Pony

When I was a kid and would whine, my parents told a predictable story as a response. 

There were two kids and one was put in a room with a bunch of toys and the other in a room full of manure. When the researcher returned, the kid in the toy room was whining about being bored and how there was nothing to do. When the researcher came to the door of the room full of manure, he could hear giggling and hurrahs. As he opened the door, the kid was covered in poop digging away happily. The fellow asked her why she was so happy and the child said, "With all this shit, there has to be a pony in here somewhere." 

This was supposed to illustrate the difference between a pessimist and an optimist, not good childcare skills or appropriate language. I'm not sure it really demonstrates the difference between them or if that difference is all that interesting; I do think it is a story that set me up to keep digging and looking for adventure. 

One of the greatest gifts I was given growing up was the lack of expectation that anyone would entertain me. There was never a sense that life would come to me for my pleasure, but I had hours of wandering my grandparent's fields or barns looking for adventure or trouble. I rode my bike hundreds of miles and dug in the dirt looking for arrowheads or bones. 

It would be easy to jump into a critique of the newest generation and all their gadgets, but I find them as creative as any other generation. We've all tended to get a little lazy when it comes to entertainment recently, but I'm trying to keep myself awake on another gray day when the wind, rain, and dark feel like a room full of shit. 

So I've decided to clean out all my files. 

Wow. It doesn't get much more fun than that. 

That was sarcasm, except it has been an experience full ponies. I found old birthday cards, memories of our first dog, and our visas for studying in Tanzania. Cleaning is never my favorite thing and I took double Vitamin D today, but what a delightful surprise to find treasures where I only expected tedium. 

Keep digging even when it feels like a room full of shit - that's the lesson of my childhood. I'd add permission to take a nap and come back to it, but please keep getting out of bed and showing up to life. 

Salad

 Juneau sold out of salad on Saturday. 

Half of the stores in town had empty shelves where the lettuce should be and then I gave up; it's hard to get that motivated to keep looking for leafy greens. 

There are many things I love about my town, and now I can add the joy it brings me to think about a sudden run on salad. Did we all realize at the same time that we had to serve something besides more comfort food? My guess is that the shipment actually froze, but I like the idea of everyone in Juneau rushing to Fred's to stock up on arugula. 

I love my city. I love not only her extreme beauty, but her moodiness and melancholy as well. I love that I know sex slaves and drug dealers as well as millionaires. I love that I refrain from yelling at incompetent drivers because they might be the one giving me my next gynecological exam. 

Juneau lives out the sense of community in a way that might be helpful for our nation. We know we are dependent on each other so when you have a flat tire, you don't talk politics, you are just thankful someone is willing to help. You can choose to be a jerk, but at some point  you burn all your bridges and life becomes nearly impossible and leaving is too expensive so you have to learn humility and apologizing. 

Maybe that's what I've learned the most from living here and would offer to others - humility. Know when you are wrong and know when not to gloat. I love that the word humility is derived from the Latin humus for dirt. 

"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return." Those words are spoken every Ash Wednesday as we remember our mortality and the perspective it gives us for life.

Humility - you are not god and we all are grounded in the dirt. We share this ground beneath us, and if nothing else, that is enough. 

Piano

It's the pandemic purge at our house. We started getting rid of some of the furniture in our living room and now it feels like everything has to go. I'm sure we're not the only household doing this (Juneau Buy, Sell, Trade is hopping), but we've lived here over a decade and it was time to go through some stuff.

Like CDs. 

I know we probably should get rid of them, but I love holding music in a way that streaming doesn't allow. I like the jackets with pictures and the songs listed. Yes, I haven't listened to a CD in five years, but I made up for that last week. I forgot how hard I laugh when I hear The Temptations sing, "Beauty is Only Skin Deep". Seriously, who wants a guy singing to her, "A pretty face you may not possess, but what I like about you is your tenderness. A pretty face maybe some guys taste, but I'll take lovin' in it's place?"

But there were things we released. I just took apart the puzzle we spent all break working on. There was a lot of blood, sweat and tears that went into those 500 pieces.

And we passed the piano on to a home where it would be played and loved again. I got a little teary, because there's a lot of memories wrapped up in that instrument. Yes, there was fighting over practicing for lessons, but there was some beautiful music and singalongs that erupted along the way too.

I struggle with the impermanence of life. I'm inclined to hold on to things, especially books, but I've learned the gift of saying blessings so I can learn to let go. I take a moment and give thanks for the gift that object has been in my life, for the experiences, and maybe even a moment for tears. 

There are lots of blessings in our Lutheran prayerbook, but basically a blessing shows appreciation for the gift given, an acknowledgement of how it has built up the community or your own self, and a promise that it will be tended well. 

Thank you for this object or what has been, for the person it has helped me become, may I be a good steward of it now as I keep or release it. 

It's not magic, but blessings help us find our way through all our stuff so we don't fall into mindless consuming or sentimental hoarding. 

And if you want a couch and loveseat, we're getting rid of ours.

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. 

Curry

 Gifts don't always work out the way I imagine. 

The She-wee was a disappointment; it's really just a glorified rubber hose. I thought I'd have the freedom to pee anywhere, but there is the issue of dripping and storing a rubber hose with urine on it in your backpack. That's gone into a drawer waiting for the next rummage sale.

There's the InstantPot that never quite worked for me. I know people swear by them, but I realized I really like to taste and see food while I'm cooking since I don't follow a recipe. Kirt pulls it out every now and then, but mostly it is hanging out in Hannah's closet keeping the ice cream maker company.

Forty lava lamps arrived one year, and as much as I love lava lamps, that was a few too many even for me.

I once argued that I wanted a crockpot more than world peace because it seemed a little more practical, but this year I'm asking for world peace. 

Maybe not full on shalom, but a respite from meanness and cruelty. I'd appreciate one of those moments like in WWI when the enemies took a break and sang Silent Night together, realizing they weren't that different.  

This Christmas, I'd like an evening without fear, abuse, and lies. Let's all take a break from dehumanizing each other and celebrate how wonderfully different and similar we are.

I know that sounds ridiculous so maybe I'll go back to the practical. I'd like a collection of curry powders. I love curries and they bring with them a warmth and comfort like few other foods.

 Food is always my go-to when I feel like peace is too much of a stretch. If we can't all get along, then maybe at least we can all have a good dinner and give thanks for that.