As usual, I've misplaced something I later (and not too much later) wanted to see/use/read. Usually it's something simple like my car keys, cell phone, specific book or the like but this time it's an article I read on my newsreader this morning about Haiti. I know, there are millions of words being written about Haiti right now but this was an article that spoke of the Haitians who, in the middle of the death, destruction, fear and chaos, lifted their voices in hymns and songs of and to God, Catholics and Protestants joining together to affirm their faith in God and their faithfulness. When the city goes dark at sundown, the voices sing to banish fear and feelings of isolation. I find it amazing and also tremendously touching.
I wonder, if such a thing as the earthquake demolished a whole city and devastated an entire area -- say Texas or New York or Los Angeles -- in the way Port-au-Prince and Haiti have been devastated, would the Americans have the same reaction? Would they be camped in parks and empty spaces and would they meet together for prayer and sing hymns through the night? Somehow I sort of doubt it.
Faith seems to be tremendously important in Haiti. I'm sure many take comfort in the knowledge that there is a God and that God has prepared a heaven for them which will be very different from what they experience and endure on earth but I think that they may find remembering the first commandment (and the first of the two Jesus put out) a lot easier than maybe most of us do. Maybe a lot of us, me included, let "stuff" get in the way. Oh, I know I send up arrow prayers when I get in a jam and then usually remember to say "thank you" when it's over, but other than that I seldom go beyond grace at meals and sometimes prayers at night when I can't sleep and I think of someone I know or have heard of who is in trouble of some kind. When something good happens i don't jump up and down and cry "Praise Jesus!" or "Thank you, Father!" or even start singing "Alleluia." No, I might be looked on as some sort of religious fanatic and embarrass others around me with my actions. It's just not part of my staid, solidly (and sometimes rather stuffy and joyless) Protestant upbringing, the kind that tells you to keep your chin up and have faith in God just don't go talking a lot about it.
At times it makes me ashamed that I'm so quick to forget God when things are going decently and also so quick to call on God to fix things when they go rotten. Somehow I don't seem to remember to thank God for just everyday things like air, food, water, shelter and care. I don't seem to thank God for the ability to do certain things, even if they are physically painful just as I don't thank God when I wake up in the morning or lie down at night. I don't know that I could thank God for the draft around my feet even though it meant I had a house that left the rest of me draft-free. I'm not sure I could praise God if all I had were the clothes I stood up in and no certainty of food, shelter or medical care anywhere. It makes me feel tremendously lacking in something.
The Jews have a way of remembering what's important. There are countless prayers that all begin the same way, Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha‑olam, "Blessed are you, Lord, our God, King of the universe" and which continues on to extol something that God has done for the people, from giving them candles to light on Shabbat to releasing them from captivity in Egypt. It gets the order right, praise God for some gift that benefits individuals and humanity in general, or even in times of trouble like hurricanes or earthquakes. It acknowledges that God is to be praised even when rotten things happen because God has a plan, God is in charge, God is God.
Béni soit l'Éternel, Baruch ata Adonai, Blessed be the Lord God the eternal who has given us life and hope in the midst of the unthinkable, or even the mildly uncomfortable.
UPDATE: Not 5 minutes after I posted this I found the article. You can see it here.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
An Accidental but Fortunate Find
Went into the dollar store yesterday to get a box of garbage bags so i could put away the Christmas tree. I didn't need a big box of them -- only one which was large enough to hold my little 3' tree and keep the dust off it while it's on its hibernation in the shed outside until next Christmas. Anyway, the dollar store was close, the prices were certainly good and I knew they had what I needed. Turns out they had more than just the garbage bags, TBTG.
There was a small table with books on it. Ok, normally I don't do my book buying at a dollar store but I usually look. This store seldom had anything much but what the heck. Lookin's cheap, ain't it?
First I saw a book called "The Secrets of Judas." Ok, that looks mildly interesting and for a buck, what the heck. Then I saw it -- or rather, several copies of it. I found Jan Karon's A Continual Feast, One of the Mitford books but the book that was different. "Words of comfort and celebration collected by Father Tim." I nearly danced in the aisle as I grabbed a copy as if it were the last one in the world before slightly more sedately heading for the aisle where the much more prosaic (but still quite useful) garbage bags lived.
A Continual Feast was a key book for me about 2006 when the book came out. I'd enjoyed the series of course; it was like being back home even though I was about 2370.23 miles away, more or less. Opening the books I could just about smell the grass after a rain, the heady scent of magnolias and honeysuckle, the tang of wood and over it all, the faint hint of salt air from the river just over the hill and down the bluff.
A Continual Feast, however, was a book of sayings supposedly collected by Fr. Tim. Bits of wisdom from this or that writer, theologian, poet, humorist and the like fill the pages, each of which is set either in a handwriting font or as if typed on a typewriter (complete with strike-outs to remind us that this was from someone who didn't have a computer but rather something like an old Remington that didn't self-correct. It is a book I can open to any page and find something that resonates with me, succinctly put and full of profoundities. See why I was so excited to find it?
It even prompted me to keep a small journal of things I ran across that made me think or that I wanted to be able to find again (there's no chance I could remember them all). That little black composition book, small enough to fit in my purse but usually there on my desk or bookcase, The quotes cover all kinds of things and I used to use the book frequently for blogging or for when I felt i wanted to write something but didnt' really know what to write about. My little book, inspired by Fr. Tim's (and sometimes using Fr. Tim's) provided me with a lot of inspiration -- and probably more than enough words.So it's not a high-brow literary giant like, oh, I don't know, Fr. Raymond Brown's immensely in-depth study of the New Testament or the Oxford Encyclopedia of Christianity, or even something lighter on the order of Molly Wolf's essays or my copy of Julian's Cat but it still has things to say to me that I need to hear.
The quote on which my eye fell when I opened it just now?
God allows us to experience the low points in life in order to teach us lessons we could not learn in any other way. The way we learn those lsessons is not to deny the feelings but to find the meanings underlying them. -- Stanley Lundquist, Professor of Psychology, Cal State U.
Then there was:
Life is God's novel. Let him write it. --- Isaac Bashevis Singer
Maybe the book I found at the dollar store is my spur to start adding to my own little book of famous quotes, maybe even to start another. I only have a dozen or so blank pages left out of the 80 sheets in the book and lots and lots of things I've read that I want to remember. And maybe it's time for me to open the book and look for things to ponder. It's a sure-fire cincch there's something in there somewhere.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Letters to the Editor
I work at a local newspaper. I've been a reader of the paper since it first started 20-something years ago and began working for them over 5 years ago. I read the paper because (a) it covers our local area in more depth than the big daily from downtown does, (b) I feel I ought to since I work for the organization and (c) it's free. I never fail to read the obituaries, otherwise I might not know when someone I know (or a relative of someone I know) has passed on to greater glory and usually most of the stories, including the column by an assistant editor I'm not always that fond of. Mostly, though, even though it often feels like I'm in a train wreck, I never fail to read the letters to the editor.
I used to typeset the letters that came in through the mail and needed to be typed on the computer so that they could be inserted into the copy going to the printer and then to the hands of our readers. Oftentimes I found myself talking back to the writer, especially in the case of letters that were written poorly with bad spelling and grammar, letters from people with viewpoints with which I disagreed and vitriolic letters from people upset about everything, usually the paper's coverage of local politics, criticisms of the then-government and disgust with the paper's "leftist agenda" in printing other letters critical of something the writer held almost sacred.
I live in a fairly conservative, flag-waving, mostly Republican area. They generally favor the war in the Middle East, capital punishment, get-tough, manly guys like our county sheriff and dedication to "family values" including marriage and equal rights for heterosexual American-born (or at least naturalized) citizens only. There was a time I'd have felt perfectly at home here as it would have reflected the person I was growing up and in the area I grew up. I'd have been for what they were for, agin' what they were agin' and not too tolerant of anything else. I, like them, would have agreed with diversity -- so long as it consisted of only people who believed and thought kinda sorta almost nearly exactly like I did. Oh, others would be tolerated --- barely-- but they weren't REAL Americans, flag-waving, church-going (mostly), good Christian (pretty much, well, except for **** who everybody knew was... well, never mind) folks who feared God, loved the country and kept their own side of the street swept.
The letters to the editor in the paper I read now generally don't reflect who I am, what I believe or even what I consider Christian (a lot of the time, anyway). They may quote scripture but it is scripture selectively chosen, proof-texted to prove their point rather than contexted to show what the verse actually means. Words like "liberal" are often thrown in like bombs, not scattering germs or bacteria but feeling like whole clumps of stuff usually found in the barnyard or cow shed were contained inside. There are times I close the paper feeling dirty, and not just from the printer's ink rubbing off on my hands. My soul feels dirty and my heart hurts. Again I am convinced that for a lot of people here, diversity means only those who are just like them, something I'm not and can't be.
