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Teresa Weaver

Space

November 18, 2025 By Teresa Weaver Leave a Comment

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Space. The final frontier.

It’s a familiar phrase from decades of Star Trek iterations. But perhaps its most valuable application has nothing to do with space travel and everything to do with the present. Consider these two completely different scenarios.

Number 1

It is early November. A neighbor has, in their yard, a large blow-up turkey sitting on a knocked over, equally large Santa. Beside them sits a sign: “Wait your turn, fat boy!” Meanwhile, as I write this, my house is already outlined in icy red and white lights. Mantle greenery cradles both a nativity sculpture and Santa’s. A nine-foot Christmas tree tells the story of our life through ornaments. Look out on the patio ringed with pumpkins and squash, and you will see an elaborate autumn arrangement. Silk leaves of red, orange and yellow weave through dried fruits, gourds and ribbons.

At our house, it is Thanksmas – the annual amalgamation of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Both are beloved holidays too close on the calendar to wring out every bit of joy in the time allotted. And I have enough space in my head, my heart and my home to embrace both holidays simultaneously.

Whether you celebrate each holiday separately or mash them together is inconsequential; however, there are times when space becomes crucial. Consider…

Number 2

Recently, I had occasion to attend a Gather Conference, where LGBTQ+ members of my faith come together to learn from and encourage each other. I had no idea what to expect. What I found was a group of people, earnest in their desire to navigate their identity within their faith, and full of compelling stories of both heartache and joy.

My own paradigm grew. Suddenly, there was space. Space for new information. Space for new friends. Space to suspend judgment — which was never truly mine to wield in the first place — and listen. I came away with an increased understanding of the difficulties in navigating these issues.

Our society is grappling with a number of cultural issues right now: immigration, school curriculum, free speech, abortion, homelessness, racism – the list is long. Increasingly, we construct barricades around these issues, consisting of dire pronouncements buttressed by our favored headlines or social media soundbites. We may feel safe behind these walls, but there is little space for compassion or understanding.

Thousands are employed churning out stories, posts, TikTok’s and Instagram’s. We consume them, rarely considering their motivation or bias and pass them on as truth. They act to further entrench us and/or inflame others.

What if the answer is easier. What if Space truly is the final frontier.

Creating space means we pause and suspend what we think we know while we listen and understand another’s viewpoint. Sometimes that means seeking out different sources or listening to those we don’t normally engage with. In doing so, we discover fellow travelers with different experiences and motivations instead of combatants. It’s much more difficult to demonize another’s beliefs if we have first taken the time to humanize and understand them.

Sometimes we find areas where we can agree. But even when there isn’t agreement, there is civility, respect and a lack of violence.  And that ultimately moves everyone forward into a better future.

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The Day After The Day After Christmas

January 1, 2025 By Teresa Weaver 1 Comment

It’s The Day After Christmas and the exhaustion of making Christmas magic is lingering like a bad cold. Especially when looking at the stack of dirty dishes despite doing several loads throughout Christmas day. Shipping boxes, packaging, wrapping paper and ribbons litter the room along with most of the gifts that haven’t found their permanent home yet. A stuffed refrigerator requires unloading half the shelf to find leftovers. An eclectic array of containers holding the last bits of delivered goodies lay scattered over the counters.

This familiar path to holiday exhaustion actually starts before Thanksgiving with cleaning and decorating and planning Thanksgiving dinner. Then it’s a slow march to Christmas, adding in shopping and wrapping, baking and delivering, cooking and cleaning and creating new memories until we finally arrive at Christmas day – and the final push with gifts, food and familiar family traditions.

Let’s take a step back for a moment. You realize, that a company like Disney spends billions each year and employs an army of people to create their brand of magic. It may look effortless when you visit, but creating that magic is a highly researched, financed and executed business with a lot of people behind the scenes.

I dust off my martyr complex and commiserate with myself about how much planning and effort and $$ it takes to create our magic holiday season. It feels good to wallow for a bit.

