I am sneaking in a quick year-end post instead of folding laundry because I suspect I will not have opportunity to do so again today, and I do want at least a note of conclusion to this sweet year. In no particular order, things I am thinking about at the close of 2010 and the verge of 2011:
1) I got to have so many great adventures this year. My roadtrip with Katie was a sweet wonderful and the best kind of sisterly connecting. That space in time feels a bit sacred and I deeply thankful that I got to be with her and spend that week of transition with her. Our Caldwell Family trip to Tofino that followed - so good. Several boat trips, including our ten-day excursion - we can do it! We're doing it! We're sailors! My journey east to visit with Shannon & Shiaheem and then up to Ontario for a retreat with Heidi - again, the kind of gift that makes me think God's favourite thing is making me feel loved.
2) My kids are getting awesomer all the time. We are turning into a family I really like and I'm so thankful for that.
3) Scott is a really good man. I'm lucky to be married to him. We survived the baby years and that feels like a miracle, but mostly it feels like fresh air might be able to be breathed into our little marriage now. There's some space that wasn't there before. Praise be.
4) It is ridiculous how many friends I have. Good friends, the kind of women (some men, but really, they're just the guys who wisely married my clever women friends) who make me a better person just by virtue of knowing them. To be in this life feeling known is a most wondrous gift. To be allowed to know another, also so. I know, deep in my heart, that this wealth of mine isn't every person's and so I am all the more grateful.
5) Writing. I can't tell you how much writing has fed me this year. This silly little blog full of silly little thoughts dressed up as my biggest ideas... it has fed my soul. I am very appreciative for those who take the time to read and affirm and participate and bless and respond. I look forward to deepening this discipline in the year to come.
6) Health. It sounds so trite to my own self, but as people we love wrestle with bodies that do not what the soul demands, I realize that emerging from the year sound in mind and in body is its own miracle. May we use our strength for what is required as long as it is ours.
7) We have a home. A house that is big enough with great friends all around in a safe neighbourhood with space to play and live and grow. We are thankful to Andrew who made our life here possible by sharing this house with us. So thankful.
There is so much more, but my sweet girl has awoken all refreshed and ready to fold laundry. Or at least have her mother's divided attention a tiny bit less divided.
My love to each of you. Especially you.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
And So...
We rest. Two small people tucked in, one big person hopefully also tucked in at a firehall and one contented other full of quiet gratitude for the grace of goodness in these last twenty-four hours.
I forgot the part where the one thing we are really good at, SJ and I, is carving out a space that is only ours. Because of his schedule, the timing changes from year to year, but every year since we were married, we've found a space that is sweetly ours alone, and it girds us for the rest. This year, it was all of Christmas Eve day. This day has always been "ours" so it comes full of rebellious freedom sewn into its edges. Some years have had more space than others though, and this year had extra lovely because there was no work at either end for the boy.
This year it started with a quick trip to the mall for a liquor store run and last minute remembered things at a store or two. Our children were cute and happy and easy to be with and so of course we had to go out for lunch. We wandered over to a favourite spot, The Tomahawk where our children remained of the dreamy variety, pleased and happy and cheery with all. Nate even asked the server for more juice, an accomplished feat for a child who can't speak a language any of us understand.
After long naps for these small people, Uncle Andy came upstairs and we spent the afternoon drinking tea and icing cookies for Santa and watching Christmas movies and then sipping rum & eggnogs and then ordering Chinese food for dinner and then watching more Christmas movies. Once tiny bodies were tucked into bed (an epic endeavour), it was a wrapping extravaganza. Stockings were stuffed by the chimney with care and even mommy kind of hoped Santa soon would be there. And then at eleven, mommy taped the last edge and scooted down to St. Agnes, our local Anglican church, and celebrated midnight mass in that lovely space.
To repeat the words of faith, confess with the Body, commune with the saints was what my soul needed to seal the sweetness of the day. That God provides a collection of people to Be With and taste the wonder of God With Us through their presence - it is a miracle worthy of our celebration. And my soul was glad to celebrate through the Eucharist, moving in its personal-ness and comforting in its universal anonymity.
Armed by our With Each Other, the fullness of Christmas day was so possible. A quiet easy morning with Grandma and Poppa was dreamy and light, with Auntie Katie keeping an eye on us thanks to the miracle of Skype. Over the rest of the day, more family became more of everything else and still, there was a quiet gratitude in my heart that I had already received the Grace.
And now, here we are, mostly tucked in (although at 10:36, someone keeps getting up to check on the fish - thanks Grandma C.) and mostly tidied and mostly still at rest.
It really is Good News.
