The Mouse House

In the fall of 1986, I was the mother of two pre-schoolers with another on the way. Christmas was coming. Money was tight. What I did have was a new Pfaff sewing machine. My father had died earlier that year and we’d received a bequeathment. I knew I wanted to use part of the money to buy a good sewing machine. I’ve never regretted that decision, and I think of Dad every time I use it.

I also owned a trunk of assorted fabrics, old clothes, and crafting materials. When I found a pattern for a little fabric doll house and its three family members—which you could make either as bunnies or mice, I decided to make our three-year-old daughter a mouse house.

This, of course, required working only while the children slept.

The first step was cutting out ALL. THE. PIECES. The walls and roof were reinforced with plastic, then padded with batting before adding fabric on both sides That’s a lot of pieces. The roof and carrying handle were made from leftover fabric I’d used to make my husband a shirt, the walls from a discarded dress. Half the roof lifted up while the front wall could be raised or lowered using zippers along each corner. Each wall included at least one window, complete with shutters and flowery window boxes on the outside, curtains on the inside. The little red door opened and closed with a snap. I even found an old pair of child’s pajamas printed with cute little mice to cut out “family portraits” to hang on the inside of the walls.

Furnishings included a little bed with a quilt and pillow. I made the sofa and matching armchair from a dress I’d worn in Grade Seven.

The three mice were made from fuzzy blue fabric with pink lining for their ears and tails of braided blue yarn. Mama Mouse wore her own little bib apron, while Papa and Baby sported only red ribbons around their necks. 

Those walls stood much straighter in 1986.

As Christmas grew closer and my belly grew bigger (our third arrived January 7), I feared I’d never finish the mouse house on time. Then hubby had to attend a conference that involved staying in a downtown Winnipeg hotel. Did I want to go along? Boy, did I!

We farmed out the kids. I packed my sewing machine and all the cut-out parts, then set up shop in our hotel room. Two uninterrupted days to work on this project felt like the biggest treat. There I sat, larger than a house myself, working away at a sewing machine. Thread, stuffing, and Velcro bits lay scattered about. I can only imagine the “guess what I saw today” story the housekeeper told after leaving our room.

Our girl spent many happy hours playing with her mouse house. Last Christmas, she discovered it in our storage room and decided to take it home. I said, “At least let me fix it for you.” The roof was falling off, the furniture coming apart, the mice looking extremely ratty.

She didn’t argue. I put the house in my office so I wouldn’t forget about it.

Seven months went by.

Finally, realizing I would see Mindy again at the end of September, I got to work. This time I used a glue gun for several of the repairs, saving myself a ton of stitching. The mouse family received new whiskers. I reinforced their tails. Mama Mouse underwent eye surgery which altered her appearance, but her vision remains unchanged.

I probably spent a good six hours fixing the mouse house. Although none of those hours were interrupted by children, I do find threading a needle more time-consuming than I did 36 years ago. Go figure.

Jesus of Nazareth, the most talented carpenter who ever lived, is preparing a place with “many houses” for his beloved children. I like to think he’s putting all the care and love into mine that I put into Mindy’s mouse house—but with a lot more skill, and no need for repairs in 36 or 360 or 36,000 years.

I can’t wait to open the door to mine!

I'll be home. You too?

If any song could provide the theme for Christmas 2020, it would be I’ll Be Home for Christmas. Just like I was home for Thanksgiving and Canada Day and Mother’s Day and Easter. I anticipate being home for New Years and Valentines, too. While the song calls out a longing for home, most of us are itching to go somewhere. Anywhere other than home.

The theme could take so many forms this year. Maybe you’re like me, wishing you could be surrounded by adult kids and grandkids, but they’re stuck at home and so are you.

Maybe you’re the parent trapped at home with stir-crazy kids, or you’re the kid wishing to see friends, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles.

Maybe you’re a senior isolated in a little apartment. Or worse, a hospital—longing to be home in your little apartment.

Maybe you expect to reach your eternal home, if not by this Christmas, maybe next.

Walter Kent and Kim Gannon wrote I’ll be Home for Christmas in 1943, from the perspective of a soldier serving overseas during World War II. The pair could not find a publisher willing to buy the song because they all felt it was too sad. The soldier is writing to his family to say he’ll be coming home for the holiday and requests snow, mistletoe, and presents. Then, wham! It ends with “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

Talk about melancholy.