I grew to be who and what I am by a long process. Traveling and living in various parts of the US and the world has given me a view of the world as a whole quite different from that of the folks who still live within 50 miles of where they were born and never lived further than 200 miles from that spot either, only occasionally heading for the "big city" somewhere else for a short visit before scurrying back to their accustomed home. I've learned that skin color is not a measure of moral character or intelligence. I've learned that national origin and the consistent use of a language other than English is not a signal that the person is an illegal alien. I've learned that equality is more than a word, it's something that should belong to everybody, not to just those who already have equal rights( or most of them, anyway) but not to those who have been excluded because of their race, national origin, religion or (here it comes) sexual orientation. I've learned people who look like me can be just as ornery and cantankerous and sometimes vituperous and downright nasty in how they speak of and treat people just as those who look so very different can be kind, thoughtful, caring and downright willing to stick their neck out, give you the shirt from their back and help you out any way they can.
I live in this area and so I am forced to deal with the fact that I may be a left-footed ill-beotten offspring of the accidental cross between a horse and a mule in the view of many of my neighbors. Even on the internet there are places I feel more comfortable, places where people think sort of like I do and believe sort of like I do. There are places I don't go because I don't like the way they make me feel, namely dirty, unChristian, and heartsore that someone could know so little about me and people like me that they use words that are sharper than a serpent's tooth. Of course, they undoubtedly feel that places I feel comfortable are just about exactly the same way to them so we end up in an impasse. I can try to moderate my words, use "I" words to describe what I think and feel and try not to take things personally but my skin isn't always that thick.
I do believe in diversity. God created it and we need it. Most of all we need to deal with it. How can I make someone who thinks, feels, believes very differently than I do feel comfortable around me and people like me? Should I expect them to go to similar efforts to make me feel comfortable in an environment that doesn't reflect me or my thoughts, feelings or beliefs? If I wrote a letter to the editor, what would I say that would make my point clearly and honestly without ruffling someone else's feathers, stomping on their cherished beliefs or even making them feel like dirty scumbags because they think/feel/believe the opposite of me?
I wonder what kind of response I would get if I sent this to the newspaper as a letter to the editor? Would the Christians "get" that Jesus hung out with a diverse group who only slowly came around to his way of thinking and doing (not to mention that Jesus wasn't a Christian himself)? Would the Pagans and agnostics (maybe even an atheist or two) hear what I said and think that I might be a Pagan/agnostic/atheist sympathizer even though I may label myself "Christian" and have something to say worth reading? Would the Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, and Buddhists find something in my words that, even if they didn't agree with me, would make them stop and think in a different way about an issue, a point of view, a place to stand?
I'll read the letters to the editor as soon as I get to work (my driver always delivers the paper after I leave for the office). I'll possibly be irritated, frustrated, aggravated, hurt and maybe even downright angry but then too I might be pleasantly surprised to find someone with whom I can agree in principle if not in specifics. What I have to remember is that true diversity allows for all sorts and conditions of humankind. In order for me to have my say I have to allow others the same right. Once in a blue moon someone who writes to the editor even makes that very same point.
Oh, and I don't have to worry about sending this to my editor. The word limit for letters is 300 and I'm well over that. But at least I've had my say -- just like the people whose letters will get printed in the next edition.
I used to typeset the letters that came in through the mail and needed to be typed on the computer so that they could be inserted into the copy going to the printer and then to the hands of our readers. Oftentimes I found myself talking back to the writer, especially in the case of letters that were written poorly with bad spelling and grammar, letters from people with viewpoints with which I disagreed and vitriolic letters from people upset about everything, usually the paper's coverage of local politics, criticisms of the then-government and disgust with the paper's "leftist agenda" in printing other letters critical of something the writer held almost sacred.
I live in a fairly conservative, flag-waving, mostly Republican area. They generally favor the war in the Middle East, capital punishment, get-tough, manly guys like our county sheriff and dedication to "family values" including marriage and equal rights for heterosexual American-born (or at least naturalized) citizens only. There was a time I'd have felt perfectly at home here as it would have reflected the person I was growing up and in the area I grew up. I'd have been for what they were for, agin' what they were agin' and not too tolerant of anything else. I, like them, would have agreed with diversity -- so long as it consisted of only people who believed and thought kinda sorta almost nearly exactly like I did. Oh, others would be tolerated --- barely-- but they weren't REAL Americans, flag-waving, church-going (mostly), good Christian (pretty much, well, except for **** who everybody knew was... well, never mind) folks who feared God, loved the country and kept their own side of the street swept.
The letters to the editor in the paper I read now generally don't reflect who I am, what I believe or even what I consider Christian (a lot of the time, anyway). They may quote scripture but it is scripture selectively chosen, proof-texted to prove their point rather than contexted to show what the verse actually means. Words like "liberal" are often thrown in like bombs, not scattering germs or bacteria but feeling like whole clumps of stuff usually found in the barnyard or cow shed were contained inside. There are times I close the paper feeling dirty, and not just from the printer's ink rubbing off on my hands. My soul feels dirty and my heart hurts. Again I am convinced that for a lot of people here, diversity means only those who are just like them, something I'm not and can't be.
I grew to be who and what I am by a long process. Traveling and living in various parts of the US and the world has given me a view of the world as a whole quite different from that of the folks who still live within 50 miles of where they were born and never lived further than 200 miles from that spot either, only occasionally heading for the "big city" somewhere else for a short visit before scurrying back to their accustomed home. I've learned that skin color is not a measure of moral character or intelligence. I've learned that national origin and the consistent use of a language other than English is not a signal that the person is an illegal alien. I've learned that equality is more than a word, it's something that should belong to everybody, not to just those who already have equal rights( or most of them, anyway) but not to those who have been excluded because of their race, national origin, religion or (here it comes) sexual orientation. I've learned people who look like me can be just as ornery and cantankerous and sometimes vituperous and downright nasty in how they speak of and treat people just as those who look so very different can be kind, thoughtful, caring and downright willing to stick their neck out, give you the shirt from their back and help you out any way they can.
I live in this area and so I am forced to deal with the fact that I may be a left-footed ill-beotten offspring of the accidental cross between a horse and a mule in the view of many of my neighbors. Even on the internet there are places I feel more comfortable, places where people think sort of like I do and believe sort of like I do. There are places I don't go because I don't like the way they make me feel, namely dirty, unChristian, and heartsore that someone could know so little about me and people like me that they use words that are sharper than a serpent's tooth. Of course, they undoubtedly feel that places I feel comfortable are just about exactly the same way to them so we end up in an impasse. I can try to moderate my words, use "I" words to describe what I think and feel and try not to take things personally but my skin isn't always that thick.
I do believe in diversity. God created it and we need it. Most of all we need to deal with it. How can I make someone who thinks, feels, believes very differently than I do feel comfortable around me and people like me? Should I expect them to go to similar efforts to make me feel comfortable in an environment that doesn't reflect me or my thoughts, feelings or beliefs? If I wrote a letter to the editor, what would I say that would make my point clearly and honestly without ruffling someone else's feathers, stomping on their cherished beliefs or even making them feel like dirty scumbags because they think/feel/believe the opposite of me?
I wonder what kind of response I would get if I sent this to the newspaper as a letter to the editor? Would the Christians "get" that Jesus hung out with a diverse group who only slowly came around to his way of thinking and doing (not to mention that Jesus wasn't a Christian himself)? Would the Pagans and agnostics (maybe even an atheist or two) hear what I said and think that I might be a Pagan/agnostic/atheist sympathizer even though I may label myself "Christian" and have something to say worth reading? Would the Jews, Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, and Buddhists find something in my words that, even if they didn't agree with me, would make them stop and think in a different way about an issue, a point of view, a place to stand?
I'll read the letters to the editor as soon as I get to work (my driver always delivers the paper after I leave for the office). I'll possibly be irritated, frustrated, aggravated, hurt and maybe even downright angry but then too I might be pleasantly surprised to find someone with whom I can agree in principle if not in specifics. What I have to remember is that true diversity allows for all sorts and conditions of humankind. In order for me to have my say I have to allow others the same right. Once in a blue moon someone who writes to the editor even makes that very same point.
Oh, and I don't have to worry about sending this to my editor. The word limit for letters is 300 and I'm well over that. But at least I've had my say -- just like the people whose letters will get printed in the next edition.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Year, New ???
It's January 1. I'm glad to see it finally get here; 2009 was pretty much a wash with lots of house repairs, truck repairs, aches & pains (which aren't going to go away, I think, and which wil probably increase), etc. I can't say 2010 is going to be a whole lot better (I'd settle for a little better) but I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
I'm feeling a lot of resistance to taking down the Christmas tree I wasn't all that eager to put up just last month. Adding the little fake crystal ornaments seemed to have set something free in me that I hadn't really realized was so caged. I guess that was the Christmas present God had for me this year.
