the path to christmas

“breath of heaven, hold me together.

 be forever near me, breath of heaven.

breath of heaven, light in my darkness

pour over me your holiness

for you are holy, breath of heaven”

-Mary’s Song.

I have decided this Advent, it’s Sally’s song.    I’ll share it with Mary.   I hadn’t heard it since last Christmas.   But it felt like I hadn’t heard it - I mean really heard it-  in years.   Too numb at Christmas’s recent perhaps to really ingest it.   So tears rolled when Amy Grant sung it Tuesday night at the lighting of the green.  

so I decided with Christmas lights to lead the way and Amy Grant to sing to me (mixed with a little symphony, Handel’s messiah, a christmas play and christmas choirs).  With Mary, a host of angels and other faithful company , I’ll do Christmas this year even if I’m not with Grandma.   And even if I cry all along the way!   My very own little Christmas.  

trying to throw your arms around the world.

I bet if I put my mind to it I could find a u2 song title or at least lyric for every post I write.   the alternative this evening was lady with a spinning head  but I went for my favorite of the two. 

The themes are all there.   me,  world,  spinning and  trying to catch all three.  

I still have these days (sometimes just moments) when it seems like the rest of the world is spinning and I am just standing watching it go by;   these days when it seems like the rest of the world is  moving along and I am simultaneously stuck in the mud miles behind or out of breath from trying to catch up;  these days when it seems like the rest of the world is changing and growing and I am still dormant and fallow.   

the lady with the spinning head trying to throw her arms around the world: it’s a lot for one day.  

Gravedigger.

so I stood by a graveside today.

I stood as the ministers offered scriptures and prayers.

I stood as the grandsons wept.

I stood as we were dismissed.

I stood and I hugged.

I stood as the family slowly left.

And then I stood in the quiet.

I stood as the gravediggers, the undertakers, these holy men finished our prayers silently and honorably with shovels. 

I know all too well there are no words that are enough at a graveside.   

Today as I stood, I watched.

I watched these gravediggers, these ministers of God, take over where we, who are professionals of words of hope and comfort, left off and finish ceaselessly, carefully, silently the prayers for those we love but alas can see no more.  

the way the other half live.

Today I didn’t get to church for 7am.

I also didn’t stay until 12:45ish.

And I didn’t return to church at 3 to leave again by 8.

Nope. 

This afternoon I left church and went out to lunch.  

Then I came home and I made a fire.

Then I faffed about the house all afternoon.  

I took a long walk in the rain with Bugs.

This felt like sabbath.

A little closer to the way that sabbath is supposed to be, I think. 

The way that my Friday’s off should probably go.

So this is how the other half do Sundays; how they do their Sabbath.

At least I hope so.  I hope this is how they do it.  

Because it was nice.    really nice.  

the call of the table.

so last night I got to thinking.

America gets something right at Thanksgiving.   Something that we seem to forget the rest of the year.   

Now I’ve always appreciated Thanksgiving for the days off.   Not being American and not having the extended family this side of the Atlantic, I confess, I love Thanksiving because of the break, the rest it brings - not so much for all the turkey, stuffing and why are their marshmallows on the potatoes side of it - but because for the last 24 hours I have rested.   I have been quiet.   I have spent time with books and with Bugs.    I have spent time walking through all the fabulous reds, pinks, oranges, greens and yellows and noticing which colors still hang to some of the trees.     Yes it is good for America to stop.  to rest.   to breathe.   And somehow we do this with greater ease it seems at Thanksgiving than at Christmas (the whole “presents under the tree” seems to cloud our memories).  

But it’s more, that is right about Thanksgiving.    Somehow at Thanksgiving we remember  just how intimate and sacred an occasion, sharing a meal together with friends and family is; just how holy it is to gather around a table and eat.    Cause it’s not really about the turkey and stuffing and crazy marshmallows on potatoes.   It’s not really about the food.   Which is why this is the meal you don’t arrive just in time to sit down at the table and you don’t leave as soon as the dishes are cleared.   No, it’s more about the day, about the conversation, the people, the time together.    The food is just what calls us to the table, it’s what calls us together.    It’s like Henri Nouwen taught me:  a hug means more than arms embracing around another body; applause means more than the clapping sound created when two hands come together with force; and food prepared, served and shared for a common meal means more than the consumption of calories necessary for continued living here on earth.   

