GLADLY FOR AYE WE ADORE HIM

Do you remember? Do you remember when you believed it was true? Do you remember the anticipation of Christmas morning? What happened to that innocence?

I only remember three things I ever got for Christmas; a Rifleman cap gun (mostly because we have pictures - see attached of my brother and me), a big Tonka tractor and trailer rig, and an electric train. I remember dad fussing with Sears over the train after Christmas because it did not work. I actually got a better train (how I would love to have that today) when they finally settled and satisfied dad's issues. All the rest is a blur of smaller colorful items mingled with candy and clothes. However, I do remember anticipating the big event and the excitement of seeing Santa for the first time during the Holidays. It was all real then, real to life, and it meant so much.

My mom and dad always went "home" for the holidays - back to their roots. Home was where they left the magic and they were drawn to its origin and continued to try and regain its mystique each year. I rarely had a Christmas at my home, but rather at their home. Nonetheless, Christmas past is remembered as an event.

I remember dark nights traveling at 60 miles per hour down the road to grandmothers. Sometimes, there was snow coming down and it came in like antiaircraft fire across the hood of the old '55 Pontiac. The yellow-lit Indian's head powered its way forward through everything that could be thrown at it. I was the fearless pilot that always made it unscathed. Other times I would sit quietly in the back seat of the car, look wishfully up in the sky, and watch the moon sneak in and out from behind clouds. I distinctly remember thinking that I might actually see old Santa's sleigh and reindeer cross in front of the moon.

I remember seeing E.T. twenty-four years ago (yes, it has been that long) and seeing the bicycle caravan fly across the full moon. It reminded me of those cold, sometimes snowy (yes, it used to get cold and snow in December in Tennessee) winter nights looking hopefully up at the moon and thinking a similar silhouette would reveal Santa to me.

However, there is one memory of Christmas that will forever remain vivid in my mind and stand to illustrate the faith I had in the season.

I cannot honestly remember the circumstances, but for some reason I was up at the hour Santa chose to visit my house, and mom was trying desperately to provide all the ammunition I needed for a Christmas imagination experience. I think they had promised me that we would have Christmas at home (my home) before going "home", and were trying to hurry things up a bit by letting Santa deliver the packages early so everyone could get some sleep and leave early the next morning. So the games began about bedtime.

"What was that noise? Listen!" mom whispered. Dad had conveniently left the house to visit a neighbor. I was too young to question the late hour visit.

My eyes were wide and my ears were perked up like the best of watchdogs.

"Hear that?" mom whispered excitedly.

I will have to admit I did hear something! And to this day, whether through the power of suggestion, or something dad was doing outside, I remember hearing what I described later to my grandparents as sounding like the sliding of the rungs of a sleigh, and the prancing of reindeer feet in the yard (we lived in a basement apartment, so there was no rooftop sounds possible).

I wanted to run to the window and see, but mom grabbed my hand and whispered, "We gotta hide! If he sees you up, he won’t come in!"

Oh, the terror of being discovered awake filled my chest. Mom pulled me behind the stove. Yes, I remember the stove...could have been something else, but that is how I remember it! How she moved the kitchen stove out away from the wall I do not know. Anyway, we were hiding and she was shushing me to be quiet.

Suddenly, loud footsteps came in through the door and passed by the stove. I could hear rustling in the living room and imagined Santa unloading his bag and putting packages under the tree. Oh, I wanted to run and see him and see what he had left, but mom reminded me in a whisper that he should not see me awake.

I did not want to spoil Christmas, so I hunkered there with my mom and imagined what he looked like and the surprises yet to come. It was terrifying and exciting all rolled together.

Finally the footsteps passed by the stove again and went out the door. I heard noises and imagined the sleigh lifting off and passing on to the next house. Finally - finally, I could sprint off to the tree. It was wonderful. I do not remember what was there that year...could have been the red tractor with the blue trailer, I do not know, but the memory of my encounter with Santa will always be fresh in my mind.

