I stole the title of today’s post from a song by Steven Delopoulos, one of my favorite singers I discovered in the last several years--actually about 10 years ago, but that’s really not what this post is about, as inspiring and talented as the man--and Burlap to Cashmere (his band) are.
Today is the official end of the Christmas season. Some may quibble that it isn’t even a “season” or that it perhaps begins at Thanksgiving and ends on Christmas Day, but I will go with the designation of the Catholic Church that the season ends with the Baptism of Jesus, which we celebrate today. For me, it is important because tomorrow I will take down the Nativity scene at church and change the seasonal color of white back to green the signatory shade of “Ordinary Time.” For most people all this is rather irrelevant or of some limited significance--certainly not on the radar of very many folks, except maybe priests, liturgists and church decorators--of which I am one of the latter.
Right now I am in my living room, with my brittle and dying Christmas tree lit for what is likely the last time. I do not mourn the end of the season--God knows it is rife with a thousand reasons to stress out, get upset, get depressed, withdraw from the joy and the holiness in the face of the added demands, most of which we put upon ourselves. Still, the days from December 25 to the second Sunday of January are perhaps my favorite days of the winter season. The gifts that were sometimes such a pain to acquire, wrap. set under the tree, agonize over whether they would be well received, or satisfactory or enough are unwrapped, used, enjoyed hopefully--and by now, put away. Right now all that remains under my tree is a bucket with a few ounces of water that was supposed to be a reminder to water this dying pagan symbol of a season all jumbled up with odd meaning and lasting significance.
I have just recently returned to my house after bringing my third son, Aron, to the airport. He is returning to college in northern Michigan to tie some loose ends in his educational as well as personal life. Living in Alaska, it seems, many of us are familiar with both the hellos and goodbyes that are integral features of our local airports. Still, the heartstrings are tugged, tears brim at the edges of our eyes, an ache catches in our throats. The hope of hello is always wrapped in good-bye.
Seasons come and go, children grow, we all change as does our world, our lives, our hopes and dreams. Seasons teach us that even though we often cannot control very much in this rapidly shifting existence we call life, we can celebrate, we can return again and again to the familiar, the remembered, the comfort of what we have known, whom we have loved, how we have lived. If we are blessed with long life we dance the circle of seasons many times, with both new and old steps. If we are blessed (or simply recognize it) we don't get mired in nostalgia or rigid tradition, but embrace what is meaningful, what is valuable, and let go of what we cannot control, time and change themselves.
So we return, again, to a season the Church calls “Ordinary”, not because it is routine or boring, but because like its signature color, green, it reminds us of new growth, of the common beauty and perennial nature of grass and leaves and living things, and especially of hope, which as we know, does spring eternal.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Tuesdays
I love Tuesdays! This is the day I get together with a group of friends at my church and “craft” We named our group “Creative Circle” several years ago when a few of us wanted a safe, lighted, big space where we could gather and work on individual creative projects. I was making a tied fleece blanket for my daughter and the church has six and eight foot tables on which I could spread a couple yards or so of fleece and not have to crawl around on my living room floor to cut the strips that are knotted into ties, which hold the two layers together.
The rest is history, as they say. Since that time I have made a few hundred blankets, some gifted, many donated, and several sold to earn me a little pocket change. As someone who loves to create a wide variety of sewn items, needle and other crafts, Tuesday morning is the one time I am assured that if I don’t give into the temptation to drink coffee and engage in conversation, I can usually complete a blanket or begin or continue work on other projects.
There are consistently six or seven people who faithfully show up on Tuesday morning, with or without projects in hand. Among our group are other talented seamstresses, jewelry makers, crocheters, quilters and crafters. We don’t always craft or create something, but usually at least a couple people will work on a project. What is wonderful about our group is we share far more than a love of creative endeavors. We share faith, our lives, our joys and challenges and all the major and minor things that make for true friendships. We celebrate holidays and each other’s birthdays, pray for one another’s needs and assist in projects and individual endeavors both in and outside our parish. These are the women I would call upon in both my darkest hour and my brightest triumph. I love them like sisters, and I sincerely believe they love me in the same way.
I am immensely grateful to have these women in my life, and to have a place to gather where, because of faithful service, they and I are trusted and given free reign to do pretty much as we please. Last Tuesday, on New Year’s Eve, we even raided the wine we use for communion (unconsecrated!) to have a little toast to 2014! St. Anthony parish in Anchorage, Alaska, is a second home to me and has been for many, many years. I am so blessed to have found both this place and a community of wonderful, diverse people who are generous with their time, their love, and their talents. They inspire me, give me joy, hope, and often the reason to get up in the morning. They laugh and cry with me and give me endless reason to thank the Lord who has brought us together in this church, this community of believers and this time. Create on ladies!
