Pajama Day

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Magic

By Laurie Higgins

Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering.

~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

As wonderful as Christmas Day is, for me it takes second place to December 26th -- otherwise known around our house as Pajama Day. It's a tradition that came into being entirely by accident about ten years ago during a particularly hectic holiday season.

That year, Christmas Eve found my husband Steve and me staying up until close to dawn, wrapping presents and preparing for Christmas with our four kids. Just as our heads hit the pillow, the door to our two younger children's bedroom opened and we heard them sneak out. I took a nap to the sound of their excited whispers.

Christmas Day at our home is one long and joyous celebration that includes a revolving cast of family members from both sides that arrive in shifts. We host a breakfast for eight to twelve people, with a break for clean-up and showers, and then begin prepping for dinner for up to twenty-five people.

I was so exhausted I found myself dozing off, head propped in hand, while sitting at the dining room table over shrimp cocktail and artichoke dip at 3:00 in the afternoon. Luckily my chef husband was in charge of dinner because I simply couldn't do it.

The next day, while poor Steve headed to work, I slept late and then curled up on the couch with the new novel he had given me for Christmas. The kids played quietly with their toys and it was a lovely day all around. When Steve came home, I was still in my pajamas and we had leftovers for dinner. The day ended with me finishing the novel in front of a crackling fire.

Fit to Be Tied

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Family Matters

BY: Ann Williamson

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm,
and we all go through it together.
~Garrison Keillor

Whoever said that second marriages are twice as hard as first marriages hit the nail on the head. When I met my second husband, I felt my dreams had been answered. We both agreed we wouldn't introduce our children to each other until we knew our relationship was serious. When we got married, I had no illusions that blending two families would be easy.

We were married in May. When Christmas rolled around, we wondered how we would fare with five kids between us, ranging in age from six to fifteen. Some days were pretty hairy, but we were managing.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, we made the decision to go on a search for the perfect Christmas tree. We hit a couple of tree lots, but nothing looked good. Finally, we found a lot where the trees were reasonable and well-shaped. We had four of the five children with us. They were full of Christmas spirit and starting to get on my husband's nerves. To me, they were just being kids.

We all jumped out of the car on this cold day, and the children immediately started wandering all over the lot. My husband, getting grumpier by the minute, ordered everyone back to the car.

It was evident his patience was wearing thin. I gathered the children, and we all sat in the car while he paid for the tree we had selected. We waited patiently while the man from the tree lot placed the tree on top of the car. The lot man gave my husband some rope to tie it on. Being a dutiful wife, I followed my husband's directions as he handed me an end of the rope and advised me to hand it back at the demanded time. This process was repeated several times.

By now, he was on the verge of going ballistic, so I dared not say a word as he completed securing the tree to the roof of the car. After checking it by tugging on the rope several times, he was sure it wouldn't blow off or move until we got it home, just a few short blocks away.

Then, he attempted to open the driver's side door. He pushed the button on the door handle and pulled on it. He had tied the door shut with the rope!

The children looked terrified. I, on the other hand, started to smile. The smile turned into an audible giggle, and the giggle sparked relief and amusement on the part of the children. My husband, realizing what he had done and feeling more than a little foolish, started to relax. But the calmness turned to embarrassment as the lot attendant stood watching while he untied the tree and re-secured it, tying it to the bumpers this time.

By the time we got home, we were all laughing so hard that tears ran down our cheeks. My husband, still not happy but not enraged, laughed along with us until we got home and took the tree off the car.

That happened more than twenty-five years ago, but we still retell the story every Christmas. And every Christmas my husband begs us not to retell it! But it is a fond memory of a particularly difficult time for all of us, which we recall with affection and love.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/11/Fit-to-Be-Tied.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

The Constant

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad

BY: Kimberlee Murray

Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
~Robert Heinlein

My parents divorced when I was seven years old. My dad moved out of our house and into his own place and we began our memorable routine of weekly visitations on Wednesday nights and sleepovers every other weekend. It was the characteristic and predictable court-appointed agreement for divorced families. My dad's idea of visitations and parenting, however, was vastly different from the Court's. He made a promise on the day his divorce was final that would change the course of my life forever.

