Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 5: Deliratio

Re-posting of The Advent Writings. New ones coming somewhere around 14 or 15. Hopefully. Maybe...

Deliratio -  delirium/madness

Source: Oxford Latin Dictionary, 1982

When the Lord used a friend to nudge me into blogging, He made it pretty clear that I wasn't supposed to hold a lot back. Graphic and unlovely details, yeah. But things that might be embarrassing or deeply personal? No. Sometimes I look at what I've written and think, "holy cow - do I really want this out there?" I consult with the Master, I think, I re-read, and most of the time it stays. He doesn't let me hide a lot.

And yes, sometimes my beloved (the Proofreader) reads the words and thinks, "why in the world did he have to write that? Why do people have to know that about us?" And yet, they don't get edited out. She understands the need for transparency that God has laid before me. 

As always, give her a hug today if you see her, or send her one via email or Facebook - she always needs extra hugs. :-D

These are two very personal stories from my life, so I beg those who know of what I speak to not take offense. The stories relate to my own mental workings, and not anything about the events they reference. It's my issue, not anything external. And as always, there's a point to this wandering.

Ok, "always" might be a stretch. How about "usually" or "sometimes" or "even a broken clock is right twice a day." That's probably more like it.

When madness invades Advent, scene 1:

There is a yearly event, a holiday tradition, and something that many would consider an essential part of their Christmas celebration. It's a biggie (for the folks involved or with personal interest therein) and is always a labor of time, sweat, effort and love. 

And no, it is not Egg Nog, fruitcake, the Fifth Third Holiday Pops, or the annual playing of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer."

This event drove me nuts every year. I'm ashamed of that - it speaks about many layers of me and how I used to view the world. My part in it was very, very small, very easy (for one with my particular gifts), and not a big deal. Yet the mental angst and stress over it would smolder through the rest of the holidays. In short, my issues with this particular event would yank the rug right out from under Advent for me, every year. 

For a number of years, it was related (as were most things) to my weight and self-image. My world was pretty pathetic, my response to most things selfish and impatient, and my field of vision limited to what I could see around my ponderous bulk. So this particular event would bring out EvilCal in the most profound way, and it would take the rest of the season to jam EvilCal back into the box. 

If he ever actually got stuffed away at all.

It was madness, to get that worked up about something so small, yet I did. Every year. Why didn't I just stop participating? Not sure - I could try and peel back the layers to explore that, but there's no point. 

Last year, well on my way to my present size, you would think that things would finally change. That I'd react with grace and patience, with all that newfound energy running around in me. You'd think that NewCal would triumph, that all would be well and jolly, and that angels would sing joyfully as peace and harmony ruled within my mortal frame.

And you'd be oh so very wrong.

Same piddly little stresses. Same overreactions. Same lack of patience and kindness. Same madness.

Sometimes kids, you hit a wall you just can't ride around. You can't go over it, you can't dig under it, you can't rewire how you perceive it, and you can't sort out why it summons your inner beast.

And that's when it has to go. Not just for the sake of your own happy little world, but more for the sake of those around you who receive the poison of your fractured heart. 

Why relate this to Advent? Because I think there's so many more of these opportunities for an express train to madness in this season than other times. So many activities, so much stuff, so many expectations piled on one little holiday, and so many ways to experience madness on a personal level. 

If you're a happy soul, well-adjusted and stable in all your ways, you have no grid on which to reference this. It's a foreign concept, one you simply can't wrap your head around. If that's you, bless your heart. Go forth, celebrate with your entire being, and don't get stuck with the fruitcake.

But if any of this rings a chord of familiarity in your heart, read on...

When madness invades Advent, scene 2:

In the last few years of my mom's life, we spent each Christmas in Oscoda, never knowing if this was going to be "THE" one, the last one ever. 

Stressful? Oh yeah, you might say that.

Know this about my mom - she was the heart of Christmas for my family. I didn't realize this until she was gone. She was the one who made our season bright.

