Why the Tears Fell in the Midst of Christmas Celebration

Some people emote by yelling (I have…and still do on occasion); some people get irritable (I have…and I still do on occasion); some laugh uncontrollably (Michael calls that “being overwrought”–it happens here, too, from time to time.  We always say, “If you don’t laugh, you cry, so you might as well laugh” on those occasions).

And then there are those that cry when emotions take over.  That’s me, from the get-go.  (I am thankful that I have a few other friends who belong to this club.)

So why did I cry today in church during the singing of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”?  (at least, I think that was the one…)  It wasn’t that the words so touched my heart–although that has been known to happen and that Christmas carol does have words describing thoughts that should leave me awestruck.

I think today’s church tears were for loss.  I looked around me and realized that a lot of people in sight were suffering loss or have done so recently.  And, as happens sometimes, I cried for my own losses.  I have times, every once in a while, where I am caught off-guard in a flash of grief for my grandma (who died in 2001) and Michael’s folks, my wonderful in-laws, who left this earth in 2004 and 2006. I have come to the conclusion that things and thoughts sometimes touch me deeply in church because it is there I am with a vulnerable heart.  I guess it is the danger of opening the door truth and to love.

Then, there were those tears in the second wave of gratitude and love as I opened my Christmas present from Michael.  It was a beautiful little tea set given so that I can have tea parties with Melanie and other future granddaughters I might be blessed to have.  (I guess grandsons could have a tea party with Grandma, too, if they wanted to…I’m open to the idea.)  I requested such a thing last year and he looked for one without success.  In a time when money is a little tighter than usual and when practicality might not dictate this gift , I felt like–is her name Della?–in O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi, to realize the love behind the giving.  My heart was touched in a very deep place and, of course, tears were the only response I could muster at the moment.  (And little Melanie got her first taste Grandma doing the “my heart is touched” crying thing…)

I wonder if Mary cried when she “pondered all these things in her heart”, or if Joseph did when his dear Mary had labored in a stable to bring forth God’s Son and he was struck with the enormity of it all in the face of self-knowledge.  I wonder if any of the shepherds “trickled” at the manger, realizing they, of all people, had been entrusted with the message of the angels, one which had been confirmed in the face of a newborn in a feed box.  Someone, in all the drama of that first Christmas, must have been overwhelmed by love, or change, or the power of God’s presence and surely must have emoted through their tear ducts.

I am glad for tears and, today, I don’t mind admitting that I shed them.

First Dance

They approach each other tentatively
Treading lightly, nearly in slow motion
Not quite sure which way they will go

Awkward movements
Almost accidental

Do they keep their distance
Or touch?

First snowfall of the season
Drivers and cars do the ice dance commute

It is really slick on the roads around Fort Wayne this morning…drive safely!

Eight Minutes of Your Time

If you want to spend eight worthwhile minutes today when you take a break from baking those pumpkin pies or changing the sheets on the guest bed so Aunt Tillie will have a place to sleep when she comes for this Thanksgiving weekend, why not spend it listening to Jean Sibelius’ Finlandia?

I heard that tone poem on the radio as I returned home from taking Zach to “See You at the Pole Extended” (a group of kids that decided, after this year’s See You at the Pole prayer event in September, to meet every Wednesday morning for prayer–pretty cool, eh?) this morning around 7AM.  The music, which came to symbolize the Finnish national spirit, is said to have been written at least in part to protest the Russian oppression of the press in Finland at the time of the writing.

If you’ve spent very much time in a church in your life, you will recognize part of the melody as that to which we sing the hymn “Be Still My Soul”.  Also, “We Rest on Thee, Our Shield and Our Defender” is very appropriately set to Sibelius’ music.  But, the part of the composition to which we match those words is only part of the story.

