Christmas 2007

Remember when you were a kid and Christmas was about ending the torment of wrapped gifts under that tree? You know—the ones with your name on them? The oddly-shaped one, the nice, neat cube, the long, skinny one—they all made you curious, and they all teased you. If your family was like mine, they sat under there for weeks, calling your name.

Christmas has actually been a little disjointed for me, most years. Our family, like many, did not have a lot, so you knew there was probably goiong to be a lot of nothing under there, but still there was that hope. Hmmm.

One Christmas when I was ten or eleven my dad actually asked us what we wanted. I'd never been asked that before. I was stumped for a minute; but I'd always wanted a guitar, so I asked for a guitar. I knew, of course, that the question was rhetorical, but it was fun just to ask for something totally outrageous.

So the oddly shaped package turned up under the tree that year, but there was no name tag. Later claims have been that the tag fell off. I just assumed it was something really nice from my dad to my mom. And on Christmas, when we were winding up the gift-opening thing, my dad told me to hurry up and open that thing. I was genuinely surprised. It was the guitar. A twenty dollar classical guitar, but it was a guitar. I played that thing all the way through college before I finally got myself a better one.

Later on there were the years when I could not make it home, so I was the awkward guest that you invite to your family gathering—the one that knows he or she doesn't quite belong there. That was me. Now, though, I have a family of my own, and Christmas is about long road trips to grandparents' homes, to participate in grandparents' traditions. Which, I guess, is better than being the awkward outsider, but somehow the whole thing of making traditions of your own is still missing.

And then there are the Christmas carols. Nice pieces of tradition that remind you of Christmas past, but never quite reaching me on a spiritual level. I've always resented the fact that the whole rest of the church seems willing to give up worship for a month or so, enjoying bright, cheery carols that don't quite reach the part of your heart where your relationship with God dwells.

This Christmas, though, has been different on every level. It started when we were batting around the idea of staying home. The problem with that has always been that my kids are the only grandkids on both sides of the family, so everyone always wants a shot at seeing the grandkids. For my husband's parents, that's not a problem. They're hearty and hale and they love to travel. My mother, on the other hand, is disabled and no longer drives. That would leave her limping through a Christmas day with my sister in attendance, and my conscience level doesn't allow for that. To my surprise, though, Roger's parents agreed to stop in at my mom's house and pick her up for the eleven hour drive up here. Wow! We accepted, and my mother did too.

Even before company arrived there was something different about this Christmas. The carols were hitting me on a new spiritual level. O Holy Night, for instance. “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn” was hitting me as it never has before, and I was worshipping as I played the arpeggios on guitar.

Then before I knew it the house was full (my sister flew in too), and we were into the full holiday season. I've never entertained on this level and for such an extended period before, and it took some adjustment, but before I knew it I was cooking big meals and baking desserts and having a great time making the house a welcoming place.

Which brings me to what Christmas is to me this year. I know for my kids it was opening the presents, in spite of all my efforts to instill the real Christmas story. There's only so much you can do with a husband whose idea of a good time is to go running through the garden with a handful of sleigh bells just to excite little girls who ought to be asleep. They'll have to find a more mature meaning someday, I suppose. I can't venture to guess what Christmas was this year for anyone else in my house. But for me Christmas came on Christmas eve.



A very dear friend with a very large family had invited me to bring my clan out to their clan gathering on Christmas Eve. She couldn't bear the thought of another dead Christmas Eve, and rightly thought that the intermingling of two clans would liven the party. Besides, all of her children have sung together in my praise band, I sing with them, and the blend has always worked in the most remarkable way. They all knew my sister and I blend like “butter” and would probably blend with them too. And being the harmony hounds that we all are, it looked to be a great musical evening around the piano.

So Sunday night when my voice slowly began to disappear, I fished through the medicine cabinet for every remedy I could find. I gargled strong salt water every hour or so. I desperately tried to suppress every voice-damaging cough, but nothing worked. If you've heard my Christmas greeting in TPE, you've heard what was happening. It got worse than that. My sister kept trying to get me to stop talking, but.....