I remember one year, the one before the real "last" one, when mom was so sick. She'd always make stockings for each of us. Not just a few little things stuffed in a sock (not, for the record, that there is ANYTHING wrong with that - she just took it way over the top... and sides... and bottom... and everything...), but all kinds of things - toiletries, goodies, useful stuff, fun stuff, all individually wrapped, and put into something unique. Tupperware. Rubbermaid. A hand-woven basket. A garbage bag. My stocking has been in all of these. The rule was, if there was a picture of a stocking on it, it was a stocking. 

This year, Mom had been trying very hard to do the stockings, but had no strength to shop for things as she would do every year. She ended up ordering some things (gotta love QVC), picking up others the rare times when she could get out, and had piled them all in bags in the spare bedroom. I remember helping her look through it all, and the sadness and confusion on her face. She had no idea what she had bought, how much she had, or who it was supposed to go to. This tradition, this fun thing that always brought us so much joy was so far beyond what she was physically capable of, and that came crashing down on her. I remember helping her sort through it, separating it into bags, no wrapping, just going through the motions, and I wished that I had understood just what this meant to her, so that I could have helped her more.

Madness.

That was the year that we all tried so very hard to make it "the" Christmas - the one to remember. We honestly thought it would be our last together, and that desperation took hold big time. I was sick with a cold, we were all exhausted, and so we bustled around, trying to do the things we always do to make it feel more like how we all remembered or thought it should feel. I remember baking sugar cookies and decorating them at midnight Christmas day - because it wasn't Christmas without sugar cookies, so we HAD to have them so we HAD to get them done. We all tried so hard that we ended up with one of the most miserable holidays we'd ever had.

And on the way home from that sad time, Ezri ate the two cookies Vicki had especially decorated and saved for herself. I took over driving, as Vicki wept. The cookies were the last straw, and we felt broken. My most vivid memories of Christmas with my mom are the year when we tried so hard to make it Christmas, and we left brokenhearted.

Madness.

"Gee, Cal - just when I thought you couldn't put much more 'blue' in a 'Blue Christmas,' well, you proved me wrong. Well done, Grinch."

My dear ones, this season of joy can turn to a season of madness in so many ways. We can pile up expectations, we can bury ourselves in activities, we can spend well beyond our means to try and use stuff to create meaning, we can numb up and dive under work or obligations to keep away the lonely...

Or we can recognize it for what it is: madness.

We can choose to set some things aside, to close the door to madness -  activities that cause us nothing but angst. Demands that place the weight of the world on our shoulders. Expectations that no sane person would try and meet. Schedules that rob us of time and strength and meaning.

And we can choose to embrace the only thing about the season that matters: the gift of God. We can restore Him to His right place, as the only One who gives meaning and clarity to this world. 

As I said, if in your happy world, everything fits and makes your season bright, blessings to you. Enjoy your celebrations with a glad heart, cherish your loved ones, and celebrate Jesus.

But if the season brings too much stress, too much busy, too much excess without enough meaning, consider lightening your load.

The event that causes EvilCal to take over? I'm typing this as it's going on, staying away from it. For my heart's sake and for the sake of my beloved and my dear friends, I have to step away.

All the memories of Christmas as my mom declined toward eternity? Or the gleaming ones that proceeded them? Those shadows have to be set aside as well. Nothing will ever be like that again, no Christmas will ever feel like that, and I can't live my future shackled to that past, no matter how wonderful or horrible they were.

This year, I'm working toward a clean house, using the preparation time of Advent to sweep the floor of old dust and memories, and taking some things away, getting rid of them because they just shouldn't be here anymore. Polishing and cherishing some things from the past, while realizing that I'll never see their kind again, and that it's madness to try and make my present live up to their real or imagined memory. Raising my vision from the distractions all around me to the One who it's all about, and rearranging my celebration around Him. I lay down the past, the good and bad, the bitter and sweet, the treasured and the stressful, and realize that it was never about any of that in the first place.

Away from madness, into clarity.

Away from stress, into peace.

Away from unfocused busyness, into singleminded purpose.

Away from everything being about me, and making it all about Him.

"For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father...

Prince of Peace."

