Tag Archives: Christmas

December 22, 2009 · 7:24 am

Snowflake Lane

Bellevue Square was packed.  I stood outside in the small square on the east side of Macy’s, just in front of the old Baskin-Robbins (closed).  The brisk air seemed right, and what seemed to be multitudes had gathered.  I didn’t manage to crowd-surfed out to see the numbers on Bellevue Way, but several hundred lingered in our little spot, eagerly awaiting the arrival of that particular form of holiday entertainment known as Snowflake Lane.  We know Snowflake Lane well in our house; Daniel sang and danced on one of those very same platforms several years ago.   Back then, we were the proud parents (still are) of one of the performers and of course, had a wonderful time.  And last night was fun enough, if (as I often say) you like that sort of thing.

I don’t remember a lot of what Daniel did during the show, but it seems he actually sang and danced along with various Christmas tunes, much as they did last night.  But they’ve gotten rid of everyone but the drummers.   The announcer said that we were going to experience one of the largest drum lines around, and I suppose we did, although frankly, my experience was no more than a cool half-dozen.

It’s not easy to brood in the midst of such high energy frothiness, but of course, I found a way.

My brooding was set off by the fact the fact that the drummers weren’t particularly skilled drummers.  In fact, they were playing along with canned music, hitting a few eighth notes on the rims and on the downbeat of every measure, they would whack the drumhead.   That’s about as good as it got (though I’m being a bit more tacky than these enthusiastic young people deserve).   Truth is, I appreciated and enjoyed the high-stepping dance they all did; fun to watch.  It’s always cool to see young people dancing like crazy people.   The only drawback was they danced the same simple dance for 20 minutes, whacking the drums as they did so.

And we hundreds seemed to think it was a really cool thing.   We drove an hour in traffic, braved all manner of pushing and shoving both coming and going, and barely escaped with our lives.  Give us marching band dancers in red whacking drums, throw in a little fake snow, and I guess we’ll do about anything.

I guess it just struck me as odd.

Children were delighted, of course, but then, my kids were always delighted to pull pans out of the cupboards and whack ‘em with spoons.   In other words, it didn’t take much to get them excited.  Maybe I’m being a bit Scroogish, but after our Taize service at church, and after taking time to reflect on the need in culture for depth instead of width, this particular drum line conceptually struck me as shallow, superficial, and fairly antithetical to the deeper strains of Christmas, even the excitement of gift giving and love.  Pop Culture seems largely about distraction, and that was about the most concentrated bit of distraction I’ve seen in awhile.   Now don’t get me wrong–I’m the first person to defend the right of an event to be nothing but fun, nothing but delightful, and delight can come from many arenas.   So to argue with myself, I suppose the delight of the people standing along Bellevue way night after night to experience this manufactured holiday cheer is fine enough–stop complaining, Jeff.  Maybe I’d've been happier if some snowflakes had hit my particular spot in the lane.

It was good to be with family…Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Betty, Amy, Daniel, and Anjie.  We all stood gaping, remembering when Daniel danced along.   Maybe I’m just getting old.   Maybe I’m tired.   Or maybe my brain’s kicking in again, and things are getting clearer.    If nothing else, I’m hoping 2010 is about going deep.

…just the mood I’m in, probably…

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December 2, 2009 · 7:28 am

Ceasura

It’s a pause in a line of verse or meter.   It implies, and most frequently, demands, a breath.  It’s an between-moment, a brief stop in a journey.

So I’m trying to catch the breath offering itself in this particular ceasura.

2010 holds new promise, new possibilities.  The season of full-time ministry is waning, though not complete, and as I’ve spent more time in my home office lately, I can feel the old demands of ideas looking for forms, looking for homes.  Questions on hold now pull up chairs, begging for a hearing.  Books dusty with neglect cast longing glances in my direction like old friends not much noticed.  New projects remind me of old ones, and I rummage back through old CD’s and DVD’s, pondering the road so far.  All those songs so few have heard, all those words laying flat on so many pages, floating out in cyberspace amid the galaxies of ethereal stuff known only to God and whatever spirits roam down the fiber-optic backbones now spreading over the planet.   Blah, blah, blah, as they say.

But, there’s coffee-shop warm on 34 degree Wednesdays, white Christmas lights swagging along tall window panes, two-part harmonies dropping out of black boxes in corners in tones surely meant for kings.  Beauty is a gift everyday, sitting easily on a woman’s shoulders and smiles, a woman who graces me with her presence each day, a woman of power and lush kindness, who years ago lost her mind for a moment and agreed to hang out with me for the rest of her life.   Across the country, beauty frolics in red dresses and crazy faces, courtesy of a daughter with head thrown back all crazy for life, howling for joy and grief, depending on the day, the role, and the great gifts raining on her head.   An actor, she does what they do…takes action, the world looming up to greet her in all its New Yorkish frenzy; she gathers herself for nothing but sprinting.   Then there’s the state a little further east, and beauty hovers in a boy’s lungs and throat and heart, waiting.  Just waiting.  Waiting for the jaw to unhinge, the lungs to gather, and the heart to spring to life, and suddenly, like prisoners rushing for open fields, notes of sheer grace pour into the world through the music this boy has been gifted to make.   As beautiful as those sounds are, though, his spirit outstrips his voice, the gift of soul comparatively reducing angelic music to that of a bent penny whistle.

Hyperbole, maybe, but if I think with any clarity at all, how can life be anything but glorious when three humans such as these hold my heart?

And that’s not all.  What of Mother and Jody, Nikki and Julie and Sam and Mike and Scott and (add 10, 20, 50 names), my companions on the journey, our shared lives, so harrowing and unpredictable (except that they won’t go like we thought), and all the times and possibilities yet to come.   Thanksgiving, indeed.

