Isn't There Anyone Who Knows What Christmas is All About?

A Christmas meditation for our friends at camp, at our annual Christmas party.  

"...the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name Jesus." Luke 1:30-31

“Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel, which is translated, 'God with us.' "  Matthew 1:23

Christmas is the celebration of God with us.
We celebrate the birth of God's Son,
of God himself.
But God was with us before that night.

An angel came to Mary,
and told her she would conceive
and give birth to a baby,
and He would be God Himself.
God came into the world,
not on a celebrated night in Bethlehem,
but roughly nine months before,
when He slipped into the womb of an insignificant young girl from Nazareth.

God was with us,
in flesh,
on the earth,
growing quietly in a dark and secret place.
The world may not have known,
but Mary knew.
And those who were closest to Mary knew.
Angels came to Joseph,
and her cousin Elizabeth,
and Elizabeth's husband Zacharias,
and even the unborn baby who was John the Baptist
knew that God was with us.

Fear not, God is with us.
The days passed.
Fear not, God is with us.
The weeks passed.
Fear not, God is with us.
The months passed.

"Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was with child. So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered."  Luke 2:4-6

God did not come unexpectedly.
Mary's days were completed for her to be delivered.
When a woman has carried a baby until that day of completion,
she is not surprised by his arrival.
She may be frightened and weary and excited....
but she is not surprised.
Mary was young and healthy,
but she was also enormously, painfully pregnant,
traveling far from the safety and comfort of her home.
It is likely that she and Joseph hoped beyond hope,
that this baby would see fit to stay put
until they had completed their errand and returned home.
But of course He did not.
The day was upon them,
and nothing would hold it back.

"And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn."  Luke 2:7

God came into the wide, wide world,
and found there was no room for Him.
A young woman labored and birthed Him
in a tiny cave devoted to sheltering livestock.
She had awaited His arrival,
anticipated the possibility that He would come
somewhere along their journey.
She had carried the swaddling cloths
with her,
just in case.
But there was no room in the inn.
Every bed was filled,
and so the infant was wrapped carefully,
and placed in a feeding trough for safekeeping.

And it was enough.
He was small,
and vulnerable,
and in His humanity,
unaware.
Like any baby,
He cried,
and nursed,
and slept.
God is with us,
it was enough.

 "Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid.  Then the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.'

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying:

 'Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!' "  Luke 2:8-14

I had joked to a few of you ahead of time,
that I would read this passage aloud and say,
"That's what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown."
Then we could all sing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing"
with our heads tilted upward,
and shout "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown",
and we'd be done.

And I was of course joking.
It couldn't possibly be that simple.
Or short.

I was thinking of all of you,
as I read through these verses.
I've heard them read and taught so many times
I can't guess the number.
Ideas jump out at me.
I've heard it taught
that God came amidst the busyness of a Roman census,
and how I should be careful not to be too busy
to notice that God has come.
I've heard it taught that God came,
and there was no room for him in the inn,
and how I should be careful
to make room for God in my life.
I have heard it taught
that angels came,
and told their message of great joy to the shepherds,
because the rich important people of the world
weren't listening for their news,
and how I should be careful not to get too rich or important,
lest I miss that good news too.

And the thing is this.
I think that's all hogwash,
and it takes the punch out of a message that is supposed to be good tidings of great joy. 

God is with us.
He chose to come when people were too busy to take much notice,
mainly because that's how people are.
There would never be a time or a place
in all of human history
when people were not wrapped up in their own cares and concerns.
He came at the most inconvenient of times and places,
because that's what our times and places are.
He comes during finals week.
He comes when we have a big move,
or a job deadline.
He comes when the car breaks down.
And He comes when we are at the bedside of a sick loved one.
God is with us.

God is with us.
He chose to come when there was no room for Him.
Because there is never room for Him.
We don't know how to make room,
and so He comes,
and fills whatever space He is given,
even if that space is very small and very dirty.
God is with us.

God is with us.
He chose to split the night sky,
in a certain place,
at a certain time.
Just beneath that split between heaven and earth,
were shepherds keeping watch.
But it could have just as easily been city folks on a rooftop,
or nomads with their camels in the desert.
It could have been men or women,
rich or poor,
young or old,
because the angels' news was for ALL people.
God is with us.
A glorious God that wants to give us peace,
and love for one another.
By being with us.

