My Refrigerator

It's almost New Year's - my least favorite holiday next to Sweetest Day. The pressure for profundity is overwhelming so I celebrate John Denver's birthday because I loved him and he fills me up with joy.

So, in honor of John Denver, I'm thinking about the things I love this new year and there is no greater place to look than my refrigerator. We do not have a tidy refrigerator. Pictures and magnets are scattered all over even though Kirt makes an attempt at keeping them tidy.

I love the pictures of family and friends who remind me on a regular basis that we are not alone. Even when dinner is late and the refrigerator seems bare, there are folks who surround us with their love and help us stay sane.

I really love my magnets. Since most of them are gifts, they reveal the fact that my friends love me as my twisted, little self. There is a bumper sticker that says, "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite." That is my favorite line when I am hot at cribbage.

The others are also filled with pithy wisdom:
"I haven't had my coffee yet, don't make me kill you"
"You can't scare me, I have children"
"Spoiler alert: Everybody dies"

and one of the greatest insight into my loves:
"I love poetry, long walks on the beach and poking dead things with a stick"

I do love poetry; I just bought a collection of Mary Oliver poems.

I love long walks anywhere, but beaches are fabulous.

And there is something lovely about chasing one of your children around with a dead critter. That is slightly different than poking it, but directly related. I have been caught inspecting dead varmints and scat, if truth be told, with sticks. May I never be too busy or grown up to stop being curious.

My list of loves would be long and weird, but that is what makes it feel like such a blessed life.  I fall in love so easily. If it is beautiful or disgusting, complex or simple, scary or comforting, then a part of me has been brought to life that was dormant. I don't need New Year's to think about starting new, nearly every time I open my eyes, ears, nose, mouth or hands I am startled by a new love.

Blinded by the Light

I try not to wince in the sunshine. I realize that it is a bad habit we develop in Southeast Alaska on these few sunny days. We look like a group of vampires exposed to the destructive power of ultraviolet rays.

I'm fine once I'm out in it. Everything is overwhelmingly sharp and amazingly beautiful. I just need to practice the initial reaction of walking into such brilliance.

It does make me think in this season of light and darkness that light can be just as blinding and discombobulating as darkness. I hike and ski well enough in the dark. I've figured out ways to navigate and my other senses are so much sharper.

But, I have managed to run into trees or step over my boots in creeks on sunny days because I am looking at how breathtaking Mt. McGinnis is. I've had to do double takes of what is real because the reflections in Mendenhall Lake are so crisp that they turn the world upside down. The light pulls me out of paying attention to what is in front of me, the details surrounding me.

I appreciate the light, but it would kill me if we had to live in it all the time (I seem to remember a cribbage game that lasted till 3 am this past summer because we could still see to peg). I can't sustain that kind of life so I suppose I appreciate the tension of light and darkness. When it comes down to it, I appreciate the cloudy days where I can see where I'm going and stay focused on what is right there in front of me.

I'm thankful for the beautiful day today, for the extra 16 seconds of daylight. I'm thankful for Jesus the light in the midst of the darkness. He doesn't make the darkness go away, but gives us enough gray to make us pay attention to what is around us and grapple together figuring out what love and forgiveness look like in this mess.

Elf Pig

Every night when I walk,
I pass an illuminated pig in an elf costume. I think it is weird. I'm sure if someone saw me standing there in Kirt's bright orange camo jacket and light-up ball cap the scene gets even weirder, but I can't quite figure out the connection between an elf pig and Christmas. The fact that today is the beginning of Hanukah is not completely lost on me either. I'm thinking there is something down right sacrilege there.

So I spent a good part of the walk thinking about the pig and trying to work out the cramp in my butt from sitting on the most uncomfortable bleachers at the second middle school concert. Tis the season for concerts. I'm up to 4.5 hours of joyful noise. I actually do enjoy it. One of my gifts is being slightly tone deaf so it all sounds pretty wonderful to me.

It's fabulous to see my kids and the kids from the neighborhood playing or singing. I love all the hugs following. But, my favorite part of the concert season is the sense of good will in the audience. You can feel every single parent, grandparent, cousin, aunt, and uncle wishing them well, especially during solos. We all kind of hold our breath together sending every good vibe that we can to the clearly shaken adolescent.

Something similar happens in our church with musicians. We had some lovely music this past Sunday the second time around. One of my favorite folks played a fabulous piece on his harmonica and the first time it didn't quite work, but we all encouraged another go and he hit it right on. We burst into spontaneous applause even though we just had the talk about music being an offering where "amen" is more appropriate than applause, but what the heck. We all held our breath and wished him success with every inch of our beings.

