The Advent Writings, Day 16: Quantus

Quantus: how great; how much/many; of what size/amount/degree/number/worth/price

Evidently the cost of the quintessential Christmas gift just keeps going up and up. We're told, by those who either are very smart or who simply have too much spare time that the cost of all the gifts found in "The 12 Days Of Christmas" is now, well, a lot more than it was. (Numbers and I don't get along, as I've made clear on any "number" of occasions.) So if you were to pony up for all of it, you'd have not only started every kiss with Kay, but taken her breath away with change to spare.

That's a lot of big red bows on four wheeled presents in the driveway. Mine says Tonka.

Every year, we go a little crazy at Christmas, don't we? Ok, some of you don't. You are people of control, planning and great dignity, and you have a controlled Yule. Bless ye, lads and lassies - I am not of thy tribe.

Granted, the "crazy" is not all self-generated. The folks of retail have taken bringing the crazy to an art form the likes of which makes great masters mutter, "why the heck didn't I think of that??" In my little world, sans television, I still don't escape the crazy. The volume of emails bombing my box as we get closer multiplies faster than tribbles in a wheat bin.

(Thank you, Trekkies - glad you liked that.)

And hey - since I've been working part-time in retail, I see even more clearly the whole bundle of crazy in full color, 3-D, with surround sound.

If one isn't keeping one foot on the good earth and one foot planted firmly in one's empty bank account, you can get swept down the crazy river with extreme prejudice. No personal flotation device is going to keep your nose above water in that flood. As the salvos continue their bombardment, promising ever-greater deals and gifts the likes of which Christmas stories will be told for generations to come, it can weaken the resolve of the most destitute, giving us more clues why this season is both the most joyful and the most depressing of all.

This year, as last, I'm making presents. Loom knitted items, crocheted items, some jewelry, all of which bring tears to the eyes of my nieces. I won't attempt to identify the source of the tears - ignorance is bliss, after all. We are told over and over that something handmade is the best kind of Christmas present - one that truly shows you care. It can also truly show that you really should never touch yarn or anything crafty ever in your mortal existence, unless your purpose was to make an abstract sculpture called "yarn hairball horked up by enormous yarn beast." Again, ignorance is bliss. Big bliss. Big honkin' bliss.

Where was I? Oh yeah...

The cost of a happy Christmas. Sometimes we plan for it, sometimes we exceed a bit, and sometimes we launch all reason and embrace the crazy, allowing the shrapnel to fall into the January billing cycle. Or often we simply feel lost, another Christmas of disappointing loved ones because there's barely enough to keep food on the table, let alone the extravagance of gifts. We look at the cost, and (consciously or unconsciously) compare our meager offerings to what "everybody else" has under their tree.

No surprise then, that Christmas is both the most wonderful and the most depressing time of the year, leaving us with a mixed bag of emotions that we get to sort out all year. Just about the time they're all filed away, guess what? The decorations come out, and we start all over! Woo hoo!

Woo. Hoo.

And, again thanks to my extensive...ly short career in retail, I can say with some authority that if your holiday season isn't quite hitting the crazy / depressing / bah, humbug mark, listening to a few hours of the holiday music in a store will push that puppy over the edge. Really.

Alright, now take a deep breath... Let the accumulated residue wash away from such lovelies as "Blue Christmas," "Baby, It's Cold Outside," and my new favorite song to despise...

"Last Christmas I gave you my heart.
The very next day, you gave it away..."

So I went postal, killed your sock monkey, and buried it with a stake of holly through its heart.

(Yes, I'm more than a little sick of the various versions of that song I hear many, many times during a six hour shift. *shudder*)

So the cost of Christmas? I tend to not be one of those folks who keeps a running tally for everyone I purchase gifts for. If a complete home theatre is the thing that I'm sure someone will appreciate and it will make their life a little better, then that's what they get. If a crochet wall-hanging-that-started-out-to-be-an-afghan-but-downsized-to-slippers-then-became-a-stocking-cap-then-a-beanie-and-finally-abstract-art-that-definitely-takes-time-to-appreciate is what I think will make their life a little better, then there we go.

Guess how many family members are getting the latter, as opposed to the former? Contestant #1? "What is, 'all of the above?'" Oooh - sorry. Your answer must be in the form of a Haiku.

All of this to say, aren't you glad God doesn't have to run His numbers by the folks in the back office? He doesn't have to get His manager's approval, and there is no position in Heaven with the title of 'Celestial CFO' or 'Head Angelic Beancounter.'