The work begins with a growl.  We can hear the deep brass rumble of oppression, imagine the emotions roiling within the hearts of the composer’s countrymen as they find themselves increasingly under the heel of Russia.  But, gradually, into the growl is interjected a determination.  I can picture those people rising, one by one, stepping forward and locking arms to face the foe in solidarity with their neighbors who are suffering the same push, push, push to a place in which their spirits cannot bear to live.

The music moves us forward as we sense victory against the foe.  The musical climax of that part of the work ushers in the clear yet unquestionably strong woodwind and string tones of a prayer, what we recognize when we hear the title Finlandia.  The piece wraps up with sure shouts of celebration that don’t forget gratitude as the final few notes include a couple of notes we would clearly recognize as an “amen”.

I couldn’t help but think, as I sat listening to my “driveway music” (and Michael was probably wondering what was taking me so long to come into the house from the car), about Psalm 73.  Good old Asaph starts out by declaring God’s goodness to those who are pure in heart, but quickly moves into a bemoaning of the prosperity of the wicked.  One can almost literally hear the crescendo in his voice as he contrasts their “fate” with his, feeling that “in vain have I kept my heart pure” and that the only result of that has been daily punishment from a God who is unaware of what is going on.

Then–the part of this Psalm I love and can SO relate to:  “When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me”–I always see this next word in all caps–”TILL I entered the sanctuary of God; then I understood…”  Isn’t that just the way it is?  Or could be, if we would make that same turn in the midst of our ravings about all of life’s injustices and oppressions and negatives we didn’t ask for but got anyway because we live in a world where sin is a reality?

If you take the eight minutes to listen to Sibelius’ parallels to Asaph’s longings expressed, I wonder if there is any way to read Psalm 73 concurrently and make it come out just right with the right music for the right expression of heart?  I do know that the ends will match perfectly–Sibelius’ firm “Amen” with Asaph’s “But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds.”

Immortal Until

Ever thought of yourself as immortal?

New thought–or a new way of putting an old thought–came to my attention in today’s family devotional reading from God’s Prayer Book: The Power and Pleasure of Praying the Psalms by Ben Patterson.   Psalm 57:2 finds David declaring,

“I cry out to God Most High, to God who will fulfill his purpose for me.”

Patterson urges his readers, having meditated on that verse, to state it as a declaration of belief:  “I believe in…’God who will fulfill his purpose for me.’”

Then he says this:  “God has a purpose for you, and as someone has said, you are immortal until it is fulfilled…”

Wow!  Very cool thought!  If I really took that seriously, can you imagine how much worry I would immediately dump at the side of the road?  Can you imagine how much you would?  “What do I have to lose?” would be come my mantra and I would truly understand Jesus’ words about “losing my life” for His sake…really–there IS nothing to lose, because on my knotty side of my life’s tapestry I see the black threads as loss.  On the side where the masterpiece is revealed, God sees the beauty and gain as the big picture unfolds.

I hope I don’t forget this idea for awhile–or forever.

Now…off to immortality…

A Little Bit Every Day

I have been woefully lean on words this fall.

Oh, it’s not that I don’t speak them.  In fact, that may be the problem.  Is it possible to be all “spoken out”?

Possible or not, I think I need to write a little bit every day.

So, tonight I will list things I saw today that I’ve never seen before:

• The eyes of a student looking like a real person with a real life–instead of surly and put out–when he was telling me about his car not working and about how he was able to fix it
• The workout room in the Student Life Center at Ivy Tech’s North Campus (I wasn’t in it–but Ellen and I were working out in our own way by speedily walking the halls of the building after we finished our Tuesday lunch together, and we walked past it…again…and again…and…)
• Someone’s green (should it have been any other color?) Ivy Tech water bottle on the table in the staff workroom
• An episode of “The Office”
• A student who always looks deadly serious cracked a joke in class and laughed…and made me laugh
• A grilled cheese sandwich that I prepared that didn’t even come close to burning
• An appeal letter for financial support specifically for the Weekday Religious Education program in which I used to teach
• A colleague’s new haircut
• Me wearing a new pink sweater
• A schedule for my job for next semester–same classes, different days
• A Facebook birth announcement from particular friends who have a new grandson–congrats, Jeff and Nancy!

