The Christmas Angel

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights.” — James 1:17 (KJV)

When I was a child, Christmas just wasn’t Christmas until our angel took her place at the top of the tree. Every year, we’d take turns naming her, though for the life of me, I can’t remember what name I chose when it was my turn—or what my brother picked either. But there’s one year that stands out clear as day in my memory.

Daddy had just finished stringing the colored lights around our tree, and Mama was putting the finishing touches on the garland of popcorn and paper chains we’d made in school. When it came time to crown the tree, Daddy lifted my little sister, Valerie, high into the air so she could place the angel on top. I can still see her hands trembling with excitement, her dark hair brushing just below her ears, the same color and cut as the angel’s. Daddy smiled and said, “We should name her Valerie—she looks just like you.”

And from that year on, the angel had a name that stuck.

Her gown was a soft cream-colored chiffon, elegant and delicate, especially for something made in the early 1960s. She seemed almost magical, glowing gently in the light of the old-fashioned bulbs that hummed softly overhead. It’s hard to believe that little angel is now about sixty-five years old and still brings joy to our family every Christmas.

Valerie still has her—carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away safely for most of the year. But every December, she unwraps that fragile treasure and gently places her atop her own Christmas tree. Now her grandchildren watch in wonder as she tells them the story of “the Christmas angel,” and of the year Daddy lifted her up toward the heavens to place it there.

Though I didn’t get to keep our childhood angel, I carried the tradition into my own home once I had children. When they were small, I bought a Christmas angel of my own and, just like Mama and Daddy did, we took turns naming her each year. As the years passed and the tree themes changed, so did the angel. Each one had her own style, her own sparkle, and her own name chosen by one of my kids.

It became a little family ritual we all looked forward to. The kids still laugh about it to this day, remembering the names we came up with. I think one year, when they were teenagers, the angel ended up being named Clarice. I asked where that name had come from, and one of them grinned and said, “From The Silence of the Lambs!” I shuddered at first—but then laughed, too. Leave it to my kids to find humor in tradition.

Through the years, the angels may have changed, but the meaning behind them never did. They’ve always represented hope, light, and love—the same qualities that first Christmas night brought into the world.

Just as Daddy once lifted my sister toward the top of the tree, I’ve realized that our Heavenly Father lifts us up, too—gently, lovingly—helping us shine where He’s placed us. We may feel fragile at times, like those old angels wrapped carefully in tissue paper, but in His hands, we’re always safe. Each Christmas, as I unwrap another angel and place her on the tree, I’m reminded that love and faith endure, generation after generation.

Christmas isn’t about what’s under the tree. It’s about Who came to dwell among us, the true Light that still shines in every home and every heart that welcomes Him in.

Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the memories and traditions that remind us of Your goodness through the years. As we lift our eyes to the angel atop the tree, may we remember the night You sent Your Son to lift us out of darkness and into Your marvelous light. Help us to treasure the laughter, the stories, and the blessings that bind our families together. Let Your peace rest upon our homes and Your love shine through us this Christmas and always.
Amen.

Thanksliving: A Life of Grace and Joy

Thanksgiving has always been a special time to count our blessings. We pause to thank God for His goodness, gather around the table with loved ones, and express gratitude for all He’s provided. But one day, as I reflected on how fleeting that holiday feeling often is, God quietly revealed something deeper to me. Gratitude shouldn’t be reserved for a single day—it should become our way of life. I realized what I truly wanted to practice wasn’t just Thanksgiving—it was Thanksliving.

Thanksliving is living every day with a heart of gratitude, not just speaking words of thanks when it’s convenient. It’s about waking up each morning aware of God’s presence and grace in the ordinary moments—the sunrise, the laughter of a loved one, the peace that comes from prayer. It’s a steady rhythm of recognizing God’s hand in both blessings and challenges.

In Luke 22:19, as Jesus gathered with His disciples at the Last Supper, the Bible says, “And He took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is My body given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.’” Even in the shadow of the cross, Jesus gave thanks. The Greek word used there is eucharisteo, meaning “to give thanks.”