Isaiah 9:6 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 4: Adsonare

Re-post of The Advent Writings from last year... we'll get to the new ones around 14 or 15. Patience, young Padiwan - feel the force flow...

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Michael Card's song "Immanuel" is a favorite of mine, and not just in the Advent season. In particular, the words of the last verse:

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

In the midst of the fun and fuzzy feelings of the holidays, I'm thinking about my response. Not just today, but when Advent is a memory, when everything Christmas has been stuffed back into the boxes and put up in the attic, awaiting its next glimpse of freedom in 2012, and when the Christmas Favorites playlist isn't heard for a year or so on the ol' iPod.

When the stage is bare, the lights are off, and the audience has left the theatre, what is left? How do I respond?

Vicki has mentioned this to me after playing in a pit orchestra for a musical, and in our lives as musicians we've experienced this many times: You work together as a group, preparing and polishing the concert (show, recital, play, etc). Many, many hours spent together with the common goal of making the thing as good as you possibly can. Practicing, examining, rehearsing, tweaking, more practicing, all leading up to (at worst) one or (at best) multiple performances. But even in a week-long run, the dreaded closing night finally comes...

Then what?

There's a feeling of emptiness. Loneliness. Many hands working to a common goal, executed with style and love, and over in the blink of an eye. Those united now withdraw as individual parts, never to come together again in quite that same way. If there's not another gig on the books, another show to get into, another goal to practice for, then it all ends. Exit, stage right, blackout.

And it's a terribly dark feeling.

Did you ever wonder why musicians put up with lugging all that equipment, taking it over hill and dale, setting it up, all to play for an hour or two, then to take it all apart and lug it all out again? Did you ever ponder why someone involved in theatre seems to always be either getting ready for a show to open, or auditioning for the next one?

Because the silence between gigs can drive you insane. The whole point of the performing arts is to PERFORM. There's nothing fun or glamorous about practicing by yourself - it's necessary, but not fun. It can be satisfying to see your skills improve, but not fun. (At least it isn't to me - your mileage may vary...) It IS fun to practice with others - the unity of working together and the surprises that come when a group of unique people bring their individual gifts to the table makes for a lot of joy. But then taking that preparation, that common effort, and launching it out there for an audience to (hopefully) appreciate? There's a rush no energy drink can come close to.

And then it ends.

When's the next one? (Not soon enough.) What do we work on now? (Nothing for the moment.) When will we hang out together again and work together again and have this experience again? (Maybe soon, maybe later, maybe never.)

What do I do now? How do I respond when it all ends?

Advent - preparation for the coming of the King. Christmas - the King arrives.

And then? The Christmas costumes are packed away (after laundering, of course), the tree and the star and the shiny bits are carefully boxed up, the memory of the special goodies starts to fade. But the fruitcake remains. With a half life of 10,000 years.

We've celebrated with a common goal. We've gathered over the Sundays of Advent, lighting the Advent wreath all the way up to the final candle. We've been to the concerts, the pageants, the programs, the movies. We've seen the ghosts, learned the lessons, laughed and smiled as a heart is warmed to the message of Christmas. We've given and received. And then the end. How do we respond to these days of celebration when the party comes to a close?

What about those of us who had another knot in a string of holiday wreckage? Where the joy is simply salt in an open wound? Where the brightness of the season simply casts our personal hell into sharper relief? When the over-indulgent expectations of the "perfect" Christmas push us further down the road of hopelessness every year?

Don't get so lost in the brightness that you forget about the darkness. It's waiting out there, just beyond the lights. When the warm glow of Christmas fades, it sees that its time has come.

The holiday that I simply have no use for is New Year's Eve. Never have, never will. It's the final curtain, the ending of the season of light. It stands at the door of the long cold winter, bearing the message, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

(Was that a little overdramatic? Sorry... Although I think it says something profound that the driving force behind New Year's Eve is working hard to make sure you can't remember it the next day.)

I've occasionally had a good New Year's Eve - actually we had a whole string of them years ago celebrating with family and friends, until the kids had the nerve to grow up and put a slamming halt to the whole shebang. I've forgiven them for it, but only a little. Maybe.