I also feel a sense of accomplishment to have added book #156 to my annotated bibliography I've been keeping since 2002. Harry Potter and Precious Ramotswe aren't on the list but just about everything else I've read is -- at least the theological/religious/spiritual books. A lady at church that I really have very little in common with suggested I keep the bibliography when I remarked that I couldn't remember books I'd read or often what was in them even if I could remember the title. I have thanked her many times for suggesting this as I've been able to revisit things I've read and have some idea of what books to look in to find something I vaguely remember.
I don't make resolutions. I've found that that's a sure-fire way to fail yet again. When I finally came to the conclusion that I had to stop smoking because I simply couldn't afford to buy cigarettes any more I had to go cold turkey. This was in December, too early (or too late) for a New Year's resolution. Six years and almost one month later I look back and see the journey. I didn't say anything to anybody --- that fear of failure, especially in the eyes of other people. I didn't even tell Ray. Oddly enough, nobody even noticed for almost a month. There have been times, lots of them, I would have killed for a cigarette but aside from one puff about 5 years ago I haven't succumbed. I've even reached the point where stale smoke smells nasty (although fresh smoke still smells fairly good). If I have to make a resolution this year I will do it quietly, hoping I can accomplish the goal but knowing myself well enough to expect failure.
Some will call me a defeatist but I prefer to think that I know myself far better than anyone else can. Friends have faith in me and would encourage me IF I let them know what I was doing but shoot, I'm better at encouraging others than getting encouraged. I've told several people that I'm their #1 cheerleader and it's how I feel. I can encourage them and feel pride in their accomplishments that I never feel in my own.
I should probably resolve to lose weight (like just about everybody else in this country), eat more healthy food (and conversely, cut back on the pizzas and burgers), pray more, study more, go to church more, control the inner anger I feel (and sometimes show in inopportune moments), try to see the bright side, spend less on "stuff" and save more $$, but somehow saying on paper that I am going to do any of these feels like a setup for failure. Like faith, I guess I just have to go on "as if" and let God take care of me in whatever way God wants while trying hard not to get in God's way myself.
I may have a bad case of acedia but I guess the only one who can pull up my socks and get on with my life is me. With God's help.
That's about as much of a resolution as I can make on this day, January 1, 2010.
I'm feeling a lot of resistance to taking down the Christmas tree I wasn't all that eager to put up just last month. Adding the little fake crystal ornaments seemed to have set something free in me that I hadn't really realized was so caged. I guess that was the Christmas present God had for me this year.
I also feel a sense of accomplishment to have added book #156 to my annotated bibliography I've been keeping since 2002. Harry Potter and Precious Ramotswe aren't on the list but just about everything else I've read is -- at least the theological/religious/spiritual books. A lady at church that I really have very little in common with suggested I keep the bibliography when I remarked that I couldn't remember books I'd read or often what was in them even if I could remember the title. I have thanked her many times for suggesting this as I've been able to revisit things I've read and have some idea of what books to look in to find something I vaguely remember.
I don't make resolutions. I've found that that's a sure-fire way to fail yet again. When I finally came to the conclusion that I had to stop smoking because I simply couldn't afford to buy cigarettes any more I had to go cold turkey. This was in December, too early (or too late) for a New Year's resolution. Six years and almost one month later I look back and see the journey. I didn't say anything to anybody --- that fear of failure, especially in the eyes of other people. I didn't even tell Ray. Oddly enough, nobody even noticed for almost a month. There have been times, lots of them, I would have killed for a cigarette but aside from one puff about 5 years ago I haven't succumbed. I've even reached the point where stale smoke smells nasty (although fresh smoke still smells fairly good). If I have to make a resolution this year I will do it quietly, hoping I can accomplish the goal but knowing myself well enough to expect failure.
Some will call me a defeatist but I prefer to think that I know myself far better than anyone else can. Friends have faith in me and would encourage me IF I let them know what I was doing but shoot, I'm better at encouraging others than getting encouraged. I've told several people that I'm their #1 cheerleader and it's how I feel. I can encourage them and feel pride in their accomplishments that I never feel in my own.
I should probably resolve to lose weight (like just about everybody else in this country), eat more healthy food (and conversely, cut back on the pizzas and burgers), pray more, study more, go to church more, control the inner anger I feel (and sometimes show in inopportune moments), try to see the bright side, spend less on "stuff" and save more $$, but somehow saying on paper that I am going to do any of these feels like a setup for failure. Like faith, I guess I just have to go on "as if" and let God take care of me in whatever way God wants while trying hard not to get in God's way myself.
I may have a bad case of acedia but I guess the only one who can pull up my socks and get on with my life is me. With God's help.
That's about as much of a resolution as I can make on this day, January 1, 2010.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas Ornaments
Decorating the Christmas tree has always been a big deal to me. From the time I was a small child, getting the tree set up (a real cedar when I was a child, an artificial most of my adult life) was something to be done on Thanksgiving weekend; it was like we just couldn't wait any longer to see the twinkle of lights and the glimmer of tinsel. Then we got down to the nitty-gritty. Opening the box of ornaments was like looking at a well-thumbed and beloved family album. Each ornament seemed to have a story to tell, a story repeated every year and every time someone noticed it. Each one was precisely placed so that it didn't overshadow (or was overshadowed by) another ornament. The tree became more than a symbol of the Christmas season, it became where our family history became focalized.
When I married and moved away, it became time to start growing new family memories. I didn't bring any ornaments from home, probably because our family situation had changed so much and partly because I moved away in August, hardly a time to think about Christmas. so our tree started from scratch. We bought ornaments at the BX -- mostly colored glass balls but one group of frosted glass with gold trim and a citrine rhinestone on each and their complementary gold balls with white trim and a pearl. They were beautiful and I loved them.
The year my son was born we added more memories to the box that came out every Christmas. Since we lived in a place where snow never came, I made snowflakes out of paper doilies and hung them from the ceiling around the tree, something I did for several years. This time the BX had a set of four little plastic cutaway balls in different colors, each with a little soldier-musician inside. They were placed low on the tree, partly so the baby could see them and partly because the cat (our Dammit) would bat at those and leave the more breakable stuff higher up.
Time went by, each Christmas usually adding one keepsake ornament to represent something significant. But just as seasons change, relationships do too and when my son was 4 his father and I separated and divorced. I got most of the ornaments but had to find new ways to make the season like the Christmases I had known. I wanted that for my son. He presented me with an ornament he had made at day care -- two pieces of green felt stuffed and glued together with some sequins glued on. The next year he had graduated to a clothespin reindeer with googly plastic eyes and a green and red blanket across his back. Yet another year was a handprint in clay that went on the tree although in toward the trunk so it wouldn't fall off and get broken.
We added a string of three graduated glass bells at the bottom of the tree, our "cat alarm" we called it. If the tree moved even slightly, the "alarm" would go off and we could rescue it from the cat. Mostly though, Dammit curled up under it, demurely tucking her paws under her white shirt that had partially given her her name ("damit" was Filipino for shirt or dress -- the extra "m" came from repeated injunctions for her to get off the table, to stop climbing the curtains or when surveying the wreckage of another ornament, or tipped-over flower pot).
More time, more changes. The little sailor with the semaphore flags joined the others in the box that reappeared every year, sometimes in very distant locations from where they were packed away the Christmas before. The next year we added a funny little 'possum hanging by his tail from a branch and reading a book -- an ornament we got for my dad and which always made him laugh. Dad liked critters like 'possums and alligators and the like.
I remarried and we formed a new family with a new tree. The old favorites came out and new ones added. One year we had mostly wooden representations of toys including trains that were a passion with my husband and airplanes for a little boy who wanted to be a pilot when he grew up. I even found a wooden cat on a stepladder holding a star. There was something for everybody. There was the year we made ornaments of stacks of cinnamon sticks wrapped with red and gold ribbon. Each year there were a few new ornaments to tell a story like the tiny English cottages and church that represented my fascination and passion for David Winter cottages or the little train station that had a light inside.
The little boy with the big blue eyes and blonde curls grew up and eventually moved away. He still came home at Christmas and the same ornaments were there to greet him. Every year we added another cat ornament for me, a train ornament for my husband and sometimes an ornament sent by a friend who knew just what would look good on our tree and remind us of them like the three kittens in a mitten from a friend who adopted a cat the year I adopted her Geordie's two girl cousins, Jane and Maggie, from the same breeder. The ornament cats weren't colored like the three we had but it didn't matter. It was the memory it evoked that counted.
Then not many years ago we went to put up the tree and ----- the ornament box was full of tinsel and strings of lights but no ornaments. We checked another box and yet another. A few stragglers appeared, like the three kittens in the mitten and Dad's 'possum but we couldn't find the rest of them anywhere. The tree looked pretty bare that year and my heart sank a little more each time we ran across a box we hadn't searched and which might just possibly…. but it never was. I made some salt-dough ornaments to hang on the tree but somehow they just weren't the same; they couldn't be. Yet this is what we had so it was grit your teeth, pick up your chin and get on with life.
