Celebrating Purim

Feb21

The Jewish holiday of Purim begins at sundown on Saturday, February 23rd. Purim is the commemoration of the deliverance of the Jewish people from genocide at the hand of a Persian official named Haman. The Jewish girl Esther was used by God to effect this deliverance, as chronicled in the Book of Esther in the Bible.

The photo pictures a sample of the Jewish treat hamentashen which is traditionally served on Purim.

Here are few links to posts here at Semicolon and elsewhere about celebrating the story of Esther and God’s Purim deliverance of His people:

Esther by Chuck Swindoll. Some thoughts from me, not only on Mr. Swindoll’s book but also on Christian fiction and God’s calling for people in key places.

Soundtrack for the book of Esther. A few songs that I think embody the themes of the book.

Esther, Illustrated.

Purim: Celebrating Our Deliverance.

Annie’s Feast of Purim Page.

Days I’m Planning to Celebrate or Observe in February

Jan31

All of February: Letter-Writing Month. The challenge is to “mail at least one item through the post every day it runs. Write a postcard, a letter, send a picture, or a cutting from a newspaper, or a fabric swatch.” I want to do this with my girls. Such an encouragement to the people who receive a REAL letter or card in the mail.

February 2: Candlemas. We’re not Catholic, but it would be fun to light some candles and talk about how Jesus is the Light of the World. Like Mother, Like Daughter on Candlemas.

February 2: Groundhog Day. Check the weather. Watch the movie.

February 7: Charles Dickens’ Birthday. I will start reading Bleak House.

February 12: Abraham Lincoln’s birthday.

February 12: Shrove Tuesday. Pancakes or maybe beignets!

February 13: Betsy-Bee’s Birthday. My next-to-the-youngest baby will be 14 years old. How will we celebrate? Not sure. I know she wants to go to Fuddrucker’s.

February 13: Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. For the past several years I have taken a blogging break during Lent. This year I’m thinking about “giving up” something different for Lent: sedentariness and prayerlessness. I think that for the forty days of Lent I will go for a daily walk and spend my walking time in prayer. How’s that for a lenten discipline? I’ll let you know how it goes. Observing Lent.

February 14: International Book Giving Day It’s also the day for announcing the winners of the Cybils Awards.

February 14: St. Valentine’s Day. Well, here are 100 suggestions for celebrating Valentine’s Day. I think we’ll listen to some love songs, watch a movie, make a few valentines for friends and strangers who need a little love.
I’m also planning to fill a large jar with Valentine candy, probably M and M’s, at the beginning of the month. Everyone in the family can have two guesses as to how many candies are in the jar. On Valentine’s Day we’ll open it and count. The one who guesses closest wins a prize–not the candy. We’ll share that!

February 18: President’s Day. Work on my Presidential Reading Project. Start reading either my Andrew Jackson book or my Harry Truman book. Hang out our U.S. flag for the day. President’s Day for Kids.

February 22: George Washington’s Birthday. We will read this poem, and maybe I’ll make something with cherries in it.

February 23: Purim begins at sundown. Purim takes place on the fourteenth and fifteenth days of Adar, the twelfth month of the Jewish calendar. I would like to have a family Purim party and read the book of Esther together.

February 27: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s birthday. Read some Longfellow: maybe The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere or The Village Blacksmith or The Children’s Hour or The Wreck of the Hesperus or other poems by Longfellow. Post lines from Longfellow on Twitter and Facebook.

Christmas in Kobe, Japan, 1912

Dec8

Lottie Moon was born into a comfortable life on an antebellum plantation in Virginia. She died on Christmas Eve, 1912, on board a ship off the coast of Japan, some say of sickness due to malnutrition, after a life of ministering to and suffering with the Chinese people she loved. Between her birth and death, she met the power and love of Jesus Christ who forgave her, redeemed her, and sent her to teach the people of China about Jesus and the “great tidings of great joy.”

From her letters:

“Here I am working alone in a city of many thousand inhabitants. It is grievous to think of these human souls going down to death without even one opportunity of hearing the name of Jesus. How many can I reach? The needs of these people press upon my soul, and I cannot be silent.”

“Our hearts were made glad last Sabbath by the baptism of an individual who has interested us by his firm stand under the persecutions of his … family. They fastened him in a room without food or water, and endeavored to starve him into submission. Providentially, they did not take away his Christian books. He studied these more closely than ever. The pangs of hunger he satisfied by eating some raw beans he found in the room, and when he wanted water he commenced to dig a well in the room in which he was confined. Chinese houses are built on the ground and do not have plank floors as with us. When the family discovered the well-digging they yielded. They had no wish to ruin their dwelling. The man has shown that he is made of stern stuff, and we hope he will be very useful as a Christian.”