My dad promised that he would be more than just a "weekend dad" who fulfilled his obligatory parental duties with limited visits. He wanted more than anything to be a significant presence in my life even though we were not living under the same roof. To this day, I am so grateful to him for overcoming the many obstacles that face divorced dads and cementing an unbreakable bond with me, his youngest daughter.

Throughout my life my dad made me a priority and everybody knew it. He would stop by my house every day, usually after school, to chat for a minute and tell me how much he loved and missed me. I waited on most days with eager anticipation for his shiny, yellow 1976 Stingray Corvette to turn the corner of our block and meander slowly toward my house. When I spotted my dad with the T-tops off and the windows down, I just knew my day was going to get better. Sometimes he would take me for a ride and sometimes we would just sit in the car and talk for a few minutes in the driveway while he learned about what went on in my day.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have someone so interested in what was happening in my life. If he could not see me in person he would call on the phone. For the next eleven years until I left for college, I talked to my dad every single day.

During the weekends that I spent at his house I can remember him grilling the best pork chops I've ever tasted. He made scrambled eggs for breakfast every morning and cooked pot roast to perfection on Sundays. He always let me help because everything we did, we did together. He rarely accepted any party or dinner invitations on our weekends together because he cherished our time alone as much as I did. We played catch or Frisbee in the yard and rode bikes or took walks to find secret treasures. My fondest memory of those weekends, however, was when my dad would turn on the stove after dinner and I would hear the slow crackle and smell the unmistakable aroma of Jiffy Pop popcorn. I can remember like yesterday the excitement I felt as the tinfoil pouch began to rise and steam poured out from the sides of the pan. My dad would shake and jiggle and pop those kernels to absolute perfection every time.

My adolescence was a typically confusing time, but the bond I had with my dad was the constant in an otherwise chaotic life. After the divorce, and during all of the tumultuous times that the divorce brought to our family (remarriages, stepfamilies, bitter ex-spouses etc.), he always listened patiently. He never discounted the sometimes complex feelings of a young girl. He just listened. And he remained the only reliable, stable presence in my life. I could count on my dad to take me to every doctor or orthodontist appointment, watch every softball game, attend every conference and be present at every significant life event. He always lived up to his promise. I cannot say that about anyone else.

All of my life lessons I learned from my dad. He taught me that you must keep your word. Period. He taught me to be kind, fair and just. He taught me to take the high road, give 110% and never let 'em see you sweat. He taught me that success is a journey, not a destination. But most importantly, he taught me by example.

Conventional wisdom says that to be successful you should simply develop the traits you admire in other successful people. As I figured out what to do with my life and how I wanted to live I didn't have to look too far for inspiration. My dad is, by far, the most successful person I know. Ever since I was a little girl, I have admired his sense of humor, determination and integrity. He taught me that my only limitations were those that I imposed on myself. I will always be thankful for having such an encouraging and loving teacher in my father; something that many young women of divorced families never get to experience with their own fathers.

Even though I recognized and appreciated my dad's love, it wasn't until I had my own children that I realized the profundity of our bond. The closeness we share has always transcended space and time, but I am even more in awe of our relationship because now I can fully appreciate his sense of purpose. To comprehend my dad's unconditional love for me I need look no further than my own children. When I look deep into their adoring eyes and promise to love them forever and ever, I see the reflection of pure happiness and joy staring back at me. I know my dad must have seen that same blissful reflection in my eyes.

The confidence and security I possess today as a person and a parent is directly related to the man who vowed so many years ago to be more than just a "weekend dad." He made good on his promise in more ways than I can convey in one story. However, I am most thankful for the father who took in his arms a scared, confused and angry seven-year-old and whispered in her ear, "I love you and I will never leave you."