I forgot the part where the one thing we are really good at, SJ and I, is carving out a space that is only ours. Because of his schedule, the timing changes from year to year, but every year since we were married, we've found a space that is sweetly ours alone, and it girds us for the rest. This year, it was all of Christmas Eve day. This day has always been "ours" so it comes full of rebellious freedom sewn into its edges. Some years have had more space than others though, and this year had extra lovely because there was no work at either end for the boy.
This year it started with a quick trip to the mall for a liquor store run and last minute remembered things at a store or two. Our children were cute and happy and easy to be with and so of course we had to go out for lunch. We wandered over to a favourite spot, The Tomahawk where our children remained of the dreamy variety, pleased and happy and cheery with all. Nate even asked the server for more juice, an accomplished feat for a child who can't speak a language any of us understand.
After long naps for these small people, Uncle Andy came upstairs and we spent the afternoon drinking tea and icing cookies for Santa and watching Christmas movies and then sipping rum & eggnogs and then ordering Chinese food for dinner and then watching more Christmas movies. Once tiny bodies were tucked into bed (an epic endeavour), it was a wrapping extravaganza. Stockings were stuffed by the chimney with care and even mommy kind of hoped Santa soon would be there. And then at eleven, mommy taped the last edge and scooted down to St. Agnes, our local Anglican church, and celebrated midnight mass in that lovely space.
To repeat the words of faith, confess with the Body, commune with the saints was what my soul needed to seal the sweetness of the day. That God provides a collection of people to Be With and taste the wonder of God With Us through their presence - it is a miracle worthy of our celebration. And my soul was glad to celebrate through the Eucharist, moving in its personal-ness and comforting in its universal anonymity.
Armed by our With Each Other, the fullness of Christmas day was so possible. A quiet easy morning with Grandma and Poppa was dreamy and light, with Auntie Katie keeping an eye on us thanks to the miracle of Skype. Over the rest of the day, more family became more of everything else and still, there was a quiet gratitude in my heart that I had already received the Grace.
And now, here we are, mostly tucked in (although at 10:36, someone keeps getting up to check on the fish - thanks Grandma C.) and mostly tidied and mostly still at rest.
It really is Good News.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
My Bad
I have some recurring issues. You don't have to speak with me for too long to figure out what they are, and you might even get bored of hearing about them, given my intense pleasure in relating them, over and over and over again.
Tonight I decided to do a little research to see if there is a cure for what currently ails me. So of course, I looked up the ailment. And as I read about the best ways to fix this, I was forced to admit that the only cure is a cure of me, not a cure of The Other Involved. And in fact, probably no cure is available, maybe just some maintenance treatments that take the edge off. I hate that.
I only want solutions that let TOI know that they are Wrong and I am Right. Ideally TOI would confess their Wrongness publicly and then be transformed into another person who relishes my Rightness and enjoys only telling others about said Rightness.
But even as I type this, I realize that this solution would not be sufficient for a cure. Because I would still be me and would still need to be Righter Than Her. I would find another object for my scorn and derision and at the end of the day, would still have to face my black heart with all its Wrongness.
I think Paul said something about a thorn in his side, right? He asked God to deal with it, but God said back, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul said, "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
I don't know what I think of Paul really, but I suspect that probably this thorn in my side (namely, my mean-ness and impatience and Need To Be Right) won't go away anytime soon, so maybe I could consider a more pauline nature and trying to delight in this weakness and difficulty, knowing that it is probably True that God's power is made perfect in weakness. I mean, I think I would like to know what it's like to have Christ's power rest on me. I think.
Oh Life. So full of goodness, even in the darkness.
Tonight I decided to do a little research to see if there is a cure for what currently ails me. So of course, I looked up the ailment. And as I read about the best ways to fix this, I was forced to admit that the only cure is a cure of me, not a cure of The Other Involved. And in fact, probably no cure is available, maybe just some maintenance treatments that take the edge off. I hate that.
I only want solutions that let TOI know that they are Wrong and I am Right. Ideally TOI would confess their Wrongness publicly and then be transformed into another person who relishes my Rightness and enjoys only telling others about said Rightness.
But even as I type this, I realize that this solution would not be sufficient for a cure. Because I would still be me and would still need to be Righter Than Her. I would find another object for my scorn and derision and at the end of the day, would still have to face my black heart with all its Wrongness.
I think Paul said something about a thorn in his side, right? He asked God to deal with it, but God said back, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul said, "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
I don't know what I think of Paul really, but I suspect that probably this thorn in my side (namely, my mean-ness and impatience and Need To Be Right) won't go away anytime soon, so maybe I could consider a more pauline nature and trying to delight in this weakness and difficulty, knowing that it is probably True that God's power is made perfect in weakness. I mean, I think I would like to know what it's like to have Christ's power rest on me. I think.
Oh Life. So full of goodness, even in the darkness.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Touching Sadness
Today Paul Carson died.
