that 18 years of Santa pictures are actually kind of cool. Lucky for me, I have now someone else to keep the tradition going. Let the torture begin.

the journey

Saturday morning we volunteered with our church to feed more than 100 homeless Kansas Citians looking for a warm meal. My job was to unwrap holiday hams and turn packets of powder into a meat glaze. Shea's job? Much more important.

We spent the morning cooking, decorating, cleaning and serving. A nice sojourner helped me carry a broken chair to the dumpster only to take a wrong turn. He thanked me for my chair donation and said it was now part of his camp. Saved him a dumpster dive I suppose.

When we left, we got a view of our church all ready for Christmas.

Tonight we came back for church. Sang all the familiar Christmas songs, watched a little Mary and Joseph greeted by three tiny sheep, and held hands with our neighbors. We talked about the journeys we all have to take that - sometimes not ones we'd like to take. Like being nine months pregnant, traveling for more than a week on the back of a donkey only to give birth to a baby that wasn't your husband's in the dirt among barnyard animals. Or knowing you have to travel around town to find a warm meal before sleeping between buildings in order to find shelter from the cold wind.

This weekend gave me some perspective on my journey this Christmas. No matter what the journey, God's walking it with me.