Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 8: Reformationis

See that train in the distance? It's the fresh post train - should arrive here around 14 or 15. Yep. Thems the facts.

Reformationis: transformation; reformation;

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

What creates lasting change?

You'd think I'd know that. Since being changed literally from the inside out over the last 21 months, I should think I'd have a good handle on lasting change. After all, the redecorating of my innards wasn't done with Velcro - there's no going back, baby.

But that doesn't keep me from trying.

Old habits creep in when I'm not mindful. An attachment to food that I thought was long dead will insidiously rear its ugly head, and I'm mindlessly snacking without realizing it.

Although my new frame and form are capable of doing an astonishing (to me) amount of things in a single day, I can easily find myself slipping into veg mode at the drop of a knitting loom. Or numbing out in front of a movie. Or letting hours pass while surfing the web. Or doing anything but moving forward on the many, many things that are worth my interest and attention. Mindlessness.

I'm finding that the same vigilance I've had to use to even start to make habits of my new way of living continues to be required to make my new life stick.

Excuse me for a moment - need to take my mid-morning calcium, vitamins, and such...

Like I said, vigilance. (And yes, I really did pause right then, take some pills, and am chewing away on the first of two calcium chews for this time around.)

Transformation doesn't always equal change.

Imagine someone who loses a leg to some sad occurrence. They are truly transformed, permanently and irrevocably, but are they changed? Perhaps, since the reality is that they will have to learn to accommodate what is now their reality. They will have to adjust, to relearn, but the change is forced upon them. How deep it goes, and what results from it is up to them.

How my body processes food is permanently changed and, if I don't live that way, it can result in some mild discomfort all the way to serious malnutrition and a St. Mary's vacation. Not a great way to "make the Yuletide gay." But how deep the change goes is up to me. I can follow the new requirements, I can "mostly" follow them, or I can go ape-crazy sometimes and totally blow them off.

That last one not only results in major discomfort, but large protests from the other members of my household. Yes, even Ezzie the Wonder Dog looks at me as if to say, "Dude, I'm a DOG, and that's still a bit much for me to handle." Don't believe me? Spend 24 hours with me after I drink a 20 oz soda - especially a Diet Coke. You'll be cryin' for yo mama in eight.

And how do I know these things? Because I HAVE gone ape-crazy, and I have danced around the edges of obedience, and I have had days where I didn't take care of the basics. After everything I've learned and everything I've been through, I'll still do the dumb and shrug off the new while returning to that which is bad for me.

Sometimes, transformation doesn't go deep enough into change. Sometimes, transformation remains external, and change never penetrates below the surface.

With all the trappings of Christmas surrounding us, focusing on Advent and the reason we celebrate seems a no-brainer. We see it all around us, our hearts are moved by the story once again, and we find ourselves turning toward the One who was always there, all the time, waiting. Transformation - our vision realigned; our hearts refocused; our resolve renewed.

Then the other shoe drops in January, and we learn that transformation does not equal change. Are you inclined toward New Year resolutions? Things that you will accomplish/change/address in the year to come? And how many of those goals/dreams/hopes/resolutions have gotten laid by the wayside, victims of change that hit the surface and bounced off?

(Cal's honest admission: I've got a long, l-o-n-g list of 'em, and enough regrets to repaint the White House a lovely shade of grey.)

Something worth noting: We KNOW it's coming. Every year, we know that the joy of the holidays is followed by the deep plummet into the valley of the shadow of the new year. Like the light on an oncoming locomotive, we see it coming down the track, and turn into Bambi in the headlight - frozen stiff. The holidays fly through, leaving light and joy and fuzzy stuff and some tinsel in their wake. (Because no matter how carefully you clean, there's ALWAYS some rogue tinsel left. Always. Oh, and fruitcake. That always gets left behind too.)

("But deadly for 10,000 years is carbon-14." - Sting, We Work The Black Seam Together)

("And fruitcake. Seriously." - Cal)

(Cal's honest admission: As much as I use the recurring fruitcake gag, I do like the stuff. And even in my altered state, I usually find a way to get some fruitcake - usually too much, which results in the aforementioned dire consequences.)

What the heck was I talking about?... Oh yeah - Bambi in the headlights eating fruitcake. Not really - he'd never touch the stuff.

We know that the new year approaches, and that we'll always try and buckle down to make this the year that the change sticks, the resolve remains firm, the dreams are realized, and the fruitcake disposed of. (That's enough of the recurring gag for this installment...) But change, real lasting change only comes from habits, real lasting habits carefully learned and constantly renewed.