Just a few hours ago actually, just down the street from me in our little hospital.
I don't know him from Adam. Probably saw him on TV sometime in the '80s, certainly listen to his radio station often enough. But in no way can I say that I know him.
And yet, all afternoon, driving around, I listened to the various broadcasters on the Team1040 processing their own grief, knowing as they did that he was dying. Grown-up, successful, sports-all-day-thinking men crying on the radio because a friend, the man who had launched many of their careers, a guy they knew... he was dying and it was sad and I was so sad too. Even though I didn't know him.
So tonight when I see on my facebook page that indeed he has died and I know that there is this anonymous, not-mine grief out there, I wonder about why I want to creep so close to it, taste it a bit and maybe sit under it for a while.
I think that my grief lives in one of the many rooms in my brain (remember all those empty rooms from a few months ago? down the hall from there...) and when I hear these stories, it's like knocking on the door of the room, maybe even cracking the door a bit, and trying all the different griefs I've left lying around in there. And maybe it has a hint of innoculation about it too - if I let myself enjoy this lovely anonymous-not-mine grief, it will somehow protect me from having to face some kind of future HOLY SHIT I CAN'T DO THIS grief later on.
I don't know. I do know that tonight a family is sad, and a bunch of sports guys are sad and while I'm not truly sad, the part of me that is sad for the sad is a bit sad too. I guess that's how it works.
Just a few hours ago actually, just down the street from me in our little hospital.
I don't know him from Adam. Probably saw him on TV sometime in the '80s, certainly listen to his radio station often enough. But in no way can I say that I know him.
And yet, all afternoon, driving around, I listened to the various broadcasters on the Team1040 processing their own grief, knowing as they did that he was dying. Grown-up, successful, sports-all-day-thinking men crying on the radio because a friend, the man who had launched many of their careers, a guy they knew... he was dying and it was sad and I was so sad too. Even though I didn't know him.
So tonight when I see on my facebook page that indeed he has died and I know that there is this anonymous, not-mine grief out there, I wonder about why I want to creep so close to it, taste it a bit and maybe sit under it for a while.
I think that my grief lives in one of the many rooms in my brain (remember all those empty rooms from a few months ago? down the hall from there...) and when I hear these stories, it's like knocking on the door of the room, maybe even cracking the door a bit, and trying all the different griefs I've left lying around in there. And maybe it has a hint of innoculation about it too - if I let myself enjoy this lovely anonymous-not-mine grief, it will somehow protect me from having to face some kind of future HOLY SHIT I CAN'T DO THIS grief later on.
I don't know. I do know that tonight a family is sad, and a bunch of sports guys are sad and while I'm not truly sad, the part of me that is sad for the sad is a bit sad too. I guess that's how it works.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Nate!
My sweet boy is two.
He is relentlessly handsome, a face that makes me double-take at its cuteness often.
He is strong and takes great pleasure in moving and lifting big things.
He is clever and quick with moving pieces and enjoys figuring out how things work. He likes to pull things apart and put them together. Buttons, plugs, screws and caps - these are a few of his favourite things.
He is funny and has a laugh worth hearing. He likes fooling and hiding and pretending. He likes tickles and being thrown about and tossed like a sack of potatoes around the house.
He has big hands, wide across the knuckles, as he's had since birth and they are just like his dad's. They make me love him, just like his dad's hands make me glad.
He is easy-going and mellow, a word I used to describe him in utero. Not prone to big moments in any direction, he is steady and I think will be someone's rock, just like his dad. But he is also sure and committed to his own self and glad to persist in the way he should go. Perhaps a quality in a 21-year-old man, less appealing in a 2-year-old.
He is most often kind and happy with his sister, sweet and playful together they are. Although each other's greatest frustration, they are also each other's favourite playmate and spend many happy hours together through the course of a week.
He is a cuddler and hugger, famous for his pats on the back as he's cuddled up. He likes to sing and is a fine dancer! He runs to daddy whenever he sees him, and likes mummy best in a crowd. He doesn't speak too clearly yet, but he speaks a lot and has found ways to be a clear communicator nonetheless.
We love this boy so much and go to bed most nights exchanging stories of wonder at our good fortune to have him with us. Before he arrived, we couldn't imagine how we'd have a second wonder-full one, a second one to thrill at as we had with our first. And yet, two years in and we are still surprised to discover that we really, truly got the two best ones. Gift from God indeed.
He is relentlessly handsome, a face that makes me double-take at its cuteness often.
He is strong and takes great pleasure in moving and lifting big things.
He is clever and quick with moving pieces and enjoys figuring out how things work. He likes to pull things apart and put them together. Buttons, plugs, screws and caps - these are a few of his favourite things.