“Recently, on a Sunday which I was spending in a village near Pingtu city, two men came to me with the request that I would conduct the general services. They wished me to read and explain, to a mixed audience of men and women, the parable of the prodigal son. I replied that no one should undertake to speak without preparation, and that I had made none. (I had been busy all the morning teaching the women and girls.) After awhile they came again to know my decision. I said, “It is not the custom of the Ancient church that women preach to men.” I could not, however, hinder their calling upon me to lead in prayer. Need I say that, as I tried to lead their devotions, it was hard to keep back the tears of pity for those sheep not having a shepherd. Men asking to be taught and no one to teach them.” February 9, 1889.

“How many there are … who imagine that because Jesus paid it all, they need pay nothing, forgetting that the prime object of their salvation was that they should follow in the footsteps of Jesus Christ in bringing back a lost world to God.” September 15, 1887.

“Is not the festive season when families and friends exchange gifts in memory of The Gift laid on the altar of the world for the redemption of the human race, the most appropriate time to consecrate a portion from abounding riches and scant poverty to send forth the good tidings of great joy into all the earth?” September 15, 1887.

You’ll find these quotes and many more from Lottie Moon’s letters in Send the Light: Lottie Moon’s Letters and Other Writings, edited by Keith Harper, published by Mercer University Press.

“When Moon returned from her second furlough in 1904, she was deeply struck by the suffering of the people who were literally starving to death all around her. She pleaded for more money and more resources, but the mission board was heavily in debt and could send nothing. Mission salaries were voluntarily cut. Unknown to her fellow missionaries, Moon shared her personal finances and food with anyone in need around her, severely affecting both her physical and mental health. In 1912, she only weighed 50 pounds. Alarmed, fellow missionaries arranged for her to be sent back home to the United States with a missionary companion. However, Moon died on route, at the age of 72, on December 24, 1912, in the harbor of Kobe, Japan.” Wikipedia, Lottie Moon

Christmas in Norway, c.1330

Dec5

“It was the custom for all priests at Christ Church to give supper to the poor. But Kristin had heard that fewer beggars came to Gunnulf Nikulausson than to any of the other priests, and yet–or perhaps this was the very reason–he seated them on the benches next to him in the main hall and received every wanderer like an honored guest. They were served food from his own platter and ale from the priest’s own barrels. The poor would come whenever they felt in need of a supper of stew, but otherwise they preferred to go to the other priests, where they were given porridge and weak ale in the cookhouse.
As soon as the scribe had finished the prayers after the meal, the poor guests wanted to leave. Gunnulf spoke gently to each of them, asking whether they would like to spend the night or whether they needed anything else; but only the blind boy remained. The priest implored in particular the young woman with the child to stay and not take the little one out into the night, but she murmured an excuse and hurried off. Then Gunnulf asked a servant to make sure that Blind Arnstein was given ale and a good bed in the guest room. He put on a hooded cape.
‘You must be tired, Orm and Kristin, and want to go to bed. Audhild will take care of you. You’ll probably be asleep when I return from the church.’
Then Kristin asked to go with him. ‘That’s why I’ve come here,’ she said, fixing her despairing eyes on Gunnulf. Ingrid lent her a dry cloak, and she and Orm joined the small procession departing from the parsonage.
The bells were ringing as if they were right overhead in the black night sky–it wasn’t far to the church. They trudged through the deep, wet, new snow. The weather was calm now, with a few snowflakes still drifting down here and there shimmering faintly in the dark.” ~Kristin Lavransdatter, Mistress of Husaby by Sigrid Undset, translated by Tina Nunnally.

Kristin Lavransdatter is one of my very favorite books, so realistic and yet encouraging. Kristin is a real person: warts, and passions, and good intentions, and stupid decisions, all wrapped up in the life of one fourteenth century woman.

The scene I quoted above takes place near Christmas-time when Kristin is visiting her brother-in-law, a priest, because she is having marriage and family conflicts. She goes to the church to think and pray about all her sins and her life. Orm is her step-son.

I would highly recommend Kristin Lavransdatter as a gift for the wife/mother/reader in your family.

Christmas at Queens Crawley, Hampshire, England, 1823

Dec3

“Christmas at the Hall was the gayest which had been known there for many a long day.