When you stand on the threshold of New Year's Eve, all you can see is a dark and icy January waiting. I suspect that it looks that way even in Florida or Arizona or somewhere else warm and sunny, but I've yet to test that theory. (For the record, I'd really like to, sometime.) It's like the letdown after the big celebration. Not even the Rose Parade can help - it just prolongs the agony. (Especially if nobody you care about made it into any of the bowl games.) It's a bandage over a sucking chest wound - a nice thought, but useless.

I once spent an entire Rose Bowl in front of the TV with my dad as he tried to teach me how to knit. I made a lovely long... um... thing. Yeah, I never quite got the hang of it, unlike my dad who could both knit and crochet quite well. Dang. That has nothing to do with the matter at hand, just a cute little family portrait. Think of it as my holiday gift to you!

("Ok, Mister Ray Of Sunshine, thanks for this deep pit of gloom. Got a ladder now, or are you leaving me down here to rot?")

The great hope, the great joy, the great news is that it doesn't end! We celebrate just a part of the story in Advent - the beginning of this chapter. The story began before time, when the Word spun the world out of darkness. The story continued when the Word was a promise that became a covenant to a people. Then we come to the chapter that could be titled, "The Word became flesh..." It's a chapter filled with glory and light and song and appearances and beginnings.

But it's not the ending chapter.

No need for sadness or emptiness or loneliness. It's not time to close the book - this wasn't the last chapter. There is much more to read, many more things to consider, stories to amaze and instruct, to encourage and rebuke. The story goes on.

"So what will be your answer? Will you hear the call - of Him who did not spare His Son, but gave Him for us all?"

Take the light of this Advent chapter, wrap it all around you, take a deep breath, and jump into the new year. We're not leaving anything behind, rather we're taking it all with us. I can choose to respond to the story by walking with the Storyteller, awake and mindful, watching and listening to Him, to see where He will spin the story next. I can walk in wide-eyed wonder into the adventure of each day. There will be dark days and days filled with incredible light. Days of hard battles and days of unspeakable joy. Just like any good story, there will be conflicts and triumphs, there will be times when you want to yell at the book and throw it out the window, and there will be times when you simply can't put it down - you HAVE to know what happens next.

Perhaps the best response to the season of light is joy and anticipation, filled with wonder as the story continues to unfold, and we see ourselves as a part of it. The story doesn't end, not yet. And neither does the wonder...

Adsonare: respond, reply; sound in accompaniment; sing as an accompaniment.

"The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

Luke 2:20 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 3: Annotare

I'm re-posting The Advent Writings, to hopefully complete them this year. Thanks for putting up with old stuff for a while - new stuff coming...

Annotare - note/jot down, notice, become aware; mark, annotate; record, state; designate

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

Ever notice how when you become aware of one thing, that you notice that thing just about everywhere you look? When we got Gracie, our Mercury Sable...

Yes? I see a hand in the back...

Yes, we do tend to name our vehicles. I have names for some of my instruments, my trike is called Big Blue, and we have way, way too many stuffies from Build-A-Bear, all of which have their own name.

I sleep with a snowy owl called Bubo. I'm not ashamed of that.

Wait - yes I am. Forget you heard that.

Anyway, when we got Gracie, I suddenly noticed that all vehicles became Mercury Sables, most of them were the same burgundy color as ours, and oddly enough, most of them had vanity plates that bore various adaptations of the name Gracie.

I might have been making that last part up.

When our attention gets drawn to something, we tend to see it all over the place. That's why, during my tenure as WCSG's Music Director, I would regularly get calls complaining about the fact that we played this one song about a gazillion times every day. Your attention is drawn to something, so you notice it every time. Hours may have passed between sightings, but all you remember is "there it is again!"

(I call it the Olson Theory of Attention and Time Displacement. No one else does. Wait, Vicki does. But just her.)

Today, what's capturing my attention is the thought of mindfulness - of being awake and aware as the days draw closer to Christmas. And as I do, I see more and more places where God continues to draw attention to Himself.

I see His hand in a blissfully sunny day today, in the clear blue sky, and the gold and brown reminders of the passing of fall.