Hidden within that one beautiful word are two others:

• Charis, meaning grace

• Chara, meaning joy

So when we give thanks—when we practice eucharisteo—we are recognizing God’s grace and discovering His joy. True gratitude flows from seeing His grace in every circumstance, and that recognition fills our hearts with joy that can’t be shaken.

Paul reminds us in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” That doesn’t mean every situation will feel good or easy, but it does mean God’s grace is always present—and His joy is always possible.

Thanksliving means choosing to see grace where others see problems. It means smiling through uncertainty because you know God is still good. It means giving thanks before the miracle, not just after. When we do this, every day becomes a day of worship.

As Psalm 100:4 encourages, “Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and bless His name.”

This Thanksgiving season, and every day beyond it, may we move from being people who say thanks to people who live thanks. For when gratitude becomes our lifestyle, joy becomes our constant companion.

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Lord, help me live each day with a thankful heart. Teach me to recognize Your grace in both the sunshine and the storm. Let my gratitude overflow into joy so that my life reflects Your goodness to others. May I live not just in thanksgiving, but in Thanksliving.
Amen.

A Little Light in the Darkness

When I was a child, bedtime was never my favorite part of the day. While my mother tucked me in and smoothed the covers, I was busy checking under the bed for monsters and making sure the closet door was firmly shut. The dark always felt too big—too full of things I couldn’t see or understand. I’d beg Mama to leave the hall light on, but she’d just smile and say, “Close your eyes and go to sleep, sweetheart. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

But I was afraid. The shadows on the wall looked like long fingers, and every creak of the house made my heart race. Night after night, I’d cry until finally Mama gave in. She agreed to let me leave the closet light on if I promised to keep the door just barely cracked. It was a small compromise, but to me, that sliver of light made all the difference.

It’s funny now, looking back, how much comfort I found in that faint glow. The light didn’t chase away every shadow, but it gave me just enough courage to rest. I think that’s why I love how the Bible talks about Jesus being the Light of the world. As long as I can see Him—even if it’s just a glimpse through a cracked door of faith—I know I don’t have to be afraid.

As I grew older, I learned that darkness still tries to creep in. It just takes different forms—worry, grief, doubt—but the remedy is still the same. Just as that closet light calmed my fears as a little girl, the light of Christ continues to bring peace to my grown-up heart.

And when I think about those long-ago nights, I smile. That small light shining through the crack in my closet door wasn’t just helping me sleep—it was teaching me to trust in the One who lights every dark place.

Dear Lord, thank You for being my Light in every season of life. When fear and doubt try to settle in, remind me that Your presence is brighter than any darkness I face. Help me keep my eyes on You, even when the world feels uncertain. Just as that little closet light once comforted a frightened child, let Your love and truth shine through every shadow that touches my heart. Amen.

The Night We Learned Our Lesson

Back when I was a child, discipline wasn’t a suggestion—it was a guarantee. If we acted up, we knew one of three things was coming: a sharp “Now you listen here,” a quick slap on the behind, or, in the worst of cases, Daddy’s belt. That belt was a legend in our house. It hung on the back of the bedroom door like a warning sign from the Lord Himself.

One particular night stands out clear as a bell. My sister and I were supposed to be winding down for bed, but instead we decided to test the laws of gravity. In our fuzzy little footie pajamas, we were jumping on the bed, laughing so hard our sides hurt. We were having ourselves a grand time—until Mama hollered from downstairs, “Y’all better quit that right now!”

Of course, we didn’t. When you’re a kid, Mama’s voice sounds more like background noise than an actual warning. I’m not sure how many times she called up, but when we heard her footsteps coming up those stairs, we knew Judgment Day had arrived.

Now, Mama was famous for her “warning swats.” She’d take Daddy’s belt, snap it once or twice in the air, and usually that was enough to send us scrambling under the covers. But not that night. No, ma’am. That night we’d pushed our luck one bounce too far. The belt didn’t just sing—it landed.

I can still feel that sting all these years later. Mercy, it burned like fire! Those little welts on the back of my legs were proof that Mama meant business. Back then I thought it was the end of the world, but looking back now, I see it was just good, old-fashioned love wrapped in leather.

You see, our parents took the Bible to heart when it said, “He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him” (Proverbs 13:24, NIV). And in Hebrews 12:10, we’re reminded, “Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness.”

