In a Year

Reaching up and taking the angel from the top of the tree, I wrap her in tissue paper before placing her in the box beside the other ornaments. As I close the box, I wonder what the world will be like the next time she sees it?

• Where will the box be opened?
• Will I be here to open it?
• Where will our children be? . . . Physically? . . . Emotionally? . . . Spiritually?
• What new Christmas cards will we be sending?
• Who will no longer be around to receive a card?
• What will my work be like?
• Will my bank account have more, or less, in it? What about my heart?
• What surprises will have come since last we met?
• What will the world be like? . . . Our nation? . . . Our city? . . . Our home?
• What kindness will I have brought into the world? What hurt or pain?
• How will my faith have grown? In what ways will it have been challenged?  Affirmed?
• What will her message of good news to all people mean in a year?

It’s only a year until the box is opened, the angel unwrapped and place on the top of another Christmas tree. How will I, how will we, make it a year worth telling her about?

Spinning Wheels

Whether in snow, mud, or sand, getting a car stuck is a frustrating and challenging endeavor. The first time it happened to me,  I was new to driving and was behind the wheel in my mother’s big station wagon, which could not handle the deep snow we recently received. When I put my foot down on the accelerator, I heard the engine rev and wheels spin. The car moved slightly, then didn’t move at all. I tried pushing down harder to force myself out, but that didn't work. Then, I took my foot off the pedal and tried to touch it only slightly, but it was an equally unsuccessful strategy. Eventually, I learned tires need traction. Putting something between the tires and snow gives them something on which to grip so the car can move.

It's a lesson I was reminded of recently when discussing the new year with friends. We shared our thoughts about the year coming to an end, and our hopes for the one about the begin. We also spoke of the places where we felt our tires were spinning. For one, it was his relationship with a particular child, but others spoke of careers, companies they worked for (or owned), and their marriages.

As we discussed such situations, I was reminded of my futile attempts to get unstuck in the snow. Like me long ago, some of my friends wanted to gun the engines and force things to change, others wanted to press lightly in hopes a gentle approach would bring about change. When someone quoted Einstein’s wisdom that insanity is doing the same thing expecting a different result, I thought of my tires spinning in the snow. Until I did something different, until I placed something between the tires and snow, they continued to spin. By doing something different, by creating traction, the car moved forward.

At this time of year, it’s particularly easy to see and hear our spinning tires. The temptation to force change by doing what we’ve always done with renewed gusto remains, but so does the option of looking for new ways to handle spinning tires. We can look for means of traction. Who knows, the cars of our lives might respond and move forward which, for so many, is our deepest New Year’s wish. 

Advent IV See You At The Manger

In a friend’s recent e mail, he closed with the line “See you at the manger.” A far cry from Yours Truly or Sincerely, his closing caught my attention and has remained with me since.

As a child, I imagined participating in the Christmas story and my heart and imagination gravitate to the stable, still. I like to imagine the dim lights and hushed sounds in the shadow of the rambunctious inn. I like to imagine reaching out and petting the overworked donkey and telling him he did a great job. I like thinking about the other animals looking on in between bites of whatever they’re eating. The shepherds would be there, of course, but hopefully not the kings or wise men. Shepherds are easy folk, the kind around whom you can be yourself, whereas the kings, dressed in robes and carrying gifts, make Christmas feel like a competition. Such a night shouldn’t be cluttered with worries about whether you are important enough, rich enough, or wise enough.

I’d step closer, which would cause Mary and Joseph to look up, and, in their eyes, I’d see something I couldn’t quite figure out. A knowing, perhaps. An invitation to know, as well. With only the slightest smile, Mary would invite me to look for myself.

Standing over the manger, I’d see the baby we talk so much about. All the things said wouldn’t matter at that moment, just the child would. Asleep, but ready to take on the world. My bet is, standing at the manger would change my view of the world. Things that overwhelm me would diminish. Mistakes would fade. Troubles with others, would no longer seem important. Instead of being complicated, my bet is it would suddenly seem simple. Peace on earth. Good will to all.  Simple, but revolutionary. All things would suddenly feel possible.

Going to the manger in my dreams like this, stirs a desire to bring others to the manger. “You’ve got to see this!” I’d cry, as I pull their arm. In that moment, I wouldn’t have to explain. There’d be no need for debate about who he is or what he meant. We could simply look down and know the world will never be the same. We wouldn’t need to know how, just that it’s true. Such a moment would be worth sharing.

Let’s meet at the manger this year.