I think about the hours and hours the French spend enjoying a meal (their 7 courses) on a regular basis.  A meal is more than sustenance.    I think about the Hebrew people and how to share a meal with someone was to be joined and bonded to them (it was a spiritual and emotional thing, not just a physical thing).  And I think about Jesus on the night before he was crucified: a common meal among friends.    The sacrament of breaking bread together.   

Fast food, take-out, microwave meals, instant packaging, tray tables, incessant hours of work, drive-thru’s, diets, the internet, bulging schedules and over-committed hearts, minds & bodies,  have just about desecrated the sacrament and the beauty of the common, shared meal.   

I guess that’s why I’ve decided that American or not, extended family or not, I’m a fan of Thanksgiving (though you can keep your marshmallow topped potatoes).  Because on Thanksgiving we stop (literally) and we remember what we have forgotten.   We remember what it means to be in this, messy -upside down -seemingly always missing the mark -world together.    And we remember as we gather around the table, that this same world is in the process of being set-right again.

We might call it a day to give thanks - but truthfully, we are thankful people - when we remember to give thanks.  The beauty of Thanksgiving is in the stopping and the remembering.

Oh that we might stop more often.  O that we might remember longer - by the looks of the Target car park at 7am this morning, many of us have already forgotten what yesterday we had just remembered. 

Pumpkins, Christmas Trees and Thanksgiving.

All that being said about Christmas Trees and Thanksgiving (see post below)… yesterday I went to play with my neice before they headed off to Virginia and she is still holding tight to her oversized pumpkin.   Apparently her parents put it away but she found it and insisted that it come back upstairs in the living room.   

My brother said it will probably be there until they put up the Christmas tree.

Clearly staying present is something that innately we all struggle with.

Christmas Trees and Thanksgiving.

for the past couple weeks (and I’m not exagerrating) every evening that I pull up the drive to my little home, I have passed two twinkling Christmas trees  displayed in two different front windows belonging two different homes.   

Now let me preface this by saying, I love Christmas Trees.   I could drive for hours during the Advent/Christmas season just looking at the lights and the trees.   I can’t wait for Advent in which I can go get my tree and put it up.   And equally as much, I dread the 6th of January when I must take it down.  

But these trees have really garnered my attention.   Sure I could give the normal gripe that “it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”     But alas today is Thanksigving (I’m a little late with this post).    and I noticed yesterday that the little corner Christmas Tree patches have sprung up ready for the mad rush Friday (though clearly the rules about celebrating Thanksgiving before Christmas don’t apply anymore).  

So I’ve been thinking about these trees and why they are up so early.   

Maybe it’s about needing something beautiful (like buying a plant or fresh cut flowers).   Our lives need beauty.  We need beauty (real beauty that restores us, calms us, heals us, inspires us, invites us) and somehow Christmas trees with their little lights and splashes of color are a very simple way for us to create something beautiful (something in our home).   This I get.    This makes sense to me. 

Maybe it’s the same “bouncing of the walls” eager anitcipation we had as children waiting for Christmas Eve to come with all its treasures.   Maybe we’ve  just traded packages and bows for trees and decorations.    This too is logical to me: the zealous expectation of Christmas is exactly what Advent is all about.   I get this.

What I wonder about these tress though is that when we look too much towards what is to come, we often miss today.  

And today is a good day.    today is thanksgiving.   today we eat, we rest, we come together as a way of remembering all that we have been given.   After all tomorrow begins the season of ”what more can I give.”    

So it seems to me that today … today is a good day to be present.  

two years today.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
 

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
change and decay in all around I see;
O thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need thy presence every passing hour.
What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;
ills have no weight, and tears not bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
Text: Henry F. Lyte, 1793-1847
Music: W.H. Monk, 1823-1889
 

disturbing…

so I had a few of my young friends over for our first “life is still good” dinner only to learn something so incredibly disturbing.

the cookie monster is no longer the cookie monster.

the cookie monster is now the veggie monster???

apparently this is old news - but it’s new news to me. 

