Christmas – Page 2

Originally from December 2008

I’m an odd duck, it’s true. I look forward to writing our family Christmas letter all year long. Now that it’s that time of year, however, I’m encountering a case of writer’s block, severe as they come. Perhaps writer’s block, at least for me, has to due with me being nine months pregnant. Excuses, excuses.

I’m going to be easy on myself this year and just write a blurb about each of us, oldest to youngest.

Greg: After all most four years of marriage, good ol’ Greg is still my very best friend and the love of my life, no less. Good thing we still like each other. We’re on this crazy adventure called marriage for the long haul. Greg’s generosity and faithfulness blows me away. I’m learning so much from my husband about patience and gentleness. I’d like to think he’s learning a lot from me, but it hasn’t been the case this year. I’m not nice when pregnant. Don’t hold your breath, but maybe he’ll learn something from me next year.

Greg is frantically working on our house, getting it ready for our new addition. In the process, he discovered a leaky pipe in our family room. It’s slowly been leaking ever since the house was built in 1988. But all’s well that ends well. We no longer have a 5-foot hole in our wall where a little patching had to happen. He’s in the process of sanding everything so he can texture and repaint, hopefully before Steven comes. Also, Greg’s working on making a dream of his come true: remodeling the garage, or as I secretly call it, the man cave.

Nicole: I’m about 38 weeks pregnant and about to pop. I’ve found this pregnancy to be kinder on my body than my pregnancy with Emily, except for the first twenty weeks which almost did me in. I identify this time around with women who say they enjoy pregnancy. No words can possibly describe the wonderment of having a human growing inside me. I’m in awe daily. I also spend quite a bit of time mulling over the mystery of the stretch marks, which congregate mostly on my right hip.

I’m seriously freaked out about being pregnant again, even more scared to have another baby. God gently ministered to my heart through a verse from the prophet Zepaniah (Zeph. 3:17). I know now, without a doubt, that he is with me in this pregnancy, and will be with me as I take care of a newborn again, even though it scares me out of my ever freaking mind. Above all, he is mighty to save. All I have to do is run to his outstretched arms and he will calm my fears. In fact, he rejoices over me with singing. I never understood this verse until I was lying on the couch during the first few months of pregnancy, too nauseous to do anything but puke. God spoke to me through a picture of me rocking Emily as I sang a lullaby. He spoke to my heart about how this is how he wants to nurture me. He just wants me to lay everything down at his feet as I come to him. He will quiet my anxious heart with singing. Pretty cool, I think. For those who might say at this point that I’m a bit of a fanatic, I probably am. But everyone has to have a passion. I really love the Lord and I’m excited about what he’s doing in my life and in the life of my family.

Emily: Believe it or not, our princess will be two at the end of this month. Emily comes in two speeds, fast and faster. Surely her motto is, Why walk if you can run and why run if you can skip or hop? Curious, like her daddy, Emmie likes to discover how things work, loves to color, and really loves the letter O. Best of all, she loves watching me put my make-up on. And getting into make-up. Unless it’s chicken nuggets, meat is avoided at all costs. Emily hates being alone in her big girl bed, camping, and her brown shoes. She adores her cousins Brad, Margaux and Greta. If only cousin Isaac lived closer! Brad, almost eleven, is Emily’s beloved Bro-Bro, and the apple of her eye.

Just the other day, after several attempts to get Em to put her coat on, I tried reasoning with my almost two-year-old. I told her that she should want to put the darn coat on because it first belonged to Greta. Emily loves Greta. When that didn’t work, I threw it out there that maybe, just maybe, it was once Margaux’s coat. She really loves Maggie. Emily scowled, but switched gears and asked if the coat ever belonged to Bro-Bro. I was tempted to lie right then and there. But I couldn’t lie to my little girl. I ended up reminding Emily that her coat used to live at Brad’s house, and that maybe, just maybe, it hung next to his coat at one time or other. It was good enough for my Emily and she gleefully slipped into the darn coat. Mama for the win.

Baby-to-be: Steven Thomas is due around the twenty-ninth, right before big sister’s birthday. Given my limited experience in childbirth, no one is holding their breath for a 2008 baby. We chose the name Steven after my dad. And the Stephen in the Bible, a gentle man who was martyred for his faith in the days of the early church. Interestingly enough, Steven literally means crowned or victorious, which is how my dad’s new life is with Jesus. His life reminds me of the saints in Hebrews 11 who lived by faith but did not receive their crowns or rewards on earth but in heaven. Julea, my sister-in-law, gave a verse for little Steven that I’m hanging on to. “He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord…” (Luke 1:14, 15). That’s my hope and prayer for our baby boy.

