Enjoying Life: Responding, Not Reacting to Life or Emotional Vampires......... ...................3/10/20

   Saturday, someone screamed.  At me.  He used obscenities.

   That's never happened, be-fore, ever.  He judged in the harshest ways possible.

   My response: joy, inspired and happy.  No, craziness has no part in my life.   

Courage Faces Fear and Thereby Masters It............ 3/5/20

       Awake at this late hour, work-ing, completing a project.  I missed meeting with friends tonight in the lovely island town of Alameda, because of the task before me.

      I haven't strayed from this event in years.

Opportunities for Growth When Challeged ............. 2/23/20

     Yes, I've been away far too long.  My apologies.  Life is busier than ever, all for the good.

    I have snuck in here, from time-to-time, editing "Signs of Being Toxic." 

My Third Favorite Christmas Story, Revised ------------- 12/24/19

WWII photo of the Ardennes Forest

        May life treat you well. For many, this sea-son can be frantic and materialistic. 

        Needn't be so.  In the inn, we count down to the biggest day of this month.  Today, and to-morrow, I present stories written related to this season. 

         The goal remains counter-balancing the pressures of Madison Avenue.  The stress of splurging assaults us. We become distracted from the meaning of Christmas. Family happiness depends upon many gifts for everyone, we are told. 

          Candy canes, Santas, and elves do not state the story of this season. We do not reveal how much we care for loved ones by how much we shell out for gifts.  Heavens no. 

         

          Christmas is not about warm feelings, Christmas trees or music, eggnog, hearth, and home.  Nope.  It's about the most incredible gift mankind received. God's love for us. 

          The gift of his Son, given to this world, is celebrated on this day. Tomorrow's two stories dip further into the meaning of this season. 

      Below is my third favorite Christmas-related story.  My telling of it is based on research and the account given by Fritz Vincken, the young twelve-year-old son mentioned in the version below.  For more about him, read here. 

        Wishing you a terrific Christmas, 

              The Innkeeper

**********

       In December 1944, the Battle of the Bulge was fought in sub-freezing weather.  The American and British troops were defeating a German force twice their number.  This engagement lasted from December 16th until January 25th, 1945.  A cook for the Nazi Army left his wife and young son in a shack in the Ardennes Forest near the German-Belgium border, seemingly distant from danger.

    The poor weather---snow, bitter cold, and impenetrable fog--grounded Allied aircraft and aided the German advance.  That Christmas Eve, soldiers on both sides were lost.  Many sought a place. 

to bed down until morning before resuming their search for their unit. 

    The following story happened seventy-four years ago......

       The snow crunched as three American soldiers trudged through the forest.  Weighed down with their sixty-pound packs and nine-pound M1903 Springfield rifles, the combat-tested Americans stumbled upon an occupied shack after tromping around for three hours, and light glowed from it.  

       Smoke poured from the chimney, and it offered the chance of a warm refuge for their frost-bit, combat-weary bodies.  Breaking the silence of the night, upon the door of the tiny house, they knocked. 

       Frau Vincken was preparing a meal using a scrawny chicken. Using sign language, the soldiers asked to enter. A mother---Elizabeth---with her twelve-year-old son by her side, responded.

       She waved the men in, offering a simple Christmas meal.

       One soldier was shot in the thigh during a firefight that morning. The stabbing pain had him rocking from side to side as he lay on the couch. The woman, using rags, stopped the bleeding.  

       The language barrier was broken when the men learned the lady spoke French, which a G.I. from Louisiana knew. 

       The Americans grunted in relief as they unloaded their packs.  This evening provided a rare chance to stretch out.  Spending the night in something more significant and warmer than a foxhole was welcomed, especially in this weather. 

      The heat from the hearth, an ap-preciated unexpected early Christmas gift.  Little did these men know that soon, emanating from the room would be the warmth of another kind.