I see His hand when I encounter an old friend, who I've connected with on Facebook but haven't seen in years. A quick hug, a little re-connection, and a little more brightness to the day.

I see His hand when I'm listening to the Daily Audio Bible, when I've gotten about five days behind and am listening to one that I should have heard two or three days ago, and yet that one is speaking to where I am, right here, right now on this day.

As my attention is drawn more and more to Him, I notice His loving hand moving more and more. As I think about my commitment to write each day leading up to Christmas, I notice more and more of the things I've written about, and more and more of the things that He will lead me to write about.

I think it's supposed to be this way every day, don't you?

"Well Cal," I hear you mutter (and with good reason, I might add...), "I don't have the luxury of sitting around at Biggby, pondering the truths of the universe and then pontificating upon them for all the world's edification. My world moves pretty fast, the load on my shoulders is pretty heavy, and sometimes I'm just glad to make it through the day, let alone making it through while staying mindful and aware."

Indeed. I hear you, I affirm you, and I understand. Living life in a state of open eyes and open mind is a tough discipline, one that I'm just beginning to get a glimpse of. The world assaults the senses, it screams for attention, it's hard to ignore, and more and more it's nigh unto impossible to escape from.

I'll admit - it chases me everywhere in the form of my trusty little iPad, my own window to distraction and oblivion anywhere I find WiFi. Even in bed, late at night when I should be sleeping. *sigh* On the side of balance, that selfsame iPad is what I'm writing on right now - it's like the whole "out of the same mouth comes blessings and curses" thing. Except it doesn't have a mouth, unless I'm watching YouTube.

And if I'm watching a mouth on YouTube, I really REALLY need to shut it off and go to sleep. Or go for a trike ride, depending on time of day and situation. Never both at the same time.

Um, sorry... back to the actual point...

The amazing thing, the hopeful thing is this: the more we notice something, the more something gets on our radar, the more we see it, then the more we make note of it, and the further it gets into our consciousness. We start connecting them together, we scrunch up the time between sightings, and all of a sudden we see God's presence in most everything. We notice more and more, and the mundane gets pushed further and further back.

With eyes and minds wide open, a life of expecting to see God's hand at work every day is the result. How cool is that?

"So, big boy, do YOU live that way, every day, every hour, every minute, eyes and mind open, looking for God?"

*sigh* No I don't, nor do I claim to. And that too is hopeful - I don't trust someone who never admits that there are times when they don't get it right. Perfect people make me nervous... except for Mary Poppins or Nanny McPhee. (well, Mary Poppins mostly. Nanny McPhee does make me a little nervous, even though the Nanny McPhee movies are two of my very favorite movies...)

Holy cow - my keyboard must be set on RabbitTrailusMaximus or something today...

But I can honestly say that slowly, slowly, I'm getting my head around living with eyes and heart and mind wide open - so slowly, in fact, that a snail following me says, "could you pick it up a little, Speed Racer?"

When I remember to start my day mindfully turning my attention to Him, when I notice the stuff that would blind and deafen me, when I take my thoughts away from me and my little world, and turn them to Him and His all-encompassing vision, then I take another step forward. Behavior becomes habit. Habit becomes life. And God remains central, right where He should be.

And so in this time of preparation, in this Advent season, it's great to use all the visual Christmas reminders to begin an attention shift that needs to be a lifelong pursuit. I don't have it down yet, nowhere near close. But I've begun.

And that's a good place to start. "A VERY good place to start." (Ok - I crossed Julie Andrews movies there... it's all good. Very good.)

Annotare - notice; become aware...

"My dear friends, this is now the second time I've written to you, both letters reminders to hold your minds in a state of undistracted attention."

2 Peter 3:1 (The Message)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 2: Consideratus

I'm re-posting The Advent Writings this year, since I only got through 14-15 of them last year. So, with the dated references and all, here's day 2...