So now is the time to be working toward habits that lead to change in the new year, which brings us to the whole "Advent is a season of preparation" thing. What if the point isn't preparing for the arrival of the King, but preparing to walk with Him every day in this and every year? To place Him in His proper place, at the head of all things, and to live life this and every year acknowledging His sovereign Lordship? What if we turn the daily Advent calendar into daily time hearing His word? What if Advent family devotions become daily family devotions? What if the reminders of the tree and the nativity scene turn into daily reminders that our lives are well-spent when they begin and end each day with Him?

What if the best, most worthy resolution we can make is a daily walk with God? So simple and wonderful! From that, all sorts of amazing things can follow because He can and will lead us there.

(Cal's honest, fruitcake-free admission: My habit of listening to the Daily Audio Bible, which is a podcast that I highly recommend, is not perfect. I sometimes get a week or two behind. And what results is not guilt from failing at my resolve, but rather a sadness, a missing piece from not having a daily reminder that God walks with me, each day. He is always there and always will be but if I am not careful, I'll walk away and wander. I'll turn away, even though He's right there, and there will be a hole left behind. I am made less when I fail to turn to Him daily, hourly, minute-by-minute.)

Behaviors lead to habits. Habits can lead to change. And change can lead to lasting, deep transformation. We can be reformed, reborn, renewed, but only in daily behavior, daily habit, daily resolve to walk with Him and follow hard after Him.

And so, we prepare. We celebrate. We wait for the coming King. And personally, I want to use this time to remember where I walk. To refocus my vision. To follow the Christ. I follow... failingly, imperfectly, falteringly, hesitantly... but I follow.

Reformationis: transformation; reformation

"Out of my sorrow, bondage and night, Jesus I come, Jesus I come..."

- William T. Sleeper

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 7: Memoratus

The reposting frenzy continues. Freshness shall be obtained, somewhere around 14 or 15. 

Memoratus - remember; be mindful; mention/recount/relate, remind/speak of.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

I'm a firm believer in raising stones. Actually, I'm a firm everything - my beloved refers to me as "bony" these days. Folks give me a pat on the shoulder, and hit skeleton. I look at my upper chest and can see ribbage. It ain't pretty.

Where was I? Oh yes - stones.

There's a tag on this here blog called "The Stones" made up of things that I need to remember; to keep in front of me; to hold in; to use today's word, memoratus. Things that I must not forget, that I must be mindful of. Signposts of God's faithfulness, reminders of where I've been and pointers to where I am heading.

What does this have to do with Advent? Not a thing - I'm running dry here.

Just kidding.

In this season of preparation, of getting ready, knowing where we are, where we have come from, and where we are heading is important if the King is to be given His proper place in all things.

Sorry - that had overtones of "A Christmas Carol" in it... The Ghost of Advent Past will not be making an appearance, rest assured.

Where have you been? Has the King been on the throne this year in your life? Did situations, feelings, responses, thoughts all find their right perspective under His just rule?

(Cal's totally honest response: Nope. Things have been shifting in the last few months, to His praise, but I ain't there yet. At least I'm in the same area code.

Which one?

906 of course - everyone knows God lives in the 906 area code.)

Where are you now? Is it the same old same old, another hectic holiday haul, go here, do that, buy those, wrap them, watch this, listen to that, all the usual trappings that so obscure what it's really all about?

Do you find yourself empty, longing, unsettled, bitter, disillusioned, or just generally feeling blue? Are you so extreme that you'd gladly be the one driving the sleigh and running grandma over with the reindeer?

(I had the um... joy... of working at a little bitty station in da U.P. when that song started getting airplay. Lovely. I know my life will never be the same...)

Do you bury yourself deep, so that all the jolly and jingle bounce right off? Keeping the holiday at bay, because it's been bad for so long that you have to import daylight?

(Cal's honest response: My mom was the heart of our Christmas celebration, so when she was gone in 2003, Christmas kind of went too. There have been good times, dark times, and numb times. Stay tuned for current conditions...)

Where are you going? Has everything felt perfect on the outside, with a yawning emptiness inside, leading you to decide that this year the King returns to the center, His rightful place? Has Advent opened your eyes to making Him central every day? Are you sweeping the house, cleaning the dirt away so when the King arrives, you can welcome Him with joy and open arms?

(For the record, He will enter in anywhere, even if your house looks like the result of the last freight tornado to Oz. Trust me - I'm an expert in this.)

So what stones will you raise to help you remember?