But when Gannon sang it for Bing Crosby while the two played golf together, Crosby agreed to record it. You know the rest. The song quickly became the most requested in Crosby’s USO tours and a wartime favorite, despite the BBC banning it from their airwaves for fear it would bring down morale.

What is it about this 39-word song that so appealed to the soldiers? Its haunting melody certainly gives it a pathos they understood all too well. I’m thinking it gave them permission to feel all their emotions. The words validated their longings and let them know they weren’t alone in feeling that way.

The song’s continued popularity—having been recorded by nearly every artist who ever made a Christmas album—tells us the appeal goes far beyond soldiers. The nostalgic lyrics touch a tender place inside all of us, whether we’re far from home, stuck at home, or happy to be home.

Deep inside, doesn’t every one of us long for a real home? The word itself is charged with emotion, both positive and negative. It’s as though we all know what a true home is supposed to be. A place where you are loved and safe. Permitted to be yourself. Secure, valued. Care-free, at rest. The one place you truly belong. Even those who never experienced home that way long for it.

How? How do we all know what we’re made for? How can you feel homesick for a place you’ve never been?  Could it be that your Creator built that longing into you?

I think St. Augustine nailed it with this: “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.”

Billy Graham said, “My home is in Heaven. I’m just traveling through this world.”

And one of the last things Jesus told his disciples before he left them was, “Let not your heart be troubled. You are trusting God, now trust in me. There are many homes up there where my Father lives, and I am going to prepare them for your coming. When everything is ready, then I will come and get you, so that you can always be with me where I am.” (John 14:1-3)

When you hear I’ll Be Home for Christmas this year, go ahead. Let the feelings flood your heart. And in that, may the Christ of Christmas give you a glimpse into your forever home with him.

 

 

What's on YOUR Bulletin Board?

The receipt of a pretty card from author Deborah Raney in Kansas (whom I deeply admire for her garage sale hunting and home decorating skills almost as much as for her books) prompted me to contemplate my bulletin board. The one with the twisted frame. It hangs flush to the wall across the top, but its bottom right corner sticks out two centimeters from the wall. Every time I pin something to it, the whole shebang tries to hit the floor. I’ve become adept at catching it.

I betcha Deborah Raney would never hang a warped bulletin board in her house.

They say you can tell a lot about a person by what’s on their bulletin board. Well, okay, maybe “they” don’t say that. I’m saying it. I wonder what my warped one says about me.

If I care to wax philosophical, I can see that everything on my bulletin board fits into one of three categories: organization, encouragement, and inspiration. In the organizing category fall two things. The wildlife calendar came from author/photographer/singer, Sally Meadows in Saskatchewan. Next to it, I’ve pinned a flow-chart I created to guide myself on how to manage limited writing time so as not to miss a deadline. It’s brilliant and I should probably follow it.

In the encouragement category hang two actual hand-written cards of appreciation that arrived in the actual mail from actual readers, both senior citizens. (Not because my readers are all senior citizens, I tell myself, but because senior citizens are the only people who still hand-write anything.) I treasure those cards.

The top left corner features a certificate of congratulations from our member of parliament, the Honourable Candice Bergen, on the release of my first novel. It even has one of those fancy gold seals like the kind I frequently use at my city hall job. Except Ms. Bergen managed to stick hers on straight.

Near the top right hangs a card I received from my daughter years ago that still makes me laugh and comes in handy when decision-making. It features a vintage black and white photo of a lady dressed in finery, about to deliberately step off a curb into a mud puddle. The caption says:

Ever notice that "what the hell" is always the right decision?

It’s a quote from an unknown Hollywood scriptwriter, so that should tell us something.

In the inspiration category hang quotes from the prophet Isaiah and from Max Lucado, and now, the card from Deb Raney.

One of my favorite items, though, is a place card that says, “Reserved for Terrie Todd.” At a writer’s conference in 2013, I was invited to sit at author Jerry B. Jenkin’s lunch table. (He’s written hundreds of books, among them the bestselling Left Behind series.) I earned the privilege in a writing contest, but I keep the place card to remind me of another, far more important meal yet to come. A place is reserved for me there too, but I did not earn this one. Jesus bought it for me, with his life. It’s called the marriage supper of the Lamb and you can read about it in the book of Revelation. There’s a seat for you, too. Have you replied?

On good days, that special reminder calls me to do my best and make my time on this planet count for something. On difficult days, it serves to remind me there are far better things ahead than anything we leave behind.

What’s on your bulletin board?