I wish the innocence was still with me. I wish it could be true. I wish the world was still such a safe and wonderful place. However, I know too much now and it can never be like that again.

I wish you all a wonderful Holiday season and hope that some how, some way, you are awakened during the wee hours of Christmas morning and think you heard something on your roof or outside.

Merry Christmas to my family and friends! I love you all very much. May peace once again surround us and protect us.

"Praise ye the Lord! Oh, let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him!
Let the Amen
Sound from His people again;
Gladly for aye we adore Him."

FLYING THE THUNDER CHIEF!

(A BLAST FROM THE PAST - POST #3 - FIRST POSTED 4/01/06)

The cross-winds were ferocious and driving rain peppered the windshield audibly, as Flash Gordon Jr. fought the controls hard to keep the Thunder Chief on course and out of danger. The flight path seemed pre-destined and Flash found little control as the massive machine hummed, ever forward, toward the unknown of the dark horizon. Guided only by the staccato white line that mysteriously appeared from the darkness, about 35 yards ahead, Flash concentrated on the shiny craft’s projected image out ahead of him. The front of the craft was a fearsome sight to its enemies, with its glowing orange nose-cone, shaped in the likeness of a fearless Indian chief’s head. The chief’s long crystal hair swept back and metamorphosed into aerodynamic silver wings that pierced and maneuvered in the cold night air.

Home, home, was the mission’s compelling march word. He had to get the craft home, and much more than this, he had to get Dale there safely!

I often pretended to be Flash Gordon as I flew the shiny hood-ornament from the back seat of my Dad’s ‘55 Pontiac Star Chief on long trips, and fiercely protected a pillow propped against my back, as I fought off all kinds of evil aliens. The pillow was Dale, Flash's beautiful girlfriend, and just as real to me. The game always ended with me hugging Dale.

Isn’t life a little like this? We’re traveling along, with our own grand plan in mind, with our hands on the controls, but we can’t quite direct it where we want it to go. Things spring up out of the darkness unexpectedly, and we react to them, but hard as we try, a stronger hand is keeping us headed in a specific direction.

As I, Flash Jr., piloted the Thunder Chief, I often made imaginary course changes to avoid my enemies and the hail of bullets that rained down on it, but my Dad had the real control and the car never altered its direction. The car followed the marked path to a predetermined destination. We always arrived safe and happy the trip was over.

After hugging Dale, she usually magically returned to her alter state - a fluffy pillow - and I stretched out on the back seat and was soon lulled to sleep by the humming of bias-ply tires and the roar of the Pontiac’s rear-end. I was safe and warm under my quilt, with the sounds of the Grand ‘Ole Opry coming softly to our AM radio from WSM in Nashville. I was secure in the fact that Mom and Dad were awake and vigilant. They would let me know if any of my enemies approached the craft as I slept.

Oh, to be young again, and be that carefree to sleep that soundly again. Why do I let life’s little unimportant problems keep me awake and restless? Why can’t I remember the lesson learned in that back seat? There is always someone awake and watching - always truly in control and directing life’s craft to its final distention - always choosing the best course to teach the necessary lesson required to reach the next level of experience.

Even today, I sleep with a quilt pulled up around my neck, summer or winter. I don’t like the room quiet - there has to be some sound, and the closer to a hum and roar the better. I got some of my best sleep in the back seat of that ‘55 Pontiac. There are times when I can put all the worries of the day out of my mind, and again imagine I’ve just finished my tour on the bridge of the Thunder Chief, and have just laid down for a quick nap before returning to the bridge to command him again. I lay back, pull Dale close against my face and the quilt up around my neck, and listen for soft murmuring voices that let me know someone is keeping watch from the front seat.

My Dad is gone now and not directing my life, but there are bigger hands on the wheel and He has my complete trust. He knows the course well. He knows the final destination, and He has set the best course. He is in the front seat of my life, flying the Thunder Chief.