What will remind you of the past, the places where you slipped and fell, and of where He gently lifted you up and carried you? Where His light shone so brightly all around you that you felt sure your eyes would never recover? What will make you take notice of the darkness, to help your resolve to live in the light?

Where will you place reminders of your present, of either a steadfast steady walk, or a rough path that reached a crossroads in 2011 and took a sharp turn toward the light? What will remind you of an Advent that opened your eyes and rocked your world with its gentle presence?

(Cal's honest response: You're looking at my signposts right now. I place "the stones" here on the blog, so that I can look forward and back and remember. My beloved looks here too, and we walk the journey hand in hand.)

The stones help those we love too. They see where we were, where we are, and the mindful journey we are on. The stones give our family and friends tangible reminders of our path, our choices, our resolve, and help them understand more fully. And perhaps to join us on the journey.

We are forgetful critters. It's that simple. Nothing evil in that statement, no declaration of the frailty and fallenness of peoplekind, no loud shouting of the deceitful wickedness of the heart.

(Those are all true, for the record... I'm just not the shout and declare type of dude, at least not in my new life.)

Without real, physical, tangible reminders of Immortal Invisible God only wise (to quote the hymn), we will let slip the most important things. I've said it before - the presence of the mundane clouds our eyes, stops our ears, captures our senses and pushes God to the background. For me, wrapped up in the stones is this phrase:

"As He has been, so He shall be."

He does not change. The same God who put stars in place is the same God who spared Abraham's son; is the same God who moved ahead in fire and cloud; is the same God who keeps His promises through all generations; is the same God who sent His beloved to be born and live and breathe and die and rise...

and is the same God who said He will continue His good work, and will complete it.

We put up our tree, then decorate it with ornaments. Some have a short history with us - on sale 50% off last year the day after Christmas, picked up at a yard sale in July, that sort of thing. Some have a long history, full of memories and family and Christmases long, long ago. And the act of putting them on the tree brings back those past jewels, or past shadows. We remember, sometimes in delight, sometimes in gratitude for how far we have come, and usually in joy for it all.

And there, in a nutshell (a chestnut roasting on an open fire, if you will), are "the stones." The things we collect and hang on our days to keep us mindful of things we need to remember. As we unpack (or have unpacked - I'm usually weeks behind...) the Christmas treasures, hang them for all to see and recall their stories, let's take that with us into the new year, placing the stones and recalling their stories as we walk with the King, listening to His voice and learning His ways.

Memoratus - remember; be mindful; mention/recount/relate, remind/speak of.

" At the right time, God wrote Himself into the story. 'For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.' And that's the reason that All is Well. Remember?"

- Frank Peretti, "All Is Well"

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 6: Temporis

You know the drill - reposting of Advent Writings, new ones coming around number 14, 15...

Temporis - time, condition, right time; season, occasion; necessity.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

We are a time-conscious people. Clocks in our vehicles, on our cell phones, in our computers. Places that we spend time or just hang out, we're always aware of the clock, and we keep an eye on it. Alarms, reminders, beeps, blips, or cool ringtones - we find all sorts of ways to be mindful of time. If you use it efficiently, that's good, but if you're watching the clock, you're just killing time until you get to split, and that's bad. Planners, Palms, PDAs, smartphones, apps, tablets, netbooks, calendars - all sorts of ways to divide time, to account for it, to "spend" it, as if we had the ability to hold it like currency or control where it goes like a budget.

Or lack thereof.

So from our limited temporal view, trying so valiantly to corral time, to break it and domesticate it, God's abundance of eternity seems like... well... actually, we don't have any way to even begin to comprehend it. Our whole existence is made up of start and stop, of beginning and end, green for go and yellow for punch it, 'cause it's gonna turn RED!

So no wonder God's schedule eludes us. I mean, just thinking of asking God to check His calendar? Forget about it - a Day Timer the likes of which we'd never be able to lift. To understand His view of how sometimes it takes an entire human life for one lonely soul to finally turn to Jesus? Or how a faith begun at 5 years old can grow so beautifully through teen and young adult years, only to turn cold and bitter near the end, just at the doorstep of "faith made sight?" A young man, heart set on ministry with youth, steps into eternity the night before spring semester of his freshman year of college?

(And yes, that last young man was a friend of mine... we were freshmen together at GR Baptist College in 1977.)

Why do some lives, filled with such hope and promise, seem to get shortchanged on number of days, yet some lives, filled with bitterness and regrets, go on and on?

How can we understand God's timetable? We can't.