The Christmas after my husband died I had moved into a small place and given away the tree, the lights and most of whatever was left of the life and Christmases we had shared. I hadn't felt like celebrating Christmas for several years -- depression mostly-- but I felt like I needed to at least put up something small to mark the season. I bought a little tabletop tree with the lights already strung on it. That was fine; it was always husband's job to string the lights and that year he wasn't there to do it. That's as far as Christmas went, except to hang a wreath on the door. I had bought outside lights but just couldn't find the time or the energy (or much desire) to put them up. I'd lost a lot in a short period of time -- a husband, a house, hours at work, three pet cats along with at least 3 ferals outdoors, and those missing ornaments were just one more thing to grieve.
I still grieve those losses. It seems so petty to miss things like missing cats or tiny cottages or clothespin reindeer at the same time I am getting used to living alone but it's like missing an arm or a leg. Sure, I can get by without them but their very missing state seems to embody all the losses I've had over the years -- the family, friends, happy places, happy memories, the illusion of security and belonging that I once took for granted and even the once almost overwhelming joy of Christmas.
This year the little tree is up once again, loosely anchored to the wall to add stability from the occasional cat incursion. This year I looked at the almost bare branches, empty except for the little colored lights, and decided it needed something. I had bought some clear plastic crystal-shaped things to do something with (or maybe just because I liked them) the year before and it occurred to me that I could hang just a few on the tree and gussy it up a bit. I found some in different shapes in the store and also some others on strings that I could take apart and add to hangers. The tree is now fairly decorated with dangles and bell-shapes and rectangles and faceted spheres. Even with the lights off, the crystals catch the light and shine. I feel better. They will never replace the ones that were lost but it's my job now to make new memories and find new ways of coping. Putting crystal shapes together helps me feel creative again and the work with my hands gives me satisfaction. The boys seem to like them too -- or perhaps they are fascinated because now and then one "drops" off (often with a little help) and they make a noise as they roll across the floor.
Merry new Christmas to me. Hang on, there's a bare branch over there that needs something. And so it goes.
When I married and moved away, it became time to start growing new family memories. I didn't bring any ornaments from home, probably because our family situation had changed so much and partly because I moved away in August, hardly a time to think about Christmas. so our tree started from scratch. We bought ornaments at the BX -- mostly colored glass balls but one group of frosted glass with gold trim and a citrine rhinestone on each and their complementary gold balls with white trim and a pearl. They were beautiful and I loved them.
The year my son was born we added more memories to the box that came out every Christmas. Since we lived in a place where snow never came, I made snowflakes out of paper doilies and hung them from the ceiling around the tree, something I did for several years. This time the BX had a set of four little plastic cutaway balls in different colors, each with a little soldier-musician inside. They were placed low on the tree, partly so the baby could see them and partly because the cat (our Dammit) would bat at those and leave the more breakable stuff higher up.
Time went by, each Christmas usually adding one keepsake ornament to represent something significant. But just as seasons change, relationships do too and when my son was 4 his father and I separated and divorced. I got most of the ornaments but had to find new ways to make the season like the Christmases I had known. I wanted that for my son. He presented me with an ornament he had made at day care -- two pieces of green felt stuffed and glued together with some sequins glued on. The next year he had graduated to a clothespin reindeer with googly plastic eyes and a green and red blanket across his back. Yet another year was a handprint in clay that went on the tree although in toward the trunk so it wouldn't fall off and get broken.
We added a string of three graduated glass bells at the bottom of the tree, our "cat alarm" we called it. If the tree moved even slightly, the "alarm" would go off and we could rescue it from the cat. Mostly though, Dammit curled up under it, demurely tucking her paws under her white shirt that had partially given her her name ("damit" was Filipino for shirt or dress -- the extra "m" came from repeated injunctions for her to get off the table, to stop climbing the curtains or when surveying the wreckage of another ornament, or tipped-over flower pot).
More time, more changes. The little sailor with the semaphore flags joined the others in the box that reappeared every year, sometimes in very distant locations from where they were packed away the Christmas before. The next year we added a funny little 'possum hanging by his tail from a branch and reading a book -- an ornament we got for my dad and which always made him laugh. Dad liked critters like 'possums and alligators and the like.
I remarried and we formed a new family with a new tree. The old favorites came out and new ones added. One year we had mostly wooden representations of toys including trains that were a passion with my husband and airplanes for a little boy who wanted to be a pilot when he grew up. I even found a wooden cat on a stepladder holding a star. There was something for everybody. There was the year we made ornaments of stacks of cinnamon sticks wrapped with red and gold ribbon. Each year there were a few new ornaments to tell a story like the tiny English cottages and church that represented my fascination and passion for David Winter cottages or the little train station that had a light inside.
The little boy with the big blue eyes and blonde curls grew up and eventually moved away. He still came home at Christmas and the same ornaments were there to greet him. Every year we added another cat ornament for me, a train ornament for my husband and sometimes an ornament sent by a friend who knew just what would look good on our tree and remind us of them like the three kittens in a mitten from a friend who adopted a cat the year I adopted her Geordie's two girl cousins, Jane and Maggie, from the same breeder. The ornament cats weren't colored like the three we had but it didn't matter. It was the memory it evoked that counted.
Then not many years ago we went to put up the tree and ----- the ornament box was full of tinsel and strings of lights but no ornaments. We checked another box and yet another. A few stragglers appeared, like the three kittens in the mitten and Dad's 'possum but we couldn't find the rest of them anywhere. The tree looked pretty bare that year and my heart sank a little more each time we ran across a box we hadn't searched and which might just possibly…. but it never was. I made some salt-dough ornaments to hang on the tree but somehow they just weren't the same; they couldn't be. Yet this is what we had so it was grit your teeth, pick up your chin and get on with life.
The Christmas after my husband died I had moved into a small place and given away the tree, the lights and most of whatever was left of the life and Christmases we had shared. I hadn't felt like celebrating Christmas for several years -- depression mostly-- but I felt like I needed to at least put up something small to mark the season. I bought a little tabletop tree with the lights already strung on it. That was fine; it was always husband's job to string the lights and that year he wasn't there to do it. That's as far as Christmas went, except to hang a wreath on the door. I had bought outside lights but just couldn't find the time or the energy (or much desire) to put them up. I'd lost a lot in a short period of time -- a husband, a house, hours at work, three pet cats along with at least 3 ferals outdoors, and those missing ornaments were just one more thing to grieve.
I still grieve those losses. It seems so petty to miss things like missing cats or tiny cottages or clothespin reindeer at the same time I am getting used to living alone but it's like missing an arm or a leg. Sure, I can get by without them but their very missing state seems to embody all the losses I've had over the years -- the family, friends, happy places, happy memories, the illusion of security and belonging that I once took for granted and even the once almost overwhelming joy of Christmas.
This year the little tree is up once again, loosely anchored to the wall to add stability from the occasional cat incursion. This year I looked at the almost bare branches, empty except for the little colored lights, and decided it needed something. I had bought some clear plastic crystal-shaped things to do something with (or maybe just because I liked them) the year before and it occurred to me that I could hang just a few on the tree and gussy it up a bit. I found some in different shapes in the store and also some others on strings that I could take apart and add to hangers. The tree is now fairly decorated with dangles and bell-shapes and rectangles and faceted spheres. Even with the lights off, the crystals catch the light and shine. I feel better. They will never replace the ones that were lost but it's my job now to make new memories and find new ways of coping. Putting crystal shapes together helps me feel creative again and the work with my hands gives me satisfaction. The boys seem to like them too -- or perhaps they are fascinated because now and then one "drops" off (often with a little help) and they make a noise as they roll across the floor.
Merry new Christmas to me. Hang on, there's a bare branch over there that needs something. And so it goes.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
On the diocesan election in LA
The Diocese of Los Angeles has elected two new suffragan bishops --- both female. That in itself would serve as front-page material in some journalistic elements but no, the big news is that one of them is lesbian on top of being female (of course, to be lesbian I think you HAVE to be female, don't you?). That she is in a long-term committed relationship is an offense in some areas, notably in some areas of the Episcopal Church (some areas already halfway or more out the door) and the Anglical Communion (notably parts of the US, parts of Africa and parts, it seems, of the UK).
Before the election of Mary Glasspool was even cool, the Archbishop of Canterbury jumped up and began proclaiming that the election would have "important implications", yadda yadda yadda. What it amounts to is "you PROMISED to exercise restraint! NOW look what you've done! BAD! BAD! BAD!" This isn't the first time the ABC has butted into the affairs of TEC --- remember his comments during and after General Convention about what was expected of us and how it could reflect on how we were perceived and continued to be part of the Anglican Communion? He certainly didn't waste any time -- or mince any words.