That’s enough…the clock says 10:40 PM and the teenager son says, “Can you and dad be done with showers in the bathroom by 5:45 in the morning so we (said son and house guest friend Josiah) can be up and at school by 7AM for prayer at the pole?”  That’s an offer I can’t refuse, so…Good night!

Sunrise and the Golden Arches

Monday morning I drove home from taking Zach to school. My drive is eastward, and I was treated to an especially breathtaking sunrise. However, a block into my morning treat, the local and large Golden Arches imposed themselves on the vision. It occurred to me that I shouldn’t let that spoil the sunrise, and immediately “majesty” came to mind. Next was Lee’s Famous Recipe and I thought “love”. While I was trying to come up with an attribute of God for the letter “Z” when I passed Auto Zone, I came to Arby’s and thought “awesome”. Out of the short business district on the other end of my street, I could continuing focusing on the sunrise for the remaining six or seven blocks of my homeward journey.

Sunshine for a Rainy Day

Sunshine for our hearts!

Without Pen in Hand

I spoke with a fellow blogger recently and we agreed that busyness is bad news for blogging.  Brain juices required for writing dry up, not to mention the minutes that it takes to sit down at the keyboard and put thoughts on the blank screen.

I have a new job–teaching 4 classes/3 class sessions (one class is a combo class) at the local community college each week–and it is taking a lot of my time (time I do not begrudge; I love this new adventure!).  I am hopeful that, as time passes, I will become more efficient in my prep and will reach the ideal that my boss (who was my friend long before she was my boss–I think she will remain my friend!) uses as her rule of thumb–two hours of prep for every hour in the classroom.

So, days pass between posts.  But not so much time passes between significant, blog-worthy happenings.  The ups and downs of the first days back to school for the teenager who is a junior in high school (WHEN did THAT happen?!?).  The ups and downs, ins and outs,  of the husband’s job hunt and wonderings about what comes next.  The giggles and only occasional tears of the almost two-year-old (Is it possible?!?) granddaughter (and, yes, she may present her parents with “terrible two” syndrome at some point–she is, after all, maturing and, according to some developmental theorists, all maturation requires those cycles of equilibrium and disequilibrium.  Personally, I think that’s true–it’s just that some get farther off-kilter  in the disequilibrium cycles than others…more “terrible”, if you will.)

Then there are the always-interesting students in the new job–some finding their ways through American college culture and the English language while their roots run deep in their home cultures of Burma or Darfur; others having missed many little cogs in the wheels that turn automatically for their peers who may achieve higher than they academically, but who do not lack motivation to make something of themselves so they can contribute something to this great life.

There is the subtle shift from summer to fall that will within weeks burst out in a blaze of colors that will make the morning drive with the sun coming up a trip through God’s seasonal art gallery.  There are slowly ripening cherry tomatoes, some not ever making it to the kitchen but, instead, providing a burst of summer sun to my taste buds on the short walk from garden patch to side door.

There is the anticipation of children awaking to new possibilities as they try their hands and hearts at telling stories through drama (I’m helping with a Young Playwrights Workshop this weekend…I stand to learn as much as the K-2nd graders!) or gearing up to be champion Bible quizzers “walking with Jesus” through the Bible book of Luke.

There are the books and the songs.  The 19th Wife had my attention the last few weeks as I read it in preparation for my book club’s discussion of it this Second Sunday.  A fascinating–sometimes sad, sometimes disgusting– look, through fiction, at polygamy in the earlier days of the Mormon Church.  Every week’s Worship Celebration recently has planted a different song that bursts out in the shower, while writing student assignments on the white board, while putting the dishes back in the cupboard from their drying place in the drainer.