I’m all about health.   I love healthy food.   I even absolutely love vegetables. 

But the “veggie monster?”   I mean don’t vegetables scare most children away already?  and now we have a “veggie monster” that I assume is supposed to inspire children to eat their veggies. 

veggie monster? seriously? veggie monster? 

the cookie monster is no more? seriously?

disturbing.   really disturbing.  

ok I did a bit further checking and the world will be glad to know, that Cookie Monster has not changed his name to brussel sprout monster but has made the public statement that cookies are just a “sometime food.”  thought the clarification might prevent the popping of any more bubbles. 

the will to live.

When mum’s stiches split open one morning weeks after her surgery, I remember my awe as I watched her body heal itself.   Nothing magical, no further stiches necesary, this hole in my mum’s stomach healed itself, from the inside out.   Incredible!  I full heartedly agreed with the Psalmist,  “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

She fought hard to live this side of Heaven.   I remember as we gathered around her bed tears streaming in the ICU on June 30th, 2003, I thought her heart would never stop beating.   But even still all too soon, the flat line ran across the stream with that steady tone and it was finished.   Her will to live was outmatched by her body’s weakness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this, this week.  

the will to live.

it’s innate. 

it’s biological, physiological. 

it’s emotional and mental.

it’s psychological and it’s spiritual.

the will to live.

And it’s logical.   We weren’t made to die.   We were made to live forever.  Live forever  (live gloriously and perfectly) in paradise, in the garden, in Eden.

So it makes sense to me how we struggle and fight  - oh how we struggle and fight - the things we do, the determination, the money we spend (whether we have it or not), the endurance and strength we fine - to survive, to live even though we reside (for now) this side of Eden.  

My Dad had it - an iron will to live.   I still find myself on my knees that he survived on the streets and in his body … that he lived to return to England, to live under a roof, to have medical care and family around him.   And sure we can go ’round about the “quality” of his life and if he was actually “living”  but the bottom line is until two years ago tomorrow, Dad lived.   His will was stronger than his body and the world that befell around him.

The Chambers Survival Drive.   The Chambers Family innate will to live.   I have a love - hate relationship with it sometimes.   It’s in my blood.   It’s breeds my endurance through struggle, my hope for what is yet to be, my passion for life and sometimes to my chagrin,I must confess, it feeds my stubbornness.  

I have these two oil paintings that hang above my sofa.   They were painted before I was born by our neighbor in Derby, England.  They’ve traveled the world.  They’ve lived in houses, apartments, storage units and I would guess a homeless shelter or two.   And now they hang on my wall as a reminder of my family’s will to live and somehow of the hope that on the day when finally all is well, we (as a family) shall stand together again. 

It’s been a heavy week.   I’ve been so intensely attuned with the will to live  around me.  Friends: one heart broken; one fighting to be a man.   Families walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  

 And today as I finally get to stop and think; I realize that it is with God beside, above, before, behind and below me,  that I can, with these paintings as tangible reminders,  stand, filled with understanding, compassion, assurance and love.   And thus pray  over a dear family who keeps vigil, with their “mama” as she slowly sleeps deeper with each breath into Forever, her body’s weakness slowly winning over her will to live this side of Eden.   And  over a dear mother who so unswervingly and so anxiously fights at all costs for her son’s life, as his tumor seemingly begins to win the fight and for life.   

Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life…

Deuteronomy 30: 19-22

you know I keep wondering if the moment of “death” isn’t really about the body’s weaknesses winning over the will to live.   But I wonder if it isn’t actually a moment of triumph, when the will actually wins.   And we as fully, whole beings are actually able to let it all go, and choose the LIFE we were made for and are called to live, with nothing, not even a body holding us back.  

and so today I continue to pray.   to pray for life.   to pray for life within this family and for “mama.”  for the life of this mother and her sons.  and for my friends.  

amen.