So much can be in a ceasura.  The pause, the silence, the great quiet creating the bed from which next beauties rise.

And yes, I know suffering. (Others have seen more.)  I know loss.  (Perhaps you’ve lost more.  Probably.)   I’ve even seen death go by.   (Go ahead and say it, “Jeff, you have no idea.”)  But just now, it seems I’ve given far too much of my quota of days to darkness, depression, and grieving.   And they’ll all come visit me again tomorrow, or the next day.  And I’ll roll around in them, bend words to pull down everyone in sight.   But today, in this ceasura, as a new jazz tune comes wafting from the black boxes in the corners, and the coffee-shop banter turns to the lost and crazy man who killed four policemen in Lakewood the other day, I’m just pondering the season, the coming of the Christ, wondering why God ever bothers with me.  With us.

Pause.  Breathe.

What comes next, after the ceasura?  We watch, we listen, we engage, and sometimes we sprint.

Whatever is coming, God will be in it.

All grace…

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December 26, 2008 · 7:08 am

Thoughts on Gifts

joy

The ravaged paper is in sacks to be tossed (if the trash man ever comes again), ribbons and bows worth keeping have been culled to be kept in a box for another round at birthdays or next Christmas, and the shirts and sweaters and new journal and the other things have been stacked and carried upstairs. The tree stands alone again, no longer nestling the color-burst packages, and even the snow seems to know the whole exercise is over for another year.

There’s a movement afoot critical of all this stuff-giving, and I’m mostly on board with it. It does seem silly to buy these things (things being the operative word), while the world can’t get water, food, or medicine. But then again, as Greg Wolfe says (Image Magazine), there are different poverties to be worked against, and somehow the old crass stuff-giving is a small, sometimes ineffective, attempt to punch a hole in the poverty of appreciation and affection that is so missing in relationships. I’m all for pulling back the dollars spent, and redirecting it toward ending stupid poverty, but I don’t think gift-giving at Christmas is silly at all. The commercialism, yes. The orgy of spending, yes. But the moment in which one person mulls over another person’s heart, and tries to imagine what small thing might bring a bit of pleasure–even joy–to those they love…those are not wasted moments.

Truth be told, we are broken people who regularly forget how special the people in our lives are. We ignore them, we undervalue them, we under-thank them, and so often, “thank-yous” and “I appreciate you” and even “I love you” goes so unsaid. And a Christmas present is no substitute for the eye-to-eye moments when true love, appreciation, and gratefulness are shown, but as in all culture, inner life and spiritual exchange always (or nearly always) takes shape in material form, and a present, if thought over carefully, can truly be an extension of the heart.

So, yes…let’s redirect much of our wealth toward a world that is hurting. Our church didn’t participate in the Advent Conspiracy this year, but next year I think we’ll push for it. At the same time, let’s assume there’s a bit of heart-poverty in all those we love, and let’s dig wells of appreciation and thankfulness there, spending the coinage of imagination to decide how to up the quality of our gifts while spending less hard cash.

Here’s to the gifts that lift hearts…

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December 25, 2008 · 7:47 am

At Home on a White Christmas

Watching the Star

So I’m up at 6:00 a.m., and by 7:00 the snow flakes are an inch thick. Probably one of the two or three times in my life where Christmas morning has been picture postcard perfect. No need to dream of a white Christmas, because it’s here. Having my first cup of coffee, sounds of Anjie just now stirring, and thinking of what the next season of life will bring. Amy and Daniel will return to their respective colleges, the nuttiness of this December will pass, and it will be back to full-steam at the church, madly preparing for the ACU class (Arts and Culture: A Christian Aesthetic) which begins on Jan. 4th, and then there’s the Willow Creek Community Church project I’ve taken on which will make the first quarter of the year a bit harrowing, but exciting nonetheless.

But in this moment, as the furnace rumbles back on, as the street lamp outside the front window clicks on and off every few minutes, as the thump of footsteps signals someone thinking about getting serious about this Christmas gift business, I am somehow back at home. Sometimes you don’t even know you’ve been gone. The past couple of weeks, on two different occasions, I’ve found myself at my upstairs desk, first piddling, then working, then looking up an hour later and realizing a certain familiar comfort has entered the room, and it’s hard to identify, but it’s surely the former hours of writing the novels and plays coming to visit, complaining that I haven’t been there lately. And I say, yeah, I know. But, I say, don’t worry, I’m headed back. A few stories are percolating, some old, some new, and though the time isn’t yet quite right, it will be soon

Emotions are fluctuating wildly these days, and why I don’t keep the deep quiet of early mornings a iron-clad priority is beyond me. I love this…I could not be more grateful for life, for what the coming of the Christ has meant to the world (thought I’m not always sure we have it’s meaning down pat), and for my family and friends. I miss my Mom and my sister this holiday–they’re Christmasing in Texas–but I’m so grateful for this, the first Christmas with the kids home from college. Last night, we sat late into the night chatting and singing and asking silly questions from a book called The Christmas Question, a conversation starter sort of thing. Amy laughed and Daniel grinned and Anjie dozed and I plucked old songs. Finally we gave it up and went to sleep.

Snow’s done, looks like. Anjie’s (or Santa, depending….) putting out a few last minute presents, and the dining room light just came on. Time to start to move. We’ll do the gift thing, then head to Enumclaw for the annual Meal Incredible at my brother-in-law’s house. The sadness that’s been nipping at me lately is dormant, and I could not be more blessed.

Nothing but thankful…

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