Dear ones,
I know your lives are busy, and crowded, and complicated.
You are waiting for God to come,
when the dust settles,
when you get things in order.
You are feeling guilty because you want God to come
but you feel as though you haven't made room for Him.
God is with us.
In all of our tight filthy spaces,
God is with us.
And wherever we find ourselves,
He never stops wanting to be with us.
That's what Christmas is all about.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Dear friends from the adoption world, I don't post much about adoption anymore.  Life has changed, and what used to be front and center, is now a little more peripheral.  Life with my children...bio and adopted both, is now just life.  It is hectic and hard, wonderful and wearing.  Issues related to adoption still impact us tremendously, but they are less obvious.  Like a mammoth underwater structure that everything must flow around, it influences the currents of our lives, though it may not be visible at the surface.

In light of this, I have struggled recently with the thoughts in my head, uncertain where to put them.  I have questioned the wisdom of putting them here.  I have tried to steer this blog along a course that is gentle and positive.  For the most part, life is just that.  But Christmas is approaching and with it comes a flood of raw emotion that is hard to ignore.

I have always loved Christmas.  As a small child I delighted in every single part of the holiday season.  I loved the cheesy store displays, the music and decorations.  I loved the special foods, and church services, and school programs.  As soon as I was old enough to craft and create, I was busily making gifts for everyone I knew.

When I got married, I devoted huge amounts of time and energy to the Christmas season.  I cooked and baked elaborate feasts and platters of baked goods.  I decorated every nook and cranny.  I played Christmas music day and night, and never grew tired of it.  I sewed matching Christmas outfits for the children, and had them photographed.  We caroled, and sang in cantatas, and dressed up as angels and wise men.  Gifts were made and purchased, and carefully wrapped and adorned.  To me, it truly was "the most wonderful time of the year".

And now I dread Christmas.  At best, the thought of it wearies me.  At worst, it causes a sense of anxiety and panic to rise.

I have lots of friends in the adoption world, and there is something they have named a traumaversary.  Which is to say, that even if we don't mark it on the calendar, trauma marks itself on the "calendar" of us.  The mind and body somehow know that special time of year when they were thrown into chaos, and they will let us know, even if we don't register it on a cognitive level.

Several years ago, four little girls came to live with us, five days before Christmas.  It seemed so right, to get them home before the holiday, and so we pushed so hard it hurt, and we made it happen.  I still remember that first Christmas morning.  I felt shell shocked.  I had barely slept for a week, juggling the unfathomable needs of the six children and trying to prepare for a most special Christmas.

We sat together in the living room, and the contrast was stark.  Four little girls screamed and squealed as they mowed through piles of gifts, often trampling one gift to get to the next.  But so many people had lovingly contributed to making this time special for them.  There was something so magical about four little girls finding their home at Christmas.  At the same time, two little boys sat quietly and watched.  Almost no one had remembered that they were the exact same ages as the little girls, and enjoyed presents as well.

That same day I remember feeling a foreshadowing of what was to be.  As the children swam through masses of gifts, I felt the disapproval of visiting relatives watching the proceeding.  Unspoken words hung in the air, and they said, "What sort of savages are these?  They will require firm discipline."  At the same time, dozens of absent gift givers also crowded the room.  They had strong opinions as well, and mouthed the words, "If only you love them enough, they will be just fine."

For the next year we dangled from that wildly swinging pendulum of strong discipline and strong love, and like every other year, at the end of it, the holiday season came round again.  This  second Christmas came with one less little girl, and a deep deep sense of failure.  The house was scarcely decorated, with just a lighted creche in the fireplace and stockings lining the mantle.  Dinner was plain shepherd's pie made with gifted venison.  There were no visitors.  The pile of gifts surrounding the fireplace was modest.

Every child exclaimed over the perfectness of their gifts, the deliciousness of the meal, the beauty of the creche when the lights were low.  But over the quiet voices of the children, I could still hear the voices of the uninvited guests in that room.  Voices that said I had not been consistent enough in discipline, committed enough in love.  And I found that although the chaos had quieted, I still felt shell shocked.  Because the days leading up to that very special day had been fraught with every sort of crazy-making I could imagine, with the efforts of my children to destroy the very thing they so longed for and looked forward to.

