Buying My First Doll

I've been in the behavior modification game for a few years now. I know the tricks of mind-molding, motivation, manipulation and marketing. I've become pretty jaded to the sleaziness of mass-marketing, but I still find the power of targeted marketing to be eerily creepy.

For example, how in the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks did some company called The American Girl Doll Company know that this was an appropriate time to send a catalog to the Amazing-Missus and myself?!

Well they did. And now two of these must-haves will be under the tree for the Grand-Girls this Christmas. (Shhhhh, it's a surprise.)

Not only did we need a doll for each, but a change of clothes as well. Their outfits cost about what I spend on one for myself. (Yeah, yeah, I hear you out there. So maybe it's not fair to compare an American Girl doll outfit to a worn out pair of Levis, an old V-neck sweater and a t-shirt.)

I'm not complaining though. The few moments of joy on their faces before they are on to the next present will be "Priceless."

Like that master of "exterior illumination" Clark Griswold, I too want to stage a Christmastime experience so vivid, Norman Rockwell himself will want to come back from the dead to paint it. And maybe Thomas Kincaid will want to come with him because the warm, golden glow from the windows of our happy, little cottage will be ultra-inspirational.

So yes, I'll fall for the pitch of holiday hucksters and buy whatever they promise will help make it all happen--just like thousands of others before me.

I wonder if Mom & Dad charged into Sears and fought other parents for the last Mr. Potato Head on the shelf, knowing it would provide their son hours of creative fun? Or it would have if Mom hadn't needed my potato back to boil up for lunch.

That's right, back in the good ol' days, Mr. Potato Head didn't come with the plastic spud. You had to provide your own torso.

Well for whatever it is that you've fought to have under the tree--an X-Box, a Cabbage Patch Doll, Tickle Me Elmo, or Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Barbie, I hope that when it gets opened, you get a smile and a hug.

A Christmas Lesson

One of the holiday traditions around our house is the crafting of "gingerbread" houses. Actually they're made of graham crackers, but who cares, right?

No exaggeration, my Amazing-Missus has made hundreds of these things for kids to decorate over the years. And like snowflakes, each one is unique and a fulfillment of the vision of its creator.

So wafting through our house at Christmas time along with the fragrance of candles, spiced cider, and artificial pine, you can also smell sweets, graham crackers and the distinctive aroma of hot glue guns. Sort of like what you would imagine at Martha Stewart's house.

One of the lessons learned early for our boys is that sometimes the culinary arts are meant to be enjoyed only visually, like sculpture or painting or macaroni art.
Many years ago I documented the learning of this lesson in a three-picture photo journal that we'll call: "Like Birthday Cakes--You Can Have Your Gingerbread House, But You Can't Eat It."

In the first photo you'll notice a young Kyle giving a quick lick to his house. I guess he thought this must be okay because big brother is laughing at him and Dad's snapping pictures like it's some big Kodak Moment or something.

So, in shot two, he digs in--making the enjoyment of this art a full-multi-sensory experience.

In shot three the authorities (his mother) have swooped in and put a stop to the whole thing. Painful lesson learned.

The tradition continues. Now the Grand-Girls enjoy decorating their own houses. Here's the photo journal of this year's work including a shot of the now grown-up Uncle Kyle working on his 2013 model. And now, if he wants to eat it when he's done...

A Fear Not Story

A while back I wrote a piece about the story of Christmas. Rather than repost here I want to link you to the blog of a dear friend, Rob Carmack. Rob graciously asked me to write a guest post for his blog, and so you'll find the piece at www.robcarmackwords.com.

While you're there be sure to check out Rob's other posts. I love his thought-provoking insights and always learn something.

Advent

I'm a few days late offering this, but it will be easy to catch up if you find this useful or interesting. This is an advent countdown of sorts I put together a few years ago. It is composed of texts and thoughts about the themes of advent: anticipation, expectant waiting.

Officially advent began November 29th, 27 days before Christmas. In this countdown I did an entry to read and ponder for each day. The word count or each days's entry reduces by one as you progress through the countdown. For example, on the November 29th entry the number of words is 27. On December 25th, there is just one word.

An Advent Countdown of Thoughts and Texts

Nov 29
 “But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings...” A curtain closes and a 400-year wait begins. (Malachi 4:2)

Nov 30
And the Psalmist’s words resonate. “We see not our signs; there is no more any prophet; neither is there among us any that knoweth how long.” (Psalm 74:9)

Dec 1
But the prophet’s words seemed to carry with them a certain imminence. Are hope and despair endpoints on a common scale that tips with time?

Dec 2
“I’m homesick—longing for your salvation; I’m waiting for your word of hope. My eyes grow heavy watching for some sign of your promise...” (Psalm 119:81-82)

Dec 3
Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter 
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here 
Here comes the sun (Here Comes The Sun. The Beatles.)

Dec 4
Waiting as part of community seems more heartening and anticipatory than waiting in solitude, where it can take on a certain dreadfulness.

Dec 5
“To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.” (Flannery O'Conner)

Dec 6
“All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs.” (Romans 8:22a. The Message.)

Dec 7
“The experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Dec 8
What was that about being “despised and rejected”? Isn’t that incongruous with the image of the promised redeemer?

Dec 9
Who can pretend to empathize with the nine-month waiting of a pregnant and unmarried, teenage virgin? 

Dec 10
Wonder like a child whose expectancy is untainted by the disappointments and broken promises of yesterday.

Dec 11
Did those who were waiting ever picture dirt floors, straw and the smell of animals?

Dec 12
The stuff of expectancy: name choice, nursery colors, and shower registry somehow seem superfluous.

Dec 13
Anticipation can be so sweet when you’ve heard the angel say, “Fear not!”

Dec 14
“These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance.” (Romans 8:23)

Dec 15
Fresh bread and rich wine prove the sensory power in anticipation.

Dec 16
Now bread and wine remind us as we wait again.

Dec 17
The poetry of longing: yearning, ache, burning, hunger, thirst

Dec 18
It’s already settled. His name will be Jesus.

Dec 19
Remind us again what the angel promised.

Dec 20
Anticipation’s counterpoint is often-times anxiety.

Dec 21
“Come Thou Long Expected Jesus.” (a hymn by Charles Wesley)

Dec 22
“a Man of Sorrows” (Isaiah 53.3)

Dec 23
Prince of Peace

Dec 24
Birth pains

Dec 25
Incarnation!