"Glo--o o o o o--o o o o--o o oh, that's it... We're over budget. Shut it down."

And aren't you glad that God's gift is just exactly what we needed, that He knew that when He gave Himself, and that He too gives to each one not based on the certain amount He's decided each one gets, but rather on where each of us are at?

The perfect gift, given in the perfect time, for everyone.

What's the cost of Christmas? Well, think what it cost one Father when the bill came due about 33 years later on a dark day on an ugly hill on a horrible cross.

So give with your heart this season, dear ones. Don't keep a tally of merits, of what do they deserve, or (definitely not this!) "well, they gave me this last year, so they're only getting this."

Love deeply, appreciate God's gift with your whole heart, mind, soul and strength, then share that love with others in the way He guides you to.

Even with a yarn beast hairball. Sorry, beloved niecelets. I really do love you - really...

Quantus: how great; how much/many; of what size/amount/degree/number/worth/price

"What gift can we bring to the richest of Kings, who walks on the gold streets of glory?
Our lives we will give, every day that we live. And we'll be like Wise Men, adoring."

- Hymn To The Heavenly Gift, from "Heaven Rejoices," by Ken Parker

The Advent Writings, Day 15: Silentium

Silentium: Silence

On December 14, 2012, a truly horrific thing occurred in the United States. And though many people saw it as an opportunity to make their own political point, to sway folks to their particular inclination of activism, or (what I felt was most truly despicable) found plenty of fodder to feed the insatiable cannon of media, these were all (in my very humble and very narrow and very limited opinion) the wrong response.

Sometimes, there is no response but silence. To mourn with those that mourn. To weep with those that weep. And to keep our own profound wisdom and insight to ourselves. ("Better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt...")

Or, as I said yesterday on my own little window into the social media ocean, "I'm adopting the Job posture - putting my hand over my mouth."

I'll leave it for you to make the connections to Advent in this word, silence. The silence of hundreds of years waiting for the foretold promise to become real; the silence of mothers after their children were ripped away by a madman ruler; the silence between visiting kings and the Son of David teaching His own; the silence of three days between the Skull and the Tomb.

The long, long waiting silence watching for His return.

Advent is about hope - always has been, always will be. And if there's one thing we could all use after the past 24 hours, it's hope.

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison

"How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given..."

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 14: Ammirationis

 So here's the last one from 2011. Oh boy. That means something new tomorrow. Unless the Mayans were way off, and they meant the 15th instead of the 21st. We'll see...

 Ammirationis: wonder, surprise, astonishment; admiration, veneration, regard; marvel.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

"Edward Magorium - Toy Impresario, Wonder Aficionado, Avid Shoe Wearer"

(Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium - one of my all-time favorite movies. When it comes to adult taste in movies, I just say "no.")

(The list also includes both Nanny McPhee movies, both Cars movies, and absolutely both Kung Fu Panda movies. Insert the Vicki mantra here - refer to previous installments to find that reference.)

(Oh - and "UP." Loved it.)

(Not so much "Finding Nemo," for which opinion the Eldest Niecelet has written me out of her will. Just for that, I'm going to make good on my threat to have myself stuffed, and force the Niecelets to pass me around year after year like a sport trophy. That'll show her, especially when the other two realize it's all her fault. Hah.)

Anyway, Mr. Magorium, Wonder Aficionado. I loved that phrase as soon as I heard it. It's in the movie twice, and I won't reveal where, since it would give away part of the plot, but the words stuck with me - Wonder Aficionado.

Is that me? Shouldn't that be me? Or us?

(Actually, in the year that has gone by since I first wrote these words, I've kind of adapted that phrase to describe myself: Cal Olson - Lover of God, Recipient of Grace, Appreciator of Wonder, Afraid of Spiders)
 

Sometimes, I think we see adulthood as the opposite of wonder. One comes in, the other goes out, as if someplace there's a rule that both can't exist in the same space. You're either filled with (childlike) wonder, or you're an adult. Pick one - you can't have both.

