Neighborhood Nativity | A Poem #Advent #Christmas

 

Art by April Griese

Neighborhood Nativity

by Chanda Singleton Griese

Sweet Christmas Star,

In our front yard,

Your spotlight shines

On a Baby.

 

The perfect Lamb,

For our diversity

Of neighbors to see,

In Whom we believe.

 

May your Light

Lead us in

Our Christmas liturgy.

 

The daily remembrance,

Of the Advent,

Of the Second Person,

Of the Trinity.

 

The Light shineth

In the darkness.

 

The shepherds,

Dropping rod and staff,

Harkening the herald

Of winged seraphim and cherubim.

 

Falling down before—

What child

Is this?

Christ, the King?

 

The Highest,

Creator

Of Every Thing.

 

Still Christmas Star,

Reveal the Way,

That wise men may seek

The Love of God

Incarnate.

He Will Make a Way| Delivered From Exploitation #Elderabuse #Dojustice

 

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved.

This is a true story from the best that I can recollect it.

Cousin Cheryl* lived a solitary life until she met Lloyd. How he weasled his way into her life we do not know, but what we do know is that he exploited her for financial gain.

My mother grew up with her cousin Cheryl living down the street from her. Mom was about ten years younger and loved to play at the beach with her. Eventually, Mom moved several hours away from her beloved cousin, but she didn’t lose touch. At least once a year, especially on Christmas, she’d call Cheryl and check on her. Cheryl was divorced and had no children. She worked hard all her life and eventually retired with a pension and owned her home.

Enter Lloyd, who befriended Cheryl. He claimed to be a nurse and “took care of her” when she injured her ankle. As her memory started to fade from Alzheimer’s Disease, he called in a mobile notary public and had her sign her house over to him.

Mom was worried when Cheryl wouldn’t answer her phone calls. After about a year had passed, my great-aunt called my mom. Cheryl was this woman’s niece. She informed my mom about a strange call from a man named Lloyd. He said that he was Cheryl's nurse and she was not well. Cheryl wanted him to have her house because he did such a great job as her nurse. He threw in that he was studying to be a preacher (most likely to gain even more trust with the family).

My great-aunt wasn’t buying it. Neither was my mom. Being her only daughter, I get a phone call the same day explaining the strange situation, which didn’t sit well with me either. Mom did some digging and asked family to help investigate Lloyd. Sure enough, he wasn’t a nurse and we figured he wasn’t studying to be a preacher. He had an arrest record and was charged with theft twice. He was in control of Cheryl’s bank account and would own Cheryl’s house as soon as she died, which he implied would be soon.

Mom called DCF, she contacted the county sheriff's department in Cheryl’s area, we asked lawyers what to do. No one would help. Clearly, Lloyd had found a crack in the system and made it work in his favor. Mom said she wanted to talk to Lloyd directly, to get more information from him and figure out a way to help Cheryl. My great-aunt gave her the number. He talked to my mom over the phone and friended her on facebook. He frequently sent messages about how qualified he was to be Cheryl’s nurse and how he deserved her house.

By this time, Mom had shared with me all her interactions with Lloyd. Finally, he sent a picture of Cheryl with a furrowed brow. She looked like she was in pain. A few days later, Lloyd said he had to take Cheryl to the hospital, and he prepared my mom for the worst. Several days went by. We called around the area and found the hospital where Cheryl was admitted. I prayed that the Lord would rescue Cheryl from this weird man’s clutches. On the fifth day of Cheryl being in the hospital, I felt compelled to go see her. Maybe there was something I could do. My husband was supportive of me and stayed at our house with the kids. He trusted that I could face whatever happened in the hospital alone. Well, he knew I wasn’t alone. The Lord was with me.

At the hospital, I was allowed to visit Cheryl in her room. A hospital nurse came in and checked on her. I wished Cheryl well and reminded her that I was her favorite cousin’s daughter. She grinned. I asked, “Did you give Lloyd your house?” She furrowed her brow and shook her head and said, “Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, Lloyd said you did.” I sighed. “Can I pray with you, Cheryl?” She nodded her head, yes. I prayed to the God of justice, who helps the needy, delivers us from our sins through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, and gives us the same power that raised Him from the dead. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Cheryl’s arms were covered in sores, and I asked the nurse about it. She didn’t know how they got there. Indignation for Lloyd's treatment of Cheryl overwhelmed me. I broke down and cried as I told the nurse the whole story about Lloyd. She pointed behind me to warn me that he was about to enter the room. I asked if I could have more time alone with Cheryl. The nurse nodded and said she’d escort him to the waiting room.