On Christmas Day a great family gathering took place. All the Crawleys from the Rectory came to dine. Rebecca was as frank and fond of Mrs. Bute as if the other had never been her enemy; she was affectionately interested in the dear girls, and surprised at the progress which they had made in music since her time, and insisted upon encoring one of the duets out of the great song-books which Jim, grumbling, had been forced to bring under his arm from the Rectory. Mrs. Bute, perforce, was obliged to adopt a decent demeanour towards the little adventuressâ€”-of course being free to discourse with her daughters afterwards about the absurd respect with which Sir Pitt treated his sister-in-law. But Jim, who had sat next to her at dinner, declared she was a trump, and one and all of the Rector’s family agreed that the little Rawdon was a fine boy. They respected a possible baronet in the boy, between whom and the title there was only the little sickly pale Pitt Binkie.

The children were very good friends. Pitt Binkie was too little a dog for such a big dog as Rawdon to play with; and Matilda being only a girl, of course not fit companion for a young gentleman who was near eight years old, and going into jackets very soon. He took the command of this small party at onceâ€”-the little girl and the little boy following him about with great reverence at such times as he condescended to sport with them. His happiness and pleasure in the country were extreme. The kitchen garden pleased him hugely, the flowers moderately, but the pigeons and the poultry, and the stables when he was allowed to visit them, were delightful objects to him. He resisted being kissed by the Misses Crawley, but he allowed Lady Jane sometimes to embrace him, and it was by her side that he liked to sit when, the signal to retire to the drawing-room being given, the ladies left the gentlemen to their claret—by her side rather than by his mother. For Rebecca, seeing that tenderness was the fashion, called Rawdon to her one evening and stooped down and kissed him in the presence of all the ladies.” ~Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

Brown Bear Daughter (age 17) has been reading Vanity Fair for her senior English class, and she is not impressed with Miss Becky Sharp nor with the near-perfect Amelia Sedley. I find it interesting that the characters of Gone With the Wind’s Scarlett O’Hara and her sister-in-law Melanie Wilkes are based on Thackeray’s characters, written so many years before. “Adventuresses” and simpering young ladies and hypocrites and the like never go out of style. But Christmas does sometimes make us all behave ourselves for a while and if not remember our better selves, at least act as if we do.

“I mean the baronet and the rector, not our brothers—but the former, who hate each other all the year round, become quite loving at Christmas.”
~ William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair.

Christmas in Rheims, France, 496 AD

Dec2

A battle was fought at a place called Tolbiac, not far from the present city of Cologne. In this battle the Franks were nearly beaten, for the Alemanni were fierce and brave men and skillful fighters. When Clovis saw his soldiers driven back several times he began to lose hope, but at that moment he thought of his pious wife and of the powerful God of whom she had so often spoken. Then he raised his hands to heaven and earnestly prayed to that God.

“O God of Clotilde,” he cried, “help me in this my hour of need. If thou wilt give me victory now I will believe in thee.”

Almost immediately the course of the battle began to change in favor of the Franks. Clovis led his warriors forward once more, and this time the Alemanni fled before them in terror. The Franks gained a great victory, and they believed it was in answer to the prayer of their king.

When Clovis returned home he did not forget his promise. He told Clotilde how he had prayed to her God for help and how his prayer had been heard, and he said he was now ready to become a Christian. Clotilde was very happy on hearing this, and she arranged that her husband should be baptized in the church of Rheims on the following Christmas day.

Meanwhile Clovis issued a proclamation to his people declaring that he was a believer in Christ, and giving orders that all the images and temples of the heathen gods should be destroyed. This was immediately done, and many of the people followed his example and became Christians.

Clovis was a very earnest and fervent convert. One day the bishop of Rheims, while instructing him in the doctrines of Christianity, described the death of Christ. As the bishop proceeded Clovis became much excited, and at last jumped up from his seat and exclaimed:

“Had I been there with my brave Franks I would have avenged His wrongs.”

On Christmas day a great multitude assembled in the church at Rheims to witness the baptism of the king. A large number of his fierce warriors were baptized at the same time. The service was performed with great ceremony by the bishop of Rheims, and the title of “Most Christian King” was conferred on Clovis by the Pope. This title was ever afterwards borne by the kings of France.
~Famous Men of the Middle Ages by John H. Haaren.