Which makes it all the more galling. You have churches that are part of the Anglican Communion espousing life prison sentences and even death for GLBT folk in their countries as well as possible imprisonment for any foreigners who serve the GLBT communities or even speak out against the proposed legislation. The silence from Lambeth Palace is absolutely deafening. It's been weeks and weeks yet he hasn't said a word, EVER, about the boundary crossing much less the inhumanity. I simply do not understand.
For a long time our Presiding Bishop was silent on the issue but she has broken her silence in a statement that was pastoral, well-crafted and strong. It felt good to hear her words, words many had despaired of ever hearing.
Yet Lambeth has commented, as usual, in a way that encourages the one wing and denigrates the other.
I would like TEC to cease contributing more than a modest sum to the Anglican Communion and its arms. I would like to see TEC continue building relationships around the world and providing aid to those in need in whatever country they may be. I would like the bishops and standing committees to approve the election of Mary Glasscock. They have approved some elections of bishops-elect about whom there is dis-ease with their position and concern whether or not they would remain part of TEC yet they were the duly elected bishops of their dioceses and the dioceses surely chose the candidates they felt the Spirit had sent them.
As for the ABC, my respect for him as primus inter pares is gone. I cannot respect a person, no matter how exalted, who seems to be catering to bullies and backstabbing friends. the bullies will never be appeased until they control Lambeth Palace and the Anglican Communion itself. The friends will try to retain bonds of affection even when they are slapped in the face again and again and yet they will grow tired eventually and ask why such treatment is so necessary.
Archbishop Rowan, change your brand of tea. Whatever you're drinking, it feels like you've ingested jimson weed tea instead of Earl Grey, and the delusions you have been given as a result have seriously disrupted the reality of the world, the Church and the Anglican communion. You can't win with the bullies. They have no respect for you or your office, no matter what you do to appease them. And you will lose the friends who have supported you even when you stab them.
God help us
Before the election of Mary Glasspool was even cool, the Archbishop of Canterbury jumped up and began proclaiming that the election would have "important implications", yadda yadda yadda. What it amounts to is "you PROMISED to exercise restraint! NOW look what you've done! BAD! BAD! BAD!" This isn't the first time the ABC has butted into the affairs of TEC --- remember his comments during and after General Convention about what was expected of us and how it could reflect on how we were perceived and continued to be part of the Anglican Communion? He certainly didn't waste any time -- or mince any words.
Which makes it all the more galling. You have churches that are part of the Anglican Communion espousing life prison sentences and even death for GLBT folk in their countries as well as possible imprisonment for any foreigners who serve the GLBT communities or even speak out against the proposed legislation. The silence from Lambeth Palace is absolutely deafening. It's been weeks and weeks yet he hasn't said a word, EVER, about the boundary crossing much less the inhumanity. I simply do not understand.
For a long time our Presiding Bishop was silent on the issue but she has broken her silence in a statement that was pastoral, well-crafted and strong. It felt good to hear her words, words many had despaired of ever hearing.
Yet Lambeth has commented, as usual, in a way that encourages the one wing and denigrates the other.
I would like TEC to cease contributing more than a modest sum to the Anglican Communion and its arms. I would like to see TEC continue building relationships around the world and providing aid to those in need in whatever country they may be. I would like the bishops and standing committees to approve the election of Mary Glasscock. They have approved some elections of bishops-elect about whom there is dis-ease with their position and concern whether or not they would remain part of TEC yet they were the duly elected bishops of their dioceses and the dioceses surely chose the candidates they felt the Spirit had sent them.
As for the ABC, my respect for him as primus inter pares is gone. I cannot respect a person, no matter how exalted, who seems to be catering to bullies and backstabbing friends. the bullies will never be appeased until they control Lambeth Palace and the Anglican Communion itself. The friends will try to retain bonds of affection even when they are slapped in the face again and again and yet they will grow tired eventually and ask why such treatment is so necessary.
Archbishop Rowan, change your brand of tea. Whatever you're drinking, it feels like you've ingested jimson weed tea instead of Earl Grey, and the delusions you have been given as a result have seriously disrupted the reality of the world, the Church and the Anglican communion. You can't win with the bullies. They have no respect for you or your office, no matter what you do to appease them. And you will lose the friends who have supported you even when you stab them.
God help us
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thoughts on Sarah and Hagar
Now Sarai, Abram's wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian maidservant named Hagar; so she said to Abram, "The LORD has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; perhaps I can build a family through her."
Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian maidservant Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. He slept with Hagar, and she conceived.
When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, "You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my servant in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the LORD judge between you and me."
"Your servant is in your hands," Abram said. "Do with her whatever you think best." Then Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. (Genesis 16:1-6, NIV )
There's been a bit of discussion about Sarah and Hagar lately on the discussion board for our EfM group. One really outstanding thing about online EfM is that the dialog doesn't stop at 9:30pm on Sunday night when the class ends. Some, like this one, can go on for weeks with people contributing and reading the contributions of others as new thoughts or available time permit.
It seems hard to find a justification for Sarah's treatment of Hagar. Turning her out, as Abraham gave her implicit if not explicit permission to do, was tantamount to a death sentence for both Hagar and the child Hagar conceived by Abraham but with Sarah's permission and connivance. The child would have been considered Sarah's as soon as Sarah held the child "on her knee", a ceremonial adoption. For all intents and purposes, Ishmael would have become Sarah and Abraham's son, not Hagar's.
I can't help but think that had Hagar not gotten what Southerners call "uppity" things might have gone better. Being "uppity" means acting in a way that is above your station, like an employee acting like a boss or a chauffeur using the limo for his own parties and purposes. Hagar's pregnancy would have been hard enough for Sarah to bear, knowing that Abraham still had potency while it was her, Sarah's, fault that they had no children to fill the tent and most of all, to inherit Abraham's flocks and herds. It had always been whispered that Sarah was at fault because in that day, it was believed that a man's sperm contained babies just waiting to be implanted and incubated in the womb of a woman. That was why Onan's "crime" centuries later was considered severe enough for God to kill him on the spot. Onan had literally "killed" children when he ejaculated on the ground instead of impregnating his sister-in-law who would have raised the child or children as her dead husband's heir.
Regardless, Sarah's story at this point brings me conflicted feelings. On one hand it is hard to understand how one woman could be so cruel to another, how one woman with the power of life and death over another could exercise that option in such a cold, hard way. Sarah herself had put Hagar in the position in which the servant found herself and yet Sarah was ready to terminate that situation.
But then, I can empathize with Sarah. Like The Mouse That Roared, you have to be careful how you treat people because even a mouse can become a lion given the right circumstances. And the story tells us that Hagar was roaring. After all, she was pregnant by Abraham, carrying Abraham's heir while Sarah was just a withered bag of bones with a barren womb and no hope of changing that. Clearly Hagar felt she had the upper hand but I wonder if, in some perverse way, Sarah didn't already have what T-shirts a few years ago proudly proclaimed as "Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill." Sarah and Hagar may have been sisters under the skin but that didn't prevent them from engaging in both sibling rivalry as well as "I'm the boss so you'd better...."
Poor Hagar. She was caught in the middle of a situation not of her own making but she chose to use it to her advantage. Poor Sarah. She did what she thought she had to do to protect what Abraham had built but she didn't figure on Hagar figuratively biting the hand that fed her -- and the unborn child -- probably better than she would have been fed otherwise. Poor Abraham -- caught in the middle and blamed for (a) not sticking up for the underdog and (b) doing what his wife wanted in the first place.
For some reason, this story brought to mind the protesters outside Planned Parenthood clinics -- clinics that do perform abortions but which also provides contraception information and assistance. As I see the people pacing back and forth, some reading a Bible or praying, some carrying signs I wouldn't like a young child to see, I wonder how many of those Sarahs were willing to adopt a child that is already born and in the foster care system for whatever reason. maybe some of them have -- but it's a thing I always wonder.
As a child whose mother decided to walk out of her life when she was six months old, I am eternally grateful to the Sarah (whose name was really Alberta) who heard the cry for help from my father (a long-time friend of the family) who was in the service and found himself with a small girl child on his hands and no way to care for her. I was lucky but I hear stories of others who weren't so lucky, people who had no Sarah.
I also think of the children who wind up with parents who divorce and then fight over who has custody. I also think of kids whose divorced parent remarries and whose step parent really doesn't want a reminder around of a previous relationship. the ones who really suffer are the Isaacs and the Ishmaels and they are the ones least able to control or even cope with the situation and come out unscathed.
It's a sad story. It happens over and over. The circumstances may differ but the situation is still the same -- who has power over whom, what they do with that power, and who pays the price. Nobody escapes untouched.
Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian maidservant Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. He slept with Hagar, and she conceived.