He is funny and has a laugh worth hearing. He likes fooling and hiding and pretending. He likes tickles and being thrown about and tossed like a sack of potatoes around the house.
He has big hands, wide across the knuckles, as he's had since birth and they are just like his dad's. They make me love him, just like his dad's hands make me glad.
He is easy-going and mellow, a word I used to describe him in utero. Not prone to big moments in any direction, he is steady and I think will be someone's rock, just like his dad. But he is also sure and committed to his own self and glad to persist in the way he should go. Perhaps a quality in a 21-year-old man, less appealing in a 2-year-old.
He is most often kind and happy with his sister, sweet and playful together they are. Although each other's greatest frustration, they are also each other's favourite playmate and spend many happy hours together through the course of a week.
He is a cuddler and hugger, famous for his pats on the back as he's cuddled up. He likes to sing and is a fine dancer! He runs to daddy whenever he sees him, and likes mummy best in a crowd. He doesn't speak too clearly yet, but he speaks a lot and has found ways to be a clear communicator nonetheless.
We love this boy so much and go to bed most nights exchanging stories of wonder at our good fortune to have him with us. Before he arrived, we couldn't imagine how we'd have a second wonder-full one, a second one to thrill at as we had with our first. And yet, two years in and we are still surprised to discover that we really, truly got the two best ones. Gift from God indeed.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Why?
I was reading Luci Shaw's entry for this week in God With Us, and realized that it's not my fault that my Advent has had more than an acceptable level of Not Well.
She had written about the waiting we are asked to do through Advent and through Lent and how they echo each other. As I read, I realized that in the blending of Christian lore and pagan ritual, a terrible error had been made. How is it that with all the birth and life that comes with Spring, we Christians wait for the Death (yes, and resurrection, but Death, first there is the Death) and in the dark of winter, when all is dark and dead, we wait for the Birth?
You see the crazy, right?
I mean, I can see how someone thought it would work - the resurrection bit really does make it complicated, and I can see the appeal of focusing on Life in the midst of the lifeless winter. But my soul, my soul has to work too hard to accommodate this one.
The worry, the sadness, the pain and the ick of December and "celebrating" Christmas seem much more suited to the melancholy of preparing for that sad sacrifice, that great grief when the Father and the Son were inexplicably not One in those dark hours on the cross. To live in that for a few days, and then be reminded that Life! is the victor just three days later would be a lovely exercise in the middle of this long winter.
And then to Advent, to prepare our hearts for the arrival of Hope, Joy, Peace and Love in the weeks that bring us new green tendrils and the nosing out of what in a few short months will be our daily bread - who didn't see that? Hint of life at every turn, pointing to the Life Eternal that is about to be birthed into our broken world - to know that our own souls will be thawed by that First Birth even as the soul beneath our feet is thawed; the symbolism is so comfortingly clear, isn't it?
This seems glaringly obvious to me. I'm not sure how it could have been missed. I wonder who I write to request a change to the church calendar...
She had written about the waiting we are asked to do through Advent and through Lent and how they echo each other. As I read, I realized that in the blending of Christian lore and pagan ritual, a terrible error had been made. How is it that with all the birth and life that comes with Spring, we Christians wait for the Death (yes, and resurrection, but Death, first there is the Death) and in the dark of winter, when all is dark and dead, we wait for the Birth?
You see the crazy, right?
I mean, I can see how someone thought it would work - the resurrection bit really does make it complicated, and I can see the appeal of focusing on Life in the midst of the lifeless winter. But my soul, my soul has to work too hard to accommodate this one.
The worry, the sadness, the pain and the ick of December and "celebrating" Christmas seem much more suited to the melancholy of preparing for that sad sacrifice, that great grief when the Father and the Son were inexplicably not One in those dark hours on the cross. To live in that for a few days, and then be reminded that Life! is the victor just three days later would be a lovely exercise in the middle of this long winter.
And then to Advent, to prepare our hearts for the arrival of Hope, Joy, Peace and Love in the weeks that bring us new green tendrils and the nosing out of what in a few short months will be our daily bread - who didn't see that? Hint of life at every turn, pointing to the Life Eternal that is about to be birthed into our broken world - to know that our own souls will be thawed by that First Birth even as the soul beneath our feet is thawed; the symbolism is so comfortingly clear, isn't it?
This seems glaringly obvious to me. I'm not sure how it could have been missed. I wonder who I write to request a change to the church calendar...
Monday, December 13, 2010
What Was Missing!
I figured it out! What was missing from my Advent, why it was so depressing and bleak and difficult...
Holiday Romatic Comedies!!
I am currently eating Scott's cheesecake while watching Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon & Vince Vaughn. I feel all jolly and hopeful and ... willing.
Good grief. I hardly dare hope what could happen next.
Holiday Romatic Comedies!!