When she came back, she led me to the station of the hospital social worker. I had brought some family pictures of Cheryl with me and showed them as I told the social worker my story. She nodded and looked stern. “I thought that man looked suspicious. Your mother has already called me and told me the same story as you. Based solely on what you and your mother have said about Lloyd, I will have him escorted out of this hospital right now. I think that man is up to no good. From now on, I’ll make arrangements for your mother to be in control of Cheryl’s health care decisions."

I’m not sure if what the social worker did was legal, but she made the system work in Cheryl’s favor. Lloyd was escorted out of the hospital and not allowed to visit Cheryl anymore. The social worker found a nursing home that would take care of Cheryl because she could no longer walk. Her nephew moved down from up north to check on her. He was able to somehow live in Cheryl’s house and challenged Lloyd to call the police if he wanted to do anything about it. Lloyd relented and found another place to live, but he still legally owned Cheryl’s house. The nursing home took control of Cheryl's bank account and tried to confiscate the house to pay for her expenses but they couldn’t legally get it back from Lloyd either.

Mom continued to call Cheryl to check on her, especially on Christmas. Her nephew frequently visited her and made sure that she was treated well in the nursing home.

I was stunned and amazed that Cheryl was rescued from such an impossibly bad situation. I don’t know what would have happened to her if Lloyd continued to “care” for her. And, I don’t think it was me who really did any rescuing. All I did was go and one door after another opened for me to help Cheryl. It’s as if the Lord paved the way. Well, I think He did.

There’s a song that says, “He will make a way, when there is no other way.” I witnessed this first hand. Cheryl’s situation seemed impossible, but she was delivered. Our God is our Deliverer. Most of all, He delivered us from the penalty of our sins and made a way for us to live together with Him forever. I hope Cheryl realized that when I prayed with her. About two years later, my mom called to tell me that Cheryl had passed away. Mom wrote in her obituary that, "she left this earth with great dignity."

Elder abuse and exploitation is an all too common problem. Better laws need to be passed, protective services need to be reformed, and family need to be watchful for predatory individuals who seek to exploit their loved ones. Churches and senior community centers can also be supportive to their vulnerable elderly population by educating their members about elder abuse.  

"He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you But to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8)

 

 

Casting our Cares| How to Make Peace #anxiety #peaceinChrist

Mayport Presbyterian Church, c. 1914

What if you're the only one? You see that short, smartly dressed chap in the back row of the Mayport Presbyterian Church congregation? That's my great-grandpa, Robert Emmett Singleton. I never met him. My mom said I was a babe in the womb when he died of Alzheimer's. Back then, you didn't send your loved ones to an old folks home. You kept them in your home until their time came to cross the bar. Mom used to visit him and play checkers, one of the few things he could remember.

As I was saying, what if you're the only one? In his case, he was a small man with a big heart. With racial tensions rising within his community, he stood for loving his neighbor and told others to do likewise. That's another thing my mom remembers about him. He told her stories about directing his kith and kin to treat his black neighbors with love and respect. I think I would have loved to spend time playing checkers with him, just like my mom, and learn more than the game. People like him went against the grain to smooth over the prickly folks who wanted to make trouble. The peacemakers are few and far between.

Mayport Presbyterian Church, c. 2023

Mayport Lighthouse

Mayport shrimp trawler at Singleton's Seafood Shack

My beloved great-grandpa, who I hope to meet one day on God's heavenly shore, made an impression on me through his simple life story. His legacy has lasted by his love. I hope the stories that I leave behind teach others to love with a tender strength. 

Have you ever been in a place where you feel like you neither belong nor are welcome? This should not be so in the church. The church is a place where you can find belonging and experience hospitality. For me, the church has been my family, my brothers and sisters, older and younger. Has there always been peace? Even nowadays, we're overly arrogant, easily offended, and anxiously territorial. I'll be frank. On this side of heaven, with normal sinners, proverbial fools, and downright wicked folks arrayed in faux sheepskin attire, there can't be perfect peace until Jesus makes all the sad things come untrue. 

Look at Jesus, when He died on the cross for the world's sins. The sky turned black, the earth shook, the temple veil to the holy of holies split in two. That doesn't sound peaceful. Yet, Jesus was making peace for the whole world by His sacrifice.

If I gaze at Him, and cast my cares like a fish net into the shining waters, He will provide His perfect peace and tender strength, so I can be a peacemaker like Him. Because I can't do it on my own. I need Him. We all do.