Monday evening I packed up my share of the cooking, and then I grimly packed up my guitar and pennywhistles, determined to make some kind of good music anyhow. Driving was slow with snow and ice on the roads, and they live about twenty miles out in the country. The air was cold, but crisp. Upon arrival we were all welcomed into the warmth of a generously decorated lodge-style home, and all of my company immediately felt at home. None of my singing friends were too happy to hear my voice, but everyone was determined to make the best of it, so we put away our wraps and headed right for the piano.

First, my fiddling friend and I played whistle and fiddle together for a while. Then I pulled out my guitar and the singing began. My sister spent a few songs being shy, then I urged her over and she joined in. It was SO-O-O nice to sit there surrounded by such nice harmonies, and the blend was as good as I imagined. And when I heard a hole in the harmony, I fell back on the instinct of a child-trained alto, and attempted to fill the hole. I squeaked out a note. Then I pushed harder, and realized if I pushed hard enough, I could push past the squeaks and airiness and hit a rough bit of Bonnie Raitt-type voice. So I pushed hard and filled that harmony hole. My throat creaked and groaned, but the voice held. I was in heaven.

We sped happily through Rocky Top, lingered deliciously over Wayfaring Stranger, and then got to Uncloudy Day. Singing that song, I felt the reality of a better place, where a full view of my Lord was waiting for me. And my little mother (she's very short), who is not always completely with us (she's heavily medicated), got up and came over closer to the music, which is her way of telling us that it's very go-o-od. And right there, pushing my voice out into that room, surrounded by my family and like-family, singing of God and heaven, that was Christmas to me. That in one long-ago night our world was taken from a savage place with a pocket of godliness in the Middle East to a promise of peace on earth, for the WHOLE earth; that we all sit in peace on Christmas Eve, celebrating the night that history was split, enjoying Christian fellowship and caringly blanketing our pagan family members with compassion—that night in Bethlehem is worth celebrating. A birthday so special that most of the civilized world showers one another with gifts. A birthday party celebrated each year the world over.

And when the song was over my little mother applauded vigorously , we all applauded each other, and then we sat down to a lovely dinner.

I'm clumsy.

Did you know that? I think that you might have. I'm not graceful on my feet like Godseeker, I'm not graceful with my spoken words like Heiress. I trip over my feet when I walk... My words either spill out of my mouth before I can capture them Or the "cat gets my tongue" so to speak and when I should speak up, I can't force the words out.

That said, I had an awful bruise on my shoulder blade. Right at that spot where you always have the itch you can't reach? Yep. My shoulder was tight and it hurt to move. That was the day of the monthly roller skating party that one my organizations has. Yes, I had to take the kids. Usually the older kid gets the chance to go play with his friends and I take young kid duty. This day I told him flat out, he was in charge of his brother. He must have seen the pain in my eyes. He didn't argue, he took over, very adequately taking charge of the little one.

So I was left to talk to the Mom's... Usually thats a joy! Adult conversation! Not this day. As some one who talks best with her hands flying, every sentence was whinced through. God apparently guided me to the right table to sit down. Or maybe I just plunked myself down at the nearest one ;) Anyway, One of my friends that I don't get to see much shared the table with me. We chatted a little bit. I'm sure she knew my heart wasn't completely in it. So I finally confessed I was hurting. She perked up. She had something that I could try. I wasn't so sure... I had taken some painkillers and it didn't even touch the pain I was in.

She dug around in her purse and pulled out a tube of something and handed it to me. Shrugging her shoulders she said, "its Arnica, who knows whats in it, but it works." I promptly went to the bathroom to contort myself into a pretzel to apply it. Oh well. At least I tried. I walked back out. And by the time I sat down relief spread across my shoulder and it relaxed. I was so grateful for my friend's generosity! We had a nice time afterwards. The older child still took care of the younger one :) My shoulder felt lots better for a long time afterwards... A couple days later I bought my own tube of Arnica. Its great stuff!

Sometime we just need a little bit of friendship to get us through the tough spots.

Tuck and Roll

This morning I behaved badly in church. That’s difficult for an old preacher’s kid to admit, but there it is. I got kind of huffy with a “difficult” person in Sunday School. You may know the kind—the one who wants to hijack the group discussion and allow no opinions to be aired that disagree with theirs. Now, normally I do not roll my eyes at people—not visibly, but –well, to make a long story short, I made sure my opinion WAS heard.