I am currently eating Scott's cheesecake while watching Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon & Vince Vaughn. I feel all jolly and hopeful and ... willing.
Good grief. I hardly dare hope what could happen next.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
An Easing
By about 10am this morning, I think we conceded that we had officially let everyone down. There was not a single person in our immediate world who had not had an expectation dashed, a hope thwarted by the 14th Street Johnsons.
We both felt badly for a while. Kind of sick-to-our-stomach, hopeless, maybe-we-should-just-quit terrible. That we were exhausted and cranky having been up all night with a food-poisoned second born did us little good. We sipped our coffee and wondered about any others we should crush or disappoint while on this hot streak but realized we had been pretty thorough.
We fed our children a terrible lunch and put them to bed, and then climbed into bed ourselves for our own nap. I don't know how long my beloved slept for but an hour-and-a-half later I made myself get up, knowing that our home was bereft of dinner-making options. I didn't notice it right away in my post-nap groggery, but somewhere along the freeway on my way home from the grocery store, I realized that I hadn't been clenching my jaw. I noticed that my stomach seemed a tincy bit less knotted. I was actually paying attention to the voices on the radio instead of the voices in my head.
I have lived with my own self long enough to know that the ebb and flow of crazy is unpredictable, yet certain. It may return with tomorrow's oatmeal, but on the other hand, it may continue to dissolve away, making room for Light and Hope.
It's possible that our letting down of The World is unrelated to the easing in my heart, but I suspect that there is some rest that comes when you realize you have spread your dis-ease as far and wide as is possible for the moment.
Whatever the recipe, I am tired but thankful at night's end. That I have shared the last 24 hours with that sweet boy I married who is chosen by his ailing children over their mother in their own dis-ease, who cleans up vomit and does all the laundry and is kind to the one who has kept him awake all night... well, that I have eyes and heart to be thankful for him too seems like a separate and wonderful grace.
We may yet get back to the Box O' Advent! After all, tomorrow is Christmas with the Crawfords!
We both felt badly for a while. Kind of sick-to-our-stomach, hopeless, maybe-we-should-just-quit terrible. That we were exhausted and cranky having been up all night with a food-poisoned second born did us little good. We sipped our coffee and wondered about any others we should crush or disappoint while on this hot streak but realized we had been pretty thorough.
We fed our children a terrible lunch and put them to bed, and then climbed into bed ourselves for our own nap. I don't know how long my beloved slept for but an hour-and-a-half later I made myself get up, knowing that our home was bereft of dinner-making options. I didn't notice it right away in my post-nap groggery, but somewhere along the freeway on my way home from the grocery store, I realized that I hadn't been clenching my jaw. I noticed that my stomach seemed a tincy bit less knotted. I was actually paying attention to the voices on the radio instead of the voices in my head.
I have lived with my own self long enough to know that the ebb and flow of crazy is unpredictable, yet certain. It may return with tomorrow's oatmeal, but on the other hand, it may continue to dissolve away, making room for Light and Hope.
It's possible that our letting down of The World is unrelated to the easing in my heart, but I suspect that there is some rest that comes when you realize you have spread your dis-ease as far and wide as is possible for the moment.
Whatever the recipe, I am tired but thankful at night's end. That I have shared the last 24 hours with that sweet boy I married who is chosen by his ailing children over their mother in their own dis-ease, who cleans up vomit and does all the laundry and is kind to the one who has kept him awake all night... well, that I have eyes and heart to be thankful for him too seems like a separate and wonderful grace.
We may yet get back to the Box O' Advent! After all, tomorrow is Christmas with the Crawfords!
Thursday, December 09, 2010
I'm a People Person!
Sometimes I forget the basics.
According to just about every who-are-you test known to man, I am an Extrovert. I am one who derives energy from connecting with people. I know many (most?) of my favourite people are Introverts who oddly, derive most of their energy from alone-time. How we manage to find each other is one of life's great mysteries, but what this means is that I get all better being with them, while managing to wear them out. Weird huh?
So, not surprisingly, the last 10 days or so have worn me out. I was in fairly full-blown depression and anxiety and could not figure out how I could have plummeted so quickly and without any obvious trigger, you know, like a bad thing happening.
Then tonight I got the invitation to JOh's for some mom talk and tea and my soul leapt! and off I went to sit and be with people! And I was healed. How did I forget that part? Where being home with just my people for almost seven days straight is really, really bad for me? Lord, that sounds terrible. But it is just terribly true - my self needs other selves. Oh bliss! Oh wonder! Oh... people.
I should be honest, and confess that I am not all the way healed. There is much anxiety still lingering but it feels appropriate and probably necessary given what life is bringing. But I remembered that part of the cure is connecting and that reminded me of the other things that help and so tonight, there is Light.
