Rethinking Christmas

Advent season marked the time I started curling my toes in church. As a kid, it always came as such a surprise that Sunday after Thanksgiving that we could begin talking about Christmas already. With thrilling anticipation, the pastor had my attention, knowing that presents were soon on the way.

But really he wasn't talking about those kind of presents, he was talking about the one big present, Jesus. Advent season meant lighting a candle each Sunday and preparing our hearts and minds for that amazing birthday party. Who doesn't love a party?

Christmas stopped becoming a joy when I became a grown up and realized all the wonder and magic was up to me. I was the one who would be shopping, cooking, cleaning, preparing. Along with that work, came the heavy guilt about all the expense, measuring up and giving enough. But was the wonder all up to me, really? Or did I simply decide that?

One of my favorite daily devotion websites is called "Following the Star" at www.d365.org. I think the author says it best when she writes:

"I step into this season with an open heart, O God. As I wait for you, surprise me with the hope of Christmas that will fill the empty places. Amen."

That is my prayer this season. I remember the child-like, toe-curling wonder of Advent, not for the presents, but for the open heart and the hope it brings. To remember that I can choose to focus on the guilt or I can choose to focus on the star.

Loser 101

Winning is overrated. Losing might be the new "it."

Lately I have been watching a lot of losing at little league baseball. As a mom, I have run out of cheery things to say. But to truly appreciate winning, I think you need to lose a lot.

I see my son tap his pitcher on the head and give words of encouragement. He never would have done that before had he not known what it’s like to walk 20 batters in a row. I see him cheer his teammates on for the tiny victories, even though they may be down by 10 runs. He has come to know how important little things can be. Little things done well, strung together make a good game.

Then I see my kid throw a perfect pitch. He would not know it’s true perfection if he hadn’t thrown a lot of awful pitches. I watch him swagger back to the mound. I witness his confidence soar. Only he and I know how many afternoons we have spent throwing that ball back and forth. All those days where we mimicked plays, with pretend stress-filled moments. Mom was the umpire those days as I belted out my best impersonation of a passionate blue yelling “STRRRRRikeee.”

Now he hears the real thing.

Winning is sweet. But it’s in the losing that we come to know it’s taste. I think losing well takes more character and guts than winning with style. And that makes it not so bad after all.

An E-mail from the Big Guy

Recently my husband and I were enjoying a sporting event on TV. We couldn’t help but notice most of the fans were not watching, but were looking down at their phones the entire time. Part of me was completely annoyed, but part of me understands.

There is something wonderful about connection. I find e-mail is the first thing I want to do in the morning and the last thing I want to do at night. I know it’s ridiculous. That got me thinking about what God would have to say about e-mail. What would He say in Facebook updates? “Just healed someone. Prevented natural disaster. Whew! LOL”

I think it’s embarrassing how much I like e-mail and texting and the Internet. Truly, what does all this add to my life? It made me wonder what God would have to say to me in an e-mail.

I imagined it would go something like this:

Hi there, God here.

Just so you know, I think you are great. Do you have any idea how much I love you? Well, it’s a lot. In case you were wondering, you don’t have to earn my love. It’s just there and will always be there.

You are doing such a fantastic job as a mom and wife – thanks for all the ways you love your family. Also, last week when you stopped to ask that family if they needed help on the highway, I thought that rocked.

Now get back to bed and get some rest. You have a big day ahead and I have some surprises planned for you.

Lastly, you are skinny enough.

Love you,

G

PS There’s more joy in being present to life, than updating your Facebook page.

Canning Anyone?

I’ve been thinking about canning lately. Yes, canning – think grandmas with winged aprons and a beautiful pantry filled with rows and rows of goodness. Somehow the idea of lining my shelves with summer’s bounty and sweet, red-checked jars sounds appealing.

This week at the grocery store, I discovered Canning Magazine – has it always been there? Usually I’m studying fashion magazine covers, diet features and celebrity gossip. And now, canning.

I can’t quite put my finger on the canning whim. Is it the fact that I’m getting older? Maybe it’s a longing for simple things. Right now the world feels pretty go-go, zoomy to me. School’s starting, the economy is crazy and the politicians even more so. Everyone needs something from me – parent meetings, broken faucets, socks with holes in them. I’m overwhelmed by it all.

Now would be a good time to visit grandma’s house and sit on the porch swing with her. After a nice talk, she says “why don’t you take home a jar of jam to go with the bread I made you?” I smile and nod and head to the pantry where I find treasure that grandma has lovingly stowed away from the summer garden. That sounds nice.

Too bad I don’t have that grandma. But the idea stays with me. There is a certain grounding in caring for your family that grandma’s generation knew well. Spending an afternoon making jam could be exactly what is needed. I think when the world spins crazy, I like to focus on home. I can’t control any of the chaos outside of it, but I can care for my nest.