If you're an adult filled with wonder, it's because people wonder about you. They smile tolerantly as you stroll by, wearing a cape or a beret, smiling and laughing way too loud, perhaps dancing a bit as you walk, doing a few Tai Chi moves in the aisle at the store, or busting out some of your best (worst) moves every time the "Save Big Money" song plays at Menard's. You dance around as you play the bass, proving that a certain white boy ain't got no game, or make all kinds of other odd gyrations as you play any other instrument. They call you eccentric, they laugh and smile, and make the "few fries short of a happy meal" sign behind your back. (That last you don't know for certain, since, of course, it's behind your back. But having a fertile imagination, you can certainly see it happening.)

Is all this sounding a touch auto-biographical? Have you ever SEEN me shake what my momma gave me during the "Save Big Money" song? You have?

Oops. Busted.

Alright, so we've established that I'm a wonder that you wonder about. Wonderful. Riddle me this, Bat Friends...

Where is it along the way that we dump wonder? What's the point where we lose the ability to cut loose in public? How do we go from "not a care in the world" to "stop it - people will stare!"?

When does the opinion of people we'll never know trump inner joy and outward expression?

Ah, my dear ones, the advantage of being reborn is this - the second time around, you simply don't care what others think.

Now, I don't mean that in a "I can make inappropriate comments and noises in public because I don't care what people think" kind of way, not a "my way or the highway, bow before my needs, or I'll flatten you like a steamroller because I don't care about what you think" kind of way, and certainly not a "I can't possibly live up to your expectations, so I'll go the other way to be as obnoxious and contrary as possible and prove to you that I don't care what you think" kind of way.

No, the view of the reborn is that of seeing the world as it really is, free of the baggage we all place upon it. And, my dear ones, I'll say it right out loud, crystal clear with no doubt about my meaning:

I've been reborn.

In your second life, the superficial seems to have no hold upon you, because on the path to being reborn, you shed a lot of the garbage you've built around yourself over the years. If you are reborn later in life, as I was, there's no time for status, opinion, or shallow expectation - the time you have left is so precious that to spend any of it on the mundane seems wasteful and wrong.

"Cal, isn't it a little lofty and extreme to say you've been 'reborn?' I mean, sure, you've been through quite a change, but using that term? I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that claim..."

Let me refocus a bit, and see if it becomes clearer...

When I say I've been reborn, understand, dear ones, that I'm not the one who did the reborning. I've been in the back seat, along for the ride, a willing participant, but not the one driving the car. Our Father God asked me to take one step on the path, to simply say "yes," and He put the pedal to the metal.

I've been reborn because He gave me my second life. I'm a miracle because He made me one. I see the world with eyes of wonder; because I see it with new eyes. I've told this story many, many times, and will continue to do so:

The very first words I heard when waking up in my hospital room after the surgery that started my journey to rebirth, either in a voice speaking to me or in my own thoughts but not of my own making, I don't know which, were these: "My chains are gone, I've been set free."

I've been reborn.

There's no other way I can put it - believe me, I've been flailing around for the right word picture to explain what's happened to me since March 30, 2010. Weight lost, health gained, and those are the tiniest parts of it. When you see it all together, see the gestalt, the whole that's greater than the sum of the parts, there's only one way to capture it in one phrase:

I've been reborn.

And wonder is now my native tongue.

To put it any less extravagantly would be a lie, and would diminish the miracle my Father has done. (Ok - it would attempt to diminish it - God's work can't be added to or diminished by my tiny words...) Were I claiming that I did this on my own, that I've made this great achievement, then that declaration would deny His provision and negate my claim. If you grit your way through by your own strength and are standing on your own merit, you haven't been reborn.

Sorry - just callin' 'em like I sees 'em.

"Um, Cal, oh he who claims to be reborn, who I suspect has just taken an overdose of his happy pills today, where are you going with this?"

I'm going to the best part... I'm no different than anyone else. I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam. And so's you.

"Huh?"

Dear friends, in Jesus Christ, the Babe of Bethlehem, we are all reborn! We are all living, breathing, walking miracles. We have come from darkness into His marvelous light! Sure, my rebirth has been dramatic, one that you can see and understand. I'm a mobile picture of walking from death to life, but that picture fits all who call on His name! The reason I've been given so much light, so much wonder is this -

Look at me, look at HIM!

The same God who parted the sea is the same God who raised our Lord from death to life. He's the same God who spoke through the prophets, healed the sick, restored sight and wholeness, brought sanity out of madness, and empowered believers in a rushing wind. He's the same God who took me from 480 pounds in January 2009, to around 440 in February 2010 to around 220 presently. From death to life.