I can’t say I was thankful for that spanking then—but I sure am now. Those lessons built respect, obedience, and a healthy understanding that choices have consequences. Looking back, I’m convinced those “come-to-Jesus moments” with the belt probably saved me from a few bigger whippings from life later on.

A Closing Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank You for loving me enough to correct me when I go astray. Help me to remember that discipline isn’t punishment—it’s protection. Thank You for parents who cared enough to teach me right from wrong, even when it hurt them (and me!). Give me a humble heart that’s willing to learn from Your gentle correction and to extend that same kind of love to others.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Silver Branches, Simple Joys

Back in the early 1960s, when we’d visit my grandparents at Christmastime, the magic of the holiday seemed to fit perfectly inside their tiny two-bedroom house. The living room was small—just enough space for a sofa, a lamp, and their Christmas tree—but to us children, it felt like stepping into a wonderland.

Their tree wasn’t the kind you’d find fresh from the forest. It was an aluminum tree, shiny and silver, with branches that sparkled like tinsel under the dim light of the room. At its base sat a color wheel—one of those fascinating contraptions that slowly turned, casting shades of red, blue, green, and yellow across the tree’s shimmering limbs. My brother, sister, and I would sit cross-legged on the floor, completely mesmerized by the changing colors. We’d whisper to each other which hue was our favorite, as if our words might interrupt the enchantment of the moment.

I know there were ornaments on that tree, but for the life of me, I can’t recall a single one. The silver glow of the branches and the soft swirl of the color wheel were all that captured my attention. There were no stockings hanging on the wall, no piles of gifts tucked beneath the tree. I can’t even remember opening a single present there. Maybe there weren’t any. My grandparents didn’t have much, but somehow, it didn’t feel like anything was missing.

What I do remember is the warmth—the kind that came from love, not from money or presents. I remember the faint hum of the color wheel’s motor, the smell of something sweet coming from the kitchen, and the simple joy of being together. There was always a candy cane or two, those old-fashioned ones that seemed sweeter back then. Maybe that was the only gift, but it was enough.

If I close my eyes, I can still see that aluminum tree shimmering in its rainbow glow, and I’m reminded that Christmas has never really been about the things we receive, but about the light that shines from the love we share.

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the simple joys that fill our hearts this Christmas and every day. Thank You for memories of love that outshine even the brightest decorations. Help us remember that the greatest gifts are not wrapped in paper or placed under trees, but are found in the warmth of family, the laughter of children, and the peace that comes from Your presence. May we carry that light with us, just as the color wheel once bathed that little aluminum tree in beauty. In Jesus’ name, amen.

PDQ

 

Mornings in our house were anything but calm. My brother, sister, and I would dash around like chickens with our heads cut off—grabbing books, coats, and lunchboxes while Mama stood in the middle of the chaos, calling out, “Y’all better hurry up or you’re gonna be late!” Somehow, we always made it out the door, though usually with a shoe untied or a piece of toast clutched in one hand.

 

Looking back, I miss those crazy mornings. But more than that, I miss the silly little things that made them special—like the day Mama came home from the grocery store with a new product she said we’d love.

 

It came in a small glass jar filled with dark brown pellets. The label read PDQ. I was helping Mama unpack groceries when I spotted it, and I couldn’t resist picking it up for a closer look. The words on the label promised that these tiny pellets could turn an ordinary glass of milk into chocolate milk—something that, in our house, was considered pure luxury.

 

“Mama, can I try it?” I asked eagerly.

 

She smiled and said, “You can—but just one spoonful, you hear?”

 

I followed her directions carefully, pouring the little chocolate balls into my glass and stirring like I was conducting a science experiment. And sure enough, as I stirred, the milk turned from plain white to a rich chocolate brown. One sip and I was hooked. That PDQ was magic!

 

I don’t remember if the label explained what the letters stood for, so I asked Mama. Without missing a beat, she said, “Pretty Darn Quick!”

 

And she was right. From that day forward, our mornings were fueled by cereal—usually Captain Crunch or whatever happened to be on sale—and tall glasses of PDQ chocolate milk. Looking back now, I shudder to think of the sugar we were cramming into our growing bodies, but back then, it was pure bliss.

