Something profound before Christmas

We went to see The Force Awakens like millions of other people this week. Loved it.

I thought I would have something profound, but luckily this movie did not take itself too seriously so there weren't major new age themes accentuated by pathetic dialogue. That sounded harsher than I meant it.

I loved the original Star Wars, but I loved it in spite of all the hokey themes and sad dialogue. Even though my all time favorite love proclamation is at the end of The Empire Strikes Back when Han is getting frozen and Leia cries out, "I love you" and his response is, "I know." That's foreshadowing for a rocky relationship, but hilarious to say to the one you love.

I cried throughout this movie. Not at the sad parts. I cried with each old character introduced. I cried like they were my best friends I hadn't seen since childhood (except for C3PO and Luke-never my favorites). I had to use my greasy popcorn napkin to stop my runny nose when the Millennium Falcon was revealed. It's like every adventure and dream of childhood wrapped in that ship.

I walked away without anything too profound or life altering except that I miss my grandma. Funny thing nostalgia is.

She is not related to Star Wars in any way, except maybe in the power of grandparents to shape grandchildren but I found that kind of a sketchy part of the movie so I won't go there.

I just missed her because nostalgia is like that. It's Christmas time and she was a huge part of making my childhood Christmases magic.

I miss her for the house filled with the smell of fried chicken and the living room where thirty of us would cram to open presents while fudge was passed. Mind you, we opened them in good German fashion, one at a time in order of birth. I was the youngest for 21 years and my brother will never let that go. Then, we kids would go play with our new toys in the bathroom, the newest and biggest room in the house.

It's funny as I sit here with snotty toilet paper in hand to think of those beautiful times that can get lost in all the drama and mess of aging. It was idyllic; those Christmases were a temporary suspension of disbelief where joy and peace and love reigned in the person of my grandma in that tiny living room crammed full of family.

I kind of feel like that is why I love communion at church so much. I know folks don't always get along or see eye to eye in the church, but for that moment we cram together with generations past and generations to come in the tiny room around the table and act like we believe joy and peace and love reign.

That's a long leap from Star Wars, but that's the funny thing about nostalgia.