Then service started, with my praise team singing a few hymns. Then the pastor came up to make a few announcements, and we were just standing there behind him. I was all for going and sitting down. I was tired, we looked silly, etc. But the other singer said something about waiting until after the announcements, when we would be doing greetings, then we could get down discreetly when attention would be elsewhere. FINE. Stand here and look silly, leave the platform discreetly. As you can see, my mood was a little off. Plus, I’ve been rethinking church anyway. Why does it have to be this big production? Does everything HAVE to be perfect and smooth? Can’t we just leave the platform when we’re done singing? Can it just be about believers getting together to learn from each other so we have steam to go out and be salt and light for the rest of the week? Yes, I was actually thinking all that while the pastor was talking about upcoming donut sales and such.

So then it was time for greetings. Our church has this greeting thing—lots of churches do it. It’s where you go around and shake hands with everyone around you. The “shake and howdy.” My church’s shake & howdy used to be this stilted affair where you shook hands with someone close by, mumbled something polite, then moved on to the next person. A few people later and your duty was done and you could sit down. Nowadays we hug, laugh, chat a little, and it’s hard to get us to stop. We’ve come a long way. Still not exactly meaningful relationship, but at least we loosen up, enjoy each other, the single people get a hug to help out with that touch deprivation problem, and it’s really a good thing.

So it came time to go shake some hands. I warmly greeted my fellow praise teamers, and headed for the rest of the flock.

Maybe it’s because I was really tired this morning. Maybe I was anxious to go say howdy to some fellow believers. For whatever reason, I stepped to the edge of the platform, fully expecting another step before I got to the stairs. I was quite wrong. I stepped out with full confidence and planted my feet firmly on—air.

In that split second I had a decision to make. The most dignified route would be to catch myself as quickly as possible, maybe turn an ankle in the catching, risk an injury but the service would receive only the very mildest of interruptions.

The other choice was to put dignity behind me, tuck and roll into the fall. And that’s what I did. I tucked my head in, curled up and took all four steps completely without the benefit of feet. At the bottom I landed on my shoulder, rolled through my back, rear, and came to a stop (finally) in this fetal position type thing. Not a dignified choice, but a necessary choice, since another injury to the cartilage-torn ankle could have been devastating.

I slowly stood up, surprised to be okay, and got a good laugh out of it. It was one ridiculous little tumble, and somewhere between my shoulder and the final roll to a stop, I decided that church wasn’t meant to be a big show. It’s meant to be us together, encouraging each other, teaching, exhorting, and really getting charged up before we head out there into a tough world. If a singer wants to go sit down, go sit down. If he/she wants to go pray, maybe that’s okay too. If you fall, don’t worry about what you look like. Extricate yourself as necessary.

Most of my life I’ve been stuck thinking that church is supposed to be this big production every week, where somebody has planned everything out, and somebody executes the plan, people are entertained, or learn something, or whatever, then everybody goes home and discusses the service over fried chicken. Right now I’m trying to figure out if that’s what we’re supposed to do. I mean, it brings a degree of order, right?

But maybe we need to make room for the people there who are going through a messy fall. Maybe we don’t need to be glossing over those kinds of things for the sake of a smooth service. Maybe if you’re in a bad situation, your fellow believers should have the grace to let you tuck and roll.

Organizing & Costumes

This last week I have embarked on a massive cleaning and organizing spree. Last Friday one of my friends came over to chat and I mentioned how I have been wanting to reorganize the playroom, someday. My friend said, "let's get started!" Ummmm... OK. As previously mentioned I am not that good with cleaning. Or more accurately, I just don't like to do it. So it took a little cajoling, but we got started and a few hours of sorting, tossing and putting away later we had a clean playroom.

So when my friend left, I brushed off my hands and decided that I was done with that. phew. Ummmmm..... no not quite. A week later here I am sitting in a clean office the boys are playing in a clean playroom and not only can I see the carpet, but it is freshly vacuumed. (Thank you to another friend who gave us a vacuum that she wasn't using. - Everything in our house is in the process of breaking, but that's another story) Not perfect, but a lot better than it used to be.