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/The-Constant.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Dark Winter

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Mom

BY: Lucas Youmans

Are we not like two volumes of one book?
~Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

I opened my eyes, only to see darkness. A cool whisper of wind drifted through my window. All was dark in my bedroom, except for my windowsill that was illuminated by a soft outdoor light. The black sky was decorated with snowflakes, each drifting toward the cold, waiting ground. Silence touched every corner of my room. Dawn was yet to come, so I decided to go and make myself a cup of hot chocolate. As the water boiled, I gazed out the kitchen window and quietly said, "Winter truly is my favorite season." I pressed my hand up against the frosty window. I poured the steaming water into my mug, along with a teaspoon of cocoa powder. I caught a final glance of my handprint as I dragged my feet along the cold tile floor toward my front door. I turned the metal knob, and took a step onto the damp, wooden porch.

A brisk current of wind pushed against my cheek. I sat down on the shining black bench, curving my neck backwards to stare at the stars. Their silvery glow reflected off my driveway's pavement. The bitter cold nipped at my ankles, but I didn't mind. Here, in this moonlit moment, I had no one to impress. The echoing stress that once filled my mind had drifted away, into the depths of the sky. I finished my hot chocolate and tiptoed back inside so as not to wake anyone.

To my surprise, my mom walked out of the kitchen, passing me by as I headed for the dishwasher to put away my mug. As she passed me, she shot a fierce beam of happiness straight from her eyes to mine, with the corners of her mouth pulling upwards. It was a short stare of hope and love, the kind you can't fake. I looked upwards to the kitchen window, and saw a second handprint, slightly larger than mine, placed beside the one I had made minutes earlier. Together, the two handprints started to fade into the dark night.

http://www.beliefnet.com

The Perfect Gift

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Magic

BY: Sandra Wood

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.
~Jean Anouilh

Two weeks before Christmas, I left my suburban neighborhood with a small group of friends, and followed an urban minister through the streets of Los Angeles. "Silver bells, silver bells. It's Christmas time in the city...." I sang to myself as we walked busy sidewalks. Contrary to the lyrics of the classic carol by Livingston and Evans, I did not see "children laughing and people passing, meeting smile after smile."

Instead, I saw hundreds of homeless people, shattered by addiction and abuse, crowding the streets of a wealthy city. They carried plastic bags containing their meager possessions, while blocks away, busy shoppers rushed home with treasures from designer boutiques.

The contrast was sobering and did nothing to improve my holiday funk. I longed for God to provide a divine interruption and remind me of the real reason for celebration.

On the second day of our reality tour, the guide invited us to observe a mobile street ministry called Metro Kidz. We followed their lunch wagon, painted with holy graffiti, as it circled poor neighborhoods. Bright music blared from the speakers and drew hundreds of local children to a quiet cul-de-sac. Ranging in age from toddlers to teens, they raced to hug the pastor as if he were the Pied Piper. He opened his arms and braced himself for a wave of energy. Within minutes, volunteers spread plastic tarps on the asphalt and a human huddle formed on the ground.

"Who wants to play some games?" the young pastor yelled to the attentive crowd.

"I do, I do," said one young boy who popped to his feet with confidence.

"Let me, let me," a chorus of voices responded.

Their joy was contagious and I started to smile on the inside.

"Okay," the pastor said. "We'll play some games and pass out some prizes. Then I want to tell the Christmas story. How many have ever heard the story of baby Jesus?"

Almost every brown arm shot into the air.

I was seated cross-legged between wiggling, giggling children when a small boy crawled into my lap and fell asleep. His candy cane smeared sticky sweetness all over my jeans. A warm weight pressed against my side and I turned to find a pretty young lady with dark curly hair. Her braids were clipped with a rainbow of many colors and framed her large brown eyes.

"Hello, my name is Sandy. What's your name?" I asked.

"Erika," she whispered shyly and glanced down.

