Advent III Seeing the Ocean

“I never want to own a place at the beach, because I never want to stop seeing the ocean.”

When I first heard the remark above, I twisted my head like others in the audience. Then, I understood what he was trying to say. As someone passionate about the sea, he didn’t want to live at the shore where he would grow used to the view and stop appreciating its magnificent beauty.

Such wisdom applies to much more than where we live, and Advent offers a wonderful opportunity to reclaim our appreciation for the people, places, and things which surround us. Over the years, we grow accustomed to our surroundings and no longer see them for the gifts they are. In some cases, we stop seeing them all together.

We no longer see our Christmas trees, and decorating our houses becomes a chore.

We don’t hear the carols any more, let alone sing them like we did as children.

We tell our children to hurry and get in the car and forget when they were all we hoped for.

We no longer look across the table and remember the days before rings.

We sigh as we enter the building, and can’t recall how we danced when we were offered the job.

We complain about taking out the trash, and forget the months in bed after back surgery.

We complain about another party, and forget the year living alone that Christmas.

Familiarity creates temporary blindness, but the good news is it’s temporary. All we need do is close the eyes of our hearts and open them again. Suddenly we will see what has been before us all along.

One might say it’s a modern day incarnation!

Advent II Noise Reduction Christmas

With high hopes, I awakened in my Washington DC hotel room excited to spend the day with my daughter in the city, knowing it would do much to ignite the Christmas spirit within us both. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it past the hotel lobby before wanting to cover my ears and close my eyes.

I enjoy the time before she, or any other member of my family, arises, because it allows me to find a place set apart, grab some coffee, and do my morning reading and reflecting. As the elevator doors opened, however, the music hit me. It was louder than usual, and, as a connoisseur of Christmas music, it was the worst kind - the kind where the artists lean into the lyrics to make them drip with significance, or the arranger changes the rhythm or key to make it sound new and innovative.

The decorations in the lobby weren’t much better. The tree would melt, more than burn, if a match were near, and the gaudy silver balls in the tree made an otherwise appealing space look like a frightfully sophisticated New York department store. The decorators, like the musicians, wanted people to take notice of their work and forced the issue, leaving us with the look and sound of Christmas, but none of the meaning.

It made me realize the challenge facing many of us most of the time. We’re surrounded by sounds and sights that mean well but end up drawing us away from their intended purpose. By being overdone, they push us away rather than draw us in. With increased Christmas events, extra social gatherings, and the need to be sure we wear each piece of our Christmas apparel, and watch every movie, before the season ends, our plates are full, but hearts empty. We end up having the look but none of the meaning.

Fortunately, I have ear phones specifically designed for me and such situations. They are called noise-reduction headphones and they work magically as I seek to remove the sounds that are tormenting my ADD soul. So, too, I have books to read and eyes I can close to shut out the sights that distract as well.

The Christmas spirit is just that, spirit, and sometimes the best way to hear the spirit is to tune sounds out. Sometimes the best way to see it is to close your eyes. Instead of looking to the loud and lively Inn, we are invited out back to the quiet and serene stable, where spot lights give way to candlelight, songs to silence.

It’s counter-intuitive, I know, but so is God becoming human.

Advent I

As she crawls into bed, she gives thanks for her family, particularly her three girls. Nothing in life has filled her heart more than being a mother. Bringing them into the world and watching them become the women they were uniquely created to be has been the greatest joy of her life. Lying in the dark, she thinks of each child like a bead in her maternal rosary.

Her eldest is fiercely independent and, while longing for a deeper relationship with her, she gives thanks for her daughter’s ability to make her way through the world with little assistance from her (or anyone else). Even as a child, she would make her way toward the sandbox and be content for hours while her mother spoke with the other parents. Now she works in Chicago, and her Christmas cards are always full of news about the past year.

Her second is the lively one, always seeking to outdo the others when they were children, as if to say “Hey, don’t forget about me!” A typical second or middle child, she’s learned. She continues to go through life illuminating the rooms she enters with frenetic energy. A theater major, she now works in advertising in New York. Her mother gives thanks for her daughter’s energy and creativity. Although she calls each Sunday, her mother is always grateful whenever she has the time for a fly by, as she calls it, as well.

The youngest, however, has always stayed close. She lives nearby, and calls often. Cards also arrive unpredictably throughout the year. As a child, she was the one who ran to her mother and hugged her at the start of every day and when she climbed off the school bus.  Because they talk often, they get to the deeper stuff quicker. Because she stops by frequently, they step back into the mother/daughter dance seamlessly.

She loves each of her daughters with all her heart, but her relationship is different with each. She celebrates the first two and is delighted whenever they chose to reach out or come by, but her relationship with the third is closer because that daughter still runs toward her, still seeks to stay close.