The following year we finalized adoptions just before the holidays...sealed with a once in a lifetime family trip.  And so my children set about trying to destroy something even bigger than the holiday season.  They determined to destroy the bonds of family.  In an attempt to prove that nothing was forever, and most especially a family's love, they ramped up the crazy-making to unimaginable levels.  Shell shocked was the order of the day...and of the entire holiday season, and of many months to follow.

And somehow in my mind, the backdrop for all of this is sparkling lights and decked halls.  In my mind, the soundtrack for all of this is carols and Christmas movies.  The smells of ginger cookies and roasting turkey make my anxiety rise.  The thought of getting everyone dressed in holiday best and loaded into the car for the drive to Christmas Eve service, makes me want to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.

Years have come and gone.  Christmas isn't the crazy-making time it once was.  It's actually pretty peaceful and pleasant for the most part.  The family has expectations of comfort and joy, and I work hard to deliver.  We all do.  But the holidays are not the same as they once were, and neither are any of us.  Life is, most days, gentle and positive, but there is still that mammoth beneath the surface, and at certain seasons it can cause ripples if one knows where and when to look.

More Buzz

"Jews say grace at the end of the meal. I do not feel we are less thankful than those who say it at the beginning."

Blessings to the commenter  who pointed  this out.  I did not mean to make a statement of superiority, like saying grace before a meal gives me the moral high ground.  It was an analogy, and all of them break down at a point.  

Rituals of thankfulness are not locked in stone.  I may give thanks before the meal, or after.  I may say a blessing over the children as they leave the house, or as they return.  I may express my gratitude in the morning as I rise, or in the evening as I fall into my bed.

I was simply challenging myself to examine my own routines and understand where I am so abysmally lacking in gratitude.  Where I am so prone to attach requirements to a situation, in order to be thankful.  I am the child that says, "And if the food is yucky, we don't have to say grace!"  

....which doesn't sound anything like this beautiful Jewish blessing I found in my searching.

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who, in His goodness, provides sustenance for the entire world with grace, with kindness, and with mercy. He gives food to all flesh, for His kindness is everlasting. Through His great goodness to us continuously we do not lack food, and may we never lack food, for the sake of His great Name. For He, benevolent God, provides nourishment and sustenance for all, does good to all, and prepares food for all His creatures whom He has created, as it is said: You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing. Blessed are You, Lord, who provides food for all."

I could certainly benefit from a recitation of such a prayer at the end of all my meals.

Thankfulness...What's the Buzz?

Yesterday I was in a great deal of pain.  We drove to the doctor's office, hoping for some relief.  For distraction, in the car, on the way, beloved husband and I were discussing some things we had read and watched lately, concerning thankfulness.  Gratefulness, thanksgiving, is all the buzz right now.  People are trying to incorporate it into their daily lives, and so of course it is running all over my FB news feed....most especially this month, with Thanksgiving (the holiday) on its way, but also before that for quite some time.

When we arrived, we sat in the waiting room, and I thumbed through a magazine, that announced the benefit of thankfulness as one of its cover pieces.  I was anxious to read it, since it seemed to continue the discussion we had been having in the car.  I wondered it if would add anything to the buzz I had been hearing for some time now, and it did.

The thing about thankfulness, is that it seems so obvious.  I did a bible word search the other day, and almost every time you find the word thanks, thankful, thanksgiving....you find the words joy, goodness, mercy, grace.  And of course it makes perfect sense.  God gives us the good stuff, and our natural response is thanksgiving.

Or, not so much.  Because seriously, if that's the case, Americans should be the happiest, most joyful, most thankful people on the planet.  And even more than that, American children should be.  But we're not, and they're not.  We might acknowledge that we should be, but we are definitely not.

You say, Wait!  The new information coming in says we have it all backwards, oddly enough.  Being thankful isn't a byproduct, not by a long shot.  Being thankful is the fuel.  Happiness, and comfort, and blessing don't produce thankfulness....instead thankfulness produces those things.  Or perhaps it just removes the scales from our eyes, and lets us see what has been there all along.  And perhaps when we can see the beauty of our own lives, we are free to make more of it.

The piece that I read yesterday, spoke of how unnatural this process is.  How quickly we as human creatures move from gratefulness to apathy to complaint.  The author spoke of a device, to help safeguard against this natural progression.  She said that we must create rituals of thankfulness.  She freely acknowledged that this was not an original idea.  She pointed to the ritual of saying grace before a meal.