Sometimes it takes a little encouragement from a friend to get where you should be going. Whether it is a massive (yes) cleaning and reorganizing. Or completely overhauling your life. I wouldn't have been able to do either without my friends.

This week was Halloween. We were invited to a couple of costume parties. This was the first time since jr high that I actually dressed up. It was fun to pretend to be someone else for a couple hours. At the first party I was a nurse and at the second I was Becky Sawyer - overalls, freckles and straw hat.

Sometimes as a Christian I feel like I'm at a costume party. Some of us are pretending to be someone. In high school, when I was a new Christian, there were so many things that I turned from, that it really was like pretending that I was someone I was not. A lot of people were confused. Twelve years later, I feel like I've really grown and changed a lot. Jesus is continuing to work on making me more like him.

My husband and I lead a young married couples class, and a comment that I've heard twice this fall is "I don't know how seriously you will take us as new Christians." What? I feel like a new Christian a lot of the time myself. Don't they know the struggles I went through to be here? I guess all the cleaning and reorganizing that I've done has disguised who I was. I need to let the real me peek through a little more.

Happy Feet

Okay, so for a very long time now, I’ve had this dance that I’ve wanted to do. It’s not a dance I’ve ever seen anywhere—well, not quite. It’s a step dance, and I started wanting to do this dance when I was a kid in Tennessee and the old timers would do their buck dances and their clogging, and it was all totally hokey and corney to me. And yet….. they were having so much fun. I wished for the fun.

Then when I grew up and moved to the Midwest I studied for a long time at this dance studio run by these Christian African American ladies. I learned some of the roots steps, and it started to mix inside of me with what I remembered. I kind of wished I could put it together and just dance it. I wished.

I’ve been in church services where they had cleared a big area for people to go dance, and that seemed like a great idea, but as soon as you got out there somebodywould look at you, and you’d get all self-conscious, and that would ruin it.

It’s not that I was a rotten dancer. I spent a lot of time and money studying ballet, mime, jazz and modern, and it was exhilarating to grow and do my best to excel in those disciplines. And I would sometimes dance up a storm in a choreographed frenzy, and it almost felt like flying.

And yet there was this other dance inside of me; a very free dance. It kind of grew as I grew. It’s a step dance, that much I knew; maybe a little Irish, a little southern, more than a little African. All floating around in there; and sometimes I would hear just the right kind of music, and I wanted so badly to dance it. Once I went to this outdoor African American gospel music festival. At one point in one song, my feet were really itching to do that dance. I almost did it, too. But, I mean, you would have to get up out of your seat, and people would see you, and that self-conscious thing would mess you up, and…..I still wish I had done that dance that day.

I couldn’t really capture it when I was alone at home, either. It’s one of those things where you had to be in the moment, with the right people, with the right energy, and together you would be creating something. I do wish I had known how to capture it at home.

Then I came back to my Baptist roots, which pretty much ended the whole dance thing. And even while I was dreaming of still finding a way to dance some more, I totally trashed my ankle. I mean, torn ligaments, torn cartilage, and a healing process measured, not in weeks, but in months and even years. And that pretty much ended the whole thing with that dance inside me. I do wish I had done it just once before I did my ankle job. I wish.

That brings me to this week, and the frustration of near-burnout. See, I’m producing this musical at the school where I teach music. Next Friday is the big performance, and here I am trying to pull all this stuff out of my kids that’s not quite there yet. I’m busy, tired and frustrated, and yesterday I never left the building after school. I stayed and painted the set, grabbed supper in the lunchroom and went upstairs to the sanctuary to practice with my praise team for church Sunday.

And they were all burned out too. The other guitarist was a mess of spiritual warfare. One of the vocalists didn’t even want to be there. The pianist was exhausted from her harvest. We were a mess, and it didn’t bode well.

Practice went HORRIBLY. The bassist and drummer were missing, the pennywhistler looked tired, and at one point two of the singers were arguing over who sang what part. The guitarists (including me) were making mistakes all over the place.