I wonder why I don't do that more often. There is a warning in scripture against the evil eye; it often gets translated as envy. The evil eye is when you curse someone's good fortune or wish them ill. I feel this way sometimes when I see cute crafts or baking projects on Facebook. Nothing too horrible. Just maybe that their gorgeous decoupage spells out a dirty word in the mirror or that the amazing Frozen cupcakes taste like sand. I catch myself hoping that women who can match their clothes and walk in high heels have something hanging out of their noses. Sorry.

But, the elf pig has brought me back to my senses. I wish them all well. That's not actually related to the pig at all, but it got me thinking and a bit more aware of my own brokenness. So I suppose I should be thankful for the elf pig and wish him well even if I don't understand him. I'm going to start thinking about the dinosaur in a Santa costume next.

Christmas Cards Are Better Than Santa

I love sending and getting Christmas cards. It's one of my absolute most favorite things about this whole season. Electronic ones do not have the same flurry of excitement to them - sorry. I love dashing to the mailbox, seeing pictures, pretty cards and getting notes from folks that I might not have seen or heard from for an entire year. The weird thing is that even if I forget your birthday or to keep in touch, I still appreciate the gift you have been in my life and wonder how life is going.

And I love writing our Christmas letter. Mainly it's because I'm a dork, but I love thinking through a theme for our year and condensing all of our adventures onto one page (Christmas letters should never be more than one page - it's in the Bible).

More than all the presents and almost as much as the pilgrimage to find a tree, writing to loved ones, reminding myself and them that they have touched my life, prepares my heart for singing Silent Night. I know that Christmas is twelve days and it's not really all about Silent Night, but for me in that moment of singing and seeing all those beloved people lit up in the dark with tears of sadness and peace streaming down faces is Christmas.

Everything is always a bit more beautiful and peaceful by candlelight, especially with a good soundtrack. Folks who have had a difficult year, folks who have made my year difficult; people I know and those I don't all look like angels. The coming of Christ is reflected so brilliantly in all those faces.

In Eastern Orthodox tradition, all congregational members are buried to face the east so they may be the first to witness the second coming of Christ, but the priest is buried facing west so he may see the glory of God reflected in the eyes of his parishioners as he always has.

I suppose I am a maniac about cards because I want folks who have been a part of my life to know that I am thankful for the glimpse of Christ I saw in them (and it's fun to brag about the kids).

Robed

I am thankful for albs. I'm even more thankful for cinctures (the rope that goes around) because it is just a fun word to say.

White robes are helpful in so many ways. I had trouble sleeping the night before my first Sunday back. Our identities have so many layers and nobody has called me pastor for three months. I almost forgot what that means. I'm certainly not the most well-behaved person or the most confident in my faith, but somehow God and the church have called me to live out the good news in word and deed. This happens in worship through proclamation and presiding at communion, but that also sets the rhythm for all of life.

So I'm thinking about what it means to live out the good news and hold that as the core of my identity. That's not easy for me. The lists have already started. Organizing and being at the center of community activities are already on those lists. It feels good to be needed and that's what I have to keep in check.

I don't want to stop doing things that I love, but I do need to avoid finding my worth in completing long lists. I lived in abundant love, laughter, and beauty during sabbatical. Those all seem essential to the good news. We also stumbled through some moments of forgiveness, honesty, and pain, which also seem essential to living in good news. Great tables were laid with an abundance of food and variety of people.

There was one moment at the DimSum restaurant with our Chinese friends who owned our apartment and some of their Australian friends where they asked me lots of questions about what it meant to be a pastor. It was a pretty foreign concept to them all, but I talked about how I accompany folks and look for grace and love in the midst of their lives. At the end of our meal, they asked me to do a blessing. In the midst of chicken feet and donuts, I gave thanks for a feast with friends and God's presence among us. It felt kind of lame, but how profound can you get when the Chinese ladies are getting a little anxious to clean your table?

I don't know what that has to do with anything, except it was one of those many awkward pastor moments where I felt inadequate and slightly pathetic.

I fail at living in good news or always being a good pastor (whatever that means), but I rock at putting on my new and truly white robe. I get to put that on every Sunday symbolically for all of us. Robed in white, washed, made new. Like the freshly fallen snow makes everything look so clean and new, I get to act out the good news of what God has done not what I'm doing.