It made me think of how many times I have heard both children and adults alike, advocate for switching grace to the end of the meal.  Whenever some clever soul has brought this novel concept up for review, I have always heard the same points covered.  That we should give thanks when we are "really thankful", implying that when we have enjoyed our meal and filled ourselves, that is the point of true thankfulness.  And it has never gone unmentioned, that if the meal does not meet our expectations, or is in some way deemed unenjoyable, we can opt out of thankfulness.  This is always said as a joke, and followed by a round of laughter, but it is no joke.  It is the truest part of the discussion.

This is how we live our lives.  We pull up to the table and dig in to the meal spread before us.  When we are full, we push ourselves back, and think of what comes next.  We forget to give thanks for the meal that was placed before us, and the fullness of our bellies.  Even worse, we critique the meal.  And as we rise from the table, we wonder about the vague sense of dissatisfaction we carry with us.

The author of the piece wrote of how she had been intentionally creating rituals of thankfulness in her own life, and of course they were unique to her particular situation, but the concept was sound and easily applied elsewhere.  So today I went back to my bible word search, and I noticed something I had missed previously.  Before, I had skimmed over all of the references in the early books.  The ones that talked about making sacrifices and offerings.  In my mind, these verses didn't apply.  They were just some ancient code that I didn't follow or even know much about.  But this time, as I scrolled through dozens of references, I realized that I was looking at just what the buzz is all about.

Thanksgiving is a sacrifice.  It is laying the table like an altar.  We carefully lay the cloth, place the dishes, bring the food that we've prepared.  We call the household members to the table, and everyone finds their place.  And then we join together in the ritual of thankfulness.  Our eyes are closed to the beauty of the table.  We hope that the food will be nourishing and enjoyable.  We hope for enough.  But how can we know?  And yet we give thanks.

May we realize that we pull up to the table a hundred, nay, perhaps a thousand times a day.  May we stop mistaking the food on the table for the fuel of life.  Instead, may we learn to lay the table like an altar and pause to give thanks, every single time.   

I Ask Thee to Stay

"The Tree" when it came to live with us in 2004

The fall days are getting shorter, and the nights are getting colder.  The trees are dropping their leaves, and I have a burning need to cook apples, and pumpkins, and cranberries.  At this time of year, my soundtrack is Christmas music.  I know Christmas is still a long way off, but I just love the old familiar songs so much, that I always jump the gun and begin playing them early.  I love almost all of it.  I love the sacred hymns, and the silly secular stuff.  I'm very partial to Bing Crosby and Amy Grant.  With a little bit of Elvis and Dolly.

When I was a little girl, we had a small silver Christmas tree.  We slid the silver "branches" out of paper sleeves, and stuck them into holes in what amounted to a broomstick painted silver.  Then we hung shiny colored balls on it, and we were done.  We didn't even have the creaking color wheel.  It was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen.  I used to lay on the couch in early December and ponder its beauty, and vow to myself, that I would stay on that couch, in that very spot, until Christmas morning.

My parents would put a stack of Christmas albums on the record player, and I would lay there squinting my eyes to blur the colors of the shining tree, and listening to the words of the songs.  I loved them all.  I couldn't choose a favorite.  They all evoked emotion that I associated with different facets of the holidays.  They still do.

The other day I found myself humming a song that has been relegated to the children.  I loved that song as  child.  It poured itself into my heart and comforted me.  

"I love Thee Lord Jesus, look down from the sky,

And stay by my cradle 'til morning is nigh."

It spoke to me, a small child, laying on a scratchy couch, under a granny square afghan, that Jesus could see me, see that I loved Him, and stand watch over me through the night.  Because I was a child.  Because I was small, and vulnerable.

"Be near me Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay,

Close by me forever, and love me I pray."

The little child in their cradle, looking up at Jesus, who is keeping watch.  A stroke of brilliance.  Be near me always.  I don't know it yet, but every bed will feel like a cradle, and I will always  be small and vulnerable.

Years will come and go, and I will still wrap myself in an afghan in the quiet house, and squint my eyes, and see that the ragged tree is beautiful.  I will still lean into the season of "fear not" and "great joy".  

