Resting for Christmas

Okay so we are not the most meticulous cookie decorators, but I think they turned out so fun! Sprinkles make everything look better! 

This past weekend, I rested.  While one of the downsides to working in a residential setting is working on holidays (hello 8:30-5:30 Christmas Eve and Christmas Day), one of the upsides is flexible scheduling.  This being the case, this past weekend was my Christmas weekend, and I was able to take Friday AND this Monday off in lieu of my Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  

I made new friends. I slept (until 9:43 am). I downloaded new music (Noisetrade- JJ Heller, PLEASE check it out). I prayed. I baked. I wrote.  I ran. I got a pedicure.  I read.  I ate Chuy's. I drank Shiner Cheer.  I laughed with Brooke. Life is good, and I can't help but ask myself, "How did I get so lucky?" 

More Christmas cake balls! Yum!  Do you know they sell these at a local coffee shop for a $1.50 EACH?!?! 

And as I retired for the evening still with some bounce in my step, Brooke said, "your eyes look brighter!"  And, as I looked in the mirror, splashing water on my face, I thought, yes, they do.  My job is tiring.  I listen a lot.  I problem-solve a lot.  I diffuse a lot.  And I attempt to soften the blows of deep and raw and very human need.  

Now, I'm not complaining or doing that melodramatic martyr thing-- promise.  But I will say that it is helpful for me to remember that the level of stress and crisis I deal with is not so normal, and it might be good for me to remember to sleep a little longer, and self-forgive a little more. 

Peppermint frames, for my kids to put their pictures in.  Just arrange mints on a baking sheet, bake at 250 and they melt into these perfect and festive wreaths! We are even thinking of decorating our tree with mini wreaths! 

Courtney knows all the latest books to have on your shelves, and she recently gave me: "Sabbath" by Wayne Mueller.  Apparently, Lifeway Christian Stores won't carry it because they call it "dangerous."  I say, that's a) ridiculous and b) quite a shame.  Mueller reminds me that the refusal to rest is quite arrogant-- contrary to the inclinations of my good little American self: " 'Remember the Sabbath' means 'Remember that everything you have is a blessing.' Remember to delight in your life, in the fruits of your labor. Remember to stop and offer thanks for the wonder of it."  This life, and all its nooks and crannies-- from conversation to melody to vegetable enchiladas, is one great big gift, and I have no business taking it for granted. Mueller reminds me that it is wise to reflect, and just plain dumb, to take in great stories of pain and suffering without grieving.  Sponges are hardly helpful when they aren't wrung out. And besides that, we're not robots--we're little ones and big ones that are capable of much, but still very small in the vastness of this great big world.  And in the same way that plants and animals and other living things need the basics to keep on keeping on, sometimes we must take ourselves on back to the basics.

So, I am grateful for the things and people that wrung (not wore) me out this (very long!) weekend.  I feel fresh. 

"Better is one hand full of quietness, than two hands full of toil and a striving after the wind."  

-Ecclesiastes 4: 6

Favorite Things.

I try very hard not to get too attached to material things. Recently at a staff meeting, my boss made the point that an individual's bank statement easily translates into his or her value system, and I cringe when I hear this because I know mine reads sweaters and ballet flats and dangly earrings far more than it should.  It's a work in progress.  More accurately, I am. (a work in progress, that is). 

Nevertheless, sometimes I think it would be fun to have a favorite things store.  The mood would be altogether whimsical and earthy and delightful-- think free spirit meets quirky bookworm all in a quiet, bucolic setting.  And twinkle lights.  There would be twinkle lights. 

So, I've decided, here are a few of the things my non-existent store would have: 

1. Fabric. 

I spend hours in fabric stores and I can't even sew.  I want to learn someday, but even before I do, I will still buy fabric.  I lay it on top of my dresser, and tuck the jagged ends under.  I pin it to foam board and frame it to hang on my wall. I drape it over the back of my desk chair. Layers of fabric make rooms look lived-in and warm, more approachable even. Some might say that the mish-mosh of prints and patterns is haphazard, but like I said earlier, I'm all about that work-in-progress.  And besides, who ever said perfection was completion? 

2. Tea 

No, not tea like sweet tea or, in the North what we'd called "iced" tea. But, hot tea poured into tea cups and boiled in a real teapot.  It's proven to ease tension and stress and gets to include things like chamomile and lavender (yes, please). AND, I would put those inspiring quotes on the tea bags, that say things like, "love what is ahead by loving what has come before" or "let things come to you."  I mean, talk about warmth. 