Praise be. Again.
According to just about every who-are-you test known to man, I am an Extrovert. I am one who derives energy from connecting with people. I know many (most?) of my favourite people are Introverts who oddly, derive most of their energy from alone-time. How we manage to find each other is one of life's great mysteries, but what this means is that I get all better being with them, while managing to wear them out. Weird huh?
So, not surprisingly, the last 10 days or so have worn me out. I was in fairly full-blown depression and anxiety and could not figure out how I could have plummeted so quickly and without any obvious trigger, you know, like a bad thing happening.
Then tonight I got the invitation to JOh's for some mom talk and tea and my soul leapt! and off I went to sit and be with people! And I was healed. How did I forget that part? Where being home with just my people for almost seven days straight is really, really bad for me? Lord, that sounds terrible. But it is just terribly true - my self needs other selves. Oh bliss! Oh wonder! Oh... people.
I should be honest, and confess that I am not all the way healed. There is much anxiety still lingering but it feels appropriate and probably necessary given what life is bringing. But I remembered that part of the cure is connecting and that reminded me of the other things that help and so tonight, there is Light.
Praise be. Again.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
I Like
Popcorn with butter and salt.
Scott.
Talia's fake laugh.
Email.
Meeting neighbours at the park.
Andrew coming upstairs for tea.
Nice pens.
Nate's run.
Saying grace at dinner, holding hands around the table.
Hope.
Being able to come up with 10 things in the middle of December. I want Light.
Scott.
Talia's fake laugh.
Email.
Meeting neighbours at the park.
Andrew coming upstairs for tea.
Nice pens.
Nate's run.
Saying grace at dinner, holding hands around the table.
Hope.
Being able to come up with 10 things in the middle of December. I want Light.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Nothing
I am really struggling for a post tonight. I feel kind of funny and light and keep thinking I'm going to trip across a lighthearted tale full of hilarity but I got nothin'. Nuh-Thin.
Maybe it's just wise to make note of the fact that Advent and Christmas and angst were not the focus of my day today.
Making the children and their neighbour friend dance with me to the soundtrack from The Preacher's Wife was perhaps the highlight, and now it's me and Glee.
All is well in the world. Tonight and always.
Maybe it's just wise to make note of the fact that Advent and Christmas and angst were not the focus of my day today.
Making the children and their neighbour friend dance with me to the soundtrack from The Preacher's Wife was perhaps the highlight, and now it's me and Glee.
All is well in the world. Tonight and always.
Monday, December 06, 2010
Dutch Christmas!
If you search through the archives, you'll find a photo of Talia playing with her first Dutch Christmas gift, a set of wooden stacking rings. The next year, it was a hand-made, wooden fish puzzle. Last year, a wooden dog on wooden wheels on a leash for her, and a wooden, rolling sports car for Nate. This year, a wooden airplane for the boy and a top for T, also wooden and all hand-made.
Every year, I forget to expect this and every year, on December 6th one of us will open the door to go somewhere and trip across our Dutch Christmas wonderment. Every year, I am humbled by the generosity of the gift, knowing as I do the maker, and the heart and time that goes into the making of each one. Every year, I am reminded that there is a miracle in being the receiver that makes us better givers somehow.
This year, obviously Advent has not been the roaring Today's Parent Magazine cover success I had planned for our little family. We have used the box twice in six days, but have yet somehow managed to have a Christmas-almost-here moment each day. Despite my best efforts to defy history and family systems theory, I have managed to fall right into the deepest despair and bleakness that all my planning was meant to protect me (and my children!) from. Nearby, friends' lives are falling apart in very un-merry ways and Heidi's words that Christmas is mostly a remembering of pain, heartbreak and loneliness feel all the more True, and required.
I pulled out our Advent book, "God With Us" and read up on Dutch Christmas tonight. The feast is in fact a celebration of Saint Nicholas, about whom much is rumored, but very little is known. In one story, Nicholas, having inherited much, hears of a family who has so little that the daughters will have to sell their own selves. Under the cover of night, he throws three bags of gold through their window (or down their chimney?), saving them from all manner of evil. In contrasting this giving with that of the saint's namesake, the author writes, "While Santa has his bundle of toys, the gift that Saint Nicholas gives is nothing short of freedom from poverty and desperation."
The gifts we received today were handmade in a shed about 8 blocks away. No child was sold by her starving parents to a factory and forced to work 16 hour days in its making. No child-poisoning toxins were disguised as colourful friends. But mostly, a gift was given freely with great love and was received with greater delight and we got the best part of Christmas giving. This has a hint of "freedom from poverty and desperation" about it for me, and I'll take it.
