It’s evening on Christmas day.  No need to dream of a white Christmas.  Ron and I awoke in our cozy log home to watch an angry wind blow tiny flakes sideways, trying to add more depth to the four inches of snow on the ground.  It was not encouraging to face this snowstorm as we began our three hour trip over the mountain pass.  I won’t even go into the frustrated-with-the-chains story.  Needless to say, our trip was longer than usual.

We literally went over the river and through the woods to Grandma’s house.  Although Bev is a grandma (and a great one as well), she isn’t mine; she’s my sister.  We spent what was left of Christmas day with Bev, her husband Phil and our 94 year old dad.

Once upon a time Bev and Phil bought an 80 acre farm.  Both had full time jobs, but they tried their hand (or hands as the case may be) at managing a vast herd of cattle (okay, they had 50 cows).  It’s amazing how much work is involved in raising Herefords, bound for auction.  Unfortunately their young kids, Becky and Brian, named each cow.  Fast-forwarding to post butchering, there were cries at the kitchen table of “This isn’t Blackie, is it?”

I have fond memories of the year we celebrated Christmas on the farm.  Miraculously, it snowed (which is very unusual in the rainy valleys of western Oregon).  Our kids, Renee and Matthew, joined their cousins sledding down various hills around the farm house.  It didn’t surprise any of us that Grandpa wanted to try out a new sledding spot on Christmas morning while the grandkids were still in bed.  Overcome with a spirit of bob-sledding, Grandpa threw down the sled to get a running start.  Oops, he miss-judged his flying leap and smashed his face on the metal frame.  He told us he had no idea how he made it to the house, but he staggered into the kitchen with a soon-to-be black eye, a cut and swollen lip and a plethora of bruises and scrapes on his face.  In our family, any celebration including presents isn’t complete until we take photos of Grandpa with bows stuck on his forehead.  That year various abrasions on his face matched the red ribbons.

What made that Christmas really special happened in the barn.  We think of the Baby in the manger and that particular Christmas we all had the thrill of watching the mommy cows delivering their babies.  It’s so amazing to see the calf sliding into the world (with a bit of help from mom), and immediately trying out their spindly, shaky legs.  God gave them the instinct to find breakfast, lunch and dinner at the diner:  “Mom’s Place.  Wholesome Homemade Meals.”  Our activities on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning included running out to the barn to watch new life in the making.  What an Awesome God we have, to set birth and life in motion!

Since Bev and Phil both had jobs as well as their farm, they followed Ron’s malapropism: “Don’t put your marbles in one basket.”