I love Tuesdays! This is the day I get together with a group of friends at my church and “craft” We named our group “Creative Circle” several years ago when a few of us wanted a safe, lighted, big space where we could gather and work on individual creative projects. I was making a tied fleece blanket for my daughter and the church has six and eight foot tables on which I could spread a couple yards or so of fleece and not have to crawl around on my living room floor to cut the strips that are knotted into ties, which hold the two layers together.
The rest is history, as they say. Since that time I have made a few hundred blankets, some gifted, many donated, and several sold to earn me a little pocket change. As someone who loves to create a wide variety of sewn items, needle and other crafts, Tuesday morning is the one time I am assured that if I don’t give into the temptation to drink coffee and engage in conversation, I can usually complete a blanket or begin or continue work on other projects.
There are consistently six or seven people who faithfully show up on Tuesday morning, with or without projects in hand. Among our group are other talented seamstresses, jewelry makers, crocheters, quilters and crafters. We don’t always craft or create something, but usually at least a couple people will work on a project. What is wonderful about our group is we share far more than a love of creative endeavors. We share faith, our lives, our joys and challenges and all the major and minor things that make for true friendships. We celebrate holidays and each other’s birthdays, pray for one another’s needs and assist in projects and individual endeavors both in and outside our parish. These are the women I would call upon in both my darkest hour and my brightest triumph. I love them like sisters, and I sincerely believe they love me in the same way.
I am immensely grateful to have these women in my life, and to have a place to gather where, because of faithful service, they and I are trusted and given free reign to do pretty much as we please. Last Tuesday, on New Year’s Eve, we even raided the wine we use for communion (unconsecrated!) to have a little toast to 2014! St. Anthony parish in Anchorage, Alaska, is a second home to me and has been for many, many years. I am so blessed to have found both this place and a community of wonderful, diverse people who are generous with their time, their love, and their talents. They inspire me, give me joy, hope, and often the reason to get up in the morning. They laugh and cry with me and give me endless reason to thank the Lord who has brought us together in this church, this community of believers and this time. Create on ladies!
Monday, January 6, 2014
Epiphany
Most people have an accurate understanding of both the event of Epiphany--the visitation of the infant Jesus by the three wise men--which is celebrated on the 6th of January, and the word “epiphany” which means “a sudden flash of insight.” Many attest to having personal “epiphanies” as well.
It would be convenient and perhaps coincidental to say that today I had an epiphany of my very own, but such is not the case--though it is relatively early in the day and it could still happen, I guess.
When I began the new year of 2014 I was in the beginning stages of one of the nastiest colds I have had in awhile. I felt it coming on the Saturday after Christmas, which was preceded by two days of never getting out of my pajamas kind of depression. My girls tried to cheer me up with a Nike hoodie, a Joann gift card, and a bawdy little card that suggested an alternative to making lemonade when one is given lemons. (They know me so well.)
So, despite my best intentions, I did not rise on New Year’s morning, ready to hit the gym and “eat healthy.” I could barely breathe and couldn’t taste a thing. I spent the next several days in much the same state, mostly perusing Facebook and WebMD to confirm that I indeed had a cold and not the flu. To my family’s offering of some of my favorite foods, I would only growl, “I can’t taste it!” Thus, I lost 3 pounds, and while I would not recommend illness as a way to lose weight, when life gives you lemons....
I only made one resolution this year, and that was merely done with a click of a Facebook share of 10 ways for writers to keep writing. I impulsively and flippantly stated I was going to write every day and got a few "thumbs up” responses. I immediately had regrets, for writing--though I love to do it--can often be onerous and burdensome, much harder to keep up than daily flossing I guess. But I digress.
