Back to Ordinary Time

I feel like I should be ashamed to admit this, but I just took down my Christmas tree this morning.  I've never ever done that-- I do try to be very liturgically minded and wait until the Epiphany because that's when Christmas is really over. But I do not ever wait until almost February to move away from Christmas.
This year, though, I just couldn't bring myself to take it down.  (Though I did take down the outside decorations so I wouldn't be that crazy lady that the whole neighborhood gossips about.) But my tree and inside decorations were my last vestage of a little un-ordinary time magic.  The weather was so warm that it never really felt like Christmas (I still haven't even unboxed my sweaters, and the flannel sheets that I tried for a week were back in their box a week later.) And besides, there is something a little lonely about living in the country at Christmastime.  The only Christmas lights I saw were ones I paid money to see, and I guess that made me a little sad, because it felt like we were the only ones who noticed that it was special time.

But now it's really back to the ordinary time that occupies so much of our calendars.  It's a strange time of waiting because the snowflakes that I usually use to decorate during January feel completely inappropriate. But it doesn't feel quite right to adorn my house with spring flowers yet either.  It's waiting, in-between, sort of time.  Made holy and special and delightful not by the events on the calendar or the confounding weather, but by the little everyday delights like being able to open the windows and bask in the gentle sunshine.  Ordinary yes, but also filled with great potential for the extraordinary.

Everything is coming up...tulips

I'm not a gardener.  In fact, I'm pretty sure God must cry when I plant things because I'm more likely to kill a plant than I am to nurture it on to abundant life.  So I guess it always surprises me when I see God at work in my "garden". 

But it always strikes me as holy when I see something taking root and... living.  I guess because I know that I had nothing to do with it.  Because something was going on without my knowledge or supervision. And because no matter what the winter has been like, spring always seems to come. 

(I wrote about my experience planting things last spring. You can read about it here)

Before the dawn

[Written after a very early morning when I went to pray with a congregant before surgery]

It's darkest before the dawn, or so they say.
Before even the surgical waiting room has been opened, or anyone is ready to wait.
Before she has been taken back.
Before the visitor's desk is staffed, or the parking deck, for that matter.
Before the cafeteria has opened.
Before the nurses are fully awake.
Before the rules are thoroughly enforced.
Before the sun (or son) has started tinting the world a lovely shade of pink.
It's darkest then.

But it's there, in the before, that God feels closest.
Because the light of love is waiting to break in.
And for the ones, waiting and watching,
the great divide between heaven and earth seems a little thinner.
Because we need God just a little more,
and we're a little less guarded and a little more vulnerable.

It's darkest before the dawn.
But not really.
Because in that great darkness a voice gently whispers in my ear,
"I am the light of the world.  And the darkness has never, will never, put the light out."

A Picture a Day keeps the grouchies away

A Picture is worth a thousand words--or so I hear.  And as a photographer, I believe it.  And I've even made resolutions to take more picutres, but until now it's just been awfully complicated.  Oh, I've got my camera and lenses all in one always-packed bag, but who wants to lug all that around.  It's great for "serious" photography, but sometimes a girl has to be in the mood for all that.  I just wanted to take quick photos and record my (fabulously interesting) life for posterity sake.

Enter Iphone (which I love for many, many reasons).  It has an 8 megapixel camera (which is almost as good as my "serious" camera), and it's handy.  No lugging anything around.

So I did it.  I signed up for a photo-a-day project that I've seen other friends do.  And so far I love it.  I worried that it would become for me "just one more thing" but it's been a great experience.  It's helping me keep my eyes open to beauty and love that is all around me, and record the things that make me happy.  I'm again noticing things like the way the light dances, or the exact smile on my puppy dog's face. I'm finding a way to tap into my oft-ignored creative side, which will hopefully lead to other creative endeavors in other parts of my life.  You can keep up with my project here if you'd like.  But if you can't stand to wait for the time it takes to open up the page, here's a preview (mostly from my blue-sky day sort of walk this afternoon.)

It's beginning to look a lot like...

