Gotta Get Up

I hope your Christmas day was everything it was meant to be.  Mine was, even if it wasn't everything I thought it should be, it was everything God meant it to be.  And that was pretty glorious.

So we were in the middle of our glorious Christmas morn.  Well, glorious by our standards--which involves a lot of jumping off couches, screams of joy, and general whooping-it-up mayhem, with a little sibling rivalry and "Stop that, or you'll go to your room!" thrown in for good measure.  I've said it before: we're a wild crew.  At some point, we decided to take a break from the present-opening extravaganza (for which I bought almost nothing, yet God deluged us with the most beautiful hand-me-down gifts.)  I baked up a mediocre egg and sausage breakfast casserole, and we congregated around the table. (Note: I didn't say "sat down."  That's out of our league at this point.  Baby steps.)

There was general merriment, as the children discussed the gifts they'd already opened, and the ones they hoped they still might get.  Suddenly, my oldest child blurted out, in all sincerity,

"Hey everybody!  Do you know what my favorite holiday is???


[insert one millisecond of suspenseful silence]


Saint Patrick's Day!  I just love wearing all that green."

I sat dumbfounded for a minute, waiting for a great big "JUST KIDDING!" or some other retraction, but it never came.  He dove right back into his eggs without skipping a beat.  The other kids looked at him cockeyed for a split second, and rolled with it.  (I probably should have rolled with it too, but I tried arguing with him, before I realized, "Why?")

And his left-of-center comment got me thinking.  It got me thinking about myself; about how many times in the midst of God's lavish grace, I totally miss it.  I may not miss it maliciously, but I'm still missing it; missing the gifts God's piled all around me.  Right that very minute.  And I miss it, just because I'm thinking about something else.

It's easy to forget that I'm living the best time of my life right in the midst of the dirty kitchen floor and out-of-control kids.  While thinking about cleaning up and getting the kids "settled down," I forget that the dirty floor and the crazy kids aren't detractions from the dream, they are the dream.

At one of my Al-Anon meetings recently, a woman shared an edgy mantra she'd created for herself during the holidays to help her readjust her expectations: "Kill Norman Rockwell."

"I know, I know, he's already dead," she said.  "But I just have to get it through my head that it's almost never like that, and then if it all somehow works out, I'm just pleasantly surprised."

How much of my life do I spend waiting for Norman Rockwell, when God's blessed me with something very different, yet wonderful?  I can miss the wonder and the joy of the "best days of my life" through nothing more than sheer oblivion, if I'm not careful.  Or, I can miss it, by wishing for something else.  Either way, I can miss the chance for gratitude.

This Christmas could have easily been a time when I felt sorry for myself: "The Christmas after my marriage fell apart," or "My kid's first Christmas without their Dad," or something like that.  Instead, God sent me the message loud and clear that this year, I am to rejoice.  I have so much to be thankful for.  My heart was seared with the realization that life, in and of itself, is to be so treasured.  My eyes opened to see that I am surrounded by others whose hurt and pain is so much greater than my own:

A friend who sat, a hollow shell of her formerly vibrant, free-spirited self at Christmas Eve church service: unable to speak or stand after a recent massive stroke.  Wheelchair bound, she still tried to rouse herself for her favorite carols, but could not.

A lonely family member whose cancer has returned.  In three places.  

A young mother: her 34 year old husband dying of Lymphoma at a nearby hospital.  She, with a two year old daughter: begging for prayers on Christmas Eve night for how to guide her daughter through a final goodbye to her Daddy.  

I am speechless in the face of others' agony.  As I am surrounded by stacks of both literal an figurative gifts, I bow humbly before God.  I beg Him to show me how to treasure up all the blessings He's given me, and hide them in my heart.  Like Mary....

I want to pay attention, and be "present" in the time that God gives me.  I don't want to miss the fact that I'm living amid blessing heaped upon blessing, every morning that I still wake up with the gift of life.   I don't want to miss Christmas Morning, pining away for a paltry St. Patrick's Day.

I "Gotta Get Up" because I do not want to miss it.

Rich Mullins': "Gotta Get Up" about Christmas morning.

P.S.  I have no problem with St. Patrick's Day.  It's a wonderful holiday, in and of itself.  But it's no Christmas morning ;-)

Merry Christmas 2011

Tears are falling,
Hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from God,
You've been promised
We've been waiting,
Welcome, holy child
 
Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known,
But long awaited Holy stranger,
Make yourself at home
 
Bring your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled,
Word now breaking heaven's silence
Welcome to our world
 
Fragile finger Sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart Whose blood will save us
Unto us is born
 
So wrap our injured Flesh around you
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect son of God...welcome to our world

-Amy Grant

When I saw this--lyrics from one of my favorite Christmas songs--posted on Elisabeth K. Corcoran's site--one of my favorite blogs, I, too wanted to share.  I hope she doesn't mind me copying her idea.