Well, the writing was surprisingly simple and pain-free, once I gave it a shot. It’s amazing how the words come when I start writing. I wish it was this easy in college. Anyway, we three Twedts wish you a blessed celebration of our Savior’s birth. We’ll be sure to let you know when Steven makes his appearance.

Love,

Greg, Nicole and Emily

P.S.

Steven Thomas Twedt. January 3. 9 pounds, 3 ounces. 21 1/4 inches.

Originally from December 2010

My dad was first diagnosed with cancer in the early nineties. Although dad was in remission at the time, in the fall of 1994 the board of firefighters recommended an early retirement from his career as a firefighter. He had survived the deadly battle of cancer, but his body was no longer able to fight fires. Early retirement presented a huge financial burden for my parents. Mom was a stay-at-home mom and dad was now retired with a pension half his normal salary. Money would be tight and Christmas was just around the corner.

But money was not my parents only concern that weekday afternoon. Dad’s cancer was back. My parents were crushed. Dread filled their hearts as they neared our family home in Shoreline. They would have to tell my brother and me that cancer had returned. And this time the prognosis wasn’t positive. To make matters worse, mom and dad didn’t have the money to provide for Christmas the way our family was used to celebrating. Not that Christmas was about the presents, but mom’s heart broke with the thought of the financial pressure they faced at this time of the year. The Lord’s birth was always the central focus of Christmas in our family, but how could she ignore the festivities of this special holiday when this could very well be dad’s last Christmas?

Like many family homes, ours had two main entrances, the front door for visitors and a side door adjoining the driveway for close friends, neighbors and family. Earlier that afternoon, my brother Scott and I returned home from school to find an envelope taped behind the screen of our side door. Certain this was a note from my youth group’s Secret Santa, I ripped the envelope open. What I found inside was a typed note attached to a bundle of bills. Knowing this was clearly not for me, but a blessing for my family, Scott and I shoved the money back in the little envelope and anxiously awaited the return of our parents.

Knowing nothing of this financial blessing, dread seeped into my parents’ hearts as they neared our home. But something caught the corner of their eyes as they slowly turned down our steep driveway to the little house in Shoreline. We had a large picture window in the front of our home. And to their surprise, my parents could plainly see Scott and me jumping and dancing around the living room like wild hooligans. Teenagers at the time, Scott and I were not prone to such displays of emotion or excitement. Mom and dad knew something was up.

As soon as we saw their little Geo pull up, Scott and I dashed to meet them. We threw our arms around our parents, laughing and crying, oblivious to the news we would ultimately hear. When we finally let go of them, with tears streaming down our bright eyes, we presented our findings. Slowly, mom and dad opened the envelope to discover ten crisp one hundred dollar bills with a typed letter explaining that we were not supposed to know who the money was from but that we had a friend who knew that we needed a little extra help this Christmas. As a family we praised God, rejoicing that an anonymous friend, a Christmas Angel, had it on their heart to bless us with a generous gift when our family needed it most.

Then came the hard part. Once inside, mom and dad sat us down and explained all that they had learned from the doctor. With more tears, Scott and I learned that dad’s cancer was back and that his future didn’t look promising. Ironically, it started to rain at this point. But when all of our questions were asked and answered around our dining room table, mom and I looked up through the sliding glass door and noticed that it had stopped raining. There, to our surprise, was a glorious rainbow, bright in color and promise. Immediately I was reminded about God’s covenant with Noah. The Lord would protect and bless our family, even in the deadly realm of cancer.

Over 15 years has passed since we were visited by the Christmas Angel. Still, the verse from Jeremiah is clearly impressed upon my heart when I think back to that late fall afternoon: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).

I once thought that God sent the rainbow and the Christmas Angel as a promise that nothing was going to happen to my dad, that cancer would never take his life; and that we would always have plenty of money for Christmas presents. Now I understand that the promise extends past the physical world and into the eternal, spiritual world. There is no promise against cancer. There are no promises that we will always have the funds needed to celebrate Christmas elaborately. That’s not the point, is it? However, God promises something better. He loves His children so much. He has something better planned for us than what we understand from our given circumstances. We will go through trials, believe me we will, but He is always there. And what He kindly offers is a love relationship with him that stands against even death.

Merry Christmas.