I will still sit on the edges of the grownup conversations and feel uncertain, and worried that someone will ask me a question.  I will see someone beautiful, and I will want to touch them, but I will tuck my hands behind my back instead.  

I will laugh and be silly, and feel as though the world is filled to the brim with funny things.  I will weep, and believe that my tears will have no end.  

I will look into a mirror and expect to see my own childish image, and instead there will be a woman with lines on her face and snow in her hair.  She knows it now, but sometimes she forgets, that every bed will feel like a cradle, and I will always be small and vulnerable.

Trust Fall

A very long time ago, I used to work as a facilitator at our camp challenge course.  Where we used to zip through the trees, and balance on wires.  Sometimes we did trust falls, but mostly I stayed away from those platforms, unless I had a seriously focused group on board.  In the beginning, I used to think trust falls were simple...almost too easy and cliche.  But then I took a challenge course training, and I never looked at them the same again.

The first thing the training did, was make me become the faller.  Before that, falling was purely hypothetical to me.  But before we were allowed to fall, we had to understand several things about falling.  We needed to know that fallers varied in their levels of trust.  Some fallers were anxious from the moment they stepped onto the platform, and no amount of coaxing from the catchers would change that.  Some fallers were completely trusting until the moment they launched themselves backward into space.  But all fallers had a moment of panic as they hovered in midair.  

It was an actual phenomenon, that the brain would signal the body in that moment, "I should have been caught by now!"  In that millisecond, the brain would scream to the faller's body that the catchers had failed, and they were headed straight for the ground.  

In this moment it was critical that the faller know this, and be prepared for this.  If they were not, they would pull their hands from the carefully configured and knitted position, and give a catcher a black eye or a bloody nose.  Or they would jackknife in an attempt to save themselves, and cut through the mesh of waiting arms with a rocketing posterior.  Knowing wasn't a guarantee, but it helped.

We also had to learn to be catchers.  On the ground, behind the platform, we would stand in two lines, facing one another.  Our arms were outstretched in front of us, alternating with the arms of the catchers opposite us.  From the platform the faller would see two lines of upturned, encouraging faces, and one line of woven arms.  We would not fail the faller.  One person was not strong enough to catch them, but all of us woven together, could cushion their fall, and set them softly on their feet once again.

In a perfect trust falling world, that is true.  Most of the time that is true.  But not always.  As facilitators, we were always instructed to position ourselves at the place where the faller's head would land.  And then we were told the truth.  The catchers don't always catch.  They mean to catch, but somehow they don't.  No one really knows why, but if one person pulls a hand away suddenly to slap a biting mosquito, instinctively the whole group may also withdraw their hands.  One moment there, and the next moment gone.

As a facilitator, it was our job to watch for this, and to literally throw ourselves under the faller if this were to happen.  At all cost, save their head.

Life is a lot like a trust fall.  Relationships are a lot like a trust fall.  That's why we do them.  They give us a tangible, discussable adrenaline rush.  People always have a lot to talk about during the debriefing time after trust falls.

In life I have been both the catcher and the faller.  

In life I have been one set of hands in a woven line, catching and setting down gently.  I have been the catcher who took a hit to the face when the faller panicked.  I have been the catcher who became distracted in an instant, and pulled my hands away, I know not why.  In life I have taken a dive to protect a head or two.  Not often, but it has happened.  

In life I have fallen and felt many arms bear me up.  In life I always, always panic, certain that I will not be caught.  I have flung my arms up to protect myself, and taken out more than a few catchers.  I have tucked my body in self protection, and made myself into a dangerous missile.  Very rarely in life, I have fallen and hit the dirt.  But always there has been someone who saved my head.  They ended up on the ground with me, bruised and dirty, but we were saved.

To this day, my blood begins to rise loudly in my ears, whether I am squaring the backs of my heels with the edge of the platform, or standing on the ground with my arms outstretched.  To fall or to catch, either one is filled with exhilaration and risk, unpredictable enough to never become easy or cliche.

RIP Baby Mouse

I did the best I could, but I'm a very poor mouse mother.  After four days, his eyes were still closed, so he was very, very young.  Too young.  Here's a post from way back when, that explains why I get myself in these situations.  And please, no more mice for awhile.  Feedings every hour 24/7?  I need to recover.