There are those random thoughts or observations that are followed immediately by the automatic-now-after-close-to-five-years-as-a-blogger thought, “I should write a post about that”.  Those are the thoughts I most miss putting into words here–blogging, if it is nothing else, has the potential to make the ordinary seem extraordinary, to write on the sticky note that says “Take notice, Dear Reader” about that which would otherwise go unnoticed, to underline life’s moments….life’s significant moments.

But without pen in hand–or computer keyboard at the fingertips–those moments go unrecorded.  However, they are not lost.  Inasmuch as I savor and embrace and process all of the above until they gently but firmly tie into the warp and woof of the weaving of who I am, they are kept; perhaps not shared, but preserved in a place inside of me, from where they just might reappear in another post, another day.

Kind People Doing Their Jobs

My new place of employment has a great system for a number of services.  There are two options for submitting items (such as class syllabi) for printing–one digital, one hard copy via intracampus courier.  Since I couldn’t get the technology to work for digital submission (password issues, I guess, which I will get sorted out after the first-week-of-classes dust settles), I turned in my class syllabi for printing at the end of  last week the “old fashioned” way.  I was running by the skin of my teeth due to transitions in my department and the fact that I am new and I am slow.  So I made special note of the fact that I would need at least the one set of materials for an 8AM Tuesday class, as per the instructions of the department secretary (an angel).

Long story short:  When the last courier delivery before my 8AM tomorrow class was made, my syllabi did not appear to be among the stacks of materials I’d seen being hauled out of the delivery van just as I departed campus for the day.  This sad news was waiting for me when I got home.

Being the resourceful person that I am, I picked up the phone and tried to call the person closest to my difficulty.  Getting no answer, I called a wonderful woman whose sole task is to smooth the way for adjuncts.  Several targeted phone calls later, it appeared that there would be nothing for it but to make a run out to campus yet today and copy what I need for that class first thing in the morning.

Halfway to my destination, my cell phone rang; it was the department secretary saying she had made one more call, and my materials, which had been delivered to the wrong building (our divided campus is in physical transition, with some buildings just opening for the first time this semester, new delivery stops, etc.), had been found and promised for delivery to our building by 5PM today!

With a lightened heart, and a thankful prayer on my lips, I headed home, knowing that these good people doing their jobs well would get a few lines of exposure here.  Not only did they do their jobs well today, but they went the extra mile, rescuing me in the process.

I am humbled and challenged to pay it forward as I go on my way, not to mention showing my gratitude to these with servant hearts every time I get the chance.

What kind person doing his/her job well needs to hear/receive YOUR thanks?  Be on the lookout!

On the Edge at Dusk

I passed one of my favorite spots along the road driving home tonight at dusk.  I love this place in the road because it speaks peace and beauty to me.

Just before reaching one of the busiest traffic corridors in our city, there are wetlands.  I love it that this bit of wildness exists juxtaposed with urban/suburban development.

If you keep your eyes open, almost always some avian species can be spotted.  Tonight, it was a little hard to see because the sun had set, but there was still enough light to spot a lone heron standing where water and reeds meet….on the edge at dusk.

This made me think about another wildlife sighting that I’ve trained myself to seek out.  Whenever we happen to be driving along the interstate in the early morning hours when the sun has not long been up, I watch in those places where wooded areas meet open fields.  Almost always, somewhere along the way, a white-tail deer or two or three can be spotted, grazing at still-dew-laden green.

It occurred to me that there are some people who are like my heron and the deer.  They don’t make themselves vulnerable by being out in the open spaces of life.  They don’t invite scrutiny by placing themselves in the intersections of busyness.  Much of the time they are hidden to most of the people.

But, if the busy passers by in life know where to look, and how to look, and when, then those people who linger at the edges, who hesitate in the spaces in between, become visible.  When those on the edge are seen, there is often surprising beauty in the picture.

I want to notice more on the edge at dusk.