And guess what? He didn't go covert. He's not undercover. He still moves in a mighty, dramatic way. His hand still does the impossible; He still rescues and saves, comforts and heals, restores and empowers.

Look at me, look at HIM!

Where, along the way, do we decide it's time to dump wonder and "grow up?" Why can't wonder and adulthood exist in the same person? It can, it does, and it's wonderful, because He continues to move. He is wonderful, and we are filled with wonder.

In Jesus, we are all reborn. So enter your second life, leave behind all the stiff trappings of being "adult," and celebrate in childlike wonder. Be reborn. Shed the darkness of the mundane and become the luminous beings we are in Him - to shine like stars in the universe. Embrace the wonderful, absurd, amazing, puzzling, breathtaking, inexplicable truth of the Good News: in Christ, we are new!

Welcome to the promise of Advent that we carry through all our days. Welcome to your second life. Care to join me in the "Save Big Money" happy dance?

No?

No worries - when you're ready, I'll be here. And so will He.

Ammirationis: wonder, surprise, astonishment; admiration, veneration, regard; marvel.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!"

2 Corinthians 5:17 (TNIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 13: Exoletus

Here's #13 - that means new stuff is coming in just a couple of posts. 
Yeah. 
Really. 

I gotta go write now...
 
Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten.

(Source: William Whitaker's Words)

Anybody else out there forgetful?

Anybody?

Hmmm?

Ah - I see. Just me, then. Alrighty.

And no, my forgetful thing isn't just a result of having pushed the boulder up the hill for 50 years, and now it's rolling down the other side and I can't keep up with it. Ok, that might be some of it, but not da whole ting... We, as human beans, are forgetful.

It's not just for fun or grins that the Bible tells us over and over to "remember," to "forget not," to place the stones and recall what God has done, to talk with our children about God's law and to teach them, which results in us learning it well ourselves, truthfully. We forget. We forget the basics, we forget the wonderful, we forget the astonishing...

But somehow we have amazing recall when it comes to the bad, the painful, the insults, the disappointments, the hurt. 20/20 memory right there, baby. Ask me about being embarrassed in front of the whole school at an assembly in 3rd grade, and it's right there. Ask me what I did yesterday? Um... ah... nope. Nuttin'.

Now, taking my usual left turn from "wander mode" into "wander into something else mode," how does it feel to BE forgotten? It's less painful to be the one forgetting - after all, you don't remember it. But to be forgotten? I imagine that's one of those things that gets filed along with the other disappointments and letdowns in total recall memory. So it's there to stay. Lovely.

I thought it was really interesting to look at this word from my (and your) trusty source, William Whitaker's Words:

Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten

I've never claimed to know the least thing about Latin... Oh, except for the "correct" pronunciation of Gloria In Excelsis Deo - that one I got. (Side note - of course, like all geeky music kids, singing it "Gloria in Ex-Shellfish Deo" during a Sunday service has been known to happen in my past. I'm not proud of it, and less proud of the fact that I still sing it that way on occasion, but usually not in church. I've matured...)

Anyway, I found the progression in the definition of exoletus really fascinating - grow up, become adult, grow stale, deteriorate, die out/fade away, be forgotten. I know - these aren't really supposed to go together. The semi-colon divides them in the definition, but when I use commas, doesn't it look like a picture of the human journey? Grow up, become adult. THEN, grow stale, deteriorate. FINALLY, die out/fade away, be forgotten.

Wow. Once again, the holiday cheer that radiates from these musings leaves one breathless. Gasping, as it were.

How does it feel to be forgotten? Are you one of the many, many folks who finds very little joy in Advent? There's a lot of dark in this season of light. Memories of disappointments, of loved ones who are gone, taking with them some of the only happiness we ever felt in Christmas, of promises never kept, of gatherings never invited to, of loneliness so thick that it chokes us - and all stored in perfect recall memory, to be remembered at a moment's notice, augmented with extra bitterness from the erosion of time. Things will never be THAT good again, the pain will NEVER ease, the hurt will never be LESS deep.

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

----------------------------------------------

And now, this just in from the "God has a great sense of irony" department...

I had just written those words about hope when my phone rang. I answered it, got the news that a job I was being considered for went to the other person, hung up, and re-read what I had written...

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

And God says, "so, big boy, do you believe that stuff you spout off? Do you really see hope? Or do you only remember the hurts, the failures, the disappointments? You put in the job application because you were being obedient to Me, and you knew that the outcome was and is in My hands, so what will you choose to do now?"