If you have read here for any length of time, you will realize that Christmas is no less fraught for me than any other time of year - my fraughtness just becomes more focused. And every year I find myself believing that this will be the year I get it right and make Jesus proud. And every year, I learn again, one way or another, that that's not the point. I merely get to do some receiving of the grace offered and then pass it on, just like the rest of the year.
Every year, I forget to expect this and every year, on December 6th one of us will open the door to go somewhere and trip across our Dutch Christmas wonderment. Every year, I am humbled by the generosity of the gift, knowing as I do the maker, and the heart and time that goes into the making of each one. Every year, I am reminded that there is a miracle in being the receiver that makes us better givers somehow.
This year, obviously Advent has not been the roaring Today's Parent Magazine cover success I had planned for our little family. We have used the box twice in six days, but have yet somehow managed to have a Christmas-almost-here moment each day. Despite my best efforts to defy history and family systems theory, I have managed to fall right into the deepest despair and bleakness that all my planning was meant to protect me (and my children!) from. Nearby, friends' lives are falling apart in very un-merry ways and Heidi's words that Christmas is mostly a remembering of pain, heartbreak and loneliness feel all the more True, and required.
I pulled out our Advent book, "God With Us" and read up on Dutch Christmas tonight. The feast is in fact a celebration of Saint Nicholas, about whom much is rumored, but very little is known. In one story, Nicholas, having inherited much, hears of a family who has so little that the daughters will have to sell their own selves. Under the cover of night, he throws three bags of gold through their window (or down their chimney?), saving them from all manner of evil. In contrasting this giving with that of the saint's namesake, the author writes, "While Santa has his bundle of toys, the gift that Saint Nicholas gives is nothing short of freedom from poverty and desperation."
The gifts we received today were handmade in a shed about 8 blocks away. No child was sold by her starving parents to a factory and forced to work 16 hour days in its making. No child-poisoning toxins were disguised as colourful friends. But mostly, a gift was given freely with great love and was received with greater delight and we got the best part of Christmas giving. This has a hint of "freedom from poverty and desperation" about it for me, and I'll take it.
If you have read here for any length of time, you will realize that Christmas is no less fraught for me than any other time of year - my fraughtness just becomes more focused. And every year I find myself believing that this will be the year I get it right and make Jesus proud. And every year, I learn again, one way or another, that that's not the point. I merely get to do some receiving of the grace offered and then pass it on, just like the rest of the year.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Day Five
I don't have a lot to say tonight. I'm a bit wrung out: the Canucks' game with Karen ended in a loss that I can only assume was my fault, and I had to undo the Crap Theology/Family of Origin Shitmix that had taken over my life. Or at least part of it.
This is where the wisdom of collecting good friends pays off. One, Karen took me to a hockey game which is amazing and wonderful and proof that The Lord Loves Me Best. Well, that and the awesome Christmas sweaters she bought for the kids. Two, Heidi sent the following and now I'm going to post it and call it a blog entry. I may tape it to my bathroom mirror for the rest of the year to remember Truth. And maybe even live there.
I know, right?
This is where the wisdom of collecting good friends pays off. One, Karen took me to a hockey game which is amazing and wonderful and proof that The Lord Loves Me Best. Well, that and the awesome Christmas sweaters she bought for the kids. Two, Heidi sent the following and now I'm going to post it and call it a blog entry. I may tape it to my bathroom mirror for the rest of the year to remember Truth. And maybe even live there.
I really know in my heart that Christmas isn't about love! joy! cheery! peace! etc. It really is about a baby, born in a barn to backwoods parents. Some smelly animals, some dirty, lewd and drunk shepherds show up, some weirdo astrologers show up, angels sing - but who really saw or heard them? Christmas isn't about choirs, carolling, snow and good feelings. It's just about remembering - mostly remembering pain, loneliness and heartache. A mother who raised her baby and then watched him be murdered, without really understanding what it was all for. She just had some faith and kept going. God-with-us is exactly that. With us in family pain, in our all- too-real sense that things are not as they should be, in our railing against reality. That's why he came.
I know, right?
Saturday, December 04, 2010
I Need a Saviour
I don't know why I don't know to avoid the blog jinx effect. Or to at least consider it more thoroughly before posting something.
Last post I allowed myself to believe that maybe this Christmas I would be able to let a person's best love feel like Christmas.
Today I decided someone's best love was a shitpile and that it could only make me feel angry and ugly. And even this evening as I try to process it and find the truth and get to good and mostly just get over it, it all feels impossible and I wonder why Jesus even bothered to come and do what was done if He can't even cure me of this. It's not like he hasn't had several years to work on this particular problem.
Writing that, I realize that I might sound a tiny bit self-involved, a bit selfishly convinced that the blood that was shed was merely to help me get over a petty rage. And I know that there were bigger fish to fry: you know, that whole Lost Humanity Loved By the Father. The poor, the lost, the last, the least - those are the ones the Saviour came to redeem. The Kingdom is for such as these.
