Tree

 Our Christmas tree smells nasty.

I should be more descriptive so you don't think I'm exaggerating. 

It smells like a 14 year old boy's room with a mixture of dirty socks, decaying food and AXE body spray. 

But, I can't even blame it on him; it's the tree.

It's gross and the needles are falling off so quickly that it sounds like mice attacking our living room. 

No, it's not a spruce; we are smarter than that. We got a hemlock this year as a break from a pine, but we will never do that again. 

I'm not sure what the procedure is in the case of a nasty smelling tree three days before Christmas. It's not like we're having people over so there's no one to judge us. We just have to live with our own stink and itchy eyes.

The question is, "When is it time to cut our losses and trash the tree?" I feel like we've already passed the comfort phase and now we are suffering through because it's too exhausting to think of change at this point in the game.

People stay in relationships or with jobs long after the comfort point. That's not a bad thing. There are times that you do have to slog through the discomfort, but there are also times when you realize the air is getting toxic because something is dying and it's probably best to move it outside. 

I'm not sure anyone else knows that point other than you, but I'm guessing that the gag reflex we experience when we walk into our own home is a sign that it might be time for us.

Sheep

 I love Christmas - not so much for the Hallmark specials, or carols, or decorations, or presents, but mainly for the theology.

I love the church confesses that whatever is eternal, whatever is the ultimate reality, whatever is God, chooses to dwell in the particularity and vulnerability of the flesh. There is no disconnected spirit that's annoyed with all of our quirks and warts, but God chooses to dwell, to be in communion with the stuff of this earth, including slimy, smelly, pooping babies. (People always think babies are so cute, but once they've ruined your couch shooting poop out their diaper, cute is not the word that comes to mind.)

Nothing helps remind me of this miracle like Sophie's sheep. She gets so many characteristics from me, especially her crafting skills. 

And she accidentally caught him on fire in the Advent wreath during devotions last night. 

Always exciting at the Stage-Harvey house.

Here are Hannah's sheep & Elijah's sheep for comparison. 

The good news of Christmas is not "try harder to be like Jesus" (or your siblings in this instance). 

The good news is that God chooses to dwell in our messiness and beauty. God chooses to make love known not outside our flesh or as an escape from our disarray, but right in the middle of it all. 

I like the other parts of Christmas too, but the miracle of "God with us" brings me joy, like a little singed sheep hanging on the tree.

Kafka

We thought about bailing. The weather in Southeast has been shit. I'm sure there are more descriptive words, but my vocabulary isn't that advanced. We've had wicked rain and winds for the past million days (continued prayers for friends in Haines who've suffered deadly mudslides).

It was not backpacking weather to say the least, but I'd rented the cabin months ago and we needed an adventure. Nothing prepares you for advent like an adventure. 

The first third was fantastic, even in the dark. 

The second third was challenging, but my daughter pronounced it perfect hiking weather (40 degrees and a light mist is ideal).

The last third reminded me of childbirth. 

Pitch dark, a foot of slush, and uphill made this last section pretty painful. At one point, I slipped into muck up to my knee and while trying to drag that leg out, I lost my other foot in the muck. It crossed my mind that I probably could collapse forward and weather the rest of the night comfortably. Then, I contemplated crawling the rest of the way to the cabin. Finally, I laughed and hauled my ass up and kept going. 

There is something important that happens in the brain in that moment. 

I want someone to save me, I want to quit, but ultimately there are no other choices other than to keeping dragging myself up. I'd love to say that there is an inspirational quote in there, but I sang The Gambler and swore the rest of the way wondering why we do this. 

We finally all made it (almost an hour longer than it normally takes). We reviewed as a family our lowest moments on the way up and coping skills. Then, the kids curled up in their sleeping bags and took turns reading Metamorphosis in different accents while I made dinner. 

Kafka's existential masterpiece and famous scene, "One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous bug…” sounds very different when read by a slap happy kid trying to do a Scottish brogue. 

We giggled throughout the evening. There's something about shared suffering and conquest that bonds a family together. I'm not going to quite call it fun, but I'm not convinced life is all about having fun. The goal of life isn't to come out unscathed, but to have good stories and meaningful relationships - to learn to love. 

I'm glad we didn't bail, but I'm also glad we stayed home the next night for pizza and a movie.