Smelling like Christmas

dtzpSHiuTwCqRdFJxseKsw.jpg

“It smells like Christmas,” the woman hiker said as she and her companion made their way through the thick cluster of pines just below and out of sight from where I was resting. It had been a challenging 4-mile hike up Grandfather Mountain, but the squeak in her voice made me stop panting and smile, if only for a second. It was late September and I really shouldn’t be back at school (sorry, couldn’t resist), but I couldn’t stop thinking about Christmas after her comment.

The bond between hikers was palpable. We were alive and spending the morning in a special way, so glad tidings were abundant. We were full of great joy as we watched a hawk, with enormous wings, glide below as if on snow. The first leaves were changing color at the higher elevations. Some clung like ornaments, other twirled down to the rocks below like tracing their way around a candy cane.

A father and daughter were hiking together and her delight in having his undivided attention made her talk with holiday excitement. A young college-aged couple walked holding hands, as if through a silent night, and a mother and father tried to keep up with their two children who were running ahead like children headed for stockings, pleading for them to hurry because they might miss the stream they’d discovered. 

Even the parking lot had holiday cheer. There had only been a few cars when I set off, but now it was almost full. It looked like outside a shopping mall, where people park on the grass even when there are empty spaces. (I couldn’t help laughing at hikers trying to save steps before their five-hour hike.)

It was a morning as lush as the dark green rhododendron, which looked like holly. And people greeted each other not thinking about what they did for a living, where they grew up or went to school, who they voted for, or what they thought of the Supreme Court hearings. It felt sacred, and, yes, smelled like Christmas.

Extra Credit:

Go find a pine tree and put your nose next to its branches and take a deep breath. Rub the branch between your hands and smell them for the next few hours. Close your eyes and think about the things you love most about Christmas and consider how you, too, might “smell” Christmas even in September.

One Day

It happened again today. With no effort on my part, the sun rose, and another day began. It’s happened 21, 810 times since I’ve been alive. Maybe that’s why I take each new day for granted, hardly noticing it as I hurry to get done all that I need to do. I fail to see the day for the gift it is, the grace it offers, or, as a friend of mine often says, as the miracle it is. Every morning I am given this gift, but I look beyond the day at something far beyond and miss the twenty-four hours right before me.

To pull one’s horizon closer can provide a profound and empowering new perspective. Suddenly, an overwhelming goal can become manageable. I once had a history teacher who announced a big term paper at the beginning of the course. It was overwhelming to think about. Instead of leaving us to write the paper on our own, however, he designed the class so that we slowly wrote the paper over the semester. We learned how to write an introduction, then supporting paragraphs, and then a conclusion. When the time came for the term paper to be turned in, the paper was already written. The assignment, which had seemed daunting when first announced, was completely doable when taken one step, or one paragraph, at a time.

Alcoholics have known this for years. The thought of never drinking again is so overwhelming it has caused many to go back out and get drunk. To not drink for a day is another matter. While still a challenge, it’s one many feel they can do. In time, those twenty-four hours become a week, a year, and may even become a lifetime, but it begins with one day.

Lao Tzu reminded us that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, but, like so many things, we can take such a thought for granted. Like not noticing the promise of each dawn, we can focus on the miles ahead and not the next step we need to take.

I’m not a very good Christian, if one measures such things by behavior. I’m not as forgiving as I believe Christians are called to be, nor as thoughtful, loving, or morally pure. The idea of living life as a Christian is overwhelming, if not impossible. Just to believe what a Christian is asked to believe sometimes feels impossible. A life of faith can look like a lot more than a thousand miles when you look too far in the distance. But, this morning’s dawn offered me the opportunity to try once again, to take one step. I may not be able to live a certain way, or believe certain things, for the rest of my life, but maybe, just maybe, I can for a day. And, maybe, that’s enough.

Extra Credit:

1) What challenge have you faced that overwhelmed you because you looked too far ahead?

2) What do you think you could do if you only had to do it (or not do it) for twenty-four hours?

3) Who could you be if you only had to be that person for a day?

4) Get up early and watch the sun rise and think about all the grace a new day offers.

Getting off the couch.

In our living room, there is a soft squishy couch that wraps itself around you whenever you take a seat. To make it there at the end of a day, with feet extended and head resting on one of the pillows, is to be comfortable and safe, indeed. More than once, I have longed to be able to spend the rest of my life on the couch, but last night I learned the importance of getting up.

Our church was sponsoring a talk by Debby Irving, the author of Waking Up White, a book that reveals the countless ways we live life on an unlevel playing field that is both systemic and hauntingly pervasive, once you have eyes to see. Having grown up privileged on countless levels, I squirmed in my pew more than once during the presentation. It was not a comfortable evening, and yet, as I left the church, I was electrified by the connection I felt with the others who cared enough to attend. Regardless of whether they were black or white, gay or straight, Democrat or Republican, young or old, I left feeling united despite our differences. We were united human beings struggling to make our way through this sinful and broken world, as the Prayer Book puts it. Rather than feeling guilty about my life experience, I was empowered to see beyond my own perspective.

I would be lying if I said I was eager to leave the couch and attend the talk. Sitting on the couch, I wanted to be like those I know who dismissed the book and saw the event as unnecessary. They were comfortable with how they saw the world and saw no point in seeing things from another perspective. Like them, I was not in the mood to examine my life, challenge my long-held assumptions, and, basically, get uncomfortable. I wanted to stay on the couch, but I got up and I’m so glad I did. 

Extra Credit:

1)    When was the last time you deliberately made yourself uncomfortable?

2)    When was the last time you talked with someone not like you? (And during the conversation did you listen more than talk? Ask questions more than answer?)

3)    Where in your life are you stuck on the couch?