"How old are you?" I asked, and put my arm around her shoulder.

"Five," she told me with a smile.

"Do you want to play one of the relay games?" I queried.

She grabbed my arm, shook her head vigorously and said, "No please."

"That's okay, we can just sit here and watch together," I said and felt her relax.

Experienced volunteers helped the children have silly fun. Prizes of food, toys, candy and books were given to the competitors for as many categories as the leaders could concoct. Winners snatched the rewards and raised them overhead like victory trophies.

"Look what I got!" they yelled to their peers.

Finally, it was time to hear the Christmas story and to learn a new memory verse.

"Listen up," the pastor said to hundreds of squirming kids. "We have a few more rewards to give away. Adults will watch the group and pick out eight boys and girls to receive a quiet prize for the best listening skills during the story."

A sudden hush came over the crowd, but lasted only a few seconds. The harder the kids tried to be quiet, the more they wanted to laugh. A giggle started inside of me and I had to swallow a snort before it escaped.

Seated among poor children in the streets of Los Angeles, I felt joy! I felt celebration. I listened to the story of two parents who were forced to seek shelter in a stable, because there was no room for them at the inn. I felt the sleeping boy in my lap and could picture a child, wrapped in swaddling clothes, embraced at the breast of his mother.

Erika listened carefully to the brief version of Christmas Eve and never moved an inch. She watched, and waited patiently for the memory verse competition.

"Today's memory verse is from James 1:17. I'll read the words and you repeat after me," the pastor instructed. "Every good and perfect gift comes from God the Father," he said in English and then repeated the verse in Spanish.

"Every good and perfect gift comes from God the Father," they repeated.

Moments later, an adult volunteer tapped Erika on the shoulder.

"Thank you for listening so well, for so long. You have earned one of our quiet prizes," she said and handed the little girl a gift wrapped in red and green tissue paper.

"Thank you," Erika responded and hugged the gift without another word.

I watched her face grow a big smile. Other children tore the paper off their prizes to see what treasure they had earned, but not Erika. Instead, she looked down at the child still asleep in my lap, pressed her lips close to my ear, and whispered words that took my breath away.

"Now I have something to give my brother for Christmas," she said. Without examining the contents, or knowing if there would be something else for her, Erika gave her gift away.

Tears welled in my eyes when I recognized that my own prayer for a divine interruption had just been answered. Erika's Christ-like generosity, and unselfish love for her brother, showed me the true spirit of Christmas. At five years old, Erika understood that love is the perfect gift, and that the best gift of all is the chance to give love away.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/The-Perfect-Gift.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Isaac's New Family

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Divorce and Recovery

BY: Megan Venner

A new baby is like the beginning of all things -- wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities.
~Eda J. Le Shan

It was Christmas Eve. My two-month-old son was up well past his bedtime and surprisingly happy for such a late hour. The smell of Tortiere, my family's traditional Christmas Eve dinner, still lingered in the air mingling with the pine of the tree and evoking all the memories of a lifetime of family holidays.

The job of entertaining my young son was left largely to my parents, my dad stretching out with him on the floor as he had done so many nights with me as a child. My mind was occupied. I was waiting nervously for my husband's return. Later this Christmas Eve, he was bringing a special visitor to my parents' home. My eleven-year-old stepdaughter, Samantha, had just flown in from her mother's house thousands of miles away.

A lot of thought had gone into this evening. It was the first time Samantha would meet her baby brother. A move across the country when I was pregnant meant she was not there when Isaac was born, and school commitments meant she couldn't visit soon afterwards. Christmas was to be our first chance and, thanks to a late Christmas break and flight schedules, she wasn't to arrive until nearly midnight on Christmas Eve.