      More than an hour passed when a crisp rap upon the weather-worn door startled the little family and the Ameri-can visitors.  The men grabbed their weapons while Elizabeth answered the door.  Four German soldiers were lost. 

      "Was shelter available?" they asked.  "Yes, come in for Christmas dinner, but I have other guests," she answered.  One German soldier remarked, "Americana?"  Elizabeth replied, "Yes."

       "This is Christmas Eve.  No killing tonight, in my home."  She ordered the Germans to leave their weapons outside before entering. 

        The American G.I.s did the same. The combatants stood, men who, earlier that day, sought to kill one another.  The little boy's heart banged loudly, and Fritz pulled on his winter jacket to muffle the sound. 

       The lad didn't want anyone to hear the dynamic percussion. 

       For what seemed an eternity---eight minutes---the room strained under an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, American cigarettes were offered to the Europeans. The men warily eyed each other. 

       The Germans welcomed them, provisions being scarce.  A German soldier with medical training inspected the wounded American.  Finding usable items within the bungalow, he tended to the injured G.I. 

        Preparations for the Christmas dinner were completed.  The food was meager-----what was meant for the Frau Vincken, and Fritz served seven last-minute guests.  A bag of potatoes stretched the food, becoming the base for a hearty soup.  

        Before eating, the woman rose to speak. 

        Elizabeth recounted the Christmas Story, speaking of the hope it offered. She declared war was wrong. The host spoke in German to the European visitors and French to the Americans.

        The soldiers, including the tough German sergeant, were moved.  The eyes of a few of these battle-hardened men swam with held-back tears.  When they were little, the men recalled stories told during Christmas in their childhood homes.  

        While gnawing upon the stringy chicken, uneasiness transformed into the warmth of companions sharing a simple, appreciated meal.  After dinner, the Nazi soldiers sang Silent Night, a song of Austrian origin; by tradition, it could not be sung before Christmas Eve.  

        Afterward, two German men sang it in English, along with the guests from the United States.

        Fed and satisfied with their first home-cooked meal in months, the men slept in the cramped quarters of the tiny alpine cottage.  In the morning, the Germans crafted a stretcher for the wounded American.  A compass and directions were given to them, too. 

        The Nazi soldiers took the lady and her son back to the German lines, reuniting her with her husband.

        For one night, during a violence-strewn battle, God's peace dwelt within nine who spent the night in a little cabin.  Even in the worst possible conditions, the love of God resided among them. 

*******

       In Bethlehem, more than two thousand years ago, a young pregnant woman and her husband were not admitted to a crowded inn.  No room for the Christ child.  Today, this slight can be corrected.  He can be welcomed into the inn of our hearts.  You can invite Him if you haven't.  You'll discover the greatest Christmas gift ever----eternal life.

        Peace born in Bethlehem was showered upon nine people in the middle of the Battle of the Bulge in war-torn Europe.  Experiencing God's harmony and love is available today to hearts torn with despair, fear, or pain.

         The world desperately needs to know hope, freedom from fear, gratitude, and tranquility. I ask God to show me how I can demonstrate character like the mother in this story.  Being an instrument of His peace, my desire.

How About You? 

How are you celebrating this Christmas season? 

  May you have a great and grateful Christmas!

               

Emotional Sobriety 11/8/19

Switzerland: Mountain Farm

      Recently, some-one argued with me. I stopped it, cold. I do not tolerate unasked criticism. 

     "Is there a reason that prompts you to argue?"  I asked.

Being Afraid and A-frayed: The Answer 9/10/19

The Giant Dipper in Santa Cruz, California.
The Rollercoaster is about to plunge. 

    The other morn-ing, two parts wrestled within me.

    My emotions and reason.  Does that happen to you?  My feelings were supported that afternoon.  This birthed serenity---clarity of mind---and an afternoon

Keeping Ourselves Free From Emotional Vampires.............. 7/22/19

     There's a fellow that when I see him, I get the creeps.  I feel like the little boy in the movie, "Sixth Sense."  I ask, "Does anyone notice the death surrounding him?"