But in the tiny, dark corners of my heart, there is a secret hope that maybe the redemption would also work for petty rage.
I think I have to quit before I annoy myself even more. But know that this Advent, I am aware that my best efforts are falling short. Crap theology though it may be, I know how badly I need the gift that I wish was being offered.
Last post I allowed myself to believe that maybe this Christmas I would be able to let a person's best love feel like Christmas.
Today I decided someone's best love was a shitpile and that it could only make me feel angry and ugly. And even this evening as I try to process it and find the truth and get to good and mostly just get over it, it all feels impossible and I wonder why Jesus even bothered to come and do what was done if He can't even cure me of this. It's not like he hasn't had several years to work on this particular problem.
Writing that, I realize that I might sound a tiny bit self-involved, a bit selfishly convinced that the blood that was shed was merely to help me get over a petty rage. And I know that there were bigger fish to fry: you know, that whole Lost Humanity Loved By the Father. The poor, the lost, the last, the least - those are the ones the Saviour came to redeem. The Kingdom is for such as these.
But in the tiny, dark corners of my heart, there is a secret hope that maybe the redemption would also work for petty rage.
I think I have to quit before I annoy myself even more. But know that this Advent, I am aware that my best efforts are falling short. Crap theology though it may be, I know how badly I need the gift that I wish was being offered.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
My Best
My favourite thing about Advent is being allowed to play the Holiday Playlist. All day. Christmas songs make my heart glad. Really, really glad.
I have so many favourites, I can hardly stand it. And on the list (long list) of favourites, are most of the songs from A Muppet's Christmas Carol (my favourite Christmas movie). And my favourite tonight was this one:
I have so many favourites, I can hardly stand it. And on the list (long list) of favourites, are most of the songs from A Muppet's Christmas Carol (my favourite Christmas movie). And my favourite tonight was this one:
IT FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS
From the Muppet Christmas Carol
It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true, wherever you find love it feels like Christmas
A cup of kindess that we share with another
A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother
In all the places you find love it feels like Christmas
It is the season of the heart
A special time of caring
The ways of love made clear
It is the season of the sprit
The message if we hear it
Is make it last all year
It's in the giving of a gift to another
A pair of mittens that were made by your mother
It's all the ways that we show love that feel like Christmas
A part of childhood we'll always remember
It is the summer of the soul in December
Yes, when you do your best for love it feels like Christmas
It is the season of the heart
A special time of caring
The ways of love made clear
It is the season of the sprit
The message if we hear it
Is make it last all year
It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true, wherever you find love it feels like Christmas
It's true, wherever you find love it feels like Christmas
It feels like Christmas
It feels like Christmas
It feels like Christmas I think I like the idea that if we're doing our best for love, it feels like Christmas. Maybe it lets me remember that some of the Christmas I don't like is still people doing their best for love.Maybe it reminds me to do my own best to make it feel like Christmas.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Real Advent
Day One was Putting Up Grandma's Advent Calendar. A chore I have typically done late and with perhaps a bad attitude. But this year, it went up on time and both children hung an ornament on the quilted tree. Well, Talia hung the ornaments and Nate directed briefly. Before returning to his other, more interesting play. Then Talia wanted to hang all the ornaments and flipped out when said request was denied. She ended up in her room with the dire warning that she could stay there all night if she wasn't willing to speak respectfully and kindly.
It was so beautiful.
Sometimes I have a really vivid picture of the Lord sitting on the edge of the Lord's throne, just looking down and shaking that Lordly head in that amused, really? way the Lord has.
Probably there are deep life lessons here about how we come to the Kingdom like little children, petulant maybe, but enthusiastic too and for some reason, that's the preferred approach. Probably I could think about that and be comforted and feel wise and successful. Probably I won't do that.
But I will enjoy that the bar for success was so low that I still feel good about our first day of Advent this year. All we had to do was get that wall hanging up. There were no rules about doing it happily, or deeply, or memorizing a Bible verse. It just had to get on the wall.
Check.
It was so beautiful.
Sometimes I have a really vivid picture of the Lord sitting on the edge of the Lord's throne, just looking down and shaking that Lordly head in that amused, really? way the Lord has.
Probably there are deep life lessons here about how we come to the Kingdom like little children, petulant maybe, but enthusiastic too and for some reason, that's the preferred approach. Probably I could think about that and be comforted and feel wise and successful. Probably I won't do that.
But I will enjoy that the bar for success was so low that I still feel good about our first day of Advent this year. All we had to do was get that wall hanging up. There were no rules about doing it happily, or deeply, or memorizing a Bible verse. It just had to get on the wall.
Check.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)