What Joy is

Recently I received a Christmas card from our life insurance agent. We met him over 40 years ago in Utah and have never seen him again. We have communicated, when necessary, first over the phone, and now on the internet. How often does one need to to communicate with a life insurance agent? Exactly. Maybe two or three times in a 40 year span. But he always sends us a Christmas card, and so I feel as though I know his family. A few years ago his wife had cancer and the picture on the card showed this man and his five sons with their heads shaved in support of her chemo-induced baldness. Last year announced her cancer-free condition with a picture of them in some sunny vacation spot with broad smiles on their faces. This year we received a cute picture of them with Santa hats on, huge smiles, and he giving her a kiss. I thought, "How great! She is still doing well." But when I turned the card over I saw what I think constitutes the true reason for their smiles: a picture of all eight of their children, their spouses, and 25 beautiful grandchildren. They were all together, and it appeared they were having fun, and enjoying each others' company. That is what real joy is.

Christmas chumps

For years (maybe 40?) I have shouldered the sole responsibility for conceiving of and executing a happy Christmas for all of our family members, and for those friends, and work associates, who we exchange gifts with. I have spent hours figuring out what will be most meaningful for each person, if everyone is receiving comparable items, etc. (Heaven forbid that one child got 4 gifts and another got 5! They do keep track and as they got older and the number went down but the dollar amount went up it became especially tricky).
Well, after weeks of planning, then shopping, then wrapping, and then mailing when necessary, my dear husband, whom I have dubbed the Christmas chump, has often said to me, on or about December 24th, usually at 4 in the afternoon, "So, are we all ready for Christmas?" which, being interpreted means, "Did you get everything purchased and prepared for the big day, because I haven't given it a thought until this very moment."
A few times, a very few, I have done what I like to call "pitch a fit" and insisted that he help out. I admit, once I put my foot down he has helped some, but his interest is short-lived, and it rarely includes (I am not sure if it ever has!) the wrapping, labeling, or placing under the tree. Certainly I never sent him to the post office, because, I mean, when asked if the package contained anything perishable, liquid, or hazardous, how would he know?
Perhaps there is a husband out there who really gets " into" the whole gift-buying thing, making sure everything is equal, thoughtful, and beautifully adorned. I would like to talk to that guy, but I would really like to talk to his wife.

Must have been sleeping

I have often wondered if, before one comes to earth, he or she is given certain physical characteristics to live with throughout mortality. Did we have choices of what we might look like? Are there lines we stand in for hair, leg shape, height, metabolism, etc.? If so, I must have been sleeping or horribly distracted by the heavenly beauty around me. I hardly believe I purposely chose to live with my thin, fine hair, and my thick, unshapely legs (just to name a couple of my physical failings)--I must have been sleeping while the desirable characteristics were being handed out. One might say it is genetics but if so, why would my sister be several inches taller, with much better hair, and my brothers have good eyesight, when I have had to wear glasses for five plus decades? There had to be something other than just genetics in play and I just missed out. Did I really agree happily to live with less than acceptable physical features?

I can imagine long lines of spiritual beings waiting patiently in the "Get Your Great Hair Here" line, or the "Long, Killer Legs Found Here" one. Perhaps we had to choose between great physical features and other gifts which would help us in our earthly existence. If so, I can't imagine what I thought I needed, or why I may have discounted the advantage of having a high metabolism. Another mystery to solve when this life is over. Well, I must go brush my teeth--did I mention that I hold the record for the number of fillings and crowns found in a single mouth?