Consideratus - examine/look at/inspect; consider closely, reflect on/contemplate; investigate (Source: William Whitaker's Words)

What an amazing day! What was supposed to be 1-2 inches of snow turned into a blazingly sunny, chilly but beautiful day. A day when Grand Rapids bid farewell to Fred Meijer. A day when I left the car parked at home, and rode the trike to my Biggby office. Light, marvelous light, brilliant light, abundant light.

I think introspection and deep pondering is best saved for sunny days. Grey days, when one would think it'd be best to curl up with a book and some cocoa in front of a fire, don't make the best pondering days for me. The grey outside tends to call up the grey inside, and it all goes south from there. Do your pondering when the sun is shining, and the light within tends to rise up and join it.

Why yes, I do struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder - why do you ask?

So what do I see?

I see brown all around, the leaves having long left the branches, the world shutting down for a chilly nap. And yet I see people, almost as if they're picking up where nature left off, putting up lights and trees and other shiny bits. Bringing out red and green and gold, wrapping and stars, snowmen and reindeer.

And lights. Lots and lots and lots of lights.

Cozy Christmas sweaters, some of which are so horrible that they should never see the light of day (which is exactly why they get trotted out every year...), make their appearance. We show our willpower and restraint to not hit the Christmas playlist on the ol' iPod until 12:01 on Thanksgiving morning, while at the same time getting disgusted looks on our faces when the seasonal offerings get thrown up on store shelves at 12:01 on Halloween morning.

In some ways, we charge into the season, and can't get there fast enough. In some ways, we dig in our heels and try to keep the days from flying by. And in some ways, we get ready for the letdown that we know is coming, 12:01 on the morning of January 2nd, when the bullet train of the holidays vanishes over the hill, out of sight until next year. The 2011 edition of the Greatest Show in December is a wrap.

What about Advent?

If the season is indeed about preparation, looking forward to the arrival of the King, why does it sometimes feel that when He gets here, we hit a wall at 60 mph - all that rushing force meets the immovable object of the new year. What good is all that preparation if we don't do anything with it after the calendar turns over? We go from Advent to what? Do you know? The Church year is about moving mindfully through the seasons, so what happens next? What are we preparing for?

Not so fast, Grasshopper - we'll turn that page later.

Anticipation, preparation, excitement - not just for the purpose of celebrating one day, or even one week, but for a greater purpose: making the coming of the King a reality in our lives all year long.

What if we go through Advent mindfully aware that all this preparation is not just for celebrating the arrival of the King, but preparing to step into this new year having restored Him to His proper place in our lives? What if the point of this is getting ready to see this entire year as an opportunity to live as people of the King?

What if this year the decorations, the shiny bits, the songs, the celebration... what if the whole point is taking that light and joy and making it an everyday thing, because the King has come? He is here, He is with us, and we don't ever have to live in the darkness alone again.

To take an idea from a song by Sara Groves ("I am the moon, with no light of my own. Still you have made me to shine..."), what if we become the shiny bits, to reflect the King's light all through the new year? What if we ARE the Christmas lights, not to be taken down and stuffed away in a box marked Christmas decorations, but left out to glow beautifully the whole year long? The celebration never ends, never gets swallowed up in the mundane, because He never ends, and He never gets swallowed up in the mundane!

I think my focus through this Advent season is going to be preparation for the year that is coming. I want to mindfully note the joy of Christmas, the way that we all put aside so much of the "same old same old" and embrace the different schedule, the additional gatherings, the busyness, the craziness (much different than madness, by the way) and all the extra good stuff that we cram into this season. Then I want to take that excitement and keep it to sprinkle through the year to come.

We'll celebrate the arrival of the King, but the greatest news is that He stays. He's here. I'd like to see what this new year could look like if I try to live in that reality. To be shining all year with Christmas light.

Instead of dreading the train disappearing over the next hill, taking Advent promise and Christmas joy with it, I want to eagerly climb on board and ride that bad boy into the new year, shining with light that's not my own, looking forward to the adventure that He has waiting for me.

And for each of us.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come,

and the glory of the LORD rises upon you."

Isaiah 60:1 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 1: Introit

Note: Although I'm starting a bit late, I'm re-publishing The Advent Writings, since I only made it through 14 or 15 days last year. So I'll post the ones that are already written, tweaking them a bit for 2012, and hopefully finish the rest this year! 