Inspiration Surprise

Yesterday I was inspired in a coffee shop bathroom.

Even writing that sounds really odd, but it's true. There I was in a honky tonk bathroom in the North Carolina mountains at the local coffee shop. The day was ordinary, the weather was pretty ordinary, most of all I felt extremely ordinary.

Out of the corner of my eye, I briefly caught a lonely looking picture on the wall. I glanced quickly and was ready to walk out the door. But I didn't. I paused and studied it a bit. It was a rainy day sort of picture that provoked some serious melancholy thinking. The focal point of the painting was a glossy cross -- a hopeful contrast against the sad backdrop. Next to it in writing so tiny you had to strain your eyes to read this:

"You are mine for all time;

Nothing can separate you from my love.

Since I have invested My Very Life in you,

be well assured that I will take care of you.

When your mind goes into neutral

and your thoughts flow freely, you tend to feel anxious and alone.

Your focus becomes problem solving.

To get your mind back into gear, just turn to toward Me.

Bringing yourself and your problems into My Presence.

This made me stop right in my tracks. Words and images so powerful, I had to capture them. Have you ever had one of those moments that just sort of wakes you up? This was mine. What else have I missed because I wasn't paying attention? There is so much more to life if I could shake off my ordinary glasses to see it.

PS. I later learned that the artist is Dawne Raulet, a Southern mom who chucked her 15 years as a stockbroker to follow her dreams with art. She has a great story -- and I almost missed it, along with her beautiful work.

Check her out at http://dawneraulet.com/.

Doing Hard Things

When it comes to doing hard things, I'm a wimp.

Recently, I was invited to participate in a church mission project for homeless people. My first response was "no way." I'm the kind of person who would rather support from afar. This is a quality I am not very proud of, but it is the truth. It is much easier to donate things like ketchup, collect canned goods or give away blankets. But to actually look people in the eye as you hand them a meal is very different.

So when this project kept coming up over and over, I knew I needed to "man up." This was not a smiley decision, this was a "do it scared" sort of time.

We pulled up on the designated spot to see hundreds of homeless people gathered in anticipation of a picnic meal. To say I was terrified to even get out of car was an understatement. My wimp self wanted to drive away. But luckily my brave self prevailed as my son and I made our way to the picnic.

I'm so glad we didn't miss it. We spent the afternoon talking to all sorts of people -- people just like me, but who had fallen to difficult circumstances. People that were drug addicts, jobless, broken, unable to return to their home countries. I practiced my elementary Spanish with those that didn't speak English. I introduced men with tatooos and piercings all over their face to my son. We even sang songs with those that felt like singing. It was a total grab bag of experiences.

After that day, I felt emotionally raw. The most surprising thing was that people just wanted to tell me their story. I wasn't there to change them, to do anything but to listen, be a friend, give a meal. Most were grateful for someone who would simply hear them, to matter in this world. In that, I am no different.They may sleep in a different place and have dark experiences to tell. But we all long for the same thing -- to be significant in this life.

If you want to find out more about serving the homeless population, visit www.lovewins.info.

Or for a really powerful article about "What it means to be homeless" -- check this out:

http://lovewins.info/2008/10/what-being-homeless-means/.

Save Me Emily Post

Teaching my son manners has made me a mom vigilante.

Like a sniper stakeout, I am constantly surveying the landscape and pouncing on any opportunity to remind and practice manners. I sit at the dinner table and wait, ready with the "where does your napkin go?" or the classic "what do you do with your dish?" and the kicker "did you ask to be excused?"

Obnoxious, I know. But how else do the kids learn the stuff but in the heat of the moment? I've decided that with enough practice, it will come natural. But it hasn't yet. Maybe it's me or maybe I'm doing it wrong.

Everyone else's kids appear to "yes, ma'am" me with no problem. Other people's children show gratitude without the whiny prompting I give to the tone "now what do you say?" Gosh, I hate that. Maybe it's just the fact that I have a boy and the Y chromosome doesn't think like that.

Lately I have made it my mission. I'm reading "365 Manners Kids Should Know" by Sheryl Eberly -- Nancy Reagan's etiquette guru. It reads like a daily devotion with today's entry of "how to eat tacos." Not exactly what I was after, but always helpful to know how to manage those pesky things. I figure if Nancy's go-to gal says it, I probably need to work on it. At least it will mix up my vigilante style.

I read in the book that Ms. Eberly told her children they would never be invited to the White House if they had bad manners. I like that. In fact, after today my son will be ready to eat tacos with Mr. President.

PS. If you have any good tips about teaching kids manners, please share! I'd love to hear your ideas...