Advent IV: The Wild Rumpus

As Advent makes its final approach and Christmas comes into view, I feel like the main character in Maurice Sendack’s classic, Where the Wild things Are, who lifts his hand and declares, “And now,” cried Max, “Let the wild rumpus start!” The tree is up and decorated, presents bought, and the annual traditions of the final days are all scheduled and ready to go. It’s time to buckle up and enjoy the rumpus with all its twists and turns.

I loved Christmas as a child, but enjoying it as an adult has become a challenge. As I have thought about reasons why, I think that the fundamental reason it has become a struggle is the way I handle the twists and turns, or as Max would say, the rumpus. I always think the season will be magical, that everyone will be happy, say kind things, and celebrate their gifts. I think people will all come on time, add to the lively conversation, and sing the carols unreservedly. 

But the twists and turns always arrive. Uncle Billy drinks too much, Mrs. Stimpson can’t stop talking about her late husband’s tragic death at 94, and the children look for the next gift before the paper from the last one hits the floor. I cling to what I can in hopes of having a merry Christmas, but its hard to feel Christmas when you hands a clinched.

I have come to see my problem lies in thinking Christmas is something I create, I orchestrate, I control. I stand like a conductor expecting all the musicians to play their parts perfectly, and it never happens that way. Rather than bemoan that fact, I need to let Christmas come as it will. I need to open my clenched fists so I can receive the wild, uncontrollable gift it is. Better to let Christmas be whatever it will be, instead of trying to control it. I need to raise my hands and cry out with the hope and joy that lies deep within me: let the wild rumpus start.

Advent III: Cleaning our room.

“I don’t want to,” I whined to my parents when they reminded me that I needed to clean my room before our guests arrived. A bigwig in the church, an Archbishop of some kind, and his wife were coming to our house, and my parents were rather tight, shall I say, about it looking good. As I made my way upstairs, I resented our future guests and grumbled how ridiculous it was I needed to clean my room for guests who would probably never see it. 

I was surprised to like them as much as I did. They looked me in the eye when they asked me questions and actually wanted to hear the answers to their questions about what it was like to be a seventh grader and the sports I played. By the end of their visit, I was eager for their return. It was the beginning of a long, wonderful friendship, and whenever they came to visit I was more than happy to prepare my room.

I think Advent is like that. The church reminds us that we need to prepare, to clean up our lives, in anticipation of Christmas. We sometimes feel like whining about having to do such spiritual work, particularly when we’d rather sing carols and shop. It’s a different matter when you know the guest who’s coming. When you know Christ, God with us, you want to straighten things up not out of obligation but out of affection. 

Before knowing the guest, you have to clean your room. Once you do, you get to.

New Book!

While preparing for my MFA, I tried to write an unconventional Christmas book. My advisor said it was “OK” but not all that different. She suggested I try to tell the story from a different perspective, like from the star’s, so I did. Below is the end result. It is a tale of a star that doesn’t feel good enough. In the end it is all the things that made her feel not good enough that cause the Wise Men to notice her. In other words, her weaknesses are what led others to Christ. (Yes, there’s a sermon in that!) As faithful Brushstrokes readers, I thought you’d like to know about it