Thankfully, The Day After The Day After Christmas arrives. Exhaustion loosens its grip. The detritus of gifts find their permanent home and become wonderfully useful. Leftovers provide a welcome break from cooking and clean-up. Quiet moments allow for remembering the reason we celebrate Christmas. Memories surface: an adult child’s delight over an unexpected gift; a final sugar rush from treats that drop off the menu until next year, time to enjoy the lights, decorations, and music and perhaps even a few more cheesy Christmas movies without the distraction of a “still needs doing” list; grandchildren’s excitement as they explore their new toys, face-time videos with family. It all points to strengthening and renewing the relationships we hold dear. Holidays are prime time to bind hearts together.

So, the martyr surrenders. In its place, a deep feeling of gratitude for being able to celebrate every year with the people I love. I know I will do it again in 362 days thanks to The Day After the Day After Christmas.

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The Babe of Bethlehem

December 6, 2022 By Teresa Weaver 3 Comments

Tiny hands reach for his mother’s caress, hushed in her loving embrace.

Small fingers curl around Joseph’s hand. Trusted to keep him safe.

One day His hands, ten lepers will cleanse,

Straighten bend limbs, bring grief to an end,

Raise from the dead a cherished friend.

All from the Babe of Bethlehem.

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Jesus awakens, his tiny feet kick the crude manger filled with hay.

Shepherds adore, heavenly choirs sing. Distant looms the day,

Obedient feet to the garden wend, Calvary’s cross with courage ascend,

Step from the tomb, death’s victory end.

All from the Babe of Bethlehem.

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The world he created denied him room. Will I also turn away?

Above the confusing noise of sin, I hear him gently say.

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I’ll not forget thee, I’ve graven thee. Graven upon my palms.

Sorrow, discouragement fade away. Fear and anxiety calm.

Darkness retreats as the light descends, with peace on earth good will t’ward men.

In gratitude every knee will bend,

To worship the Babe of Bethlehem.

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My Father’s Final Gift

June 9, 2022 By Teresa Weaver 3 Comments

I have a picture of me standing next to my father in his baccalaureate robes from the local University. I am the 5th child of what will eventually number eight. He had completed a bachelor’s degree in business as the law degree he wanted became impractical with a family to support. I am five years old. We are holding hands.

I held that hand for many years. As a child, I rode the city bus downtown, getting off at 4th South and State Street and hiking to the Capitol building for lunch on the lawn with my father. He would take my hand as we chose the perfect spot in the shade of an elm tree for a picnic of meatloaf sandwiches, deviled eggs and homemade chocolate chip cookies.  Afterwards, he would fold up the paper lunch sack to be used again, I would give him a hug, taking in the smell of his clean dress shirt, and hike back downtown to catch the bus going home.

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Mother’s Day Mud Pots

May 4, 2022 By Teresa Weaver 3 Comments

I spent 13 years riding the infertility merry-go-round. I can spin tales all day about the crazy up and down cycles. And after adopting our three daughters, I can tell motherhood stories with the best. But what I can’t talk about, is the actual pregnancy and birth process. My experience is limited to interactions with pregnant women and a terrifying black and white health-class film half a century ago, where the screams of the woman giving birth still haunt my dreams.

Recently, my daughters have married and are having babies of their own. Hitchhiking on their journey, I immersed myself in the online community of tracking the life growing inside, a virtually inexhaustible supply of birth stories and the aggressive marketing of everything for baby.

Covid-19 protocols scuttled the first invitation to witness a birth, but actually worked in our favor for the second. Two and only two people could be in the room. My son-in-law and I settled in, both equally inexperienced.

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‘Twas the Day After Christmas

December 17, 2021 By Teresa Weaver 4 Comments

‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through the rooms,

not a sound could be heard even though it was noon.

The stockings lay empty ‘mid ribbons and tags,

torn wrappings and packaging, boxes and bags.

Deep snores rose from Dad fully dressed on the couch,

while scattered about him were tools from his pouch.

When Mama arose she took one look around

and crawled back in bed without making a sound.

The manger scene tipped as the dog tried to lick

the stray crumbs from cookies left out for St. Nick.

I righted the stable, the shepherd and sheep,

the Mary and Joseph and babe still asleep.

Again the three Wise Men could place by His side,

their gifts for the infant King long prophesied.

Could I give a gift? Something special from me?

I studied my jumble of gifts by the tree.