Christmas in the UK, c.2011

Dec1

“It was early morning. Tilly turned over in her bed. As she moved her feet, she heard the rustle of the Christmas stocking. She moved her toes again, to feel the delicious weight of it. She reached out for the clock on the bedside table. Six o’clock. It was still too early to wake up Mom and Dad, to go rushing to their room to open her presents.

She turned on the bedside light, reached down, and pulled the stocking up so she could see it properly. It was stuffed to the top with small packages all wrapped up in shiny paper with silver stars. Tilly pulled at the top one, undid one end, and then put it back, suddenly guilty. She must wait for morning.

The bubble of happiness inside her was growing bigger and stronger. It was Christmas. Mom would be coming downstairs for once, to be with her and Dad all day. And she had a new friend at last. A girl a little like her, and a little bit like Ally . . .

Tilly lay quietly in bed, waiting for the day to begin.” ~Tilly’s Moonlight Garden by Julia Green.

Tilly’s Moonlight Garden is the definition of a quiet, gentle fantasy. Not much really happens. A little girl named Tilly moves to a new house, leaving her best friend Ally behind. Tilly’ mother is having a difficult pregnancy, lots of bed rest, and Tilly is worried about her mum and and about making friends at her new school. Led by a wild fox, Tilly finds a magical secret garden behind her new home, and she meets a mysterious friend there.

It was never clear to me how old Tilly was in the book, and that was a bit bothersome. She acts rather young, maybe seven, but she also thinks that others would judge her too old to play with a dollhouse, maybe ten or eleven? She’s a lonely little girl, however old she is, and it’s also not really clear whether the fantastical events (a friendly fox and a ghostly girl) in the story are real or just a figment of Tilly’s fertile imagination. I tend to think probably meant to be real, but it’s sort of left open to the reader’s judgment.

Young readers with the patience to see this one through will find some delightful echoes of Philippa Pearce’s classic Tom’s Midnight Garden and Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. Those who are looking for fast action and thrills had better look elsewhere. Anglophiles like me might also enjoy this very British story of a lonesome little girl and her fantasy friends in a secret garden.

Author Julia Green’s website.

All Hallows Read

Oct22

O.K., Neil, this “holiday tradition” sounds like a wonderful idea:

On the Day I Died by Candace Fleming

Oct16

I remember Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Twilight Zone. Paranormal fiction, phantoms and ghouls, stories of the weird, the supernatural, and the spectral.

What do kids watch nowadays when they want a good, old-fashioned ghostly supernatural story or creepy mystery (not romantic vampires or stupid zombies)? For that matter, what do they read? Neil Gaiman. Mary Downing Hahn. Goosebumps. Eventually they could graduate to Stephen King or X-Files, I guess.

But what if the reader is looking for ghost stories, not novels? The kind of stories that were presented by Mr. Hitchcock or introduced by Rod Serling on the Twilight Zone? The kind you tell on a camp out on a dark night?

Subtitled “Stories from the Grave”, Ms. Fleming’s book fits that niche. The book includes nine stories, set in and around Chicago, all about teenagers who died. These stories eschew the violence and gore that so often substitutes for real suspense and spookiness these days, and instead they go straight for that horrified, eerie response feeling. You know, when you ask yourself, “Could that really happen? Naaaaa, maybe, well?”

Mike is led to a graveyard by a ghostly hitchhiker, surrounded by the ghost of teens who need to tell their stories, and compelled to listen to those stories. For instance, there’s Scott (1995-2012) who didn’t believe in the supernatural until he decided to make a visit to the abandoned grounds of Chicago State Asylum for the Insane. Johnnie (1920-1936) was a juvenile delinquent with a predilection for revenge until one of his victims took her revenge on him. There’s also a “monkey’s paw” story (Lily 1982-1999), and another (Edgar 1853-1870) that’s a take off from Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s short story, The Yellow Wallpaper.

I’d get this one, especially if you live in or are familiar with the Chicago area, just in time for Halloween. I can picture a Halloween party with older middle schoolers or young high schoolers dressed up as the dead people in the stories and prepared to tell their own “stories from the grave.”

The book could also be a springboard for research into your own local folklore about ghost sightings and death stories. Ms. Fleming began her stories with “memory and myth”, “local legend and folklore”, and “nearby places, real-life people, actual events.” She writes in the author’s notes at the end of the book, “The best ghost stories, I learned, should always include a kernel of truth.”

Maybe some of the stories at the website Ghosts of America could be starter seeds for your own book of ghostly tales. These stories are from my own hometown of San Angelo, Texas.