All I Want for Christmas Is......To Get My Own Way

Today, I'm posting a quick thought about something that many of us may be struggling with.

Today, not everything is going my way.

It's Christmas Eve, and I've already had the usual barrage of very NON-holiday-ish child-rearing episodes.  I've already had one or two exchanges with people that were....well.....let's just say less than Baby-Jesus-in-the-Manger-Picture-Perfect.  And, to top it all off, I've had to spend well over an hour on one task that I really didn't plan for today.  It was upsetting.  It was a real downer.  Not what I wanted to be doing.

And I was starting to get mad.  How could I focus on Christ, in the midst of all this??

But you know what? The real question is:  How can I not?

Baby Jesus (and the grown up Jesus) doesn't look at it like I do.  He knows that it's not going to be perfect.  He knows that as I celebrate His amazing arrival, things aren't going to be all set up just right for me to "feel reverent," and "get holy" all of a sudden.  His very coming down was to us here in the muck and mire of our tangled up sin.  Ugly sin.  Killjoy sin.

And today, I'm going to make sure that I don't forget that God knows where I'm at.  Celebrating His birth doesn't have to be picture perfect, and I'm not going to let all the "stuff of earth" cloud my ability to marvel in it--and that includes my own selfish desire to just get my own way.  Even if "all I want for Christmas" is to be able to "focus on Christ," even that can get in the way.  Because although the desire to have a Christ-focused Christmas is a very good thing, turning that desire into an idol, and making it in my own image (It has to look like this!") is a very bad thing.

And letting Jesus come on his own terms is really what I want, after all.  I just tend to forget.

'Tis the Season to be Hedonistic

We all know that the holidays can easily go awry, and turn into a materialistic orgy.  But I also tend to kind of forget about that, since I'm surrounded by women (and people) who try to keep their focus on Christ and their families.  I know that materialism is always crouching at the door, and that present-opening with the kids on Christmas morning can easily become what I've termed the "greed-fest."  But we don't go overboard with gifts, don't go into debt, and often my kids get only thrift-store presents--which is just fine with them.

So, it was still a shock to me when I saw McDonald's ad campaign this season:

Celebrate Season's Cravings

I guess, in a way, it's not all that bad.  But the more I thought about it, the more it irritated me.  Celebrate your cravings?  Man, they may as well just say, "Celebrate Hedonism."  I know, it's McDonald's.  What should I expect?  They have to keep the American population obese somehow.  But geesh....couldn't they come up with something better than merely satiating your urges at Christmas?

What do you think?  Am I being way too uptight?  Or do you find it annoying too?

Thankful for the Cookie Angel

We all know I'm a ne'er do well.  An underachiever.  A big "L"....in a ton of areas of my life. 

One of these areas is baking.  Another is gift-giving during the holidays.  Put those together and "BAM!" I'm in perpetual awe of people who "drop by with a plate of cookies" around Christmas.  And I'm not talking about Nilla Wafers all wrapped up on a plate--which is what I'd arrive with if ever forced into such an act of kindness.  No, I'm talking about homemade, painstakingly decorated, perfectly baked cookie goodness. 

These people who do such things?  First, I bow to your bake-tastic skillz.  Second, I shall forever dub thee, "Cookie Angel."

Well, one "dropped by" my house today.  You know who you are.  And I'm thankful for the Cookie Angel.

Look at those beauties.  I know!  Right??

Documenting Laughter

The past few months have provided so much more freedom to experience joy around here.  Now I can laugh so much more readily with my kids and even (sometimes!) at them.  This is a big change for us, because Mommy hasn't laughed much in the past.  But times, they are a changin'!

One thing I've found about dynamic periods of change is that they're full of exhilaration at the time, but I quickly forget them.  It's sad but true.  I'm like the Israelites in the Bible who quickly complain that they want to return to Egypt; even when God is leading them with a pillar of fire and feeding them with manna.  Instead of realizing or remembering all the goodness of God, they begin missing the "leeks" and other foods back in stinky-ol'-slavin'-away Egypt.

Anyway, at some point in the Bible, God tells people to start recording all the miracles he does for them, so they don't forget.  And at some point, they start building little shrines to help them remember.  They call them........wait for it now........Ebenezers. 