Of course, I went on my merry way, wagging my tail, smiling and humming a lovely carol.

Not.

This application had been a lesson in obedience - take the step, then leave it ALL completely in God's hands. No thinking about it, no dwelling on it, no considering the scenarios, no planning and scheming and dreaming - hands and mind OFF! Knowing that, resting in my Father's will, learning the lesson and moving on went pretty well... until last night when I went completely ape-crazy for a while.

My Father patiently watched my ranting and doubting, my very, very human reactions, my out- of-control emotions, and then He watched over me as I slept.

And in the morning, I returned to these words, my words, His words, and said, "Yes. I do believe them. And I'm trying, imperfectly, to live them."

------------------------------

My dear one, you're what God had in mind when He invented Advent. It's about hope.

I'm not forgotten. All the failures and disappointments I can summon in perfect recall, even the most recent ones, even the last twenty-four hours, have no power to diminish what Advent means. The One who came to this world came to bring light, and that light overcomes our darkest corners. It banishes shadows. It conquers all.

He IS the light.

So now, you know that I'm not just writing these little pithy phrases to tickle our Advent ears. I'm not sitting on a lofty seat, dispensing jewels of wisdom to the masses. (The mental picture of me sitting on a lofty seat, dispensing wisdom is sufficient to make me laugh so loud I snort... And usually the Eldest Niecelet is the only one that gets away with that sort of thing... the snorting, I mean. She does dispense wisdom, but the snorting is really her trademark. If it ever gets on YouTube, she'll be set for life. I'm just sayin'.)

I'm just a garden variety dufus, trying to work out my faith with fear and trembling, as the Word tells me to do. Ok, I'm much, much more than that - and so are you.

What I am NOT, is forgotten. I'm not any of those failures or disappointments that I can recall so vividly. I'm not lost in darkness, I'm not wandering with no path, and I am not hopeless. Not now, not ever. And, for the record, neither are you. How do I know that?...

"For a child has been born—for us!

the gift of a son—for us!

He'll take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness.

His ruling authority will grow, and there'll be no limits to the wholeness He brings...The zeal of GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies will do all this."

Isaiah 9:6-7 (MSG)

So as we grow up, we don't have to grow stale. As we fade away, we won't be forgotten.

If this season is more about sadness than celebration for you, if you've taken too many hits from a falling economy or a broken family, if this present darkness seems to be covering your eyes, look up! See the Light, the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth! He knows you, He loves you, and He NEVER forgets you. Never.

Advent is all about hope!

Exoletus: grow up, become adult; grow stale, deteriorate; die out/fade away; be forgotten

"In Him was life, and that life was the light of men."

John 1:4 (NIV)

Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 12: Meditare

Fresh, tasty, brand-spankin'-new stuff is almost here. Guess I'd better write it first, eh?

HAPPY DAY 12, being re-posted on 12/12/12!!! Ooooh - I get chills just thinking about it! Or not...
 
Meditare: meditate, think about; reflect on

I think meditation has gotten a bum rap. Of course, I'm a child of the 70's, where transcendental meditation became a "thing." So all of a sudden something that we're told to do with scripture became Eastern mysticism, and we had to avoid it like the plague.

By "we," of course, I'm referring to the semi-conservative but still great and excellent way I was raised in the faith. So I guess I'm saying "me" instead of "we." Hee hee hee. Whee.

So instead of meditating on scripture, we were "thinking on" scripture, "focusing on" scripture, "keeping your mind on" scripture, "spending time with," "dwelling on," "pondering," "contemplating," "considering," etc.

That's an awful lot of baggage that could be simply replaced with "meditate." So I shall. And frankly, when I think of meditation, I don't get an image of someone in the lotus position, fingers in the "okey dokey" position on their knees, blissed-out expression on their face, and the melodious sound of "ooohhhmmm..." coming from their lips.

If that image does come to mind, it's usually to the sound of joints cracking and "oooooowwwwwwcccccchhhhhhh!!!!" coming from their lips. "Bwwaaahhh haaahhh haaaahhh" is the sound coming from my lips. Strange looks from those nearby are usually the results.

What then, I asks myself, are we talking about when we say meditate? And myself responds, "Well, dufus..." Then a fight breaks out 'cause I know that myself shouldn't call I dufus, and we've discussed this time and again, but apparently someone in this conflicted being hasn't gotten the memo and insists on continuing this naughty behavior.

