Monday, December 31, 2012

Bring it, 2013

Our house, prior to global warming.
New Year's Eve for me evokes a melancholia, as I reflect on the story of my time here, which seems to unfold quicker and quicker as the years march on.

As many poets have said, all change is tinged with melancholy, for we leave behind a part of ourselves.

Melancholia can be a good thing, as it gives yin to the yang of pure joy, salt for the sweetness of happiness. Songs of great beauty can be written in a minor key.

Instead of looking back on the past year, I'd like to look forward to what lies ahead in 2013.

-I make absolutely no resolutions on January 1st. Wait, that's a resolution.

-Oldest turns 17 and probably gets her driving license. Many visits to colleges are in store, as we decide which university will get most of our hard earned money and quite a bit of Oldest's liver.

-frontal cortex development continues for 15 year old Trouble. Thank you, God.

-LB goes to middle school and turns 12. It is officially time to get rid of that baby weight. Ha.

-Coach and I continue to travel through our middle aged marriage together, thankful that most of my midlife crisis has passed. Waiting to see if Coach falls down the rabbit hole, but I doubt it. Give that man a football game to watch, a steady job that pays the bills and an occasional snog and he manages just fine.

-Thousands of drivers face imminent peril as they travel Maryland roadways. See comment about driver's license, above.

-our friends face tough end of life decisions as they say final goodbyes to elderly parents Questions are raised and deeper levels of faith, or a deeper disillusionment for it, follows.

-Coach and I travel to New Orleans for Jazz Fest. The kids re-create scenes from Lord of the Flies as they muddle through at home. God bless whoever plays Piggy.

- In July, we go on a family vacation to the shore with Coach's family- 7 brothers and sisters, mother, and 20 or so grandchildren.

-In August, my hangover goes away. Damn Irish.

-In September I mark the one year anniversary of Small Blue Thing. I'm thinking of having a small get together in my backyard to celebrate. All followers invited. I think I can fit all 8 of you.






Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Mary, Mary Christmas

"When [Mary] surrendered herself to God, there was indeed a miraculous New Heaven and New Earth. The Spirit entered the world- light and wisdom and love, patience, fortitude, and joy entered the human heart and mind, and in the sight of God a springtime of loveliness woke in the world."
                                                                                                             The Reed of God
                                                                                                             Carryl Houselander


For Christians, Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of Christ. As a mom of three growing children, I find I identify more with Mary during this season. The story of a fourteen year old girl issuing the Christ child, full of the knowledge she will almost immediately lose him to the world, has always fascinated me.

Mary wasn't a woman full grown, she was basically a child. When her son was brutally tortured and crucified  she was only 47 years old, my current age. And yet, she carried this enormous responsibility with grace and dignity, a dignity that's clearly expressed in her Magnificat, a poem from Luke's gospel, one of the earliest Jewish-Christian canticles written.


My soul doth magnify the Lord : and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded : the lowliness of his handmaiden.
For behold, from henceforth : all generations shall call me blessed.
For he that is mighty hath magnified me : and holy is his Name.
And his mercy is on them that fear him : throughout all generations.
He hath shewed strength with his arm : he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seat : and hath exalted the humble and meek.
He hath filled the hungry with good things : and the rich he hath sent empty away.
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel : as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed for ever.
Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.)
                                                                                          Book of Common Prayer


I am hesitant to think Mary actually spoke these words. But Luke's poem expresses the woman he and others living at that time knew her to be.

Over the years, I have had quite a struggle with the divinity of Christ, as told by the story of the Angel Gabriel descending to inform Mary of Nazareth she has become impregnated with the child of God.

I'm willing to bet Joseph was glad God decided to stop at one.

This doubt used to cause me great stress. For a number of years I considered myself an atheist; then, as my practice of yoga developed and I learned more about Eastern religions, I practiced a general spirituality. Reading The Life of Pi, one of my favorite fables wherein a boy decides to follow multiple religions instead of only one, further confirmed my agnosticism. I also love earth religions, such as the faiths practiced by many American Indian tribes.

I found that atheism, a faith in it's own right, was not right for me. If there's one thing age has given me, it's the gift of uncertainty. I'm just not willing to bargain that my pitiful brain contains the universe's highest form of knowledge. I can't even remember the location of my car keys.

Love is a powerful tool. Too powerful, I think, to spring only from electrical impulses and nerve conductance.

These days, I am very grateful for my Catholic upbringing as I feel it provides a firm jumping off spot for the consideration of my place in the world. I am no longer concerned with my uncertainties about the stories of my religion; conversely, I enjoy the process of questions and the answers they uncover. I employ a little less logic and a greater acceptance of letting unexplainable events just lie.

A raw oyster looks absolutely disgusting, and has the consistency of snot. Yet, I find oysters delicious and completely addictive. Unexplainable. Doesn't bother me a bit these days.

As Carryll Houselander relates in The Reed of God, "The wind of the Spirit had beaten on the door, rattled the windows, tapped on the dark glass... One day a girl opened the door, and the little house was swept pure and sweet by the wind. Seas of light swept through it, and the light remained in it."

Mary may not be the Mother of the Christ; Jesus may not be the Son of God. But Jesus was a man so extraordinary, he didn't just make the world a better place while he was living in it, his presence has provided hope for many for thousands of years since his death. (Of course, horrible things have also happened under the auspices of religion. But that's a story for another day.)

Jesus' words speak of love and respect, for all, including women, a segment of the population not exactly highly regarded in his time.

Mary, of course, holds precedence over all. Jesus so loved his mother. And by many accounts never married.

It just occurred to me Jesus may have been gay. Now I love him even more.

Mary Christmas, everyone.






Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Convent Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Tis the week before Christmas
and all through the Convent,
Not a thing seems different.
Can it really be Advent?

(Oh yeah? You try rhyming convent. Wiseacre.)

As you might expect, the All Saints sisters don't buy in to the commercialism of the holidays. No lights are strung, no wreaths adorn doors. There's no tree decorated with ornaments and tinsel, and no garland on the mantel.

There's not even a trace of a blow up lawn ornament waving in the wind at the entrance to the chapel.




There is one addition to the altar- a lush, fragrant Advent wreath with fresh greens and candles as thick as my wrist.














Also present is a contemplative silence, heightened by a profound anticipation.





At the end of this week the sisters will assemble a cresh in the nave of the chapel. Constructed of wood and straw, the cresh conveys in the simplest way one of the most complex miracles of the Christian faith.

Both my house and the house at All Saints share the emotion of anticipation- theirs for the coming of the Christ child, and my kids' anticipation of their own Christmas miracles- an Ipod Touch for LB, the first season of Modern Family for Trouble, and the entire clothing inventory of Anthropologie for Oldest.

My husband anticipates an oxygen tank and a walker, as he will likely require these items after practically painting the entire house in the last week. I anticipate 50 family members descending upon our house on Christmas Eve.




I hope to be mindful of the simple message of peace and serenity offered by my friends at the convent as I rush headlong through the upcoming days.

Happy, Happy Holidays to all of my blog world friends.

"Maybe Christmas," he thought,
"doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas… perhaps…

means a little bit more."
                                            Dr. Seuss