On this magnificent day (or should I say “magificent” day?) I did keep one promise I made to myself while in the throes of uncontrollable coughing and kleenex grabbing--to walk for 30 minutes on my treadmill. I felt well enough to do it yesterday, I suppose, but Epiphany fell on a Monday this year, and Monday has always seemed to be my “restart” day--whatever it was I was restarting--my efforts to lose weight, get healthy, write, keep my house clean, pray, meditate, stop complaining, etc., etc. The past several months have felt more like eternal Sundays, you know, those kind of lazy days where I don’t feel like doing much, where the constant tug of being a “better" person is resisted. Sunday reminds me that I am loved just the way I am, imperfect, overweight, less than healthy, impulsive, cranky at times, unreasonable and whiney at others...human. On Monday it is harder to believe that, the world presses in with its demands, and with the insistent whisper of inadequacy and the admonition to do something about all that. I have resisted it for months, perhaps defiant of even my own desire to act, perhaps lacking will enough to counter a sort of low-grade depression, that like a low grade fever is slightly debilitating, but hardly life-threatenng. It is not the storm clouds that brings torrential rain, but the low hanging ones that simply block the sun, for what seem like endless days.
So what was the “epiphany”--the sudden flash of insight? Well, there wasn’t exactly one, just this: While on the treadmill I realized how much I missed the treadmill, how good it feels to sweat, how amazing is the taste of cool water and how grateful I am for legs and arms that work, and mostly for ears to listen to music that blunts the tediousness of walking and getting nowhere. No, there was no blinding realization but a remembering of what I have always known and had forgotten when the fog of depression obscured both my memory and my hope. For me, this Epiphany is simply seeing the sunlight when the clouds have cleared once again.
Most people have an accurate understanding of both the event of Epiphany--the visitation of the infant Jesus by the three wise men--which is celebrated on the 6th of January, and the word “epiphany” which means “a sudden flash of insight.” Many attest to having personal “epiphanies” as well.
It would be convenient and perhaps coincidental to say that today I had an epiphany of my very own, but such is not the case--though it is relatively early in the day and it could still happen, I guess.
When I began the new year of 2014 I was in the beginning stages of one of the nastiest colds I have had in awhile. I felt it coming on the Saturday after Christmas, which was preceded by two days of never getting out of my pajamas kind of depression. My girls tried to cheer me up with a Nike hoodie, a Joann gift card, and a bawdy little card that suggested an alternative to making lemonade when one is given lemons. (They know me so well.)
So, despite my best intentions, I did not rise on New Year’s morning, ready to hit the gym and “eat healthy.” I could barely breathe and couldn’t taste a thing. I spent the next several days in much the same state, mostly perusing Facebook and WebMD to confirm that I indeed had a cold and not the flu. To my family’s offering of some of my favorite foods, I would only growl, “I can’t taste it!” Thus, I lost 3 pounds, and while I would not recommend illness as a way to lose weight, when life gives you lemons....
I only made one resolution this year, and that was merely done with a click of a Facebook share of 10 ways for writers to keep writing. I impulsively and flippantly stated I was going to write every day and got a few "thumbs up” responses. I immediately had regrets, for writing--though I love to do it--can often be onerous and burdensome, much harder to keep up than daily flossing I guess. But I digress.
On this magnificent day (or should I say “magificent” day?) I did keep one promise I made to myself while in the throes of uncontrollable coughing and kleenex grabbing--to walk for 30 minutes on my treadmill. I felt well enough to do it yesterday, I suppose, but Epiphany fell on a Monday this year, and Monday has always seemed to be my “restart” day--whatever it was I was restarting--my efforts to lose weight, get healthy, write, keep my house clean, pray, meditate, stop complaining, etc., etc. The past several months have felt more like eternal Sundays, you know, those kind of lazy days where I don’t feel like doing much, where the constant tug of being a “better" person is resisted. Sunday reminds me that I am loved just the way I am, imperfect, overweight, less than healthy, impulsive, cranky at times, unreasonable and whiney at others...human. On Monday it is harder to believe that, the world presses in with its demands, and with the insistent whisper of inadequacy and the admonition to do something about all that. I have resisted it for months, perhaps defiant of even my own desire to act, perhaps lacking will enough to counter a sort of low-grade depression, that like a low grade fever is slightly debilitating, but hardly life-threatenng. It is not the storm clouds that brings torrential rain, but the low hanging ones that simply block the sun, for what seem like endless days.
So what was the “epiphany”--the sudden flash of insight? Well, there wasn’t exactly one, just this: While on the treadmill I realized how much I missed the treadmill, how good it feels to sweat, how amazing is the taste of cool water and how grateful I am for legs and arms that work, and mostly for ears to listen to music that blunts the tediousness of walking and getting nowhere. No, there was no blinding realization but a remembering of what I have always known and had forgotten when the fog of depression obscured both my memory and my hope. For me, this Epiphany is simply seeing the sunlight when the clouds have cleared once again.
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