Yeah, weird word....as in Scrooge, Cratchit, et. all.  But it has nothing to do with that.  Except that it is Christmas time right now, so it relates in a bizarre sort of non sequitur way.  Merry Christmas.

But back to the Ebenezers in the Bible.  They were simply a way for people to memorialize or record something awesome that God did.  And since most people back then didn't write, they couldn't just write it down.  So, they built up some rocks, or did other stuff that would help them remember: an Ebenezer.

But, nowadays, most of us read and write.  And that makes things easier.  So that's a little bit of what this blog is for me, because it's kind of like an Ebenezer in a crazy digital way.  It's a record, anyway.  One of the things that I want to record is God's work in my heart as evidenced by laughter.  So now, because this is totally a stream of consciousness post, I'm going to relay a 3-second snippet of my day that made me laugh until a tear rolled down my cheek. 

I laughed because I could, more than because it was funny.  I laughed because God loves me, and I love my kids, and I don't have to live in fear any more.

Overheard today.  The scene:  My 4 year old girl is dressed in a fairy costume.

"I'm Tinkerbell.  (pause)

I don't really have control.....of my hair.  I'm not having a very good day with my hair.  (pause)

But I'm Tinkerbell."

It really made me laugh.  And maybe the Christmas reference shouldn't be overlooked, because I hope to record this as The Christmas We Laughed Again.  And I'm going to make sure we don't forget what a blessing that is.

Who is this woman inside my head?

This morning I fumbled groggily downstairs at 6:30 a.m. to wake up my older kids, just like I do every weekday.  (Even my big 'uns are still pretty little.)  And, like many other days, I had to creep past various other younger children who I didn't want to awaken; children who, for the love of my much-needed-beauty-rest, don't stay in their own beds at night. They wind up in my bed, or on my floor, or other inconvenient places, come morning.  Well, at least the places are inconvenient if the children don't want to be awakened at 6:30 a.m. 

Actually, as any parent knows, the problem is they'd be more than happy to be awakened at that time. They wouldn't stumble groggily down the stairs like me.  They'd race gleefully.  And I'd be ticked as hell that I had to endure their joyous exuberance at a time of day when any sane person should either be A) sleeping or B) wearing sackcloth and ashes because they are not sleeping.

Anyway, this morning, I had to sneak out of my bedroom so stealthily that I didn't get to find my slippers.  Or my robe.  Or anything comfy or warm or cozy.  So I'm dressed in nothing but my nightie, goosebumps, and leg hair, which is a sight to behold.  In fact, I bear a striking resemblance to Godzilla.  Wait.  Does Godzilla have hair?  Fine, then.  Wolf man, or....something....hairy and not good.  Anyway....we'll call me Wolf-zilla.

Just when I thought I was going to have to freeze my hairy legs off all morning, the fates turned for Wolf-zilla.  I remembered a load of clean laundry in the dryer.  As luck had it, there was both a top and bottom in there for me.  Amazing!  But it gets better.  Coming into my son's room, I spied one of my old slippers.  (He likes to play with them.  Don't ask.  The boy's got a thing for footwear.) 

I actually thought to myself, "Well, one slipper is better than nothing."  My comfort threshold as a Mom has dropped so low, that I figured I'd reached my zenith with a warm pair of sweatpants, a hoodie and one slipper.  Who could ask for more?  Right?  I wiggled my foot into it.  I'm pretty sure I was prepared to wear that one slipper around all morning.  I wasn't really even looking for the other one. 

And then, there it was; The Holy Grail of my morning ensemble!  The other slipper--on the other side of his bed.  Angels were singing along with a background muzak track, and I heard a voice in my head.  Through layers of grogginess, and stupor, the voice was clear.  Unbelievably, it was my pre-coffee self saying,

"Wow.  This is the awesomest start to a great day."

What the???

It only took a minute for me to laugh and ask myself, "Who is this woman inside my head?"  And then it hit me. 

It was the new me. 

The new me, although still not a morning person, isn't dreading each new day that arrives. 

The new me, even with less than six hours of sleep, can still feel optimistic. 

The new me, even when freezing cold at 6:30 a.m., can still be cheerful.

The new me is content and amazed; amazed at an entire morning wardrobe picked from amongst the bedroom floor toys and the laundry room.

I've heard it said that when you combine thankfulness and awe, you get gratitude.  I think that's what the new me is experiencing.  And I'm looking forward to getting to know her better. 

Well, after she gets her first cup of coffee....just in case.  'Cause I'm pretty sure even the new me can still morph back into Wolf-zilla when she's not caffeinated.  I mean, she's still got the leg hair thing going on.