 

One afternoon after school, my siblings and I decided we were hungry enough for a snack before dinner. Peanut butter sandwiches were our go-to, but that day, one of us got a bright idea. “What if we sprinkled a little PDQ on top of the peanut butter?”

 

We worked fast—PDQ, you might say—so Mama wouldn’t catch us experimenting in her clean kitchen. We slapped the bread together, took a big bite, and laughed as tiny chocolate balls spilled out onto the counter. But oh, the taste! That combination of creamy peanut butter and chocolate was heavenly.

We didn’t know it then, but I like to think we were on the verge of greatness—standing at the kitchen counter, sticky-faced inventors, just a step away from creating the world’s first Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. We just didn’t quite have our formula right.

 

These days, I wouldn’t dare start my morning with that much sugar, but sometimes, when I pass the chocolate milk mix at the store, I can almost hear Mama calling out from the kitchen—

“Y’all better hurry up or you’re gonna be late!”

 

And for a moment, I’m right back there again—running late, laughing with my siblings, and drinking my Pretty Darn Quick milk before it was time to jump in the car and go.

 

Life moves pretty darn quick, too, doesn’t it? One moment we’re kids racing to beat the school bell, and the next we’re grown-ups longing for one more taste of those simple, carefree mornings. I’m grateful for the memories that still bubble up like laughter from the past—reminders that even in the rush, love was always at the heart of our home.

 

Heavenly Father, thank You for the sweet, ordinary moments that make up a life—mornings filled with laughter, family, and even a little spilled chocolate milk. Help me to slow down long enough to savor the blessings You’ve placed in each new day. Amen.

More Than Beasts of Burdens

I’ve always had a soft spot for donkeys. I can’t remember exactly when it started, but I do remember the first one I ever saw. It was standing in the middle of a field surrounded by five or six horses. While the others grazed together, that poor donkey stood off to the side, looking like it had wandered into the wrong party. I remember thinking, “Well, bless his heart—he must be so lonely.”

As a little girl, I figured the farmer had accidentally bought a donkey when he really meant to buy another horse. Later in life, I learned that the donkey wasn’t there by mistake at all. Turns out, farmers know a thing or two.

Donkeys are protectors. They’re not nearly as fearful as horses, and when a coyote or some other predator comes prowling around, that little gray guardian will bray, bite, and kick until the threat hightails it out of there.

You’ve got to love that kind of grit in such an unassuming package. A donkey doesn’t have the sleek beauty of a horse or the elegance of a deer—but it’s got backbone, and I think that’s part of what makes it special.

Another thing I’ve always found fascinating is that donkeys carry a dark cross across their backs and shoulders. Some say it’s just the way the hair grows, but I’ve always liked the story that after Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, every donkey born after that carried the mark of that sacred moment. Whether that’s true or not, it’s still a beautiful reminder of humility and service—the very things the donkey represents.

The Bible mentions donkeys quite a bit, and every time I read about one, I can’t help but smile. Abraham loaded a donkey with the supplies for his journey of faith. Balaam’s donkey saw an angel when its master couldn’t, and after being beaten three times, that poor animal finally spoke up—literally! I’ve known a few people who could learn a thing or two from that donkey about seeing what others can’t and knowing when to speak.

And then, of course, there’s Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. He didn’t choose a chariot or a proud stallion. He chose a donkey—a symbol of peace. Kings rode horses into battle, but they rode donkeys when they came in peace. That says everything about the kind of King He is.

I suppose that’s why I’ve always admired donkeys. They may look plain, but they carry purpose. They don’t need fanfare or fancy saddles. They just quietly do their job—steady, dependable, and humble.

And maybe that’s what I want to be when people look at me someday—a little less like a show horse and a little more like a donkey. Faithful. Peaceful. Marked by the cross.

Heavenly Father, thank You for the lessons You tuck into the simplest of creatures. Help me to live like the donkey—faithful in service, steadfast in spirit, and willing to carry Your peace wherever You lead me. May others see the mark of the cross upon my life, not in words alone but in quiet acts of love and humility. Amen.

Random musings ©️ Bonnie Annis