This was the moment we had lost sleep over. Being a stepparent leaves you precariously balanced at the best of times, and introducing a baby threatened a shift of tectonic proportions. It was going to be the first time Samantha would have to share her father. At home, her mom had two young boys, but she was used to being the center of attention at our place. We had done everything we could think of to ease the transition. We had picked a special time and way to tell her I was pregnant, we had included her in the plans for the baby's room and discussions about names, and we constantly talked about how lucky little Isaac was to have a great big sister like her. Still, it didn't seem enough.

She arrived. Arriving with a mammoth suitcase, she brushed past me, barely saying hello, and headed straight for her brother. That's when it happened.

It was the moment we really became a family. It wasn't anything my husband or I did. It was two-month-old Isaac. Samantha settled down to play and when she tickled him, Isaac laughed -- for the very first time. All that planning, all that worry -- and it was a helpless little infant who made it happen. In one moment, that little laugh cancelled out all the complications of divorce, blended families, and stepchildren. We were just us -- a family. He made us whole that night, and for that, I will always be grateful. Most would say it was just coincidence, but I choose to believe Isaac was saving that first laugh. Acting on instinct, Isaac's joy came out the moment his new family was complete.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Isaacs-New-Family.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Resilience

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Count Your Blessings

BY: Linda Tabbert as told to Debbie Harrell

Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit.
~Bern Williams

Shortly after my husband Ken's diagnosis of kidney failure, we were told the only way to extend his life would be an organ transplant. In the meantime, regular dialysis treatments were to begin immediately. Our "new normal" began with the surgical placement of a port in his chest, and just hours after the surgery, my husband went directly to his first "dialysis run." That heart-wrenching first day of dialysis was the only time I ever saw my heroic husband weep. Just three weeks later, Thanksgiving Day happened to be a dialysis day, so instead of the usual big family gathering, our family of three chose a simple meal at home accompanied by a simple prayer of thanks, "Thank you dear God for time together."

In the weeks following, our perspective and our emotions swung from high to low like a pendulum almost daily. While the situation we faced pulled us together as a family, it drained our time and our energy. One possibility that kept us buoyed was the hope of an organ transplant. Suddenly, making memories with family and friends compelled us to set aside the trivial in favor of somehow emotionally extending our life together.

The phone call with news of a kidney match finally came in the early morning hours one snowy December day. The university hospital several hours away meant we needed to leave immediately, and despite a blizzard we arrived at the hospital by mid-morning. While Ken was being prepped for surgery, a nurse brought in a Styrofoam box bearing large orange letters that spelled, "Human Organ for Transplant." They literally put the kidney, in what looked like a cooler for a six-pack of pop, on the foot of the bed! With shock and suppressed giggles, Ken and I looked at the box and then at each other.

With comical disbelief, I sputtered, "Do you believe this!" A very sobering event was lightened by the sweet sound of my husband's chuckling. The laughter we shared was a precious gift before they wheeled him to surgery. A few hours after our kiss and saying, "See ya soon," the kidney had been transplanted and immediately began producing urine.

That Christmas was one of the most wonderful of any I remember. Our son, David, was home from college, Ken was still recovering, and every other day there was a snow storm. The gratitude in our huddled hearts rivaled the warmth in our fireplace. We spent many weeks in a perpetual state of awe. Our future together had been restored because of an organ donation. To this day, our family is mindful of the fact that because someone else's life had ended, Ken's could continue. We never take for granted our ability to celebrate an extended future together. Somewhere an organ donor's family is grieving an empty place at their family gatherings, and every time my husband swallows his medication or has blood drawn, we humbly remember that.

Ken's doctors told us that the chances of him rejecting the transplant will remain slim as long as he continues to take his medications at precise intervals. Blood samples collected every other month for the rest of his life will continue to be monitored for signs of rejection by the University of Michigan and Mayo Clinic. Gratefully we reflect on the network of a caring medical staff, family and friends who continue to surround us, and we now seek opportunities to walk alongside others going through devastation. Rebounding from life's tremendous challenges requires resilience, but oft times, resilience requires some assistance. Offering and receiving.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Resilience.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru