Christmas is upon us. And as usual, if you're like me and experiencing a head cold, you're feeling overwhelmed from the upcoming parties you hadn't counted on at the last minute, the stress, the trying to be creative when gift buying, etc. I keep saying to myself, "No more. No more." I already know of at least two gifts that will have to be taken back and they haven't even been wrapped yet. Guess that's good though. At least I haven't wasted paper and ribbon.

And if you're like me you're thinking, I can't handle one...more...thing...on...my...plate. I just want to kick back with a hot cup of mocha and rest.

And then when checking my email, I just received word today from the leader of my Bible class that a dear woman's husband had gone Home. I quickly glanced through the email and busy as ever, I thought, Well that's nice he got to go home during Thanksgiving--I hope he has a nice visit. Maybe he'll be able to go back for Christmas too.

Then I noticed that Home was with a capped "H." And for some odd reason, it hit me like a sledge hammer. He had gone on the ultimate journey. He was now in the presence of his Maker and whether or not his turkey was brined or deep fat fried was now a moot point. Nor did it matter that he'd jetted out of here during the holidays. It's normally not left up to us the hour of our departure. There's never a good time for dying. I sighed and thought, I feel so sorry for his poor wife and family because here Christmas is upon us.

But at least he's out of all of this mess and doesn't have to worry about the five o'clock news and who's sliding over the fiscal cliff or who's trying to take over Egypt. He'll be celebrating Christ's birthday with Christ though I doubt they're celebrating His birthday on December 25th in heaven. But I know he's singing Gloria with the angels and all those who have gone on before him.

However, try as I might, I couldn't quite place the woman who'd just lost her husband. With quite a few people in my Bible class, I knew faces but couldn't always put a name to a face. When I heard from another friend, Sarah, by email, she wrote, "She's the lady with the beautiful white hair who sits on the second row of our class. She's 82 and teaches three Bible classes of her own."

What! She teaches three Bible classes? And I am still not caught up from getting behind in August. This 82-year-old was putting me to shame and also on the biggest self-induced guilt trip ever. Compared to this woman, I seemed like a dust covered sloth.

Feeling like I'd been slapped with a wet lasagna noodle, I said a quick prayer for the family of the deceased and tried to be more efficient in checking through the rest of my emails so I could accomplish more. If an 82-year-old was teaching three Bible classes, I should be accomplishing scads more. However, dust bunnies were winking at me from every corner. Leaves needed raking. There was no food in the pantry.

Maybe I should just delete all of the forwards waiting for me and try to at least get the house dusted after dishes. But what if I deleted something of value? A message just for me? Perhaps I should make a quick run through the forwards and then delete and purge.

I'm so glad I checked because there was a sage forward--like some messages in Chinese fortune cookies--meant just for me. Below is the jewel:

"The Sermon I think this Mom will never forget....

"This particular Sunday sermon... 'Dear Lord,' the minister began, with arms extended toward heaven and a rapturous look on his upturned face. ' Without you, we are but dust....' He would have continued but at that moment my very obedient daughter who was listening leaned over to me and asked quite audibly in her shrill little four-year-old girl voice, 'Mommie, what is butt dust?'"

After my laughter subsided, I realized that even though I might think my plate is loaded and I can handle no more and say -- "God, send Aaron. I can't do another thing. I'm exhausted--no more, no more." -- I have to remember Jesus said, "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." In reality, and even though I've been under the weather, I've gathered quite a bit of butt dust.

I thought of my fellow Bible student and the incredible sacrifice of her time. I'd learned something new about her. No butt dust there. She'd taken seriously the verses in the Bible. Jesus said, "Look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest" (John 4:35) and “The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest.” (Matthew 9:38).

And I then determined to try and make every minute left on this earth count. We never know when the Lord will call us Home. I don't want to arrive in heaven with any butt dust residue. And I know it may seem like a silly thing, however, along with no tears, I'm hoping heaven is dust free in my mansion.

Until I get there, I'm still going to be kind to myself when I'm not physically feeling well. I'm going to take it easy until I mend. However, when I'm back on my feet and rested, I'm going to try doubly hard to make every minute count. I vow to write more words that will count. And by the grace of God more stories that will matter. And I can only hope that I'll be teaching three Bible classes like my Bible class friend when I'm 82. There's not one speck of butt dust on her.

Comments anyone?

If you would like to comment or have questions about this article, email me vmoss@livingwaterfiction.com