And this is certainly not the season to be on the naughty list.

Meditate, in my unlearned and non-scholarly opinion, is something like watering a tomato plant. It's not just splashing a few drops of liquid on the parched soil, then going on your merry way, expecting to see a thriving and flourishing plant when next we check in, but rather giving the plant what it needs. Meditating is like giving the plant sufficient water, not just a few drops, and having that essential nourishment soak in, going all through the soil to reach the roots, to be taken in and spread throughout the plant.

When we meditate on something, we're allowing time for it to sink in, to reach the roots and spread through us.

This can apply to a big and difficult decision - we can't just take a look at it, kick into decision mode, and have at it. We have to take some time, whatever time we have, to let it roll around in our heads, look at it from different angles, and make the connections that allow us to finally make a good decision.

Meditation (or something like it) can be how we think of friends and family, letting their places in our lives replay in our minds, enriching our heart's response to them, making us better able to extend love, grace and patience not only to them, but to others as well.

I guess we're talking about deep and mindful consideration here. Let's take this over to Advent, shall we?

It's so easy to keep the Christmas story on the shallow level. After all, the decorations, the parties and events, the music, the lights and candles and tons of goodies - they all rush in and seem to fill all the empty spaces. Their sheer momentum sweeps us along, making enough noise to silence our questions, providing enough sights to keep us from truly seeing, and making us think that all the dark spaces are truly and wonderfully lit. We hear the stories, we keep the traditions, we follow along with what we've done before. It's familiar, comfortable, warm and fuzzy, and totally alright, even wonderful in and of itself.

But it's not meditation. It's not reaching a deeper level, getting to the roots and penetrating our beings.

"Dude, lighten UP! It's CHRISTMAS, man! Can't you just relax and have some holly jolly yourself? Does your fruitcakephobia have to bring out your grinch in philosopher's clothing? Can't you keep your pondering a little more upbeat?"

Hmm...

For Christmas, the answer is yes. I'm just as capable of having wild, merry, excited, warm and fuzzy Yule as anyone else. Actually, sans 200 or so pounds, I'm more capable this year than any other of getting my jingle on. The former fat man will bring it on Christmas day. (Not sure what "it" is, but I've still got a few days to figure that out...)

But we're not talking about Christmas - we're talking about Advent. And that's where I take a sharp left turn internally. For many, many years, I went through the motions with none of the substance. So much so that when my mom died, I really wasn't sure what Christmas looked like anymore. Much of the joy went away for me.

(This is not to say that it became a train wreck - lovely times were had, my family is still there, some things changed, but much {very much} remains. I am blessed, I am thankful, I am touched by love and grace.)

I was wandering through the season blind and deaf. The few drops of water never reached the roots. And I never took in enough to grow and be nourished. I lived, but I didn't thrive. I moved, but I wandered. I saw and heard but I didn't feel. Last year, with all the physical and mental changes happening so quickly, Advent was madness.

Which brings us to this year. These writings. And the reason I seem to have gone from holly jolly to bah, humbug!... I'm trying, imperfectly, to mindfully appreciate Advent, to walk slowly through it and see the details with my new eyes, to hear the songs and story as if for the first time.

(If you think I'm way serious in this happy holiday season, you ain't seen nothing yet - Lent is coming...)

For me, I see the need to meditate on Advent, to allow these days of focusing on our King, His arrival, and His presence to permeate my whole being. The outward trappings - lights, decorations, parties, even some of the traditions - they seem to be moving to the background, while the message - prepare a way for the Lord! - is coming to the foreground. As I take it in, slowly, mindfully, I'm becoming aware of His presence in my life, and how He is preparing me for this new year. I know there are changes coming, challenges and blessings, questions and (hopefully) some answers, joy and sadness, and now is the time to get grounded and planted, so that everything to come will be with my hand in His.

It's not that I'm taking things too seriously, becoming a grinch, or turning my back on Christmas joy. I'm simply taking a longer path to get there. When we get to the big day, which is coming up all too quickly, I'll have arrived with the others, ready to celebrate with a full and happy heart. Until then, I remain aware, mindful, slowly considering what this all means, now and in the days to come.

I meditate on the timeless story of redemption and the wonder of it all. Holly jolly? Perhaps not. Deeply joyful? Definitely.

Meditare: meditate, think about; reflect on

"but Mary quietly treasured these things in her heart and thought about them often."

Luke 2:19 (NLT)