I love Christmas.
I love it because my mother has worked hard to make the day magical and eventful for her family for more years than she will permit me to share!
My mother has six children, 17 grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren — and counting. Every Christmas, we, along with a mix of cousins, aunts and uncles, gather in my parents’ home.
I love Christmas.
Men get a bad rap. They’re blamed collectively for rape culture, violence, war, poverty, climate change and all other manner of global suffering. They’re forced to apologize on college campuses for their chromosomes, anatomy and athleticism. They’re vilified incessantly in women’s magazines, on women’s talk shows and at women’s confabs promoting the male-bashing #MeToo movement.
Sentimental fool that I am, a recent change in my son’s extracurricular activities was like an early Christmas gift.
Gideon has joined the staff of his school’s newly launched (online) newspaper, the Cornersville (TN) High School “Paw Prints.”
1968 was a year desperately in need of a Merry Christmas.
The year had seen student protests worldwide, the Tet Offensive in the Vietnam War, a chaotic Democratic National Convention, the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy and countless other examples of discord.
NASA came through with an uplifting message. On Christmas Eve, half a billion people around the world watched historic, Emmy-winning TV coverage of Apollo 8 orbiting the moon.
As a woman who immersed herself in the lives of the saints growing up, I have a unique perspective on the modern feminist movements we’re seeing today (including #MeToo). The litany of the lady saints is replete with examples of suffering and persecution, but those sisters were kickass heroines of survival. And not a one of them whined or wore pink hats. (Halos are infinitely more flattering.)