July.  Or maybe October.  But not Christmas.  Not even close to Christmas, what with the 72 degree days we're having. I'm still running my car air conditioner.  Once ten or eleven o'clock comes, I can safely open the windows and walk around the house in shorts and a t-shirt. We took the comforter off the bed.  And the sweaters I so look forward to wearing are still packed up in their rubbermaid boxes.

I guess I should be thankful, but instead I feel grouchy.  The weather is beautiful, but it's wrong.  As my dad says happily, "It feels like Christmas in Florida! This is what it felt like when we were growing up." I'm happy for dad, but this weather in no way makes me think of Christmas.  

My snow-flocked garlands and my silvery white and snow flake decked dining room feel ridiculous.  I'm kind of hating the idea of going Christmas caroling. I don't even check the weather anymore (which considering how much I love weather, is a pretty big statement.) And I can't bear (really-- it kind of makes my stomach turn this year) to hear "Baby, It's Cold Outside" or "Frosty the Snowman" or any of the other billion and a half Christmas songs that reference cold weather.

Maybe it's ridiculous to post on something inane as the weather.  Maybe it's silly to base Christmas feelings on something so unrelated.  Maybe it's sinful to send up prayers for a change in the weather when I should be praying for world peace or something.  But this wrong weather is bringing out grinch like grouchiness on my part.

"I need a little Christmas" is what the song says.  Christmas will come, of that I'm not worried.  What I need is a change in weather, and that is nowhere on the horizon.

The Sleep that will not come...

They (the "experts", whoever they are) say that when you can't sleep you should do anything but watch the clock.  To watch the clock, these experts say, will only cause you to panic as you watch the night dwindle away, which will in turn cause more sleeplessness.

I've prayed.  I've read. I've watched seven or more episodes of Grey's Anatomy in one night.  I've taken Benadryl, or Melatonin. I've had a glass of wine or warm milk before bed.  I've given up my afternoon cup of coffee.  I've moved to the couch. But still I do not sleep.

 Oh, I fall asleep, but as soon as the slightest thing jars me, I'm awake, and likely for good.  Something must be troubling me and at least if I were anxious about something, I could tell someone.  But I'm not.  I'm just awake. Just watching the minutes tick by, thinking I should probably do something productive, but knowing I'm too tired to do it.

Somewhere, my heart must be breaking for someone or some thing, and this is how my body is responding.  I just wish that I knew who or what was causing the heartbreak.

Beyond Words

Several years ago, singer Bobby McFerrin (whose name you know from “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” and “Medicine Music”) came out with an album called Beyond Words. Considering words were a big chunk of how he made his living, that was an interesting switch.  I can’t say I loved the album, because I missed what he had to say.  But today, I understand that sometimes you have to say things other ways, because sometimes, you find yourself at a place that is beyond words.

I guess that’s where I am, and it’s odd, because I love words and putting them together.  But today, all the words I have are all a jumble and none of them come close to saying anything intelligent about the ways my heart is broken open.  I wish I could write beautiful words of lament like the psalmists did, but maybe that will come later.  For now I’m beyond words, and this is what it looks like:

Holding my husband’s hand, even in public, because it feels like the only thing to hold onto.

Eeking out a pre-dinner prayer that said simply, “Thank you for the food” because anything else was too hard to pray.

Being “kissed” over and over by my doggie, who doesn’t understand, but who knows that something is wrong.

Avoiding the phone, because I haven’t anything to say and there isn’t much I want to hear. Except maybe the voice of God, answering with a brilliant explanation that I hadn’t previously considered.

Going to the gym and running and running and running, as if a treadmill could take me to the far away places that my heart dreams of.

Sighs too deep for words, unintelligible to anyone but the Holy Spirit.

Tears running down my face, making a mess of carefully applied mascara, cracking my carefully constructed facade of strength.

Asking the question “why” but not really wanting an answer.

Still praying “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” because you know, somewhere,  that God comes to messy, broken apart people.  It’s just been so long since you were of those people, that you don’t remember what is it is to wait.