     "Am I crazy?  Is it just me?" I wonder.

     No, it isn't.  His

Being Gentle Towards Ourselves, Free from Negative Mental Chatter 7/8/19

      I am grateful for being gentle towards myself  when making mistakes.  I had a one yesterday. I sent an intense text mes-sage to the wrong person.  Oops!

      Patience towards

A Son's Comfort 6/28/19

     

 w

     Jim's emotions tossed around like a wind-blown kite stuck on a power line.

     Will, his Father-in-law died. Jim enjoyed closeness with him more than with his real dad for more than twenty years. Towards the end, weekly, the eighty-year-old man, propped up with pillows, in his king-sized bed, spent an hour and a half with Jim. Usually on Fridays.

     That took place, in the last two months. Before that, they'd play chess, and harmonicas together and go for rides in Jim's sports car or discuss theology.

     During this final season, the old man stayed put, not leaving his bed.  He waited for the sweet chariot.  Any hour, its arrival eagerly sought by Jim's substitute dad.

     It helped Jim's father-in-love remain mentally alert when they took turns reciting quotes.  In their work, they frequently spoke before crowds.  They often used quotations to enliven their public comments before others.

     In Will's bedroom, with no audience, the men drew from their mental library.

    "Worry is like a rocking chair.  It gives you something to do, but it gets you no-where." the old man said, eyes closed, laying flat on his bed, like a deflated balloon. 

     "I need to get out of that rocking chair," he added as an afterthought.

     " I need to get out of that rocking chair.'  Who is that quote from? I never heard it before," Jim teased. 

    "Are you worried about your health?"  asked the son-in-law.

     "Yes, soon I'm embarking on a new journey," said Will.

     "Recovery slaps the hands of anxiety.  It makes it lose the nasty grip nervousness has upon our soul.  Personal growth involves placing healthy principles above the vulner-able parts of our personality. 

     "When this happens, dread is banished,''  Jim replied, revealing his strong memory with this lengthy quote.
   

      He hoped this thought comforted this feeble man who fathered him, every week, for a score of years.

     "Success depends not merely in how well you do in the things you en-joy, but in how conscien-tiously you perform those duties that you don't.  John Maxwell, Developing the Leader Within You," the reclining man retorted.

        Still competitive, the old man revealed his strong memory, too, while changing the subject.

       "Acting like a victim is a choice, not a destiny,"  Jim replied. He winced with regret after saying that, hoping Will did not take the quote personally, that Jim saw him playing the victim role.

       "Forgiveness is not forgetting, it is letting go of the hurt," answered back Jim's substitute father.

       The old man did so with a gentle smile, not with his lips, but with his face.  His eyes were crinkled.

       Will held Jim's hand.  The visitor sat on the edge of the death bed, next to the father that was the additional prize Jim received when marrying this man's youngest daughter who had naturally blonde hair.  The hour-long visit sped by like the wisps of smoke fleeing when a candle is snuffed out.

       When Jim was around, the lingering emptiness now plaguing his worn-out father evaporated like a pool of water in a midafternoon desert.  A sigh of satisfaction from the old man let Jim know how much Will liked being with him.  It was like the old man won the lottery. 

      The younger man heard Wilbur's labored breathing as a pause of warm silence, lasting a couple of minutes, lingered between them.  It was a quiet moment only those comfortable with each other enjoyed.  And then Will punctured it.
 

      "Jim, please,"   he pleaded while gripping tightly his son-in-law's hand, with a strength he lost months ago, "I want you to give the eulogy when the time comes."

     Never did Jim expect how that worked out three weeks later.

    
 To be continued in an upcoming post. 

Slaying the Dragon of Fear............... 6/4/19

      Saturday was amazing.  It ended even better.

      Several friends and I gathered.  There was a cross-pollination.  Friends of mine who did not know one an-other met, enjoying each other's company.

       A male friend with a