Now, if Jesus could carry the sins of the whole world on his shoulders, then He can help me carry my comparatively small burden, whatever it may be.

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body. the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross" (Colossians 1: 17-20)

  

The Road Not Taken| Returning to College #studentmom #backtoschool #firstsemester

At this autumnal season in my life, I'm working on launching my children, but where does this leave me? What will I do when they're gone? With one kid who just graduated with her A.A. and the others trailing behind her in middle and high school, my life is edging toward the inevitability of an empty nest. 

My college grad is contemplating going to my alma mater and that has really thrown me for a loop. Twenty-two years ago, having a preemie (this same child) made studying and attending classes too overwhelming for me. So I dropped my classes to part-time.

Daddy in the NICU

Our firstborn baby girl at home

Unbeknownst to me that one decision changed the course of my life. I didn't know that I needed to be a full-time student to keep my fellowship (= free tuition). So, I would have to pay full price for college, and I had trouble finding a sitter so I could attend my classes. It was all too much. I had to quit. And I rarely quit anything.

Watching my now twenty-two year old daughter contemplate attending the same college, the place that I trod upon when she was a babe in my womb, has made me long to return and finish what I started.

After much prayer, research, and reflection, I've decided to go back to school. After three literature classes, I'll qualify for the program that has peaked my interest, the Masters of Education in Reading Education, which is basically a Reading Coach or Specialist. I'll help struggling readers and kids with dyslexia learn how to read.

I've already finished one introductory literature course, passed American Lit for free via the CLEP exam (thanks, Modern States!), and I'm currently studying to pass the Brit Lit exam. After I complete these undergrad courses, I can apply for the Master's program.

College in my forties is quite a different experience than when I was in my early twenties. I find that I'm not in such a rush, and I care less about the grade and more about what I can take away. I'm really enjoying learning about literary analysis and the history of English literature.

My last poetry analysis assignment for my Intro to Lit class was fitting, "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. I don't regret the choice I've made to stay home with my kids, and now by the grace of God, I'm coming back again to the road not taken.

  

Aftermath| A Story and a Poem #Hurricaneseason

With hurricane season upon us, I felt inspired to write a poem about Hurricane Ian, the devastating mega-storm that hit Fort Myers, Florida last November. At least 150 people died as a result of the flooding, most of them elderly and most from drowning. The storm surge on the coast caused the Gulf of Mexico to rise over fifteen feet above its normal limit. An entire bridge washed away from Sanibel Island. 

Like the Nile River, the St. John's River in Florida runs north. With all the extra rain, the St. John's River swelled to an all time high, flooding outlying land like no other time in anyone's memory banks. 

After the hurricane subsided, I stood outside my home to view the aftermath. Although I live near the St. John's River, my street was spared from the oncoming flood. The cow pasture behind me was a different story. The water rose over the bushes, covering tree trunks. I hoped the slow-moving gopher tortoises escaped to higher ground in time. 

As I stood in my front yard, I marveled at the clear blue sky, such a contrast from the previous day with the swirling, powerful winds passing over our house. Two large birds of prey flew overhead. I squinted skyward and the birds lowered altitude, close enough for me to recognize their white heads and brown wings. I heard them whistle to each other and tried to mimic the sound. The bald eagles flew closer to my house. I lifted my arms high and continued to echo their calls.

Goosebumps popped up on my arms as one eagle swooped to only ten feet above me. Fear set in as I realized its talons could rip my fingers off. I lowered my arms and continued to gaze at the duo, swooping and calling to each other. I'd never witnessed bald eagles flying over my neighborhood before. The expansion of the river must have expanded their hunting grounds.

It was months before the St. John's receded to its original banks. Until then, wild boar, deer, raccoons, and other native Florida critters were pushed out of their wilderness homes and into oncoming traffic and run over daily. The aftermath of the hurricane is still being felt by those who lost loved ones and their homes. Not only that but the healthy ecosystem around the St. John's River has been set off kilter from the flooding, which may not recover for years to come. 

AFTERMATH

Two bald eagles took wing

After the hurricane

Searching the swollen

St. John’s River bank—

Not the river Jordan

which writhed and repulsed

As Israel crossed—

Bearing the holy ark

Of God's covenant. 

On a different note,

The town of Sanford knows

The river dealt such a blow

That eagles found easy prey

Rabbits, racoons, river rats,

All fled as the waters rose

 to overflow. 

Aftermath© by 

Chanda Singleton Griese