Think of the centuries of waiting, the looking and hoping for the deliverer. Seeing (or hoping that we are seeing) signs of His appearing, only to remain alone. Believing that things can't possibly get worse, and this must be the time when the redeemer will arrive, only to see things indeed get worse, and no relief in sight.

"O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lowly exile here until the Son of God appears..."

Now, maybe like me your longing hasn't lasted for centuries, or even decades. Maybe your season of suffering, of change, of upheaval, of uncertainty has been relatively short in the scheme of things. Yet the depth of that season is just as deep for you as it ever was for the ones who waited long and weary years for the promise to be fulfilled.

To you, as to them, He gives Advent. Advent isn't just longing, not just preparation - Advent is hope of a promise fulfilled, and remembering that He who kept His promise by sending the Messiah is the One who promises that He will wipe away all tears, that death and sorrow will be no more, that He is coming and will make all things new.

Advent is the sure and certain hope that the One who gave His Son as a gift to us all keeps His word; that He remains faithful and true; that He understands us in all our sorrow and hardship; He understands us in our joy and delight; He knows how to laugh and He knows how to weep. He knows fellowship with friends and He knows how to endure loneliness, the kind of deep loneliness that we can't begin to understand.

And He knows the proper time for all of them. He not only knows the "what," He knows the "when," the perfect "when," the time when the season or event or trial or blessing or joy or sorrow will accomplish exactly what He intends. There's never an interruption, never a delay, never a little glitch, never the blue screen of death. (Of course not - God uses a Mac.)

** Sorry - couldn't resist a little Microsoft baiting. Besides, the Linux folks are smugly saying to themselves, "we KNOW what operating system is the OS of the Throne..." **

** Wouldn't it be funny if when we tour the IT department of Heaven, that all we see are the names Atari and Commodore? Hee hee hee... **

At the right time, God spoke to Abraham.

At the right time, God spoke to Moses.

At the right time, God introduced Ruth to Boaz.

At the right time, God raised up David.

At the right time, God spoke through Isaiah.

At the right time, John was born.

At the right time, Joseph met Mary.

In the fullness of time, God sent His Son.

So as we count down time to the holidays, as we struggle to find enough time for all the preparations we think we need, when we run out of time for last-minute shopping, when we wish for more time to spend around the tree or table, when we hope for more time with loved ones, or wish we had spent more time while they were here...

As we try to slice and dice time like a crazed Japanese steakhouse chef to make everything fit; as we stuff and cram and juggle to fit in all the celebrating with as much wild abandon as our overburdened lives will allow; as we work hours upon hours to have minutes upon minutes to spend on Christmas day...

And when we get to January 2nd and wonder where it all went...

It's good to remember that He who sent His son has all of time in His grasp. None of it escapes or eludes Him. He gives us exactly as many days, years, hours, minutes as we need for what He has in mind. If our lives are cut short, it's no shock to Him - they lasted as long as He intended. We react with human emotion, with dismay and sadness, but He remains in control. When a dear saint finally says goodbye, and closes their eyes here in this world, they open their eyes before Him exactly at the time He knew they would.

Perhaps this Christmas season, it would be a good thing to let our fast-paced plans go for a while, and adopt a bit of God's view of time. To slow down, mindfully approach the season with a sense of longing, quit trying to fill every nook and cranny of the calendar and instead thin out the thundering holiday herd to have some significant time and memories for the days / months / years ahead. To have time to allow Advent to grow, to see it bloom in its arrival on Christmas, and to enjoy its beauty into the new year.

Yeah, it might make us feel like we're missing out on things. It might drive the kids batty to see so much going on around them only to be doing less at home. Maybe comparing a meager, reduced Advent season to all the hyper-jingling-jangling-multidimensional-overstimulating-flashy-shiny-impact-of-a-bullet-train festivities we see in media will make some feel like they got robbed. Maybe you thrive on the full-impact assault that is your major holiday celebration - maybe the only way to get your jingle on is to hit it full throttle, take no prisoners, go big or go home, and wring every drop of jolly out of every day, so a reduced calorie Advent ain't how you roll, baby.

Fair enough. It was just a suggestion.

As for me and my beloved, a quiet Christmas is a better one. A mindful Advent is the way to make sure that I'm very aware of what God did when He showed us what giving is really all about. Personal, intimate connections in this season remind us that God made the most intimate, personal contact of all - Himself. So I think I'll follow, ever so slightly and imperfectly, His example. I want my Advent to be one of connection, of intimacy, of contact. And in that way, I can establish a pattern that can continue into the new year, walking with Him each day.

Temporis - time, condition, right time; season, occasion; necessity.

"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn..."

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)