Would He like to try out my skateboard or sled?

My soft, fuzzy blanket would soften His bed.

And then, from above, there arose such a sound!

Forgetting the gifts, up the stairs I did bound.

Louisa had wakened. Oh my! What a stink!

I tore off her diaper and quick as a wink,

I put on a clean one, now sister smells great.

But wouldn’t you know, a new problem awaits.

It’s past time to eat, sister’s starting to fret,

and joining the ruckus are two hungry pets.

I rummaged through cupboards for something to eat,

and gathered up holiday left-over treats.

I plopped sister down on her favorite quilt,

and gave her a bottle of cold chocolate milk.

The dog wolfed the roast beef with horseradish sauce,

while the cat slurped the eggnog poured over the squash.

I picked up torn papers and boxes galore,

replaced all the tools, and then vacuumed the floor.

When Mom and Dad wakened, they looked at the sight.

Then wrapping their arms ‘round me said with delight…

“Of all of the gifts we received who could guess,

the gift that you gave from your heart was the best!”

And ruffling my hair Mom repeated this truth,

“By serving each other, we’re serving Him too.”

Without even knowing, my gift was just right,

to give to the Savior that first Christmas night.

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Before

July 28, 2021 By Teresa Weaver 2 Comments

A Letter to my Newborn Granddaughter

Before scraped knees, pinched fingers or a hard fall.

Before you compare yourself to what the world says is ideal — and feel discouraged, weak or ugly.

Before another child has taken your toy or pushed you out of line, called you names or shamed you for your clothes, your shape, your size or the color of your skin.

Before the economics of where you were born, your opportunities or the stability of your childhood give you wings or hobbles.

Before you  learn to spell unprecedented, divisive or pandemic.

…

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Look Mom, Bare Hands

April 17, 2021 By Teresa Weaver 1 Comment

It is official.

I have turned into my mother.

Not because  I often repeat her mantra, “we are so blessed”. Or because I nap on the couch after a hard day’s work as she did. It isn’t because we share a love for personal planners, weekly menus taped to the cupboard, or house cleaning on Saturdays.

It is because I have finally mastered the task that seemed the most fantastical, most out of reach as a child; the task that inspired the most awe and wonder in my young mind. My mother could open the oven door and remove baked potatoes with her bare hands. No mitt. No tongs. No fork. Just her bare hands. It was unbelievable. I couldn’t have been more impressed if she had hoisted the family car above her head. I wondered, “Will I ever grow heat-proof skin?”

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A Nanosecond

November 16, 2020 By Teresa Weaver 8 Comments

Author note: some identifying details  have been modified.

I made a dreadful discovery. One of my oldest and dearest friends is missing — disappeared down a political rabbit hole full of misinformation and craziness. I am stunned.

I have known her since childhood. We’ve eaten hundreds of meals together, gone to the same church our entire life, whispered our dreams at sleepovers. I’ve helped with her children’s weddings, celebrated each new child, grieved over deaths that came too soon. We have a deep reservoir of priceless memories together.

Now she has abandoned all reason and been sucked to the dark side.

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The Power of Kindness

April 8, 2020 By Teresa Weaver 9 Comments

I recently had occasion to ride a train from an airport to the city. While awaiting the train’s departure, a man entered the car, secured his bike to the wall rack and exited to swipe his pass on the outdoor kiosk. Without warning the train started to move. The man’s cries penetrated our car but not the conductor’s car. The train did not stop. I shared a shocked look with the other passengers as his voice faded and the consequences of being separated from his bike settled on our collective mind. At the first stop, a young man approached the bike, lifted it off the rack and said, “I have the time. I’m going to get this guy’s bike back to him.”

Kindness blunts unforeseen consequences.

…

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Good judgment comes from experience 
Experience comes from bad judgment
 

I have proved that couplet more times than I care to count. Were it not for my love of reading and the advice of mentors and friends, the number would be much higher.

This website was born of the desire to try and pay it forward. Time may bring wrinkles, sags and bags but it also brings a degree of hard-won wisdom, resilience and a sense of humor – especially when it comes to the family and friends we love.

So while you may not find answers to life’s toughest questions here, I hope it serves as a welcome detour occasionally.

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