3. Pretty Paper Products 

I hope that letters never go out of fashion.  I think about how Jane Austen's characters lived their lives in hopeful anticipation of the mail carrier.  Great and terribly important topics were broached with the ink pen.  I find it funny how the most ill-fated news, like the Mr. Collins' engagement proposal or the deceitfulness of Mr. Wichkam is padded with fluffy words like "felicity," "tincture" and "lamentation."  

While I am grateful for the convenience of our cell phones and emails, and even more, the exclamations and innuendos of dear ones that live far away,  I still like opening envelopes, and smiling to find the familiar script on the enclosed pages. 

And please, can we not use the term, "snail mail?" 

4. Used Books 

When I lend out books, I like people to mark them up. This is what I say before handing them over: "Underline the important parts, dog-ear the pages, sign your name, and date it too." I try not to sound neurotic when I say this, but I really like people to do it.  I think that's because books are very living to me, and I think they change me the way relationships, and conversations and all beautiful things can change me.  And the way people respond to the written word, does something in fact, to the words themselves. Lifts them off the page.  Gives them color and dimension and body.  

So this store of mine, would have plenty of books-- tattered and worn, because those are the colorful kind that hit you just so. And wasn't it Frederick Buechner who said, "The story of any of us, is in some measure, the story of us all." 

I think so. 

5. Earrings 

I know it's frivilous, but I love face-framing little jewels like these. 

I think there would be other things, like perfume and candles and recipes to share.  But for now, this feels like a good start :). 

 

A New Friend

I am reading a book right now by Wendell Berry. It's called "Jayber Crow," and is the story of a barber (Mr. Crow) living in a coastal community called Port William. I hope Port William is somewhere in the Northwest, like Seattle or Portland, because that's how I picture it. Like many of the books on my shelf, the pages don't contain a whole lot of riveting plotline. I like growing with a character more than I like following a series of events.  When it comes to reading (and probably, life), I am most present with characters when I am privy to their thoughts, rather than partnered in their actions.  For me, good writing lifts people off the page, and I get attached and want to be friends with them.  I know that's kind of weird and impossible, but it's true. When I was in fourth grade, I used to tell my mom these things, and she would listen and nod her head for awhile, but then always ask me if I needed her to write a letter to the teacher to excuse me from reading these books. I'm not sure she got my point,  but I think she was just trying to help.

Anyways, I say all of this because I've decided, with 100 or so pages left in this book, that I'd really like to meet Jayber Crow. I have developed a deep affinity for this introverted, thoughtful barber. He grows up with limited attachments, bouncing from one relative's home to the next, but stands firmly on the vision of "making something of himself." In the first part of the novel, he routinely uses this phrase, enough so I think it soothes him because it is a pretty idea to cling to.  At first, this "making something of himself" means ministry, and the pending "call" or (lack thereof) keeps him awake at night-- wide-eyed, frightened and far too alert. Once he finds Port William and truly lives into the richness of this place and these people, he finally, (finally!) feels at home and quits trying so hard. He breathes.  

Around this home-coming, Jayber also becomes quite content to fade into the background-- a far cry from the lofty ideals he once held for himself. He does, what we might call, basic, if not perfunctory jobs: he is a barber, a grave-digger, and a church custodian.  He cuts hair, buries people, and cleans up after they worship. In these things, he finds peace and rest.  He experiences the things that matter in this world-- love and grief and joy balled up in the same moment. It seems that he lives by a few basic rules, and trusts that the rest might follow; 1) He shows up 2) He pays attention 3) He listens well.  In this, he says: "And yet all the good I know is in this, that a man might so love this world that it would break his heart." 

I read this line and first thought of John 3:16- the sacrificial Godly love that moves me to be who I am.  It's something I think about every day, and try to believe it (some days more than others), act on it (again, some days more than others) and in my own way, share with others. Sometimes I think I'm doing a good job, sometimes I think I'm missing the mark.  The latter more than the former.  But when I read Jayber's humble epiphany on page 254, I really believed him. I really believed that he was so loving and so gracious to the people he serves, to the community he has found himself in and to the seemingly ordinary gifts he has been given. I really believed that giving and grieving, for Jayber, go hand in hand, and it is altogether joyful. 

I think I am scared to death of finding that balance. Jayber doesn't seem to be. 

So, I'd like to meet him.