When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, "You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my servant in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the LORD judge between you and me."
"Your servant is in your hands," Abram said. "Do with her whatever you think best." Then Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. (Genesis 16:1-6, NIV )
There's been a bit of discussion about Sarah and Hagar lately on the discussion board for our EfM group. One really outstanding thing about online EfM is that the dialog doesn't stop at 9:30pm on Sunday night when the class ends. Some, like this one, can go on for weeks with people contributing and reading the contributions of others as new thoughts or available time permit.
It seems hard to find a justification for Sarah's treatment of Hagar. Turning her out, as Abraham gave her implicit if not explicit permission to do, was tantamount to a death sentence for both Hagar and the child Hagar conceived by Abraham but with Sarah's permission and connivance. The child would have been considered Sarah's as soon as Sarah held the child "on her knee", a ceremonial adoption. For all intents and purposes, Ishmael would have become Sarah and Abraham's son, not Hagar's.
I can't help but think that had Hagar not gotten what Southerners call "uppity" things might have gone better. Being "uppity" means acting in a way that is above your station, like an employee acting like a boss or a chauffeur using the limo for his own parties and purposes. Hagar's pregnancy would have been hard enough for Sarah to bear, knowing that Abraham still had potency while it was her, Sarah's, fault that they had no children to fill the tent and most of all, to inherit Abraham's flocks and herds. It had always been whispered that Sarah was at fault because in that day, it was believed that a man's sperm contained babies just waiting to be implanted and incubated in the womb of a woman. That was why Onan's "crime" centuries later was considered severe enough for God to kill him on the spot. Onan had literally "killed" children when he ejaculated on the ground instead of impregnating his sister-in-law who would have raised the child or children as her dead husband's heir.
Regardless, Sarah's story at this point brings me conflicted feelings. On one hand it is hard to understand how one woman could be so cruel to another, how one woman with the power of life and death over another could exercise that option in such a cold, hard way. Sarah herself had put Hagar in the position in which the servant found herself and yet Sarah was ready to terminate that situation.
But then, I can empathize with Sarah. Like The Mouse That Roared, you have to be careful how you treat people because even a mouse can become a lion given the right circumstances. And the story tells us that Hagar was roaring. After all, she was pregnant by Abraham, carrying Abraham's heir while Sarah was just a withered bag of bones with a barren womb and no hope of changing that. Clearly Hagar felt she had the upper hand but I wonder if, in some perverse way, Sarah didn't already have what T-shirts a few years ago proudly proclaimed as "Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill." Sarah and Hagar may have been sisters under the skin but that didn't prevent them from engaging in both sibling rivalry as well as "I'm the boss so you'd better...."
Poor Hagar. She was caught in the middle of a situation not of her own making but she chose to use it to her advantage. Poor Sarah. She did what she thought she had to do to protect what Abraham had built but she didn't figure on Hagar figuratively biting the hand that fed her -- and the unborn child -- probably better than she would have been fed otherwise. Poor Abraham -- caught in the middle and blamed for (a) not sticking up for the underdog and (b) doing what his wife wanted in the first place.
For some reason, this story brought to mind the protesters outside Planned Parenthood clinics -- clinics that do perform abortions but which also provides contraception information and assistance. As I see the people pacing back and forth, some reading a Bible or praying, some carrying signs I wouldn't like a young child to see, I wonder how many of those Sarahs were willing to adopt a child that is already born and in the foster care system for whatever reason. maybe some of them have -- but it's a thing I always wonder.
As a child whose mother decided to walk out of her life when she was six months old, I am eternally grateful to the Sarah (whose name was really Alberta) who heard the cry for help from my father (a long-time friend of the family) who was in the service and found himself with a small girl child on his hands and no way to care for her. I was lucky but I hear stories of others who weren't so lucky, people who had no Sarah.
I also think of the children who wind up with parents who divorce and then fight over who has custody. I also think of kids whose divorced parent remarries and whose step parent really doesn't want a reminder around of a previous relationship. the ones who really suffer are the Isaacs and the Ishmaels and they are the ones least able to control or even cope with the situation and come out unscathed.
It's a sad story. It happens over and over. The circumstances may differ but the situation is still the same -- who has power over whom, what they do with that power, and who pays the price. Nobody escapes untouched.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
PrePare
No matter how well one plans, something always seems to throw a spanner into the works. I had planned out a TR for our online class last Sunday evening but my internet seemed to have a mind of its own. Even the tech-whiz at the other end of the phone couldn't solve it on Saturday evening so an appointment was scheduled for Monday at 1:30 pm. Not much help when the class was online at 8pm on Sunday night!
I had prepared --- but suddenly it was all out of my hands. I got to thinking about how many times my preparations have ended up being for almost naught, how I had either over-prepared or under-prepared and just sort of lurched from almost a success to almost a failure and back again.
Advent is a preparatory season where we prepare for the coming of the Christ child. Unfortunately it also comes at a cost; we've been in an almost non-stop preparatory period since before Halloween. We had to have the right costumes for Susie and Billy, the right treats for small (and sometimes rather large (height-wise)) ghosts, witches, princesses and superheroes, and the right decorations to add a festive note. We prepared --- and before you knew it it was over and we were facing All Saints Day. Not much to prepare there but we had to look down the corridor to the rapidly approaching Thanksgiving celebration.
Arranging for overnight (or weekend) guests, cleaning the house to a fare-thee-well (good luck displacing all the cat and dog hair, not to mention the stray socks and errant spiderwebs in the ceiling corners), planning the perfect dinner, securing the best ingredients, planning out the timetable so the turkey is perfectly browned and ready to carve at the precise moment the green-bean casserole is the perfect temperature and the stuffing hasn't cooled too much or the potatoes left too lumpy because we didn't have the one or two minutes more we needed to ensure their perfect lump-lessness. By the time we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner we've probably spent as much as 15 hours preparing in various ways --- all for something that is eaten in a half hour or less (although the leftovers may go on for days!). We can take it easier during the football games (although the nagging thought of the dishes in the sink is doing precisely that --- nagging) but sure enough, a stray thought or two (or ten) will pop up about what to do for Christmas.
Christmas stuff has been in some stores since Labor Day. It used to be they waited until the day after Thanksgiving before decking the halls and putting up the Christmas sale displays but no more. Thanksgiving dinner isn't even cold before we have to start preparing all over again. Gotta find the perfect gift for Aunt Sallie, even if we don't like her all that much she will expect it, and will have something for us that we aren't particularly crazy about but heck, it's the thought that counts, right? Put the lights up on the house so the neighbors don't think we're Scrooges or worse. Fight for parking places somewhere within a quarter mile of the mall so we can go shop and then lug bags and bags of stuff the quarter mile back to the car -- if we can even remember where we parked it through the haze of frustration, anxiety and exhaustion. Find the lovely Christmas paper and bows we bought at the after-Christmas sale last year. Bake umpteen dozen cookies for the Christmas parties at the office, the school, the church and for having on hand in case somebody just happened to drop over for coffee. Select and trim the perfect tree with the right number of lights (not too many, not too few), ornaments (some of which are as old as if not older than our oldest kids), and tinsel garlands. There have to be the perfect number of presents under that tree -- not so many as to look like we're made of money or have stretched our credit card to the absolute max but not so few as to suggest we're penurious or worse yet, just plain cheap. the preparation reaches its height on Christmas Eve and by Christmas Day most are just ready to collapse -- once they've made the obligatory visits to Grandma, the in-laws or wherever. Just don't go in the grocery or drug stores. On Christmas Day Valentine's Day decorations, cards and candy are already on display.
Advent comes in the middle of all this preparing. We're asked to take on one more preparation, an internal one with some external duties and responsibilities. Advent is a quiet season, sort of like what pregnant women feel when they contemplate what's going on inside them. Advent is a pregnant season; it is based on Mary's pregnancy with a very exceptional child. We wait as she did, we watch, we contemplate, we prepare.
There's no one way to have a "perfect" Advent. Although Advent wreaths are traditional, sometimes they can be extremely contemporary in look and feel while still being very traditional in use and meaning. Advent discourages the orgy of Christmas carols that ring through the stores since Thanksgiving because you don't celebrate a birth until a birth has taken place. Besides, in our tradition, Christmas still has 12 days to run after Christmas Eve! Bet you won't find a single carol being played anywhere much after midnight on December 24th though!
We always have to prepare -- prepare for a coming birth, a move, a change in status, a death, an event, retirement, a financial crisis, a sudden catastrophic illness or accident, a whole raft of things that can and often do happen, just on their own timetable, not ours. We can't schedule them and often we can't even completely prepare for them like we can a trip "over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go."
