The Grinch Can't Steal Christmas, or Just a little pot of oil

So here it is, the day after Christmas. The wrappings have been discarded in a large trash bag outside. Some presents have not even made their way out of the store packaging, because in light of Christmas angels, my children have yet again been blessed with way more "gifts" than were really necessary. And I can take a moment to look back over the last few weeks, take a deep breath, and exhale.

THIS WAS AN AWESOME CHRISTMAS!

Let me explain. . .my ex-husband popped his plans to be here for Christmas on me back on Thanksgiving. That wasn't really bad news. . .I knew that our kids would be so excited to have their dad here. But two days later, he emailed me to announce that he was engaged to an unknown girlfriend. My heart began to sink.

I have been divorced for almost two years, and we were separated for two years before that, however, we lived 1000 miles apart, and had never really done anything productive in trying to save the marriage. It wasn't that I didn't want to. . .it's just that it takes two to do those kind of things. And so, for the last three+ years, I've held onto the hope and prayer that God would give him orders to the base here, and that maybe we could give it another try. Enter fiancee and the beginning of a not-so-merry holiday season.

Just a week and a half later, dad emailed and confirmed they would be here for Christmas, and asked if it would be too uncomfortable to spend Christmas day with us. Initially, I wanted to shout at him, "YES! You've got to be kidding me. . .we don't even know her!" But instead, I offered the ever-so-grown-up and not completely of my own strength answer:

"Because we have never met her, it would not be okay for you to come over

until about lunchtime. She is a stranger to me and the kids, but come over around

11am for lunch, and feel free to stay for as long as you are comfortable."

Okay, so before you think anything wonderful about me. . .those were some of the most difficult words I have ever written. What I really wanted to say was more along the lines of how stupid can you be? No, you can't ruin my Christmas with some chick who we've never met and who I am fairly certain I don't want to know. No, you may not be a part of the family Christmas. It is too painful for me, and that supercedes the fact that they are your children too. My pain is more important than your relationship with them. My pain is mine and I will wallow in it for as long as I want.

I did NOT say that. I went, as I always do in moments like these to prayer and the wise counsel of a much older Christian woman. That is where I drew what little strength I could muster. And I put on the airs of someone that I really wasn't.

Then, to put the icing on the cake, one week later, in the middle of a large sale at work (I work at an auction), I received a text message from him. The message was simple: "I just wanted to let you know before I get there so you're not surprised, I got married."

The GRINCH was fulltime at work. In that moment, my heart turned inside out, my stomach turned, and my heart shrunk two sizes that day.

I am a Christian, and Christmas means much, much more than trees, lights, packages, and bows to me. But in that moment, I became the Grinch. My heart had shrunk to protect itself from things that it could not bear. My head became clouded, and the once, never easily swayed work conscious person that I am could not make sense of the simple data entry before me. That was the 16th of December. . .just eight days until Christmas.

Now, the weekend that I had learned about the engagement, I put myself to work. I borrowed a ladder and clung to it for dear life as I hung six strands of icicle lights from my roof. MY HOUSE. MY SAFE PLACE. This was a task that was for my joy and brought some limited joy to my heart in the wake of disturbing news. When it was done, my house was glowing with icicle lights just in time for the first snow of the season. While the knowledge still hurt, I had something tangible that brought much joy to my heart.

But that text message. . .it just wasn't so easy to deal with. By the following Tuesday (20th), I could have cared less if my house was decorated with simple yet merry lights. I could care less that I had a beautiful Christmas tree and three beautiful children dancing around it. I could care less if we were about to celebrate the birth of the only baby in the world who came to save us. I could have cared less about anything. I HURT. And I don't like hurting.

That evening, dad would bring the new wife to pick up the kids and take them to dinner. I put on a sincere smile, and was gracious. "Children, get your shoes on. Remember, listening ears."

And out the door they went. My heart shrank about two more sizes that evening. And if you can remember, the Grinch's heart was only two sizes too small. Mine was now about four!

The next day I had negotiated to leave work a little early to pick up some prizes I'd won on the Christian radio station. In the package were three CDs, candy, two small books, and a gift certificate for a one hour spa pedicure. HOW WONDERFUL! I picked up my kids and headed to a holiday get-together with some people from work, but the Grinch was still in me, so I didn't really enjoy the evening.

When I got home and got the kids in bed, I went into my room and looked over the two books. One was called "Just a Pot of Oil." I wasn't sure what exactly it referred to, but the backcover talked about running on empty. Boy, could I relate! So I put on a CD and started to read. The author spoke about how even as Christians, we are running out of things. In fact, many people in the Bible ran out of things. I had never really looked at it like that.

Thursday was still tough for me. I haven't had an appetite since before Thanksgiving, which is a blessing, sort of, given that I am still carrying excess baby weight (never mind that my baby is almost five years old, that's my story and I'm sticking to it! LOL). But six weeks without joy, without an appetite, without the ability to feel like God is in control, well. . .that is not a good thing. And at Christmas, my favorite time of the year, it is even harder to deal with.

Thursday night, I again read in the book, "Just a Pot of Oil." In the second chapter, they get to the heart of the matter. The basis for the book is the story of the widow and Elisha in 2 Kings 4. Desperate, alone, scared, and feeling out of control, the widow comes to Elisha. HELP!

Elisha answered, "How can I help you? Tell me, what do you have in your house?"

The woman said, "I don't have anything there except a pot of oil."

Then Elisha said, "Go and get empty jars from all your neighbors. Don't ask for just a few. Then go into your house and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and set the full ones aside."

So she left Elisha and shut the door behind her and her sons. As they brought the jars to her, she poured out the oil. When the jars were all full, she said to her son, "Bring me another jar."

I am not that much different than the widow. In the midst of an unpleasant circumstance, I came to God in prayer. I cried out to Him to help me. I knew that He was the only source of healing. And yet, like the widow, I couldn't see a solution. In fact, the harder I felt like I was seeking God, the less it felt like He was listening. I was asking Him to fill me. But what I had forgotten was that to be filled, sometimes we have to pour some out to make room for more!

A Christmas miracle happened Thursday night. I realized that I was losing what it means to be a Christian. I was so tied up and bound to my own circumstance that I was forgetting to be salt and light.

Christmas came this year. In new and different ways. My kids and I went to Christmas Eve service, and we did the very American Christmas morning gift exchange. And then, we all went to a soup kitchen and served a group of people who had probably not had breakfast or presents. We smiled, and even my littlest one at four got into the serving mood handing out rolls and pieces of pie.

At the end, my middle child went to the director of the program, (Carl goes to our church) and said, "Thank you for letting us help you serve today." I thought that Carl and I would both break out into tears. Carl didn't know what to say except to thank Michael for helping.

That was one of the best Christmas gifts I could have ever received. And an ex-husband with a new wife moving into town could never take that away. NEVER. Because what I know, and what no one else can make claim to is that I have been the primary caregiver for my children. I am the one who has taken them to Church and tried to be a Godly example. I am the one who has prayed night after night for guidance and wisdom as I raise them. I am the one who made sacrifices and answered the tough questions after praying over them. And it is God living in me that has allowed my children to see and to know that kind of love. That is the best Christmas gift I could have received. And it renews my heart with the knowledge of what is really important.

(LOL and it's not that daddy and his new wife have TWO 40+ inch TVs and we are still watching on a 19 inch! Forgive me, Father!)

ALL I HAVE IS JUST A POT OF OIL. . .

BUT LET'S SEE JUST HOW MANY POTS I CAN POUR IT OUT INTO!