Introit - enter, go in or into; invade

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Advent - preparing, getting ready, anticipation, expectation...

(Source: Cal's Questionable Randomness)

Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. Now, for those from traditions where the Church Year isn't followed or celebrated, you might not know what that is. Feel free to Google that baby, and come right back.

(insert theme from "Jeopardy")

(repeat theme from "Jeopardy")

(insert sound of crickets)

(add sound of foot tapping)

(and a heavy sigh or two)

Alright, welcome back. Although I must ask, did you really HAVE to check your Facebook and Twitter on the way back? Really? Ok...

The thing I love about Advent, and the thing that made me miss it when we were at a church that didn't celebrate it, is that sense of preparation - taking time in the days leading up to Christmas to prepare for the celebration, to mindfully approach the reason we celebrate, rather than having the holidays rush up and flatten us like a steamroller.

Last year, I was steamrollered.

Now, this was a gestalt thing. Huh? You don't know "gestalt?" Well, go Googl... no. I barely got you back last time. I'll handle this...

Gestalt = "the whole is greater than the sum of the parts"

That'll be enough to carry on with - feel free to explore further. Gestalt is one of those things that help me understand how my world works (or doesn't work sometimes). Anyway, last year I was in my first year post-surgery, still in the middle of the mental chaos and not really recognizing myself yet. Still not working, still learning all the things that go with my new life, still wondering what hit me, what was still kicking my butt, and where it would all lead.

Now, top that with a large dose of holiday madness, seasonal overcommitment, and much, much shorter days for someone who has SAD (look it up - on your own time), and you've got a happy season but not a happy camper. Any part of this is bearable - put it all together, and gestalt makes it a stone around your neck. The relief came in the form of a white-knuckle drive to Missouri, a truly amazing Christmas spent with dear family, and taking January off to think, to write, and to let the dust settle.

So I'm a little anxious about Advent this year. And am determined to NOT have a replay of the previous year. (Except for the Missouri thing. I SO wish we could go back, but that's not the plan this year. It'll be nice to have Christmas at home, in our church with our friends and family, but Missouri was AMAZING!) So here begins the writings of Advent. I'm going to try and write each day of Advent, starting now, and use my blog to keep myself grounded. I want to get to Christmas day with a joyful, thankful heart, overwhelmed with the reality of God's son, not only as the babe in the manger, but the living, loving Lord of my life today and every day.

I have two, possibly three extra things on my calendar for this month, and that's it. (Hopefully, anyway - if someone named DeVos or VanAndel happened to call and say "we need some whistle background for a gala event," yeah, I'd take that call... Come to think of it, if someone named [insert any name here, including yours] happened to call and say "we're having a Sunday School / Small Group / Senior Saints / Church Banquet / YouGetTheIdea gathering and want some background music," yeah, I'd take that call. I love to play, especially Christmas music, and I only have one gig on the books to play at this year. I might take my windsynth along to Christmas dinner this year, just to get to play my faves... we'll see. :-D)

Other than that, I'm keeping things out of the schedule. Work projects, they continue. Voice work for WCSG, check. Editing work, yes. But extra parties, activities, etc? Not so much. A few mindful things with friends, time to watch some of my favorite Christmas movies (The Polar Express! A Christmas Carol - the Patrick Stewart version, which rocks the world!), but most importantly, time to listen, to think, to read and to write. In this way, I hope to prepare, to heal, to get ready, and to mindfully celebrate the joy of our Savior's birth.

The Advent Writings will give me a place to express wonder and joy, a place to shed some sadness from the past, to ask some questions of the present, and to look to the future, when our Christmas joy is made real and our faith is made sight. Thanks to all 1.394217 of you (we've lost a few since I last counted, but hey - it's the holidays) for joining me for this ride. Hopefully God will use these random babblings to get our eyes on Advent, on Jesus, and on being ready for the coming of the King - then AND now and to come.

"Oh come to my heart, Lord Jesus - there is room in my heart for Thee."