On inspiration I pulled out these stovepipe top hats we’re using for the musical, and gave everybody one. So we were all wearing top hats, playing our songs. We relaxed, laughed at ourselves and tried again, and the air started to clear. This time the set felt really good. God’s presence could be felt.

Then we were pretty much done. We were sitting around in top hats, singing and talking a little. Then the other guitarist started to play, just for fun, the jazz percussion he likes to do. Something was clicking with him, and there he was, sitting there with his top hat on, playing like a house a’fire. And you know…I felt that dance again. I wished my ankle—

And then I snapped; and I was tired of just WISHING. I put down my guitar and hat and started to dance. Part of me knew that people were noticing, but mostly I didn’t care. It was me and God and that dance, and the music. The singers started tapping these water bottle caps on their chairs, and the rhythm was incredible! And the dance came out just like I thought, a step dance with a little Irish, a little southern, a lot of African American roots, and – surprise – some stomp.

So there’s another one down on my list of dreams to fulfill before I die. I keep listening to the audio recording over and over. I can still feel the dance, and for the first time, feeling it is enough. For now.

And the ankle? Nothing a little ice and ibuprofen couldn’t take down. It was well worth the cost.

Now! Here's a link to the song. Listen. YOU tell ME how you could listen to that music and not have happy feet.

Dons Happy Feet Music.mp3


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It is what it is

I have a saying I coined in high school when I went through a particularly bad part of my life. It's "what a difference a day makes" and that is so true. Most things, if you wait 24 short hours, will change. Or they seem to change.
Unfortunately, my YEAR has been a series of days upon days upon days. I, like A., can only stand back and say "unbelievable" I have seen the highest of highs and had no idea I could be this low. I have always found writing very therapeutic and have posted several things on my friend Lon's blog. He has been kind enough to tolerate my ramblings and allow this kind of pseudo-anonymous group therapy.
To see it go here http://dailybuildup.blogspot.com/
I apparently also like bumper sticker type sayings to help me through some rough spots. Where A. has latched on to "unbelievable", I have grabbed "It is what it is"
You see, I am the complete opposite of A. in many regards. The anti-A if you would. I love neatness, order and purpose. I thrive off of schedules, graphs and charts. Not only does everything have a place but everyone has a particular way they are to behave in that place. Except for this year they didn't.
Nothing is where it should be and it seems no one is acting or reacting in the way in which I think (and expect) them to. It's very hard for me. Sad even. But I am slowly learning this inflexible attitude hurts me as much as it helps. Yes, I set tons of goals and reach them all (before deadline) but I also have a tendency to loose sight of the people and the joy.
In no long flowery definition, no veiled attempt at hiding it, I am hurting and searching for joy. All of a sudden I find myself where everything is out of place and there is no clear cut purpose or goal set before me. At first I was reeling, trying to scramble for a new project or goal or just to put things back in order. Then I stopped.
Simply stopped.
Sometimes to do nothing is to accomplish a great thing.
I know we have a lot of work to do. I know it is good work and that God is with us. I just don't think He wants us to forget to be with each other while the work is being done. I have missed the connection with friends , the laughter, the joy of working together to serve and the caring follow ups when one of us has something go wrong. It is truly the connections to each other that make the work worth doing and not seem like, well, work. As we move forward to accomplish our plans, let us not forget each other.

http://www.stservicemovie.com/

unraveled sweater

Well, I don't have much to say right now, obviously. Nothing too insightful. Nothing too deep and leering about my life or events around me. Life is interesting though. you never know what kinds of twists and turns you will take. This last year has been -borrowing the statement from LaRae Roth - "Unbelievable!" Unbelievable in so many different aspects. Unbelievably amazing. Unbelievably sad. Unbelievably frustrating. Unbelievably exciting. Unbelievably inspiring. Unbelievably unbelievable! Its unbelievable how God has been with me through it all.

He knows what we all need. I needed a period of reflection and testing and then growth. I needed direction. I've been floating through life waiting for something to catch up with me. Unfortunately it did.

