Gorillas and Oranges—or What Christmas Means to Me

My dad often tells a story about a past December, one when I was probably very young or maybe not even around yet. He is a psychologist and sees many suffering people on a regular basis, and during this particular December, he made it a point to come home and tell the family about some of the hard things these people were dealing with: death, hurt, betrayal, guilt, regret, addiction, sorrow, etc. He told story after story, and it was quite sobering and depressing. After a few days of this, my mom finally asked him why he was sharing all of this ugliness, and he said it was because this is the month and the season when we celebrate the one person who can heal all of these wounds. For any pain, suffering, or sorrow—even the worst kind you can imagine—Jesus Christ is the solution.

That story has been on my mind this month. And it got even more real when I flipped open the Smithsonian magazine and glanced at an article about gorillas one day as I ate my lunch. I didn't even read much of the article because my eyes were drawn to a picture of a female gorilla cradling her stillborn baby. The caption said this gorilla repeatedly tried to revive the baby and cradled it and groomed it for two days. You could see the sorrow in the picture, and I felt my heart break for her, as a fellow mother.

Then I popped an orange slice into my mouth and smiled to myself, thinking it was a little bit silly that I was getting teary over gorillas while I was eating an orange. But it's not silly. That's the kind of anguish and sorrow the Savior can heal. Even gorillas feel this sorrow. We can cast our burdens on Him—He already knows how they feel—and as we try to be more like Him, we get better at handling life and finding true happiness.

Whether it's the death of a loved one, wrong choices (ours or someone else's), or whatever the case, Jesus Christ is the solution.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16) 

I can't get over the love God has for us all, to give us such a gift.

Cookie Day 2012

Some people train for a marathon. Others train for a triathlon. But I train all year for Cookie Day. I hone my whisking skills, I fine tune my mixing "just until combined," and I become an expert at identifying "soft ball stage." (For the record, I burned the first batch of caramel and had to scrap it and start over. But the second batch deserves a medal.)

This year's selection, starting at the top-ish and going clockwise:

• Raspberry Shortbread Cookies
• Gumdrop Cookies (just like my grandmother used to make)
• Raspberry Macaroons
• Layered Caramel Candy (which is kind of a lame name for such a delicious treat; it's more like a homemade Snickers)
• Apricot and Black Raspberry Rugelach
• Homemade Caramel

 

I know what you're thinking. It does look almost identical to last year and the year before. But we had to include the favorites and add a couple new ones. And I'm glad we did. I'll totally be making the homemade snickers thing again. The day was a success and so fun. My stomach is very happy indeed.

Messages that weren't meant for me

Most of the time, spam is spam—despicable and worthless. But sometimes, inadvertent emails and texts amuse me. Especially when you can tell they're real and not sent by a robot. Here are a few I have received, of late:

BY EMAIL
From a highly suspicious-sounding "Mr. Spickle":

Hey. It's J—— from the club. I said I would email you and here it is. Ta da!

I could tell by the recipient list that this wasn't spam, just an email sent to two hotties from the club, one of whom happened to share my name. I should tell this Mr. Spickle it's on!


Recently, I also started getting several personal emails sent to an old email address of mine. Turns out, a woman with the same name that I used to have got a new email address and used that name but put an S as the middle initial, which apparently half the world does not notice. She has since written me to let me know what happened and to see if I could forward the emails on to her, which I happily do. I am glad to know they have a place to go instead of my trash when people were expecting them to arrive at the right place. This woman and I have sent several emails back and forth, trying to sort out what's hers and what's for another Ashley, and now we're friends because I know so many personal details about her life—like she IS getting married, but not in Vegas (so that email was for another Ashley). I know what activities her kids are involved in, that she went to coffee with a old friend from work and covered the bill. She sounds like a keeper. I would expect nothing less from my namesake.


BY TEXT
From an unknown number:

January 13: "Hey patch"

January 16: "Is the war still on?"

February 6: "Hey patch it's j—— do you remember drawing an animal cell and a plant cell in science? i did it but she says it isn't turned in"

Even though Patch as a new nickname would be awesome (and I would be friends with anyone who sent texts like the one from January 16th), I think the last one finally let me know that this fellow is not in the same grade as I am.