PrePare -- stop being anxious and frantic, stop trying to keep up much less outdo the Joneses down the street, stop trying to be all things, do all things and, most of all, buy all things. Sit quietly for a time. Think about the pregnancy of the season as Mary thought about the growing life of that special child within her. Even if your hands must be busy knitting sweaters and booties or stirring the stew, keep an inward ear on what is going on inside. Nurture the small flickering flame of faith that will grow to a strong, steady fire if propriety tended. PrePare --- let God grow in you. Renemember the "P" in the middle, a link between "pre" and "are" and yet a place to pause and reflect.
Have a blessed Advent.
I had prepared --- but suddenly it was all out of my hands. I got to thinking about how many times my preparations have ended up being for almost naught, how I had either over-prepared or under-prepared and just sort of lurched from almost a success to almost a failure and back again.
Advent is a preparatory season where we prepare for the coming of the Christ child. Unfortunately it also comes at a cost; we've been in an almost non-stop preparatory period since before Halloween. We had to have the right costumes for Susie and Billy, the right treats for small (and sometimes rather large (height-wise)) ghosts, witches, princesses and superheroes, and the right decorations to add a festive note. We prepared --- and before you knew it it was over and we were facing All Saints Day. Not much to prepare there but we had to look down the corridor to the rapidly approaching Thanksgiving celebration.
Arranging for overnight (or weekend) guests, cleaning the house to a fare-thee-well (good luck displacing all the cat and dog hair, not to mention the stray socks and errant spiderwebs in the ceiling corners), planning the perfect dinner, securing the best ingredients, planning out the timetable so the turkey is perfectly browned and ready to carve at the precise moment the green-bean casserole is the perfect temperature and the stuffing hasn't cooled too much or the potatoes left too lumpy because we didn't have the one or two minutes more we needed to ensure their perfect lump-lessness. By the time we sit down to Thanksgiving dinner we've probably spent as much as 15 hours preparing in various ways --- all for something that is eaten in a half hour or less (although the leftovers may go on for days!). We can take it easier during the football games (although the nagging thought of the dishes in the sink is doing precisely that --- nagging) but sure enough, a stray thought or two (or ten) will pop up about what to do for Christmas.
Christmas stuff has been in some stores since Labor Day. It used to be they waited until the day after Thanksgiving before decking the halls and putting up the Christmas sale displays but no more. Thanksgiving dinner isn't even cold before we have to start preparing all over again. Gotta find the perfect gift for Aunt Sallie, even if we don't like her all that much she will expect it, and will have something for us that we aren't particularly crazy about but heck, it's the thought that counts, right? Put the lights up on the house so the neighbors don't think we're Scrooges or worse. Fight for parking places somewhere within a quarter mile of the mall so we can go shop and then lug bags and bags of stuff the quarter mile back to the car -- if we can even remember where we parked it through the haze of frustration, anxiety and exhaustion. Find the lovely Christmas paper and bows we bought at the after-Christmas sale last year. Bake umpteen dozen cookies for the Christmas parties at the office, the school, the church and for having on hand in case somebody just happened to drop over for coffee. Select and trim the perfect tree with the right number of lights (not too many, not too few), ornaments (some of which are as old as if not older than our oldest kids), and tinsel garlands. There have to be the perfect number of presents under that tree -- not so many as to look like we're made of money or have stretched our credit card to the absolute max but not so few as to suggest we're penurious or worse yet, just plain cheap. the preparation reaches its height on Christmas Eve and by Christmas Day most are just ready to collapse -- once they've made the obligatory visits to Grandma, the in-laws or wherever. Just don't go in the grocery or drug stores. On Christmas Day Valentine's Day decorations, cards and candy are already on display.
Advent comes in the middle of all this preparing. We're asked to take on one more preparation, an internal one with some external duties and responsibilities. Advent is a quiet season, sort of like what pregnant women feel when they contemplate what's going on inside them. Advent is a pregnant season; it is based on Mary's pregnancy with a very exceptional child. We wait as she did, we watch, we contemplate, we prepare.
There's no one way to have a "perfect" Advent. Although Advent wreaths are traditional, sometimes they can be extremely contemporary in look and feel while still being very traditional in use and meaning. Advent discourages the orgy of Christmas carols that ring through the stores since Thanksgiving because you don't celebrate a birth until a birth has taken place. Besides, in our tradition, Christmas still has 12 days to run after Christmas Eve! Bet you won't find a single carol being played anywhere much after midnight on December 24th though!
We always have to prepare -- prepare for a coming birth, a move, a change in status, a death, an event, retirement, a financial crisis, a sudden catastrophic illness or accident, a whole raft of things that can and often do happen, just on their own timetable, not ours. We can't schedule them and often we can't even completely prepare for them like we can a trip "over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go."
PrePare -- stop being anxious and frantic, stop trying to keep up much less outdo the Joneses down the street, stop trying to be all things, do all things and, most of all, buy all things. Sit quietly for a time. Think about the pregnancy of the season as Mary thought about the growing life of that special child within her. Even if your hands must be busy knitting sweaters and booties or stirring the stew, keep an inward ear on what is going on inside. Nurture the small flickering flame of faith that will grow to a strong, steady fire if propriety tended. PrePare --- let God grow in you. Renemember the "P" in the middle, a link between "pre" and "are" and yet a place to pause and reflect.
Have a blessed Advent.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Preparing II
The previous exercise wasn't completely satisfactory so now I will say what I wanted ot say without it being attached to any particular form or type of TR.
Preparing is a verb that speaks of getting ready for something or going somewhere. "I'm preparing a lesson for class," "I'm preparing to go to visit Aunt Mabel next week," and "I'm preparing dinner for the whole family this year" give a range of responses that indicate at least part of the range of situations where preparing is an important part.
This Sunday is the feast of Christ the King, traditionally the last Sunday in the season of Pentecost and the last Sunday in the church year, sort of New Year's Eve before December 31st. This year it also marks the beginning of the week of Thanksgiving preparation and celebration. Families are travelling, others are stocking up on essentials like yams, ingredients for stuffing, cranberry sauce and, of course, the main course which in many households is turkey. There are those preparing pies of various flavors, baking breads and rolls. Thursday morning the fever reaches its pitch and by Thursday afternoon it's all over but the cleanup and the doling out of leftovers.
But there's no real let-up. We have to be busy preparing for Christmas that comes in about four more weeks. There are gifts to buy, some to ship, some to be carried, some to stay at home under the tree. There are cookies to bake, parties to plan, decorating to do, cards to send, travel plans to confirm or housecleaning to be done in preparation for arriving company. We prepare right up to Christmas Eve and even Christmas Day is no real respite until late in the day when the presents are all open, dinner is over and the detritus of all the day's activity are cleared away.
Two deep breaths and its time to prepare for New Year's even though the stores have had Valentine's Day cards and candy on the shelves since just past midnight on Christmas Day. Come to think of it, Christmas stuff appeared on the shelves before Labor Day this year, ensuring we have plenty of time to prepare for the extended HallowThankMas season.
In the middle of this, though, is a quiet little season that is almost forgotten by most. Advent is a church season totally dedicated to preparing --- not decorating with lights and baubles, not preparing the larder for orgies of cooking and baking, not preparing lists of gifts to buy or cards to send. The church season reminds us to look past the worldy preparing we are urged, encouraged and cajoled to do and to look within ourselves. We are enjoined to prepare ourselves spiritually for the coming of the Christ Child. It's hard to remember Advent sometimes, especially when images of Santa Claus abound and Christmas carols that we don't sing until Christmas Eve resound through the stores and malls only to be silenced again at midnight on Christmas Eve.
Oddly enough, Advent ends at midnight on Christmas Eve as well. We have prepared outwardly and hopefully inwardly. We have decorated but we have also contemplated. We have sent cards and gifts but we have also read and prayed. We have baked and stirred but we have also thought a bit more about saying "thank you" to someone who holds the door for us or putting a bill in a red kettle instead of just loose change. We notice people are a bit more thoughtful, a bit more cheerful, a bit more generous.
It's the result of preparing --- the internal preparing that opens one up to possibilities which might have escaped us had we not gone through a bit of preparatory work.
During the holidays we spend a great deal of time and energy into preparing and then realize we've reached the culmination and suddenly there's a big void. Ask my friend who just got married in October. She'd spent a year planning, organizing, coordinating and preparing, sometimes driving herself (and those who loved her) absolutely crazy until the day arrived and all the preparation ended. the next morning she woke up and realized there was only a different kind of preparation to do -- preparation for the rest of her life as Mrs M, not Miss M who was going to be married October 10th.
Advent is preparing but the preparing can go on past December 24th at 11:59 pm. There are 12 days to celebrate Christmas ahead when the world has already moved on to Valentine's Day. There are the days of Epiphany that encourage a different kind of inner preparation, that of being aware of God among us and then we find the season of Lent as another preparation, preparing the heart for the dismay and pain of Good Friday and the joy and celebration of Easter. It's a continuous project, if we do it right.