It was like wearing your favorite bulky, cuddly sweater. Then noticing a piece of yarn is sticking out awkwardly. You quickly try to tuck it in and hide it. I'm painfully self conscious and will spend a lot of time trying to discreetly tuck away loose threads. This thread was not going to be tucked away. So going against my better judgment, I just pulled it, and pulled and pulled, and pulled....

So suddenly this summer I realized that I had completely undone everything. I was naked and there was a whole mess of yarn around me. Figuratively, not literally, don't worry no indecent exposure. I just realized that I needed to focus my life. I had things and stuff scattered everywhere. I had no goals. And I was unbelievably sad. Luckily, some of our selah sisters where there for me. Thank you.

So I've been reflecting on where I've been and where I'm going. I know what I want to do with my life. Trying to focus on rebuilding things that have come unraveled. Only hopefully better and not leaving the loose threads. So during the process of tearing down and rebuilding I've realized that some really incredible things have happened. I don't want to itemize them here. But things are unbelievable. I can't say that things are great. Or even good. But I think that they are going in the right direction. And I know what God has called me to do. :)

Selah.

Hey, and pray for us - the selah sisters. To be a little bold about it: I don't know what's going on, but there is a rift between some of us. I think we have all been in the process of tearing apart and rebuilding, whether we wanted to or not. God has lead us to this place. But we are all feeling a little disconnected with each other. It seems like when we are wrapped up in reflecting and redefining we lose track of those around us. So Pray for us. I think that as individuals and as a group we need it.

a.

Back In Time

If you make it as far as my profile, you'll learn that one of my favorite movies of all time is "Trip to Bountiful." It's an independent film done on a low budget with wonderful acting, directing and horrible editing.

In that movie an older lady is trying to get back to her childhood home, a town called Bountiful. Her mean daughter-in-law prevents her, forcing the poor woman to stay home with her and her husband in a cramped, two-room apartment. But she escapes--buys a bus ticket, and the rest of the movie revolves around the trip back.

She gets to her beloved hometown to find it dead. No one is left. She looks through her house, and you can feel the eerie feeling you get when you walk through an abandoned homeplace--the memories are there, but the trappings are gone. Cobwebs and dust cover everything. No voices--just crickets, birds and memories.

So that's what it was like when I revisited this old blog. It's been years since I could get on -- I had forgotten my password, even. So -- I ran into A. last week, we talked of the old blog, and I determined to get back. Of course, it had that old, abandoned house feeling. The memories we shared, the voices -- and some rather nasty cobwebs.

In Bountiful, the woman entertains the idea of fixing the old place up and living there, but she knows she's too old and her heart is in bad shape, and so it's a pipe dream. It'll never happen. Well, I have entertained that thought here. I cleaned out the cobwebs--spam by the dozens--and even fixed up the place with a new template, and here I am blogging. Who knows? I haven't given up the idea. I may stay and blog. Ladies, if you still have your emails set to receive notice of a new blog, and if you've made your way here, would you care to join me? We no longer share a Bible study as we did, but we share many of the same things we always shared.

We've all done the things Mamaladybug said we'd do. She warned us that we'd grow up and fly the coop. I think maybe she thought we'd start Bible studies of our own, but instead we've followed our giftings and done some extroardinary things. I think it must have been hard for Mamaladybug to see us go, and yet she's got to be proud when she remembers where we all started. Hey, Mama--good job! Kudos! I'd have never done some of this stuff without the confidence you inspired and the grounding you provided.

If you guys want to report in, maybe we could start it like a family reunion. Where are you in your life? What's going on? How have the Selah Sisters affected you in the ministry you now do? Then, maybe we can take it from there.

I'll do my report in an upcoming blog, but first I'd like to say something to the cobwebs: :~?

Yes, we know we've got a great blog going here. Weird how you came back with such consistency, saying the same things over and over. No, we do not wish to participate in your home-based spamming pyramids. No, we don't want to purchase the various unwholesome products you've touted. And, no, we do not wish to grow back our hairlines. Not at this time, thank you. However, you won't see this little notice. Thanks to new settings you won't make your way in here, and good riddance. Have a nice day.

Okay, back to the Selah Sisters. My apologies to some of the nice blogs we linked to. The new template erased those settings, but I plan to get links back up for the best of them.