In the midst of the holiday preparing, remember to stop and prepare the inside. It will pay off in the end, and you won't have to wait for the after-holiday sales.
Preparing is a verb that speaks of getting ready for something or going somewhere. "I'm preparing a lesson for class," "I'm preparing to go to visit Aunt Mabel next week," and "I'm preparing dinner for the whole family this year" give a range of responses that indicate at least part of the range of situations where preparing is an important part.
This Sunday is the feast of Christ the King, traditionally the last Sunday in the season of Pentecost and the last Sunday in the church year, sort of New Year's Eve before December 31st. This year it also marks the beginning of the week of Thanksgiving preparation and celebration. Families are travelling, others are stocking up on essentials like yams, ingredients for stuffing, cranberry sauce and, of course, the main course which in many households is turkey. There are those preparing pies of various flavors, baking breads and rolls. Thursday morning the fever reaches its pitch and by Thursday afternoon it's all over but the cleanup and the doling out of leftovers.
But there's no real let-up. We have to be busy preparing for Christmas that comes in about four more weeks. There are gifts to buy, some to ship, some to be carried, some to stay at home under the tree. There are cookies to bake, parties to plan, decorating to do, cards to send, travel plans to confirm or housecleaning to be done in preparation for arriving company. We prepare right up to Christmas Eve and even Christmas Day is no real respite until late in the day when the presents are all open, dinner is over and the detritus of all the day's activity are cleared away.
Two deep breaths and its time to prepare for New Year's even though the stores have had Valentine's Day cards and candy on the shelves since just past midnight on Christmas Day. Come to think of it, Christmas stuff appeared on the shelves before Labor Day this year, ensuring we have plenty of time to prepare for the extended HallowThankMas season.
In the middle of this, though, is a quiet little season that is almost forgotten by most. Advent is a church season totally dedicated to preparing --- not decorating with lights and baubles, not preparing the larder for orgies of cooking and baking, not preparing lists of gifts to buy or cards to send. The church season reminds us to look past the worldy preparing we are urged, encouraged and cajoled to do and to look within ourselves. We are enjoined to prepare ourselves spiritually for the coming of the Christ Child. It's hard to remember Advent sometimes, especially when images of Santa Claus abound and Christmas carols that we don't sing until Christmas Eve resound through the stores and malls only to be silenced again at midnight on Christmas Eve.
Oddly enough, Advent ends at midnight on Christmas Eve as well. We have prepared outwardly and hopefully inwardly. We have decorated but we have also contemplated. We have sent cards and gifts but we have also read and prayed. We have baked and stirred but we have also thought a bit more about saying "thank you" to someone who holds the door for us or putting a bill in a red kettle instead of just loose change. We notice people are a bit more thoughtful, a bit more cheerful, a bit more generous.
It's the result of preparing --- the internal preparing that opens one up to possibilities which might have escaped us had we not gone through a bit of preparatory work.
During the holidays we spend a great deal of time and energy into preparing and then realize we've reached the culmination and suddenly there's a big void. Ask my friend who just got married in October. She'd spent a year planning, organizing, coordinating and preparing, sometimes driving herself (and those who loved her) absolutely crazy until the day arrived and all the preparation ended. the next morning she woke up and realized there was only a different kind of preparation to do -- preparation for the rest of her life as Mrs M, not Miss M who was going to be married October 10th.
Advent is preparing but the preparing can go on past December 24th at 11:59 pm. There are 12 days to celebrate Christmas ahead when the world has already moved on to Valentine's Day. There are the days of Epiphany that encourage a different kind of inner preparation, that of being aware of God among us and then we find the season of Lent as another preparation, preparing the heart for the dismay and pain of Good Friday and the joy and celebration of Easter. It's a continuous project, if we do it right.
In the midst of the holiday preparing, remember to stop and prepare the inside. It will pay off in the end, and you won't have to wait for the after-holiday sales.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Preparing
Since I'm going to be using this as a TR in a week or so, I wanted to try this out on myself first.
The word to be considered is "Preparing." For me, it denotes a getting ready for something, planning and executing things necessary to accomplish something --- like cooking Thanksgiving dinner, the season of advent and all the commotion of buying gifts, trimming trees, hosting parties and baking cookies for Christmas.
Who was involved when I was feeling a sense of preparing? Mama for the most part but also me at various times. Buying certain items of food (a turkey, a ham, apples, grapes, celery and miniature marshmallow, polishing the silver and making sure the linen tablecloth was spotless and perfectly ironed were Mama's traditions. Mine followed some of them although my tablecloth wasn't white linen.
What image comes to mind about feeling the sense of preparing? Chopping apples and the other ingredients for the salad, soaking the Christmas ham, stuffing the turkey for Thanksgiving, having the house smell of spices and seasoning, not to mention the scent of cedar from the fresh tree every year.
Where does this come from and where is it found in society? It comes from family tradition and also from everything from Saturday Evening Post covers to contemporary advertising. We are programmed to prepare for an ideal celebration with all the proper accoutrements. Anything less is second-best, a failure and may possibly warp our children and grandchildren for life.
When does this come up in the Bible, lives of saints, hymns, etc? The idea of preparing shows up for me in the story of the Wedding at Canaan. The bridegroom's family forgot or failed to secure enough wine for all the guests and so were left in the embarasssing situation of not having enough to go around. Preparing also shows up in Isaiah, especially the parts we hear during Advent, itself a season of preparing as is the season of Lent. Perhaps preparing for Christmas or Thanksgiving Day aren't on the same plane as celebrating Advent or moving through Lent, but still, preparing is a very important component.
Why is this manifest in our lives? I look to tradition -- family, faith and societal -- to give structure and meaning to life. Preparing for something, like the steps of cooking Thanksgiving Dinner or getting ready for Christmas, gives a sense of being part of a community activity even if the communal activity takes place only in the home. Celebrating Advent, itself a spiritual preparing for the Feast of the Nativity, encourages us to think more deeply than what to get Aunt Mabel or whether the family will all be comfortable at dinner if we invite Susie's boyfriend with the earring and tattoos that definitely mark him as an 'outsider'. As preparing for Christmas is an external event, so Advent is preparing in an internal way.
How might God redeem any negatives in this? I think that instead of God redeeming any negatives, I need to remember to put God back in to the preparing process.
What have I learned for the next time I feel a sense of preparing? I need to remember to do the important preparing -- the internal preparation -- even if the more visible, external preparing doesn't get done.
The word to be considered is "Preparing." For me, it denotes a getting ready for something, planning and executing things necessary to accomplish something --- like cooking Thanksgiving dinner, the season of advent and all the commotion of buying gifts, trimming trees, hosting parties and baking cookies for Christmas.
Who was involved when I was feeling a sense of preparing? Mama for the most part but also me at various times. Buying certain items of food (a turkey, a ham, apples, grapes, celery and miniature marshmallow, polishing the silver and making sure the linen tablecloth was spotless and perfectly ironed were Mama's traditions. Mine followed some of them although my tablecloth wasn't white linen.
What image comes to mind about feeling the sense of preparing? Chopping apples and the other ingredients for the salad, soaking the Christmas ham, stuffing the turkey for Thanksgiving, having the house smell of spices and seasoning, not to mention the scent of cedar from the fresh tree every year.
Where does this come from and where is it found in society? It comes from family tradition and also from everything from Saturday Evening Post covers to contemporary advertising. We are programmed to prepare for an ideal celebration with all the proper accoutrements. Anything less is second-best, a failure and may possibly warp our children and grandchildren for life.
When does this come up in the Bible, lives of saints, hymns, etc? The idea of preparing shows up for me in the story of the Wedding at Canaan. The bridegroom's family forgot or failed to secure enough wine for all the guests and so were left in the embarasssing situation of not having enough to go around. Preparing also shows up in Isaiah, especially the parts we hear during Advent, itself a season of preparing as is the season of Lent. Perhaps preparing for Christmas or Thanksgiving Day aren't on the same plane as celebrating Advent or moving through Lent, but still, preparing is a very important component.
Why is this manifest in our lives? I look to tradition -- family, faith and societal -- to give structure and meaning to life. Preparing for something, like the steps of cooking Thanksgiving Dinner or getting ready for Christmas, gives a sense of being part of a community activity even if the communal activity takes place only in the home. Celebrating Advent, itself a spiritual preparing for the Feast of the Nativity, encourages us to think more deeply than what to get Aunt Mabel or whether the family will all be comfortable at dinner if we invite Susie's boyfriend with the earring and tattoos that definitely mark him as an 'outsider'. As preparing for Christmas is an external event, so Advent is preparing in an internal way.
How might God redeem any negatives in this? I think that instead of God redeeming any negatives, I need to remember to put God back in to the preparing process.
What have I learned for the next time I feel a sense of preparing? I need to remember to do the important preparing -- the internal preparation -- even if the more visible, external preparing doesn't get done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)